I have a blog entry I would like to write, but the only thing holding me back is the want of a good pseudonym for the main character. When Pear writes about her beau, his pseudonym takes over his real name - surely Taxman would have to agree it is a very suitable name! When I picked Twelve's name, I was very happy with that one - and he seemed to be as well - since he had helped in the decision-making. 'Tis a shame so few entries featured the lovely Twelve.

But sometimes, naming creativity does not strike. Case in point being "B", a very banal choice indeed, which some people might comment as their opinion on his less-than sparkling persona. LawyerGuy (whose Blog has gone by the wayside for the moment) peppered his entries with a variety of witty names, both descriptive and somewhat waggish(e.g. Side-kick Associate, Video-Clerk Paralegal).

So until I happen upon a name that feels just right, I am afraid there are some entries going unwritten.

PS Suggestions gratefully received!

By any other name....

I find it curious when friends from different parts of my life should meet. Like most people, I have gathered friends from school, university, work, hobbies and other such places. When they are all thrown together for a significant event, it is often an unexpected melting pot that results. Sometimes, due in part to the fact that I will share stories of people to each other, they inadvertently know bits and pieces of each others lives or dramas. Indeed, people's perceptions of what the "other" friends look like can be blown apart by the reality.

More recently with the numerous people I have met via the internet (ok, I admit, by dating sites), they can and have been mentioned on this little blog. Some of these people I have never, or rarely, met face to face. So it is somewhat amusing to see the reactions of two people that are both spoken about on here, meeting each other for the first time.

After a bit of the usual repartee that I expect from Absum on-line, we decided that he should come over for a feast of chocolate, wine and "The Empire Strikes Back" - not necessarily in that order. During our happy rendez-vous, S and the flatmate dropped in for a visit before taking on some local drinking establishment. It was with some hesitancy that I introduced the two; "Um, well, S this is Absum. Absum, S". On-line names and personalities were now made flesh. The question did pass through my mind at one point, whether to introduce them to each other purely using their "real" names, or should their pseudonyms be revealed? I opted for the latter apparently, but still felt some reticence about it.

Seeing them meet face to face seemed to shrink my universe just a little. I realised that when one's worlds merge, it leaves no place to escape to.

"If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there."


I was visited last week by the ex, N. It was lovely to see him and hear about what is going on his world of late. He is the only ex that I have ever maintained any contact with, maybe because our relationship wasn't working and we both knew and parted before we really hated each other. Nevertheless, we are better as friends.

Over the weekend I was asked about N, and I related what a lovely person he is, and a basically good man. I was then queried, "So, why not get back together?". The question came as a shock since I really could not even imagine getting back together with him. He is quite simply a great person, but not for me. There is also the mind-set that you should never have "sex with the ex", and never go back. Either way, I am very happy for him in his current relationship and have no deep-seated jealousies lurking anywhere.

By contrast, over the weekend, L7 was rung by a long-lost love (LLL). Sounding rather like a Hollywood movie, LLL had had a tragic auto accident, and in his recovery realised the errors of his ways, and that L7 was indeed the love of his life. LLL proclaimed apologies for every bastard thing he ever inflicted upon L7 and vowed that should she take him back, he would never every hurt her again.

So what should she do? Cynic that I am, I would normally hesitate, but I can't help but be sucked in by the overwhelming romance of the moment. But to keep things in some sort of perspective, I shall at this point quote from one of my favourite movies" the incomparable "Grosse Pointe Blank".

"If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's...well... broken."

Good luck L7.

Tap Board: 1..... Cath: Nil

Keeping faithful to the plan of actually practicing my tap dancing, I have indeed pulled it out two days in a row. I diligently put on my shoes and begin tapping along with Mr Grant, whose classes I am currently attempting on a Saturday.

He has a different tap style to that of the incomparable Miss Jane. He is of the baggy-pants-backward-cap-wearing-"I am so unbelievably cool" variety who revels in an opportunity to "jam" his tapping. By contrast, Miss Jane subscribes to the glamorous hey-day of tapping where Fred ruled supreme, and sequins came a close second. Grant likes to mix his tap up with lots of sliding techniques, which I will admit to struggling with - surely tap-dancing one should actually... um.. tap?

