On Monday night The Man and I went to the opera house to see Rachid Taha in concert. I only found out about this concert on Friday night, because we sent to see another band, and they announced that they were playing on Monday night in support of Rachid Taha, and I was all “Oh my God, Rachid Taha has come to Sydney? I’ll die of disappointment if he performs and I’m not there!!” So to avert my death, The Man agreed to it and I bought us tickets.
The opening band, Lolo Lovina, the one I’d seen on Friday, were great again. I so covet their violinist’s skills. Honestly, could die happy if I could saw at a fiddle like that. She made my abilities look like a pale shadow of violin playing. Talk about fireworks! I’m not sure whether to start practicing hard, or just give up.
It was funny to hear all Rachid Taha’s songs that I know so well, performed live. It was just as I expected, and he has a beautiful voice. I totally wanted to dance – everyone in the stalls looked to be having such a great time – but everyone behind me was sitting down and I didn’t want them to hate me. I do regret that I didn’t get up and move to the side, where there was plenty of space. What's wrong with some people?!
One of the highlights of Rachid Taha’s set was Brian Eno. He was in the audience and Rachid invited him onto the stage and wouldn’t let him leave. At the end of every song Brian Eno was like “Errrr – I really don’t know what I’m doing, you know” (to us), looking all awkward, and Rachid totally ignored this, flung his arm round him and made him dance and stuff. He had the helpless, dazed look of a hostage taken captive by an unstable psychopath. (And let’s face it, Rachid Taha is a little weird. Sexy, yes, but weird). Pretty funny, really!
Anyway, the most important part of this week is that I go on holiday on Tuesday, which makes tomorrow my last day. Thank you God, for making this day come!!!!!
Thursday 4 June 2009
Wednesday 27 May 2009
A Disoappointment
I think it’s fair to say that I have not been terribly successful so far at soap making.
I took a soap making class some time before Christmas. It may have been as early as October. (I could check my Outlook calendar for you but that would be just way too much effort, so let’s say October). I had Big Plans to make my first batches of scented soap in time for Christmas, because of course there’s nothing people wish to receive more than their friends’ home-made soap, is there!
First hurdle was to assemble all the equipment. It took ages. It was well into the new year when I finally got around to making my first batch of pure soap.
And this is what happened: I figured out part way through that I didn’t exactly understand what the instructions were saying, and I ended up boiling the mixture instead of leaving it to react without heat. That’s one big load of soap rendered unusable – 3 litres of olive oil! Sorry, olive trees! (Groves? Vines? Look, I was raised in Saudi Arabia, we don’t have nature over there).
Attempt #2 – This time I was determined to do it right. I didn’t boil the mixture, so it stayed liquid enough to stir it for several days after it was made. Unfortunately, I’d selected a baking tray with a non-stick covering, which all flaked off in reaction to the caustic soda, and mixed into the soap. Then I left it the requisite 6 weeks, and it seems to be ok despite the grey flecks.
So, mid-May, finally my base soap was ready and I was on track to make scented soaps, yay! The first batch was fine, though it didn’t smell of anything much despite the super-expensive vanilla oil I’d used, and I also only made three tiny soaps out of it. But I was sure that now I’d been reasonably successful, things could only get better, and I’d make bigger batches. So the next round was rose soap, with rose petals, pink clay for colouring, glycerine, and of course, lashings of very expensive rose oil. Within hours, the soap had sprung cracks within the mold, and all liquid was leaking out. I’ve tried using it, and the soap just falls apart.
Take #3, ‘chocolate orange’ soap, using cocoa butter and orange oil. I intended it to be similar in style to the first, more successful batch of soap. The first indication I should have got that something was wrong was when my subconscious mind decided it would be a good idea to pick up the wooden spoon THAT I’D BEEN USING TO STIR THE VEGGIE STEW I WAS MAKING and use this to stir the soap! Now readers unversed in the fine art of saponification probably don’t realise this, but it’s not really a good idea to cross-contaminate your soap mixture with your dinner. Anyway, I soldiered on (I think I must have rinsed the spoon before I’d put it down, because at least there were no blobs of onion or chickpea to be found in the soap, just the flecks of non-stick pan coating as I covered earlier) and continued with the brew.
That soap came out all mushy and weird too. As it was setting, it started to resemble milk that has gone off, all lumpy and uneven. So I’ve melted it down and re-set it. We’ll see how it comes out.
It’s all very disappointing because my big trip to England is coming up in less than a fortnight*, and I’d been planning to give everyone little home-made soaps. I was going to go to David Jones and pick up loads of darling little ribbons and bits of tissue paper to wrap the soaps in. (I go MAD for David Jones gift wrap).
Still, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I seem to remember some spectacular horrors that came out of the oven back in the days I was teaching myself baking, with youthful fervour. And now look at me, I am Queen of the Banana Muffin! I haven’t given up on my dream of leaving the Stationery Cabinet and starting my own business making soaps and cosmetics. I just have to get over the minor hurdle of being hopeless at it.
*That's right! I'm leaving in LESS THAN A FORTNIGHT! Hurrah!
I took a soap making class some time before Christmas. It may have been as early as October. (I could check my Outlook calendar for you but that would be just way too much effort, so let’s say October). I had Big Plans to make my first batches of scented soap in time for Christmas, because of course there’s nothing people wish to receive more than their friends’ home-made soap, is there!
First hurdle was to assemble all the equipment. It took ages. It was well into the new year when I finally got around to making my first batch of pure soap.
And this is what happened: I figured out part way through that I didn’t exactly understand what the instructions were saying, and I ended up boiling the mixture instead of leaving it to react without heat. That’s one big load of soap rendered unusable – 3 litres of olive oil! Sorry, olive trees! (Groves? Vines? Look, I was raised in Saudi Arabia, we don’t have nature over there).
Attempt #2 – This time I was determined to do it right. I didn’t boil the mixture, so it stayed liquid enough to stir it for several days after it was made. Unfortunately, I’d selected a baking tray with a non-stick covering, which all flaked off in reaction to the caustic soda, and mixed into the soap. Then I left it the requisite 6 weeks, and it seems to be ok despite the grey flecks.
So, mid-May, finally my base soap was ready and I was on track to make scented soaps, yay! The first batch was fine, though it didn’t smell of anything much despite the super-expensive vanilla oil I’d used, and I also only made three tiny soaps out of it. But I was sure that now I’d been reasonably successful, things could only get better, and I’d make bigger batches. So the next round was rose soap, with rose petals, pink clay for colouring, glycerine, and of course, lashings of very expensive rose oil. Within hours, the soap had sprung cracks within the mold, and all liquid was leaking out. I’ve tried using it, and the soap just falls apart.
Take #3, ‘chocolate orange’ soap, using cocoa butter and orange oil. I intended it to be similar in style to the first, more successful batch of soap. The first indication I should have got that something was wrong was when my subconscious mind decided it would be a good idea to pick up the wooden spoon THAT I’D BEEN USING TO STIR THE VEGGIE STEW I WAS MAKING and use this to stir the soap! Now readers unversed in the fine art of saponification probably don’t realise this, but it’s not really a good idea to cross-contaminate your soap mixture with your dinner. Anyway, I soldiered on (I think I must have rinsed the spoon before I’d put it down, because at least there were no blobs of onion or chickpea to be found in the soap, just the flecks of non-stick pan coating as I covered earlier) and continued with the brew.
That soap came out all mushy and weird too. As it was setting, it started to resemble milk that has gone off, all lumpy and uneven. So I’ve melted it down and re-set it. We’ll see how it comes out.
It’s all very disappointing because my big trip to England is coming up in less than a fortnight*, and I’d been planning to give everyone little home-made soaps. I was going to go to David Jones and pick up loads of darling little ribbons and bits of tissue paper to wrap the soaps in. (I go MAD for David Jones gift wrap).
Still, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I seem to remember some spectacular horrors that came out of the oven back in the days I was teaching myself baking, with youthful fervour. And now look at me, I am Queen of the Banana Muffin! I haven’t given up on my dream of leaving the Stationery Cabinet and starting my own business making soaps and cosmetics. I just have to get over the minor hurdle of being hopeless at it.
*That's right! I'm leaving in LESS THAN A FORTNIGHT! Hurrah!
Friday 15 May 2009
Wrong in the Tooth
I would like to take a moment to give Nurofen a free promotion.
Thank you, Nurofen, for being with me at 2:00 am this morning when I woke up in agony from my inflamed gum. You gently soothed the throbbing in my ear, blunted the razors down my throat, and paused the war that was raging between my wisdom tooth and the fleshy pink gum that is trying to swallow it. Nurofen, you are a true friend and I appreciate you.
And thank you person who invented antibiotics! Thank you kindly!
Thank you, Nurofen, for being with me at 2:00 am this morning when I woke up in agony from my inflamed gum. You gently soothed the throbbing in my ear, blunted the razors down my throat, and paused the war that was raging between my wisdom tooth and the fleshy pink gum that is trying to swallow it. Nurofen, you are a true friend and I appreciate you.
And thank you person who invented antibiotics! Thank you kindly!
Tuesday 21 April 2009
Excuses
I've been so slack about updating this blog lately. It's not that I haven't had anything to write - (au contraire, only this Sunday I had one of the best nights ever at a local Sydney pub, where I got to play along on my violin for a few songs. It was fantastic, and I made a mental note, through the alcoholic haze, to write a ravey blog entry, only I never did) - it's just that, I am SO EXCITED (did I mention this?) about my impending trip to the northern hemisphere that all available internet time is spent researching hotels and sightseeing possibilities. *
I'm going to England, but also to Krakow, Poland for four days, with my parents. It's going to be so good! I hope so, anyway, because I volunteered to organise the Poland trip, and I don't want to embarrass myself by organising a flop. I should be ok, though. Two years of booking travel for a cranky Sri Lankan boss should stand me in good stead.
And may I just say, the exchange rate from Aussie dollars to pounds is positively exquisite and I MUST get around to changing some money before it goes back. This is why I can't keep updating this blog regularly. I have bigger fish to fry, you know?
*Sorry about the grammar lapse. I realise that, ideally, sentences should be shorter than a Russian bread line.
I'm going to England, but also to Krakow, Poland for four days, with my parents. It's going to be so good! I hope so, anyway, because I volunteered to organise the Poland trip, and I don't want to embarrass myself by organising a flop. I should be ok, though. Two years of booking travel for a cranky Sri Lankan boss should stand me in good stead.
And may I just say, the exchange rate from Aussie dollars to pounds is positively exquisite and I MUST get around to changing some money before it goes back. This is why I can't keep updating this blog regularly. I have bigger fish to fry, you know?
*Sorry about the grammar lapse. I realise that, ideally, sentences should be shorter than a Russian bread line.
Thursday 9 April 2009
Easter!
