It's been a while

I have been travelling by bus lately. I like it because it slows down the inevitable arrival at work. Last night I was sitting my favourite seat (back row right). I was nearly home for the evening when the driver hit the curb for the sixth time on the journey.

‘Dude, stop hitting them, they’ve always been there.’ I muttered under my breath.

The guy sitting two seats away starting giggling.

I looked over at him, he looked back and said, ‘Hi’.

He looked like he should have been wearing school uniform. He had short wavy hair on the top of his head, a silly mullet thing growing out of the back. He was wearing jeans and casual jacket with trainers on his leg ends.

We started chatting, he had to take a bus and two trains to get to his job in Marrickville, he was a storeman.

He asked me about my job, I told him I was a corporate trainer, he asked me ‘what’s that then?’ I explained.

He asked why I didn’t drive to work, I told him I liked taking the bus because it meant I could read.

He led the repartee, when I fell silent he’d think of another question to ask. Being polite, I replied and tried to engage in the conversation.

Then I asked why he didn’t drive. ‘I’ve just got my Ls. I’m 17.’

My stop arrived.

As I climbed off the bus I heard, ‘I catch this bus every day, hope to see you again.’

What Part Don’t They Understand?

A few weeks ago I did a silly test and as a result have ended up with a profile on a free dating site. As you can image it takes all sorts and I’m sure there are some very fine people on there, but I’m having issues so far. I can’t seem to find a way to take the profile off, so I decided to make it as fool proof as possible.

I haven’t done a very good job so far. Clearly.

I have received eight emails from interested parties and seven of them have failed to take into account a key point in the main body of my profile. I have stated ‘if you don’t like cats, don’t bother as mine is very important to me.’ And in the short notes I ticked ‘likes cats and dogs’

So, seven of them have ‘don’t like cats’ ticked on their profiles. D’Oh!



- Maybe pictures of Puss will help clarify the situation a little.

Geeks and Nerds Rock!

This morning Edna sent me a link and asked;

How many do you fancy? And be honest! ;-)

My response was six, with one of them being a girl. But I was horrified that Tom Cruise is now being listed in Geek halls of fame. How can they lower the standard so much.

Tom Cruise never has and will never be a geek or a nerd. He is and will only ever be an actor that happened to have an amazing scene in a reasonably good movie a long time ago and only ever plays Tom Cruise. He just happens to be ‘good looking’ (if you’re into that kinda thing) with the charisma of a snake (although I think that’s being unkind to snakes)

I shall step off my soapbox now and give you my list of six;

David Tennent
Louis Theroux
Daniel Radcliff (although not that picture, it’s not good)
Alyson Hannigan
Jack Black
Paul Rudd
Finally, I ask you the same question Edna asked me. How many do you fancy and who?

Mans Man

I work in a very male dominated office. Most of them are true blue Aussie blokes on the older end of the scale. None fits this description better than John. He’s worked here for 35years and sits in his little corner doing his stuff and only peeking out when talk comes round to footie, cricket or baseball. He’s a tough cookie that knows everyone in the company and has in the past told stories of the days when swearing, smoking and fist fights were the norm in the office.

Over the last couple of months I have had to replace my tube of hand cream that sits on my desk next to my computer, twice. I’ve been confused by my rapid use of the stuff but this morning I found out what’s been happening.

I caught him ‘cause I got a little earlier than usual. There he was standing next to my desk, pink tube in hand. He looked really guilty…and he made me promise not to tell anyone, then promised to buy me a refill when this one was gone.

John’s been putting it on his hands in the morning and again after lunch everyday. He told me that because he was often around when no one else was he had tried it shortly after I’d started ‘cause his hands felt ‘a bit odd’ one day. He’s been doing it ever since.

Hot Guys and Horses

A day at the Polo at Windsor Polo Club saw Trixy, Rachel and myself appreciating the fine fillies of both the Homo sapien and Equine species. The weather was glorious and we enjoyed a feast of pate, crackers and champagne, the whole thing was wholly more civilised than the footie a couple of weeks ago. It was Australia V Chile and the Aussie won 8 goals to 6.

You could smell the money in the air, or maybe that was the horse poo? How know or dares to dream. It reminded me of the times at Cowdrey Polo Club when I was a teenager, only I didn't truly understand the benefits of being surrounded by hot, fit good guys back then quite as much as I did today.

I got to play with my new camera, a Sony A100 and the funky telephoto lens. So please let me present hotties of the Polo Scene (plus a few attempts at arty shots).

A Funny Thing Happened…

…on the way to the office this morning. I had just left my apartment building when I heard my name called. No I haven’t gained myself a stalker but someone I was thinking about just the other day.

