Oddly enough, my Mum *always* told me she was a virgin until marriage (like I really cared as a 7 year old anyway?), then after Dad and her split she revealed her and Dad had lived together (in sin) for a year before getting married. Mum had told my Nanna she was going to live with my father, and they discussed it and agreed not to tell my Pop - oh, the old-school days!
also oddly, she asked me to not have sex til I was 21. Is my Mum not the oddest woman in the world?
Alas I was never the madly rebellious teenager - I lost my virginity first year uni like most people I know.... although found out years later she thought I'd shagged a guy I dated in high school. I do remember coming home from that boyfriend's house, saying hi to Mum... walking upstairs to my room and staring, horrified, at my reflection
my v-necked top was on back to front
never knew if she'd noticed or not :D
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Tuesday 15 September 2009
Heterosexual: non practicing
RE facebook - I'm not quite sure if this is my religion or my relationship status?
Monday 15 June 2009
Post Morten
the slippery slope to blackout drunkenness and mortifying behaviour with co-worker all started on a sunny Friday afternoon. Work crew decided to picnic on the grass. Good in theory - bad in practice. Bad because I bought a bottle of wine from M&S and some cups, but everyone else was drinking beers. So I drank the entire bottle myself. naturally.
Then I was so drunk I decided a beer would be nice as well. Then someone had the silly idea of going to a bar often frequented by the wider work crew. I remember drinking a beer there too... and that's about the last I remember of the night.
so in between groaning and grabbing my sore head, I was faced with the horrid task of asking less-than-adorable-balding-coworker what had happened the night before.
I learned several things
- I had vomited outside the bar before getting a cab
- I had vomited on the carpet in my bedroom (this I vaguely remember) and he'd cleaned up after me
- we didn't shag
- but we did, in his words do 'boy and girl stuff'
mortified.
he wouldn't leave either... just kept lying there as if something was going to happen between us - tentatively stroking my back or patting my shoulder and not taking the absolute lack of reciprocal touching as a hint he should leave. I ended up telling him I was already late to make it to my friend's 30th and make her the pinacoladas I'd promised (this was actually true)
I was very nice. I told him what had happened the night before was a mistake, it shouldnt've have happened, and I was sorry
there a few thoughts with which to console myself:
- we didn't shag
- no other coworker has since come up to me in the office and remarked 'how drunk were you Friday night!' or 'nice projectile vomit!'
- balding-coworker was off on holidays for two weeks so I wouldn't have to see him for a while
but in the meantime I've grown angry. After all, he'd hit on me before and I'd said no, I wasn't interested in him. So here's a guy who I consider a good friend, who knows I don't fancy him, who has just watched me vomit - twice - then kisses me (and lord knows what else - ew!). This is surely;
a) gross
b) what's commonly known as 'taking advantage of a girl'
I haven't and won't tell my friends about what happened. I'm trying to forget it myself and it still disturbs me greatly. I am debating whether I need to face the unpleasant task of telling balding-coworker that if he breathes a word of it to anyone I'll castrate him. I actually doubt he'll tell anyone, but I have a massive phobia of office people gossiping about me - I've just copped it too much before and hate it with a passion.
I think I'll leave it and if he ever brings it up I'll have a go at him for taking advantage of me.
he is off the Christmas card list.
Then I was so drunk I decided a beer would be nice as well. Then someone had the silly idea of going to a bar often frequented by the wider work crew. I remember drinking a beer there too... and that's about the last I remember of the night.
so in between groaning and grabbing my sore head, I was faced with the horrid task of asking less-than-adorable-balding-coworker what had happened the night before.
I learned several things
- I had vomited outside the bar before getting a cab
- I had vomited on the carpet in my bedroom (this I vaguely remember) and he'd cleaned up after me
- we didn't shag
- but we did, in his words do 'boy and girl stuff'
mortified.
he wouldn't leave either... just kept lying there as if something was going to happen between us - tentatively stroking my back or patting my shoulder and not taking the absolute lack of reciprocal touching as a hint he should leave. I ended up telling him I was already late to make it to my friend's 30th and make her the pinacoladas I'd promised (this was actually true)
I was very nice. I told him what had happened the night before was a mistake, it shouldnt've have happened, and I was sorry
there a few thoughts with which to console myself:
- we didn't shag
- no other coworker has since come up to me in the office and remarked 'how drunk were you Friday night!' or 'nice projectile vomit!'
- balding-coworker was off on holidays for two weeks so I wouldn't have to see him for a while
but in the meantime I've grown angry. After all, he'd hit on me before and I'd said no, I wasn't interested in him. So here's a guy who I consider a good friend, who knows I don't fancy him, who has just watched me vomit - twice - then kisses me (and lord knows what else - ew!). This is surely;
a) gross
b) what's commonly known as 'taking advantage of a girl'
I haven't and won't tell my friends about what happened. I'm trying to forget it myself and it still disturbs me greatly. I am debating whether I need to face the unpleasant task of telling balding-coworker that if he breathes a word of it to anyone I'll castrate him. I actually doubt he'll tell anyone, but I have a massive phobia of office people gossiping about me - I've just copped it too much before and hate it with a passion.
I think I'll leave it and if he ever brings it up I'll have a go at him for taking advantage of me.
he is off the Christmas card list.
Thursday 11 June 2009
ugh.
I woke up severely hungover the other Saturday morning. Then I realised there was someone else in my bed ...but when I looked over I realised it was just my adorable-balding-workmate, and I vaguely remembered him cabbing me home the night before.
...but hang on... where were my pyjamas? I remembered wearing some the night before - but I had no recollection of them being removed.
oh crap. oh unholy, hungover-to-high-heavens crap.
...but hang on... where were my pyjamas? I remembered wearing some the night before - but I had no recollection of them being removed.
oh crap. oh unholy, hungover-to-high-heavens crap.
Thursday 21 May 2009
funny friends
you need friends like this who will throw any old random content into the email trail. gold.
Our cleaner left a note saying we have run out of Pronto. I don't know what Pronto is. Google suggests that it's a brand of South African condoms. Anyone else know?
Our cleaner left a note saying we have run out of Pronto. I don't know what Pronto is. Google suggests that it's a brand of South African condoms. Anyone else know?
Wednesday 29 April 2009
About a Boy
so about that boy...
well, not to ruin the climax of this love story... but he's ancient history now I'm afraid.
But joyously enough, he has raised the bar for men and dating etiquette everywhere (like that was difficult given my last few suitors!) but he has raised it high - higher than I can jump high (PS this white girl can jump)
The boy was lovely. I had strict instructions to marry him from several of my friends. His courtship (to use an antiquated but entirely appropriate word) was flawless. Genuinely, beautifully, enjoyably flawless.
But I broke up with him anyway. The magic just wasn't there, and I had trouble articulating that to friends, and dreaded having to try and explain it to him, but as one friend so succinctly put it:
I'm just not that into him.
...and no, I didn't tell him that!
Anyways, in the beginning... he was a guy I met through mysinglefriend.com. Many messages were exchanged, he was attentive and asked questions about what I'd told him about myself, messaged back quickly - used far too many explanation points - but was otherwise lovely. Bit iffy that worked in a computer-related industry, given my past horrible experiences with any IT guys... but hey. Our first date was at a member's bar so trendy it's of the unlabeled-black-door variety. He arrived a bit late and started off a little nervous and flustered, but after our 3rd or so cocktail he calmed down and we had a great night, chatting and drinking until 2:30am that morning. No good night kiss as there were two drivers standing there waiting to take us home. All in all a very posh London outing - and he was kind enough to insist on paying the bill - which after over 8 hours of constant cocktail consumption, would have been horrendous. He seemed chuffed when I said he'd have to let me get it next time - I said it not realising it let him know I wanted to see him again.
I of course assumed he'd want to see me. I'm good like that :)
Second date he planned a nice Sunday lunch at Oxo after his first choice was all booked out. Boy could organise. I'd told my darling-friend-and-flatmate some time ago that if I met a boy who could make a decision I'd marry him. Guess I lied about that. Lunch, wine (he insists on paying again) and then many more cocktails later it was 9:30pm and time to go home - cue a bit of a goodbye kiss at the train station and I just wasn't sure I like-liked him. He was hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but my gut didn't plummet at the sight of him, and I didn't feel the urge to stare at him much. Not fussy much, am I?
So I'd all but made up my mind to ask for his friendship - which, cliches aside, I genuinely wanted, as we got along fantastically well and time seemed to fly past when we were together. But then it was the Friday before Valentine's (on the Saturday) he was away training with the territorial army all weekend, and a dozen long stemmed red roses arrived at my office. The card has nothing but a decadent recipe for a chocolate cocktail. Did I mention his job involves a certain level of marketing? Cute. Very cute.