It's finally Easter! And I have survived two days of intensive boredom - sorry, 'training' - at work. The sessions were for the sales people, but my misguided boss is under the impression that I am always keen to attend these things and expand my horizons, or some such thing. He's kind of sweet in his own way and so I hate to disillusion him. It's like telling children there's no Santa (except that there is, children). The two days consisted of me and another girl who was trapped there texting each other to coordinate strategically timed bouts of going AWOL, and giggling every time someone talked about 'penetration'. Yup, it was that fun.
On Wednesday night my evening was also imposed upon by work. Since the interstate team was all in Sydney for this thing, we had to have dinner together. It wasn't so bad really; I kind of enjoyed it. The best bit was when I discovered that one of the new girls on the team was a trained ballet dancer. I got as excited as my mother does when she finds out someone can play the violin. Actually I don't think she wanted to talk about it much, but after a day that was boring as buggery* I was damn well not going to let it go - I mean, it was the most interesting thing that I'd heard all day, though that would not be difficult, so I made her talk ballet for a few minutes. I probably shouldn't have, really. The question on the tip of my mind, if not my tongue, was "Don't you hate being a crappy sales person after having been trained as a ballet dancer?" but I didn't ask it because the answer quite probably is "yes", and I would have felt like a scumbag. I do genuinely want to know, though, because all our sales people seem to love what they do, and I can't imagine why. I must be missing something.
The other thing I did over the past few days while I was being assaulted by PowerPoint was daydream about going home to the ancestral seat and make shopping lists for when I got there. I still maintained that I was only in the daydreaming phase of planning the trip. Only, last night when I got home from ballet, the man opened up Singapore Airlines' website to show me the sale they're having, and after a couple of hours playing around with different dates...I've booked my fare back home!
I AM SO EXCITED. <-- Worth caps lock. Seriously. So, so excited. Some adults never experience that rush like when you're a child on Christmas Eve, but I'm lucky enough to know pure excitement. I'm bouncing off walls!
*Is buggery boring? Hell, I don't know, probably not,I'm just making this crap up as I go along.
On Wednesday night my evening was also imposed upon by work. Since the interstate team was all in Sydney for this thing, we had to have dinner together. It wasn't so bad really; I kind of enjoyed it. The best bit was when I discovered that one of the new girls on the team was a trained ballet dancer. I got as excited as my mother does when she finds out someone can play the violin. Actually I don't think she wanted to talk about it much, but after a day that was boring as buggery* I was damn well not going to let it go - I mean, it was the most interesting thing that I'd heard all day, though that would not be difficult, so I made her talk ballet for a few minutes. I probably shouldn't have, really. The question on the tip of my mind, if not my tongue, was "Don't you hate being a crappy sales person after having been trained as a ballet dancer?" but I didn't ask it because the answer quite probably is "yes", and I would have felt like a scumbag. I do genuinely want to know, though, because all our sales people seem to love what they do, and I can't imagine why. I must be missing something.
The other thing I did over the past few days while I was being assaulted by PowerPoint was daydream about going home to the ancestral seat and make shopping lists for when I got there. I still maintained that I was only in the daydreaming phase of planning the trip. Only, last night when I got home from ballet, the man opened up Singapore Airlines' website to show me the sale they're having, and after a couple of hours playing around with different dates...I've booked my fare back home!
I AM SO EXCITED. <-- Worth caps lock. Seriously. So, so excited. Some adults never experience that rush like when you're a child on Christmas Eve, but I'm lucky enough to know pure excitement. I'm bouncing off walls!
*Is buggery boring? Hell, I don't know, probably not,I'm just making this crap up as I go along.
Friday 3 April 2009
The Birthday Cake
Wednesday was The Man’s birthday. I always get a kick out of the fact that he was born on April Fool’s Day. I’m sure there are some excellent witticisms to be had out of that. So far they have eluded me. But one day I’ll come out with a real zinger, I can sense it.
The Man hates his birthday, as he says he hates being the centre of attention. Come to think of it, I actually met him on his birthday. Or maybe it was a couple of days after. It was his birthday dinner, anyway. He didn’t seem to mind too much then, but now I know him well I can imagine what was really going through his mind. Funny to think of a time when I didn’t know The Man from Adam.
So, The Man hates his birthday and having attention lavished on him, but I love his birthday, and lavishing attention on him. (See how compatible we are?). So I had been looking forward to it for days! I was busy on Tuesday and couldn’t make his cake then, so on Monday I did what I could, mixing the dry ingredients and beating together the butter and sugar. Then on Wednesday I rushed home from work – I literally ran part the way from the bus stop – added the eggs to the butter, mixed everything together, realised I didn’t have enough cherries but used what I had anyway, threw in a bit of extra milk to compensate for the lack of cherry pie filling, threw it all in the oven, got changed like a streak of lightning, then was all “Ahh, how relaxed I am. Shall we have a drop of champagne before we go out to the restaurant?” I had to do that because The Man hates it when I go overboard in the kitchen, and he’d tried to talk me out of making the cake on the grounds that I would make us all late. I was very proud of how quickly I made that cake, let me tell you.
After that, we (him, me and his nephew) went for dinner at a lovely Thai restaurant we like to frequent at one of the eastern beach suburbs. It was sweet the way he laid out all his presents on the table to open!
When we got back, I hastily threw together some icing, then assembled the cake. One of the cakes had broken on the way out of the pan, and believe me when I tell you the finished product looked something monstrous. But we all felt sick afterwards, so it was a success all in all.
The Man hates his birthday, as he says he hates being the centre of attention. Come to think of it, I actually met him on his birthday. Or maybe it was a couple of days after. It was his birthday dinner, anyway. He didn’t seem to mind too much then, but now I know him well I can imagine what was really going through his mind. Funny to think of a time when I didn’t know The Man from Adam.
So, The Man hates his birthday and having attention lavished on him, but I love his birthday, and lavishing attention on him. (See how compatible we are?). So I had been looking forward to it for days! I was busy on Tuesday and couldn’t make his cake then, so on Monday I did what I could, mixing the dry ingredients and beating together the butter and sugar. Then on Wednesday I rushed home from work – I literally ran part the way from the bus stop – added the eggs to the butter, mixed everything together, realised I didn’t have enough cherries but used what I had anyway, threw in a bit of extra milk to compensate for the lack of cherry pie filling, threw it all in the oven, got changed like a streak of lightning, then was all “Ahh, how relaxed I am. Shall we have a drop of champagne before we go out to the restaurant?” I had to do that because The Man hates it when I go overboard in the kitchen, and he’d tried to talk me out of making the cake on the grounds that I would make us all late. I was very proud of how quickly I made that cake, let me tell you.
After that, we (him, me and his nephew) went for dinner at a lovely Thai restaurant we like to frequent at one of the eastern beach suburbs. It was sweet the way he laid out all his presents on the table to open!
When we got back, I hastily threw together some icing, then assembled the cake. One of the cakes had broken on the way out of the pan, and believe me when I tell you the finished product looked something monstrous. But we all felt sick afterwards, so it was a success all in all.
Monday 30 March 2009
The Christmas Present
The band and I played again at the pub on Sunday night. This time I did three songs instead of two, so I feel good that progress was made! The guitarist shamelessly introduced us as an ‘up and coming Sydney band’, and I got a free soda water and lemon afterwards, so it must be true! It’s only a matter of time before people start giving me free drugs.
The Man came last night as well, and was official photographer. I have been spending loads of time with him lately, after our bumpy two or three weeks recently. I think I am slowly coming back from nervous breakdown territory – I am calmer at work today too, so it’s all good. I really had an awful few weeks recently. A few times I found myself wishing I could just stop breathing and quietly die. Melodramatic, I know. It was like suddenly being sixteen again! Talk about shock to the system! But I am back to being me again, with my uneventful but satisfying life. All I ask is a resident male to cook for. Is that too much?
Having said that, maybe my standards are higher than I think. Other Man (you know I’m talking about him) is in Phuket at the moment being a complete sleaze. I still get a bit panicky when I think of how he might have given me AIDS or something almost as bad. No, I still haven’t had myself tested for STDs. I’m too scared. It’s not a health issue, because I feel fine and undiseased, and until I decide to have sex with someone else, it’s not a moral issue either. (Unless I get raped, but I think rapists can take their chances). But I was thinking about it again this weekend, because a friend of mine has two HIV positive guys in his (admittedly enormous) circle of friends. I can’t imagine how frightening an HIV + diagnosis would be. I don’t know how this friend of mine manages to be so generous with his sexual activity. It’s weird how people know STDs are out there, but it doesn’t put them off indiscriminately sleeping around. You’d think his two HIV POSITIVE FRIENDS would be a wake-up call. Does he think he’s immune for some reason? Does he think straight people have never caught AIDS before?
Anyway, in honour of my continuing fear that I might have diseased sexual organs, I’m going to round up today’s post with one of the greatest hits of Other Man and my late relationship! Cue drum roll and trumpet fanfare…this story is called:
The Christmas Present
I was feeling sort of weird about the whole obligatory gift giving thing around November/December/January – we both had birthdays, and of course there was Christmas. I was stressed enough with getting everyone else presents that I was supposed to, let alone worrying about feeling awkward about getting something for somebody I’d only just started going out with. The Man has always said how he gave up on extravagant Christmas spending long ago, and he’d hate someone to go through stress on his behalf, and end up spending a load of money on something he didn’t want anyway. So I said to Other Man, how about we don’t worry about presents for each other? Reasoning that men aren’t into it anyway, and think it’s a chore they have to do to please women, so surely he’d be relieved. I would have been so happy if I could have written off that worry – I was having a hard time, organising a trip to Melbourne and gifts, sending stuff to my family, moving house, and a lot of emotional stress. The last thing I wanted was the worry of what to get a guy I had just started dating, and worrying about the protocols of how much to spend.
And I really don’t think he was at all interested in the gift exchange thing, but he refused to let it go, because he has this idea that you HAVE to buy presents for your girlfriend because it’s the DONE THING, and God forbid we should break the rules. So we agreed we’d get something for each other in January, when the stress of Christmas was all over. Every time he mentioned it, I’d say, “Really, I’m not bothered. I don’t want anything.” And then, not to be too difficult and a pain, I’d end up saying he could get me some orange blossom water. Kind of ridiculously cheap, but I wanted it for cosmetics making, and couldn’t for the life of me find anything. I thought, if he really wanted to get me something I wanted, orange blossom water would show thought rather than extravagant spending, and would be very useful. On another occasion, I also suggested a sugar thermometer – again, something I really wanted, and not expensive. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was greedy for expensive gifts, in case he hadn’t already got the message when I tried to talk him out of any gifts at all. I don’t know why. Guess I have low self-esteem somewhere deep inside and need to be thought of as low maintenance.
This story has foreshadowing…turns out I should not have mentioned Chanel! Big mistake!
