The Dating Diaries

A very bad but happy MD

2009-08-11T19:17:00.004+10:00

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

2009-07-06T18:39:00.010+10:00

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?

2009-06-24T15:33:00.002+10:00

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

2009-06-23T17:01:00.005+10:00

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

2009-06-22T17:56:00.005+10:00

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

2009-06-18T18:31:00.005+10:00

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

2009-04-15T23:34:00.004+10:00

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...

A different sort of stimulus package

2009-04-02T18:03:00.004+11:00

Yesterday was Dad's birthday and all the family gathered around. Sat around our dining table eating and fighting over gravy allocations were Mum and Dad, Anna and Dave and Tom and I.

It was the first time that we had all been together since the family wedding in Sydney, so it was inevitable that there'd be a slight recap. After all, it was a wedding. Although we'd all had a few, surely between us we could remember the entire event if we just put our heads together?

I couldn't resist sharing the story about Grandpa and his apparent keenness to become a great-grandfather. This came as a surprise to Dad, but not to Mum. Oh no. For Gramps had been on the phone that very day.

"He said he's going to write a sign with a dollar amount on it and whoever pops out the first great-grandchild gets the money. He's calling it 'Granddad's baby bonus'."

He didn't.

He did.

This revelation made my jaw slack with shock.

It made Anna ask, 'how much?' (And shortly thereafter made her boyfriend Dave turn a peculiar shade of puce).

He was kidding, wasn't he? Mum didn't think so.

According to Mum, he asked her to gently encourage Tom and I to get busy as he doesn't think my cousin and his new wife will be breeding any time soon. Apparently they're 'too career focused'.

I suggested Anna as an alternative - she likes kids. She's a primary school teacher, for heavens' sake and has ben with Dave for almost 4 years. But according to Gramps, she is probably too young. Which means that I'm the only one left.

Bloody hell. I never thought I'd see the day that a bounty was placed on my womb.

The things you find...

2009-04-01T19:24:00.005+11:00

in the laneways of Melbourne.

In Degraves St last night for a photo shoot (don't ask - another part of the Swedish journey), I was posing next to a graffiti laden walls when I spied a poster advertising a Comedy Festival show, the title of which intrigued me.

Judge for yourself, but given my definition of cake, I think the answer is a definite yes.

Don't say that you love me!

2009-03-27T17:27:00.005+11:00

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.

I'm BAAAAA-CK!

2009-03-27T10:24:00.005+11:00

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.

To tell or not to tell

2009-03-05T17:31:00.007+11:00

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.

Protector of my honour

2009-03-03T18:59:00.005+11:00

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.

A bit special

2009-03-03T17:54:00.003+11:00

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?

Today, orange is my favourite colour

2009-02-27T11:09:00.006+11:00

A completely off-topic post, but this affected me so much I simply had to share.

I got up at what Deb would call stupid o'clock this morning to fit in my daily jog. Even at 5.30, the air was thick with the smell of wood smoke. By the time I got home, it had permeated the house. By the time I left for work, the smoke haze had well and truly settled in. In a community that has been devastated by fire of late, this is not a sign you want to see.

On my walk to the train station I saw something that gave me goosebumps on this warm day. Gathered on the other side of the road was a large group of firefighters in their orange jackets and braces. Some were sitting on the ground, others standing. All looked wrecked. There were at least 50 of them with more coming as emergency vehicles poured into the adjacent carpark. Evidently this was their assembly point.

As I got closer to them I could see what was written on their backs. They were all members of either the NSW Fire Brigade or the NSW Ambulance Rescue Service. It was at this point that it became too much for me and tears pricked my eyes. These people have left their homes and families interstate to come and assist in the most dangerous of circumstances. Sometimes human kindness can be overwhelming.

I immediately wanted to do something for them. Coffee? Food? Sadly, as I was on my way to work neither of these was readily available.

So I did the best I could in the circumstances.

Voice wavering with emotion, as I walked past I looked several of them in the eye and uttered a heartfelt 'thank you'.