This was when my friends first started lobbying for our marriage. Much reply-to-all emailing ensued debating the pros and cons of pulling out "the friendship speech" on our third date. Darling-friend-and-flatmate convinced me not to with a clever shoe-shopping analogy - she reasoned that as she'd gone to visit shoes more than three times before deciding whether or not to buy them, I should at least give this guy a few more visits before making a final decision.
genius.
So third date. Dinner at his house. Getting cooked for is one of my favourite things in the world - hence the daydream of a toyboy that can cook - 3 course meal, lovely. Making out on the couch, also lovely. Despite his kindly offer to let me spend the night at his house, I declined and went home feeling deliciously prudish - having been deviously un-prudish enough to let him get as far as discovering that I was wearing holdups under my dress. tee hee hee.
...so I won't enthrall you with a blow by blow (no dirty pun intended) account of our two and a half month relationship... we continued to date, he continued to cook for me, be lovely, and treat me like a Queen. He was neither inattentive nor clingy... even the sex was great (glorious regular sex, how I'd missed thee!)
When I'd chattered on about how I was getting a bit stressed with work and thought I should take myself away for the 4 day break over Easter he tentatively suggested we go away together somewhere. Naturally I freaked out and stuttered then changed the subject, but was calmed down later by darling-friend-and-flatmate acting very nonplussed at this breaking news, and telling me simply that there was no reason we shouldn't go away together.
So it was off to Spain we went.
Never take a British man to the beach. I've learned that much. Having grown up and around (and dated) surfers with tanned toned bodies clad in deliciously loosely slung boardshorts, nothing else will compare. I'm sorry. I'm racist. yes. Don't care. I'll rarely care or make demands on what a boy wears around me, but when he went to walk to the beach in sports shorts and lace up casual leather shoes and socks, I couldn't help but blurt out the classically tactless "you're not wearing that are you?" It wasn't so much the lack of suitable beach attire that was the beginning of the end (not that shallow - give me some credit!) it was his response. He sulked. It wasn't the only time he sulked that weekend. so. not. hot.
I'd gotten away for a chilled out weekend and the boy I was with was not as laid back as I'd assumed. Stressing out over maps of dodgy tourist things when you're in a foreign country, in no rush, with nowhere to be and nothing better to do than get lost just isn't cool.
So I started to doubt we were meant to be. And the doubt began to gnaw at me.
By the time we'd returned from holiday I was coming down with the flu and I was stressed - I'd decided I had to break it off. Wednesday night, after work, somehow. Tuesday night I check my phone after the gym and there's a text from him, asking how I'm feeling, hoping I'm feeling better, and offering to come over to my place and cook me a wholesome dinner.
could the bastard make it any harder to break up with him?
so I suggest we catch up for a coffee after work instead. He messages back
"ooh, coffee, that doesn't bode well!"
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. The next morning I see how facebook status set to "he couldn't sleep" I feel terrible. Later I receive an email telling me he could tell something wasn't right on holidays and asking me to just tell him what's up. I feel relieved. We hash out the problems with our relationship via email over the course of the morning and I make my pitch for friendship...
it feels a bit wrong to paste his email in here, but I think it's a rather poetic ending - and I think it's glorious that he's still lovely - even when being broken up with:
it turns out that i care for you quite a lot and that what i really think is there's a strong chance that you're making a mistake about us.
And i also think you're awesome and lovely and sweet and smart and you make me laugh and you challenge me! But i don't think we can be friends.
well, not to ruin the climax of this love story... but he's ancient history now I'm afraid.
But joyously enough, he has raised the bar for men and dating etiquette everywhere (like that was difficult given my last few suitors!) but he has raised it high - higher than I can jump high (PS this white girl can jump)
The boy was lovely. I had strict instructions to marry him from several of my friends. His courtship (to use an antiquated but entirely appropriate word) was flawless. Genuinely, beautifully, enjoyably flawless.
But I broke up with him anyway. The magic just wasn't there, and I had trouble articulating that to friends, and dreaded having to try and explain it to him, but as one friend so succinctly put it:
I'm just not that into him.
...and no, I didn't tell him that!
Anyways, in the beginning... he was a guy I met through mysinglefriend.com. Many messages were exchanged, he was attentive and asked questions about what I'd told him about myself, messaged back quickly - used far too many explanation points - but was otherwise lovely. Bit iffy that worked in a computer-related industry, given my past horrible experiences with any IT guys... but hey. Our first date was at a member's bar so trendy it's of the unlabeled-black-door variety. He arrived a bit late and started off a little nervous and flustered, but after our 3rd or so cocktail he calmed down and we had a great night, chatting and drinking until 2:30am that morning. No good night kiss as there were two drivers standing there waiting to take us home. All in all a very posh London outing - and he was kind enough to insist on paying the bill - which after over 8 hours of constant cocktail consumption, would have been horrendous. He seemed chuffed when I said he'd have to let me get it next time - I said it not realising it let him know I wanted to see him again.
I of course assumed he'd want to see me. I'm good like that :)
Second date he planned a nice Sunday lunch at Oxo after his first choice was all booked out. Boy could organise. I'd told my darling-friend-and-flatmate some time ago that if I met a boy who could make a decision I'd marry him. Guess I lied about that. Lunch, wine (he insists on paying again) and then many more cocktails later it was 9:30pm and time to go home - cue a bit of a goodbye kiss at the train station and I just wasn't sure I like-liked him. He was hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but my gut didn't plummet at the sight of him, and I didn't feel the urge to stare at him much. Not fussy much, am I?
So I'd all but made up my mind to ask for his friendship - which, cliches aside, I genuinely wanted, as we got along fantastically well and time seemed to fly past when we were together. But then it was the Friday before Valentine's (on the Saturday) he was away training with the territorial army all weekend, and a dozen long stemmed red roses arrived at my office. The card has nothing but a decadent recipe for a chocolate cocktail. Did I mention his job involves a certain level of marketing? Cute. Very cute.
This was when my friends first started lobbying for our marriage. Much reply-to-all emailing ensued debating the pros and cons of pulling out "the friendship speech" on our third date. Darling-friend-and-flatmate convinced me not to with a clever shoe-shopping analogy - she reasoned that as she'd gone to visit shoes more than three times before deciding whether or not to buy them, I should at least give this guy a few more visits before making a final decision.
genius.
So third date. Dinner at his house. Getting cooked for is one of my favourite things in the world - hence the daydream of a toyboy that can cook - 3 course meal, lovely. Making out on the couch, also lovely. Despite his kindly offer to let me spend the night at his house, I declined and went home feeling deliciously prudish - having been deviously un-prudish enough to let him get as far as discovering that I was wearing holdups under my dress. tee hee hee.
...so I won't enthrall you with a blow by blow (no dirty pun intended) account of our two and a half month relationship... we continued to date, he continued to cook for me, be lovely, and treat me like a Queen. He was neither inattentive nor clingy... even the sex was great (glorious regular sex, how I'd missed thee!)
When I'd chattered on about how I was getting a bit stressed with work and thought I should take myself away for the 4 day break over Easter he tentatively suggested we go away together somewhere. Naturally I freaked out and stuttered then changed the subject, but was calmed down later by darling-friend-and-flatmate acting very nonplussed at this breaking news, and telling me simply that there was no reason we shouldn't go away together.
So it was off to Spain we went.
Never take a British man to the beach. I've learned that much. Having grown up and around (and dated) surfers with tanned toned bodies clad in deliciously loosely slung boardshorts, nothing else will compare. I'm sorry. I'm racist. yes. Don't care. I'll rarely care or make demands on what a boy wears around me, but when he went to walk to the beach in sports shorts and lace up casual leather shoes and socks, I couldn't help but blurt out the classically tactless "you're not wearing that are you?" It wasn't so much the lack of suitable beach attire that was the beginning of the end (not that shallow - give me some credit!) it was his response. He sulked. It wasn't the only time he sulked that weekend. so. not. hot.
I'd gotten away for a chilled out weekend and the boy I was with was not as laid back as I'd assumed. Stressing out over maps of dodgy tourist things when you're in a foreign country, in no rush, with nowhere to be and nothing better to do than get lost just isn't cool.
So I started to doubt we were meant to be. And the doubt began to gnaw at me.
By the time we'd returned from holiday I was coming down with the flu and I was stressed - I'd decided I had to break it off. Wednesday night, after work, somehow. Tuesday night I check my phone after the gym and there's a text from him, asking how I'm feeling, hoping I'm feeling better, and offering to come over to my place and cook me a wholesome dinner.
could the bastard make it any harder to break up with him?
so I suggest we catch up for a coffee after work instead. He messages back
"ooh, coffee, that doesn't bode well!"
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. The next morning I see how facebook status set to "he couldn't sleep" I feel terrible. Later I receive an email telling me he could tell something wasn't right on holidays and asking me to just tell him what's up. I feel relieved. We hash out the problems with our relationship via email over the course of the morning and I make my pitch for friendship...
it feels a bit wrong to paste his email in here, but I think it's a rather poetic ending - and I think it's glorious that he's still lovely - even when being broken up with:
it turns out that i care for you quite a lot and that what i really think is there's a strong chance that you're making a mistake about us.