So, it turns out my groundwork was pointless. Apparently, men don’t buy girlfriends orange blossom water and sugar thermometers, according to ‘Men’s Health’ or whatever Other Man’s relationship Bible is. Even if girlfriends want orange blossom water and sugar thermometers. Apparently, men buy their girlfriends perfume. He brought up the subject of presents yet again, and said he’d decided to get me some perfume. My heart sank because even though I didn’t completely despise him (yet) I’d begun to notice his sense of taste might be described as ‘crass’ by the unkinder observer. Perfume is a very personal thing and there’s no way I’m going to wear some foul stinky stuff, to appease anyone. So I told him I only wear Chanel, which is true. I thought of immediately saying something along the lines of “But it’s so expensive, please don’t buy me that” but I find the money talk a bit vulgar, and anyway, I’d gone on and on enough about how we maybe shouldn’t bother with presents, I didn’t want anything, just get me something really small and token, etc, so I thought any more would be going overboard and start to be embarrassing. And possibly sound like I was protesting too much, and was really testing him. So I left the perfume issue at that, and reiterated that I’d love some orange blossom water or a sugar thermometer. Seriously. Orange blossom water or a sugar thermometer. Have you got that, readers? Have I not said it enough times?
One day in January the end of the working day rolled round, and Other Man asked me if I’d walk with him to his car. On the way, he told me he’d been to the shopping centre that lunchtime and got me something. He told me he’d gone to the perfume counter at Myer’s, and the perfume was so expensive, he thought it was too much. Well he’d thought about getting it for me, but it would have set a precedent, wouldn’t it? Then I’d expect something like that every time. Something really expensive. He could afford it of course, but he felt it would be too much. So he got me something cheaper – hope I didn’t mind. He went on and on like this for a while, meanwhile, me thinking “Wow, how crass – he could have just ignored the perfume thing. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been pressuring him for it! But I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be tactless. It’s just his way. But I really hope he shuts up about it now.” He asked me if I’d like him to go home and wrap what it was that he had bought me, or should I just go to the car with him and he’d give it to me now? It’s kind of hard to be graceful when somebody has just gone to great lengths to tell you you’re not worth something, but I tried, and smiled and told him no, he didn’t need to wrap it and I’d come down to the car.
We got to the lifts to the car park. And still he went on about it. “I don’t want to set a precedent,” he kept saying. (Which is interesting, because if we were still together for next Christmas, and the Christmas after, in that case I’d be a long-term girlfriend, and men who by their own boasting ‘earn a shitload of money’ generally don’t mind buying expensive perfumes for long partners, at least you’d think.) With every repetition I felt more and more humiliated, as if I was being slapped down for being a grasping, greedy bitch. Funny when I’d pushed to not have a present at all, then asked for something cheap, and kept telling him a thought would count and all that. Clearly, grasping for expensive gifts is Something Girlfriends Do (from his relationship Bible at again?), and no matter that the whole time we’d been together, I’d told him I didn’t want to go to expensive restaurants (true), paid at least half the time whenever we went anywhere, never complained about boring evenings, given him little things to show him I was thinking about him (ie baking samples from whenever I baked) – none of this mattered.
By the way, this was in the same week that he had told me he’d won several hundred dollars in a sports bet, and had sent some of it to Thai Hooker to help her out with her child. He had plenty of spending money and wasn’t averse to giving it to women, just not to me. I had hoped, by being low maintenance, I’d never have to find out how little he was willing to spend on me. Oh vain hope!
As he blathered on, I wondered why he hadn’t just written me a cheque for whatever he was prepared to spend, since money was so obviously an issue here. I’ve never before received a present that was so blatantly about exchange of wealth. I kept thinking "Please stop saying it. I don't want to start shouting at you and make myself look even worse. Just let me keep it together and save face until I can be alone."
In case you’re wondering, it turned out he had bought me a very nice cookery book. He told me he thought that was much more suitable, not costing too much or too little. I don’t know how much it actually cost because he didn’t give me the receipt. (You've got to hand it to him – he has class!) I took it home – not wrapped, of course – and thought I’d never use it. Just looking at it made me feel sick and humiliated. I thought I’d give it to charity as soon as we broke up.
Nearly three months on, I haven’t given it away, and I do use it. It’s a bloody good book, and useful for something. Unlike some men I know.
So there you are, a story that shows that I am perhaps over-sensitive, and Other Man is both tight-fisted and has no tact or social skills at all! And there are plenty more stories where that came from!
The Man came last night as well, and was official photographer. I have been spending loads of time with him lately, after our bumpy two or three weeks recently. I think I am slowly coming back from nervous breakdown territory – I am calmer at work today too, so it’s all good. I really had an awful few weeks recently. A few times I found myself wishing I could just stop breathing and quietly die. Melodramatic, I know. It was like suddenly being sixteen again! Talk about shock to the system! But I am back to being me again, with my uneventful but satisfying life. All I ask is a resident male to cook for. Is that too much?
Having said that, maybe my standards are higher than I think. Other Man (you know I’m talking about him) is in Phuket at the moment being a complete sleaze. I still get a bit panicky when I think of how he might have given me AIDS or something almost as bad. No, I still haven’t had myself tested for STDs. I’m too scared. It’s not a health issue, because I feel fine and undiseased, and until I decide to have sex with someone else, it’s not a moral issue either. (Unless I get raped, but I think rapists can take their chances). But I was thinking about it again this weekend, because a friend of mine has two HIV positive guys in his (admittedly enormous) circle of friends. I can’t imagine how frightening an HIV + diagnosis would be. I don’t know how this friend of mine manages to be so generous with his sexual activity. It’s weird how people know STDs are out there, but it doesn’t put them off indiscriminately sleeping around. You’d think his two HIV POSITIVE FRIENDS would be a wake-up call. Does he think he’s immune for some reason? Does he think straight people have never caught AIDS before?
Anyway, in honour of my continuing fear that I might have diseased sexual organs, I’m going to round up today’s post with one of the greatest hits of Other Man and my late relationship! Cue drum roll and trumpet fanfare…this story is called:
The Christmas Present
I was feeling sort of weird about the whole obligatory gift giving thing around November/December/January – we both had birthdays, and of course there was Christmas. I was stressed enough with getting everyone else presents that I was supposed to, let alone worrying about feeling awkward about getting something for somebody I’d only just started going out with. The Man has always said how he gave up on extravagant Christmas spending long ago, and he’d hate someone to go through stress on his behalf, and end up spending a load of money on something he didn’t want anyway. So I said to Other Man, how about we don’t worry about presents for each other? Reasoning that men aren’t into it anyway, and think it’s a chore they have to do to please women, so surely he’d be relieved. I would have been so happy if I could have written off that worry – I was having a hard time, organising a trip to Melbourne and gifts, sending stuff to my family, moving house, and a lot of emotional stress. The last thing I wanted was the worry of what to get a guy I had just started dating, and worrying about the protocols of how much to spend.
And I really don’t think he was at all interested in the gift exchange thing, but he refused to let it go, because he has this idea that you HAVE to buy presents for your girlfriend because it’s the DONE THING, and God forbid we should break the rules. So we agreed we’d get something for each other in January, when the stress of Christmas was all over. Every time he mentioned it, I’d say, “Really, I’m not bothered. I don’t want anything.” And then, not to be too difficult and a pain, I’d end up saying he could get me some orange blossom water. Kind of ridiculously cheap, but I wanted it for cosmetics making, and couldn’t for the life of me find anything. I thought, if he really wanted to get me something I wanted, orange blossom water would show thought rather than extravagant spending, and would be very useful. On another occasion, I also suggested a sugar thermometer – again, something I really wanted, and not expensive. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was greedy for expensive gifts, in case he hadn’t already got the message when I tried to talk him out of any gifts at all. I don’t know why. Guess I have low self-esteem somewhere deep inside and need to be thought of as low maintenance.
This story has foreshadowing…turns out I should not have mentioned Chanel! Big mistake!
So, it turns out my groundwork was pointless. Apparently, men don’t buy girlfriends orange blossom water and sugar thermometers, according to ‘Men’s Health’ or whatever Other Man’s relationship Bible is. Even if girlfriends want orange blossom water and sugar thermometers. Apparently, men buy their girlfriends perfume. He brought up the subject of presents yet again, and said he’d decided to get me some perfume. My heart sank because even though I didn’t completely despise him (yet) I’d begun to notice his sense of taste might be described as ‘crass’ by the unkinder observer. Perfume is a very personal thing and there’s no way I’m going to wear some foul stinky stuff, to appease anyone. So I told him I only wear Chanel, which is true. I thought of immediately saying something along the lines of “But it’s so expensive, please don’t buy me that” but I find the money talk a bit vulgar, and anyway, I’d gone on and on enough about how we maybe shouldn’t bother with presents, I didn’t want anything, just get me something really small and token, etc, so I thought any more would be going overboard and start to be embarrassing. And possibly sound like I was protesting too much, and was really testing him. So I left the perfume issue at that, and reiterated that I’d love some orange blossom water or a sugar thermometer. Seriously. Orange blossom water or a sugar thermometer. Have you got that, readers? Have I not said it enough times?
One day in January the end of the working day rolled round, and Other Man asked me if I’d walk with him to his car. On the way, he told me he’d been to the shopping centre that lunchtime and got me something. He told me he’d gone to the perfume counter at Myer’s, and the perfume was so expensive, he thought it was too much. Well he’d thought about getting it for me, but it would have set a precedent, wouldn’t it? Then I’d expect something like that every time. Something really expensive. He could afford it of course, but he felt it would be too much. So he got me something cheaper – hope I didn’t mind. He went on and on like this for a while, meanwhile, me thinking “Wow, how crass – he could have just ignored the perfume thing. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been pressuring him for it! But I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be tactless. It’s just his way. But I really hope he shuts up about it now.” He asked me if I’d like him to go home and wrap what it was that he had bought me, or should I just go to the car with him and he’d give it to me now? It’s kind of hard to be graceful when somebody has just gone to great lengths to tell you you’re not worth something, but I tried, and smiled and told him no, he didn’t need to wrap it and I’d come down to the car.
We got to the lifts to the car park. And still he went on about it. “I don’t want to set a precedent,” he kept saying. (Which is interesting, because if we were still together for next Christmas, and the Christmas after, in that case I’d be a long-term girlfriend, and men who by their own boasting ‘earn a shitload of money’ generally don’t mind buying expensive perfumes for long partners, at least you’d think.) With every repetition I felt more and more humiliated, as if I was being slapped down for being a grasping, greedy bitch. Funny when I’d pushed to not have a present at all, then asked for something cheap, and kept telling him a thought would count and all that. Clearly, grasping for expensive gifts is Something Girlfriends Do (from his relationship Bible at again?), and no matter that the whole time we’d been together, I’d told him I didn’t want to go to expensive restaurants (true), paid at least half the time whenever we went anywhere, never complained about boring evenings, given him little things to show him I was thinking about him (ie baking samples from whenever I baked) – none of this mattered.
