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.

Oh so happy to be home

Just in case you were wondering, I am fine and back in the country. My time in San Francisco was most enjoyable. I spent the days shopping and being a tourist and the nights eating at either fancy or highly recommended restaurants. At last I can say that there is good food to be found in the USA, but I just have to pay handsomely for it.

I purchased what I think amounts to nearly a new wardrobe. But who wouldn't when one has lost weight, and then throw into it the wacky US sizing system, which plunged my size down even further. Trust me, the ego got a good rub out of it.

The funniest things that I heard in San Francisco were from a tour bus operator and a homeless person. First example, when doing the "tourist thing" above a double decker open top bus, the guide was trying to engage the patrons by asking them where they were from. As is the case with people in these situations, everyone fell deathly quiet. To prompt everyone into action, our tour guide declared, "This isn't an existential bus trip. Everyone is from somewhere!"

Now I don't care if he uses that line every day for the next 10 years. It is piss-funny.

The second thing I heard that made me chortle was from a begging homeless man. There are an awful lot of beggars in San Francisco. More than I expected. And to stand out from the crowd, people have come up with their own spin on the begging game. Call me heartless if you will, but I don't give money to beggars. I would rather channel money into organisations that help people back on their feet, instead of giving them money directly. But I was so tempted to give one man money. He stood on the footpath proclaiming, "I am in need of some help here people. I need to get inebriated. They say honesty is the best policy, so I thought I would see how it works for me."

Champagne begging I tell you.

Otherwise, I was VERY happy to be coming home. No, I did not see Bond. We spoke on the phone a lot, but of course, true to form, he made allusions to seeing me, but it didn't happen. On landing back in Oz, we had a charming fight via phone where he called me a "psycho nut-bag".

I laughed. He hasn't seen psycho. Yet. *insert maniacal laughter here, and rubbing of hands*

'Tis been a long time...

Having not been overseas since the dramas of Bond from nearly two years ago, I am currently overseas, for my first of three trips this year. Unfortunately, I am in San Francisco, which is about 1 hour away from where fuckhead will be in a day's time. The therapist and I have discussed at length the issues of me "catching up with him". Yes, I know. You can all berate me, if we do catch up. But, I know that I need to see him, to maybe prove myself that I don't desire him anymore.

Fuck knows. Of course, I am horny as all get out and that certainly doesn't help.

Watch this space.



P.S. Otherwise - suggestions of things to do/places to go in the next few days...? (Yes, Alcatraz is on the list already.)

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!

Can this be over now?

Another wedding done and dusted on the weekend. Thankfully after trying, unsuccessfully, at many other functions, I finally succeeded in getting well and truly trollied at the wedding.

So much so that there was of course a drunken phone call to Bond. Made by a friend of mine. Oh, the aftermath of that call.

Well, dear and benevolent reader, we ended up on the phone together yesterday for a good hour. Just when I think no more can surprise me and frustrate me - he finds yet another level at which to stoop. A few salient details were clarified yesterday, which now put me in no doubt about where he and I are at. He would like us to be "friends". He also denies ever leading me on, despite me having the online conversations which dispute those claims of his.

Oh for FUCK's sake. Could my heart just listen to my brain on this matter once and for all? So what if he is the sexiest, smartest and most intriguing man you have ever met in your entire life! He is also a lying, cheating fuckwad living his little two-bit whorish life, and acting like he is the greatest thing to have crawled out of the primordial ooze.

I apparently read things into what he has said to me - ie it's all my fault. How would you interpret the words "I just want to see you", "When we are living together...", and the classic, "Wanna suck my thick hard cock"?

So just so we are clear on this.... he is a fuckwit ok?

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.

Unrequited Love

I was directed to watch a documentary some nights ago by R. It was on quite late, and probably wasn't made so recently to warrant a prime time slot. But it intrigued - so I watched. Ostensibly, it gave the impression that it could indeed be a documentary about myself. It was titled "Fag Hags: Women Who Love Gay Men".


But this was not about women who loved gay men. It was about a few women who were IN LOVE with gay men. I think it screams a lot of a case of pot calling the kettle and so on, but these were women with ISSUES! There was the woman who loved gay men so much that she started her own interest group, for fag hags to get together. There was the woman who married a gay man, after he was so scared of AIDS during the early days of the epidemic. There were so many women who seemed to be in love with these men to avoid forming relationships with available men.

I thought to myself, I am nothing like these women.

I have gay friends whom I love and adore. But not because they are gay. Simply because of who they are. Their sexual preference is of no consideration to my friendship with them, and certainly does not make them any more of an attractive option as a friend than any other person. Persons who are my friends, whom I love, are friends no matter where they put their pink bits.

Of course, where I am similar to these women is the fact that I seem to fall in love with unavailable men. And that DEFINITELY has something to do with them *not* being gay.