Question time
I find it all too easy at the moment to gush about the boy, and for the time being, my friends are happy to hear what they can about him. Everyone has some question to ask about him, but the questions that people pose are quite different, and I have noticed, dependent upon the personal interests of that person.
S does Aikido, and is therefore interested in the fact that the boy does a martial art. He wanted to know what style of fighting, and what grade he is at. A girlfriend who works in the travel industry, enquired as to his travel history. Wishtup dances, and asked as to whether the boy is a dancer. It is a natural thing, I suppose, that people will immediately try to find common ground with someone new to my life, by their own interests.
But I think the best first question in regards to the boy comes from L7. No dallying around topics as to his employment, his interests or his past emotional history. I was asked, "Is he big enough?".
As I said, people ask what comes to mind in reference to their own favoured interests.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
Things that needed to be said
Over a glass of wine the other night with the Boy, he coyly proposed that we "go steady". Curiously, I don't think I have ever had anyone ever ask such a thing, but he said, despite the 21st Century, it seemed the most appropriate thing for him to say. I readily agreed. So now that we had established our exclusivity, it was time for me to cut loose any other ties that still remained.
I hadn't seen BB for at least a week or so, citing a busy schedule, but also, ambivalence about he and I, and far more excitement with the new boy. Ironically, just after receiving the "proposal" from the Boy, I got an email from BB asking, "Where are we going?". The timing was apt, and none too soon. I posed an email to S, bemoaning the task that I had to do. How do I politely say "Thanks, but no thanks"? S was all too quick to help by forwarding on an email that his own beloved had written some time ago for a male friend. It was instructions to men about how to dump women gently.
I read it with great interest, and laughed more than once. Scarily, it sounded all too familiar and a lot like B's breakup with me. Apparently, there were a number of key points to the technique of breaking up with a woman.
(i) Always make it look like it is your fault, and nothing to do with her. She is lovely, and YOU are not ready for anything serious.
(ii) Listen intently to her crap on, as much as is required.
(iii) Reiterate how much you like and respect her and are concerned as to how she is feeling. This then segues nicely into you attempting to "keep in contact". At no point do you use the "I want to be friends" line.
(iv) Accept any accusations of being the bastard graciously, and leave without shagging or even kissing goodbye. Walk away, and don't look back.
Allegedly this is the way to preserve both her dignity and his masculinity. Bollocks - I say. No matter how you do it; it is going to get ugly, and at some point, there will be tears. Especially if there were any real emotions involved.
So I drafted my email back to BB, carefully outlining that I didn't think that he and I were on the same page, but punctuating the fact that I thought he was a nice person and all that sort of palaver that one says. I checked back on the internet dating site later that same evening, and he had already reinstated his profile. Good to see that he mourned the loss of my company for a good few minutes before moving on!
Over a glass of wine the other night with the Boy, he coyly proposed that we "go steady". Curiously, I don't think I have ever had anyone ever ask such a thing, but he said, despite the 21st Century, it seemed the most appropriate thing for him to say. I readily agreed. So now that we had established our exclusivity, it was time for me to cut loose any other ties that still remained.
I hadn't seen BB for at least a week or so, citing a busy schedule, but also, ambivalence about he and I, and far more excitement with the new boy. Ironically, just after receiving the "proposal" from the Boy, I got an email from BB asking, "Where are we going?". The timing was apt, and none too soon. I posed an email to S, bemoaning the task that I had to do. How do I politely say "Thanks, but no thanks"? S was all too quick to help by forwarding on an email that his own beloved had written some time ago for a male friend. It was instructions to men about how to dump women gently.
I read it with great interest, and laughed more than once. Scarily, it sounded all too familiar and a lot like B's breakup with me. Apparently, there were a number of key points to the technique of breaking up with a woman.
(i) Always make it look like it is your fault, and nothing to do with her. She is lovely, and YOU are not ready for anything serious.
(ii) Listen intently to her crap on, as much as is required.
(iii) Reiterate how much you like and respect her and are concerned as to how she is feeling. This then segues nicely into you attempting to "keep in contact". At no point do you use the "I want to be friends" line.
(iv) Accept any accusations of being the bastard graciously, and leave without shagging or even kissing goodbye. Walk away, and don't look back.
Allegedly this is the way to preserve both her dignity and his masculinity. Bollocks - I say. No matter how you do it; it is going to get ugly, and at some point, there will be tears. Especially if there were any real emotions involved.
So I drafted my email back to BB, carefully outlining that I didn't think that he and I were on the same page, but punctuating the fact that I thought he was a nice person and all that sort of palaver that one says. I checked back on the internet dating site later that same evening, and he had already reinstated his profile. Good to see that he mourned the loss of my company for a good few minutes before moving on!