The Girl Crush

2009-02-23T17:23:00.002+11:00

I've alluded to this before - I have a new girl crush.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, girl- and boy-crush are generally applied to people of the same gender whom one admires feverishly. Urban Dictionary describes it as feelings of admiration and adoration which a girl has for another girl, without wanting to shag said girl.

And I have to admit, I have it bad for Michelle Obama.

On Inauguration Day, I was watching mainly for her. Am I thrilled to bits that Barack Obama is now the President of the United States? Absolutely. But that wasn't enough to hold my attention. It was all about Michelle for me.

I love that she's tall and continues to wear heels.

I love that she's feisty.

I love that her family comes first.

I love that she's smart - and was once her husband's boss.

I love her wardrobe.

I love ... ah, I just love her.

Let's face it, I have a big ol' girl crush on Michelle. What can I say, I admire strong, ambitious women who have the ability to unite people. And if they can do so whilst looking smashing at the same time, more power to them! I think I've just found my new style icon, in more ways than one.

If the Obamas ever come to Australia, they can stay at my place, 'kay?

Care for (a) Fika?

2009-02-19T13:39:00.004+11:00

Yesterday in preparation for my upcoming trip I met some Swedes for lunch. They were filling me in on language and culture when one of them suddenly leant over and told me,

"You'll have to have fika with my friends!"

Cough cough splutter pardon? I'll have to do what?

My mind raced. But... I have a boyfriend. No. Surely they don't mean? They couldn't. They wouldn't. Would they?

Subsequent conversation cleared it up. It was entirely innocent. What Nea had told me - and I had subsequently forgotten - is that fika (pronounced fee-ka) is Swedish for coffee/cake. According to my hosts yesterday, I will enjoy fika a lot.

He he.

Love is not equal

2009-02-19T13:03:00.005+11:00

At least, not where Ken Starr is concerned.

Deb sent me an email this morning that was quite upsetting. When I read it I immediately thought of the Holocaust, Apartheid and the Stolen Generation - events that saw people separated from one another simply because someone else felt that it threatened them.

Turns out that Mr Starr and the Prop 8 Legal Defense Fund have filed legal briefs in the US defending the constitutionality of Prop 8 and attempting to forcibly divorce 18,000 same-sex couples that were married in California last year. The United States Supreme Court will hear oral arguments on March 5 with a decision expected in 90 days.

I don't understand it. Nothing - nothing - about marriages between same-sex couples threatens anyone else. It breaks my heart that two consenting adults who love and cherish one another would not able to formally recognise their commitment to one another. For goodness' sake, people. They want to marry, not annihilate the world.

Some of those against it would say that it isn't fair to the children - which I say is a big load of rubbish. So long as children have parents who respect one another, who raise their children in a safe, loving environment, who cares what sex they are? I've said it before, parental love doesn't come with a gender. Would Starr and associates vouch that my father loves me less than my mother because he's a man? Or conversely my mother because she's a woman?

It wasn't so long ago that mixed-race marriages were considered wrong and unfair to the children. The fact that the President of the United States is the product of a mixed-race marriage pretty much puts that one to sleep.

In fact, I imagine that many same-sex couples would be excellent parents given the hoops that need to be jumped through. As a former teacher I've seen so many kids in traditional families who are neglected (both emotionally and physically) and unloved - and yet some more rampant members of the right wing would have me believe that these kids are better off with a mummy and a daddy who ignore them rather than a daddy and daddy who cherish them. No thanks. I'm not buying that today.

US citizens are encouraged to go to the Courage Campaign site and sign a petition arguing against the motion to the Supreme Court. Sadly, as an Australian I don't think my signature would count so this post is the next best thing. On the same page is a video, Fidelity, made to highlight the case. The first image of a little girl sitting between her dads sent shivers down my spine. That someone would even consider breaking up a happy home because it doesn't sit within their belief system is abhorrent to me.

John Lennon said it first.

Love is the answer and you know that for sure.

Forcibly divorcing those who love one another is not.

St Valentine's scepticism

2009-02-15T14:27:00.005+11:00

Valentine's day was yesterday. Not that I noticed. It wasn't until Tom and I and six friends were trying to get into a St Kilda restaurant last night that I realised it was crowded with couples and it hit me. Oh! It's Valentine's day!

