Diet Schmiet

Bloody diets. Who hasn’t been on one? And how many are there to choose from? My God...it’s a hideous nightmare and every bugger who has ever been on one, successfully or not has their own advice or recommendation.


I was just saying to my best mate, how the hell did we manage to stay thin all those years in our twenties and early thirties without stacking on the kilo’s? We drank, we ate whatever we wanted as often as we wanted to and never put on an ounce.


“We were in our twenties and thirties”, she said.


“Yeah right.” I do remember a time when sometimes a meal consisted of a coffee and a couple of cigs or a couple of wines. That possibly helped.


Mum used to say, “Have you eaten love?’


“Sure”, I’d say, “I’ve had two glasses of white wine”.


“Not really enough”, she’d say.


“Well its fruit, isn’t it? Grapes are fruit. They’re on the fruit chart. In fact there are a heap of perfectly good vitamins and minerals in grapes”. Case closed.


It kind of serves my right in a way. I always easily maintained my weight without trying and was exceptionally complacent about it. Then I hit mid thirties and while I wasn’t looking fat snuck up on me. I even went to the doctor after finding a small lump on my rib cage and said, “is this cancer or what?”- always my fear.


“It’s a fatty deposit.”


“Get the fuck out of here.”


Time to diet. I did the weight watchers diet merely by borrowing the books and adding up points and went to gym. I lost ten kilos and swore I’d never let that happen again. I hated gym. I was always one of those people who played tennis, swam and played netball regularly. None of this gym shit. To me gym was for desperate people or obsessed dieters in fancy gym wear and body builders. Still I went along, rode the bike, pushed and pulled heavy weights and kept an evil and envious eye on the thin people. What I really wanted to say to really thin, buff and fit women who squatted in front of mirrors and posed with bulging muscles and not an inch of fat on them was, “ Honestly, fuck off lovie, what’s your caper? You’re skinny enough, bugger off and let us fatty’s get on that stair climber”.


When I was breast feeding my daughter the weight dropped off of me easily and I was able to consume anything I wanted. I was complacent again, my partner was stacking on weight and complaining because I was consuming what I wanted and not everyone can do that if they are not breast feeding. When I stopped feeding her I stacked on 8 kilos in two months. Whoops a fucking daisy.


Back to dieting. So I went back to the weight watchers diet and wasn’t losing anything much even though I had drastically reduced my intake. Then I read that drinking wine even though only adds up to one weight watchers measly point each glass, means also that you retain more fat. How much does that suck??


I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen for a while and was pregnant last time we met and she said I was too thin.” What’s going on with you?” she said. Now this chick is the thinnest bitch on the planet so it was weird coming from her but then a week later a woman I know well at my local petrol station asked if I was pregnant again....OMG!!!


As for exercise, my thoughts on that really were it keeps you fit, it doesn’t really diminish fat. Jury is still out on that one. So, I sat at my table behind a bunch of library books with various titles such as the carb free diet, the Atkins diet, the shake a day diet, the weight watchers diet, Tony Ferguson diet and so on and so on, plan my goal weight, pick something that suits and hope that something works and I get rid of my gut!! I don’t need to be a rake. I just want to be happy with it. I want to practice girth control. I have to exercise as early in the morning as I can manage so my brain won’t figure out what I am doing for a while. It can get pretty crazy though. You can go overboard. I write a list of everything I eat and so notice everything I do. Having a toddler means often finishing off their food. Half a banana here, some porridge and custard there. It goes on all day. Waste not want not and all that. I caught myself the other day not having the last bite of my daughters banana because ‘I’m on a diet’. For god’s sake...isn’t that going too far?


It really comes down to one thing. Diet Schmiet.

 
This is how 'they' do it!

Cyclists.

Tight arse, fat gut and a coffee shop stop at 6am. These are the mid life crisis boys on bikes. The whole cycling apparel includes mandatory helmet of course with weird shit sticking out of the top to deter birds from chipping away at their on growing hairy ear cartilage I think. BioRacer Firm bike pants, better shaved legs than me, in fact nicer toned legs than many of us, windbreaker gloves, jerseys in a variety of fluro, the ability to balance without putting a foot on terra firma at traffic lights and attitude.

My partner always wants to open the car door when we pass a crew of them riding across seven lanes, rather than single file as they should, because they get in the fucking way and put the rest of us in danger...or so I hear regularly. I usually defended them because in all honesty that didn’t annoy me as much as drivers who brake before they indicate.

But then I had an argument with one of them at Southbank once. There was a hoard of highly prized and very probably exceedingly expensive bikes parked outside of Chez Laila cafe while a group of cycling fanatics took up seventeen tables one Sunday morning early. I was there early with my baby in a pram because she woke at 4.30am and wouldn’t go back to sleep. So there I was bleary eyed enjoying the morning sun and wander along the river, when bam, straight into a Merida Scultura carbon road bike. Before I could say “Shit, who put that bloody bike in the path of my pram endangering my infants life?...” a cyclist dude jumped up swiftly slopping his latte with skim onto his raisin toast, (no butter) and came at me. I stupidly assumed he was about to apologise when out of his mouth came an onslaught of abuse about me hitting his precious Merida Sculture carbon (how I knew the name). There was some statement about watching where I was going and finally, “Do you know how much this bike is worth? It’s a $7,000 bike for God’s sake?”

“Really, “I said. “Well my baby cost around that through IVF and this is a Bugaboo Cameleon with accessories mate. That makes my cargo worth $9,000 and take that ridiculous hat off dipshit, who wears a helmet at breakfast. What could happen?”