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
In want of a distraction
Apparently many people have this impression that I am quite confident. I can sort of see where they get this impression from. I can talk without nerves in front of people. I am very open in what I divulge to people, and on occasion, can project a sense of self that may show a certain level of comfort with myself.
And sometimes I really believe that I am as confident as I might give the impression of being. But surely everyone knows that it is a well-crafted cover-up.
Here I am, a couple of days after realising I think I have a new boyfriend, constantly imbued with a sense of paranoia. Why does he seem to like me? He is SO hot (to me anyway), what does he see in me? I know I can be funny and interesting, but since when was that a reason to want to shag someone silly?
It is now that I realise what I "do wrong" in relationships. Clingy-ness starts to creep in. Doubt tip-toes around every corner. Worries and insecurities try to surface. I crave distractions to keep me away from excessive texting and emails. Suggestions anyone?
Apparently many people have this impression that I am quite confident. I can sort of see where they get this impression from. I can talk without nerves in front of people. I am very open in what I divulge to people, and on occasion, can project a sense of self that may show a certain level of comfort with myself.
And sometimes I really believe that I am as confident as I might give the impression of being. But surely everyone knows that it is a well-crafted cover-up.
Here I am, a couple of days after realising I think I have a new boyfriend, constantly imbued with a sense of paranoia. Why does he seem to like me? He is SO hot (to me anyway), what does he see in me? I know I can be funny and interesting, but since when was that a reason to want to shag someone silly?
It is now that I realise what I "do wrong" in relationships. Clingy-ness starts to creep in. Doubt tip-toes around every corner. Worries and insecurities try to surface. I crave distractions to keep me away from excessive texting and emails. Suggestions anyone?
Monday, March 20, 2006
Compliments
Friday night saw me out again with the boy for whom I decided to discuss my vagina. Such a lovely and romantic evening, with a very delightful man. When I arrived, I was wearing new shoes (very gorgeous, but very new, and hence, a little uncomfortable still). I explained, that I walked from the tram stop to the restaurant, and was happy with the fact that my feet were not yet sore, but I was warning him, just in case I started whinging later. After mentioning my new shoes, he felt compelled to look at said shoes. Positive comments as to my shoes were extolled, followed by the comment, "You have such cute little feet!".
I will point out that my feet are not little, and are rarely described as cute. But I can hope that such a biased comment from him is a sign of even better things to come.
Friday night saw me out again with the boy for whom I decided to discuss my vagina. Such a lovely and romantic evening, with a very delightful man. When I arrived, I was wearing new shoes (very gorgeous, but very new, and hence, a little uncomfortable still). I explained, that I walked from the tram stop to the restaurant, and was happy with the fact that my feet were not yet sore, but I was warning him, just in case I started whinging later. After mentioning my new shoes, he felt compelled to look at said shoes. Positive comments as to my shoes were extolled, followed by the comment, "You have such cute little feet!".
I will point out that my feet are not little, and are rarely described as cute. But I can hope that such a biased comment from him is a sign of even better things to come.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
And now for some toilet humour...
I find toilets immensely interesting. I have oft thought that one could base the experiences of one's traveling according the toilets encountered.
The toilets that were available at Birkenau, were of the temporary variety, and made the latrine's for the unfortunate inmates look quite enticing. The smell emanating from the boxes was both curious and over-whelming. If it were not for the fact that the nearest public lavatories were miles away, one would definitely had held on for a bit longer.
Florence's main train station, Santa Maria Novella, is the hub for many trains passing through to Rome. As such, one would have expected the station to be the epitome of modernity, in both its layout and facilities. Sadly, no. I ventured to the toilet here, after a day trip to Pisa. The toilets on the trains are abominably bad, and I was determined to wait until on solid ground once more before partaking of a toilet facility. I found the toilets that were conveniently located on the platform, but was taken aback at what I was to use. Firstly I had to collect my requisite allotted amount of toilet paper before venturing further. I am curious to know who decided that two small squares of the thinnest possible paper is adequate for one's needs. When I confronted the toilet, it was to find that it was of the squat variety, but was made of porcelain (foot-treads in tact for your convenience), with a chain for the flushing. Since I was in Western Europe and not Asia, I had not brushed up on my squat toilet technique prior to traveling. Luckily, at the time, my thighs were sufficiently strong enough to cope with a short squat.
