Dating is super radical

Oh, Shutup, Weekend Karma Bitch.

Firstly, last night was a chain of events culminating in me wandering around the city and catching my first nightrider, after being used for my cash by someone who then proceeded to go chat another chick up. At q bar of all places, with all 6 people there.

Secondly, was meant to go on date tonight. A real, live, actual date. With a boy. But after I woke up from my disastrous night - an email 'postponing' the date. Riiiiiiiiiiight.

Fuck you, I am going back to work.

Also - am just wondering why all the bands acting as 'guest programmers' on Rage all look so surly and bored? Lighten up dudes, you're on TV. FFS, you won't lose any steet cred if you smile.

And - I'm sick of being treated like a dork because I don't have some HUGE SUPER RADICAL FULLY SICK BRO NEW YEARS EVE PARTY to go to. At this stage, it's pumpkin & almond pasta, a nice bottle of white and Boston Legal DVDs - is that such a crime. Yes apparently it is because I'm not getting mega drunk and running around like the world will cave in if I don't vomit in some NYE rite of passage. Oh, to be cool.

Once you pop you can't stop.

Does anyone remember that candy that used to 'pop' in your mouth?

Well guess what?

It now comes in chocolate! OMGWTFBBQ, yes it does!!!!!!1!

Don't thank me, thank Cadbury. I'm not normally a fan of cadbury chocolate, but this stuff is the shit, fo' shizzle.

So. It's Christmas. I bought myself some ace xmas presents this year - bonus of not having a boyfriend - I can spend all the money/time/effort on myself, and not feel guilty!

I can also drink until my heart is content and not worry about some stupid inlaws or driving anywhere.

Now in honour of the holiday season, all here in Martieland (me, jonathan brown and the fantapants community) would like to wish you a very merry christmas with our annual christmas card:


I get hotter every year

Hope you drink lots, eat lots and steal secret kisses underneath the mistletoe...

Do you think it's a sign that I'm growing up, that I declined an invitation to 'get drunk and go 24 hour Christmas shopping @ Chadstone'?

Yes, yes, I think it is. I mean, maybe eight years ago this would have appealed to me, but now, I'd much rather get drunk and run riot in a dodgy bar.

So not really much of a difference then.

Sweet, so there was no sexytime with any leaving colleagues on Friday; not sure how I really feel about that. Do I care? Don't know. Let's see how often we catch up, or at all. Regardless, it's nearly nine months since ANY sexytime at ALL - is it possible that I will have forgotten all of the necessary moves anyway? What is the longest that you could possibly go? Is there any point, or should I just bury myself in books and not bother to change the sheets on my bed?

OMG What if I forget what a penis looks like?

That is a very demoralising thought

Perhaps I will go drunk 24 shopping after all.

The Trashbag Returns

Le sigh.

It appears that I have once again failed in my mission to keep this blog active and updated. Not only that, but it also appears that I missed some fabulous comments from last post (james_t, I thank you from the bottom of my heart).

Not a lot has happened since then though. I did celebrate my 28th birthday, which was riotous fun, but sadly culminated in the fact that the next time I want to go out, it will be to the Chelsea Heights Over 28s (No Denim! Free Buffet!)

I did also buy a digital camera. I took said camera to my work christmas party, where I told one of the regional managers to 'open his legs' while I took a photo of him, with the camera. I also fell over numerous times at CQ (crap bar, DO NOT recommend), of which, the incident of me falling down the stairs was captured on camera, and then proceeded to pass out on St Georges Rd in Northcote, which was also caught on camera.

Seriously, knowing those krazee kamera kidz, keep on eye on You-Tube. I might be famous one day.

I also spilt ice cream on my kitchen floor tonight, and bought avocado dip, even though I don't like avocado.

FUN TIMEZ ALL ROUND.

My work crush has resigned and is leaving at the end of next week. Can't quite make up my mind if I'm upset, or if it will be the case of 'out of sight, out of mind'. But boy, he is a good kisser.

I am missing my best friend in Mackay, and my homie in Vancouver. I'm confused about whether I should stay in my current abode, or try to find a shareplace to keep some costs down. Downside - wouldn't be able to walk around naked.

I have smelly feet, and need a remedy. HAS ANYONE GOT A REMEDY?

I am also THOROUGHLY SICK of Delta Goodrem.

So, that's about it for this exciting installment. Tune in next time for the aftermath of going-away-drinks-for-work-crush (Maybe I'll get laid for the first time eight months) and other such hijinks.

Until next time Gadget



PS - Last ever session (hopefully) with psychologist next week. Yay!

Oh. No.

Oh dear bloggers, we (as in I) seem to have a leetle, tiny, problem. Someone is going to have to slap me silly. But first, a psychologist update...

So. After therapy tonight, it has come to light that I have a problem with 'Saturday nights'. As in, I don't have anything to do on Saturday nights, and this is affecting my depression levels. Well, I do actually; I get takeaway and settle in to watch Judge John Deed either at my place, or at the parents', but somehow it doesn't quite stack up with the pubbing and clubbing, and sleeping with people that have torn sheets that I seem to be confronted with every Monday. Now I know, and you know, that there's nothing wrong with taking it easy on the weekend, "I work hard, and like to relax on the weekend" (Copyright, RSVP), but in the stupid little regimented part of my brain, 'relaxing' every Saturday night with a Queso Fundido, and the trials and tribulations of the English Law System is lame and thus, makes me lame by default.

So, my homework for the next fortnight is as such:

1 - Accept watching Judge John Deed as a treat for working hard during the week; keeping telling self that Saturday night is not the be-all and end-all of nights.


Is this the be-all and end-all of British Law?

2 - Make a move to 'mix-up' my Saturday nights by myself and do something that I enjoy in public, like nudity. Well, not quite, maybe start off with something smaller like; go to Readings or Borders and read a book whilst partaking in a coffee on a Saturday night; Walk down a nice strip of shops (IE - Chapel Street, Burke Road, Brunswick Street); Go for walk along beach; etc. Brainstorming/Suggestions are very welcome. I only have two weeks!

3 - Enquire about 'groups' that I can join - that meet Saturday night. This is going to be hard.

So while I have a think about my homework, let's turn our attention to more pressing matters; MY PROBLEM.

It can be summarised as follows:









In somewhat disturbing news, I have a MAJOR CRUSHES on an ex-boy band member and the fat cunt from Australian Idol.

Oh. Fucking. No.

Who said I didn't have anything to write about.

A temporary relapse

If I close my eyes, I'm very good at making it all go away. I have a fabulous imagination, and once my eyes are shut, can dream/day dream about anything I want to.

Somewhat unfortunately, it's nigh on impossible to go around with your eyes shut 24/7.

You may have noticed that I've become increasingly slack of late with this blog. I feel like after all the drama with The Boy ended, I really have nothing to write about. Nothing of note anyway.

I found his profile on Facebook the other week. He is now dating a 32 year old. I also found the Ex-Fucker's. He is engaged. These two revelations, whilst completely separate, really piss me off. Not because I'm jealous, but because it bugs me that The Biggest Arsehole On The Face Of The Planet (The Boy), moved on seeming unscathed and I still haven't had sex in seven (7) months. And the Ex Fucker just annoys me full stop. Mind you, I have tried taking the view that now they are someone else's problems and...well yeah, it's one step at a time.

Fuck I'm addicted to Facebook, but it can be a bitch sometimes.

Anyway, I feel like I owe it to my little blog to keep going, or at least to try. I mean, there are plenty social issues to commentate on, or tv shows to recap, or boys I've kissed to write about, isn't there? Only time will tell...

kill the fluoros

Seriously bitches, get your own trend.

I lived through the fluoro movement once, now it seems it's back, along with statement tees.

Observe:

This t-shirt would be made that much more exciting if on the back it said:

"50 cent I swallow"



Even I would wear that.


But yeah, is this what our parents went/are going through when we first wore flared jeans and psychodelic tops and called ourselves 'hippies'? Or when we put on those white knee boots (NB: NEVER owned a pair, am speaking 'metaphorically') to bring back the mod movement, for about the 3rd time since the original '60s movement?

The '80's was ours, all ours, and now it can be raped and pillored by any 16 year old wearing leg warmers and a ra-ra skirt.


It's enough to make me write rude words with my finger on my hypercolour t-shirt.

Gentle Sunday Activity

I haven't ran on a treadmill for little over eight months. In fact, I haven't even been anywhere near a treadmill, or serious exercise, for little over eight months.

Logical Solution.

Hire a treadmill, and start running on it...



Someone call an ambulance, I think I'm having heart failure.

My head explained...somewhat

Walk with me.

I am 25. In my head. Not some messed up, confused, anxiety prone 27-verging-on-28 year old, but carefree and 25.

Before I had even met The Boy. The scars run deep and were hacked open many a time. My psychologist and I have established that the best thing that ever happened to me was getting dumped. I am now free to take control of my own life.