With that I left.

Granted I used to refer to my pram as the landcruiser because it was so big and I often had trouble getting it through narrow spaces. Shopping was a nightmare! It was also an Emmaljunga and second hand, but how was he to know. The point is, there was no room because of the bikes and there was no ‘clean in body, clean in heart’ mentality going on at all there. They tell motorists to be cautious, be courteous and have a better cyclist mentality but mind-set like that makes it pretty hard. Granted it could have been just one guy but not one other bike man stood up to defend me. They were all glancing at their own bikes with that look on their face like, thank God it wasn’t mine. I took a backward glance when I was farther away to see the rude dude squatting with another cyclist to check out the damage...of which I’m sure there was none except when I "felt abashed at the extravagant praise" – NOT.

Failing to Mask Anti Cycling Agenda

Internetting Life

I heard yesterday that people would rather go without sex, their friends, their mobile phone and other 'things' we have normally regarded as vitally important for us to exist, than lose access to the internet! You see some weird stuff on the internet, this global structure of interconnected computer networks that interchange information (or something like that anyway), that we can’t seem to live without. We can do everything via the net. You don’t really need people anymore, except to deliver the shit you order or bid for on eBay or similar websites. You can meet your future husband without even being in the same country and you can spend a lot of time doing 10 billion surveys and earn money and points that add up to a new ball point pen or something as arbitrary.

From food to go, to bookings in Paris, tickets for the Nicks at Madison Square Gardens, and chatting on camera to a mate in London, the internet has shrunk the world. We have found old friends, advertised our music, writing and cars and learnt that words we think we know well don’t necessarily mean the same thing as they used to. It is about something you can’t see but know its there. Virtual. The shopping cart for example. We don’t see it or push it like when we are at Coles but it can be filled quickly with stuff and cost you money. Trojan horse is not the mythical ruse of war used by the Greeks sometime between 1500 and 1200 B.C. It is a masquerading virus in the form of a computer program. And we have a whole dictionary of brand spanking new words and terms for things such as hacker. Paypal, a payment system that lets you send money via e-mail using a credit card that isn’t swiped ever. You no longer need to go to the newsagent and buy a birthday card or card for any other event actually because there is e-card.


Broadband is not a cummerbund, it refers to connections to the Internet with much greater bandwidth than you get using a modem. A modem is an apparatus that connects a computer to your phone line. It allows a computer to chat to other computers through the phone setup. A, podcast is a mode of audio broadcasting via the Internet. A blog is an ugly word and is essentially a journal that is accessible and presented on the web. I think that the internet with its social networking sites is a huge tool to show off really. Look at my life, read about my life and know my opinions, thoughts and see my photos. It makes for interesting reading but it puts you right out there too if you choose.


One day our children are going to ask who or what is a postie and what is snail mail? What is a street directory? E-mail makes it all very easy than taking the ancient way of pen to paper. Its probably considered as antiquated as a carrier pigeon or Morse code. I bet they don’t even sell writing paper anymore.


Some of the weirdest sites I have come across using the net are,


How to avoid trapped arm while cuddling in bed.


How to underdo her bra using one hand.


How to apply translucent powder (my personal fave)


Ugly millionaire dating agency


Why do socks disappear?


Who comes up with this stuff? Or rather who doesn’t. Seems everyone can have a piece of the action if they want to.


With the arrival and popularity of My Space, Twitter, facebook and a million other web 2.0 sites like stumble Upon, Squidoo, Hub pages, Knol, Live Journal and a stack more..it has allowed us to be everywhere and communicate from anywhere. To promote, to hear the normally unheard, to cathartically express ourselves and our secrets on sites like Post Secret, one of my favourite sites!!! It’s the living room war without the conflict...although there is always some of that too with the misconduct of some.


Post A Secret

Can you live without it?

Initialisms and being PC

Who the hell thought PMS was a good idea? PMS has its own psychiatric designation and is regarded generally as a stable diagnosis. Hmmm others would beg to differ. When I lived with my best friend it was interesting during ‘that time’ of the month. Mostly we would bleed around the same time as most women tend to do (imagine a whole office of bitches about to bleed?), so we would both have a week of eating nothing but shit and about 10 tonnes of it per day and crave octopus and peanut butter sandwiches. There would be bitchiness with some crying at ridiculous things, then it would all be over, and the world would be fantastic again.

The hard part was when we would fall two weeks apart and then there was 2 weeks of hell out of four. CaaarrHrist!.

Sometimes I wouldn’t know it was coming for her and would get home from work to see her sitting on the couch with wine crying.

“What’s wrong?” I would say worried.

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Nothing. I’m single.”

“And?”

“I’m going to be single for the rest of my life.”

“You’re 22.”

“Oh my God.”

And there would be howling and then I’d say, “Is your period due?”

“Tomorrow.”

I’d give her a pat and a hug and leave her to it, although I’d usually try and steal the bottle away from her. It can get ugly after ¾ of a bottle of Chardy or Sav Blanc.

There would also be the face. There’s three faces in all. One is the look of incredible grief and sadness over nothing much at all. The second is the look of a spoiled brat and the third is the look of a killer. Stay away from that bitch I’m warning you. Sometimes I’d walk into her room to say hi and she’d be sitting there on her bed, her arms crossed at her chest with a look of a really unpleasant child. She’d look like Nellie Olson from “Little House on the Prairie” except with better eyebrows and bangs. We’d have some shocking arguments because having PMS makes you a snappy, nervous, paranoid, maniacal wreck for days sometimes.

