Knowing when to shut up
I often wish I knew how to shut up. I can feel myself saying things, and somewhere deep inside, a little voice is saying "STOP!!". But I carry on regardless, heeding noone. Maybe saying the things that didn't need to be said, or maybe just saying too much. Of course, I am also known for saying the unspeakable on occasion. And sometimes, it is funny.
But I was listening to a song on the radio the other day, and you know how every now and then a song will just leap out at you as being "right"? Well this one was. I think it captured a lot of what I went through with Bond and my need to divulge my emotions and thoughts. But for those of you who think I say everything - you may be surprised - even to those out there in bloggy land.
So.. here was the song...
I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
Or tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were but
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
Oh yeah, and Bond and I have been sms'ing. 'nuff said for now.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
When a dinner is not a date....
By way of the world of the internet, I wish Rob the most wonderful of birthdays ever! He passed "a significant number" over the weekend and he and I celebrated this event in style.
On Friday night, we both frocked up, and met at a divine restaurant in the city. I arrived before my dinner companion, and decided that the occasion called for some Pol Roger IMMEDIATELY. Upon looking around the establishment, I think I have found where Melbourne hides its hot men... but I digress. The waiter, indeed himself a vision of hotness, was quick to ask about the table for two and my "date". Now I love Rob to bits. But no self-respecting hag, out for dinner with her fag, is going to let some gorgeous man think that is a date when I am clearly THE MOST SINGLE WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE! I quickly corrected him with "oh, it is dinner - NOT a date!".
When Rob arrived, I related to him the story, and he concurred that never let a hot man be confused about your availability. And what a pair we must have looked. He was very suave, with new shoe and suit - looking dapper and ever the stylish young gay man about town. Me - looking striking in an ensemble of black (quelle surprise!), with fire-engine red lips and bust aplenty - and a few years on my young charge. Surely any intelligent person could spot gay man and fag hag at 20 paces?
We supped on a fine dinner and wonderful wine, and both attempted to flirt with the waiter - who, sadly, did not go home with either of us. 'Twas a wonderful evening - bravo young Rob!
Prior to the dinner engagement, I had remarked to Rob that any dates that I have had of late all seem to occur over coffee, or brunch. Either way, they occur during daylight hours. I must stress that this is not my most flattering time. For those who don't know me, and have a vivid imagination: I am raven-haired (with a streak of red for "interest"), enviable lips (think Angelina without the Botox look), pale complexion, and a penchant for heels. Meeting over a coffee during full daylight hours, I fear does not do me justice. My dinner with Rob enabled me to actually frock up to my full potential. But I beg of the men that may want to date me at any stage in the next millenia - give a girl a break and take me for dinner/drinks - anything that allows me to at least look my best - before you see the morning after disaster!
By way of the world of the internet, I wish Rob the most wonderful of birthdays ever! He passed "a significant number" over the weekend and he and I celebrated this event in style.
On Friday night, we both frocked up, and met at a divine restaurant in the city. I arrived before my dinner companion, and decided that the occasion called for some Pol Roger IMMEDIATELY. Upon looking around the establishment, I think I have found where Melbourne hides its hot men... but I digress. The waiter, indeed himself a vision of hotness, was quick to ask about the table for two and my "date". Now I love Rob to bits. But no self-respecting hag, out for dinner with her fag, is going to let some gorgeous man think that is a date when I am clearly THE MOST SINGLE WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE! I quickly corrected him with "oh, it is dinner - NOT a date!".
When Rob arrived, I related to him the story, and he concurred that never let a hot man be confused about your availability. And what a pair we must have looked. He was very suave, with new shoe and suit - looking dapper and ever the stylish young gay man about town. Me - looking striking in an ensemble of black (quelle surprise!), with fire-engine red lips and bust aplenty - and a few years on my young charge. Surely any intelligent person could spot gay man and fag hag at 20 paces?