Getting lost in work has helped. So while I've had a new laptop for a while, I've been burying myself in work late at night; on the weekend. This goes part of the way of explaining the non-blogging period, sorry. Work, for now, is the one thing I draw my strength and confidence from, and the one thing I will use as a foundation to regain my strength and confidence in other areas of my life as well.

People at work have helped too. My entire social network at this point in time is mainly work friends; again, a good basis to build on. I drink with them, dance with them, pash them (ahem) and genuinely enjoy getting to know them. I am a single, carefree 25 year old again, as I was two years ago; drinking too much, partying too much, staying out late, chasing boys. It's almost as if the last two years never happened.

But they did. And I'm almost grateful. They've made me see what I never want to be again. What I never want to experience again. What sort of person I never want to be around again. Like I said, almost grateful.

It's a journey. I'm constantly employing my newly found cognitive thinking skills even to do little things like get out of bed in the morning, or to clean my house. I go back to see the doctor this week, and hopefully my mental health assessment will be enough to keep me off the little pills.

Obviously though, my sleep patterns are still all fucked up.

This may become a little journal-like for a little while. It's only know that I've felt strong enough to put pen to paper, metaphorically speaking. Thank you if you are still sticking with me. I promise to try and be more regular again. But not like a period.

*****

And in other news...does anyone realise that Channel 7 are showing re-runs of Popstars: The Bardot years??? SERIOUSLY. WORTH. STAYING. UP. (REALLY FUCKEN) LATE. FOR!

Who has time to blog

in between dead laptops, work and visits to the psychologist?

Will be back soon enough after I've bought a new laptop, done my work, and sorted my head out.

In the meantime, catch me at the pub across the road from work, in Geelong or in an office, painted a calming green...

Clarification

Or why doggy-style is nightmare, by Martie.

* I don't think I will ever trust someone enough again to have sex without eye contact.

* 2 years with Fuckface Ex No 4, who had all the doggy logistical ability of a mintie wrapper, has cemented my self belief that I can't stick my arse in the air good enough either, logistically speaking.

* It's a bit porn, but I don't want porn anymore, I want vanilla.

* The aforementioned act of sticking one's arse in the air.

* I don't feel very respected in that position.

* Yes, I realise that I have just cut my chances with guys by about 99%

Five reasons

Five reasons why I wish I still had a boyfriend:

1. Need help fixing my tv aerial & the cord that plugs in.

2. Would make me shave my legs (they are so ick).

3. Wouldn't feel bad about having take away and watching footy on a Saturday night, because it would be with someone, and not just myself.

4. There'd be someone to wake up to in the morning.

5. Kissing.

Five reasons why I'm glad I still don't have a boyfriend:

1. Can learn stuff about aerials & shit by myself - or ask cute salesman

2. Can get away with not shaving because no one is touching my legs!

3. No fights about what to have for dinner and I can change channel half way through football to watch Keeping Up Appearences if I want to.

4. My bed is mine alone to do whatever I want in it.

5. Don't have to think about the nightmare that is doggy style.

Greek Style

Just lately, I've had a real craving for Tzatziki.

So much so, that it became my dinner for tonight. Tzatziki & water crackers.

My mouth now has that fuzzy feeling, and I'm sure I'd kill off a whole host of vampires, but I couldn't stop. Last week it was poached eggs, and now it's Tzatziki. Weird.

What's even weirder is that normally, I can't stand yoghurt. The thought of eating it makes my throat get all tingly and threaten to close over! Those live culture things...ick!

But somehow, yoghurt with garlic is okay. Which is essentially what tzatziki is. However, if someone said, "here, have some of this garlic yoghurt" in the beginning before I ever had any, I would have run a mile.

But you know, here I am, already planning tomorrow's lunch (chicken with rocket & tzatziki). YUM.

And thus ends my weirdass observation for today.

Fugly Sunday

Today I wore a black skivvy, and regressed to Year 10 drama.

I didn't quite get all the way back to primary school - the skivvy was black, not bottle green.

What an odd piece of clothing to wear on a Sunday.

Dear Men of Melbourne Australia World

1000 apologies for not looking like Lara Bingle.

From,

Martie

The badness is back...

...because for the life of me I can't figure out if I'd rather be in bed at 1.20pm on a Sunday afternoon eating rubbery two minute noodles, or with him.

Of course, NEITHER, but you get my drift, don't you.

The problem I suspect is further compounded by my innate ability to trawl through the RSVP website and pick out guys that sound like they'd make fabulous boyfriends, and hope to christ their profiles are still up after the 10 years it feels like it's going to take to feel good about myself.

My bathroom needs cleaning, my bed linen needs changing, my floor needs cleaning, my washing needs putting away.

I need to go shopping. I need a new pair of work shoes. I need to find a solution to my white legs/inability to wear stockings without laddering them two minutes after I put them on, so that I can wear skirts to work in winter.

I need to save up enough money to get a new laptop, so I can download iTunes, so I can buy an iPod, and a docking station and actually listen to some friggin' music in this stupid house.

Pfffffft. Motivation. WHAT THE FUCK IS IT.

And now I shall get out of bed.

A dilemma of sorts

One of the bad things about being dumped by an idiot is that the sex dries up. There. Is. No. More. Sex.

And this Saturday night coming will mark seven (count them) 7 weeks without sex.

This is some sort of Martie record. Even after the Ex-Fucker dumped me, I still had a fuck buddy going.

And masturbation can only take you so far. There is no substitute for the kissing, the touching, the excitement, the whispers, the cuddling. Masturbation is just check out some free porn on the net, all over, goodnight.

After the Easter Weekend Incident, I swore it would be a one off, until I met someone and took my time, knowing for sure it was going to be a lasting thing.

However, the last few nights, I've been really jumpy, and I just figured out why; I'm horny (horny horny horny tonight).

It's the same sort of feeling I used to get after not seeing Him for a couple of weeks, only, I think the length of time is due to the Easter Weekend Incident.

And what to do about my conundrum? I'm not real keen on picking up a guy in a pub after the last time; disco pashing, yes please, but no back to my house or his house again. I could be like my ex best friend and root him in the carpark, but you know, gravel rash, etc.

I could go straight for the jugular and advertise for reals on Adult matchmaker, but there's just something about it that doesn't appeal. Maybe it's the fact that I don't want to seem like I'm interviewing for a fuck buddy; the romantic in me would like it to be a natural progression from a friendship/attraction. Yeah, fat chance.

So how else does one meet a fuck buddy? From where I'm sitting, there's not a lot of options. So perhaps I'll just have to stick to internet porn and my own spank bank for now.

Even so, I'd still have to 'tidy myself up' for any action. HAHAHA.

If you thought I was disgusting in my last post, wait until you hear what I did today:

Went to Chadstone* in trackie pants & thongs.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

/end maniacal laughter/


Things I am continuing to do:

- Not shaving under my arms

- Not shaving my legs

- Paying no attention to my bikini line

- Wearing my hair up every day

- Drinking Diet Caffeine Free Coke from the 1.25 litre bottle in bed; no cups for me.

- Using a towel as a bathmat

- Buying a 'polar fleece' jumper.

Am I turning into some sort of lesbian, or am I just entering the 6th-week-I-Can't-Be-Bothered-Stage-of-getting-dumped?

NB - It's 10:30pm, Saturday night. I'm pretty sure lesbians have better social lives than that.



*Chadstone for the non-Victorian - The Fashion Capital, dahlink

Topsy Turvy Land

Things are all over the shop here ( where 'here' equals Victoria, had a very nice time in WA, thank-you).

And the highly anticipated transformations taking place in Martieland (the life, not the blog), are in place, and whilst slow, are bringing a sense of self-confidence to me that I didn't think I had. The dwellings about The Boy are becoming less frequent, and whilst I'm far too sick at the moment to exercise, a detox and exercise program are ready to go, as soon as I stop sounding like a 90 year old smoker.

However, there are some unexpected changes that I don't seem to be able to stop.

First. I'm wearing socks to bed. EWWWWWWWW.
My absolute pet hate is socks to bed - don't even TRY to engage me in the sexness unless you've got bare feet. And here I am, with my grey 'trackie' socks, under the covers. Wonders will never cease.

I've let the thatch of pubis run rampant. It's like lost in the forest, or something.

Now for the big one - I HAVEN'T SHAVED MY LEGS FOR NEARLY TWO WEEKS. GROSS.
This is coming from a girl who shaved every day, sometimes twice, so there was never a chance a follicle could spring up, and now she has hairs more than 2 millimetres long on her legs for the first time in years.

What's going on?


This could only mean one thing...


I'm going to the dogs. I'm washed up, at the age of 27, and don't care anymore about how I look, or indeed, how I look naked.

And I actually am rather fond of it.*

Tune in next week, for stringy hair, and no makeup.