The worst thing you can do, the absolute no no, is if you realise your friend or girlfriend is pissed off or something isn’t right, you never ever, ever say, “What? have you got your period?”

You don’t ask, “are you hormonal?”

Never say even calmly after she has had a blow out at you over the smallest detail, “When’s your period due babe?” like it was just some off the cuff query like ‘it doesn’t matter anyway I was just wondering’ sort of remark. Because if you do you could be killed outright with anything sharp or blunt in her hand at the time and she would feel that it is completely warranted and frankly I agree with her. It is a red, red (scarlet red, frank red) rag to a bull. The reddest flag you ever saw in all your days of red flag spotting.

After it is all over for her and she thinks back on it, she knows it was irrational and even possibly unfair and she thinks ‘poor bastard or bitch’ if she has really given it to whoever, but she makes up for it by being pleasant for the next three weeks. Until someone (he) does something stupid and even without PMS she yells at him and if he says “have you got your period?” she will still kill him with a blunt object because what the hell did he think was going on last week? And truthfully it is really because he cannot conceive that anything at all could be his problem or fault - it is always hers. PMS is an escape route in some relationships.


PMS used to be PMT in earlier years but like everything, it has to go through a name change, which is why generations today are confused by just about everything each other says. It is no longer tension; it is a syndrome. Next, it will be a disorder. PMD. Once it was ADD now it’s ADHD. No one knows what people are saying anymore. It used to be shell shock then post traumatic stress syndrome, then post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s PC when we use the right language, politically correct. Not racist or biased or some other ‘ist’. And it’s right that we have changed terminology to stop defining a person through either a disability, illness or difference. Wheelchair bound, Autistic person, lesbian woman, cancer sufferer. Some terms need to change. They just had to. The old expressions define a person. But no wonder the people in the world can get confused about it all too. I always feel for older people who are not at all being disrespectful when they say someone is retarded (a term still used in America unbelievably) or handicapped yet we all shrink away in horror because we don’t say that anymore and it sounds so very wrong. We are grateful and glad that we have better terminology, more appropriate ways to describe things, disorders or people who have particular differences that while are still being labelled are not seen as negative. Labels need to go though in my opinion. The pigeonholing we use now will be disregarded as unacceptable and badly chosen on another day to come and it will just keep going around and around I suppose. It shits me but that’s probably because today I have PMS. I have to really think sometimes if ever I want or need to describe a Black person. Do I say Indigenous, Aboriginal, black or coloured person, negro or Black African, or African American without offending anyone? because whatever I say today won’t be the same tomorrow and the day after it will be something else and I’ll never mean anything prejudicial or negative whichever I use. Negro for example used to be accepted as a customary neutral formal term used by those of Black African descent as well as non-African blacks, now it is often regarded as an ethnic slur. Mostly it’s not necessary to identify anyone by skin colour but on occasion it is, just as gender is used for whatever reason. Anyway today its PMS, next week it will be KMHBTOIHMP (killed my husband but that’s ok I had my period) and next year it will be something altogether different again.

There is a whole website dedicated to acronyms or initialisms. AF acronym finder. Boasts that it can find 750,000 acronyms. OMG!

PC-Isms Politically Correct Terminology

Seriously Single Part VIII: But Can He Type?

I think one of the shittiest things to see, is a friend with the wrong one. It can be blindingly obvious to you and the world (and very, very possibly to your friend as well) and there can be a pattern. Initially they tell you they have met this person and he is interesting. It appears they like your friend, always a bonus but your friend knows in their heart of hearts that really, frankly, truthfully, they want it to work so that they are no longer single.




A friend of mine has done this several times. Oh my God it terrifies me when I see it happening. I can write it like a predictive diary of what will happen because I know the prototype. It is that obvious.


She does that whole, “Met someone last night.”


“Oh cool. Nice is he?”


“Sure.”


And that’s it.


“What else?” I ask.


“Rich.”


“Nice. How old?”


“You know. Older.”


“Well that’s alright. Good personality? Funny? Nice looking?”


“Did I mention he is rich?”


“Oh sweet Jesus.”


And you almost hear her saying, except she’s not,


“Bugger it he’s my only choice at the moment and I will make it work until it kills me.”


But instead she says, “I think I could marry this one.”


“Right,” I say, “Because he is so perfect for you in how many ways and you’ve known him how long?”


“It’s not about looks.”


“I agree. It’s about something in common and stuff you like about him. It’s about not settling. Right?”


It might sound harsh and like I’m judging her or something but this is how it will go.


She’ll see him every now and then keeping that perfect distance and then she’ll drink so she can bear to kiss him and then she’ll tell her mates that she’s not real sure but then she’ll sleep with him while drunk and then really, there’s no going back from there and she’ll know this. But to her it’s important to make it all seem like it’s the perfectly logical thing to do. Which is fine if he’s the right one.


“I’ll learn to love him,” she’ll say.


“Perhaps.”


But you know the rest is yet to come. She’ll get swept away with the thought of the whole romance. Of marrying him and finally being free from that ‘singles’ title and being able to have babies in wedlock because her clock is ticking and her parents are religious.

So she’ll organise bed and breakfast stays with him, lunches with her friends, meeting the parents, planning the wedding (with honeymoon destination) and then he’ll declare his undying love for her. She will be wrapped and shit her pants both at the same time because down deep inside she just knows she will leave him battered and torn because at the end of the day, he is the wrong one. Again. And so it’s back to being seriously single.