I was brought up in a house where Valentine's day was never really celebrated. As a kid I yearned to see Dad bring home flowers for Mum (and maybe his two girls, if we were lucky) but it never eventuated. My Mum's a realist and much prefers Dad to acknowledge anniversaries rather than the Hallmark holiday.

Turns out I'm not so different. In the lead-up to Valentine's day, a number of friends and colleagues asked me what Tom and I had planned. Many of them were bemused when I said nothing. And that I neither wanted or expected anything from my beloved.

Daniel, a colleague, was sceptical. In his Irish lilt he asked me what I really expected as 'we all know girls don't actually mean it when they say not to get them anything.'

But mean it I did. Something about Valentine's day jars with me. After my conversation with Dan, I made sure to tell Tom that I absolutely meant everything I said. Maybe I'm a cynic, but I don't see the point in splashing out on tacky plush love hearts (shudder), red roses (which I don't happen to like - I much prefer white) and chocolates.

The gestures in themselves are lovely but I'm of the view that they mean so much more if they're unexpected rather than bestowed because society and greeting card companies tell us to. Flowers on the day everyone else gets them? Nice, I guess. But flowers on a random Tuesday just to say 'I love you'? Super special.

So yesterday we did nothing out of the ordinary. We went grocery shopping and did the vacuuming. We read the papers in the afternoon and in the evening we caught up with Tom's sister and her husband who were visiting from interstate before dinner with them and their friends. When I told Tom's brother-in-law about my Valentine's day stance he went rushing to Tom's side.

'Hey, mate. You should hang on to this one.'

Perhaps I should have been born a boy.

Some more love

2009-02-12T18:47:00.004+11:00

I've been away a bit of late. There's been a bit on at work, some more Sweden preparations (a whole other post, I'm afraid) and then there've been the bushfires. Being safe and well and in possession of a home I feel I've no right to complain - and I'm not, really. It's just that being a complete and utter sook, I've found myself emotionally exhausted at the end of each day. Both the sheer horror of it all and the kindess of a community have reduced me to tears more than once.

But back to it. Recently, I was given the One Lovely Blog Award by two (very) beautiful and (very) intelligent ladies - Jayne and Deb. It's a huge ego boost and a magnificent mood-lifter, so cheers, girls!

The rules of receiving such an award are that you must:
1. Add the logo to your blog
2. Link to the person who gifted you the award
3. Nominate 7 or more people to bestow the award upon (but I think how many is up to you, really).
4. Leave a message on their blog telling them they have One Lovely Blog.

Who to pick, who to pick? I can honestly say that I have the utmost respect and take a HUGE amount of enjoyment from reading the blogs of those I link to and those who comment here. Some of you (Andrew, Pat, Ann, Reuben, Al) have already been nominated by Deb and Jayne. And others simply have to be shared with the wider world. Who?

I give you...

Ling, because the girl's got great taste in music and tv shows. And I think her accent would be pretty cool as well.
Aurora Australis, for living the (ok, my) dream of being a Berlin resident.
Lad Litter, because he's seen me through two blogs now and is smart, funny and adores his wife to boot.
Phish, for never failing to make me smile and for not being afraid of honesty.
Blakkat, because she still has a sense of humour after enduring the worst the public education system can throw at you.
Dina, for her unbridled enthusiasm for all things Australian.
Adelaine, because she's in Germany, too!

I'd also like to give one retrospectively to both Steph and Peach. Gorgeous girls who no longer write but were huge blogging influences on me nonetheless.

Go give some love yourselves now. Blog or otherwise.

Love, love, love

2009-02-08T21:44:00.004+11:00

Love those around you. Hold them tight, tell them that you love them and never, ever let them forget it.

The horrendous, devastating, BLOODY AWFUL bushfires that are raging around Victoria have claimed 84 lives to date. Eighty-four people, alive yesterday and now gone. For no good reason. Mark my words, if those fires were deliberately lit (as so often seems to be the case), the people responsible will have a heartbroken, angry public to answer to.