* denotes no sexing going on, obvs.

Living in the Wild Wild West

If you were astute enough, or bored enough, you could look back through my archives two years ago this week, and find the beginning of the Jungle Boy love story, from the first date where I stressed about the knickers I would wear, the first kiss, etc.

It's just lucky I'm chillaxin* in sunny Perth, with nay a care in the world.

And a nine year old's project about Sea Turtles to distract me.

And a lovely 17 year old who took me to Freo and bought me COLD ROCK!

And a 14 year old who is it the epitomy of surfing cool.

And I'm loving it.

The plan is not exactly in place. There's no tan lines. But my head is getting a little clearer, and I sat outside and ate my lunch today.

It's probably very fitting, that during this, this anniversary week, I am going to cut the heartbreak from my life. TGI Friday's is a CRAP place to go for dinner anyway. I've got my eye on the Cottesloe pub!

Come 1st May, 2007, it's a total, brand new, year.

So. That's over and out for me, probably until I get back. Sorry that I can't read/comment on your blogs, but do not want to leave trails for impressionable teenagers, do I, saucy blogsters.



*It's my mission to use this in every post I can from now on. I 'love' this word.

So then I went to Perth...

Spurred on by the possibility that the hard ass internet posse lead by Mars might discover my true identity as a Bendigo Bank teller leave me more bossy comments, and since it's such a nice day, I decided to blog again.

Ok, I was bored and there's lots of crap in my head. Sue me.

As a resolve to my previous issue, I ended up calling a confidential help line to talk about things, and am thusly in a far improved state of mind. And that's the last I'm going to say about the matter, even including defending myself against cowardly taunts. For the record, I do not take pictures of my feet/shoes in toilets. Ick.

And so yes...I'm going to Perth. Cunningly organised between my mother & her sister, I get my airfare paid, I get to stay in a house five minute walk from Cottesloe Beach, have use of cars, and, I don't know, be away from everything. I should get dumped more often.

Speaking of being dumped, today will mark the three week anniversary. And I've not heard one word from him. Is this an odd thing - not one word? This is all very foreign to me; normally, I've had contact with the ex for ages after. Although, I must say, it's kinda handy, as it lets me get over him a hell of a lot quicker (OK I'M STILL WORKING ON IT). But you know what I mean.

Anyway, I'm setting myself some goals for Perth. I plan on coming back with a clear head, a plan of attack, and hopefully a tan. (Out of all of those, I'm least likely to succeed at...the last one!)

First of all though, I need to find some summer clothes! Hurrah!

Hurt (Updated)

Sorry, I was a bit dazed when I first posted this.

I'm fine; feeling like I betrayed The Boy was a RIDICULOUS thing to feel (as I've been told). I'm not cheating on him, he dumped me. Der.

The bruises will go, I'll be able to sit down without pain soon enough, but hopefully there is a guy out there with really sore nuts. I kick hard. (Yay, kickboxing).

To clarify, I'm not using the 'R' word, just what he did really hurt, and I asked him to stop repeatedly, and he didn't, so I fucked him off.

Lessons Learnt:
- Stay away from boys for a while
- Despite my bravado, still not quite over The Boy yet
- Smoking is DISGUSTING.

And if I want to post on here, I will. If you are going to judge me for picking up a guy in a pub, at least do it in the comments section, don't send me fucking anonymous emails. I post on here to get clarity about how I'm feeling about things, because more often than not it's hard for me to get that in real life. I'm not proud of what happened, but I'm not ashamed either, so go fuck yourself.

Now, for the rest of you, you can see me waving from a hot air balloon tomorrow morning; that is, if I get up in time.

Over and fucking out (for a while).

M

People that are over things, go to Geelong.

Might I just tell you that I'm going to Geelong tonight? DON'T ask me why, just run with it.

Because what else does a girl do on a Saturday night?

I have thousand little angry red bites on my legs (mosquitos??), and a thousand little angry red pimples on my face (Ok, I'm exaggerating), and I've just decided that I'd like to have a crush on someone.

Not a boyfriend, not a relationship, just a crush. For it's been TWO weeks now since I've been dumped, and really, I'm fucking over it.

Sure, I check my moblie 75 thousand times a day to see if he's text me (he hasn't), sure, I check my MSN every day to see if he's deletd me (he hasn't), and sure I think him all the time (he doesn't think about me I'M BETTING), but I'm over it.

OVER IT.

And people that are over things, go to Geelong.

Fare thee well, my pretties.

Holy flying fuck batman.

Drinkin' the tequila with the lemon and salt. Yeah Tequila!

So. Started off at Fiddlers. Then moved onto the Deck @ Waterside. Then to Marquee. The to Riverland @ Fed Square. Then to Transport. Then back to Marquee.

Fuck I'm seedy.

Getting back on the horse and falling off the other side.

Only a week single, and already a friend of mine wants to sign me up to RSVP. She wants me to go to her house, and she'll take some pictures of me, and we can make up a profile.

Great idea in theory. I checked out some of the guys this morning (NOT BAD EITHER), but my heart's not in it. I'm not ready to go through all that dating thing yet; trying to make conversation, dressing up, worrying if I'm impressing someone. And while the ego boost is good, and the initial, flirty stages are always exciting, the dating part scares me, and I realise that I just want to be by myself for a while, and become confident enough in myself so if he turns out like The Boy, I can tell him to fuck off, first time round.

Did anyone read This article in yesterday's Herald Sun. Okay, so Dr Cindy Pan (she of the milk commercials), and Bianca Dye (some radio chick) are telling me where I went wrong. But god, they probably are right. Instead of trying to get attention by being depressed about myself, I should just be confident, and feel sexy.

HENCE WHY I'M GOING AWAY (FROM BOYS) TO FIND MY CONFIDENCE.

Although, it would be very nice to have some sort of male around right now. There's a giant fuck-off cockroach sitting in front of my bookcase, and I'm too scared to get out of bed and vacumn it up. Or go near it. So if I had to have an RSVP profile, it would say "WANTED: Man to save me from cockroaches & spiders".

Where is my dad when I need him?

Whoa

Well, i did find something to do on my Saturday night. Not half as good as sharing my bed with someone (sleeping, not anything else, gutterheads), but still made me realise what an arsehole I've been.

I went back through, in chronological order, all my entries for the past year or so, about The Boy. Actually, that's nearly every one. So much whinging, so much pain, and I could have controlled it ages ago.

Amazed you guys even put up with it.

What an annoying shit I was (still am, don't say it!).

Actually, I'm really pissed off that I put up with his shit for so long. I remembered back a couple of other times, especially when I got upset because there was some chick in a bikini as his screensaver, so obviously he had a case to build, and last week was not just some heat of the moment thing.

HOWEVER, no more dwelling, it's a brand new month, and in the spirit of brand new things, I've got goals. Not April resolutions, but actual goals. And making sure I keep them, I'm going to pledge to you that I will, pledge to important people in my life, and follow them up all the time.

So without any further ado, I present MY GOALS...

* Save money to go on Contiki trip to Europe - next year
* Save money so I can buy a house - By the time I'm 30
* I want to be a curvy, toned size 14 - by end of year
* Join boxercise class - next month
* Start up running program - next fortnight
* make new friends - immediately

Also goals, but didn't make the list: Clean house, do washing, take dry cleaning, buy new handbag (TODAY).

I'm excited. Weekly progress reports coming soon.

One more, that's it.

Ok. I posted about my need for Saturday night ideas; and I just finished posting about the fact that OMG TONIGHT IT WILL BE ONE WEEK SINCE HE DUMPED ME, and I still don't have anything to do on my Saturday nights.

However, I was thinking, I need to one more post about it, and that's it. One more to get it off my chest, and I can get some closure type crap and move on and possibly even take up my Fantapants Adventure FOR REALS again.

And it will be...what happened the night of 24th March 2007. From my perspective only, of course. But feel free to comment and tell me I was a dickhead and you would have done exactly the same thing, or that he was a dickhead, etc. I don't mind if you don't agree with me; I'm not trying to win a popularity contest and if anything, if I was in the wrong, it will help point it out to me so I can learn for next time. I've told some friends and a few people at work this story, but sometimes RL people are not as objective...

****

Preface: For the last few weeks I'd been feeling down. Four main reasons:
* I've put on too much weight, and just feeling crap about myself
* Worrying about my financial status, in particular, how I was going to afford to go to Europe with The Boy later this year
* My Best Friend (despite her shortcomings) is moving back up to QLD again
* Worrying about my social life in general (or rather, lack of).

Now, regular readers would be aware of most of these points at some stage. I have my down moments, normally I'll post on here, and then the next day, I'm back up and I don't care. Generally, I'm 95% Fuck You, to other people, and 5% no self esteem. Not a bad ratio, but it does mean that I have my 'down' days.