Why did lil miss muffet run away?

Seriously Single Part VII: Sleeping Single

Most of us know what it is like to be out there looking for the perfect partner. At least at the start it’s the ‘perfect’ person we look for, later it’s just a person we are looking for and much later it can become looking for anyone at all, it doesn’t matter who as long as they are breathing and have a drivers licence. It’s okay when you want to be fancy-free living the singles life. But when it comes down to it that aspiration doesn’t last forever. Especially when the people we are surrounded by and hang with, are all cosily partnered up in some perfect world a ‘singleton’ doesn’t quite belong to.




Singles often go on about how incredible it is not to have the supposed ‘ball and chain.’ They brag about doing anything they want. They even have the whole bed to themselves and can lie horizontally in it rather than vertically if they want to. And really, they might really love it but others pine for a partner. Especially when they are ready. It’s a hard thing to be in a very happy relationship and watch and be with a friend who is looking. You can make all the suggestions under the sun and drag them around to meet your friends, even set them up on the old blind date God forbid, but you know in the end it’s all up to them.


I remember the looks on people’s faces on occasion when I have been single and they were blissfully paired up with their companion. It was that look of pity and commiseration like I was some loser from the planet, ‘Barren bitch’ or as though I’d lost all four limbs and been diagnosed with torso cancer. It seriously irked me.


They’d say gently (with that look), “How’s things? Found anyone yet?”


“No,” I’d retort back quickly, smiling and trying to sound peppy. And then there was that sigh from them.


“But I did get a massive promotion at work and won a million dollars on power ball.”


Sigh. “Wish I could help you.”


“Hmmm, never mind.”


If I’d had a gutful of them asking and snapped a vicious “NO,” back at them they’d do that sidewards glance thing at me like they were afraid I was on the edge. They’d raise their eyebrows and I could almost hear the words they thought but were too scared to say out loud,


“No wonder you’re single hon, with an attitude like that. Oh yes indeedy.”


Sometimes it all got a bit patronising and a little bit self-righteous.


I try not to give that same look to single people when I’m paired up and ask them whether they have any potential interests out there and have even practised that nonchalant bored face in front of a mirror when asking.

Close friends are different though. They want you to be happy but they don’t infer that that means ‘with someone’. They don’t patronise or look at me like I was missing out on the best adventure in the world. They even tell me stories about the shitty side of being in a relationship. Most of the time it was crap but you’ve gotta love their objective.

She is soo glad she is sleeping single!

Seriously Single Part VII: Go Get 'Em Tiger!

Sometimes I think we never get what we want most. We’re shown it but we may never get it. It can be frustrating, a lot of work and gruelling. But humans are strange creatures and rarely do we chuck it in, give it up, throw in the towel, and quit, not until the very end when we realise it’s all been a fruitless task and we are more fatigued than that blonde chick who thinks it’s a fabulous idea to swim the English channel.




I’m talking of course about trying to win someone who doesn’t want to be won. Even though you of course think that’s bullshit because you think anyone can possibly be won. Not true. Why the hell do we do it? I think we’re taught to do it by the ‘teev’ personally. Fight and struggle for people, that is. Go for gold, so to speak. We are told we can have whatever we want aren’t we? We simply just have to go after it that’s all. I’ve seen all the bank ads.


Television and movies can really be quite evil for idealists, even though they are fucking fully amusing to the bona fide cynics of the world. The cynics just sit there watching and saying out loud, accompanied by a huge guffaw, “Oh yeah, as if that would happen? A happy ending?”


While the rest of us dab at our eyes with a tissue and whisper, “Oh how lovely and sweet,” to the person sitting beside us or the cat, whatever, we don’t care it’s beautiful.


But I think that the actual difference between real life and movies (and thank God really because I’d be in real trouble if I couldn’t tell the difference) is that the whole process is so much slower in real life. There isn’t this ‘moment’ where the person you are trying to woo pulls up in their car (for example), steps out and looks up to see you standing there and suddenly realises and knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they love you too and oh so completely. There isn’t an intense meeting of the eyes and a running in slow motion instalment to the other person to fall into their arms for a hug and a pash that seals the moment forever. No there’s not.


It’s so much fucking slower than that. It can be so gradual and it may not even happen at all even though it’s been so close that you’ve felt it breathing down your neck once or twice (usually after the ‘wooee’ has consumed quite a bit of alcohol and think they have feelings for you or right before they… well you know if you are sleeping with them).


I mean look at that movie ‘Titanic’ (sorry to bring that up). Leonardo and Kate had one day together. One, and she loved him for the rest of her life? He probably would have loved her for the rest of his life too if he hadn’t been such an idiot and had simply worked out that if he’d only laid on top of her while she floated on that piece of board that it would have balanced and he would have lived too, I mean there’s thinking! No wonder chivalry is dead. It’s stupid. Polite but stupid.


At least ‘The Thorn Birds’ was closer to the truth, although extreme. It took about 60 years for Father Ralph to realise he should have chosen love and he died two minutes after it dawned on him. What a fucking waste and how unbelievably frustrating. Talk about an extreme case of Murphy’s fucking Law.


One can become quite obsessed with another person if they are striving to win them I think. I have often wondered whether part of the attraction with this person is merely the thrill of the chase. We want what we can’t have. It’s a challenge. What fun is there if they fall over with their legs in the air?