By the way, this was in the same week that he had told me he’d won several hundred dollars in a sports bet, and had sent some of it to Thai Hooker to help her out with her child. He had plenty of spending money and wasn’t averse to giving it to women, just not to me. I had hoped, by being low maintenance, I’d never have to find out how little he was willing to spend on me. Oh vain hope!
As he blathered on, I wondered why he hadn’t just written me a cheque for whatever he was prepared to spend, since money was so obviously an issue here. I’ve never before received a present that was so blatantly about exchange of wealth. I kept thinking "Please stop saying it. I don't want to start shouting at you and make myself look even worse. Just let me keep it together and save face until I can be alone."
In case you’re wondering, it turned out he had bought me a very nice cookery book. He told me he thought that was much more suitable, not costing too much or too little. I don’t know how much it actually cost because he didn’t give me the receipt. (You've got to hand it to him – he has class!) I took it home – not wrapped, of course – and thought I’d never use it. Just looking at it made me feel sick and humiliated. I thought I’d give it to charity as soon as we broke up.
Nearly three months on, I haven’t given it away, and I do use it. It’s a bloody good book, and useful for something. Unlike some men I know.
So there you are, a story that shows that I am perhaps over-sensitive, and Other Man is both tight-fisted and has no tact or social skills at all! And there are plenty more stories where that came from!
Wednesday 25 March 2009
An Update
So...it's all been a bit crappy lately. Further to my last post, there has been even more emotional drama, leaving me simultaneously drained/running on nervous energy. I don't even know how to feel any more. I certainly can't be bothered to run through everything that has happened on this blog. Just the thought of writing it is exhausting!
Work is also getting me down. I despise my job enough anyway, and the workload is so huge these days I need to be 100% to even think about staying on top of things. First thing this morning, my idiot boss rang me up and said airily I'd have to change a couple of tomorrow's videoconference meetings - about the hundredth change. I started crying once I'd put the phone down. I feel like a whipped dog sometimes, you know? My PDR is coming soon. I wonder if I can persuade them to fire me, with a nice little redundancy payment thrown in of course.
In good news, I played in public with my little band on Sunday! (Good for me, not so good for audiences everywhere...). I was so proud! As they say on Kath and Kim, I love myself sick! I only did two songs, but I am a legend in my own mind.
So anyway, that's my super-interesting update. Just thought I'd write something, so as to keep up the habit of writing, lest the unthinkable happen and I abandon this blog to dust and cobwebs.
Work is also getting me down. I despise my job enough anyway, and the workload is so huge these days I need to be 100% to even think about staying on top of things. First thing this morning, my idiot boss rang me up and said airily I'd have to change a couple of tomorrow's videoconference meetings - about the hundredth change. I started crying once I'd put the phone down. I feel like a whipped dog sometimes, you know? My PDR is coming soon. I wonder if I can persuade them to fire me, with a nice little redundancy payment thrown in of course.
In good news, I played in public with my little band on Sunday! (Good for me, not so good for audiences everywhere...). I was so proud! As they say on Kath and Kim, I love myself sick! I only did two songs, but I am a legend in my own mind.
So anyway, that's my super-interesting update. Just thought I'd write something, so as to keep up the habit of writing, lest the unthinkable happen and I abandon this blog to dust and cobwebs.
Wednesday 18 March 2009
Feeling Green On St Patrick's Day
I've had a rough few days lately.
I got it into my head that The Man was seeing another girl and was getting quite close to her. My jealousy was flying out of control. I was going to write a seething blog entry yesterday about what a revolting, man-chasing drip she is, and how I couldn't believe The Man would replace me with HER, and how he obviously never really loved me and I wasted the last few years of my life on him (I broke off our relationship and have been out with Other Man since, but hey, I see no need to be reasonable) Fortunately, I had no time.
So yesterday after work, I was on my way to ballet class, feeling all tearful. I got off the train and thought to myself, I really don't want to do this. So I crossed the platform and got on another train home. Now normally if I decided not to go to ballet, I'd call The Man and we'd have a cozy dinner together, but I'd decided to stop hassling him all the time as he now had Collossal Drip in his life. So I wandered around for a bit. That's something I never do, just wander the streets taking everything in, and I thought it might be good for me. I sat in a cafe and ordered a pot of tea, wondering if I'd happen to meet some clean-cut lovely young man just like happens in the movies and live happily ever after and never see the Man again. Then the cafe closed and I went home.
A few minutes after I'd arrived, I heard the familiar whine of his motorbike outside the house, so I opened the door. There he was in his helmet and bike jacket, holding out a bag of takeaway Thai food. He said "Oh! You're home! I thought you were at ballet! Why didn't you tell me? I was just going to drop this off so you would have something to eat when you got home, because I knew you'd be hungry." It was all I could do not to burst into tears.
We went out and walked for a while, and found an Irish pub (it was St Patrick's Day, and seemed to make sense to aim for a pub that would be ridiculously packed on this one day of the year). I had a massive glass of wine. It was delicious. Walking back, the conversation came round to relationships and such, and I finally found the courage to ask him about Collossal Drip. He said I shouldn't ask him about it, but I said actually it was my business because I'd hate to drop in, as I do several times a week, and find her there wilting pathetically in a corner (no I didn't put it quite like that), both of them expecting to have an intimate evening together. He then told me there was nothing going on. HOORAY! Suddenly, all my contempt and hatred for her (ok most of it, not all) fell away, and I felt human again!
We talked some more about how he'd eventually start going out with someone, and I would too, but we still wanted each other to be around. I blubbered a lot, which is always lovely when you're in public, and my eyes are still puffy today. But I feel a lot better. I still have to accept that he's trying to pull away from me somewhat, but I'm still his number 1 girl. I think. I'm going to stop obsessing about it anyway.
I got it into my head that The Man was seeing another girl and was getting quite close to her. My jealousy was flying out of control. I was going to write a seething blog entry yesterday about what a revolting, man-chasing drip she is, and how I couldn't believe The Man would replace me with HER, and how he obviously never really loved me and I wasted the last few years of my life on him (I broke off our relationship and have been out with Other Man since, but hey, I see no need to be reasonable) Fortunately, I had no time.
So yesterday after work, I was on my way to ballet class, feeling all tearful. I got off the train and thought to myself, I really don't want to do this. So I crossed the platform and got on another train home. Now normally if I decided not to go to ballet, I'd call The Man and we'd have a cozy dinner together, but I'd decided to stop hassling him all the time as he now had Collossal Drip in his life. So I wandered around for a bit. That's something I never do, just wander the streets taking everything in, and I thought it might be good for me. I sat in a cafe and ordered a pot of tea, wondering if I'd happen to meet some clean-cut lovely young man just like happens in the movies and live happily ever after and never see the Man again. Then the cafe closed and I went home.
A few minutes after I'd arrived, I heard the familiar whine of his motorbike outside the house, so I opened the door. There he was in his helmet and bike jacket, holding out a bag of takeaway Thai food. He said "Oh! You're home! I thought you were at ballet! Why didn't you tell me? I was just going to drop this off so you would have something to eat when you got home, because I knew you'd be hungry." It was all I could do not to burst into tears.
We went out and walked for a while, and found an Irish pub (it was St Patrick's Day, and seemed to make sense to aim for a pub that would be ridiculously packed on this one day of the year). I had a massive glass of wine. It was delicious. Walking back, the conversation came round to relationships and such, and I finally found the courage to ask him about Collossal Drip. He said I shouldn't ask him about it, but I said actually it was my business because I'd hate to drop in, as I do several times a week, and find her there wilting pathetically in a corner (no I didn't put it quite like that), both of them expecting to have an intimate evening together. He then told me there was nothing going on. HOORAY! Suddenly, all my contempt and hatred for her (ok most of it, not all) fell away, and I felt human again!
We talked some more about how he'd eventually start going out with someone, and I would too, but we still wanted each other to be around. I blubbered a lot, which is always lovely when you're in public, and my eyes are still puffy today. But I feel a lot better. I still have to accept that he's trying to pull away from me somewhat, but I'm still his number 1 girl. I think. I'm going to stop obsessing about it anyway.
Monday 9 March 2009
Feeding the Homeless - Well Thinking About It, At Least
The other night I caught the end of a program about homelessness on the streets of Sydney. (It turns out it was a part of ‘A Current Affair’ – if I’d known that I’d have switched off immediately; I mean, I am university educated). So anyway, it was kind of sad and made me thing about the plight of the homeless. I have thought about it before, of course, but like the melting polar ice caps and those bears whose glands they drain in order to get some drug from (am I making that up?) and the human slave trade, it’s not generally at the forefront of my mind.*
But I was thinking how I ought to be more giving to the homeless (starting from zero, ‘more’ wouldn’t be too difficult, would it?) They’re not my top cause ever, but seriously, how hard could it be to make a small effort to make someone’s life a bit better? I don’t think I’ll ever be homeless myself (on account of how I’m so educated, sexy, have a vibrant personality, am loveable etc) but I can imagine – almost – how scary and lonely it would be to have nothing and be hungry, and to have people walk past you not caring.
I very rarely give money to the homeless. Because you know, I reckon they’ll probably spend it on drugs, etc, etc. I mean I do generally believe that it's a high likelihood, and I don’t want to be subsidizing that. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t give in kind, rather than in money form.
On the documentary (OK, it was A Current Affair, but let’s pretend it was a documentary by serious, intelligent people) someone gave a homeless man a bag of breakfast in the morning. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Sometimes in the past when I’ve bought myself a pie on the way while I'm on the run I have thought of buying two, one for me and one to give away, but chances are I wouldn’t see a homeless person and then I’d be stuck carrying around a spare pie which would be a bloody nuisance.
The whole food giving thing takes some planning, but I think it would be a good idea. I suggested to the Man that I could combine my new role as Nice Giving Person with one of my favourite hobbies, making banana bread. There’s a soup kitchen for the homeless near our suburb, so we could pop down there one night and make a donation. The Man was pretty excited as his dream for me is to achieve world domination through selling banana muffins. Well one of his dreams for me, along with the one where I become one of Sydney’s popular local musicians and he manages my band. I did suggest that the pathway to riches wasn’t from selling muffins to the homeless, but he said I could practice on them. I guess that way any accidental food poisoning deaths won’t be so noticeable.** I think making muffins for the homeless would be so nice, and one day I will do it.
The program had a good point, but was also just the kind of preachy crap you’d expect A Current Affair to peddle. So as well as making me want to be a nicer person, it also makes me want to have a shower to wash the slime off me. Just so you know. I’d hate for you to think I can watch A Current Affair without feeling icky.
*though I did have a dream last night that I was one of a group of girls who’d been sold into sex slavery, and it was the night before we were supposed to be pimped out, and I was secretly sending texts to loads of people to try and get them to rescue me! Thanks, Other Man. This nightmare was YOUR work.