And i also think you're awesome and lovely and sweet and smart and you make me laugh and you challenge me! But i don't think we can be friends.
Tuesday 7 April 2009
Death to Gatwick Airport Security
I got up at 3am this morning, got to the airport, got through to the security scanner, and the wanker made me change the clear liquids bag I *always* travel with to a little plastic bag. So I go back out and get one, jam all my cosmetics in it with much difficulty, having traveled with a record amount... and then when I have to pass back through security I find out that my boarding pass can't be scanned a second time
did I mention I was running late? So this guy gets his boss, I tell him boss that numnuts over at the scanner didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to come back through, and I cop the cliche of 'look, there's no need for that language, you're on thin ice already..'
ARGH!
if I wasn't running late I'd have laid into him in as evil and scathing way as I could've.
So I go get another boarding pass... then bloody well beep as I get through the security bit... so I'm running late, taking my boots off, and getting felt up by female security (I've had better)
and at Gatwick you get to take your shoes off a second time for 'random shoe scans'
grrrr.
and *then* as I'm literally boarding the plane my mobile rings and it's the car hire company telling me they've arrived to pick me up and are waiting outside my flat- a car booking I canceled a week ago.
brilliant.
did I mention I was running late? So this guy gets his boss, I tell him boss that numnuts over at the scanner didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to come back through, and I cop the cliche of 'look, there's no need for that language, you're on thin ice already..'
ARGH!
if I wasn't running late I'd have laid into him in as evil and scathing way as I could've.
So I go get another boarding pass... then bloody well beep as I get through the security bit... so I'm running late, taking my boots off, and getting felt up by female security (I've had better)
and at Gatwick you get to take your shoes off a second time for 'random shoe scans'
grrrr.
and *then* as I'm literally boarding the plane my mobile rings and it's the car hire company telling me they've arrived to pick me up and are waiting outside my flat- a car booking I canceled a week ago.
brilliant.
Wednesday 1 April 2009
G20 Summit in the City
Hot town, summit in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
...so it's not until I'm already on the tube this morning that I realise I'm holding only my handbag - I've managed to waltz out my flat without my neatly packed overnight bag (sleeping over at the boy's flat tonight)
So I hop off at the next stop, walk home (which isn't too far) and log in remotely to my work computer and message my boss to let him know that due to the G20 summit and the associated protests I plan to work from home til lunchtime, just incase.
genius.
turned up to work earlier than planned when my slow internet connection conquered my patience - overnight bag firmly in hand :)
Turned out to be much ado about nothing - despite widely circulated warning emails to dress down, in no way resemble a banker, don't dare forget your security pass... there was no one round the London Bridge anyways... it was rather pleasantly empty. Still, it provided a very handy excuse for turning up late to work. love it.
Monday 30 March 2009
14 minutes
I've had a major dilemma
The first time I went to a solarium was 3 weeks ago. The nice girl convinced me not to go in for too long, so I stood there for 8 minutes in the big cylindrical solarium machine wondering if the damn thing was on and feeling like a fool. I hopped out at the end of it and asked her if it was supposed to light up or anything, cos although I'd never been to one in my life, the ones I'd usually seen in pictures glowed blue. She assured me that these machines didn't really light up much.
I trusted her. That was my first mistake.
So on Saturday I go back - to the same solarium - for the second solarium visit in my life. Seeing as I'd seen no visible effects from my previous 8 minute visit, I just asked what the longest I could stay in was, and booked a 14min slot. So I hit the button and climb into the machine and it's lit up all blue. Last time it didn't light up blue.
so I knew it definitely hadn't turned on properly that first time. I'd stood there for 8 minutes in a tiny little cylinder and achieved nothing. how embarrassment.
so I just stayed there for the 14min, and when I hopped out I explained to the girl how it definitely didn't work last time, and she apologised and credited my account with the 8min
if the damn machine had worked when I was in there for 8 min the first time, I would've got a little burnt and realised 8min was fine, if not a little too much. Instead, I had logically assumed it wasn't enough and knowing nothing about solariums, went the full amount. I went in at 4pm Saturday, but about 8pm I was glowing red. All over. fried. Yesterday I didn't even leave the house. I look ridiculous. Today I am working from home.
Not to mention the pain. I have sunburnt underarms. I have almost certainly done permanent damage to my skin
The sucky thing is, it's not really my fault cos I knew nothing about solariums and had no way of knowing this would happen. It's not totally the girl's fault that the machine didn't work the first time - though she should've not been so casual about saying the tubes didn't light up much - there's a very distinct blue glow... and she sure as hell should've stopped me booking 14min. I rang them yesterday but she wasn't working.
bring on my next skin cancer :(
My flatmates have done a tremendous job of not laughing at me every time they see me. When I woke up this morning I had to take several deep breaths before braving a look in the mirror - I think I am past the worst of it, but I'm still very much the incredible red woman. Just call me Radioactive Girl. I had to explain to the boy last night that no, I couldn't come out and meet him and his friends at the pub as planned because I was stupidly burnt and unable to put proper clothing on, let alone face a shocked and bemused public.
My inner toyboy is mortified. I have always always hated solariums because back when I was your typically bronzed Aussie, I would get accused of using them all the time and smugly reply that no, I'd never gone to one in my life. Now when I finally face up to the office my skin will be a completely different colour (hopefully tan) and I may have to admit my girly indulgence to everyone.
dammit!
The first time I went to a solarium was 3 weeks ago. The nice girl convinced me not to go in for too long, so I stood there for 8 minutes in the big cylindrical solarium machine wondering if the damn thing was on and feeling like a fool. I hopped out at the end of it and asked her if it was supposed to light up or anything, cos although I'd never been to one in my life, the ones I'd usually seen in pictures glowed blue. She assured me that these machines didn't really light up much.
I trusted her. That was my first mistake.
So on Saturday I go back - to the same solarium - for the second solarium visit in my life. Seeing as I'd seen no visible effects from my previous 8 minute visit, I just asked what the longest I could stay in was, and booked a 14min slot. So I hit the button and climb into the machine and it's lit up all blue. Last time it didn't light up blue.
so I knew it definitely hadn't turned on properly that first time. I'd stood there for 8 minutes in a tiny little cylinder and achieved nothing. how embarrassment.
so I just stayed there for the 14min, and when I hopped out I explained to the girl how it definitely didn't work last time, and she apologised and credited my account with the 8min
if the damn machine had worked when I was in there for 8 min the first time, I would've got a little burnt and realised 8min was fine, if not a little too much. Instead, I had logically assumed it wasn't enough and knowing nothing about solariums, went the full amount. I went in at 4pm Saturday, but about 8pm I was glowing red. All over. fried. Yesterday I didn't even leave the house. I look ridiculous. Today I am working from home.
Not to mention the pain. I have sunburnt underarms. I have almost certainly done permanent damage to my skin
The sucky thing is, it's not really my fault cos I knew nothing about solariums and had no way of knowing this would happen. It's not totally the girl's fault that the machine didn't work the first time - though she should've not been so casual about saying the tubes didn't light up much - there's a very distinct blue glow... and she sure as hell should've stopped me booking 14min. I rang them yesterday but she wasn't working.
bring on my next skin cancer :(
My flatmates have done a tremendous job of not laughing at me every time they see me. When I woke up this morning I had to take several deep breaths before braving a look in the mirror - I think I am past the worst of it, but I'm still very much the incredible red woman. Just call me Radioactive Girl. I had to explain to the boy last night that no, I couldn't come out and meet him and his friends at the pub as planned because I was stupidly burnt and unable to put proper clothing on, let alone face a shocked and bemused public.
My inner toyboy is mortified. I have always always hated solariums because back when I was your typically bronzed Aussie, I would get accused of using them all the time and smugly reply that no, I'd never gone to one in my life. Now when I finally face up to the office my skin will be a completely different colour (hopefully tan) and I may have to admit my girly indulgence to everyone.
dammit!
Sunday 29 March 2009
An Interesting Two Months
been a while since I last posted some mundane gossip from my extra-ordinary little life.
I'd like to pretend that my fan base has been hounding me for updates - but I haven't given my Mum the address of this blog, so for the time begin my fan base remains... well... non existent.
but that hasn't stopped me crapping on before and it ain't gonna stop me now!