I've been teary for most of today. Like most Victorians, I've friends affected by this - and some we're yet to hear from. If you've any prayers going spare, we could use them.

So tonight, do me a favour. Hug someone you love. Tell them you love them. If not for you, then for all those who can't.

There but for Deb went I

2009-02-03T19:47:00.006+11:00

Deb was cleaning out her sent email folder today. Whilst doing so, she found a string of emails we wrote to one another in the (very) early days of Tom and my relationship. She sent it on to Al and I and the three of us had quite a chuckle.

I wrote the first email a few days after Tom and my first date, when he and I were dancing around the topic of watching a football game together as our second date. Although our first date had gone brilliantly, I wasn't certain where we stood. I wanted to see him again, but I didn't want to be the one to say it. I was the textbook definition of a messed-up girl and high on the drama of it all.

What to do? Why, rant to friends, of course.

From: MD
Sent: Wednesday, 11 June 2008 3:34 PM
To: Deb
Subject: This is Bull#hit!

So, I asked him where the game was being shown. I get back: 'Most of the pubs in the city, richmond and chapel st have it on and I'll find out about which ones in kew.' WTF?!

From: Deb
Sent: Wednesday, 11 June 2008 3:41 PM
To: MD
RE: This is Bull#hit!

I think he's onto you - he knows you are asking a leading question (and he is being quite helpful!). Just ask him if he wants to join you...go on, it's not that bad!

From: MD
Sent: Wednesday, 11 June 2008 3:42 PM
To: Deb
Subject: RE: This is Bull#hit!

Pfft. I am sick of being the one to wear the pants! I want to be chased, dammit!

From: Deb
Sent: Wednesday, 11 June 2008 3:50 PM
To: MD
Subject: RE: This is Bull#hit!

Then you will just have to be patient my pretty.....

Hmm. Having already asked Tom out once, I wasn't impressed with his failure to take the reigns. Why wouldn't he just ask me out? Why should I have to ask him out? What if I did and he said no? My ego and pride would be crushed. To make it all worse, I actually like this guy. Does his not asking me out mean he doesn't like me? Cue meltdown.

Thank goodness for Deb and her wise words, eh? I've said it before, good girlfriends are a salve for the soul.

Baby steps

2009-02-01T21:06:00.005+11:00

Over to Ariel and Greg's place today for lunch. Ariel has been my best friend since year 7 and when she and Greg married 5 years ago, he became my best friend-in-law. On the way over, Tom told me that he'd had a dream several nights ago in which I had twins. Twin boys. Gah! I got goosebumps almost immediately. And not the good kind.

I was so shell-shocked when we arrived at Ariel's that the first words out of my mouth were "Tom had a dream that we had twin boys!" She responded with an exclamation of delight. And then encouraged me to have said twins. Gah again. It capped off a week in which we've been encouraged to have children nearly a dozen times. And this after only 8 months!

It got me thinking. Is there some sort of biological questioning cycle at work here?

When you're single, everyone wants to set you up with someone. Have you met anyone lately? Are you getting out there? You should meet my cousin, he's just your type. The offers of bad blind dates camouflaged as good intentions are relentless. I am desperately trying to avoid turning into someone who does this to single friends.

Once coupled up, you'd be forgiven for thinking that the impromptu surveys would stop. No such luck. Is it serious? Where do you see it going? Has he said 'I love you' yet? Yet it's only when the honeymoon period is over that the invasive questions truly begin, as Tom and I discovered on Christmas day.

Surrounded by our nearest and dearest, we were asked when we were going to have kids. Erm, we'd only been going out 6 months at that point. How about not in the forseeable future? Undeterred, my uncle Fred began pouring shots of God Knows What and giving them to me, telling me that they were 'fertile shots'.

"MD, my darling, drink this. You know your Dad really wants to be a granddad. With this, you'll be knocked up by tomorrow!"

When I refused he moved in on Tom. He poured 'double strength' shots, which apparently would make Tom and I "so fertile, you won't even need to look at her!" And all this despite the fact that Fred's own daughter, at two years older than myself and in a 3-year relationship, is yet to have any herself.