Years later when I ventured for the first time to Thailand, I was again confronted with a squat toilet at the Chatuchak market. On this occasion, I was prepared for the effort required to manoeuvre oneself carefully. I also was prepared for the fact that the "flush" mechanism was via a cup and bucket of water to one's left. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that there were no hooks on the rear of the door for my shopping. Being in Thailand and at their biggest market, I was understandably loaded with shopping. Putting my purchases on the floor, would of course would have been the most convenient next option, except that due to the nature of the flushing, the floor was most decidedly sopping wet - and I couldn't decide whether it was only due to water, or something a little more sinister. So, it was then that I performed what was a incredibly deft combination of yoga and pilates, to achieve my toileting needs, whilst holding aside my pants and, simultaneously, aloft my bags. Proudly I left that toilet with the knowledge that I had faced another travel challenge face-on - and won.
Closer to home, although the toilets do not provide any challenges in their use, they can provide entertainment. One workplace has installed a sanitary napkin facility, that is automated. Wave one's hand over the bin, and the lid opens and awaits your rubbish. A second wave and it returns safely in place. Admittedly, I have never used the bin, but have indeed waved my hand over it many times, watching with child-like fascination at the balletic movements of the lid.
Another workplace has an automated sprayer, which delivers a burst of scent at timed intervals during the day. Oddly, I find that it always seems to spray when I am in the toilet, and never fails to give me a shock.
I have been in toilets where the mirrors of the ladies toilet look directly through to the men's toilets. I have heard of doors of toilets that are clear until locked, and then become opaque. There are toilets with views, most readily coming to mind is the view from Level 35 at the Sofitel in Melbourne, which affords a spectacular view of the MCG and its surrounds.
But my most favourite of all toilets, are those with a plentiful supply of paper, and intriguing graffiti to read.
I find toilets immensely interesting. I have oft thought that one could base the experiences of one's traveling according the toilets encountered.
The toilets that were available at Birkenau, were of the temporary variety, and made the latrine's for the unfortunate inmates look quite enticing. The smell emanating from the boxes was both curious and over-whelming. If it were not for the fact that the nearest public lavatories were miles away, one would definitely had held on for a bit longer.
Florence's main train station, Santa Maria Novella, is the hub for many trains passing through to Rome. As such, one would have expected the station to be the epitome of modernity, in both its layout and facilities. Sadly, no. I ventured to the toilet here, after a day trip to Pisa. The toilets on the trains are abominably bad, and I was determined to wait until on solid ground once more before partaking of a toilet facility. I found the toilets that were conveniently located on the platform, but was taken aback at what I was to use. Firstly I had to collect my requisite allotted amount of toilet paper before venturing further. I am curious to know who decided that two small squares of the thinnest possible paper is adequate for one's needs. When I confronted the toilet, it was to find that it was of the squat variety, but was made of porcelain (foot-treads in tact for your convenience), with a chain for the flushing. Since I was in Western Europe and not Asia, I had not brushed up on my squat toilet technique prior to traveling. Luckily, at the time, my thighs were sufficiently strong enough to cope with a short squat.
Years later when I ventured for the first time to Thailand, I was again confronted with a squat toilet at the Chatuchak market. On this occasion, I was prepared for the effort required to manoeuvre oneself carefully. I also was prepared for the fact that the "flush" mechanism was via a cup and bucket of water to one's left. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that there were no hooks on the rear of the door for my shopping. Being in Thailand and at their biggest market, I was understandably loaded with shopping. Putting my purchases on the floor, would of course would have been the most convenient next option, except that due to the nature of the flushing, the floor was most decidedly sopping wet - and I couldn't decide whether it was only due to water, or something a little more sinister. So, it was then that I performed what was a incredibly deft combination of yoga and pilates, to achieve my toileting needs, whilst holding aside my pants and, simultaneously, aloft my bags. Proudly I left that toilet with the knowledge that I had faced another travel challenge face-on - and won.
Closer to home, although the toilets do not provide any challenges in their use, they can provide entertainment. One workplace has installed a sanitary napkin facility, that is automated. Wave one's hand over the bin, and the lid opens and awaits your rubbish. A second wave and it returns safely in place. Admittedly, I have never used the bin, but have indeed waved my hand over it many times, watching with child-like fascination at the balletic movements of the lid.
Another workplace has an automated sprayer, which delivers a burst of scent at timed intervals during the day. Oddly, I find that it always seems to spray when I am in the toilet, and never fails to give me a shock.
I have been in toilets where the mirrors of the ladies toilet look directly through to the men's toilets. I have heard of doors of toilets that are clear until locked, and then become opaque. There are toilets with views, most readily coming to mind is the view from Level 35 at the Sofitel in Melbourne, which affords a spectacular view of the MCG and its surrounds.
But my most favourite of all toilets, are those with a plentiful supply of paper, and intriguing graffiti to read.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Hand me a shovel for this hole I am digging...