So to follow on from my last post, me and the adorable-balding-workmate have become fast friends - hanging out at lunch with our normal crew but often falling into cosy funny conversation, and exchanging stupid banter via email whenever bored. He and the other boys were invited out to school disco with me and the girls, and he managed to fit in a few other parties that night and turn up late. We'd had cocktails at mine beforehand so I was massively high-on-my-own-supply by the time I got there. Drunkety drunk drunk. For me the whole night passed in a whirl of dancing, giggles, and posing for photos that I was later mortified to discover on my camera. According to a couple of girls, adorable-balding-workmate never left my side. We were dancing together and someone thought they saw us kiss. Cue darling-friend-and-flatmate hurtling over my way and all but crash-tackling me to the floor. I was dragged away on the none-to-subtle pretense of "I reeeally need to talk to you". I remember that bit. She then asked if we kissed and I assured her we hadn't and continued merrily twirling my way round the dance floor. Sometime later on in the night he did try to kiss me... or something to that effect, I've forgotten the detail, but I remember telling him we had to step outside and have a talk. So I told him I didn't screw the crew, he was a mate, and it just wasn't right. He accused me of leading him on.
[short note - I have a strange, unjustified, pathological fear of ever doing this to any bloke so it was odd to be accused of it.]
I told him I'd suspected he fancied me, and I was flattered cos I thought he was great, but all I had was a suspicion, hardly enough to go and talk to him about it. I asked what I should've done - really, was my only alternative to not be his friend?
and... oddest thing of all... I had a teary. I am not usually an emotional drunk. Aggressive - yes, tearful, no. I guess he got lucky in that respect.
At least it made him feel bad - which he deserved after wrongly accusing me of leading him on. And I jumped in a black cab and that was the end of the night. Come Monday morning there was an email from him with just one word
"friends?"
I replied "of course" and things have been cool ever since. phew.
one other big thing though... whilst explaining why I couldn't date him, was also the fact that - set your faces to stun - I have being seeing someone. Yup, the same boy. regularly. Two months now. He's the first guy I've had 5 or more dates with in the last year... a terrible statistic to admit! He is only a month away from becoming the 3rd guy in my life to break the 3 month mark (the other two having lasted 4 and 2 years, which is also my excuse for not having dated much, although it becomes less relevant as I get older)
more on him later...
I'd like to pretend that my fan base has been hounding me for updates - but I haven't given my Mum the address of this blog, so for the time begin my fan base remains... well... non existent.
but that hasn't stopped me crapping on before and it ain't gonna stop me now!
So to follow on from my last post, me and the adorable-balding-workmate have become fast friends - hanging out at lunch with our normal crew but often falling into cosy funny conversation, and exchanging stupid banter via email whenever bored. He and the other boys were invited out to school disco with me and the girls, and he managed to fit in a few other parties that night and turn up late. We'd had cocktails at mine beforehand so I was massively high-on-my-own-supply by the time I got there. Drunkety drunk drunk. For me the whole night passed in a whirl of dancing, giggles, and posing for photos that I was later mortified to discover on my camera. According to a couple of girls, adorable-balding-workmate never left my side. We were dancing together and someone thought they saw us kiss. Cue darling-friend-and-flatmate hurtling over my way and all but crash-tackling me to the floor. I was dragged away on the none-to-subtle pretense of "I reeeally need to talk to you". I remember that bit. She then asked if we kissed and I assured her we hadn't and continued merrily twirling my way round the dance floor. Sometime later on in the night he did try to kiss me... or something to that effect, I've forgotten the detail, but I remember telling him we had to step outside and have a talk. So I told him I didn't screw the crew, he was a mate, and it just wasn't right. He accused me of leading him on.
[short note - I have a strange, unjustified, pathological fear of ever doing this to any bloke so it was odd to be accused of it.]
I told him I'd suspected he fancied me, and I was flattered cos I thought he was great, but all I had was a suspicion, hardly enough to go and talk to him about it. I asked what I should've done - really, was my only alternative to not be his friend?
and... oddest thing of all... I had a teary. I am not usually an emotional drunk. Aggressive - yes, tearful, no. I guess he got lucky in that respect.
At least it made him feel bad - which he deserved after wrongly accusing me of leading him on. And I jumped in a black cab and that was the end of the night. Come Monday morning there was an email from him with just one word
"friends?"
I replied "of course" and things have been cool ever since. phew.
one other big thing though... whilst explaining why I couldn't date him, was also the fact that - set your faces to stun - I have being seeing someone. Yup, the same boy. regularly. Two months now. He's the first guy I've had 5 or more dates with in the last year... a terrible statistic to admit! He is only a month away from becoming the 3rd guy in my life to break the 3 month mark (the other two having lasted 4 and 2 years, which is also my excuse for not having dated much, although it becomes less relevant as I get older)
more on him later...
Wednesday 28 January 2009
Disturbia
it happened a few weeks ago
I was out for a friend's birthday. It was a friend who used to work at our office, so naturally a small crew from the office were there - all friends of mine. There's one friend in particular who is possibly the funniest person in the world. and male. ever so vaguely male.
you see now I'm just being mean... he's lovely... but he's hardly the type I'd go for - no broad shoulders, deep voice, extroverted behaviour... or any of the other alpha-male tendencies to which I'm usually attracted
He's very short, quite bald, has crooked teeth I think... and more than likely has back hair due to his Greek heritage.
but he's the funniest man in the world
the most clever, quickest, driest wit you've ever experienced
I have a weakness for that. I know because I dated it last year - a friend's flatmate - hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but hardly a shining beacon of masculinity... he was another IT geek and very very funny. Me and my friend both agreed he liked me but I never thought he'd ever make a move and I was somewhat thrown by my attraction to him. This didn't stop me inviting him out for an after work drink so we could both whinge about the respective horrors of our jobs.
he kissed me then.
then he also felt me up - publicly and entirely embarrassingly - hands up my skirt like a drunken 14 year old in a (thankfully) empty bar with the ever-so-smooth 'what! no one's looking...'
I love the inappropriate. I revel in it. I think turning up to a second date wearing a tshirt that says 'you wanna break up in 3 months?' is great. There are very few things I'm going to think it inappropriate to ask someone on a first date or any other time. Asking me how I choose to maintain my bikini line.. is, however, one of them. As soon as this guy kissed me he just turned weird. It was like he was mystified that he'd been able to kiss a girl and not get slapped for it - so he just went for broke. He asked me something SO ridiculous, SO grossly inapproriate, that - tactful lass that I am - I just burst out in my most incredulous voice with
'have you EVER had a girlfriend!?'
it was seriously *the* stupidest, most insane thing to ever ask a girl whom you liked.
so crazy and so idiotic that I honestly, seriously, have no idea what it was he said. It must've been so traumatic that I've blocked it. I can however remember how strongly and uncontrollably I reacted to it - and how he paused, looked sideways uncomfortably and answered... 'well, um, a serious, I mean a proper, girlfriend, no'
he was 31
I'm ashamed to admit I dated him a few more times after that - giving him a couple more chances to be normal... but no joy. When I rang him late one night and asked him nicely and calmly if we could just be friends, he said no. Yup... no. Told me that wasn't how it worked. Went on and on about how friends, well friends had to earn his friendship over a long time and I just didn't qualify. Then he told me we couldn't be friends after dating, that wasn't how it worked. I told him (nicelyI swear) that my two exes were two of my best friends, but if he couldn't handle it that was fine. He got very agitated at the idea of not being able to handle it. He then proceeded with a monologue about how relationships worked.
I must've been in the mellowest mood of my life. There I was, listening to his view of how relationships worked, perfectly aware that he'd never actually been in one, yet I stayed quiet, just told him I enjoyed his company more than most and would like to be friends with him.
if I could only be that calm all the time
anyways, I digress. massively. sorry about that - that was the long way of me saying that I now have a tiny phobia about dating IT geeks. his fault.
I also believe very strongly in the don't-screw-the-crew mantra
So in summation; no body of adonis, IT geek, works at my office, is part of my crew of friends. I should not be touching this man with a 10 foot pole...
but we were out, at a club, for a birthday, we were drunk. So drunk that memories become hazy but I distinctly rember dancing with him, just him, arms attached to eachother but decently (no dirty dancing thank god) and I remember him bolding taking hold of my hips and pulling me to him. Not offensive or seedy, but surprisingly confidently... sexy even
and I remember telling ex-workmate that I'd decided to take him home. yup. just decided to.
Thank god she's a real snob about boys and turned to me and said
are you serious?
why?
no! he's ugly
no! If you want to take someone home I will find you a better guy in seconds
she loves short-adorable-balding-boy and thinks he's hilarious too... but thankfully she saw it for it what it was - the oddest, most bizarre drunken idea. I was convinced he would be decent enough to keep it secret and I could therefore escape office gossip... but as it was the small work crew there were already questioning what was going on after seeing us merely dancing together. Leaving together would've been the end of it.
Disturbed
had to send ex-workmate a text the next day thanking her for stopping me from doing something insanely stupid. She replied it was no worries. My main worry was that she would tell someone - anyone - what I'd said. Ex-workmate is the biggest gossip I know. But she's been brilliant (so far)
Monday at work short-adorable-balding-boy emailed me asking if I woke up as hungover as he did. I replied I was, and that my memory got very hazy towards the end of the night. Brilliant exchange of emails that. Phew. We've since become facebook friends and trade incredibly hilariously witty (on his side at least) emails sometimes when we're bored at work.
but I'm still disturbed - this is exactly how it started with the other funny IT geek.