We supped on a fine dinner and wonderful wine, and both attempted to flirt with the waiter - who, sadly, did not go home with either of us. 'Twas a wonderful evening - bravo young Rob!
Prior to the dinner engagement, I had remarked to Rob that any dates that I have had of late all seem to occur over coffee, or brunch. Either way, they occur during daylight hours. I must stress that this is not my most flattering time. For those who don't know me, and have a vivid imagination: I am raven-haired (with a streak of red for "interest"), enviable lips (think Angelina without the Botox look), pale complexion, and a penchant for heels. Meeting over a coffee during full daylight hours, I fear does not do me justice. My dinner with Rob enabled me to actually frock up to my full potential. But I beg of the men that may want to date me at any stage in the next millenia - give a girl a break and take me for dinner/drinks - anything that allows me to at least look my best - before you see the morning after disaster!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Fear of ..... Intimacy?
Over dinner this evening, I had to make an embarrassing admission to my dining companions. They were both shocked, and assured me that it was just a passing phase.
In what now seems like a lifetime ago, there was a time when my appetite for sex was incomparable. I was seemingly insatiable with both a voracious and uninhibited inclination. Although I desired relationships, I was also quite happy with passing fancies and whatever happened to be on offer. (OK, that makes me sound like a slut - think less slut, and more new-age confident woman.....)
But of late I am uninspired. I have no desire for sex for the sake of it. I am certainly not driven to go out and seek the "zipless fuck" - thank you Ms Jong. The other evening a girlfriend of mine recommended the "services" of a friend of hers. She assured me that he would not be happy until I was happy, and had as yet to disappoint. He and I have had drinks before, and he is a lovely fellow. I don't desire him for a relationship, but he is certainly an attractive man. Further, he has been sms'ing of late, desiring the opportunity to "catch up". And yet, I hesitate.
Do I hesitate because of lingering emotions for Bond? Am I cautious because of my therapist's reminders about looking for "what I really want", rather than taking a quick fix? Or worse still, do I hesitate because somewhere along the way, I have turned into a girl and want emotion along with sex? I fear the latter is the scarier reason of them all.
Dear God... I think I just want a cuddle!
Over dinner this evening, I had to make an embarrassing admission to my dining companions. They were both shocked, and assured me that it was just a passing phase.
In what now seems like a lifetime ago, there was a time when my appetite for sex was incomparable. I was seemingly insatiable with both a voracious and uninhibited inclination. Although I desired relationships, I was also quite happy with passing fancies and whatever happened to be on offer. (OK, that makes me sound like a slut - think less slut, and more new-age confident woman.....)
But of late I am uninspired. I have no desire for sex for the sake of it. I am certainly not driven to go out and seek the "zipless fuck" - thank you Ms Jong. The other evening a girlfriend of mine recommended the "services" of a friend of hers. She assured me that he would not be happy until I was happy, and had as yet to disappoint. He and I have had drinks before, and he is a lovely fellow. I don't desire him for a relationship, but he is certainly an attractive man. Further, he has been sms'ing of late, desiring the opportunity to "catch up". And yet, I hesitate.
Do I hesitate because of lingering emotions for Bond? Am I cautious because of my therapist's reminders about looking for "what I really want", rather than taking a quick fix? Or worse still, do I hesitate because somewhere along the way, I have turned into a girl and want emotion along with sex? I fear the latter is the scarier reason of them all.
Dear God... I think I just want a cuddle!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Age shall not weary them
I had opportunity over the weekend to visit my parents. The occasion for such a visit was my Mother's 60th Birthday - and a hoot and a holler it was destined to be.
Some months ago my Mother decided to start teasing me by saying that I would be 40 soon. I did try and point out that, firstly, 40 is still a good few years away, and secondly, that that would mean that she was the mother of a 40 year old - and perhaps that was a thought worth contemplating. Surprisingly, she laughed it off saying, "Well, that doesn't matter - I am old".