Throw into the mix that I've been flat out with work lately, and also The Boy went away to Far North Queensland for a week without me. So I was feeling kinda shit.

This is how it went down:

Thursday Night 22nd March
I had a massage, and talked to my therapist, and was feeling unhappy, but relieved to have spoken to someone about the above. The Boy text me, and I ended up telling him that I was unhappy, and then ended up telling him why. He promised to give me a "big hug for as long as I wanted" and we could talk the next night. Feeling much more buoyed.

Friday 23rd March
Feeling excellent; work was good, going out for drinks after work; seeing The Boy tonight, and spending 3 nights with him! He picks me up from work, I am in considerably better mood. We get back to my house, and I want my hug, and to talk. But he wants to kiss me, etc, and well, I KNOW where that leads, and it's not like I don't want it too, I just want to talk first. End up going out for dinner, coming home, then having sex. No talking.

Saturday 24th March, Daytime
I'm getting my haircut; it takes four and a half hours. I feel terrible, because The Boy is at my house by himself. Insist that he cooks himself some party pies, etc in the fridge for lunch and not to wait for me, but he does wait. On my way home from massive hair cut, I get some KFC. Just some chips and a drink for me, but he pigs out. Ok.

Spend rest of afternoon, until about 6pm, in bed.

Saturday 24th March, Night-time
The plan is that we will drive up to his house, where I spend Sat & Sunday nights, and he'll drive me to trainstation on Monday morning (he's still on holidays). So we get ready, I pack my bags, and we go. The question of dinner comes up.
I'm more than happy to just grab something on the way, but he is insistant that we go out. He's not hungry at all though. We end up at Doncaster TGI's, but there's a 20 minute wait. I left it to him where we go, although he doesn't just want to grab something because he's sick of junkfood, because he's not the hungry one. We end up at a pub somewhere in Preston.

I'm pretty hungry at this stage, so I want to order a meal. He wants to order...bruschetta. This is where my kinda-fragile-at-the-moment-self esteem kicks in. There's no way I can sit and eat a Chicken Parma or the like, while he has a piece of bread.
A) - the idea of me sitting there eating all that food while he eats hardly anything, makes me feel physically ill, and validates my thoughts that I am just a fat, shovelling food...person (you get the idea).
B) - people sitting around us will see what we're eating and 'tsk tsk' and believe it's typical of a fat, shovelling food person like me to be eating so much.
And for someone that has put up with nasty comments all her life, the second one is always a possibility.

However, totally irrational, I know. But with the way I had been feeling, not entirely avoidible.

Now. Dinner comes out. I upset myself even more. I ended up ordering the Gnocchi, but even that is huge compared to some bread. I eat, we eat, almost silently (NB - Keep in mind that I'm not pissed off with him, just upset at myself), and yes, there are tears in my eyes. I feel disgusting.

I manage to eat half, but he's finished, and I don't want to keep eating. It's like the dessert conumdrum, where one person wants it, but the other doesn't, so the one who wants it misses out. The lady takes my plate away.

The Boy cracks it "I'm pissed off now" and motions to go. I go down to cashier to pay, and I'm pulling out my EFTPOS card, and the girl is just about to take it, when he whips out some cash, and shoves it in front of her face. Great scene, girl with tears in her eyes, and boy with pissed off, smug expression on his face. If it wasn't for the smug expression, I wouldn't have gotten pissed off right then (I don't care about paying). As it was, he walked out of the pub 5 steps ahead of me, and we got in the car.

Him (pissed off): "What are we going to do now?"
Me (pissed off, not sad now): "Oh, just take me to the train station then"

And with that, he puts the super-dooper fast car into action, and starts driving me home.

Conversation ( I'll try not to bore you further) ensues; He's taking me home; that's it, it's over; no, he doesn't want to talk about it, it's over. For my part, I'm asking him if we can talk about it; to stop the car and go back to his house; and saying 'please' a lot.

He calls my scene at the pub, a 'freakshow'. He's not going to have that sort of drama in his life. He says I shouldn't be worried about what other people think of me; my other reasons for being upset are stupid as well.

I ask can we sort it out, and he replies that I have to sort myself out. Which is true, but I'm not asking him to solve my problems, only to be there for me.

Which is the only part that I get pissed off about. I know I was an arsehole, and I know I have to sort myself out, but isn't the whole idea of being in a relationship being there for the other person when they're not 24/7 happy? I think that's how he thinks it should have been. For the first time (and yes, this is the first time this has ever happened), I've been less than my normally cheery, sarcastic self, and he 'doesn't like what he sees'.

Of course, it's okay for him to not want to see me for a weekend, because he's feeling down, and needs to be by himself. I could have done that too, but I geniunely was happy to see him. Of course, it's okay for him to abandon me for a weekend so he can play a FUCKING VIDEO GAME all weekend, and do housework. And naturally, it's okay that he didn't want to see me at on Christmas Day because of his mum, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc ETC FUCKING ETC.

Ahem. Anyway. We get to my house; he drives up my drive way, gets out, gets my bags out of the car, gives me my keys, goes to kiss me on the cheek, and says "I've had fun in the last two years", then goes back to his car.

Like the fool that I am, I try to hold him, and ask him to come inside so we can talk. But he pushes me away and says "This is the last time you'll ever see me", gets in his car, "If you're so worried about what people think of you, why aren't you worried now?", and drives away.

****

And that's it. Nothing more after that. I've resisted temptation to text him, as badly as I want to, I've resisted the temptation to email him. I won't chuck his stuff yet, just in case he does want it back. (NB - it's going after a couple of weeks).

I know that I haven't been a bitch. I know that I haven't wronged him, or treated him badly. I know it can probably be exasperating to hear someone with no self confidence, which is basically what he intimated. But I'm not like that all of the time, so I'm kinda at a loss as to why it was a 'breaking up point'. It kinda pisses me off too, because if this was a reason to break up, I had so many more legit reasons to do it, but NO, I'm the sucker who generally tries to understand the other person & their reasons, and because I'm easy going, I generally get over it.

WELL NOT ANY FUCKING MORE.

The guys at work reckon it was a heat of the moment thing; they reckon once he cools down, and realises that I'm not begginng him to take me back, etc, then he will contact me. But I don't think so; he's not a dramaticist, not a romanticist, not an emotional. An excellent analogy, again by my brother, is that our relationship is like a computer program; he will just delete it from his hard drive, and won't give another thought to it again.

And anyway, if he doesn't contact me again, I won't know what to do.

Saturday morning blues

Holy Fuck. The countdown is on tonight, approximately 8pm, where it will be ONE WHOLE WEEK since I was dumped. Yay. And what will I be doing at 8pm tonight? Fucking nothing. And what will he be doing? Attending a wedding that we were both meant to go to, where we could have dressed up and slow danced and I wouldn't be feeling this pain that I'm feeling now.

That's not to say that I begrudge him from attending; they are his mates and of course he should attend. I'm just sad that we won't be together.

YES. I am sad. For as much as I used to be frustrated with it all, I was so comfortable, and so happy when I was with him, that it used to outweigh the fact we hardly ever saw each other, or, when he didn't want to see me at Christmas. Blah. And thinking about it now, I couldn't possibly bear to go through all of that awkward stage again with someone else, just to see if I was comfortable with them.

But my brother was pretty good; we were having a chat when I was down the other day, and I mentioned this to him. This was the text message that I got back from him:

"The reward of having someone that actually respects you far outweights going thru the awkward stage, you know that"

And when my brother speaks, I shall listen. So I saved that text message and look at it when I'm down (as opposed to going after work with my new, gay, BFF boys and drinking vodka sunrises until I'm nearly passing out on the train).

And writing this post was carthartic too, because now that I have finished writing, it only steels my determination to stop being upset over the break up, and move on, the bigger and better person.

Only, IT STILL DOESN'T HELP WITH WHAT I'M GOING TO DO TONIGHT (SEE PREVIOUS POST)! I REFUSE TO BE DOING NOTHING AT 8PM.

I might go for a run.

Saturday Night Fever

Alright, what's happened has happened, and in the grand scheme of everything, it doesn't really matter. No one's died, I'm healthy, people get over heartbreak all the time.

SO. In the grand scheme of everything, my idea of getting over it, is to busy myself. Take the days that we spent together, and do interesting and fun activities to compensate. Which shouldn't be hard, considering we only spent Saturday nights & Sunday afternoons together.

Weekdays are easy. Staying back at work; trivia night every now & then; dinner with the olds; dinner with friends; cleaning; catching up on tv. Pretty much sorted then. NB - I plan to throw A LOT MORE exercising into the mix; I've seen the light, and agree with The Boy. The only person that can make me feel happy about myself, is myself.

Saturdays are a classic sleep in, Saturday arvos for cleaning or shopping. Sundays are much the same, I can't begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to catching up with some reading.