I was out for a friend's birthday. It was a friend who used to work at our office, so naturally a small crew from the office were there - all friends of mine. There's one friend in particular who is possibly the funniest person in the world. and male. ever so vaguely male.
you see now I'm just being mean... he's lovely... but he's hardly the type I'd go for - no broad shoulders, deep voice, extroverted behaviour... or any of the other alpha-male tendencies to which I'm usually attracted
He's very short, quite bald, has crooked teeth I think... and more than likely has back hair due to his Greek heritage.
but he's the funniest man in the world
the most clever, quickest, driest wit you've ever experienced
I have a weakness for that. I know because I dated it last year - a friend's flatmate - hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but hardly a shining beacon of masculinity... he was another IT geek and very very funny. Me and my friend both agreed he liked me but I never thought he'd ever make a move and I was somewhat thrown by my attraction to him. This didn't stop me inviting him out for an after work drink so we could both whinge about the respective horrors of our jobs.
he kissed me then.
then he also felt me up - publicly and entirely embarrassingly - hands up my skirt like a drunken 14 year old in a (thankfully) empty bar with the ever-so-smooth 'what! no one's looking...'
I love the inappropriate. I revel in it. I think turning up to a second date wearing a tshirt that says 'you wanna break up in 3 months?' is great. There are very few things I'm going to think it inappropriate to ask someone on a first date or any other time. Asking me how I choose to maintain my bikini line.. is, however, one of them. As soon as this guy kissed me he just turned weird. It was like he was mystified that he'd been able to kiss a girl and not get slapped for it - so he just went for broke. He asked me something SO ridiculous, SO grossly inapproriate, that - tactful lass that I am - I just burst out in my most incredulous voice with
'have you EVER had a girlfriend!?'
it was seriously *the* stupidest, most insane thing to ever ask a girl whom you liked.
so crazy and so idiotic that I honestly, seriously, have no idea what it was he said. It must've been so traumatic that I've blocked it. I can however remember how strongly and uncontrollably I reacted to it - and how he paused, looked sideways uncomfortably and answered... 'well, um, a serious, I mean a proper, girlfriend, no'
he was 31
I'm ashamed to admit I dated him a few more times after that - giving him a couple more chances to be normal... but no joy. When I rang him late one night and asked him nicely and calmly if we could just be friends, he said no. Yup... no. Told me that wasn't how it worked. Went on and on about how friends, well friends had to earn his friendship over a long time and I just didn't qualify. Then he told me we couldn't be friends after dating, that wasn't how it worked. I told him (nicelyI swear) that my two exes were two of my best friends, but if he couldn't handle it that was fine. He got very agitated at the idea of not being able to handle it. He then proceeded with a monologue about how relationships worked.
I must've been in the mellowest mood of my life. There I was, listening to his view of how relationships worked, perfectly aware that he'd never actually been in one, yet I stayed quiet, just told him I enjoyed his company more than most and would like to be friends with him.
if I could only be that calm all the time
anyways, I digress. massively. sorry about that - that was the long way of me saying that I now have a tiny phobia about dating IT geeks. his fault.
I also believe very strongly in the don't-screw-the-crew mantra
So in summation; no body of adonis, IT geek, works at my office, is part of my crew of friends. I should not be touching this man with a 10 foot pole...
but we were out, at a club, for a birthday, we were drunk. So drunk that memories become hazy but I distinctly rember dancing with him, just him, arms attached to eachother but decently (no dirty dancing thank god) and I remember him bolding taking hold of my hips and pulling me to him. Not offensive or seedy, but surprisingly confidently... sexy even
and I remember telling ex-workmate that I'd decided to take him home. yup. just decided to.
Thank god she's a real snob about boys and turned to me and said
are you serious?
why?
no! he's ugly
no! If you want to take someone home I will find you a better guy in seconds
she loves short-adorable-balding-boy and thinks he's hilarious too... but thankfully she saw it for it what it was - the oddest, most bizarre drunken idea. I was convinced he would be decent enough to keep it secret and I could therefore escape office gossip... but as it was the small work crew there were already questioning what was going on after seeing us merely dancing together. Leaving together would've been the end of it.
Disturbed
had to send ex-workmate a text the next day thanking her for stopping me from doing something insanely stupid. She replied it was no worries. My main worry was that she would tell someone - anyone - what I'd said. Ex-workmate is the biggest gossip I know. But she's been brilliant (so far)
Monday at work short-adorable-balding-boy emailed me asking if I woke up as hungover as he did. I replied I was, and that my memory got very hazy towards the end of the night. Brilliant exchange of emails that. Phew. We've since become facebook friends and trade incredibly hilariously witty (on his side at least) emails sometimes when we're bored at work.
but I'm still disturbed - this is exactly how it started with the other funny IT geek.
Wednesday 14 January 2009
I'd rather be a bloke...
Would I describe myself as a feminist or not? Not sure really, probably... as what's the alternative - a traditionalist? Certainly not that. I like to think of it as 'selective feminism' - I demand equality in the workforce - equal pay and - more difficult to strip from people's subconscious - the automatic assumption of equal intelligence and status. This encompasses the glass ceiling issue, the right to vote... etc. However I have no issue if a man wants to open a door for me... and apart from offering to buy me a drink... ummm, what else is there.... actually?
Anyways, I think chivalry is all good, gallantry is lovely... assuming I'm intellectually inferior is stupid, assuming men are physically stronger is.. well... usually true. Much to my frustration, I have had occasion to try and convince my traditionally-minded mother that being born with a penis does not automatically entitle oneself to the ability to reverse a car efficiently or figure out how to program the telly (her: 'do you think you can do it - I know your brother could' - PS I have the computer science degree - has he has the marketing one)
What irks me is the illogical traditions - why is the guy almost always older in each relationship? So what if women mature faster - yes this may be true, but it still doesn't explain why my 53 year old friend stresses about dating a 48 year old man! We no longer live in a society where a woman is usually married by age 21, at a certain age surely maturity levels plateau? There's also the classic breadwinner role - there's some truth in it being preferable as he doesn't have to give birth, but I love the growing popularity and acceptance of the 'house husband'.
I've always joked that there's so many men rocking around with younger women on their arms that I feel the need, personally, to redress the balance - hence the desire for a toyboy that can cook. It's good in theory.
The inequality of gender roles never fully sunk in (doubt they've even fully hit - hey, I haven't had kids...) until I worked in an almost all-male office. Having grown up a tomboy, possessed an unnatural ability to down alcohol with the best of them, and having played a mixed-sex sport for years... I never considered myself the least bit feminine really. Then one day it hit me that whilst I was heading out to the shops in my lunch break every day for a week in order to search and secure the perfect collection of christmas gifts for each and every person I knew, a guy commented he only needed to get one gift - and his wife had already told him what she wanted. It dawned on me - so *this* is what they mean when they crap on about women being able to multi-task. When men are the breadwinners absolutely nothing else is expected of them - that's enough. Whenever any of the guy's wives were away/sick/otherwise occupied and their child was sick (or not even), they either brought the unruly brats into the office, or it was immediately accepted as a big drama that they had to work from home - couldn't manage kids and a trip to the office. One of my female coworkers was a single Mum, two kids under 10, one with mild autism. She came into work almost every day.
Women stepped over into the male domain of the workforce, but we didn't leave many feminine expectations and responsibilities behind when we did. Looking around my office, there were technically brilliant men... some smelt terrible, some dressed atrociously, some had minimal social skills, some were ugly. Some were all of the above. The women... the women without fail all presented well and were perfectly sociable - most looked great, exercised, dressed well, smelt good *plus* we had technical qualifications.
It's enough for a guy to be one of the following: intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic. Get one of those traits in spades and there will be numerous women who find you attractive. For women however.... not so much. You can be the funniest woman in the world but if you're fat and have a face like a hamster you ain't getting laid. The exception being you can be beautiful and stupid, and you will be picked up quite quickly. Sounding cynical aren't I!
Flipside is, if you're a woman and you're intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic... *all* of the above, you can find yourself single for longs periods at a time. My single female friends are some of the most intelligent, funny, successful, best put-together people I know. Surely there's no male equivalent who remains single - however, we live in hope! Time for a sex in the city quote - it's like the riddle of the sphinx - why are there so many great unmarried women, and no great unmarried men?
This extends beyond just personal presentation - as women we were also keeping tidy houses, remembering birthdays and special occasions, buying the aforementioned thoughtful gifts at every occasion. I haven't even touched on the excess of personal hygiene and maintenance issues that we have to deal with, whereas a man is considered well maintained if he washes and gets his hair (only on his head!) cut regularly. We women are an entire all-inclusive package deal, and we are comparatively fabulous.