**Sorry, tasteless joke.
AND...In Other News:
- I am insulted in a team meeting!
In a team meeting today for one of the teams I support, we had birthday cake for the boss. One of the sales people, we’ll call her Jane, told me last week that she was organising it. Since I support very many people besides this team - two large, national teams (because I’m so extraordinarily competent) - and since I was off sick a couple of days last week and didn’t feel like taking on any MORE work, and since I don’t recall any specific items in my job description that say I have to organise birthday cakes, I thought sure, let her do it. I mean, it’s not such a big deal, surely? But she unveiled it at the meeting saying “Since I’m an ADMIN PERSON NOW and do ADMIN THINGS, I’ve organised this cake”. I should point out I was the only admin person at this meeting and incidentally, the only female besides her. So when she said that – instant humiliation! I surreptiously looked round to see if anyone was looking at me. They weren’t, but I’m sure they’d have all picked up on the implied insults that a) I should have organised the cake but didn’t bother, and/or b) being an admin person is infinitely beneath her and hence her comment was amusing.
Maybe she didn’t mean it in either of those ways, but if not, it’s hard to imagine what she did mean. Possibly it had nothing to do with me, and she was trying to impress upon the other guys that just because she’s a girl and organised a cake doesn’t mean she will be fetching them coffees next; she is kind of hardcore that way. I hope so. But I feel so humiliated that she obviously doesn't consider me in her league of womanly achievement. Maybe I should explain to her that as someone who considered very bright at school (I’m pretty sure I would have wiped the floor academically speaking with most of my sales team, had we gone to school together), I have a massive inferiority complex about the fact that I’ve washed up as the person who takes minutes and books meeting rooms, and I don’t appreciate having it rubbed in. I feel like enough of a failure as it is.
AND...
- And I find solo aerobics vastly amusing In our gym at work there’s a room where the classes are held, and at all other times gym members can use it for weights, stretching and whatever else they want some space for. When I went in there this afternoon there was a woman doing an aerobics routine all by herself, complete with loud music pumping on the room’s stereo system. Is it just me, or is that weird? I must say I had trouble suppressing a smirk as she buzzed frantically around the room, earnestly doing those mystifying, jerky movements that aerobics people do. By herself. Ha ha ha!
Wednesday 4 March 2009
The Ex Files - Horror Stories Part 1!
I’m only just beginning to realise the full extent of how angry I still am – mainly with myself – over my involvement with Other Man. In fact it’s getting worse and I need to resolve it before I turn into an embittered old maid who can’t bear the thought of letting a man touch her…or is it too late for that…?
This Monday, which is about two weeks after we broke up, Other Man finally felt able to suggest we go for a coffee together, at work. He spent most of the time whingeing about some stupid commission that work is cheating him out of, and also answered my questions about how the rest of his life is going. As usual, he didn’t ask me anything about myself, which is fine by me as I’m a pretty private person, and just because we’ve slept together doesn’t mean I expect him to have any interest in me whatsoever! As we were walking back to our desks he mentioned he was going away in a couple of weeks, to Phuket. I didn’t think much of it at the time because to be honest I wasn’t listening that hard anyway – well, would you?
But the next morning I remembered what he’d said about going to Phuket. Of course – he has this ‘friend’ there – a poverty stricken Thai woman who he sometimes sends money to and in return she calls and e-mails him saying how much she misses him and asking him when he’s coming to visit, and he’s all flattered and charmed and everything. You know the drill. Basically, Other Man is one of the droves of men who like to go on holiday in Thailand and take advantage of the poverty of the local women to get sex and ridiculous amounts of flattery.
Unfortunately for my conscience, Other Man did actually tell me about Thai Hooker before we ever had sex. It was weird. It wasn’t like a confession at all, it was more like “by the way I’m this really great, generous guy and women adore me and want to have sex with me because I’m so hot and such a nice guy, including this cute little Thai girl who I just happened to meet in Thailand, and I send her money because she’s desperate, and she just happens to want to be my girlfriend, presumably because I’m so great and hot etc etc. I was wavering between thinking, "he can’t possibly be interested in me if he’s telling me he maintains a Thai hooker", and thinking "well if he is interested in me, I must be misinterpreting this". And so, because I’m such an idiot, and hadn’t had sex in so long, I decided to let the Thai Hooker thing slide when he told me he wanted to go out with me, and I had sex with him. And now I’m left terrified that the next time I let my health get run down, I’ll break out in genital warts or something. I mean, I could have caught anything from him. And the worst thing is that on some level – and not very deep down either – I knew this before I first went to bed with him. How stupid am I?
I’d like to make one thing clear. I have nothing against Thai Hooker herself. I’m calling her ‘Thai Hooker’ here to illustrate how deeply offended I am by Other Man’s behaviour, not by hers. I don’t believe I am in any position to judge her. Her life sounds dreadful. Apparently she has a baby and was dumped by her husband, and works in a shop for basically slave wages; the baby lives with her family and she sends as much money as she can. Recently, the baby was sick and needed an operation, which Other Man paid for, otherwise it would have died (well so I’m told, anyway). She’s been dealt a pretty raw deal in life and I’m sure I’d be befriending male tourists too if it meant a bit of desperately needed extra money. At least that’s better than hitting the bars every night looking for customers (assuming she doesn’t). Sex and companionship with Other Man probably isn’t such a bad exchange – after all, I did it for free. It’s not that bad, honest. But it’s pretty disgusting that she and so many other Thai women have to barter themselves like that to keep themselves and their children alive.
So what disgusts me is not her, but Other Man’s side of the deal. I could totally get on board with it if he just sent her money, but if sex is being had – and I’m sure it is – then that’s not ok. Buying companionship and sex from anyone, especially a poor woman, is NOT COOL. Whenever I go to Thailand, it disturbs me more than I can say to see all the single guys getting off the plane with me and knowing they’re probably there to take advantage of the local women – buying sex from woman so poor they have no choice but to sell themselves is just a great holiday for these guys. And it disturbs me even more than that to know that I have slept with one of these guys, given part of myself to him. I feel like I’ve degraded myself, and I don’t know how to get my dignity back.
You know what’s really weird? Other Man seems to have dressed it up a bit in his head so that he doesn’t seem to notice what it is. He honestly seems to believe he’s a real hero, a friend of women. I suppose it says something for him that he doesn’t get off on just paying some poor streetwalker to have sex with him, and that he has to maintain some kind of ‘relationship’ through phone calls and e-mails. But can he really be that naïve? Or is it just vanity? He really seems to believe she is actually very keen on him. She’s all “you very handsome man” and “you no have much money but very generous”, you know, all that big white hero stuff. When it’s clear to me that she is in effect calling him plead for the life of her child, and for enough food to eat. He says “She really didn’t want me to send her money!” Umm, yeah right. And does he not know how it looks to me?
Vying for top place among the insults to me, along with exploitation of women, and being tacky enough to do it in Thailand, is the fact that he was so open with me about it. It seems like there are no boundaries any more in how a man will behave towards a woman, and we’re supposed to accept it. When Other Man and I first got together, he actually had the gall to tell me I was lucky, because at one point he was thinking of bringing her to Australia as a de facto spouse, but then decided he didn’t want the hassle of a baby to look after. (No, it’s not romantic – this is a man who told me he’d given up on ever getting an Australian woman as he had no luck in relationships; this is a man who hasn’t got the social skills to get a woman of his own culture and class so toys with the idea of buying a poor woman who’ll have to put up with him.) It’s the first time a man’s told me I am in competition with a Thai prostitute and am lucky he chose me (but then, there have been a few firsts with Other Man). It’s interesting that he didn’t consider himself the lucky one, and believe me I was very sweet to him and enthusiastic with the sex. And he got me for free.
Maybe I’m over-reacting. Maybe I shouldn’t be this angry. Maybe my anger isn’t really for him. I suppose I’m really angry with all men like him. And that a poor country like Thailand has this huge sex trade thing going on, where they sell their women flesh to men all over the world, and many people seem ok with that. It’s offensive to me as a woman and as a human being.
But I guess mostly I’m just scared he’s given me herpes or something. Time will tell.
This Monday, which is about two weeks after we broke up, Other Man finally felt able to suggest we go for a coffee together, at work. He spent most of the time whingeing about some stupid commission that work is cheating him out of, and also answered my questions about how the rest of his life is going. As usual, he didn’t ask me anything about myself, which is fine by me as I’m a pretty private person, and just because we’ve slept together doesn’t mean I expect him to have any interest in me whatsoever! As we were walking back to our desks he mentioned he was going away in a couple of weeks, to Phuket. I didn’t think much of it at the time because to be honest I wasn’t listening that hard anyway – well, would you?
But the next morning I remembered what he’d said about going to Phuket. Of course – he has this ‘friend’ there – a poverty stricken Thai woman who he sometimes sends money to and in return she calls and e-mails him saying how much she misses him and asking him when he’s coming to visit, and he’s all flattered and charmed and everything. You know the drill. Basically, Other Man is one of the droves of men who like to go on holiday in Thailand and take advantage of the poverty of the local women to get sex and ridiculous amounts of flattery.
Unfortunately for my conscience, Other Man did actually tell me about Thai Hooker before we ever had sex. It was weird. It wasn’t like a confession at all, it was more like “by the way I’m this really great, generous guy and women adore me and want to have sex with me because I’m so hot and such a nice guy, including this cute little Thai girl who I just happened to meet in Thailand, and I send her money because she’s desperate, and she just happens to want to be my girlfriend, presumably because I’m so great and hot etc etc. I was wavering between thinking, "he can’t possibly be interested in me if he’s telling me he maintains a Thai hooker", and thinking "well if he is interested in me, I must be misinterpreting this". And so, because I’m such an idiot, and hadn’t had sex in so long, I decided to let the Thai Hooker thing slide when he told me he wanted to go out with me, and I had sex with him. And now I’m left terrified that the next time I let my health get run down, I’ll break out in genital warts or something. I mean, I could have caught anything from him. And the worst thing is that on some level – and not very deep down either – I knew this before I first went to bed with him. How stupid am I?
I’d like to make one thing clear. I have nothing against Thai Hooker herself. I’m calling her ‘Thai Hooker’ here to illustrate how deeply offended I am by Other Man’s behaviour, not by hers. I don’t believe I am in any position to judge her. Her life sounds dreadful. Apparently she has a baby and was dumped by her husband, and works in a shop for basically slave wages; the baby lives with her family and she sends as much money as she can. Recently, the baby was sick and needed an operation, which Other Man paid for, otherwise it would have died (well so I’m told, anyway). She’s been dealt a pretty raw deal in life and I’m sure I’d be befriending male tourists too if it meant a bit of desperately needed extra money. At least that’s better than hitting the bars every night looking for customers (assuming she doesn’t). Sex and companionship with Other Man probably isn’t such a bad exchange – after all, I did it for free. It’s not that bad, honest. But it’s pretty disgusting that she and so many other Thai women have to barter themselves like that to keep themselves and their children alive.
