You just can't take some people anywhere
I am about to relate a story that happened to Subtle and I on Tuesday night, and I will admit to actually being a little embarrassed by it. I don't get embarrassed as a general rule. Many have tried to embarrass me, and have failed. There are a few who have made me blush (yes, Subtle, you are one), and even those instances are very rare.

A little while ago, I decided that Subtle and I should go on a "date". You know, dress up, go somewhere really nice and have a nice dinner. Of course, in the interim, a few other events came up, and it ended up being another dinner in a week of glamorous and yummy dinners. But this was a dinner with just the two of us. So, sort of romantic. Sort of nice.

I picked out a restaurant that sounded fabulous, and made a booking. When we arrived on the night, the place was suitably busy and the decor and atmosphere drew me in straightaway. We were seated and began perusing the menu. Now, unfortunately for us, we were both quite hungry and had a later booking than I would have preferred. We immediately got down to business and ordered drinks and food. We were not sure as to the time frame that our meal would take, and as often happens in busy restaurants, were worried about some significant time.

We took a look to the table to my left and found that it was being exited by a large group of people. They had clearly had a banquet type of meal, the serving plates still there, and there was still untouched food on the platters. As they left, I looked at the untouched food (some dolmade type food if you must know) and looked at Subtle and salivated. I commented, "You know, it is just sitting there and noone would know if we snuck a bit of that completely untouched food!". To this Subtle responded with, "You know I am not going to stop you, and they are just going to throw it out!".

With logic like that, I was gone. I swooped into action, and deftly removed two darling dolmades and slipped then onto our plates. They were divine. The plan was complete, and we were up one little dolmade and I had saved the world from more wasted food.

Except.

Except as I had a piece of this delightful morsel half chewed in my mouth, our waiter took that exact moment to return to our table and enquire as to whether we had any dietary requirements the chef should be aware of. How does one not look sheepish and admit to no requirements? Clearly we are the worst sort of scabs stealing food from other tables!

The meal was wonderful and our waiters all in attendance appropriately. At the end of the night when the bill was presented, I added on a "generous" tip. Subtle spied the tip amount and commented, "Are you sure the service was worth that much?". Probably not, but my guilt comes at a high cost.

Fear and Moving in (not quite) Las Vegas

Excuse my tardiness of late - things are crazy busy at Chez Cath and Subtle. We have decided to move to different premises, and now will be moving within the next two weeks. So it is all crazy packing, and organising, and a bit more packing, and a few phone calls, repeat ad nauseum....

Subtle is accusing me of moving just so we don't have to continue using the cleaner I hired. It isn't that she was bad, so much that I don't think the idea of paying someone to clean is that I still have to come along and fix up the things that they sort of "missed". What makes it worse is that she is a really nice lady. Lucky for me, I just rang the agency and said, "Oh we are moving and we don't quite know what we are going to do at the new place yet [mumble mumble]".

The only good thing about the move (other than being hopefully able to chuck out some stuff that is well overdue), is the opportunity now of buying a new fridge. Yes, I am that sad. But it is shiny, super environmentally friendly and works!

But aside from all that, I have one thought going on in my head these days*. Subtle, god bless him, made a comment the other day about me. He said that I am scary. Although, he did also go on to say that all women, dating men, are scary. It seems that it is the duty of straight men to be scared of their partners. Is this true? Why? Is it fear for a Lorena Bobbit-type revenge if they should do something stupid? Is it based in a man's self-confidence? Or are men only scared of "their" woman if they actually care about them and the future of that relationship? I can tell you that I am sure that Bond was never scared of me, and I doubt that too many other men I have dated had fear constantly coursing through their veins. But is that because they were not in love with me? Anyway, interested on people's thoughts. Don't mind me, I will be off sharpening my knives.




*OK, I always have about a million of thoughts concurrently spinning around, but let us just concentrate on one for now.

Neighbours, Everybody needs good neighbours

I don't think I am what would call a bad neighbour. I am not really bad, in so far as you don't have to worry about me playing the stereo loud at 3am, or for trashing the place. But I don't seem to bond with my neighbours.