However I've been part of the problem - I'll confess, when in serious relationships, I've been the one to buy the gifts for the boyfriend's family - remind him of birthdays, bills, anything and everything to be organised... it was almost always down to me. My favourite ex boyfriend however does deserve special mention for taking on the bulk of the housework and cooking when I took a new job that required a long commute... I guess there's hope for the world in the rare man that is able to evolve past the traditionalist stereotype, bless their cotton socks - double that blessing if they washed them themselves and knew to separate out the whites...
Anyways, I think chivalry is all good, gallantry is lovely... assuming I'm intellectually inferior is stupid, assuming men are physically stronger is.. well... usually true. Much to my frustration, I have had occasion to try and convince my traditionally-minded mother that being born with a penis does not automatically entitle oneself to the ability to reverse a car efficiently or figure out how to program the telly (her: 'do you think you can do it - I know your brother could' - PS I have the computer science degree - has he has the marketing one)
What irks me is the illogical traditions - why is the guy almost always older in each relationship? So what if women mature faster - yes this may be true, but it still doesn't explain why my 53 year old friend stresses about dating a 48 year old man! We no longer live in a society where a woman is usually married by age 21, at a certain age surely maturity levels plateau? There's also the classic breadwinner role - there's some truth in it being preferable as he doesn't have to give birth, but I love the growing popularity and acceptance of the 'house husband'.
I've always joked that there's so many men rocking around with younger women on their arms that I feel the need, personally, to redress the balance - hence the desire for a toyboy that can cook. It's good in theory.
The inequality of gender roles never fully sunk in (doubt they've even fully hit - hey, I haven't had kids...) until I worked in an almost all-male office. Having grown up a tomboy, possessed an unnatural ability to down alcohol with the best of them, and having played a mixed-sex sport for years... I never considered myself the least bit feminine really. Then one day it hit me that whilst I was heading out to the shops in my lunch break every day for a week in order to search and secure the perfect collection of christmas gifts for each and every person I knew, a guy commented he only needed to get one gift - and his wife had already told him what she wanted. It dawned on me - so *this* is what they mean when they crap on about women being able to multi-task. When men are the breadwinners absolutely nothing else is expected of them - that's enough. Whenever any of the guy's wives were away/sick/otherwise occupied and their child was sick (or not even), they either brought the unruly brats into the office, or it was immediately accepted as a big drama that they had to work from home - couldn't manage kids and a trip to the office. One of my female coworkers was a single Mum, two kids under 10, one with mild autism. She came into work almost every day.
Women stepped over into the male domain of the workforce, but we didn't leave many feminine expectations and responsibilities behind when we did. Looking around my office, there were technically brilliant men... some smelt terrible, some dressed atrociously, some had minimal social skills, some were ugly. Some were all of the above. The women... the women without fail all presented well and were perfectly sociable - most looked great, exercised, dressed well, smelt good *plus* we had technical qualifications.
It's enough for a guy to be one of the following: intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic. Get one of those traits in spades and there will be numerous women who find you attractive. For women however.... not so much. You can be the funniest woman in the world but if you're fat and have a face like a hamster you ain't getting laid. The exception being you can be beautiful and stupid, and you will be picked up quite quickly. Sounding cynical aren't I!
Flipside is, if you're a woman and you're intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic... *all* of the above, you can find yourself single for longs periods at a time. My single female friends are some of the most intelligent, funny, successful, best put-together people I know. Surely there's no male equivalent who remains single - however, we live in hope! Time for a sex in the city quote - it's like the riddle of the sphinx - why are there so many great unmarried women, and no great unmarried men?
This extends beyond just personal presentation - as women we were also keeping tidy houses, remembering birthdays and special occasions, buying the aforementioned thoughtful gifts at every occasion. I haven't even touched on the excess of personal hygiene and maintenance issues that we have to deal with, whereas a man is considered well maintained if he washes and gets his hair (only on his head!) cut regularly. We women are an entire all-inclusive package deal, and we are comparatively fabulous.
However I've been part of the problem - I'll confess, when in serious relationships, I've been the one to buy the gifts for the boyfriend's family - remind him of birthdays, bills, anything and everything to be organised... it was almost always down to me. My favourite ex boyfriend however does deserve special mention for taking on the bulk of the housework and cooking when I took a new job that required a long commute... I guess there's hope for the world in the rare man that is able to evolve past the traditionalist stereotype, bless their cotton socks - double that blessing if they washed them themselves and knew to separate out the whites...
Tuesday 13 January 2009
frustrated
so the email 'list' of promotions for 2009 went around, and I found it *very* frustrating
I had one argument, in a meeting, all year. This got mentioned in my yearly appraisal. Read it, and you would assume I had an attitude problem.
I am, of course, lovely.
One argument, all year, one isolated incident with one person - a bloke who argues with everyone. His own manager has acknowledged that this guy needs massive improvement in his people skills.
I argued vehemently with my manager that there is no way that everyone in the company who had had an argument in a meeting had it mentioned in their appraisal. In fact, I'd lay large amounts of money down and bet that no one else was faced with this situation
Because of that one (not even strong) argument, I lose 1/4 to 1/3 of my bonus payment
he argued with everyone
he gets promoted
how can I not be annoyed?
I had one argument, in a meeting, all year. This got mentioned in my yearly appraisal. Read it, and you would assume I had an attitude problem.
I am, of course, lovely.
One argument, all year, one isolated incident with one person - a bloke who argues with everyone. His own manager has acknowledged that this guy needs massive improvement in his people skills.
I argued vehemently with my manager that there is no way that everyone in the company who had had an argument in a meeting had it mentioned in their appraisal. In fact, I'd lay large amounts of money down and bet that no one else was faced with this situation
Because of that one (not even strong) argument, I lose 1/4 to 1/3 of my bonus payment
he argued with everyone
he gets promoted
how can I not be annoyed?
Sunday 11 January 2009
the strangest craving
what is it that makes us lean towards either older or younger guys? Father figures, past experiences...? friends, family influences?
I've always found myself attracted to younger guys - fitter bodies, more energy and enthusiasm... stamina ;) But lately I've had the oddest craving to date an older guy. I don't know if it's a hangover from the frustrations of dating too many guys who can't be bothered to get in touch unless they're in the immediate neighbourhood, or plan a date more exciting than watching the telly...
Perhaps London is rubbing off on me, or I'm getting older and starting to appreciate things like career achievements and travel stories that tend to increase and improve with age.
I've realised I've left that struggling-student, 'let's go out wherever the drinks are cheap' stage of life behind. It was a good stage, I embraced and enjoyed it... but it's gone. These days I tend towards the cash-rich, time-poor end of the scale. Let's go where the martinis are good and it's conveniently close to the office.
Too many guys whinge about the exorbitant cost of this that or the other - which I find a really unattractive and unnecessary thing to add into a conversation - only possibly superseded by the kind of guy that goes to the other extreme and like name-dropping, faux-casually mentions big ticket purchases or qualifications and promotions at work in a boastful way... sigh. After they say it, they'll pause ever so slightly and try to gauge your reaction and check whether you're suitably impressed - has the magnitude of just how great they are been fully grasped... is it love at first sight - or do they have to walk past again?
The only real way to insult me to assume that I care.
Unfortunately this happens a lot. I don't know exactly what it is about me that screams 'gold-digging whore!' but the next person who jokes about my opinion or actions being based on whether the guy is rich or not, just may get thumped one. Yes, it's a common scenario, and yes, I have friends who actually are that way... but the frequency with which that particular stereotype is brought up disturbs me greatly - as it is, at the basic level, accusing someone of being a whore. Not accusations of a cash-transaction one-night rendezvous - more insinuating you want a diamond on the ring finger and a BMW for the garage of the 5 bedroom terrace house, but at the end of the day they're still accusing you of fucking someone for money.
But then... so many of my friends have displayed whore-like behaviour. I have a particularly unpleasant memory of promising to wait in the corner of a packed bar for an ex-flatmate whilst she did the mission trip to the bar and retrieved her shout. Cue me standing empty-handed and (horror-of-horrors) starting to sober up half an hour later. Many minutes after that, ex-flatmate returns all wide eyed and excited that a guy at the bar was buying her and her friend shots. He was fat old and ugly... but hey, free drinks! She was all that was woman! I question whether, had've that same guy walked up to her and offered to pay her 6 quid for half an hour of her time, would've she been so enthused? It's all about context really, isn't it?
There is a certain amount of gallantry and chivalry involved in someone else trekking through the crowds and battling their way to get served at the busy bar - and I'm happy to miss out on that part. It's odd how if a guy buys a few drinks for a girl 1. he may expect sex (very much so in Australia - the classy part where I'm from anyway) and 2. he is also be very much more likely to get it. Getting you drunk before they kiss you does tend to increase their chances of you succumbing to their (?) charms... that's just the way it is.
