It's not what you think

Elle and I have been swapping emails today at work and after a lengthy update on all that's been happening in her life, I received the below as an email post-script.

Does your signature say that you are a Relationship Executive? If that's true then can you please find me an intelligent, knowledgable in world issues, musically inclined, Russian speaking (but not Russian), tall, skinny beard* who won't impinge on my independence? Thanks.

True, I am a relationship executive but one of the corporate rather than personal variety. Although I'm always happy to hear stories and try out my armchair psychology as this blog well demonstrates. Perhaps I could turn it into a new line of employment?

Hmm. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

* By this she means a man with a beard. Not the other sort of beard, Al.

It's not me, it's you

Isn't it a beautiful Melbourne Sunday? For those of you who aren't locals, we're in the midst of the hottest November on record. After a week of 30+ temperatures the heat broke admirably on Friday with flash storms and lots and lots (and lots) of rain. As I type right now I've a window open to watch it coming down, a cup of tea at my elbow and a freshly baked date and walnut loaf cooling on the kitchen bench. How thoroughly domestic of me.

I need it to be a domestic Sunday as I've exhausted myself somewhat this past week. With the end of the year looming, each and every weekend until 2010 is booked up and the past 2 weeks have been no exception. Wine and late evenings are often involved. No wonder I'm wrecked.

Friday night I met Heidi for a few bottles of wine and a cheese board at a beautiful pub on Commercial Road. Heids is single, utterly gorgeous and never without a date story or two. She reckoned she had a story that I would find interesting. She was right, although I reserve the right to add the word gob-smacking.

Heids recently met a chap and agreed to meet him for a Saturday afternoon date. She planned it for the afternoon with the theory that she could keep it casual this way. If things weren't going well or there was no chemistry she would just say she had some errands to run and leg it.

But there was chemistry. Lots of it. As we settled comfortably into our 5 cheese platter and rather Swedish-looking surrounds (blonde wood, lamplight, beautiful fabrics) she told me how much she had enjoyed the date.

They met at another classy pub in the area for a late lunch. He was tall, mid-30s, attractive and well-mannered and lunch was surprisingly easy. They had lots to talk and laugh about and there wasn't an awkward minute.

When lunch ended he suggested another drink. When the drinks ended, they played pool then sat down for another drink. By now it was well into the evening and Heidi was relieved that she hadn't had to pull the 'Oh my, is that the time? I have to go to the post office/dog washer/ gynaecologist' excuse. In fact, as she put it, she was thinking that it had been a bloody great date and she'd rather like to see this bloke again. Until it got late.

At around 9.30 Heidi decided to call it quits. The young man she had been with was happy to do so too. Provided he got to go home with her, that is.

Heids was more than a little surprised by this. Sure, the date had been great but it was only the first one. They had got along well but there'd been no mad snogging, dirty dancing, discussions of baby names or anything, in fact, that might make him think a leg-over was a certainty. As a result he didn't take it well when Heids said no.

Indignant and intoxicated with admiration for himself, he concluded there must be only reason for this.

'Are you a lesbian?'

As she recounted this tale to me such was my surprise that a small chunk of ash brie lodged in my throat and we had to take time out to prevent my choking. We were soon back on track though.

'He didn't ask you that!'
'He did. In all seriousness, too.'
'He honestly thought that was the only reason you wouldn't want to go home with him?'
'Yep.'

Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation whilst another part of me wanted to smack him for his arrogance. Heids told me that she just said goodbye, climbed into a cab and promptly put a cross through his name on her mental date list.

Given that this bloke thinks the only reason a woman won't sleep with him is because she's gay, I imagine he hasn't gone home, nor shall he be going home with anyone for quite some time.

I really hope he doesn't work for the government's census bureau. Imagine how skewed the figures on Melbourne's lesbian population would be.

The more things change...

...the more they stay the same!

It has been months since I last got on here, although I must confess that isn't by choice. I've had so much to say and write about but the same excuse abounds - life gets in the way. There's work to be done, groceries to be purchased, friends to visit, cakes to be baked and cuddles to be had. Oh, and then to top it all off Tom and I took ourselves off overseas recently. We're only recently back from some time in Mexico and New York.

When all is said and done, nothing has changed around here too much apart from the accrual of a few more pieces of furniture. I'm still incredibly happy, fulfilled and with a great appreciation for
cake (in all its forms). Tom is still gorgeous, considerate and kind. Al and Deb are still hilarious and supportive. And others are still pushing for Tom and I to make our relationship official.

Several weeks ago, we journeyed north to Queensland for Tom's cousin's wedding. It was a beautiful occasion and I met much of his extended family for the first time. We had a big recovery bbq at his aunt's the following day and much of the conversation did not revolve around the wedding just past, but about the one yet to take place.

Ours.

Now, you haven't missed anything. We're not engaged. But through nothing more than genetic good luck I managed to catch the bouquet and it sent his aunties into planning mode. I must confess not an awful lot of effort was involved, particularly when you consider that in my heels I was a good head taller than all the other girls. They leaped, scratched and huffed. I extended my arm, bent my wrist. And Tom's mum went mental.