In no place I have ever lived in did I become pal-ly with the neighbours. It would be nice to have neighbours that would watch out for you, collect mail if you are away - that sort of thing. The closest I have ever gotten is when my ex-husband absented himself from my life, I decided to go and talk to the one neighbour we had, so she would know not to expect to see him around - and if she did, well, it was a bad thing. We had a lovely chat - really quite a nice lady. But then I moved, and I was back at square one.

Living in big apartment blocks is not necessarily conducive to becoming buddies with ones co-habitators, but I think it is really something to do with me. I try to say hello, or to deliver a welcoming nod in their direction. But rarely does it go well. The two sets of neighbours I did manage to meet and even converse with, quickly ended with them moving out about a month or two after meeting me.

It is only recently with Subtle now living with me that we may have happened upon on a reason that the neighbours don't talk to me.

Sex.

More specifically, noisy sex.

Of course, I am referring to a rather squeaky bed frame that I seem to own. But during an occasion of an intimate nature the other day, there began to be comments outside our bedroom window that may have been aimed at us. Or me. Not sure at this point.

I have often joked about some people who lived upstairs from N and I who had, what we called, "Nazi Sex". Their sexual routine involved the opening and closing of windows and blinds, a lot of "Heil" and then vigorous love-making noises. Oh, we laughed. But now I fear that I am the brunt of many jokes. Oh dear.

To make things a little more awkward, Subtle and I are moving to his parents house to house-sit for the next two weeks whilst they are on holidays. His father has already made some comment about "use the bed as you wish", when giving us the low-down on the house. Perhaps it would not be good for them to return from holidays to traumatised neighbours. His family lives in deepest, darkest Suburbia - perhaps a bit of traumatising them with squeaky bed is needed! Either that or the skinny dipping that Subtle has suggested.

Renovations and Projects

It seems there are many changes afoot in my life at the moment. Things are still good with Subtle. Very Good. It seems that my therapist loves him (albeit via my descriptions), and all my friends that have met him feel the need to make comment about how lovely he is. The only people who have as yet not commented on him are my parents.

Yes, he has met them. And I thought it went well.

So, I had to ring them the other day to tell them that Subtle is moving in. (Like how I slipped that in? Perseus is unimpressed, but so far, seems to be the only one to be vocal about it!) In my life, I have only lived with two other partners, so for me, this is a significant step. With some anxiety I announced that things were going very well, and that he would be making the step to move in soon. Their response was somewhat less that impressive. They didn't denounce him or me, but I was met with a simple, "Ok." I was perturbed by this. Not that I expect great protestations of joy, but maybe a "That's lovely dear - he seems like a nice fellow", would have been nice to hear.

No matter. We are putting plans in place - which mainly involves me culling out all of my (significant) crap in the house, so that we can squeeze in his things. When there is sufficient floor and cupboard space reclaimed, I believe he can make an official move.

The upshot of all of this is that he has been given projects. These projects include putting wireless in the house, and networking the printers and other such (dull) stuff. Giving him a project to do is only fair - since I seem to have a project as well. Like all women who meet a wonderful man, it is now necessary to make him into what we think he should be. My project is a Subtle Makeover. So, far it has involved some shoes with street smarts and good hair product. But there is more to be done.... and god it is fun!

I have reached a whole new level in my dating repertoire. It appears I have now moved on to dating cartoon characters. Not only was my date the other night named the same as a cartoon character, he also had the same career as his namesake.

Noone can make up the shit in my life. Noone!

Public Service Announcement!

In the interests of protecting other women, I am performing this public service announcement so that other women do not also suffer.

On Saturday night I had a date with a man. Yes, I know, that in itself should be cause for much joy and delight. But control yourselves. He is a "nice" man (death knell...) who seems genuine and sweet. He also was quite a gentleman and seems to like me. Sunday morning, as is the habit of men who are interested, he rang to see how I was, and also try and procure another date with me that day. But before he got to those details, being a nice person, I asked how he was. He replied, "I don't quite know how to put this." I waited, "Oh?". He continued, "I got home last night to find I had been burgled." Somehow when bad things happen to people when they are out with me, it feels like my fault. I reacted as one would expect, "Oh dear - are you ok?". And here is where things go bad. He replied, "Yes, it seems someone has come and stolen my heart."