Chivalry is certainly much less dead in London than in Australia - most men will wait patiently in the lift to allow me to exit first, or open doors for me here - in Australia I could count the number of time this had happened on 3 fingers. As I'm unaccustomed to such gentlemanly behaviour I fear I'm annoyingly slow to catch on that they're waiting for me... I've even been instructed by a somewhat irate Londoner boyfriend 'take my arm!' when he was waiting to escort me down the road and I walked beside him, oblivious.
First date-dilemmas, who should pay the bill? This is one area where I'm pretty old-school, and I'm happy to let them pay... seems too odd and too much of a hassle to split the bill. Such a hassle really... why aren't these rules of conduct written down somewhere and inscribed on the walls of urinals or slipped between the sports pages?
I've always found myself attracted to younger guys - fitter bodies, more energy and enthusiasm... stamina ;) But lately I've had the oddest craving to date an older guy. I don't know if it's a hangover from the frustrations of dating too many guys who can't be bothered to get in touch unless they're in the immediate neighbourhood, or plan a date more exciting than watching the telly...
Perhaps London is rubbing off on me, or I'm getting older and starting to appreciate things like career achievements and travel stories that tend to increase and improve with age.
I've realised I've left that struggling-student, 'let's go out wherever the drinks are cheap' stage of life behind. It was a good stage, I embraced and enjoyed it... but it's gone. These days I tend towards the cash-rich, time-poor end of the scale. Let's go where the martinis are good and it's conveniently close to the office.
Too many guys whinge about the exorbitant cost of this that or the other - which I find a really unattractive and unnecessary thing to add into a conversation - only possibly superseded by the kind of guy that goes to the other extreme and like name-dropping, faux-casually mentions big ticket purchases or qualifications and promotions at work in a boastful way... sigh. After they say it, they'll pause ever so slightly and try to gauge your reaction and check whether you're suitably impressed - has the magnitude of just how great they are been fully grasped... is it love at first sight - or do they have to walk past again?
The only real way to insult me to assume that I care.
Unfortunately this happens a lot. I don't know exactly what it is about me that screams 'gold-digging whore!' but the next person who jokes about my opinion or actions being based on whether the guy is rich or not, just may get thumped one. Yes, it's a common scenario, and yes, I have friends who actually are that way... but the frequency with which that particular stereotype is brought up disturbs me greatly - as it is, at the basic level, accusing someone of being a whore. Not accusations of a cash-transaction one-night rendezvous - more insinuating you want a diamond on the ring finger and a BMW for the garage of the 5 bedroom terrace house, but at the end of the day they're still accusing you of fucking someone for money.
But then... so many of my friends have displayed whore-like behaviour. I have a particularly unpleasant memory of promising to wait in the corner of a packed bar for an ex-flatmate whilst she did the mission trip to the bar and retrieved her shout. Cue me standing empty-handed and (horror-of-horrors) starting to sober up half an hour later. Many minutes after that, ex-flatmate returns all wide eyed and excited that a guy at the bar was buying her and her friend shots. He was fat old and ugly... but hey, free drinks! She was all that was woman! I question whether, had've that same guy walked up to her and offered to pay her 6 quid for half an hour of her time, would've she been so enthused? It's all about context really, isn't it?
There is a certain amount of gallantry and chivalry involved in someone else trekking through the crowds and battling their way to get served at the busy bar - and I'm happy to miss out on that part. It's odd how if a guy buys a few drinks for a girl 1. he may expect sex (very much so in Australia - the classy part where I'm from anyway) and 2. he is also be very much more likely to get it. Getting you drunk before they kiss you does tend to increase their chances of you succumbing to their (?) charms... that's just the way it is.
Chivalry is certainly much less dead in London than in Australia - most men will wait patiently in the lift to allow me to exit first, or open doors for me here - in Australia I could count the number of time this had happened on 3 fingers. As I'm unaccustomed to such gentlemanly behaviour I fear I'm annoyingly slow to catch on that they're waiting for me... I've even been instructed by a somewhat irate Londoner boyfriend 'take my arm!' when he was waiting to escort me down the road and I walked beside him, oblivious.
First date-dilemmas, who should pay the bill? This is one area where I'm pretty old-school, and I'm happy to let them pay... seems too odd and too much of a hassle to split the bill. Such a hassle really... why aren't these rules of conduct written down somewhere and inscribed on the walls of urinals or slipped between the sports pages?
Thursday 8 January 2009
100% princess
...and then some!
so I had my date last night with the seemingly alcoholic nice young man I'd been chatting to online
When he'd messaged and asked how I felt about going for some Chinese food and sake... my first thought was... he better be talking about Hakkasan! *such* a snooty thing for me to think! ohhhh dear. An ex took me there on our first date... perhaps I'll blame him for that thought!
Didn't know what to text back. Hoped he had a nice Chinese restaurant in mind and not the local cheapie chinese... said it was fine
We met at the tube, walked to the Hare and Tortoise... cheap-chain-restaurant-chinese... it had all the ambiance of a brightly lit classroom. He was quiet, painfully so... and quite dull. I suspect he's always drinking cos he just doesn't have a personality or the ability to kick back and relax until he's drunk. Don't think he made me laugh the whole night. Went to a pub for one drink, then home. When I got off the tube I patted him on the leg and said it was nice to meet him - couldn't even be bothered with the kiss-on-the-cheek effort...
This is the guy who said he'd try and think of something nice to do to make up for canceling on me! Maybe I'm morphing into a snooty London gal, but cheap and convenient Chinese is not the way to impress a woman!
The other guy I've had two dates with just started to look a *whole* lot better!
Wasn't bad looking, definitely hadn't been beaten with the ugly stick - cute grin on the odd occasion when he busted it out - dose the boy with charisma and he could've been a ladykiller, but as it was... he was just dull and plain.
...so I have another date with a new guy next Wednesday - bit scared cos he also works in IT (consulting), and isn't a drop dead hottie, but he seems friendly and I suspect I should make an effort to be less harsh and actually wait til I meet them before I dismiss them. He's already told me he's planning on taking me to Milk and Honey - looks like a very fancy place, hope he made the reservation prior to telling me we were going there! At least he's trying to impress
2009... year of The Boy ;)
I'm out every night this week from Wed-Sun... gonna look like a distressed 40 year old come Monday
so I had my date last night with the seemingly alcoholic nice young man I'd been chatting to online
When he'd messaged and asked how I felt about going for some Chinese food and sake... my first thought was... he better be talking about Hakkasan! *such* a snooty thing for me to think! ohhhh dear. An ex took me there on our first date... perhaps I'll blame him for that thought!
Didn't know what to text back. Hoped he had a nice Chinese restaurant in mind and not the local cheapie chinese... said it was fine
We met at the tube, walked to the Hare and Tortoise... cheap-chain-restaurant-chinese... it had all the ambiance of a brightly lit classroom. He was quiet, painfully so... and quite dull. I suspect he's always drinking cos he just doesn't have a personality or the ability to kick back and relax until he's drunk. Don't think he made me laugh the whole night. Went to a pub for one drink, then home. When I got off the tube I patted him on the leg and said it was nice to meet him - couldn't even be bothered with the kiss-on-the-cheek effort...
This is the guy who said he'd try and think of something nice to do to make up for canceling on me! Maybe I'm morphing into a snooty London gal, but cheap and convenient Chinese is not the way to impress a woman!
The other guy I've had two dates with just started to look a *whole* lot better!
Wasn't bad looking, definitely hadn't been beaten with the ugly stick - cute grin on the odd occasion when he busted it out - dose the boy with charisma and he could've been a ladykiller, but as it was... he was just dull and plain.
...so I have another date with a new guy next Wednesday - bit scared cos he also works in IT (consulting), and isn't a drop dead hottie, but he seems friendly and I suspect I should make an effort to be less harsh and actually wait til I meet them before I dismiss them. He's already told me he's planning on taking me to Milk and Honey - looks like a very fancy place, hope he made the reservation prior to telling me we were going there! At least he's trying to impress
2009... year of The Boy ;)
I'm out every night this week from Wed-Sun... gonna look like a distressed 40 year old come Monday
Wednesday 7 January 2009
stood up - the sequel
no, I wasn't stood up again
I made the boy come to my office building (he's now referred to amongst my friends as 'Mr Late') and predictably he got lost between the illogically numbered collection of buildings to which my office belongs. He rung me in distress and mentioned he could see 'some castle thing' ahead. He threw me with that, until... 'you don't mean Tower Bridge do you?' Followed by much laughter on my end of the phone - Mr Late is an Englishman, correct me if I'm wrong - but isn't Tower Bridge somewhat of an iconic symbol of London?
Reading his profile online I feared that he'd rate himself hugely and in short, shit me up the wall (yes, sounding very Australian there) with his arrogance. In truth, he was quite shy - made me realise just how attractive I find confidence in a man. He's 26, new to London and new to his career, his boyish enthusiasm actually made me feel old. tragic.