However. My BugBear.

Saturday Nights

I mean, what in god's name do people do on a Saturday night? Most of my friends are married with kids, or about to move back to Brisbane, or something as equally non single-life-esque.

Saturday nights are all about going out to parties, or pubs, and drinking with your mates, and checking out the talent. Where the hell are all the activities? Why can't I go to a Boxercise class on a Saturday night? What the fuck is available for single, lonely people, that don't want to attend 'Singles House Parties, Dress to Impress, no denim'? Is there a secret list somewhere that someone would like to share? Or any ideas?

I want to do things, I want to meet new people, ,I need to be distracted, and I certainly don't want to hide my fabulous new haircut (Four hours & $205 later, I need to get my money's worth).

NB - It's been 5 days, and only two pieces of Chocolate. Go me.

So. Saturday nights. Ideas. For the good of my health.

A reference guide

Erm, it's late on a Sunday night, and I really should be getting to sleep. I'm running on 4 hours - it's ok, I was just blind drunk, not lying awake thinking about fuckheads all night. And while I'm at it, I must apologise for that slightly aggressive post from 4am this morning. After 'It' all happened, I rang my best friend and we went out, and I got shitfaced, and ahem, picked up. Well, basically I pashed a guy until the lights came back on, then I went and hid in the toilets so he didn't have the whole 'I'm coming home with you' deal. Some random face sucking was enough to massage my bruised ego for the night.

Anyway, I will write a proper post on this at some stage; I probably won't go into detail with what happened. Needless to say that it was quick, unexpected, I was stupid, he was a bastard and I've learnt my lessons. And YES!!! I echo Flashman's sentiments from the previous comments that I should have gotten in first. I'm MIGHTY pissed off that I didn't (FUCKING LOVE HINDSIGHT, DON'T WE?), but has everyone has rightly pointed out to me today, it's what I wanted in the long run, but just not how I wanted it to be done.

So this post is just going to be a list. A list that I can refer back to if I'm feeling a bit down, or getting itchy SMS fingers. My list is called:

Reasons why I'm better off without the Jerk

* He didn't treat me properly (See Christmas, 2006 and other assorted blog posts).
* He's such a mummy's boy, and that will never change.
* I was low on the list of his priorities.
* In two years, he'd never once said he loved me.
* I won't have to drive to the Greensborough area anymore.
* I can change the title of this blog.
* I don't have to drive around in a WRX with personalised number plates anymore.
* My new couch is all mine.
* I don't have to sleep in horrible bed anymore.
* I won't bore anyone with my lame posts about the shit going down between us.
* He was a cold, cold person, and could never speak about something face to face.
* He was such a tight arse.
* I can go out and not feel bad/guilty for drinking.
* I don't have to buy 'fat' coke again.
* I don't have to deal with someone that wears fucking basketball shorts everywhere.
* I can save some money.
* He never once said he loved me.
* I'm sure there are much much more, but I'm really tired and I need to sleep (EYES ARE SO PUFFY)

If you can think of any, let me know.

Also, what to do with his stuff...do I just put it in the bin? Last night after he dropped me off, he said "This is the last time you'll ever see me", and gave me back my keys, so I'm assuming that he doesn't want his aftershave, or his pj pants, or his nice (and expensive) grey jumper, or his expensive duck down pillows. What should I do? If I chuck them, and he asks for them, I'll look childish. But if I keep them, they will remind me of him, and I'm starting afresh. Please advise.

ALL OVER

Well I Guess everyone got their wish, Cockface of a Boyfriend Dumped me tonight, and even though I went out drinking wiht my best friend aftwewards I stil got homw and now I am sad.

he siad:

"You are never going to see me again"


I am sorry I was upset at the Olympic Hotel in fucking Preston. I have been upset for a while.. I'm sorry I made you pissed off at me. Fuck you, for taking me home, and giving me back my house keys. I empytied all of you toothepast in eth sink. and you hair gel and I'm going to rip up you fucking pj pants untile ther'es nothing ele to rip tup..


I HOPE EVERYONE IS HAPPY NOW. I AM COMPLETELY ALONE> COMEPLETELYL>.

The likely suspects...

Focusing elsewhere, focusing elsewhere. Taking my mind off things. Relax. Deep Breath. Enny had a great idea, do you reckon I can get my Dad to dump him by proxy? (Also, Hack, you are right).

More pictures of fucking ice, hey?!





NOTE: Possible 2007 Big Brother Friday Night Games Apparatus

If anyone decides to ever have a text message conversation with me again, ever, I will seriously kill them with the very phone their messages are coming from.

*Cries*

Self Portrait



BRING BACK THE ICE

Cold.

What makes the Antartic, and the Artic, so cold? Colder than anywhere else on Earth. Or at least icy-er. Why do those particular spots, at the top, and the bottom of the earth, get to be the coldest? I don't like it one little bit.

Also. How come we just don't get one of those big fuck off icebergs and put it in the Thompson damn - so we can at least have more than 60 days of water left? We could tow one to shore, then chop it up into manageable bits, and drop it in.

Look, I'm not a logistical planner, okay.

Another Journal Entry

Okay, I pissed him off with my 'cold' text messages, and ruined his holidays, now he won't talk (message me) to me and while it's hurting my chest now, I'm secretly hoping he dumps me SO I CAN GET RID OF THIS FUCKHEAD FOR GOOD.

I was trying hard to stay really cool about it (him going away), but I guess whenever I've replied to his text messages, I've sounded somewhat bitchy.

At first, I was pissed off, because when he asked me to go, and I said I couldn't afford it, I thought he might have paid for my accomodation, and I could have paid for my airfaires. Easy. But really, stupid thing to think, so can't justify being pissed off about it.

Now I just realise that it pisses me off, that as a 28 year old man, he is quite happy just to go away with his 25 year old brother, and his parents, for a holiday. And have fun. And not even worry about me, or say he is going to miss me. He is more than happy to do this. It really should come at no surprise, considering he is more than happy to cut short our Sundays together, so he can get home by 6pm to have dinner at his parents' house, EVEN THOUGH HE HAS DINNER WITH THEM EVERY FUCKING OTHER DAY OF THE WEEK.

***

So, considering I'm a bit twisty in the heart this morning, I had left over mexican and cookies & cream ice-cream for breakfast. Now, I am going to sit on my new couch, and get some work (real) done. And decide if I can be bothered going out tonight. I hate going out of the house now. I am a hermit.

Lame post about being f*cked over by stupid boyfriend again.

I feel sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick

Stupid boyfriend has gone on a holiday without meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

There's nothing s'prising about that I guess. I should stop complaining because I only do it to myself.

How about I go out on Saturday night, get totally liquored up, and find the man of my dreams?

I totally want to get home at 8am, after pashing the face some off the future Mr. Martie.

Seriously, I'd give up Career, I'd give up New Couch, I'd give up Microwave Popcorn, if I could only bloody find someone that respected me, had time for me, loved me.

There are some kilos to go until I have the confidence of going at it alone. And as much as my man-desperation goes, I'd much rather go it alone, because I'm just beginning to see what type of person I am, and form proper opinions and views, and IT'S EXCITING, DUDE!

I think they call it growing up.

I prefer to call it growing into myself.

But I would very much like someone to say that they loved me, just once. It's been over three years since someone said that to me, and apparently I've been in some sort of relationship for two of them.

Is this emo? Fuck, I hope not. This is just me having trouble expressing myself, because my stomach is doing somersaults, and has been since 7am this morning when his plane left.

I hate hearts. I like kissing much more.

A bit of cash, a bit of flash

I stayed up until 3am last night, putting my clothes away. You might think that's tragic, for a Friday night, but believe me, I had a lot of friggin' clothes to put away. My whole wardrobe basically sits on the washing line, in the washing hamper, in the washing machine, in the dryer, and on the couch and chairs. The actual wardrobe is pretty much bare.

Anyhow, I was happy. Well, not overly happy, because I didn't have any dinner, but I did get to watch Ocean's 12. Then I watched the Timber Community's finest hour; Demi Moore & Michael Douglas in Disclosure, then I happened to change channel and catch most of a movie called "Ghost in the Computer".

The basic premise was a serial killer that stole people's address books died, but when he was having an MRI, his 'soul' got left in the computer system, and he continued to terrorise his next victim though electronic things. IE - computers, dishwashers, etc. Don't you love how when computers were such a big deal, hopeful technology movies like this were made. I mean, for reals, a 'soul' stuck in a computer system, that is killing people? LAME.

However, being 3am in the morning, one's mind does begin to wander; IE - there is a serial killer in my courtyard; I'm too scared to turn the light out; I'm really fucking hungry, I wish I ate dinner. And what it did, was force me to take stock of all the potentially life threatening appliances that share my apartment with me.