So what disgusts me is not her, but Other Man’s side of the deal. I could totally get on board with it if he just sent her money, but if sex is being had – and I’m sure it is – then that’s not ok. Buying companionship and sex from anyone, especially a poor woman, is NOT COOL. Whenever I go to Thailand, it disturbs me more than I can say to see all the single guys getting off the plane with me and knowing they’re probably there to take advantage of the local women – buying sex from woman so poor they have no choice but to sell themselves is just a great holiday for these guys. And it disturbs me even more than that to know that I have slept with one of these guys, given part of myself to him. I feel like I’ve degraded myself, and I don’t know how to get my dignity back.
You know what’s really weird? Other Man seems to have dressed it up a bit in his head so that he doesn’t seem to notice what it is. He honestly seems to believe he’s a real hero, a friend of women. I suppose it says something for him that he doesn’t get off on just paying some poor streetwalker to have sex with him, and that he has to maintain some kind of ‘relationship’ through phone calls and e-mails. But can he really be that naïve? Or is it just vanity? He really seems to believe she is actually very keen on him. She’s all “you very handsome man” and “you no have much money but very generous”, you know, all that big white hero stuff. When it’s clear to me that she is in effect calling him plead for the life of her child, and for enough food to eat. He says “She really didn’t want me to send her money!” Umm, yeah right. And does he not know how it looks to me?
Vying for top place among the insults to me, along with exploitation of women, and being tacky enough to do it in Thailand, is the fact that he was so open with me about it. It seems like there are no boundaries any more in how a man will behave towards a woman, and we’re supposed to accept it. When Other Man and I first got together, he actually had the gall to tell me I was lucky, because at one point he was thinking of bringing her to Australia as a de facto spouse, but then decided he didn’t want the hassle of a baby to look after. (No, it’s not romantic – this is a man who told me he’d given up on ever getting an Australian woman as he had no luck in relationships; this is a man who hasn’t got the social skills to get a woman of his own culture and class so toys with the idea of buying a poor woman who’ll have to put up with him.) It’s the first time a man’s told me I am in competition with a Thai prostitute and am lucky he chose me (but then, there have been a few firsts with Other Man). It’s interesting that he didn’t consider himself the lucky one, and believe me I was very sweet to him and enthusiastic with the sex. And he got me for free.
Maybe I’m over-reacting. Maybe I shouldn’t be this angry. Maybe my anger isn’t really for him. I suppose I’m really angry with all men like him. And that a poor country like Thailand has this huge sex trade thing going on, where they sell their women flesh to men all over the world, and many people seem ok with that. It’s offensive to me as a woman and as a human being.
But I guess mostly I’m just scared he’s given me herpes or something. Time will tell.
Monday 2 March 2009
Making Soap
So I finally made soap!
I went to a workshop sometime near the end of last year to learn how to make soap. It has taken me that long to collect all the necessary equipment, and so it was with great excitement that I assembled all tools and got down to business last weekend.
This is how I did it:
1. Add water to caustic soda. The temperature rapidly rises so that the water steams and the glass measuring jug is hot to the touch. (2 or 3 tiny caustic soda pellets fell onto the floor somewhere and I couldn't find them - I am SO hoping no-one steps on them with damp feet...) I put blue swimming goggles on to protect my eyes - I don't have proper science-y goggles - so from this point on, my memories of the process are marine tinted.
2. Start heating the olive oil. It's supposed to reach a certain temperature, 38 degrees or something, at the same time as the caustic soda cools to that same temperature. I over-estimated how much heat the oil required and consequently spent the next 20 minutes or so frantically trying to cool it, pouring the oil in and out of various containers, dunking it in ice and so on. Panic!
3. Then add the caustic soda/water to the oil, and stir until soap tracings appear on the surface. And then I realised, I had no idea if I was meant to be heating the mixture while I stirred! (Oh no! And what in God's name is a 'soap tracing'??) So I hedged my bets, stirring for a while without heat, then adding heat. You see, can't possibly go wrong!
4. Pour into pan. Over the next three days or so, stir morning and night to ensure oil is blended in. Only, by the next morning, half of it was solid already. Oh dear.
In the end I called the instructor, who'd kindly given us her mobile number in case we had any problems, even though it's all so easy, and she confirmed that I wasn't meant to heat it in step #3. She's agreed to look over some samples to see if I have ruined the soap completely (ie probably yes!) so I posted them to her on Saturday. By Australia Post, so she probably won't receive them for days and days...anyway. I am looking forward to the verdict.
I went to a workshop sometime near the end of last year to learn how to make soap. It has taken me that long to collect all the necessary equipment, and so it was with great excitement that I assembled all tools and got down to business last weekend.
This is how I did it:
1. Add water to caustic soda. The temperature rapidly rises so that the water steams and the glass measuring jug is hot to the touch. (2 or 3 tiny caustic soda pellets fell onto the floor somewhere and I couldn't find them - I am SO hoping no-one steps on them with damp feet...) I put blue swimming goggles on to protect my eyes - I don't have proper science-y goggles - so from this point on, my memories of the process are marine tinted.
2. Start heating the olive oil. It's supposed to reach a certain temperature, 38 degrees or something, at the same time as the caustic soda cools to that same temperature. I over-estimated how much heat the oil required and consequently spent the next 20 minutes or so frantically trying to cool it, pouring the oil in and out of various containers, dunking it in ice and so on. Panic!
3. Then add the caustic soda/water to the oil, and stir until soap tracings appear on the surface. And then I realised, I had no idea if I was meant to be heating the mixture while I stirred! (Oh no! And what in God's name is a 'soap tracing'??) So I hedged my bets, stirring for a while without heat, then adding heat. You see, can't possibly go wrong!
4. Pour into pan. Over the next three days or so, stir morning and night to ensure oil is blended in. Only, by the next morning, half of it was solid already. Oh dear.
In the end I called the instructor, who'd kindly given us her mobile number in case we had any problems, even though it's all so easy, and she confirmed that I wasn't meant to heat it in step #3. She's agreed to look over some samples to see if I have ruined the soap completely (ie probably yes!) so I posted them to her on Saturday. By Australia Post, so she probably won't receive them for days and days...anyway. I am looking forward to the verdict.
Saturday 14 February 2009
The Deed is Done
Other Man and I are now over.
I told him last night. It was horrible. I thought I'd feel happy and relieved and lighthearted afterwards, but I didn't. I just felt cruel and regretful.
I believe I did the right thing, but I can't help wishing I could take it back, give him a big and make him feel better. He was so shocked and seemed kind of upset. Made me feel like a colossal jerk, and so sad. I didn't leave with a spring in my step like I'd expected, and I didn't feel empowered. I felt like I could cry.
I must stop dumping people. I think I should stop going out with men completely, for their own good!
It's like, when I'm going to break up with a man, I expect him to be quite accepting, maybe even turn the tables on me and say he'd actually been wanting to break up with me too. I never expect him to be unhappy about it. How horrid.
Anyway, I suppose I'm just being over-sensitive. Other Man doesn't really need a big hug - I do. I think just about any woman would do for him. He didn't really like me that much, just having someone for convenient sex.
Should be fun seeing him at work on Monday...
I told him last night. It was horrible. I thought I'd feel happy and relieved and lighthearted afterwards, but I didn't. I just felt cruel and regretful.
I believe I did the right thing, but I can't help wishing I could take it back, give him a big and make him feel better. He was so shocked and seemed kind of upset. Made me feel like a colossal jerk, and so sad. I didn't leave with a spring in my step like I'd expected, and I didn't feel empowered. I felt like I could cry.
I must stop dumping people. I think I should stop going out with men completely, for their own good!
It's like, when I'm going to break up with a man, I expect him to be quite accepting, maybe even turn the tables on me and say he'd actually been wanting to break up with me too. I never expect him to be unhappy about it. How horrid.
Anyway, I suppose I'm just being over-sensitive. Other Man doesn't really need a big hug - I do. I think just about any woman would do for him. He didn't really like me that much, just having someone for convenient sex.
Should be fun seeing him at work on Monday...
Thursday 12 February 2009
Good Clean Fun!
Yes, I have reasons to be cheerful! Isn't that nice?
#1 Soap making - I have finally, finally, since my course in November or whenever it was, got together all the equipment I need to make my first attempt at soap. It is not much of an exaggeration to say, I can't wait! I have a new cheap saucepan expressly for the purpose; also roasting tray, spoon, sugar thermometers (you have NO idea how difficult they were to get hold of; it seems like every homewares shop in Australia has an empty rack of them), measuring jug, caustic soda and even the olive oil I will need.
Once you've boiled up the soap, it has to set for SIX WEEKS until it is ready to use. It will be pure castille soap (dunno what that means but it sounds good, eh), but you can then boil it again with other ingredients to make all kinds of scented, luxurious soaps.
Can you imagine? Making saop from olive oil and nothing else except caustic soda? I am so excited to finally play the mad alchemist, I could burst! I've got Sunday circled on the calendar, so fingers crossed it all goes well.
#2 - Jamming with musos - I have, again FINALLY, found some muso types to jam with. I answered an ad on the internet from two guitarists who were looking for string players to play with, and went along last night to try it out. I've never done anything like that before - playing my violin has always involved someone putting sheet music in front of me, so it was daunting to be expected to just take my instrument out of its case and play it. I didn't set the world on fire or anything, but I surprised myself by not being too awful. There was another violinist there and she was better than me, but then she's had a bit more experience of that kind of thing.
The two guitarists wrote all their own songs, which was quite impressive. It was mostly that dirgy, snooze-inducing folk stuff that has about one chord and 300 verses, but in a way that was good because it was easier for me to try and play along to.
So anyway, quite soon I'll probably be a really famous musician and I won't have time to write here any more.
#1 Soap making - I have finally, finally, since my course in November or whenever it was, got together all the equipment I need to make my first attempt at soap. It is not much of an exaggeration to say, I can't wait! I have a new cheap saucepan expressly for the purpose; also roasting tray, spoon, sugar thermometers (you have NO idea how difficult they were to get hold of; it seems like every homewares shop in Australia has an empty rack of them), measuring jug, caustic soda and even the olive oil I will need.
Once you've boiled up the soap, it has to set for SIX WEEKS until it is ready to use. It will be pure castille soap (dunno what that means but it sounds good, eh), but you can then boil it again with other ingredients to make all kinds of scented, luxurious soaps.
Can you imagine? Making saop from olive oil and nothing else except caustic soda? I am so excited to finally play the mad alchemist, I could burst! I've got Sunday circled on the calendar, so fingers crossed it all goes well.