But nevertheless, I was busily practicing this afternoon, sliding with gusto, tapping with aplomb and possibly annoying neighbours into the mix (bonus I say!) - when I succeeded in pulling off a move which apparently would make Mr Grant proud. Apparently to fall over while attempting sliding, is a great compliment to one's teacher and my own vigour is mastering the move.

So apparently - compliments abound to Mr Grant... and congratulations to the structural integrity of my tap board.

A hard man is good to find

It has been posted before about my unnatural longing for all things to do with butchers. Interestingly I got an email from a girlfriend during the week, who is trying to set me up with any man she can think of below the age of 50. Her most recent suggestion for a beau was a gentleman she described as a "nice guy, who likes meat". For future reference, liking meat is not necessarily akin to carving up dead animal flesh. We shall wait and see what she male morsel she attempts to dish up for me next!

I have just returned from a very happy trip to a hardware. Unlike stationery stores which drive me into a wild and near orgiastic frenzy, hardware stores leave me cold. But this trip has proved a little different. I was looking for wood (all crude references aside people - I really was looking for a piece of actual timber). I need a surface on which to practice my tap-dancing. Yes after nearly two and a half years of learning tap, I decided that it was time for me to actually practice. So I ventured into the hardware to be greeted by an extraordinarily friendly gentleman.

Never have I been the recipient of so much joy and vigour in such a humour-less environment. I explained my requirements, which he then happily took me through the selection of appropriate materials. I fear that at the end of the transaction, the amount spent did not cover his wages for his effort. But I certainly left feeling a little smile across my face.... how often is it that one can trade snappy repartee with someone whilst purchasing such mundane items?

Searching by Google for my own blog has proved fruitless - apparently I am nary a blip on the internet. I wonder how many times I would have to press on the "Next Blog" button to get to myself?

Hmmmm.. do you think I am feeling a little insignificant today?

People don't have labels - jars do

Yesterday, L7 called me a slut. She meant it in a non-confrontational way, and certainly only as a friendly jibe referring to the fact that I had had sex more recently than herself. Despite this, it hurt a little. Perhaps, because maybe it cut a little too close to the truth for comfort.

On Saturday night I had dinner with a group of women, only one of which I knew prior to the evening. One lady, apparently used to being considered "experienced" amongst this group, proceeded to inform all who cared to listen about her vast sexual experience and somewhat impressive prowess. She was a woman of less than chic appearance, somewhat rotund, but with an impressive bust. I feared, at that moment, that I was looking at myself ten years from now. Her amusing sexual anecdotes brought a smile to everyone's face, but the underlying thoughts of her incredibly lonely existence seemed to also murmur below the surface. I felt too much of a kinship with this dismal figure than I cared to acknowledge.

It is too easy to assume that just because one has sex outside of the traditional confines of a relationship, that that is exactly what one wants. I was questioned today why I had recently had a dalliance of a sexual nature with someone for whom I definitely had no intention of pursuing a relationship. Quite simply, a need was met. Ultimately, it is a lonely thing pursuing sex from people with whom one has little more than a passing interest in. It is my dearest wish to once again have a fully committed relationship, but it seems that at this point in my life - I am desirable for only one thing.

Interestingly, I did realise one thing today about fuck buddies, or transient lovers for those preferring a more delicate turn of phrase. Fuck buddies share one simple commonality.

They are honest.

You know up-front that it is only about sex. There are no expectations of anything more. There are no promises made to "catch up". Their text messages are blunt and direct, and never end with any meager protestations of affection. Because there are no emotions at stake, you can talk openly about all manner of topics. But it takes a different sort of person than I, to feel completely satisfied with a purely physical relationship.

I really don't want lovers, I want a boyfriend/partner/main squeeze - or whatever else is the appropriate politically correct term to use.

Mr DeMille, I am ready for my close up

I had dinner last night with some delightful people. Over a lovely dinner, I revealed the presence of this blog, which had my host asking immediately for the address. With a broadband connection at the ready, he quickly loaded up the site and began a quick scan of the contents of this meager addition to the plethora of internet literature. I was asked during this time, whether I found it a little confronting having people reading my site in front of me. Indeed it was a little perturbing. But I suppose no more so than when people read my blog, people who are little more than strangers to me, and pass comment, not via the comment section, but more directly (e.g. via Messenger, or even worse, in person).