Lights; phone; hairdryer; hair straightener (EWWW); fan; kettle; TV; dryer; blender (DOUBLE EWW). I wondered if I would have nightmares about all the appliances just walking towards me in a group. Don't let anyone tell you that electrical items are not dangerous - LISTEN TO THE WARNING KIDS.

As a pleasant aside from all the death and destruction in the movie , two kids paid their babysitter $37 to unbutton her shirt, so they could get a little boob action. One even put a cushion over his groin. They weren't that good.

My point is though, isn't that expensive? Change into Australian rates, and that's like $60 for a titty flash, not even out of the bra. I thought you could pay about $50 for the pleasure of snorting a line of cocaine off some chick's tits while you fucked her friend at Hosies'? Or is that just me?

So, that's quite good money, I don't think I'd be adverse to that at all. A bit of cash, a bit of flash, and we're done. No mess, no fuss, no unexplained sticky bits. Although a friend did point out to me that they could get it for free on a Saturday night when I'm out on the pull, so I'll just have to come up with some other get rich quick scheme.

Rub me the right way

And thus ends possibly the most sensual, and best sexed, weekends that I've ever had...

************************************************

Plenty to do this week! Lunch with clients tomorrow! Career planning seminar on Tuesday! Loooooooooong Luncheon on Thursday! New Couch to arrive on Saturday! Stuff to be done to car! More sex on weekend!

Actually, I shouldn't be punctuating with '!'. These are the marks of someone that is happy. I'm not. One of my close friends has a tumor on her inner ear. My best friend hasn't spoken to me for three weeks. My apartment is resembling a chinese laundry...there are clothes in the washing basket; there are clothes hanging from my fan; there are clothes on the washing line; there are clothes in the dryer; there are clothes all over my couch and chairs; there are clothes on my bedside table. I just couldn't be fucked putting them away.

I want to lounge of a beach somewhere until I feel good about myself again, then come back and kick ass.

However, if I wanted to cheat my way out of the mental energy this would take, I'd rub some sort of bottle and ask the genie:

1 - To weigh 77 kilos. I don't want to lose my body shape, just tone up the areas that I hate. Also, 7 is my favourite number. Double 7, and I'm blowing in my undies.

2 - To win a fortune in tattslotto. Enough to be able to pay for my mum & dad in retirement, make sizeable donations to animal shelters and charities, buy my brother and I houses, and live comfortably. So yeah, $33M should do nicely.

3 - This is a tough one. One more wish left. I've done the obvious, lose weight, more money, but where to go with this one. What would make me truly happy? Permanently tanned? Be able to speak French fluently? Maid to put washing away? No. I just want friends. I want mates that I can go for a drink with. Mates that I can go shopping with. Mates that will come over with a bottle of wine for a dinner party. Mates that will be there for me, and who I can be there for too.

Sounds sick and depressing, doesn't it? But a girl can't get by on good sex alone.

The post that's not a post

I apologise for not blogging lately. I'm kinda over my life. NOT in an emo-i-hate-myself-and-want-to-die sort of a way, more like a there's-nothing-out-of-the-ordinary-happening-to-me-that-I-want-to-blog-about sort of a way.

Actually, I did want to sit down and let out all my feelings on one particular topic. But animal cruelty isn't the blog post of choice, I guess. Unless some dog is going to fight in the Iraq war, or a little kitten is going to run in the upcoming federal election, it's just not trendy. It's just that there's been a spate of cruelty reports in media the last week or so; whether it's an increase in cruelty, or whether the media is hot to trot on the topic, I'm not sure.

But consider this:

* LUNATIC (ex-vet, mind you), has been clearly underfeeding her horses for years, and is only now saying it is because of the drought. Distressing footage of malnourished, own shit eating, horses and crazy woman who is doing this to them. If you can't feed them, give them to someone who can.

* MORON puts two kittens in a plastic container with THE LID ON and leaves them on a vet's doorstep overnight. Luckily, they were nursed back from near-dehydration and are/were up for adoption. CAN PEOPLE NOT USE THEIR BRAINS???

* IDIOT leaves a 16 year old dog, fretting for it's dead owner, on an animal shelter's doorstep overnight, because they have inherited the dog, and can't look after it. Which is fair enough - BUT WHY DUMP IT AT NIGHT. FUCK. The piece in the Herald-Sun today, although it probably wins the award for most emotive language, about how the dog was scared in it's new surroundings (concrete cage), made me want to leave work right there and then and go adopt it.

* FUCKHEAD dog stealers are stabbing people and throwing dogs around, just because of their breed. ANIMALS ARE NOT COMMODITIES (except for Minks, as our Friend, Lillian Frank tells us, that Minks are farmed, therefore it is okay to wear a mink coat. Good stuff, Lil).

* And last but definitely not least, CUNTY CUNT MCCUNT CUNTOS decide they will make their dog attack a guide dog. Real fucking heroes, aren't they. It's bad enough that it costs $25,000 to train a guide dog, and it's even worse that the blind owner and the dog had a five year bond. The worse thing is, the guide dog may have suffered psycological trauma, in this case, rendering it unfit for guide work anymore. ALSO, DID I MENTION IT MAY HAVE SUFFERED PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA?

You know what would be fun? If I saw those clowns, and let the sharpest knife in my kitchen loose on them. Specifically, on their balls (if they actually have any), and then make them eat them, a la person in Hannibal eating their own brains for dinner (WHOOPS SPOILER). Except they are so fucking concious, that not even half of a coked up Hollywood could be anymore alert than them.

So yeah. I'd like to write a post about this, and tell you how I really feel. But if I was going to do that, all I'd really need to tell you is that it breaks my heart. And may some sort of God help anyone that I catch being cruel to animals.

Wild Card, draw four

If you see someone on the train, calling their mobile phone a cunt, and generally looking pissed off, don't be alarmed kiddies.

It's just ME, being totally absorbed into the mobile phone game of UNO.

Yeah, I don't get out much.

Except for this weekend; they are letting me out on Friday AND Saturday night. Someone have an ambulance standing by; my heart might not be able to keep up with all this FUN I am supposed to be having.

Mind you, I could very well end up in a dark corner playing UNO...

Challenge II - Relationship

Not so long ago, I was listening to the couple next door making the loud and gushy secks.

Today, I stood next to possibly the best looking bloke I have ever seen in real life, and was momentarily stunned.

I spoke at length with the 19 year old genius in our team, about what he was going to do for his girlfriend for V'day. He's taking her on a weekend away - he's taking her out to dinner and buying her some flowers on actual V'day - he's going to buy her a 'surprise' present of a couple of gold bangles to give to her on a random day -nothing specialm just 'because'. All this, before her birthday in March.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Well, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

How is it, that this doesn't appear for me? Instead, I'm still 'marking time' with some clown that will spend V'day going out to dinner with his parents (Wednesday is their 'going out to dinner night').

***

As my Dad likes to constantly remind me; 2007 is my 'getting rid of' year. I've gotten rid of my car, now all I have to do is get rid of some weight, get my self confidence back, and get rid of 'other' things in my life. The 'other' he refers to, is the 'relationship person' I'm always banging on about. He won't say his name, because he can't stand him. Good old Dad.

And yes kids, Dad's are always right. I know exactly what I have to do. To be spoken in more depth in Challenge III - Losing Weight, but I know that all I have to do is drop the excess that I've been carrying since I gave up all serious sport, and I'll be sexy, confident Martie again. The one that probably would have paid for this guy's coffee card and left my business card for Mocha Genius Man to pass on next time.

The one that would open all her doors and windows so the whole suburb could hear the sexing going on in her apartment (all night).

The one who would be taken out for a nice dinner on V'day, and would be organising a performance of Carmen Electra Striptease for her man, for dessert.

The one who would have told the relationship moron to GET FUCKED, a long bloody time ago.

***

I was actually mucking around with my blog template (again) on the weekend, and got stuck reading all my archives for want of a better and less narcissistic thing to do. It actually charts my whole relationship with the relationship person, from how nervous I was before our very first date, to lusty weekends away, to GOD DAMN FUCKING DRESSING GOWNS, to finally the absolute dropping of any pretence that he was interested in participating in a relationship, unless it suited him at the time. I was good, I was strong for a while, but single life can be cruel to a girl with a weak will, and hasn't experienced it in a long time.

BOOOOO MARTIE.


I'd really like a nice white gold bangle (or two), that I could wear with my watch. Please God, are you there, it's me, Martie.

Challenge I - Money

My head is all full of thoughts. It's a jumble of boys, relationships, money, renting, family. I know this here blog is meant to be a capture of those thoughts, but I can never write them eloquently enough. And I don't really have any funny anecdotes about myself, or amusing things happen to me, so it's a waste of space sometimes.

My life really stooped to new lows the other night when I drank a bottle and a half of Baileys on a school night, and had to go to work the next morning with a huge hangover. Which used to be a not-uncommon-thing for me, but the alcohol always came from going out with friends, not drinking alone like some sad sack.

