Two years ago I was on a work trip to Alice Springs with Brett. We were at the end of the trip and had a few hours to kill before our flight home so we decided to have lunch - and a few refreshments - in a Todd Mall pub.
It was a typical bogan pub. You know the type. Populated by men in singlets, beer-soaked coasters, large screen tvs and racing flags on the wall.
As we dove headfirst into our drinks and a plate of something fried, the video clip for Fleetwood Mac's Tusk started playing on aforementioned big screen tv.
'Man, I LOVE this song!' Brett told me whilst pumping his arm. 'It's my favourite shagging song.'
Pardon?
Apparently Brett had a list of shagging songs. You know, songs that he likes to have playing when he's, erm, shagging. I had heard of playing music to get you in the mood, but songs to give you a good rhythm?
Whoever knew.
Tusk would be, I imagine, a difficult rhythym to sustain. It's a big song with a big sound - surely you feel compelled to perform? If there wasn't a grand crescendo reached, it could be a bit of a let down. You're trying to keep up with a marching band complete with drummers, baton twirlers and trojan hats, for goodness' sake.
Now, whenever I hear the opening beats of Tusk all I can think of is Brett pumping his arm suggestively. And as much as I adore the boy, it kind of creeps me out. Thinking about your friends in flagrante delicto is, well, a bit ergh.
Tom and I heard it whilst out in the car one day and I dissolved into giggles. Given that Brett introduced Tom and I, I couldn't help but tell him. His response?
'Oh, God! I just had a visual!'
Glad I wasn't the only one.
Friday, 27 March 2009
I'm BAAAAA-CK!
A comment from Ling two days ago reminded me that I've been very quiet of late. Whoops.
I'm just over two weeks away from my big Swedish sojourn. Despite having known about it for 6 months it seems to have crept up on me rather suddenly. All of a sudden I've gifts to buy, things to plan, handover documents at work to write and friends to see before I disappear for 2 months. Oh, and did I mention that for various reasons I've been interstate for the past three weekends? The poor blog ends up being a bit neglected.
But never fear! I - and my ego - cannot stay away for long.
Last weekend the whole family went to Sydney for my cousin's wedding. As the extended family lives all over Australia, it was the first time that we had all been in the one place for almost 12 years.
Between the ceremony and the reception Tom and I had everyone back to our hotel room for drinks. It isn't that we're supremely generous beings - more that the ghost of Conrad Hilton was smiling on us and we were upgraded to a suite (sweet!). We had more than enough room for the 18 family members in need of thirst quenching.
And quench thirst we did. By the time we left for the reception, it looked like the room had been used as the green room for a rock concert rather than for a family reunion. Empty champagne bottles and remnants of doritos littered the coffee table, bags of ice slowly melted in the bathtub and the contents of the mini bar had been deposited in the coat cupboard so as to keep a dozen lemon ruskis cool.
It was fantastic. We reminisced, we told jokes and we all gagged on the trick flavour jelly bellys Anna thought it would be fun to try.
Evidently Tom fit right in as I was swiftly sidelined by my three female cousins and asked when we were getting married. Sigh. But the best was yet to come.
Brave on a few Boags, my Catholic grandfather sidelined me.
Him: Oi. When am I going to get some great grandchildren?
Me: Splutter cough cough. Erm, why don't you ask Dan? You know, your grandson who got
married today?
Him: Well, I'm talking to you now. When are you and him (nods in Tom's direction) going to
have some?
Me: Gramps, Tom and I aren't married. Nor are we going to be any time soon.
Him: You can always get married later. Come on, I'm not getting any younger!
Me: Shocked silence
Later in the evening he sidled up to me and told me he was sorry about what he'd said earlier. Of course, he'd prefer it if Tom and I were married before we have kids, but he doesn't mind if we never get married. Really.
This is the man who still goes to church every Saturday and has a giant - quite gruesome actually - picture of Jesus with a bleeding, barbed-wired heart opposite his front door. The man who held back permission to marry his daughter until my Anglican-raised father swore that they would marry in a Catholic church and the kids would be raised Catholic. And all of a sudden he's encouraging me to go get knocked up without so much as a ring?
Bob Dylan had it right. The times, they are a'changing.
I'm just over two weeks away from my big Swedish sojourn. Despite having known about it for 6 months it seems to have crept up on me rather suddenly. All of a sudden I've gifts to buy, things to plan, handover documents at work to write and friends to see before I disappear for 2 months. Oh, and did I mention that for various reasons I've been interstate for the past three weekends? The poor blog ends up being a bit neglected.
But never fear! I - and my ego - cannot stay away for long.
Last weekend the whole family went to Sydney for my cousin's wedding. As the extended family lives all over Australia, it was the first time that we had all been in the one place for almost 12 years.