The problem with catching up for drinks after work is that after two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I'm slaughtered. Almost stumbled at the bar when fetching the third round... (make that a small wine, thanks.)
He suggests food, I tell him I have to get home and see his face fall. After he returns from the gents I suggest a Lebanese place down the road and the food is as good as I remember and the company is lovely. Just don't feel the urge to pin him down and shag him. We tube it home and when it's my stop I kiss him on the cheek and that's that.
Second date goes much the same - fun time, good company... and then we have to go our separate directions on the tube so it's a peck on the cheek and a goodbye.
Later I get a text saying he's 'vexed that he bottled it with regards to a proper goodnight kiss'. cute. He promises to bring along more courage next time, but I fear the pressure of the aforementioned - nay *promised* - kiss may just make him uncomfortable.
I received a (I suspect drunken) text from the boy new year's day, lamenting the amount of beer he'd been consuming and ending with 'why aren't you here?' My darling-friend-and-flatmate (who was kicking back in Edinburgh with me at the time) tried to convince me it was sweet, but the (dominant) blokey-commitment-phobe side of me just thought it smacked of neediness - especially coming from someone who's yet to even kiss me!
I haven't messaged him back or heard from him since, however we've never really maintained regular contact. For the time being there are other guys to date - more online friends - one of whom I'm meeting with tonight...
I made the boy come to my office building (he's now referred to amongst my friends as 'Mr Late') and predictably he got lost between the illogically numbered collection of buildings to which my office belongs. He rung me in distress and mentioned he could see 'some castle thing' ahead. He threw me with that, until... 'you don't mean Tower Bridge do you?' Followed by much laughter on my end of the phone - Mr Late is an Englishman, correct me if I'm wrong - but isn't Tower Bridge somewhat of an iconic symbol of London?
Reading his profile online I feared that he'd rate himself hugely and in short, shit me up the wall (yes, sounding very Australian there) with his arrogance. In truth, he was quite shy - made me realise just how attractive I find confidence in a man. He's 26, new to London and new to his career, his boyish enthusiasm actually made me feel old. tragic.
The problem with catching up for drinks after work is that after two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I'm slaughtered. Almost stumbled at the bar when fetching the third round... (make that a small wine, thanks.)
He suggests food, I tell him I have to get home and see his face fall. After he returns from the gents I suggest a Lebanese place down the road and the food is as good as I remember and the company is lovely. Just don't feel the urge to pin him down and shag him. We tube it home and when it's my stop I kiss him on the cheek and that's that.
Second date goes much the same - fun time, good company... and then we have to go our separate directions on the tube so it's a peck on the cheek and a goodbye.
Later I get a text saying he's 'vexed that he bottled it with regards to a proper goodnight kiss'. cute. He promises to bring along more courage next time, but I fear the pressure of the aforementioned - nay *promised* - kiss may just make him uncomfortable.
I received a (I suspect drunken) text from the boy new year's day, lamenting the amount of beer he'd been consuming and ending with 'why aren't you here?' My darling-friend-and-flatmate (who was kicking back in Edinburgh with me at the time) tried to convince me it was sweet, but the (dominant) blokey-commitment-phobe side of me just thought it smacked of neediness - especially coming from someone who's yet to even kiss me!
I haven't messaged him back or heard from him since, however we've never really maintained regular contact. For the time being there are other guys to date - more online friends - one of whom I'm meeting with tonight...
*of course* I cocktailed!
wow. that was ages ago. Lots has happened since then. Christmas. New Years. But most notably...
I got laid.
and... wait for it.... yes... REMEMBERED IT!!!
oh fraptious joy! Mother would be so proud ;)
Having gone out the night before and with a big Saturday night planned, I agreed to traipse out to the local favourite bar and give the man-talent a once over, sample the cocktail list which had - through some minor miracle - escaped my notice on previous visits. Suffering the flu still, I told my fabulous friend that it was only going to be a quick trip out and I wanted to bed by midnight.
midnight. 5am. Who's counting? I certainly wasn't - I was madly pleasantly drunk and had a nice boy with me.
So fabulous friend and I starting playing spot-the-hottie (simple rules - any man who you rate 7/10 or above must be pointed out and score mentioned) and I looked over with a "oooh 7over there!" Fabulous friend encouraged me to talk to him, but I was (massively unusually) stuck for words. So she leaned over with a cheery "Hello!"
damn. why didn't I think of that?
So they got chatting and he introduced his mate, bought us more cocktails, and I was convinced he fancied my fabulous friend - and rightly so, she is gorgeous and does pull boys effortlessly and frequently. So the three of us ended up dancing til the club shut, then Mr 7 convinced us to go to the dodgy dance club round the corner, paid the completely unjustifiable covercharge, and then we danced til that club was just about to shut too. Nothing develops between Mr 7 and my friend, and walking to the bus stop I can agree he can crash at mine but shouldn't expect a shag.
I should mention that by this stage I am in the throes of stupid drunkeness. At home he ends up doing star jumps in my loungeroom after losing the challenge of spelling my name correctly. yes. star jumps. as you do. I like that memory. I quite like the boy because of that memory. (Okay, the nice body, olive skin, clean sandy hair and gorgeous deep voice do somewhat contribute)
So we crawl into bed - me with a scrubbed face and daggy PJs, still drunk... and then we shag. Dunno how exactly how that happened, but he had been trying to convince me he'd fancied me the whole night (yes skeptical - only after he knew he'd be crashing at mine) but it was fun.
Still hadn't slept when my alarm went off - signifying that it's 10am and reminding me that I have til 12 to get to the bloody post office and post my Dad's xmas pressies.
My friend's think it's hilarious that I kicked a perfectly good man out of my bed so that I could get to the post office. I don't know what I was thinking. He didn't want to go and kept pulling me in for hugs, kissing the top of my head, all very intimate and cosy - love an affectionate man.
He asked for my number and I gave it to him and he double checked it with me, I do remember looking at it and doubting it for a second (you can guess how this ends now, can't you?) and I joked about giving him a fake number... and then he kissed me goodbye and left
so yes... I haven't heard from him
He has either:
a) got the wrong number
b) died
c) gone on holiday to the Island of Lost Men
d) all of the above
I got laid.
and... wait for it.... yes... REMEMBERED IT!!!
oh fraptious joy! Mother would be so proud ;)
Having gone out the night before and with a big Saturday night planned, I agreed to traipse out to the local favourite bar and give the man-talent a once over, sample the cocktail list which had - through some minor miracle - escaped my notice on previous visits. Suffering the flu still, I told my fabulous friend that it was only going to be a quick trip out and I wanted to bed by midnight.
midnight. 5am. Who's counting? I certainly wasn't - I was madly pleasantly drunk and had a nice boy with me.
So fabulous friend and I starting playing spot-the-hottie (simple rules - any man who you rate 7/10 or above must be pointed out and score mentioned) and I looked over with a "oooh 7over there!" Fabulous friend encouraged me to talk to him, but I was (massively unusually) stuck for words. So she leaned over with a cheery "Hello!"
damn. why didn't I think of that?
So they got chatting and he introduced his mate, bought us more cocktails, and I was convinced he fancied my fabulous friend - and rightly so, she is gorgeous and does pull boys effortlessly and frequently. So the three of us ended up dancing til the club shut, then Mr 7 convinced us to go to the dodgy dance club round the corner, paid the completely unjustifiable covercharge, and then we danced til that club was just about to shut too. Nothing develops between Mr 7 and my friend, and walking to the bus stop I can agree he can crash at mine but shouldn't expect a shag.
I should mention that by this stage I am in the throes of stupid drunkeness. At home he ends up doing star jumps in my loungeroom after losing the challenge of spelling my name correctly. yes. star jumps. as you do. I like that memory. I quite like the boy because of that memory. (Okay, the nice body, olive skin, clean sandy hair and gorgeous deep voice do somewhat contribute)
So we crawl into bed - me with a scrubbed face and daggy PJs, still drunk... and then we shag. Dunno how exactly how that happened, but he had been trying to convince me he'd fancied me the whole night (yes skeptical - only after he knew he'd be crashing at mine) but it was fun.
Still hadn't slept when my alarm went off - signifying that it's 10am and reminding me that I have til 12 to get to the bloody post office and post my Dad's xmas pressies.
My friend's think it's hilarious that I kicked a perfectly good man out of my bed so that I could get to the post office. I don't know what I was thinking. He didn't want to go and kept pulling me in for hugs, kissing the top of my head, all very intimate and cosy - love an affectionate man.
He asked for my number and I gave it to him and he double checked it with me, I do remember looking at it and doubting it for a second (you can guess how this ends now, can't you?) and I joked about giving him a fake number... and then he kissed me goodbye and left
so yes... I haven't heard from him
He has either:
a) got the wrong number
b) died
c) gone on holiday to the Island of Lost Men
d) all of the above
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