It is at this point that I should draw attention to the fact that my mother is a stage entertainer (singer/guitarist etc), and it is a well known fact that although Sean Connery might still get it on in his 70's and an aged Paul Newman might still set hearts a-racing - women do not get the same treatment in their senior years. A few years ago my mother asked me what age I thought she could pass for. At the time she was in her early 50's, and was a good looking 50-something. But she wanted to claim that she was mid-40's. I tried to tell her that wouldn't it be better to be considered a good looking 50-something year old, rather than a haggard mid-40 year old. I think my argument may have landed on deaf ears - rational thought has never necessarily been a strong suit in my family.
But, on Saturday night, she frocked up - looking fabulous - and was the belle of her ball. It seemed that she was truly ok with turning 60.
Cut to Sunday afternoon at the airport, over a cup of coffee before I was about to fly back home, she leaned in and said, "Now tell me honestly, do you think I should get a facelift?".
Oh yeah, she is fine with her age.
Postscript.... During the course of the weekend, my mother did exclaim that she wished I could be more lady-like. What the fuck?
I had opportunity over the weekend to visit my parents. The occasion for such a visit was my Mother's 60th Birthday - and a hoot and a holler it was destined to be.
Some months ago my Mother decided to start teasing me by saying that I would be 40 soon. I did try and point out that, firstly, 40 is still a good few years away, and secondly, that that would mean that she was the mother of a 40 year old - and perhaps that was a thought worth contemplating. Surprisingly, she laughed it off saying, "Well, that doesn't matter - I am old".
It is at this point that I should draw attention to the fact that my mother is a stage entertainer (singer/guitarist etc), and it is a well known fact that although Sean Connery might still get it on in his 70's and an aged Paul Newman might still set hearts a-racing - women do not get the same treatment in their senior years. A few years ago my mother asked me what age I thought she could pass for. At the time she was in her early 50's, and was a good looking 50-something. But she wanted to claim that she was mid-40's. I tried to tell her that wouldn't it be better to be considered a good looking 50-something year old, rather than a haggard mid-40 year old. I think my argument may have landed on deaf ears - rational thought has never necessarily been a strong suit in my family.
But, on Saturday night, she frocked up - looking fabulous - and was the belle of her ball. It seemed that she was truly ok with turning 60.
Cut to Sunday afternoon at the airport, over a cup of coffee before I was about to fly back home, she leaned in and said, "Now tell me honestly, do you think I should get a facelift?".
Oh yeah, she is fine with her age.
Postscript.... During the course of the weekend, my mother did exclaim that she wished I could be more lady-like. What the fuck?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
A holiday, with benefits!
I am currently in the throes of contemplating a holiday. Ted and I have a tendency to talk every weekday, via email mostly, sometimes text. Despite our disastrous attempted relationship, we still talk lots. I genuinely like him. And I think he feels the same way. But we both know that we aren't really good relationship material for each other.
But we like sex. And we like sex with each other. Quite a bit in fact.
So the other day, during one of our numerous daily emails, I bemoaned again the fact that I would like a holiday away somewhere, but don't want to travel solo again. He offered to be a travel companion, and of course, fuck buddy along the way. So we have started looking into options (actually he has - good boy that he is). And he asked me to work on our "travel rules". After some discussion, the rules that we have agreed on are;
(i) We can do what we like without expecting the other person to come along. EG if he wants to go to sporting games, he can - without a word from me.
(ii) We will generally spend some time together each day - be it dinner/drinks/sex.
(iii) If either of us picks up someone for an "interlude" of sorts - not a problem - but they cannot come back to our room - thereby leaving the other party bedless for the night.
(iv) If either of us picks up someone - you cannot then spend the rest of the holiday with the pickup, as Ted and I are on holidays together.
The more we talk about it, the more it sounds like a really great idea. There is no bad in this. A holiday away with someone I like - someone I can have a good time with - and no bitching or arguments - in theory.
Of course, I did discuss this idea with my therapist yesterday. She was bemused by it, but interestingly her reaction about it was why Ted and I obviously like each other, but clearly don't want to date. Go figure - I never said my life ever made sense.....