Between the ceremony and the reception Tom and I had everyone back to our hotel room for drinks. It isn't that we're supremely generous beings - more that the ghost of Conrad Hilton was smiling on us and we were upgraded to a suite (sweet!). We had more than enough room for the 18 family members in need of thirst quenching.
And quench thirst we did. By the time we left for the reception, it looked like the room had been used as the green room for a rock concert rather than for a family reunion. Empty champagne bottles and remnants of doritos littered the coffee table, bags of ice slowly melted in the bathtub and the contents of the mini bar had been deposited in the coat cupboard so as to keep a dozen lemon ruskis cool.
It was fantastic. We reminisced, we told jokes and we all gagged on the trick flavour jelly bellys Anna thought it would be fun to try.
Evidently Tom fit right in as I was swiftly sidelined by my three female cousins and asked when we were getting married. Sigh. But the best was yet to come.
Brave on a few Boags, my Catholic grandfather sidelined me.
Him: Oi. When am I going to get some great grandchildren?
Me: Splutter cough cough. Erm, why don't you ask Dan? You know, your grandson who got
married today?
Him: Well, I'm talking to you now. When are you and him (nods in Tom's direction) going to
have some?
Me: Gramps, Tom and I aren't married. Nor are we going to be any time soon.
Him: You can always get married later. Come on, I'm not getting any younger!
Me: Shocked silence
Later in the evening he sidled up to me and told me he was sorry about what he'd said earlier. Of course, he'd prefer it if Tom and I were married before we have kids, but he doesn't mind if we never get married. Really.
This is the man who still goes to church every Saturday and has a giant - quite gruesome actually - picture of Jesus with a bleeding, barbed-wired heart opposite his front door. The man who held back permission to marry his daughter until my Anglican-raised father swore that they would marry in a Catholic church and the kids would be raised Catholic. And all of a sudden he's encouraging me to go get knocked up without so much as a ring?
Bob Dylan had it right. The times, they are a'changing.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
To tell or not to tell
The beauty of writing an anonymous blog is exactly that - it's anonymous. With the exception of perhaps 5 people who know my real name, to the world I am merely Miss Diarist. They have no pre-conceived notions of how I should behave and therefore won't judge me. Even if they do, it has no bearing on how I function in the 'real world'. It is for these reasons that I've been able to be so candid about my previous relationships, particularly relating to Dick. Things I'd never dream of disclosing to people I see daily, I disclose to you.
And so it was that I struggled with the idea of telling Tom about this blog. What to do?
I didn't want to have secrets from him as we've both been incredibly honest about ourselves from the beginning. He knows about Richard and I know about his past relationships. Perhaps it's being secure in ourselves, but there's nothing we can't ask each other. So why did I feel such trepidation about telling him of the blog?
For one, I wondered if I would have to censor myself if I told Tom about it. It's one thing to be honest with each other, it's another thing to read about your girlfriend's sexploits with former partners. I know I wouldn't want a blow-by-blow (so to speak) account of every encounter he has ever had with other women, but yet I also don't want to stop writing. There's so much value attached to self-expression.
I've also written of those of fallen for before. Granted, I've never fallen like I have now (on revision, I would say I've merely tripped), but I'd not want Tom to think that these even begin to equate with what I feel for him. Because they don't.
In the end, I told him. I couldn't stand keeping things from him and also, dammit, I am proud of this blog. Time and energy have gone into it and some bloody brilliant friendships have evolved from it. The things that are on here happened before I knew Tom and in a sense they've made me who I am now, the girl he fell in love with.
Lucky for me then that he doesn't mind. I've asked him several times if he wants to read the blog and each time the answer has been no. Strangely enough, for the exact same reasons that I've articulated above.
That's not to say he isn't curious, though. We were speaking about the blog on the weekend and he asked me what I'd been writing about recently.
'Oh, you know, relationships, friendships, sex.'
'Sex? You mean... you don't... not about us?'
'No. Definitely no!'
Needless to say, there are things about our relationship that are sacred and will never appear on here.
When you've got that trust and (everybody say awww now) love, some things just aren't worth risking.
And so it was that I struggled with the idea of telling Tom about this blog. What to do?
I didn't want to have secrets from him as we've both been incredibly honest about ourselves from the beginning. He knows about Richard and I know about his past relationships. Perhaps it's being secure in ourselves, but there's nothing we can't ask each other. So why did I feel such trepidation about telling him of the blog?
For one, I wondered if I would have to censor myself if I told Tom about it. It's one thing to be honest with each other, it's another thing to read about your girlfriend's sexploits with former partners. I know I wouldn't want a blow-by-blow (so to speak) account of every encounter he has ever had with other women, but yet I also don't want to stop writing. There's so much value attached to self-expression.
I've also written of those of fallen for before. Granted, I've never fallen like I have now (on revision, I would say I've merely tripped), but I'd not want Tom to think that these even begin to equate with what I feel for him. Because they don't.