Well some fun initially I guess but after that?


We naturally tell ourselves that it isn’t just that at all when we are doing it but I have tired of relationships early in if my real reason for wanting them was not exactly for the right reasons. It was because someone (I have no idea who) has told me they are untouchable. Huh, I’ll show them.


The biggest lesson I have learned in life about other people and love is that just because you love someone, incredibly it does not mean they will love you back. It is not mandatory. There is no obligation or written rule saying, ‘Thou must love back.’ Unrequited love is a phrase because it’s true.


Occasionally though, it does work and you can win the one you love, eventually. Sometimes you need to go through a lot of shit before you get to that moment and I guess that is just the way it’s meant to be for what ever reason there is. By that stage you don’t give a damn because you have them. I think it’s more appreciated then though and not taken for granted which is usually the way when you’ve had to fight for something.

But if you’ve put it all into winning a person and it hasn’t worked, there has to be a point when you pick up the pieces and move on. You have tried it all. You’ve been patient and honest, understanding and fair and it hasn’t made a scrap of difference. It’s also usually after you have become conscious that you can hear something and it has been playing for a while. You realise it’s your heartstrings playing something as cheery as Pachabel Canon in D. Then and only then can you truly move on or you can kill them.




Unrequited love is when you love someone but they don't love you back. It's a common occurance in relationships and friendships. Nonetheless, that knowledge doesn't help the healing process. Below are a few quotes written by people "in the know" about love.



“A mighty pain to love it is,


And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;


But of all pains, the greatest pain


It is to love, but love in vain.”


Abraham Cowley

“Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.”


Washington Irving



“Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.”


Charlie Brown




“An act of love that fails is just as much a part of the divine life as an act of love that succeeds, for love is measured by fullness, not by reception.”


Harold Lokes






“The saddest thing in the world, is loving someone who used to love you.”


Anonymous






“You never lose by loving. You always lost by holding back.”


Anon


“My love is of a birth as rare


As ‘tis for object strange and high:


It was begotten by Despair


Upon Impossibility.”


Andrew Marvell




“Let no one who loves be called unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow.”


James Matthew Barrie


“Self-love seems so often unrequited.”


Anthony Powell


“Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest:


Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers:


Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest,


And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!”


William S. Gilbert

Seriously Single - Part VI: The Crush

The great thing about the crush is that it recurrently happens with people we see on a regular basis. Like work. It can make you want to get up in the morning though for a while at least. It can make you think twice about what to wear to work, how to have your haircut and whether to wear the cheaper everyday ‘work’ perfume or the ‘going out to dinner want to impress and lure somebody’ perfume. There’s more smiling and show off type behaviour all trying to impress the crushee. The other good thing is that because it is just a crush and not the bona fide beginnings of anything really, you can treat them as friends and ask them to drinks and movies without there seeming to be anything other than innocent intent behind it. And then you can resume flirting. I think some crushes originate because we find out someone else has a crush on us. You look differently at that person then and wonder. It’s flattering and great for self-esteem but we have to be extremely mindful of the line we cross.

The bad thing about the crush (and I watched a friend go through this) is when you are already committed to somebody you love and then there it is out of the blue. Whoops crush. How did that happen? It’s not a bad thing if you keep it to yourself but there can be that point you reach where you have to choose. New crushes often seem alluring because the feelings come about that you had at the very early and exciting days with your current partner, whom you love. But at the end of the day, you know that the crush probably won’t last and the feelings are fleeting. Then you go home to your love grateful and happy that they are the one you want to be with for good.


Crushes can be harmful if you are in a relationship and your partner senses something amiss. Hurt feelings can have a huge impact on any relationship because there are issues of trust and insecurities about losing what you both have. But they can be and should be fairly harmless I think and often don’t last long. It can be fun and flirtatious and often when they pass you say to yourself,

“What the fuck was I on?”               

Crush Quotes

Seriously Single - Part V: Fuck Buddy

Sometimes I wished I could have started dating someone I already knew to save all the blind date, checklist, mind gaming shit and get to the good stuff. I have done this in the past and discovered that dating a close friend can be all of the following; interesting, sensible, terrifying, satisfying and fucking stupid. I think the whole ‘friend’ attraction thing can take you by complete surprise as a rule because you have known them for a while and have never thought of them ‘like that’ before. But then one day, for some reason (like several buckets of wine), your eyes meet and there it is. Lust and desperation. It has been a long time between roots. Suddenly you find them really attractive and you are really engrossed in them. You wonder why you hadn’t noticed before. “Where the fuck have I been?” Now you want to kiss them, sleep with them and maybe even be their girlfriend.




There are a lot of pros and cons around this. The good thing is, you already know them and know you like them. You know their good and bad points (and they know yours) and very little surprises you because they cannot act with you. You know pretty much what you are getting. So you figure it will all be so easy and it can be, but it can also be very tricky.


In my experience the friends who have unexpectedly found this new magnetism with their ‘old’ friend, sleep with each other first and then ask questions later. If you go the other way around and question first you know there is a good chance that it might not happen and you want it to happen because a) there is something there b) you want to get it out of your system and c) you are horny. You also find it interesting to bonk your friend and see what they are really like in the sack. Are they as good as they have led you to believe? Because they have bragged about it on occasion because they never thought they’d be doing it with you. And then the thought hits you while wondering if your friend is as good as he has made himself out to be. Jesus fuck, am I?