It got worse on Australia Day. The gang converged on the park, those gathered ranging in age from 4 weeks to 64 years. As I offered to hold the month-old Amelie, it started again.

"So, looks like you guys will be next!"
"When are you going to have kids?"
"Maybe next time I see you, you'll be pregnant!"

GAH.

There's some sort of communal belief out there that if a couple are in a stable relationship they must be wanting of a child. I guess this tends to be exacerbated if, like me, you melt when in a 100-foot radius of an infant. This in itself has led to Deb placing a bet that I'll be pregnant within 2 years. Er, no thanks.

I've always been a sucker for babies (ain't that right, Elle?). Put me in a room with one and there's not a chance that you'll get to hold it unless you've some sort of legal claim to the child. What can I say, there's something about the innocence and tenderness of children that appeals to me. But do I want my own? Hell no.

I love Tom and given that we see a future together, kids is something we've spoken about, albeit only loosely. We both think parenthood is something we'd like to do, but not for a very, very long time yet. When we talk about it, it's as an abstract concept and in a joking manner. That said, we did spend this morning going through the baby name column in the Herald Sun to see what the latest in bogan names was, my favourite being Maksymilian.

But twins? And soonish? Only if they can be rented - and returned at the end of the day.

Innocence lost

2009-01-31T11:57:00.005+11:00

I've been cleaning out my room of late, keen to get rid of all the clutter. With Tom staying over more often than not and the communal areas of the house being, well, communal, my room is buried under Tom's things, my things and communal things without a home. Hence the clean out.

Part of this process has involved getting rid of old photo albums and putting their contents into photo boxes. I'm amazed at just how many albums I've accrued over the years and equally amazed at my shocking fashion choices in the late '90s. Ah, when dark lipstick and chunky shoes were cool...

I also found some photos taken in the past few years. And I can't get over the physical differences in me from before my relationship with Dick to afterwards.

This may seem logical given that features do change as one gets older. But I'm talking within the space of one year to 18 months.

In the photos before our relationship began, I look young, wholesome. Fresh-faced and innocent. Unaware that hurt exists beyond the superficial and with an unwavering trust that everyone in the world has good intentions. Anxious to be liked. Certain that I know myself but blind to the fact that knowledge comes with experience. Naive, you might even say.

Sure, I'd been hurt in relationships before, but nothing had prepared me for the emotional walloping I copped both throughout the relationship and when it ended. The process made me stronger, but I sure as heck wouldn't ever want to relive it.

The photos post-relationship show a different girl.

Older, yes. That happens with the passing of time. But wiser, too. The eyes are those of someone much more mature, someone who has walked through fire to the other side. Someone who knows she's living for herself and no one else. Someone who isn't afraid to speak up, even if it means people won't necessarily like her for it. Someone who who will not bend to the will of another. Someone who knows what love should not feel like.

I can't explain the differences down to the exact physical characteristics, other than to say they're there. I can see it, but then maybe I'm just making this up. I'll have to ask Deb and Al to cast their eyes over the photos to see whether I'm hallucinating.

When all is said and done, I don't mind the changes. A lesson learned is a lesson learned.

And this one was, for all the hurt and pain and embarrassment that went with it, a very good one.

After all, who wants to be a naive 26 year old?

Giggle Giggle Tee Hee

2009-01-29T18:44:00.004+11:00

I'm learning Swedish at the moment in preparation for my April trip. Something about immersing myself in the whole experience and embarrassing myself by inadvertently saying the wrong thing always makes it much more interesting.

And so it was last night that I was sat in (praise be to whoever, an airconditioned) room learning the finer points of Swedish grammar. After basic greetings, several effusive hejs! and a counting to 20 that would put the most diligent preps to shame, we went through a list of nouns, working out whether they are 'en' or 'ett' words - please, don't ask me to explain - and their plural.

You're smart people. I'm sure you can imagine the giggles that came from my corner of the room when we learned the Swedish word for "cakes" is kakor.

Pronounced cock-er.

Hee Hee.