What was I worried about!

I had a response to my last entry privately. Obviously from a friend of mine who did not want something shared to all, and his name potentially associated with it. But I shall cut and paste to preserve his anonymity, since his comments were too priceless to let go. He says,

The funny thing is, despite you despairing about the value of good conversation, you have actually ruined him to an extent. He will remember you FOR EVER, and at the worst possible times. ..... he will be thinking, at least some of time, of you and what you did and despairing of his present partner, wishing she could do things a bit differently but not really quite sure how to say it.

And she won't know this.


The thought that I may cause an ex life-long mental anguish, is more than I could have hoped for! Yippee!

Memories are made of this

I was reflecting recently on the positive things I have gained out of relationships I have had. All too easily I may concentrate that one man caused, or the lies and deceit of another, but forget some of the nice things that I walked away from the relationship with.

N, despite his kind offers in the past, introduced me to my first experience of live opera. He would buy two season tickets every year, and take with him whomever he felt like. Luckily, while we were dating, I benefited from this and was able to enjoy some wonderful productions. He started in me a life-long love of opera, and this is something for which I will always be grateful.

Again, determined to concentrate on the good, I thought of B. He wined and dined me beautifully, but also hurt me deeply. But I must say is that the best thing he introduced me to is the wonderful "Tanqueray No. 10". It is now a staple on my drinks shelf and has proved a more fulfilling partner than he was in retrospect.

I am sure if most people sat down and analysed past relationships, it is hopeful that anyone of us could name something, simple as it maybe, that we gained from having known someone.

Which brings me to what those gentlemen in question may have gained from me. Recently I mentioned that I had spoken to B online. It seemed this was not to be our last exchange. Last week, we spoke again, whilst he was quite inebriated and I was in a playful mood. Being as he was, he decided to talk frankly of matters sexual. Apparently, his lasting memory of our entire relationship, one which he treasures still, is quite simply, my technique of fellatio.

So glad that I wasted all that time with sparkling conversation and such.

Step aside Big Bird....

My boss has decided to take some leave starting two days ago. This is a very rare occasion for him, but unsurprisingly, I have already had a phone call from him.

Firstly, he wanted to tell me to "take on" a student. Dutifully, I met with the student today to see where their project is headed, and how we can work together. When he arrived, he presented himself to the Reception desk and asked for "Cassowary" - or at least that is his interpretation of "Cathy".

Secondly, my boss wanted to say he has been speaking to my colleagues, and is proud to say that they consider me "an asset to the company".

So, I am a big-arse shit-kicking bird, but a beneficial one at that!

The glamorous Life sans Sheila E

The tap spectacular is done and dusted for another year - and we were brilliant as usual. Well, actually, we were pretty good by the final concert, but we are amateurs and surely that is allowed? For those who just can't live without exciting candid shots from behind the scenes, here are some of the important moments.

Despite weeks of preparation, some last minute sewing to costumes, or stapling as was the case with lots of costumes, had to be performed.

Hours behind the scenes with panic-stricken rehearsals before entering the stage, are more easily managed on a full stomach.


The most important addition to any show-girls wardrobe is the "safety pant". Never has the Bond's Cotton-tail been worn so glamorously!


By our final show, we were in such good spirits, that the weeks of effort faded away into one super show-girl moment.

The only eye-rolling moment of the whole weekend, came not from me wearing a KFC bucket on my head, a cereal box on my back, or flashing my safety pant to the audience. On the opening night, my mother was sitting in her usual prime seating position for maximum viewing appreciation. A woman, also a parent of a member of the show, sat down beside her and they struck up a rather animated conversation. By interval, my mother sent me an SMS, not to tell me how wonderful the show was, not even to point out any mistakes I made in my first routine. She SMS'd me to say, "I am sitting beside (insert strange boy's name)'s Mum. He is 34, single and a beginner. Gave her your phone no. He has some hair left."

I am not quite sure how to take my mother pimping me out while I am dressed as a Swedish Milk Maid.

I was discussing my tap show costumes with Toph recently. When I described them something along the line of a Swedish milk maid, he commented that that was the basis of many a man's fetish. This evening, I discussed this statement and the costume with another friend. His reply was simple, "That isn't a fetish. That is sex on a rope."

"Any girl can look glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid."

It is the final days before this year's tap spectacular, and I am busy not only with still learning the routine, but finalising costume issues. Is there a wig for everyone for the second routine? What props do we need for our finale costume? Have all monies been accounted for? It certainly takes away from the glamour of the show when you are stitching people into costumes at the last minute, but I am sure that I will be ready for when the curtain goes up on Friday night.

On Saturday, we had our preliminary dress rehearsal. We roughly perform the show for our teacher, so she can ascertain any final polish that the routines require, and have a giggle at our costumes - which is the more usual response. Another less glamorous aspect of show production, is the fact that when you put over 200 women together in one room together - there are going to be "issues", the least of which is snide comments at the superiority of one costume over another.