#2 - Jamming with musos - I have, again FINALLY, found some muso types to jam with. I answered an ad on the internet from two guitarists who were looking for string players to play with, and went along last night to try it out. I've never done anything like that before - playing my violin has always involved someone putting sheet music in front of me, so it was daunting to be expected to just take my instrument out of its case and play it. I didn't set the world on fire or anything, but I surprised myself by not being too awful. There was another violinist there and she was better than me, but then she's had a bit more experience of that kind of thing.
The two guitarists wrote all their own songs, which was quite impressive. It was mostly that dirgy, snooze-inducing folk stuff that has about one chord and 300 verses, but in a way that was good because it was easier for me to try and play along to.
So anyway, quite soon I'll probably be a really famous musician and I won't have time to write here any more.
Monday 9 February 2009
How to Succeed
This morning when I arrived at work I was dismayed to discover that I had an 8:30 team meeting to attend. 8:30 on a Monday morning? Who has meetings then? I’d spent the bus journey to work talking myself into a good morale for the week ahead, but then I found this in my diary and that was the end of that.
This meeting was chaired by a Sales Manager, who we shall call Tony, a man takes his job way too seriously. If he wasn’t such a thoroughly decent, good bloke, and he really is, I would unquestionably despise him. This is a man who subscribes to Sucess Magazine, a publication I was sublimely content never to have heard of until he decided to bring it up at every team meeting, urging subscriptions on everyone and photocopying articles composed entirely of smug platitudes to hand out to everyone.
According to the website, a veritable photogallery of square jawed 40-something males smirking under titles such as 'Corner Office' and 'How I Do It', Success Magazine is 'What Achievers Read'! (I know, it makes me want to vomit too.) I couldn't find a definition for success, but of course we all know it's lots and lots of money. Helpful advice includes:
- Slime your way up the office hierarchy (networking)
- Care for your nearest and dearest (Keep your body fit so you can work even harder)
- Keep your family sweet so they'll leave you the fuck alone
- Teach your kids important values in life (money management)
- Smugness (giving to charidee - helps avoid those waking up in the middle of the night "What am I doing with my life?" crises - you're a good guy, right?)
- Read books - Even ones that aren't about money!! They might help you with the getting rich stuff. You never know.
Featured heroes this issue include Einstein (because of course Success readers can really aspire to be like one of the greatest scientists that ever lived, though with a smarmier haircut and bigger teeth, of course) and Ray Kroc, who I know from a song by Dire Straits* and let's say, it wasn't terribly complimentary. Maybe if I read the article, I can become more like him! Because of course I want to!
It kind of hurts my soul that this magazine even exists. Can you tell? The worst thing is that I work on a floor of about 100 sales people who all lap this stuff up. I really don't want to share the same air as people who consider themselves 'goal-orientated' and read articles about 'the formula for failure and success'. People who think hobbies and interests are things you have to make time for because you're so busy making money. These are the kind of people who probably think Hugh Heifner is someone to admire.
My colleagues can be summed up in one word: consumers. They are encouraged to think that everything in the world is there for their consumption. Nature is there to ripped out of the earth and made into big ugly houses for their families; primary resources there to be converted into fast cars and yachts; animals are for eating/riding/wearing/being peered at in zoos/turned into pets to keep their bratty kids happy; women are for leering at/giving birth to your children/screwing; other countries are for (sex) tourism and blokey piss-up holidays; do I need to go on? All you need is MONEY. Then you can - indeed it's your duty to! - pay your money and buy whatever or whoever you feel like consuming. You're entitled to. After all, you've spent all year ignoring your family and making lots of lovely MONEY for the company.
Once every year we have a big event to mark the beginning of the new sales year and recognise all the highest achieving sales guys (they're all guys, even the few women) of the previous years. There's a dinner, entertainment (with scantily clad women - this evening is all about rewards, and women demeaning themselves is a reward), speeches, then a nauseating awards ceremony which always ends up with pretty much every sales person on stage, back-slapping and congratulating each other, machismo dripping all over the place like chip fat. Every man there is convinced he's an alpha male just oozing sexiness, dominance and leadership.** I drink at these things. You have to.
Last time I was repeatedly groped and propositioned by one of the drunkest guys there. He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and if I did, if he had a small penis and left me unsatisfied in bed. Maybe he thought he would be preferable to a man with a small penis and no sexual skill. My colleagues are delusional like that.
So anyway, I hate my job. And I will be here forever.
* I trust Dire Straits' opinion more than Success Magazine's.
**Also they all seem to think they're atheletes in training for the Olympics in some very manly, thrusting sport. I know, weird.
Wednesday 4 February 2009
Time to Break Up - Again
I'm aiming for this Sunday. I really have no idea how to do it. What's a nice way to break up with someone? I realise e-mail and text message are out, though even if I wanted to be so evil, it would hardly help given that I work a mere metres away from him.
I was wondering, do I drop hints for a couple of weeks so as to soften the blow? Should I generally be a bitch for a while? Or be all evasive when he asks me if he can see me at the weekend, so that he starts to suspect? I know that sounds mean, but is it meaner than brightly accepting offers and then saying at the end of the date, "by the way, let's break up!"
Other methods I've thought of include:
I was wondering, do I drop hints for a couple of weeks so as to soften the blow? Should I generally be a bitch for a while? Or be all evasive when he asks me if he can see me at the weekend, so that he starts to suspect? I know that sounds mean, but is it meaner than brightly accepting offers and then saying at the end of the date, "by the way, let's break up!"
Other methods I've thought of include:
- Suggesting I want babies. NOW! He would run a mile - if he believed me.
- exposing him to lots of beautiful women. He's a bit of a lech so when he starts openly perving at them, I can initiate a mad fight!
- I could leave the country
- I could become really, really annoying in so many ways that he breaks up with me
Pitfalls:
- He'll probably know I'm lying, and know it's an insulting way of me trying to break up with him - not nice
- I can't work up the anger over this one. I don't really care.
- I'd love to, but no money at the moment
- I can't be annoying. Seriously. I'm just not an annoying person. It's impossible for me to be anything but FAB.
So I'm back to square one - date on Sunday then break it to him gently. I want it to be this Sunday so as to avoid all Valentine's Day ridiculousness next weekend. God, I hate these nauseating days The Establishment foist on us, and Other Man is way too conservative to join me in thumbing my nose at them. It has been ordained that official boyfriends must mark the event, and God forbid we should lapse in our duties to capitalism. So the burning question is, what kind of date activity is suitable when you intend to end it with a break up?
Or do you plan a date, meet, break up, then agree not to bother?
Why do they not teach these things in school?!!!!
Wednesday 28 January 2009
The Good and the Bad
Things I'm loving this week:
- Salsa! I did two classes (two hours) last night and it was so much fun I could have died happy! I was exhausted though. Sad to think I have only got around doing it at age 30. So many wasted years!
- Haigh's dark chocolate. I got a box of this sent to me by a business contact to thank me for getting something signed. Soooo delicious. It's in my bedroom because I knew if I kept it at work I would eat it all in a couple of days. I am hardly ever at home, so it works out better this way. Each time after I've had one, I carefully close up the box, replace the sticker that seals it shut, slide it back into its half opened golden gift wrap and fold the open edge closed, reverently. Well, it tastes so good, eating it is like a religious experience to me, so I feel a certain amount of ritual is appropriate.
- Chinese dumplings. The Man invited some if his Chinese students round on Monday, which was Chinese New Year's Day as well as Australia Day. I went too and played the hostess, even though I'm apparently Mrs Other Man now. I got to watch the great Making of the Dumplings, and I rolled quite a few too, so now I have dumplings in my cooking repertoire. I'm getting quite excited thinking of all the variations to the fillings that I can do, and the accompanying sauces I am going to create. Really, it's about time some wealthy and traditional man marries me, because I will make an awesome housewife!
Things I'm not loving:
- Sweaty men at the gym. All the stretching mats are covered in grease slicks. Now, is it so hard to cover strategic parts of the mat with a towel? The bits where you know your t-shirt might ride up from your slimy wet back? If I can do it - and I sweat perfume and moisturiser, because I'm a girl, and a wholesome one at that - then so can men. And it's disgusting when they actually drip sweat onto the equipment. Yuck, yuck yuck!
- My job. Don't get me started.
- The whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. It would be ok if you only had to go out with them, say, once a fortnight. But seriously, I don't have time. It's a simple equation: available free time - time spent dancing = time that could have been spent dancing if it were not for the need to be with man.
Thursday 15 January 2009
A mixed bag: holidays, evil family, paedophilia
I am having a long weekend starting tomorrow. I will be spending it at the Gold Coast, a place I have never wanted to go, with the Other Man, visiting his friend, who I have never met, but given that I despise pretty much all his friends that I have met so far, well. Fun. So why did I say I'd go? I'm just a girl who can't say no! La-la, la-la-la-la laaaaaaaah!
Other news: I spent an absolute fortune just after Christmas, sending a calendar and a desk calendar to my brother and his evil girlfriend, and have not heard from them. So either they are 1) terrifically ungrateful or 2) have changed their address and deliberately gave me the wrong one. I'm wavering between 1) and 2) depending on my mood. Today I'm veering toward 2). Honestly. It's quite possible. They didn't even contact my parents over Christmas, let alone go see them. May a plague take them both! Maybe they didn't even open the parcel. Maybe they thought it was a bomb since it was from me. Their paranoia, and sense of self-importance, knows no bounds.
And finally, having just visited here, may I just say how pleased I am to see a top Saudi cleric speaking out for little girls' rights to get married at 10. How can anyone say the Saudi religious establishment does not have women's well-being at heart? I wish my parents had married me off at 10. The best bit would have been the sex. Imagine having an adult penis rammed into your tiny, pre-pubescent vagina. How nice.
There has been so much publicity about paedophile Catholic priests. But maybe clerics of all religions are doing it. At least the Muslims are open about it - no-one can accuse their clergy of sweeping it under the prayer mat. They're out and proud!
Other news: I spent an absolute fortune just after Christmas, sending a calendar and a desk calendar to my brother and his evil girlfriend, and have not heard from them. So either they are 1) terrifically ungrateful or 2) have changed their address and deliberately gave me the wrong one. I'm wavering between 1) and 2) depending on my mood. Today I'm veering toward 2). Honestly. It's quite possible. They didn't even contact my parents over Christmas, let alone go see them. May a plague take them both! Maybe they didn't even open the parcel. Maybe they thought it was a bomb since it was from me. Their paranoia, and sense of self-importance, knows no bounds.
And finally, having just visited here, may I just say how pleased I am to see a top Saudi cleric speaking out for little girls' rights to get married at 10. How can anyone say the Saudi religious establishment does not have women's well-being at heart? I wish my parents had married me off at 10. The best bit would have been the sex. Imagine having an adult penis rammed into your tiny, pre-pubescent vagina. How nice.
There has been so much publicity about paedophile Catholic priests. But maybe clerics of all religions are doing it. At least the Muslims are open about it - no-one can accuse their clergy of sweeping it under the prayer mat. They're out and proud!