In the end, I told him. I couldn't stand keeping things from him and also, dammit, I am proud of this blog. Time and energy have gone into it and some bloody brilliant friendships have evolved from it. The things that are on here happened before I knew Tom and in a sense they've made me who I am now, the girl he fell in love with.
Lucky for me then that he doesn't mind. I've asked him several times if he wants to read the blog and each time the answer has been no. Strangely enough, for the exact same reasons that I've articulated above.
That's not to say he isn't curious, though. We were speaking about the blog on the weekend and he asked me what I'd been writing about recently.
'Oh, you know, relationships, friendships, sex.'
'Sex? You mean... you don't... not about us?'
'No. Definitely no!'
Needless to say, there are things about our relationship that are sacred and will never appear on here.
When you've got that trust and (everybody say awww now) love, some things just aren't worth risking.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Protector of my honour
The parents recently were in Brisbane to celebrate my aunty's birthday. It was a milestone birthday and as is appropriate at such occasions, the entire extended family was there. People I'd never heard of but am apparently related to all converged on my cousin's house to help May blow out her candles.
One man, the husband of a second cousin (or so I'm told) sidled up to Dad and asked what the marital situation was with Anna and I. Evidently he subscribed to the Mrs Bennet school of match-making, for any woman in her 20s must surely be wanting of a husband, no?
Dad told him that Anna's boyfriend, Dave, had recently returned from a 2 year stint overseas and that Tom and I are, for all intents and purposes, living together. In this last statement Mr Nosy detected some gossip gold and practically ran to my Nanna's side. Determined to upset her it would seem.
Silly move. Nan is not someone to be trifled with. At 91 she is spritely and has a busier social calendar than I do. Every other day she's either off to cards or lunch or an excursion of some kind and has friends of varying ages. And for one in her 10th decade, she's pretty aware of current trends. She once rang to inform me of the various contraceptive options available to me.
It transpired that once there this buffoon set about asking Nan in a somewhat triumphant manner if she knew her darling granddaughter and her boyfriend were Living Together? I don't think he was expecting what came next.
According to Dad, Nan turned on him and unleashed her rapier-sharp tongue.
'No! I did not know that but what difference does it make? And furthermore, what business is it of yours? I couldn't care less who she lives with so long as she loves him and he treats her well. It's got nothing to do with you - or me.'
But Nan wasn't quite finished. Fixing him with a steely glare, she continued,
'You know, I would still love her and be proud of her even if she killed someone.'
Apparently he moved off pretty quickly after that. I would have done the same.
Consider yourselves warned: you mess with my Nan at your own risk.
One man, the husband of a second cousin (or so I'm told) sidled up to Dad and asked what the marital situation was with Anna and I. Evidently he subscribed to the Mrs Bennet school of match-making, for any woman in her 20s must surely be wanting of a husband, no?
Dad told him that Anna's boyfriend, Dave, had recently returned from a 2 year stint overseas and that Tom and I are, for all intents and purposes, living together. In this last statement Mr Nosy detected some gossip gold and practically ran to my Nanna's side. Determined to upset her it would seem.
Silly move. Nan is not someone to be trifled with. At 91 she is spritely and has a busier social calendar than I do. Every other day she's either off to cards or lunch or an excursion of some kind and has friends of varying ages. And for one in her 10th decade, she's pretty aware of current trends. She once rang to inform me of the various contraceptive options available to me.
It transpired that once there this buffoon set about asking Nan in a somewhat triumphant manner if she knew her darling granddaughter and her boyfriend were Living Together? I don't think he was expecting what came next.
According to Dad, Nan turned on him and unleashed her rapier-sharp tongue.
'No! I did not know that but what difference does it make? And furthermore, what business is it of yours? I couldn't care less who she lives with so long as she loves him and he treats her well. It's got nothing to do with you - or me.'
But Nan wasn't quite finished. Fixing him with a steely glare, she continued,
'You know, I would still love her and be proud of her even if she killed someone.'
Apparently he moved off pretty quickly after that. I would have done the same.
Consider yourselves warned: you mess with my Nan at your own risk.
A bit special
Dear Jayne has been kind enough to bless me with another blog award. Careful kids, my head may start to expand.
The Proximidade Award is described as:
‘This blog invests and believes in PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes for self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!’
This blog award should be sent to your favorite eight bloggers and they, in turn should forward to eight of their favorites. You should include the text for Proximidade (above) in your announcement blog.
Please step forward,
Ling from a labyrinth into which i can venture
Andrew from High Riser
Deb from Life's Illusions I Recall
Pat from Past Imperfect
Nea from A North-East Angle
Daisy from Daisy's Secret Garden
Reuben from Reubenville
Lad Litter from Lad Litter
Here's to friendship, eh?
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