I can't even tell you what I'm stressing over the most, because it changes. Seemingly on the hour. First, it's money. Then it's my crusade to lose weight. Then it's my relationship. Then we're back to money, and so on.

As for money: I hate the stuff. I wish I could live in one of those hippy communes, where I could barter goats and grow vegetables, although I'll pass on the dreadlocks, ugly clothes and un-washed-ness, thanks.

I've just gotten rid of $15K debt, there is now $10K to go. Scary how one can get themselves into such situations, non? My next move will be to investigate the possibility of breaking my lease without having to pay anything, and horror of all horrors, finding a place with a flatmate.

Someone asked me the other day if I was ashamed because I was living outside my means, and now had to reign myself in. I felt like telling them to get fucked, but I'm not ashamed. It's not that having a nice car, and renting the place that I do was outside of my means, it's just that now my priorities have changed - IE - I want to go to Europe, and I want to buy a house. Not possible on my wage, plus owning a nice car, and renting what I've now found to be very expensive, apartment. It was good for me 18 months ago, but it's not right for me now.

So no, I'm not ashamed, I'm looking on it as an adventure. It will be hard - money falls through my fingertips, especially when there's shoes and clothes and boys around - but that's the challenge of it all. To Europe, either at the end of this year, or the start of 2008, and to a house, by the time I'm 30.

Although - and I have to ask the question - is it wise to spend $8000 on an overseas trip with someone that hasn't even said they loved you?

Being around this one 'relationship person' makes me feel so inadequate, because they have totally, and I mean totally, got their shit together when it comes to money. Mind you, they did have a helping hand when they were given the money to buy their house (the whole lot, not just a deposit), and, they did start on a graduate wage, not a traineeship wage, but then again, I could have done a lot more saving then pissing up all my wages on a weekend, y'know. The point is, I feel uncomfortable, and perhaps the lack of committment on the 'relationship person's' behalf, is the fact that I don't have it together, money wise.

However, we can only do what we can, and I have a budget, and a disciplinarian mother at hand to guide me through.

Sometimes, writing shit from your head can really help.


Next: Challenge II - Relationship

Tonight I bought car. No pics yet, will take some and upload when I pick it up.

But bugger the car. I'm having some Baileys to celebrate. And now, after a bottle of 'regular' Baileys, and half a bottle of 'mint-choc' Baileys, I'm somewhat drunk.

BUT NO. This is not going to be a drunk post. I would have had to visit some sort of dodgy pub and kiss a random, then come home after a taxi ride through the KFC drive thru to post something like that.

I'm just curious to see what people's favourite (alcoholic) drinks are. Mine is Baileys on ice. Even in a dodgy pub. After I've had my fill of vodka/lime/sodas, I get on the Baileys. For some reason it makes me feel sexy. Even while looking like a bag of shit.

Whatevs.

I'm not asking you to fuck me*, just tell me what your favourite drink is. Y'know what I'm talking about - the one that gets you horny, but not drunk enough that your performance is an issue.

And when the results are in, I will do a graph in excel, using the graph wizard and lots of pretty colours.


*NB - If your favourite drink is Bourbon & Coke, I don't know that I could fuck you anyway.


PS - I just re=read parts of this post )that I could read anyway). I think it may have been a drunk post. I'l know for sure in the morning.

The ridiculous wednesday-checking-mobile-phone post

I hate mobile phones so much. I want to throw mine out.

I leave mine on silent, because the noise it makes is obtrusive. But I hate having it on silent, because it makes me always check it, and I get upset/frustrated that I don't have a little envelope displayed for 'text message received'.

I reckon, in the past hour, I have checked my silent, cocksucking phone, about 30 times.

MADNESS.

Piss off back to Sweden, or wherever you came from, mobile phones.

***

One more car to look at tomorrow night. Hopefully, this is the one, because I am heartily sick of looking at cars. And sleazy dealers. Actual conversation had with local dealer last Saturday:

Dealer (while, washing car and smoking): "Do ya know what ya lookin' for love?"

Martie (withering glance): "Yeah. A car."


Ok, ok, I probably didn't need to be so aggressive but he pissed me off with the smoking thing, and his greasy hair, and the 'love' bit.

***

New Year's Resolution # 7534 isn't going that well. Oh look, it's a quarter to midnight, and I'm still awake/playing on computer. One of these days, I'm gonna go to bed before 10:30pm.

***

Approximately 12 more checks of my silent mobile phone whilst writing this post.

***

LOOK at what I found:

If it totally had a purple balloon on it, I'd be paying the $100 AUS or whatever the Great Britain exchange rate turned out to be just to get it. Probably couldn't wear it, because I'm not 18 and don't wear pinafores, but just to have it would be nice.

***

Speaking of feeling old: I feel just that. Lots of bloggers have BDO posts going, but not me. I've never been cool enough to go; and probably crowds/lines/noise/cunts with flags would piss me off anyhow. TIME TO STAY HOME AND HAVE A CUP OF TEA UNDER THE NANNA BLANKET.

***

Again, more on the subject of feeling old: At another car yard on Saturday, I was eagerly organising to test drive a Hyundai excel. Car Salesman says:
"It's a nice little first car. Did you just get your licence?"

I don't know if he was pulling bullshit manouveres to make the sale, or really dumb, or genuinely thought I was only 18. I'd like to go with the last option. I was looking in the mirror, and I really don't have any wrinkles. Hurrah! Maybe I can wear balloon necklace after all.

***

Since making a conscience effort not to check my phone after the last time, I have since checked two more times.

ALL OVER A MESSAGE I WAS MEANT TO GET AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO. GO TO SLEEP ALREADY.

***

DID I tell you...I went to Cold Rock. I took myself on a date there. Mind you, ended up a bit lost, but it was worth it. Fruit tingles in cookies'n'cream ice-cream? Banana and Milo ice cream with crushed nuts. OMG. Go there. Take me with you.
NB - Kezza, I don't think it is cosmopolitan enough for you ;-)

***

Ok, it's hit Wednesday, and officially ridiculous. It's bed time for me.

***

One last check before I go to sleep

Changes afoot.

Not really. Only because blogger made me change over before I knew it, so I decided to muck around with the colours somewhat. Yes, I have a penchant for purple. No, I do not think that makes me sexually frustrated; I think I was of 'royal' blood in a previous life.


NB: Also not a goth.

And in other news, Shane & Simone Warne seen 'canoodling' in Fiji

Reading about Kylie Minogue getting cheated on again is kinda depressing. She's cute, she's perky, she has a great bum, so why is it that every guy that she seems to hook up with, does the dirty on her?

I read somewhere that she is a bit of a control freak and a workaholic, which doesn't bode well for me, because that describes me to a 'T'. And if Kylie can't work it like that with what she's got, what hope is there for me?

***

What a weekend. Having swapped man hunting (roflcopter, etc), for car hunting, I've achieved absolutely zero. Except for some great sex, and a grey cardigan, and a clean house.

I'm still carless. As I sit here, looking at my purple bath towel, resting against my purple squishy pillow, thinking about my purple kitchen sponge, wearing my purple Bonds singlet, and my amethyst (purple FYI) ring, I contemplate WHY I DON'T OWN ANY PURPLE UNDERPANTS...

Woe is me; etc.

But the real reason I think is because...I want a purple car.

Thank fuck I'm not working tomorrow...I need to stay up all night trawling for purple cars.

I was made carless last night.

So unconditioned I am to not having a car around, it didn't occur to me NOT to walk home from Safeway when I bought ice cream. Or, just don't buy the ice-cream in the first place. EITHER / OR, either / or.

Apart from that RIVETING news, there's really nothing going on in my life right now. Sour romances are deperately trying to be sweetened again, with promises of european adventures; bellarine peninsula adventures; dinner, etc, but, what's the point? At the end of the day, he's still a teat sucking mama's boy, with no interest in making me part of his life, and I am a girl with a new couch (T minus 6.5 weeks and counting), and potentially a new car. One with a sunroof.

Also, I sat behind the hottest guy on the train yesterday; so float my boat did he, that I was furiously trying to come up with ways on how to 'introduce myself':

- I thought about telling him I liked his shirt
- I thought about telling him I liked his glasses
- I thought about accidentally falling forward and touching his back to 'steady'
myself, but the old bag next to me would have told him I was faking it. Sour old bitch.
- I thought about tapping him on the shoulder and saying 'Hi, I'm Martie/I think you're cute/ASL?

WHERE OH WHERE, WAS A BAR WITH SOME ALCOHOL WHEN I NEEDED IT?

So, cute boyman on Frankston line train, catching the 5.34 on 24th Jan, with blue & white striped shirt, glasses, brown-y/red-dish tinged, short hair and possibly what I saw was a Motorola RAZR, EMAIL ME!!!! I'm getting a new couch, and a sunroof.