Afterwards the whole episode is often put down as a mistake because that wasn’t meant to happen. A line has been crossed because you are friends. Also people don’t know what to say afterwards. It’s not like you can just get up, say ‘thanks for that’ and leave and you might not have to see them again if you don’t want to. This is different. Friends, I think initially anyway, can then have issues about whether that friend is now regarded as their lover or still just their friend. It can become very confusing. Quite often, people seem to be lovers first and then the friendship comes and this seems all very acceptable. Sometimes it makes very good sense to make a friend your lover though, if it works, you can have both immediately. Also you’ve already met their parents and don’t have to go through that whole, ‘meeting the parents’ for the first time scenario.


The big danger is that there isn’t a heap to talk about after sleeping with them for the first time because unlike someone new they know all your stories. The other thing is. It changes things. What are the expectations now? If it was a ‘one off’ can you still pick up others in front of them like you used to? Do you stop telling them about new crushes you have on others? Do you start a relationship? Can you stay friends if it doesn’t work out? Are you gaining a lover and losing a friend? Or are you simply being a slut and have run out of everyone else to sleep with? These are the things that keep me up at night.


I think the friend-dating thing can come after a crush where you think suddenly you like them but really it’s just a little off balanced emotional stab at desperate dating. Oh my God, crushes can be bizarre. I think half the time we make them up just for something to do when we are single. Life gets boring sometimes and there comes a time where you say,


“Gee, I haven’t had a crush on anyone for a while.”


So you look around and find someone and think, ‘that person is kind of cute. I think I’ll have a crush on them.’ Other times I think they take you by complete surprise and there it is. The Crush.

Fuck buddy tales      

Seriously Single IV: Break-Ups.

Sometimes I think it’s better being single and I even considered missing both the wedding and the blind date. If you stay single there is no chance of breaking up and break ups are horrendous, unspeakable, unbearable, dire, terrible acts and occasionally an enormous relief. I would much rather be the dumper (duh, obviously) than the dumpee even though there is guilt. Luckily for me I have mostly been the dumper although karma sees to it sometimes that I get what I deserve so it all works out pretty fair in the end I guess. As it should.




Got to hate that broken hearted thing. I hate grieving for someone I like quite a bit and maybe even love and I hate feeling like the world sucks and I will never be happy. Ridiculous really that we tie up so much happiness in one person but at the time it is all we see. Like I have said before love is blind and sometimes it’s deaf. We think when we are dumped that ‘that’ person was ‘the one’. Of course there possibly really isn’t a ‘one’ but its all part of the self-pity scenario. You tell yourself you will never find another quite like that one and it’s all really tragic – at the time.


The clichés are the worst. I hate them at times like these. Your friends always sprout them off at you when crying on their shoulder because you have been discarded by your love and they have no idea what to fucking say to you.


“It wasn’t meant to be and he was an arsehole,” they say.


“There’s plenty more fish in the sea,” (yeah but they’re all carp).


“Time heals all wounds,” (but by that time gangrene has set in).


“There is a light at the end of the tunnel,” (and it’s a train coming right at you).


Oh my God. I don’t care about lights, tunnels and fish right now I just want the dumper back. But your mates are doing their best and you know you will possibly have your turn to do your best one day for them and get them back by regurgitating the same shit when they are dumped and you don’t know what the fuck to say. This thought more than any revolting cliché they come up with cheers me.


The worst part about it is getting over both the dumper and the fact that your self-esteem has taken a beating because you (of all people, you wouldn’t read about it) have been rejected. So you do that interrogating thing in your head endlessly, “What is wrong with me? What did I do? I should have been a better girlfriend.” You analyse everything you do wondering if it was this or that, that drove him away. And then you do something really stupid like forget you had no clothes on when you walk out of your apartment block (120 apartments) to the communal washing line to peg up undies, and you say to yourself, “Oh no fucking wonder. I’d dump me too”.


Time is the answer, which sucks because it goes so slowly when you are in pain. You just want to take an “I’m over you pill” and get on with your life and onto your next bonk or relationship, whatever takes your fancy as long as you have a date on national holidays and someone to go to the Royal show with.


Everything reminds you of that person. The smell left on the pillow next to yours that you don’t want to wash again, ever. The shirt that they bought you when they loved you. Every single song on the radio that came out while you were dating. Smells. Movies. Sirloin steak. The four hundred photos you have of both of you together that you have stashed under your pillow, on your bathroom mirror, on your desk at work, in your purse, and of course, car dashboard.


There is no need for physical reminders though because your every waking moment is ‘him’. Everywhere you go, there he is. Except maybe when you are drunk, although even then you feel him lurking somewhere around the fringes of your subconscious (bastard), it’s just that you are trying hard to ignore him. But when you wake up the next morning with your head screaming in pain and eyes ready to pop out of your head, the cocky cage in your mouth and bucket next to your bed (how did that get there anyway?), who is there to greet you? That’s right. It’s the dumper. And he is laughing his arse off at you and even worse, you remember something very vaguely that happened while drunk like a telephone call, tears and begging. And you scramble and look at your dialled numbers desperately (maybe I dreamed it) on your mobile. And there it is, a 40 minute call to his number. What could you have spoken about with no memory of it for 40 minutes?


“Oh God please don’t let there have been begging.”


It’s all too much.


But then one day you wake up and realise for the first time half way through a morning that you haven’t thought of that person yet today and you realise that you are no longer lying around in a miserable, dejected, gloomy, crestfallen heap with bad hair. You tread carefully in case it does a surprise sniper attack on you when you least expect it. And eventually even that doesn’t happen anymore.