I have had a big weekend - date wise. In the past four days I have had dates with four different men. And they were not all awful. The best date of them all happened on Sunday night, with a gentleman that I was meeting for the first time.
The thing about dating via the internet is that the first date is not the difficult one to get. That is the one where they actually meet you - but it is the second date that has proved somewhat out of reach to attain. All too often, the end of a date is noted by the infamous "I'll call you" line, which more often than not signals no further contact. The last couple of dates I have had, have ended with the gentleman already arranging the next date. So, I seem to be on an unprecedented run of good luck.
Last night, when I was on date number three of the weekend, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a very gorgeous gentleman. He admitted to some nerves about meeting me, which made him all the more endearing. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner and show (well, the local bums that collapsed outside the front restaurant window were certainly entertaining to us). We moved on from dinner to a local bar to partake in another couple of drinks.
The bar had a small seating area to one side, that was filled with comfortable couches, magenta walls and candle-lit ambiance. The archway into this alcove was painted a curious shade of blue, but the rest of the cavernous enclosure was slightly uterine in feeling. In my truly classy style, I commented that the area reminded me of a vagina. If that was not bad enough, I further went on to say "Although I hope that the entrance to my vagina isn't blue."
I believe he nearly choked on his beverage, but recovered nicely when he realised that I actually blushed at my own idiotic comment. To his credit, he thought it was cute. And has already asked me out again.
Coping with stupid things I say is definitely a bonus. Could be a keeper methinks.
I have had a big weekend - date wise. In the past four days I have had dates with four different men. And they were not all awful. The best date of them all happened on Sunday night, with a gentleman that I was meeting for the first time.
The thing about dating via the internet is that the first date is not the difficult one to get. That is the one where they actually meet you - but it is the second date that has proved somewhat out of reach to attain. All too often, the end of a date is noted by the infamous "I'll call you" line, which more often than not signals no further contact. The last couple of dates I have had, have ended with the gentleman already arranging the next date. So, I seem to be on an unprecedented run of good luck.
Last night, when I was on date number three of the weekend, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a very gorgeous gentleman. He admitted to some nerves about meeting me, which made him all the more endearing. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner and show (well, the local bums that collapsed outside the front restaurant window were certainly entertaining to us). We moved on from dinner to a local bar to partake in another couple of drinks.
The bar had a small seating area to one side, that was filled with comfortable couches, magenta walls and candle-lit ambiance. The archway into this alcove was painted a curious shade of blue, but the rest of the cavernous enclosure was slightly uterine in feeling. In my truly classy style, I commented that the area reminded me of a vagina. If that was not bad enough, I further went on to say "Although I hope that the entrance to my vagina isn't blue."
I believe he nearly choked on his beverage, but recovered nicely when he realised that I actually blushed at my own idiotic comment. To his credit, he thought it was cute. And has already asked me out again.
Coping with stupid things I say is definitely a bonus. Could be a keeper methinks.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Let me woo you with wondrous words
In what is becoming somewhat of a routine, BB and I went out on Friday night, to take in a show and some dinner. Despite regular dates every week for the last month or so, I am reticent to call it dating. As was pointed out to me the other day, in the past I have had "fuck buddies" for my sexual needs, it seems BB is a "dating buddy" for my social outing needs.
Anyway, BB and I went to see a small local theatre company perform. It was a short play about three guys and their tight-arse holiday adventures. It didn't thrill or inspire me - for some reason, live theatre rarely does. (As opposed to live opera which always excites me.)
As we left, BB and I discussed the performance, and our slight disappointment in its quality. It was then that BB made his profound statement of the evening. Apparently, I am "cursed", as everything he sees with me - he doesn't like all that much.
He is a charmer, yes?
In what is becoming somewhat of a routine, BB and I went out on Friday night, to take in a show and some dinner. Despite regular dates every week for the last month or so, I am reticent to call it dating. As was pointed out to me the other day, in the past I have had "fuck buddies" for my sexual needs, it seems BB is a "dating buddy" for my social outing needs.
Anyway, BB and I went to see a small local theatre company perform. It was a short play about three guys and their tight-arse holiday adventures. It didn't thrill or inspire me - for some reason, live theatre rarely does. (As opposed to live opera which always excites me.)
As we left, BB and I discussed the performance, and our slight disappointment in its quality. It was then that BB made his profound statement of the evening. Apparently, I am "cursed", as everything he sees with me - he doesn't like all that much.
He is a charmer, yes?
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
For those who just need to know... I didn't go to the engagement party. N and I spoke about it, and apparently, he didn't send me the email - she did, using his address. And she and he had already discussed everything that I had detailed in this blog - over a year ago.
I think I am the least of their worries.
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