Yes, he really said that.

And I used all my strength not to guffaw down the phone and tell him to stop being such a nob. Go me!

So this is to warn all women - there are men out there willing to use cheesy lines to secure your affections. In the words of one person to whom I related this story, "You can't speak to him ever again." People like this man cannot be allowed to spread this type of unimaginative dross around.

You have been warned!

Feedback....

I mentioned a while ago that I joined a dating agency in an attempt to meet eligible men. That proved oh-so-successful that I even joined a second one a month or so ago. The first agency was expensive and fancy looking, but despite all their promises, delivered me a whole pile of nothing. On joining the sales pitch included a "virtual guarantee" of meeting someone within six months, or they would give you another two months free.

Well, those six months came and went. And so did the two additional months. And yet, still I am single, having met a number of very dubious men. So the other day, the agency sent out their client feedback form. I have proven in the past that I am not particularly adept at insulting people in written form. But this time, I tried really hard. I provided feedback in all the categories that they asked for, and closed with the following statement,

I wish that I had not joined - spending money on a misguided process that has left me feeling quite dejected.

Of course, I haven't heard a thing from them since I sent the form back. I wonder if I would have got more of a response if I had not written so eloquently, and just wrote, "Fuck off you fucking fuckers!".

I am fine.

So howdy peoples... how have you been? You are looking lovely. Things in my little part of the world are going just find and dandy. Thanks for asking. No. Really. They are fine.

I sent a text message to a friend for their birthday (this is how truly lazy we have become - a text message is about the effort that we can pull out for a friend - 25 cents worth according to my last phone bill).... anyway..... and they responded with a thanks, and some concern over the tone of my last couple of blog entries. Hmmmm. I was actually feeling pretty good, comparatively, and yet I still elicit concern.

But no matter. All is good. Contact with fuckwit, ahem, I mean Bond, no hold on, I mean fuckwit, has been minimal. Shocked and amazed I am sure many of you are. But true story, minimal. Maybe five sms's a week - at most - and certainly no phone calls. A far cry from 20 a day and the rest. So yay for me I say. On occasion I still think of him with some fondness, and then I remember about the crap that he has said and amazingly, I can push thoughts of him aside again for a while.

I have met a reader recently - Mr Subtle. This is the third reader I have met through this blog (Occ and Kiki precede him), and it is always amazing meeting people who know so much about your life by what I have chosen to share on here. When people can quote back to you things that you have written, for example, asking what I should be called after my entry all about my name - it gets sort of surreal. A delightful evening ensued where I gave him shit and he teased and berated me. Although the clincher of the evening for me, was when discussing Bond, Mr Subtle declared, "I am amazed that you are still so sane". It seems he has been reading this little blog for about two years. He is now to be considered my friendly neighbourhood stalker!

Recently I spent an evening with some women at what is colloquially called "Stitch and Bitch". As has become a habit, one which I am determined to break, these women gather round and dig for details of my current sad dating life. They chortle at my expense, and muse over the state of modern dating dilemmas. All too readily have I offered stories of incompetent dating agencies, ludicrous men and quirky happenings. Once again after relating a story on the (seeming) hopelessness of my dating life, one lovely woman turned to me, and gently patted my hand. She sighed and said, "Well, maybe there just isn't anyone for you." Through gritted teeth I responded,, "I'd like to think that there is."

Now how good am I? I honestly felt like saying "WHAT THE FUCK???????". But, no, I remained calm and contemplative. And vowed from then on that maybe I wouldn't tell stories anymore. To her anyway. You lovelies get all my stories.

Oh, and there is a cute ranga in my Russian class. Woof!

Hearts and flowers? Not quite.

When one's birthday is so quickly followed by Valentine's Day, it can be depressing when one is single. Just one occasion after another in which to NOT receive presents or attentions from a special someone.