Before I even realised I'd caught the scented, thorny bundle a throbbing mass of Tom's female relatives encircled me, shrieked a bit and pointed at poor Tom. Oh well. At least I know I passed family muster.

But wait, there's more.

Last weekend was my grandpa's 80th. The same grandpa who encouraged me to get knocked up earlier this year, married or not. All the family had flown in for the party and he was at his sentimental best, tears and all.

So I really shouldn't have been surprised when he hit Tom up for marriage but the manner in which he did so did knock me somewhat. In front of over 60 of his nearest and dearest, Gramps ended his speech by looking Tom in the eye and announcing that with any luck he had at least one future grandson-in-law in the room. And he'd really like it if someone could give him a great grandchild, too.

A lesser man would have fainted, but luckily my Tom is made of stern stuff.

I know I'm blessed.

A very bad but happy MD

Hello, lovely people.

A comment from Mike & Ann and a conversation with Deb at work today reminded me that I've been very bad at blogging. I want to blog and I have a notebook full of post ideas but this living together caper gets in the way sometimes. Maybe it's the newness of it all, but at the moment I love nothing more than coming home for a relaxed dinner and cuddles on the couch with Tom.

The new living arrangements have turned me into some bizarro domestic goddess. The girl who still doesn't know how to cook rice unless it comes in a microwaveable bag now spends her Saturday mornings at the market after menu planning for the coming week.

And don't even get me started on the baking. Following my Swedish sojourn, I've become obsessed with the concept of fika and have started baking all sorts of goodies to take into work for morning tea. Worse still, I actually like doing it and am now taking requests from my colleagues.

Sheesh.

In truth, the living together has been incredibly easy. Ariel, my best friend since childhood, rang about a fortnight after we moved in to ask if I'd discovered Tom hiding any irritating habits I wasn't aware of before. Nope. Not a one.

I'm a little in awe of how simple it has all been. It's wonderful.

So wonderful I'll have to keep blogging about it.

Hope you've all got high sugar tolerance levels.

She always forgets her manners

The beautiful Tom is working tonight so for the first time since we moved in to our darling little flat I have some time to blog. He has been very kind in offering me time and space in which to do so earlier but given that the only internet access we have is from a little dongle-thingy that isn't entirely reliable, I wanted to wait until I was able to take my time with it. By the way, if any of you happen to know of any brilliant wireless/naked ADSL internet deals going, I'm all ears.

The move itself was seamless if you forget that both of us had the flu and that the flat is located at the top of a spiral staircase. Oh, and that we were given a parking ticket by a bored inspector who chose to ignore the fact that the moving truck was a) parked legally and b) in the middle of a move. Thankfully, we've a band of strong and lovely friends who came over to assist and we were unpacked that same night.

In the time since our move we've been getting to know the local area. Not that we really needed to; most of our weekends were spent either at the market or a cafe on Toorak road or at the pub around the corner beforehand. But knowing that we can now wander down for a $4 pizza whenever we want is somewhat intoxicating. As is having a practical use for the red kitchenware I've been collecting for the past 5 years or so.

Last night I went to see The Sound of Music at the Astor, a beautiful old art deco cinema on Chapel St with Heidi and Nat, some school friends. Sitting in the Astor's faded glory, eating cherry-ripe flavoured choc tops and listening to Julie Andrews whilst gazing at Christopher Plummer -oh, Christopher Plummer - it was a rather magic afternoon. Finishing the evening with afore-mentioned cheap pizzas and a bottle of red made for a perfectly civilised winter Saturday.

For reasons I can't remember, talk turned to Judy Blume novels read in adolescence, with particular reference to Forever. If you're not familiar with Judy's work, this is the book that caused quite a stir when first published for its references to teenage sex, pubic hair and bodily secretions.

Strangely, we all remembered it for the fact that the main male character had named his penis Ralph. Heidi was perplexed by this, having never encountered one with a name herself.

H: In all my years, I've never come across a penis with a name. Have you?
MD: Come to think of it, no, I haven't.
N: Neither have I. But then, I've never asked. (A look of worry crosses her face.) Is that rude?

Cue laughter and snorts from Heids and I.

Wonderful movie action, great food and drink and time spent with people who make you laugh. Perfect Sunday indeed.

Does this make me a twit?

I've done it. I've finally succumbed to the monster that is Twitter.

I'm still not entirely sure about Twitter. Honestly, isn't it just one big great ego machine? Surely no one is so bored that they wish to hear all the ins and outs of other's lives as they occur? The one upside that I can see is that I can write my blog ideas down as they occur to me - but are there any others?

We'll see, I guess. I know Ling is a fellow twitterer - is anyone else?

My ego speaks here.

Try before you buy

I spoke to my dear Nan on Sunday. Seems the bush telegraph is working well and truly as she already knew that Thomas (as she calls him) and I were moving in together.

Normally I'd be worried about how someone of her age would take it, particularly given my Dad's somewhat traditionalist stance. Then again, it wasn't so long ago that Nan told a rather nosy man where he could stick it when he tried to upset her by asking about my living arrangements.