I met this man (I’ll call him G) about three years ago when I was working on a relocation project. He was the Site Manager for the refit so I had a lot to do with him and had to learn very quickly not to push his buttons. He flew off the handle very quickly with people he had no time for.

Over the course of three months we had lunch (a lot)with the other PM and other site crew. I learnt a lot about him and his family and work history etc. and vice versa. He was a man that I wouldn’t find myself attracted too if I was to see him in a pub, but after getting to know him I found myself asking ‘if I wasn’t married?’.

What I would described as a typical Aussie male, he said ‘youse’ instead or you and ‘but' at the end of his sentences. He also dressed in a red t-shirt (uniform), khaki King Gees and work boots. His legs were really hairy but he had extremely defined calf muscles. A real bit of rough with a heart of platinum. I also knew he was a shocking flirt and eyed up any girl that walked past the place we would happen to be eating in, or be on the way to. So I knew I was far from his type.

Anyway…He called my name this morning and we walked down the hill together chatting and catching up on the last few years. He’s been in Canberra, he’s still single (why is he telling me that?) he’s just been for an interview. That explained why he was all suited and booted and I had barely recognised him. Or maybe it was the bleached blond curls on his head…whatever it was I rapidly found myself thinking;

What had I been thinking way back when we worked together?

(352 words)

The Family Stone

Finally, after all this time I have finally got to see The Family Stone. The Other Andrew spent some time rating the bangability of the male cast members and while I chipped in on the comments at the time having not seen it, I now stand by my list after seeing the movie.

1. Luke Wilson
2. Dermot Mulroney
3. Paul Schneider
4. Tyrone Giordano
5. Jamie Kaler
6. Robert Dioguardi
7. Brian J White
8. Craig T Nelson

Luke Wilson is great. He plays the scruffy old brother Ben, and seems to channel Owen in the process. For once he’s not the clean cut preppy type, but the loony three day growth type and I would have to say he’s moved into my list of ten and gone straight to the top.

He says a line to SJP’s character Meredith when they are in the pub together about how there is something about her that people just don’t get, which I thought was a stroke of genius ‘You have a freak flag, you just don’t fly it’

Overall the movie tackles a few interesting topics during its 102 minutes but manages it well and with humour without losing the importance of each of the messages.

Belly-Dancing Groupies

Edna and I went ‘belly-dancing’ last night, as we always do on a Wednesday night. It became a bit of a regular thing a few months ago when we stopped working together. Wednesdays are Sushi, Belly-Dancing (aka a pint or maybe, two), Over Analysis and a Swim night. We only make it to the pool about a 3rd of the time;-)

Last night we had a major weekend debrief to do plus she had to dump Steps (see entry for Friday night). After a fairly fun, but intense weekend she had told him on Monday morning that she would call him on Thursday evening ‘cause she was busy until then. So he texted her…30odd times and when she didn’t return the texts, he called her and left messages. It had got to the point by Wednesday afternoon where she couldn’t pick up the phone and had a face like thunder because of the stress of it all.

After much consultation with other friends at work (yes, she does have other buddies) it was decided that he had to go. So after a ‘courtship’ of just 4 days, she was going to dump him. The general consensus was that due to the lengthy duration of the ‘relationship’ a phone dumping was acceptable.

So after Sushi, that’s what she did while I popped into the supermarket. It was all over…a weight was lifted.

We were wrong…as we sat and drank the first Strongbow of the evening he texted saying that ‘cause of all the bulls*it he’d never have a relationship again. She ignored it. Twenty minutes later he texted again, this time asking if they could still be friends. This went on …and on…and on. As far as I’m aware there have been no texts today.

All the drama, laughter and cider inspired us to come up with the 4P’s of dating. A joint effort that rates the following of each potential boyfriend. Each of the following is scored out of 10 with a maximum rating of 40.

Personality – Does he make me laugh? Does he make weird sweeping statements about things he knows nothing about? Does have similar interests? Is he safe to air to your friends?
Performance – Does he make my toes curl? Does he do things you never knew you could do? Does he do the hokey pokey? Is he aware that hickies are totally unacceptable after the age of 12?
Presentation – Does he have holes in his socks? How does he smell? Does he give a pash rash that rivals a radiation accident scrub down? Does the six pack on his stomach rival the six pack in his fridge?
Post-Coital – How does he behave after the deed? Is he still exhibiting the niceness of before or does he just say ‘OK, let’s get you home sweetie?’ Can he remember your name?

Needless to say, this was a two-thirds night. But we did get to be groupies for the acoustic guitar player that is always on, on a Wednesday!