I am currently in the throes of contemplating a holiday. Ted and I have a tendency to talk every weekday, via email mostly, sometimes text. Despite our disastrous attempted relationship, we still talk lots. I genuinely like him. And I think he feels the same way. But we both know that we aren't really good relationship material for each other.
But we like sex. And we like sex with each other. Quite a bit in fact.
So the other day, during one of our numerous daily emails, I bemoaned again the fact that I would like a holiday away somewhere, but don't want to travel solo again. He offered to be a travel companion, and of course, fuck buddy along the way. So we have started looking into options (actually he has - good boy that he is). And he asked me to work on our "travel rules". After some discussion, the rules that we have agreed on are;
(i) We can do what we like without expecting the other person to come along. EG if he wants to go to sporting games, he can - without a word from me.
(ii) We will generally spend some time together each day - be it dinner/drinks/sex.
(iii) If either of us picks up someone for an "interlude" of sorts - not a problem - but they cannot come back to our room - thereby leaving the other party bedless for the night.
(iv) If either of us picks up someone - you cannot then spend the rest of the holiday with the pickup, as Ted and I are on holidays together.
The more we talk about it, the more it sounds like a really great idea. There is no bad in this. A holiday away with someone I like - someone I can have a good time with - and no bitching or arguments - in theory.
Of course, I did discuss this idea with my therapist yesterday. She was bemused by it, but interestingly her reaction about it was why Ted and I obviously like each other, but clearly don't want to date. Go figure - I never said my life ever made sense.....
Friday, May 04, 2007
It seems an age since I’ve seen you, Countdown as the weeks trickle into days
For those of you persistent enough to keep checking back - thanks! I can't even contemplate how I let things go so long between posts. Trust me, it isn't because I have been so swept off my feet with life or romance.
So when last we caught up with moi, I had just been on a speed dating event and had a match-up. Well, the gentleman of concern and I, did indeed meet for a date. It seems so obvious to me, but apparently no so obvious to men today, that a first date should be relatively short, well planned and be the best possible way to enhance your new dates personality. I met this fellow, after he begged off picking somewhere, for brunch. I love brunch. Frankly, I love it so much that I will happily eat out Saturday and Sunday, by myself, with a book and my coffee and will be not at all perturbed. Sharing my favourite meal of the week with someone is fraught with some hesitations for me. But share I did. As it turns out, this fellow doesn't drink coffee, and even remarked that he hates the smell of it on someone's breath. I had not one, but two, lattes. This was starting off well.
After a pleasant meal and exchange, he then says to me, "What now?". Honestly, I was thinking, well, the date was for brunch, and frankly, I am quite looking forward to doing some ironing....... But we plunged on regardless. The whole time, he did not offer one suggestion about what to do. So I had to make suggestion after suggestion. NGV Gallery? Why not? NGV Book Market? Great for me - apparently he doesn't read. Southbank markets? Sure. Finally after wondering the streets, it was a reasonable hour for a drink. And again, trusty Cath had to suggest somewhere. Thankfully I found a stellar spot, where it was declared that I was great. Finally, seven hours after the date began, we parted, with a kiss on the cheek, and an excited wish to see me again.
So, we planned another occasion to catch up. This time it was on ANZAC Day, with the plan set to be some sort of meal. He picked me up, and we drove to Albert Park, and proceeded a walk to St Kilda. It was lovely weather, and a pleasant walk along the waterfront. Lunch, again decided by me, was at a place where we could get a seat. Walking back to the car, it was decided that we would be catching up with some friends of his at the Belgian Beer Hall. At last, he made a plan of sorts! They were pleasant people and I had a nice time with them. An uneventful drive home after, left me wondering how I felt about him. He seemed nice and engaging, although I wished that he had some more balls......