Til you run into him at the pub with his new girl and you have just had the worst haircut of your life. Then it all falls apart again right there.

The revenge get back!

Seriously Single - Part III:Games We Play

And then when you do start a relationship there are the games. I always go into relationships saying, “I do not and will not play games.”




This is absolute bullshit.


We all end up doing it. I really don’t know why. Because they do it? To keep the other person keen? To keep our pride? To win points? To get our own way? To stop boredom?


It can be hard work but it all seems so necessary. You notice that your current partner is a bit aloof lately, so instead of simply asking why, or being affectionate anyway you act aloof too. Why? Because history has taught us that it brings them round. People love a chase. They don’t want to think you’ve gone off of them. Of course if your partner is stubborn as shit this may take a while. It can be this back and forward, back and forward thing for ages where one is aloof and one is affectionate and then it swaps. I never liked the ‘See Saw’. I still don’t. People sometimes jump off of the other end while your feet are still off of the ground and you crash to earth with a painful thud that will make you wary of climbing back on in a hurry.






It is interesting watching it happen to others, as an outsider. When we fall ‘in love’ we pack up our bags and move to ‘Stupid land’ and although we are aware, sometimes only vaguely, that we are playing games we do it still at the cost of all our pride and all our common sense, even at the risk of possibly losing the one we want/love/sleep with. I’ve been watching a friend of mine with his new girlfriend. Initially she was doing all the chasing so he was pretty cool for a while. You know the type; if you had to draw it he’d be the one leaning against a bar with a beer in his hand, a cocky confident glow about him, barely noticing the new girl. She’s the one on her knees with both her arms wrapped around his calves peering up at him lovingly.






Then time moves on and she starts thinking that perhaps she’s doing a bit too much of the chasing. She knows he’s fairly hooked so she feels secure enough to back off a little. She doesn’t want to be taken for granted and besides her knees are getting sore.


So then he says in his head, ‘Hey what’s going on? This can’t be right. Maybe I’ve been a bit too overconfident. Better do some sucking up.’


And he does. Then she thinks, ‘Cool, that worked.’


And so it begins. She’s starting to say stuff like,


“This guy at work asked me out, you know,” to her man.


Now she knows she should never really have said that but he (being male and therefore never ever 100% secure no matter what happens) starts getting anxious and pays her a lot more attention, falls in love with her and wants to be with her every minute. She is satisfied because she has him where she wants him and can still be independent to some degree because she knows he will hang onto her for pride and love whatever she does (except cheating, that’s far too much pride damage for a bloke).


So the visual changes, she is now sitting up at the bar surrounded by men grinning at her, he is hanging around her calves and she is really liking this. It’s all about power. He’ll keep this up for a while because he wants to get back to the way they were when she adored him completely. The thing is, she does but its part of the game to hide it a bit while he is this keen.


Eventually he’ll have enough of that though and get the shits. When this happens he’ll declare he’s going out with the boys and she’ll wonder if she’s gone too far and then they’ll go ‘round again.


Until marriage and then nothing because you’ve signed papers and divorce is expensive. You’ve won most of the games already and are far too exhausted ever to go there again, which is why people possibly stay married for as long as they do.
People want to be adored and wanted but it makes us vulnerable which is why we do the game thing. We don’t want to give too much away.


When both partners are really, really secure the games stop because you know you love and want each other as much as each other. This is called the wedding day. Alternatively the bloke may have just been thinking about football all the way through and that is all he’s been thinking about.

Games We Play

Seriously Single -Part II: Blind Dates

I did wonder if I went along to the wedding of my new friend that I may meet someone and avoid the blind date I had coming up. I thought it would be great if I met Mr Right there at the wedding and could cancel Mr most probably very ugly loser man on my blind date.




Ugh, blind dates can be fucking awful. They are almost like a torture event. I don’t know why we go on them. Basically I think, you do it for who ever is setting you up because they are concerned about your happiness which is a nice thing really, until you see the person and say one of three things to yourself (or out loud if you are a respectable distance from the person you haven’t yet met but have laid eyes on);


‘Jesus that’s ugly, what the hell does Lucy think of me?’


‘Jesus, that’s cute, Luce must think I’m pretty special.’


‘Has potential, maybe. Not hideous but no stunner.’


I usually got a run down from my English friend Lucy about the prospective partner prior to the blind date. Although I knew it was all going to be positive from her because she wanted me to go on the date. That’s when I got my trusty checklist out of my pocket, uncrumpled it and grilled her over each point. I had already ticked ‘friend must like.’


“But how funny is he?” I ask.


“Really funny,” she inevitably says in her pommy accent, busying herself with other things in her house while I follow her everywhere to complete my investigation and scrutiny. This is a distraction for her because she can look occupied when I reach the checklist item she knows will not match with my standard.


“Ricky Gervais funny or Nigel funny?” I don’t think her boyfriend Nigel is funny at all but she does.


“Almost Ricky funny.”


“Almost?”


“Well if he was Ricky Gervais funny he’d be on fucking stage and famous wouldn’t he? He’d be taken wouldn’t he?”


Good point.


“Is he good looking and has a good personality?”


“Yes.”


“Hmm unusual.”


No comment from Lucy.


“Is he cultured?”


“Cultured? Yes.”


“How do you know?”


“Because although he hates opera he has been to an art gallery and he eats oysters. In my books, that’s cultured. It’s polished enough.”