(461 words)

Credit where credit's due : Thanks to Edna for the contributions in purple and for allowing me to share her story ;-)

Burning in Hell

It’s that time of the month again, the time where Edna and I get dressed up like tarts and party ‘til dawn, Hellfire! Trixy bailed out on Wednesday 'cause he had a better shag offer and Sam, well Sam really let us down by cancelling just as we arrived by text message (we had been due to meet him there). Edna aka Lara Croft and I (aka Domina) spent the evening avoiding what we thought at the start of the evening quite a cute guy. But he got steadily more and more hammered until he was trying to make us stay with him. Word of advice, don’t try and make a kick boxer stay by grabbing her by the shoulders. It doesn’t end well!

We had been musing earlier over a glass of booze that it was only a matter of time before we saw someone we knew parading around. The sight of Edna’s boxing instructor making out with a girl and dressed as a police woman confirmed a few things in Edna’s mind and confirmed for me that Sydney, really is a big country town.

I have to confess, that it wasn’t the best night I’ve ever had, The weird hammered guys, loosing my flogger only to find it again being used by a stranger on the bare a*se of another stranger (Eww!), friends not turning up and feeling like I really was in the fires of hell dressed in a black PVC corset and skirt.

We left at just before three am, alone but merry and ready for debrief and over analysis of the evening back at the flat. Edna, however, with her amazing powers of seduction (I sware she has some sort of Magic dust) pulled purely by walking up the stairs.

‘Come and have a drink with me so we can get to know each other,’ he (for sake of it, we’ll call him Steps) says to her

After a few moments of exchange, she’s drinking and I’m going home alone. Twenty minutes later she arrives at mine after getting him to walk her home.

We did our debrief and rolled into bed at 4.30am.

(358 words)

Giving Love The Slip

The evening of St. Valentines Day started with Sushi at the Harbourside Sushi Train. The choice was a bit slim on the fastest train in the west, but that may have been due to it not being quite six o’clock when we started. By the time we left all the good stuff was coming out, but Edna and I were full. Five plates plus Miso and a green tea is fine, anymore would just be piggy!

We arrived at the Slip Inn just after seven. As we entered the building we were given a sticker with a number on it. We had been marked with the Shag Tags. The idea behind this is, send a text message to the Number provided, the message appears on the screen and hopefully you pull. We pulled our first glass of free champagne and found a seat over looking the beer garden.

Being the critical bitches that we are, Edna and I came to the conclusion that there was a good reason some of the people there. We had our second glass of champagne and started talent spotting. We came to the realisation pretty quickly that it really was a good thing that neither of us where there to pull.

A change in vantage point didn’t make the desperation in the room any less …well…desperate! So we settled in and watched the screens sending their messages out to the world. Some were funny, some were so old they had cobwebs and others were so English.

:-)Well h-e-l-l-o boys, from xxxx
:-)That cigarette burn really hurt you idiot!
:-)My shag tags better than yours, it's red for a start. Come and see xxx
:-)1206 Your hot!
:-)Fancy a foursome come see xxx
:-)Virren, Virren, What kind of a name is that? Where your parents hippies or summit?
:-)You must be from outta space, 'cause I can see stars in your eyes
:-)do you have a map cause I keep getting lost in your eyes
:-)2 guys required for a bang contact xxx
:-)do you have any raisins, if not fancy a date?
:-)Im from the FBI the Fabulous Body Inspectors, assume the position!
:-)apart for being sexy what do you do for a living
:-)1241 you have big balls
:-)Roses are red. Violets are blue. I have an xxx and now 801, so do you too
:-)You must be going to hell cause it’s a sin to look so good
:-)Who let the dogs out and why are they all at the Slip Inn

We got chatted up too, even though we were clearly making no effort. A pair a travelling Scotsmen asked Edna for a blow job, she kindly declined on the grounds of having only known them for ten minutes. When asked if she would consider it later she phrased the dismissal slightly harsher.

I was targeted by a short bullish guy from Johannesburg wearing a red FBI shirt. He kept coming back even after I told him I was married, now that dedication to getting laid. He left about 11 ‘cause he had to get up early for work. I really didn’t need to know that!

Edna and I left about half midnight along with all the other desperados when they closed the bar. We walked up to the Three Monkeys for a night cap, had one, but the Hungry Jacks across the street called to us with its siren song, promising flame grilled burgers and fries.

All in all a good night was had. I got to see how the single life could be and Edna got to be sad and ever so slightly depressed by the amount of non-gay-talent in Sydney. Both of us suffered from multiple-apoplexy from the terrible spelling and grammar usage in text messages.

This morning I’m feeling a tad over hung and have drunk two cups of tea to counteract the effects of the late night fries.