While waiting in the hallway for our first routine, Miss D looked over at a member of another class attired in a hula dress, with coconut shells in situ as a bra substitute, and fake tresses tumbling down to their not insignificant thighs (use the picture at left as a visual prompt if you will). We both rolled our eyes at their state of dress, and she reflected to me that we should keep in mind to "never wear anything like that in future".

Of course, our ride atop our own costuming high horse was short-lived. It is probably hard to maintain a serious sense of superiority when your own bewitching outfit involves thigh length tulle. (We have used the picture at right as our inspiration - cringe at will!)

Stranger in a not-so-strange land

I did something radical in bed last night. And I was alone to do it.

Relax. Nothing exciting or salacious to tell.

But last night, I experimented with sleeping on a different side of the bed. Well, at least I attempted to. God knows what makes one chose a side of the bed, when you reach an age when sharing a bed is the norm. I believe I decided that the right side of the bed was my side, since that was the side my mother used to always use. So I must have figured, that that was the "correct" side. Eventually, I got so used to that side, that I could not sleep anywhere else, even when the whole bed was available to me. The "other side" seemed foreign territory for me. The room looked weird from there, the bed, just not quite right.

So, with some hesitation in mind, I got into bed last night (from my usual side), and slid over to the other side. The mattress seemed softer, and the pillows a little perkier. Perhaps I could do it this time.

And indeed, I happily slumbered until this morning, when I awoke to find my head on the foreign side, but my lower torso had crept back to the usual location. Hopefully further ventures into nocturnal variations will not involve such seeming dismemberment!

Not feeling the (motherly) love!

It is very rare for my mother and I to see eye to eye on matters of fashion or decor. She has a great tendency to hoard, and my parents, having never moved since I was an infant, have a houseful of all manner of tacky paraphernalia. High on the list of my mother's favourite things is her collection of teddy bears and miniature houses. Thankfully, she usually recognises our difference of opinion and rarely tries to inflict her home-style upon me.

On Sunday, she arrived in town for a couple of weeks, and what better way to spend an unseasonally hot afternoon, was by venturing out for some shopping. As a surprise to both of us, during our shopping trip, I found that we agreed on more than one item of clothing. I commented to her on this curious alignment of our opinions for the first time. She replied, "It must be because you are getting old."

My best come-back at that point, was a mumbled, "Bitch."

Ah, she's a poet, and she, sort of, knows it.

After my last post, Wishtup commented that I put what he was feeling in better prose than he could have managed. Personally I think it was more prosaic, than prose-like - but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless. As a result, I have written that entry again, but in definite prose this time.

Here we go.....

When dining, I ask for a table for one,
Order a glass of wine, open a book to read.
Keep your head down and carefully wile no-one's eye,
Look assured, and anything but lonely, in need.

Shopping for food is always tiresome
Family size bargains litter the store.
Nothing is cheap in servings for one,
It is expensive - and oh, such a chore!

Invites arrive for weddings and such.
To help celebrate and wishes you send.
But the wording with which they took care,
Mocks as it reads, "To You and a friend."

Sorrow can be shared, and joy doubled
or so they say in sayings gone by.
But my joy is single, no doubling occurs
and sadness is all mine to wallow and cry.

But the last chocolate will always be mine.
If I run out of milk, there's noone to blame.
Left or right - no bed to be shared.
I sleep in the middle, but it's not the same.

I keep myself busy with lots of tasks.
Hobbies and past-times most nights of the week.
Though I have fun, and nary a care,
It masks the pain of love that I seek.

Don't misunderstand, I have many a friend.
Women whose friendship is without compare,
And men that are friends on whom I rely,
But they are all gay, or one of a pair.

So what should I do, with this emptiness inside?
Do I continue my search doing this and that?
Or is it time to concede defeat to Eros,
and finally go out and get a cat?

Beware the barrenness of a busy life.
Socrates

It has been nearly a year since I have had a remotely serious relationship with anyone. Despite the endless dating cycle that I seem to be on, at the end of the day, I have essentially been single for a year. This, for me, is an unprecedented period of alone time. It is not that I dislike my own company, in fact, I quite like me, but I would like to share some of me with someone else.

I have been accused of being too busy for a boyfriend. I find this statement ludicrous. Yes, I am busy, but so what. It is like saying I am too smart for most men. Yes, I am smart, but there are smart men who surely would like someone their intellectual equal.

So why am I so busy? And, further, why am I so alone?

It never ceases to amaze me that I am single. This is not meant to sound arrogant. But, as I attempt here to portray some positive self-esteem, I think I have a lot to offer someone. Though one should never compare, as I have been counseled only just recently (thanks Toph!), it is inevitable that I should compare with women I work with and associate with. What have they got that I don't? Buggered if I know.

So that brings me back to why I am so busy. Am I busy because I like to be busy? Or is it because I am trying to fill some empty void inside me? I am inclined to think it is a little bit of both. I realised today, just how long it has been since I have felt that overwhelming sense of love for someone. That wonderful out-pouring of emotion, where you feel so much happiness and love, that you just can't keep it inside.

Sigh. So many questions tonight and very few answers. Lucky I have some costumes to sew to keep my mind off it again for a while.