Still, I don't know that I was prepared for what she told me during our phone call.

Nan: So, darling, I hear you and Thomas are moving in together!
MD: Yes Nan, next Saturday. We found a place really easily.
N: Great news! I think it's a fabulous idea. Best to try before you buy, don't you think?
M: Well, yes, quite.
N: I mean, if I'd lived with my first husband before we got married, I NEVER would have married him. Would have saved myself a lot of heartache there. Oh yes, you're doing the right thing.
M: It feels that way, Nan. I'm really happy and he's a lovely boy.
N: Good, good. And you know what I've always said.
M: What's that?
N: Well, it's far more comfortable to do it in a bed than in the backseat of a car. And this way your mother knows where you are, too.

This from my 91 year old Nanna. Just when I think I have her pigeonholed in the crocheting, biscuit-baking, blue rinse set, she blows away all my assumptions.

That said, when I mentioned it to Mum afterwards her face quickly turned to thunder.

Mum: She said what?
MD: That I should try before I buy. And that in a bed is better than the backseat of a car.
Mum: Hmmph. She didn't have that view before your Dad and I got married. She would have killed us both if we'd tried it.

It must be so much easier to be a grandparent than a parent.

If you see me walking down the street

Aren't all of you lovely to post such good wishes about the move! It's truly exciting for me, but when you know others are excited on your behalf it means so much more.

I left work at lunchtime today. I'd had a funny tummy since yesterday and given the pig flu that's circulating of late, figured it was best to go home lest I infect the entire office.

Strolling through the Degraves St subway to catch my train, I noticed a figure coming towards me. Hmm. Looked a bit like Richard from far away. Certainly walked like him. Wearing a funny hat in an attempt to be avant garde, too.

Shit.

It WAS Richard. What's more, he'd seen me, too.

We each did an admirable job of ignoring the other as we crossed paths. Sitting down on the train moments later, I was amazed at my complete lack of feeling. I've not seen him since I left my previous job 18 months ago and had imagined that when/if our paths ever did cross again, it would be traumatic. But it wasn't.

Truth be told, it was like seeing someone that you might have gone to primary school with. You have a vague recollection of the face, but not enough to go over and say hi.

I told a girlfriend who'd seen me through the messy part this afternoon. She asked how I'd dealt with it and I commented on my lack of feeling - no anger, no pain, nothing. Her response?

That's good then. It has been placed where it should be - in the past.

Amen to that, sister.

Home and hosed

I've been back from my travels for almost 3 weeks now and am only just finding the time to sit down and write. So much happened whilst I was away - learnings of a professional and personal nature, weight gain (mmm, fika) and sightseeing to name a few.

Having time away from work gave me an opportunity to think about lots of things. Something about lots of forests and picturesque lakes encourages one's mind to wander. I wondered - what do I want from life, my job, my relationship? The time apart gave Tom time to think, too. Happily, we both reached the same conclusions - we want to spend more time together, not less.

So, once we arrived home from Malaysia - where everyone referred to us as 'honeymoon' with singsong voices and knowing smiles - we started looking for a place together. The Melbourne rental market being what it is, we expected the search to take several weeks. But the day after submitting our first application, we were accepted. We move in together a week from Saturday.

Looking to share our good news, I rang Dad to tell him that we 'd been successful. Dad asked where it was, whether it had off-street parking and how much we were paying. He gruffly told me that 'it's alright, I guess.' Right. Not the response I'd been hoping for.

I was upset. I've always looked for my parents' support and not getting it wholly makes me uneasy. I called Dad back and told him that he'd upset me and asked why he wasn't entirely supportive. It took a bit of pushing, but evenutally I got it out of him. Seems my Dad is somewhat of a traditionalist and is a little troubled by the idea of his daughter moving in with a bloke without 'a sign of commitment'.

Dad and Tom have a brilliant relationship and Dad's said how happy he is that we're together - his problem isn't with my choice of partner, but that I haven't a ring on my finger. He knows there are no guarantees in life, but he would feel more comfortable if we made our feelings for one another 'official' - to minimise the risk of my getting hurt.

Maybe I'm setting the cause of feminism back 20 years here, but I love that Dad cares enough to want a commitment for his girl. And it's good to know that if I'm ever dying to get engaged and Tom isn't quite getting the hint, Dad's waiting to be enlisted.

Disappearing MD

But only for a few weeks, I promise.

As threatened, I have packed my laptop and flown the coop to beautiful Sweden. After a hellishly long 28 hour journey, I arrived this morning and was instantly bewitched by the natural beauty of this country. Fir trees, rolling plains, peaceful lakes - it's pretty much all you expect and more.

The trip that I'm on involves a rather tight schedule, so unfortunately I'll be around even less than I have been of late. I will be trying to commandeer some laptop time whenever I can but fear that inspiration may not come as often. Or if it does, you may be subjected to long, dithering rants about how much I miss Tom (I'm not seeing him until we meet in Malaysia 5 weeks from today).

So, dear friends, for now I bid you goodnight - but not goodbye.

Like any good temptress, I want to leave you wanting more...