Thursday 8 January 2009
You Know It's Time To Break Up With Someone When...
...when your subconscious does this to you:
Here's the bad dream I had last night: My inner slut likes to come out and play sometimes in my dreams, and last night she decided I was going to have dream sex with this random man. He seemed nice enough, so why not. He had bad skin with red lumps all over, and as I was undressing him I noticed big bumps on his bottom. I thought "Urgh, boils!".
Then he told me to be careful of a lumpy area on his stomach. I asked him what it was, and he said, "Have you heard of the plague?"
I said, "What do you mean?"
He said, "You know the Bubonic plague? That spread like wildfire through Europe in the Middle Ages, wiping out a third of the population and forcing the end of feudalism?"
"You have that?"
"Oh yes" he replied, airily.
So obviously I leapt up and put my clothes back on. Meanwhile, his family members assured me that I probably couldn't have caught it, and that he'd had sex with lots of women who seemed to still be ok. I asked him if it was curable and he was all "No, I'm going to die soon."
All I could think of was that I'd been touching and kissing his plaguey skin!!! YUCK!
So I think maybe my subconscious mind wants me to be celibate. I imagine the inner demons who run my brain, thinking "What's the most subtle way we can turn Sprite off sex?" Perhaps they have been talking to my mother. I see her work in this. If she was allowed to design dreams for me, I'd probably have that one every night.
Here's the bad dream I had last night: My inner slut likes to come out and play sometimes in my dreams, and last night she decided I was going to have dream sex with this random man. He seemed nice enough, so why not. He had bad skin with red lumps all over, and as I was undressing him I noticed big bumps on his bottom. I thought "Urgh, boils!".
Then he told me to be careful of a lumpy area on his stomach. I asked him what it was, and he said, "Have you heard of the plague?"
I said, "What do you mean?"
He said, "You know the Bubonic plague? That spread like wildfire through Europe in the Middle Ages, wiping out a third of the population and forcing the end of feudalism?"
"You have that?"
"Oh yes" he replied, airily.
So obviously I leapt up and put my clothes back on. Meanwhile, his family members assured me that I probably couldn't have caught it, and that he'd had sex with lots of women who seemed to still be ok. I asked him if it was curable and he was all "No, I'm going to die soon."
All I could think of was that I'd been touching and kissing his plaguey skin!!! YUCK!
So I think maybe my subconscious mind wants me to be celibate. I imagine the inner demons who run my brain, thinking "What's the most subtle way we can turn Sprite off sex?" Perhaps they have been talking to my mother. I see her work in this. If she was allowed to design dreams for me, I'd probably have that one every night.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
Nuggets of Wisdom: The Australian Male
Well since the Man and I officially parted ways (though I'm using the word 'since' here kind of loosely, but let's not dwell on that...) I have been dipping my toes into the murky world of post 30's dating.
I know everyone says 'dating'* is supposed to be different and more difficult when you're out of your 20s. I'm not sure about this. I still feel young. I think a suprising number of people actually like feeling old, but I am not one of them, so I'm going to continue to have a young outlook on life. So I don't have a problem with going out with guys as such.
So I don't have a problem myself, but I sure feel sorry for the men in my future! They will all be compared to my beloved Man, who is perfect for me in every way, and if he was closer to my age and we had more chemistry, we would surely be married and living happily ever after.
I was thinking about this last night as I traipsed tipsily home after a pleasant dinner with..erm...The Man and a friend of his last night: The Man has always slagged off Australian males, saying they're chauvinistic cavemen types who drink too much and wouldn't know culture if it slapped them in the face. I always thought he was being a bit harsh because he's an Australian himself, in the same way as I'm sometimes overly harsh about things from my own benighted homeland, bless its rainy little heart. But my new situation has seen me spending more time than I ever have with Aussie men - ie, a bit - and I'm beginning to see his point. Here are some things I have noticed about a certain kind of Australian male:
You may have guessed, I'm 'seeing' someone else at the moment. Let us call him, the Other Man. I like it. It makes me sound more worldly, like I have multiple affairs going on because I'm so sexually sophisticated. I prefer to say that I'm 'seeing him' rather than he's my boyfriend, because 'boyfriend' sounds intimate, and I feel decidedly not. We'll see how it goes. Watch this space.
P.S. I know I've been super bad about maintaining this blog. That's because I got so busy at work a while ago, and it's never eased up. I am still busy, but have decided to take time out to blog anyway. In a sense I am giving myself a payrise. Equal pay/less work = a higher rate of pay per working moment!
*Just so you know, I hate that word, unless you're an archeologist
**Obviously he doesn't. I am a real prize.
I know everyone says 'dating'* is supposed to be different and more difficult when you're out of your 20s. I'm not sure about this. I still feel young. I think a suprising number of people actually like feeling old, but I am not one of them, so I'm going to continue to have a young outlook on life. So I don't have a problem with going out with guys as such.
So I don't have a problem myself, but I sure feel sorry for the men in my future! They will all be compared to my beloved Man, who is perfect for me in every way, and if he was closer to my age and we had more chemistry, we would surely be married and living happily ever after.
I was thinking about this last night as I traipsed tipsily home after a pleasant dinner with..erm...The Man and a friend of his last night: The Man has always slagged off Australian males, saying they're chauvinistic cavemen types who drink too much and wouldn't know culture if it slapped them in the face. I always thought he was being a bit harsh because he's an Australian himself, in the same way as I'm sometimes overly harsh about things from my own benighted homeland, bless its rainy little heart. But my new situation has seen me spending more time than I ever have with Aussie men - ie, a bit - and I'm beginning to see his point. Here are some things I have noticed about a certain kind of Australian male:
- Propensity to drink too much. I am not talking about the very young, either. I have always dated older men, so I often hang out with the older age groups, which now translates as late thirties upwards. And by this age, years of overindulgence is beginning to show. And it's not attractive.
- Boringness. I have passions outside work and am very active. A man might not be interested in my particular hobbies - unless he is gay - but have some passions, ok?
- Drugginess. Not cool in the over 30's. A certain amount of experimentation is understandable in 20 somethings, but when you're approaching middle age, and especially if you're married with small children, popping pills to have fun is a bit disturbing! And what is it with cocaine use? I was at a party the other night when people kept disappearing to the bathroom to snort lines. These were OLD PEOPLE. Call me naive but I find this kind of shocking! I look to people who are older than me to be wiser and have their lives a bit more together than I do. Not to be tragic, self-indulgent pleasure seekers. Who become even more boring when they're high than when they were sober.
- Sleaziness. I'm talking about macho jokes and thinking of attractive women as meat, or prizes in some kind of game; and telling you that an interest in porn and strippers etc is an inevitable part of being a guy - you know, boys will be boys, and women have to accept it. Well I know at least one man who isn't in the least bit like that - my the Man - so I reckon perviness is an optional extra, and I am perfectly reasonable in holding out for a non-sleazy bloke. I would also like to say, guys, that I think it's extremely rude to openly ogle other women when you're with a woman - especially if you're dating her! I mean, what the hell is that all about? Do you want me to dump you??!!**
I think there are just too many available women in Sydney and that many men here have let themselves go because they know they are in high demand. But they might find that although there are plenty of women wanting to be with them, they might not be quality women. Some women would prefer to opt out of relationships altogether rather than be with a creep. My new housemates might fall into this category. They are both lovely and attractive women, but do not have boyfriends, that I know of. Otherwise it seems strange to me that such nice women have not been snapped up.
I love how, in view of the above, men are so quick to assume that because you're kind of attracted to them physically, you probably want to marry them and have their babies. Ahahahahahha! I'm looking out for some quality DNA for my children, so they can relax!
I know there are quality Australian men out there. I am just looking in the wrong places, I guess. I know they exist and I would love to find one who is single and willing to go out with me! But until then, I think celibacy is the best option, before I get a completely twisted view of mankind and have to move to Erskineville and become a lesbian.You may have guessed, I'm 'seeing' someone else at the moment. Let us call him, the Other Man. I like it. It makes me sound more worldly, like I have multiple affairs going on because I'm so sexually sophisticated. I prefer to say that I'm 'seeing him' rather than he's my boyfriend, because 'boyfriend' sounds intimate, and I feel decidedly not. We'll see how it goes. Watch this space.
P.S. I know I've been super bad about maintaining this blog. That's because I got so busy at work a while ago, and it's never eased up. I am still busy, but have decided to take time out to blog anyway. In a sense I am giving myself a payrise. Equal pay/less work = a higher rate of pay per working moment!
*Just so you know, I hate that word, unless you're an archeologist
**Obviously he doesn't. I am a real prize.
Monday 5 January 2009
New Year's Resolutions for 2009
Here are my resolutions for the new year:
1. To lose some weight. Yes, this is top of my list EVERY YEAR and miraculously, I am still not skinny! Still, I haven't started on a bad note - well, not as bad as some years. If I can get below 60 kg as my average weight, I will be a happy bunny.
2. To save lots of money. To this end I have been spending a lot recently. Because, of course, I'm going to need clothes, jewellery and perfume to see me through the dark days of saving. And maybe handbags. I'm thinking of starting a handbag collection - every other woman in the western world seems to have one. So why shouldn't I! Anyway...saving. Also on this topic I intend to bring my lunch to work most days so I don't have to eat the disgusting, overpriced slop they sell in the outlets here. I used to be really good about bringing lunch, and then I got slack.
3. Ballet resolution of the year: Yes, I have one. Don't you? I have one every year! This year, I want to significantly increase my flexibility. So lots of stretching sessions at the gym, and in front of the TV with a glass of wine. Well why not? It helps my tendons relax!
In other news, I went to lunch with some workmates today. On the way into the restaurant, someone spotted a redback (spider) crawling up one of of the guys' back! No harm done (loosely speaking - the spider was harmed).
1. To lose some weight. Yes, this is top of my list EVERY YEAR and miraculously, I am still not skinny! Still, I haven't started on a bad note - well, not as bad as some years. If I can get below 60 kg as my average weight, I will be a happy bunny.
2. To save lots of money. To this end I have been spending a lot recently. Because, of course, I'm going to need clothes, jewellery and perfume to see me through the dark days of saving. And maybe handbags. I'm thinking of starting a handbag collection - every other woman in the western world seems to have one. So why shouldn't I! Anyway...saving. Also on this topic I intend to bring my lunch to work most days so I don't have to eat the disgusting, overpriced slop they sell in the outlets here. I used to be really good about bringing lunch, and then I got slack.
3. Ballet resolution of the year: Yes, I have one. Don't you? I have one every year! This year, I want to significantly increase my flexibility. So lots of stretching sessions at the gym, and in front of the TV with a glass of wine. Well why not? It helps my tendons relax!
In other news, I went to lunch with some workmates today. On the way into the restaurant, someone spotted a redback (spider) crawling up one of of the guys' back! No harm done (loosely speaking - the spider was harmed).
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