“Right. What are his clothes like then?” I just know I’m pushing it now.


“He dresses well. And as far as I’m concerned if they can dress themselves at all you’re on a winner.”


Yeah right. Agreed.


“Can he…”


“Look he doesn’t pee in sinks what more do you want?”


I guess that’s a plus.


“Okay I’ll meet him then.”


“Oh,” she responds exasperated by me, raising her eyebrows, “Oh good choice.”


I ignore the sarcasm and attempt one more query. “Got any photos of him then?”


I didn’t get an answer but knew it meant no and that question time was over. Well it will be a surprise.

I just think it’s always a good thing to be prepared when going on a blind date so you don’t look like a painting by Edvard Munch when you tap him on the shoulder and ask if he is Bruce and he turns around and is something out of a Wes Craven movie. You know that your friend would never really set you up with someone like this (unless you screwed her man back when you were 19 and a half and she just found out about it) but a friend’s opinions of ‘good looking’ can really vary from your own.

I think blind dates are definitely better done as a double date thing because if it really turns out badly you have other people to talk to or at least drive you home when you get drunk in disappointment. When the person you meet turns out to be very good looking and seems almost perfect in all else you spend lots of time wondering why they are single and look for the trick. In the end you don’t care and remember that you too are single and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.

Blind Dating for Beginners!

Blind Date Advice

Seriously Single - Part I: The Partner Checklist.

It’s weird getting to the age where a partner becomes more important than the partner you had when you were 15. It’s even stranger getting to the point where they are almost (but not quite) as important as your best friends.


For years your main entertainment, distractions, amusements, communication, hobbies, sports, and whole life in general have been around your best friends and naturally, what they think. You grow up with these friends liking all the same stuff as each other. You like the same songs, ‘Smile’ jeans (80’s style of teen jeans in South Australia), the same make up, the same shops, the same sunglasses, and buckle bags (teen hand bags in South Australia). Your friend’s opinions are huge because they know you well and you believe in them and hope that they believe in you enough to steer you right. Your choice in kissing partner can be almost the first and only time that you notice that you may differ from your friends in likes and dislikes and thank God really.


This is where the perfect partner checklist comes in. Everybody has had one let’s face it. Although we have all seen the results of those that didn’t have one haven’t we? Huh? Hmm nasty. Just a few basic aspects is all it takes. It can go something like this, must be:

• Attractive but not too beautiful,

• a good kisser,

• intelligent,

• not too tall,

• not too short,

• not too skinny,

• definitely not fat,

• cultured (but not more than me),

• sensitive,

• good in bed with a reasonable sex drive,

• not possessive,

• easy going,

• secure (in self not necessarily financially, I’m not shallow),

• have a good sense of humour (must be funny, must amuse me),

• generous,

• well read,

• likes movies,

• definitely not a nerd,

• kind,

• likes good music,

• popular,

• a potentially good parent and finally,

• friends must like!!

It’s true. You can meet someone who fits all the selection criteria, have several dates, sex and good kissing and then a grave thought hits you. What if the friends don’t like this person? Because you start that falling in love stuff where your whole focus is on them and how perfect they are yet you know that there is that little but very important cliché out there, “Love is blind.” We know this cliché is true and valid because we have seen it happen to our own friends and more importantly to Julia Roberts when she married that man with big hair, Lyle bloody Lovett. What the hell was she thinking? He has to have a big dick! There is no other explanation.


Now the rules around friend acceptance and like of the new love commences with the best friend. If she likes and approves it is almost enough, afterwards you can move on to the other best friends and then other more casual friends and the rest, well who cares about the rest.


So you set up a best friend meets new love, summit. Drinks rather than dinner or coffee is always the better way to go because if it becomes evident immediately that they are not going to get on, or that she hates the new love, you can all get drunk and make out it doesn’t matter. If on the other hand it is a screaming success you can all get drunk in celebration. The bizarre thing you do when at this soirée is notice for the first time the faults.


‘Oh God he is slurping beer, loudly.’


‘He said something wanky, did he really say that? Make out he didn’t.’


‘Hate that shirt he’s wearing tonight. Geez, who dresses him anyway?’


‘Oh God, is that a booger, wipe it.’


And he is staring at you like you’re crackers because he has noticed all evening that you have been incessantly gawking at him closely and assessing him the whole time and occasionally kicking him under the table. Your best friend is also a bit perplexed but understands because she is your best friend. She also knows that no matter what she says to you about him when he goes for the first slash of the evening, (which you hope happens early so you can get her opinion and relax or plan the dump) is that you will know if she’s lying. If she says he’s great and she doesn’t really think so, you’ll know and she knows you’ll know so the pressure is on for all. The new love knows he is on trial and that the best friend is both judge and jury, and you are stressed because this is your dating future with this person. It shouldn’t be this way but it is. I don’t care how much you like/love this person, once your best friend tells you he’s crap. You think so too. It changes everything.


That is why, as you get older and listen to your friends heart over a particular person they’re seeing and know and understand that he is different from the others, that she is more serious about this one, that you learn to like and accept her new love for her or lie really, really well if you dislike him.

You look for all the good points and ignore the bad because there has to be something good there if your best friend thinks so. Unless (there is always an ‘unless’ in every scenario), you think he is really bad for her (beats women, has a mullet haircut, loves Lionel Richie), then you never stop telling her because at the end of the day you really care about her and want the best for her and because you are acquainted with the cliché, ‘love is blind.’ You have to be her eyes sometimes.

The Single Girls Guide