(633 words)

UPDATED : 20:09 15-2-07

I should have mentioned this earlier, but the entry was already moohosive, but it’s been bugging me that I left it out, so here it is.

When the free champagne ran out, Edna and I decided to continue drinking it so, of course we had to start paying for it. After a bit of confusion between Edna and the Barmaid, two glasses of the fizzy stuff sat before us with a demand for $12. Edna gave her a $20 note and got $6.40 change. Not normally the change for twelve dollars, so we tried to work out if we had missed heard her, and figured she'd confused the 20cent pieces for dollar coins. Maybe we had missheard her request for money...after all twelve and thirteen sixty sound alike don't they?. So we asked ourselves what rhymes with twelve?

The next round was mine and I was paid $13.60, the next round was also $13.60

Henceforth, $13.60 will be known as Schwelve!

Impromptu Groupie Action

Edna had a really rough day at work and needed to attend a dinghy pub and have a glass of wine. I had had a day filled with meetings, so joined her with gusto.

After dinner at the Sushi Bus with hubby, we went off to The Macquarie, but rather than drinking wine, we started on the Strongbow Dry. The sexy barman had grown a beard which made him considerably less sexy and the consensus was, we don’t like beards. Apparently it’s tradition for Irish men to shave of their beards off for St. Patricks day, so he’s be sexy again by the middle of March.

At 8.30 a band started. Now as it would happen, Edna and I been in this pub before and this band had been playing, so technically, having seen them more than once makes us Groupies! Yah! The band DBussy play sunk/soul/groove (whatever!) and started off really well, but the end of their second set seemed to have got really loud and the lead singer was screaming a lot. So we left.

The Brighton, on the corner of Oxford Street and Riley Street. Music was provided by a video jukebox playing mostly eighties rock with bad mullets haircuts. Liquid refreshment came in the form of more Strongbow Dry in glasses kindly fetched by the bouncer that kept flirting. We talked about her lunch date with Del-Boy, her interview and how the silly tart of a boss made completely unprofessional comments straight after asking her seven competency questions. We talked about boys (goes without saying really), drink and plans for the continuation of her birthmonth. Also we made plans to visit the Slip Inn (famous for introducing Prince Fred of Denmark to Mary of Tassie) on Valentines Day for a ‘Anti Love’ night with ‘non of that coupley stuff’.

I rolled in at just after three in the morning and feel surprising good.

(317 words)

Swimming 14 (Wrinkled Prune)

After dinner in the Sushi Bus and a quick half with Edna we went swimming. When we got to the pool it was like Piccadilly Circus compared to what I’m used too.

There was a girl in the spa, who got out about five minutes after we had arrived and promptly started doing lengths of crawl (show off). The pool is just wide enough to have two people passing, so Edna and I were relegated (with our lady-like breaststroke) to chatting and over analyzing her upcoming rendezvous. We came to the conclusion that he is going to be a fat ginger bloke with a Del-boy car and a camel coat, and he’s going to bring his kids along. In the past all of our musings have been far away from the truth, so we’re hoping to have got it right again this time.

We moved to the spa and relaxed like decedent tarts until we were joined by my new neighbour D. He’s in the Navy and has just got back from four years overseas and seems to have a passion for curtains, cocktails and cats.

We finally got to do our lengths. I ended up doing 20 lengths after an hour in the water, but quite frankly after all that, my heart just wasn’t in it.

(221 words)

Pickles

40 lengths in just under thirty minutes of lady-like breast stroke tonight. I was distracted. I was thinking about a conversation I overheard today on my walk back from lunch.

It’s been sneaking into my mind since about one thirty when I was walking behind two guys up Goulburn Street. Both were tall and from their outlines fairly fit, and they both had brown close cropped hair and nice arses. Anyway back to the conversation…at first it seemed fairly innocent, weekend plans, girlfriends and drinking. Then one asked the other what he did after work when he got home.

‘Yank my gherkin.’

I had to stop and look in a shop window I was laughing so hard, I didn’t hear the response, but I’m fairly sure it would have fitted into the TMI category.

Once I had recovered I got to thinking, why would a man pick a gherkin as a metaphor for his penis? (In grand tradition I’m going to over-analyse now) I mean, gherkins are normally about three or four centimeters long and about one wide. Now dill cucumbers tend to be bigger, maybe he meant that, but still not the most impressive of pickled food stuffs. Surely none pickled, a cucumber would be better Even a horse carrot, white radish or zucchini might be a better choice, but the smallest of elongated vegetables. Why?

Maybe it was the first thing that popped into his head, but again Why? Is he trying to underplay the size of his massive member or purely being truthful. We will never know, but I for one will wonder for quite some time.

(269 words)

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