Actually, it has been years since I have had someone to acknowledge those occasions in my life. Whenever I have had boyfriends in the last few years, they tend to handily leave me before or after birthdays, Christmas and Valentine's. Leaving me solo for all these occasions and not on the receiving end of presents - which I like.

So this year, yet again I am bereft of cards overflowing my letterbox, and without flowers crowding my awaiting vases. Although throughout the day I did receive one text message of love. Yes. Yes I did.

Oh. You want to know who from.....?







My Mother. Yes. My Mother.





Depressing isn't it?

What is more depressing is that this is a regular thing for her. When I was about 14, and pining for a boy to love and adore, I received a Valentine's card. It was anonymous and quite sweet. I was so excited. Consider a young girl who is "smart" but not "pretty", feeling low, and getting a card which promised so much. And then consider a day or so later when her mother reveals that she actually sent the card.

I know in her mind, Mum probably thought it was a sweet and loving gesture. But from my point of view, it just was one more reminder of feeling not so pretty and always smart. The sort of girl the boys don't want.

Fast forward 20+ years, and this same "smart" and not "pretty" girl, recieves yet another message of love from noone but her mother. Oh yeah, that was a life-affirming moment. Oh well.



Oh, yeah, and I did get a well wishes for the day from Bond. That also went down a treat. Thank fuck that day is over again for another year.

Many happy returns of the day...

Yet another birthday passes me today, and I can't say that it has been particularly memorable. One card from my parents and a couple of text messages seems to be the sum total of well-wishes. Probably about the best that a middle aged single woman can expect these days!

I had two dates over the weekend with men from the dating agency. As a birthday treat, I suppose I had hoped that maybe one of them might be a suitable match. Unfortunately, Gent #1 seemed only able to talk about his three children, and Gent #2 thought I some sort of freak when I declared my dislike of attending weddings. He felt it a great honour to attend a wedding, whereas I find most are quite tedious. Bad food, bad music and atrocious speeches, plus the fact that invariably I know few people there except for the Bride and Groom, whom I will not see for the entire night. (Can you tell I have another wedding to go to this weekend? My third in six months!)

Strangely I thought Gent #2 was nice enough, but on meeting him, I realised why he was probably single - if one can pin-point a reason. Middle-aged, balding, primary school teacher, whose manner was decidedly gay. Of course, as one friend pointed out, if he was actually gay, he and I would have got on much better!

Dating updates...

Sorry it has been a while.... tap shows called for my more immediate attention. They were fabulous - thanks for asking by the way!

That aside, I also managed to have a date/meeting with a gentlemen from the dating agency. The meeting was relatively short, as is recommended for the first meeting, and he seemed possibly normal. Although, my ability to sense normal is clearly not to be trusted. We chatted about a few little things, but of course, I asked about his work. I may have hit the jackpot here if things progress. I knew he was in the medical profession before getting there - but it turns out that He is a psychiatrist! My very own therapist on tap!

A little announcement

I had a date last night. It was a result of a speed dating attempt, yet again. It didn't start well in that he insisted that I come to his side of town, to a place across the road from his apartment. Surely on a first meeting/date the concept of a location "halfway" is not unreasonable? Further, what happened to chivalry and the gentleman coming to me?

Sigh.

Anyway, we met for a drink. He drank Red Bull, I had Red Wine. He declared Global Warming is a lie and refuses to acknowledge his part in it - he has a fuel guzzling speed boat. He also declared that "all those Paki's" should learn to clean themselves up.

Oh, it was a charming night. But what I also thought strange, as I tried to extract myself at the close of the evening, are the little things that I am sure men must think are romantic. So by way of public service announcement, here goes, ahem....

NOTICE TO ANY BOYS I MAY DATE: Swirling your tongue round and round my ear canal is NOT sexy. Grabbing my hand and putting it firmly on your obviously aroused member, is also NOT sexy. Taking off your pants, pulling out your aroused member and beginning to stroke it whilst we are completely otherwise fully dressed, is not only NOT sexy, is NOT going to entice me to sleep with you.

End of Notice.