Anyway, parked in front of my unit, he began to appear awkward. I thought, that this sudden change in demeanour is because of one of two things. Firstly, I thought, he is nervous, because he likes me and wants to kiss me. Or, secondly, he is nervous because he wants to dump me. So to ease his mind, I turned in my seat to face him directly, smiled and declared, "So, you are all nervous all of a sudden!". Clearly I set him at ease there and then! Rather inarticulately, he managed to mumble through the second of the options above, stating that "he didn't want a relationship". I would loved to have had the gumption to scream at him, "You were at a speed-dating evening to meet women - clearly you want a relationship. What you mean to say is that you don't want a relationship with ME!".
Thankfully, by this time, I had decided I didn't want to see him again either. So I cheerfully smiled and said thanks and got out of his car. By his reaction, he seemed surprised that I didn't break down in tears. Not quite sunshine.
So with much relief, I dashed towards my door, hugged the cat and laughed off another happily unsuccessful date.
For those of you persistent enough to keep checking back - thanks! I can't even contemplate how I let things go so long between posts. Trust me, it isn't because I have been so swept off my feet with life or romance.
So when last we caught up with moi, I had just been on a speed dating event and had a match-up. Well, the gentleman of concern and I, did indeed meet for a date. It seems so obvious to me, but apparently no so obvious to men today, that a first date should be relatively short, well planned and be the best possible way to enhance your new dates personality. I met this fellow, after he begged off picking somewhere, for brunch. I love brunch. Frankly, I love it so much that I will happily eat out Saturday and Sunday, by myself, with a book and my coffee and will be not at all perturbed. Sharing my favourite meal of the week with someone is fraught with some hesitations for me. But share I did. As it turns out, this fellow doesn't drink coffee, and even remarked that he hates the smell of it on someone's breath. I had not one, but two, lattes. This was starting off well.
After a pleasant meal and exchange, he then says to me, "What now?". Honestly, I was thinking, well, the date was for brunch, and frankly, I am quite looking forward to doing some ironing....... But we plunged on regardless. The whole time, he did not offer one suggestion about what to do. So I had to make suggestion after suggestion. NGV Gallery? Why not? NGV Book Market? Great for me - apparently he doesn't read. Southbank markets? Sure. Finally after wondering the streets, it was a reasonable hour for a drink. And again, trusty Cath had to suggest somewhere. Thankfully I found a stellar spot, where it was declared that I was great. Finally, seven hours after the date began, we parted, with a kiss on the cheek, and an excited wish to see me again.
So, we planned another occasion to catch up. This time it was on ANZAC Day, with the plan set to be some sort of meal. He picked me up, and we drove to Albert Park, and proceeded a walk to St Kilda. It was lovely weather, and a pleasant walk along the waterfront. Lunch, again decided by me, was at a place where we could get a seat. Walking back to the car, it was decided that we would be catching up with some friends of his at the Belgian Beer Hall. At last, he made a plan of sorts! They were pleasant people and I had a nice time with them. An uneventful drive home after, left me wondering how I felt about him. He seemed nice and engaging, although I wished that he had some more balls......
Anyway, parked in front of my unit, he began to appear awkward. I thought, that this sudden change in demeanour is because of one of two things. Firstly, I thought, he is nervous, because he likes me and wants to kiss me. Or, secondly, he is nervous because he wants to dump me. So to ease his mind, I turned in my seat to face him directly, smiled and declared, "So, you are all nervous all of a sudden!". Clearly I set him at ease there and then! Rather inarticulately, he managed to mumble through the second of the options above, stating that "he didn't want a relationship". I would loved to have had the gumption to scream at him, "You were at a speed-dating evening to meet women - clearly you want a relationship. What you mean to say is that you don't want a relationship with ME!".
Thankfully, by this time, I had decided I didn't want to see him again either. So I cheerfully smiled and said thanks and got out of his car. By his reaction, he seemed surprised that I didn't break down in tears. Not quite sunshine.
So with much relief, I dashed towards my door, hugged the cat and laughed off another happily unsuccessful date.
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