Of course, it has not helped that I have this site linked from my hotmail address. So any person encountering me on Messenger, can find their way here and read up. Most recently, Twelve read his way through a goodly portion of it, and has oft quoted things back to me. But what is interesting when people know that you have a blog, is that they immediately ask when they might feature in it. My friends from last night indeed commented on whether or not his wife's delightful cheesecake would warrant a mention. (And apparently it does!).

S used to often beg for inclusion. B was never particularly impressed about the idea of being written about - no matter how complimentary it may have been. So it seems, that for some reason, the exiguous fame promised here is alluring, until of course, they realise that their misdemeanours and indiscretions, as well as their praises, may end up on here as well.

Rest assured, the only crimes that are written about here are those pertaining to my own idiocy in my life journey. If you have revelations, get your own blog! (But please include a link to me!)

A little bit about a country town

I am again in exile in the country town of Wodonga for work. This is proving, of late, to be somewhat of a regularity. And, despite appearances, it is not something that I particularly mind. Of course, the location of the bangle Nazi over 300km from my person, is certainly a very happy consequence!

Wodonga is a small-ish town, but happily blessed with every modern convenience including McDonald's, late-night hours Coles, adult stores and the internet cafe that I am currently sitting in. This cafe also doubles as a video store, and as such, does not just have the usual clientele that I expect at an internet cafe.

Sitting to my right are two boys, around the age of 10, who are happily gaming with each other. Of course, they feel the need to yell instructions at each other pertaining to the game. There are numerous patrons selecting their video of choice, most recently a five year old screaming some babbling nonsense behind me. The patron of the "cafe" is Ray, who is an affable gentleman and greets me by name. I find it a curiosity that I travel 300kms to get personal service, that I so obviously lack at home.

The hotel that I frequent when visiting Wodonga is the dubiously named "Blazing Stump". Despite the curiosity of its name, the staff greet me with a big grin and by name. It is like stepping into a universe where everyone is pleasant and actually likes seeing you. Of course, the fact that I am a return patron is completely irrelevant.

Time in Wodonga takes me away from my usual life at home, and as such, affords me many hours for contemplation. Usually in my life, I spend a good amount of time each day in traffic, and then of course, rushing to my various activities. Here, I am at work in less than 5 minutes and have no after work activities. This leaves me with many hours sitting in a very comfortable chair (a far cry from my Fit Ball at home), listening to the same video advertising spiels playing over and over, whilst I reach out to the world far beyond Wodonga.

No trip to Wodonga is complete without my dinner at the best Indian restaurant in Victoria, which is ironically in New South Wales (does Albury really count?). The food is sublime; service is admirable.

The only thing that detracts from my continued convivial sojourn are the fellow hotel patrons who insist, no matter which room I am in, on standing outside my window, chatting and smoking. I have thought about walking outside and kindly offering to "bitch slap" them, but I did wonder if "bitch slap" is a country-wide parlance. Detracts somewhat from the potency of my violent actions if I have to explain, doesn't it?

Words are lovely. I love the way they feel in the mouth when you say them. I like using uncommon words. I love hearing words used. A man who uses language can happily woo me. Indeed, Twelve uttered "umbrage" the other night, and I felt faint. But I do loathe misuse of words.

A gentleman once asked me, via Messenger, to "perswade" him to see me. After that little revelation, I needed very little to dissuade me from banning his name from my "Contacts" list. Bad spelling, and poor grammar, are enough for me to unleash violence. Yesterday I sat blissfully watching Oklahoma, and happily singing along with those well-known show tunes, when a grammatical error the size of "Oklahoma" stuck its prominently misbehaving self in my face. Picture "Curly" sitting astride his horse, singing for all the world to hear about the beauty of the morning, when he proclaims "..as high as a elephant's eye". Since hearing that abysmal line, I have kept playing it over and over in my head to relive the grammatical trauma inflicted.

Of course, for some people the very fact that I watched "Oklahoma" is probably torture enough.

P.S. S - I think your version of "Surry with a fringe on top" is still better.

Libido on offer ---- free to good home!

It is commonly espoused that a woman can go out any night of the week and get sex - if she wants it. It might be part urban myth and part legend, but nevertheless, I have oft quoted this phrase. Perhaps to fluff a malingering ego, or as proof, when indeed it has been true. In actual fact, I have been turned down for sex more often than I would care to remember. Many men may poo-poo this statement, as more often than not, the recipient of the polite rejection is a gentleman.