Well Hello, Lady Luck

Shoot me down with a bundle of sticks!

I sold my car! I am one step closer to being debt free, and one step closer to Europe.

I had to come down a little from what I first listed it at, but it ended up being such a good bargain, that no one who saw it would resist. Although, I did burst into tears afterwards; I love my car, when else am I ever going to own something luxurious like that (Goodbye heated seats, my loves. I will cherish you forever)?

I am somewhat buoyed by the hunt I am now on, for a purple Hyundai excel. Hurrah! A purple car!

So. A weekend full of beach (OMG, I haven't fake tanned), Safeway roast chicken and relaxing. And last lovingly looks at my car. Until next time, enjoy yourselves...


PS - If it wasn't Hambo calling me last night, then who was it?

Hello Universe, stop fucking with me

Talk about tempting fate. The day after I post about The Ex Fucker (the one love of my life, previous to Jungle Boy, see incredibly lame Wednesday apology post), I get two missed calls on my mobile, from a private number.

He is the only person I know now that uses a private number, and that would ring this late at night (11pm).

[Unless it was you Hambo, ringing to tell me you were lost? What do I look like? A bloody Melways? NB - If it was you, pissed off you didn't leave me a voice msg, or something to identify you.]

Mysteries, mysteries. Who knows what the Lady Fate has in store for me...

Pincey,

I'm sorry I needled you so much, to try and make you crack the shits. It was wrong of me, and unhealthy for us. I guess I pushed my luck too hard just that one last time.

Pincess.

The Aftermath: My Fault

Perhaps I am the one who is not easy to put up with. Observe:

- I claim to be open to all sorts of music. However as soon as any Black Eyed Peas/Fergie comes on, I change/turn off the radio. Immediately.

- I watch the microwave, and always turn it off at 1:27 or 1:33 minutes/seconds to go. I also can only have volume controls on an odd number (preferably 17) and I always post my blog on an 'odd' time.

- I'm very sarcastic.

- I have no self-confidence. I get upset over computer screen savers featuring chicks in bikinis.

- I can be a little bit snobby. The centre of the universe is quite clearly, Bayside Melbourne. (Northland? *sniff* What kind of shops are there?).

- I have no legitimate savings of which to speak.

- I can be a little bit lazy sometimes (because who could really be fucked taking their undies out of the drier and folding them, when you can just grab a pair straight out of said drier in the morning?

- I'm indecisive because I'm always worried the other person won't like my decision.

- Maybe my apartment is good for one, but maybe too cramped for two. Also, there are dicks walking around here all the time at night (thanks to the train station), so maybe I would worry about my car too?

- I expect too much. (Do I? I don't know about this one. I don't expect marriage and babies, but I do expect a committment. Is this too much? Fuck, who knows).

Go away issue. I want to go to the D&D Ball, issue free.

Liability Free

It's very late, and I'm falling asleep, but I would just like to say how excited I am about pursuing my goal of paying my debt off by the end of this year.

ESPECIALLY SINCE I WON'T HAVE SPEND MONEY ON PAYING FOR DINNER, AND BREAKFAST AND BUYING YOU 'FAT' COKE AND BUYING YOU DECENT BIRTHDAY/CHRISTMAS/VALENTINES PRESENTS WHEN YOU ROCK UP WITH DRESSING GOWNS. BECAUSE FOR THE RECORD, GIRLS WITH BIG BOOBS SHOULD NOT WEAR CROSS OVER, WRAP AROUND, DRESSING GOWNS. NOT THAT YOU'LL EVERY BE TOUCHING THEM (THE BOOBS) AGAIN.

Ahem.

It's like, good night time.

Time out

Let's take a break from all the hate in Martieland at the moment (but BOY, is it fun!)

I've got some EXCITING NEWS.

Yep.

I'm buying a couch.

A proper, grown up, adult couch. That more than one person can sit on at a time.

Here it is, photoshopped into my living room by my adorable little brother:



It looks a little odd because we couldn't quite get the angles right in my place, but still, you get the idea.

Anyway, I already have some money saved, and it takes eight weeks to make, so, I just pay it off during that time.

It's all so exciting. Think of all the fun I'm going to have on it!

I'm blowing in my undies as we speak.

OMG. MY CAR. SIK, MATE.

"It's not that I can't be bothered going to your house, but MY CAR is exposed on the street. OH MY GOD MY PRECIOUS CAR! You know how I am with it. There's no way we could ever have sex in it! No. There's no way we could have sex leaning up against it. There's no way I could take it to a shopping centre car park. I can't do anything with it except take it on long drives and only if I died, would you be allowed to drive it home, no actually scratch that, it's in my will that it should get taken back on a towtruck, not driven by anyone else, EVER. Actually, I'm going to be buried with it, so NO ONE CAN EVER DRIVE IT. SO NO, I'm never going to stay at your house again, because my car has to be on THE STREET *horrified gasp* and it is exposed and the poor little baby-waby is expose-y-wose-y, boo hoo, your house is evil, there are bad people that live around here and I don't want my baby exposed to that. Also, my bed is more comfortable-r"

FOR FUCK'S.

IT'S A FUCKING TOY CAR. Speak to me when you actually get a V8 engine. Fuck your toy shit off - why the fuck did you buy a car like that if you're only going to drive it to work and your mum's fucking house? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

AND - do you wanna know what makes it worse? You have a personalised number plate! Can't get much more vulgar than that. The car stands out enough - but personalised plates? So much class, right NOT there.

Also, you have paintings of ladies' straw hats on chairs overlooking a garden on your loungeroom walls. Nothing says 'I drive a fully sik WRX' than lame old-woman paintings.

Can't Be Bothered

to see you because:

* I have to clean my house

* I have to play 'Scarface'

* I have to start making dinner at my parents house

* I wanted a nap

* I had to go out with my mum

* I don't like going to your house (I NEVER SAID THAT! LIES! I JUST NEVER WANT TO GO THERE)

* I'm having dinner at my parent's house (for the 7th time this week)

* I'm just lazy and selfish, even though I've been on holidays for two weeks.

FUCK OFF THEN.

FUCK. OFF.

Also, my house may be small, with a not-so-comfortable couch, a smallish bed, and no tv in the bedroom, but at least I'm not a 27 YEAR OLD MALE WITH PRINTS OF LADIES' STRAW HATS DRAPED OVER CHAIRS LOOKING OUT A WINDOW ONTO SOME GRASS ON MY LOUNGE ROOM WALL.

"Mummy, come decorate my house for me"

TOSSER!

Routine

Bored? Want to be? Then read this next post, because as I realised today, it's a given to put you to sleep in seconds.

I present to you: my daily routine.

6:45am - Get up, get ready to go to work

7:44am - Catch train

8:30am - Start work

5:00pm - Finish work, catch train home

5:45pm - Get home, go to toilet (busting at this stage; don't like using work toilets), get changed

6:00pm - Go to parents' house for dinner

8:30pm - Come home, eat microwave popcorn

9:00pm - Read email, blogs and other internet crap

10:00pm - Play Carmen Sandiego (OLD SKOOL STYLE)

12:00am - Go to sleep

Repeat.


Fuck me. Am I not the most boring individual to inhabit that earth? The year is only four days old, and that's all I've done so far. WHAT HAPPENED TO ODD NUMBERS BEING GOOD LUCK FOR ME? No wonder why my Dream Man is avoiding me.

Speaking of which: NEWSFLASH!!!

Totally inappropriate crush!

I have a TIC on a client, no less; a married client, no less; a client that we ALL MAKE FUN OF, no less. I was talking to him today, and realised that he looked very handsome; he tanned up over the break, and gotten a haircut, and the colour of his shirt (purple) complemented him. We also get along very well, have the same sarcastic sense of humour, and can talk about anything to each other for ages. Plus he gave me a New Year's kiss and he smelled nice. MmMMMM.

He also sounds like a nice husband, because he gave his wife an eternity ring for Christmas.

So was it wrong of me to (fleetingly) hope they break up?

I'm going to hell.

At least that will be a change in my routine.

It's a new year, bitches

2006 taught me:

* Microwave popcorn is the most addictive thing on the planet

* Boys suck

* Fake tan sucks

* Diet Coke is the second most addictive thing in the world

* I have no clues when it comes to my love life; all the clues when it comes to my career

* You must use pre-packed baby spinach quickly

* How to actually like sex

* How to re-ignite my passion for reading again

* I need to start going to bed earlier

And hence, my resolutions:

* Grow some balls, dump Jungle Boy

* Pay off my debts

* Lose weight (OMG DER)

* Buy a couch

* Cook a meal & serve at my house

* Sell my car (DO YOU WANT TO BUY IT???)

* Drink water every day, building up to 2 litres again

* Read about, and understand, all types of religions

Not asking for much, am I?