Years ago I proffered "no-strings attached" sex to a gentleman. The difficulty was, I suppose, was that he was a friend of mine. Following my marriage breakup, he took me out to dinner one night to a location that would easily give one the impression of being slightly wooed. I was not averse to the attention. I was feeling down, and here was a good-looking and dapper gentleman escorting me to the requisitely dimly-lit restaurant, for a private table for two. I don't think that I read too much into the evening that was not becoming self-evident. Despite this, it would appear that his actions were merely platonic, and the allusions to intimacy made by myself were deftly declined.

Another gentleman, fondly remembered by his unfortunate vocal resemblance to Mutley, was also offered unlimited, commitment-free sex. And so began our little tryst. The difficulty arose when he began to become emotionally involved. That was never part of my plan for him, and he was certainly not someone I imagined as a significant other.

Most recently, Twelve declined my advances. A few drinks, tender kisses and the presence of an eager partner, were apparently not enough to induce Twelve into intimate relations. I am trying not to take it as an affront. S, in his eminent wisdom - well, at least when it comes to my life - has offered the "he respects you" line. Another comment offered was, "He turned down "no strings attached sex"!! Is he insane?". To which I did have to admit that it may not have been completely without strings - and therein I suppose, is the rub!

Ominous Side Effects

Many years ago I decided to go off the pill, at the time for the purposes of trying to procreate, but off the pill nonetheless. Following a marital dissolution, I felt it prudent to return to the pill, since I envisaged much oat-sewing becoming the norm for a wee while.

Indeed, many fields were sown with oat (and indeed a variety of other grains), until I again became happily ensconced in another relationship - with N. I enjoyed being off the pill, for a number of reasons, but one of them being the feeling that I was not being held to ransom by the little white pill every morning. Whoa betide if I should forget to take it. Being off the pill forced one to consider any dalliances that might ensue and required a little more responsibility than I had seen fit to exercise.

With the longevity of the relationship with B, and a drunken comment one night from himself, I decided to return to the pill. My seemingly voracious sexual appetite needed the pill to allow intimacy at any time, any how and any way I should see fit. When that all went pear-shaped, I again thought I might drop the chemical assistance and go au naturel for the time being. (And certainly, if one is not getting any sex, who cares about the timing of my menses!).

The unfortunate side effect of the pill for me is only one. The pros are many and varied - less pain, less emotional swings, clearer skin, new and improved skip in my step (ok, that last one is implied...). The con is only one - but it is a biggie. The pill completely removes from me any desire for sex. (See, I told you it was a biggie). So the irony is, when on the pill, I can have sex any time, any how and any where - but I JUST DON'T WANT TO!

So to set things straight, I took myself back off the pill about a month ago. Of course, the problem is now that I am again on fire - but single - and therefore perhaps even more frustrated than ever before. And it is a damn shame that I don't like battery operated toys. Hurrumph!

(con)Textually Speaking

The proliferation of mobile phones has meant a certain change in the way the world of dating now functions. For me, my phone is a compulsory part of dating, and in some instances, has proved to be a boon to those inevitable dating nerves. So many things can be said in a few short messages, that you may never be brave enough to say face to face.

Many years ago I was studying a night course with a delightful group of people. One of these people was a handsome gentleman, with whom I seemed to share an amazing amount of sexual tension. It was obvious to all in the room, including our teacher, that something was definitely going on here. One night, we finally fell into a conversation after class, which then proceeded to many SMS's whilst he was driving home. After a good couple of hours of this, I decided to bite the proverbial and messaged him, "So, when are you going to ask me out?". That blunt question led to a lovely evening - no relationship - but a nice dinner nonetheless.

Last night I had the good fortune to again to be messaging a lovely gentleman. Both of us with a happy amount of drinks imbibed, and a good Friday-night post-work vibe, meant a flurry of enjoyable, and slightly flirtatious, SMS's ensued. Certainly good clean fun, and left me smiling at the end of the night. Thank you Mr Jazz.

And the she-devil returns.....

I have recently had a few issues at work - mostly with one of my colleagues. Regular readers will remember her from the infamous "bangle incident". It appears that my bangle annoys her so much that she has now taken to wearing ear-plugs in the workplace. My boss asked me that if I could "muffle" the sound a little, it would be appreciated, but if I chose not to, it was also completely understandable.

Hmmmm given that choice... what do you think I am going to do?