Friday, May 27, 2005
He's just not what????
I'm a big fan of books, and I read a lot. I tend to buy a couple of books at a time to keep me going. I just go to K-Mart, or Big W, as they're cheaper there. I've got a great book collection (or library, some might say), however I'm starting to expand my literary interests from trashy chick-lit (which I will not hear a bad word against - it has it's place), into other genres of the publishing world. Which is how it came to be that last night I was standing in the book aisle of my local K-Mart, and decided to give in and purchase a book which has been niggling at me for some months, and which I had been steadfastly refusing to buy.
"He's Just Not That Into You"
Now, I've not previously been a 'self-help' girl. I don’t think there's much that can be gained from reading one of those publications that can't be done by drinking a bottle of vodka with your girlfriends. But with the events of recent times, I felt that maybe something could be gained from reading this widely-acclaimed grrrrrl power book.
Now, I'm only a few chapters in, so hardly able to wax lyrical with any authority on this book's contents, but I thought I'd share one quote with you which has already, to me, proved that this was $14.25 well spent.
"The word 'busy' is a load of crap, and most often used by assholes. The word 'busy' is the Relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Oh Lordy. BIG revelation for me. The more I think about it, the truer it is. Basically, what the book is saying is that if a bloke is really into you, there are very little valid excuses of why he can't see you. Family members dying, legs cut off, that sort of thing. A bloke should be absolutely gagging to see you, if he's the right one for you. To summarise, if there's any hint of hesitation of committing to see you, then 'he's just not that into you' and you should respect yourself, regain the control, move on and find someone who is that into you. Because every woman is wonderful, sexy, beautiful and deserving of someone special who isn't going to have any problems or hang-ups, or pretend time constraints.
I'll keep you posted on the rest of the book
"He's Just Not That Into You"
Now, I've not previously been a 'self-help' girl. I don’t think there's much that can be gained from reading one of those publications that can't be done by drinking a bottle of vodka with your girlfriends. But with the events of recent times, I felt that maybe something could be gained from reading this widely-acclaimed grrrrrl power book.
Now, I'm only a few chapters in, so hardly able to wax lyrical with any authority on this book's contents, but I thought I'd share one quote with you which has already, to me, proved that this was $14.25 well spent.
"The word 'busy' is a load of crap, and most often used by assholes. The word 'busy' is the Relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Oh Lordy. BIG revelation for me. The more I think about it, the truer it is. Basically, what the book is saying is that if a bloke is really into you, there are very little valid excuses of why he can't see you. Family members dying, legs cut off, that sort of thing. A bloke should be absolutely gagging to see you, if he's the right one for you. To summarise, if there's any hint of hesitation of committing to see you, then 'he's just not that into you' and you should respect yourself, regain the control, move on and find someone who is that into you. Because every woman is wonderful, sexy, beautiful and deserving of someone special who isn't going to have any problems or hang-ups, or pretend time constraints.
I'll keep you posted on the rest of the book
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Sore Sore Sore
Weekend of nothingness pretty much. The highlight - the lovely ladies came around on Friday to feast on some husband-snaring risotto and yummy cheesecake and cans and special smokes. Funniest moment - attempting to put a doona cover on Mandy's doona whilst completely off my tree and bumping heads with Mandy in the process, akin to some completely slap-stick move which at the time rendered us breathless with laughter.
Saturday I went back to the gym after a lengthy period of abstinence and did an hour of cardio, at the end of which I was sweating like a bastard, but it felt good. Then met up with my mum for lunch, which at the time seemed to be a perfectly reasonable idea. Except we had dodgy Chinese, resulting in me being quite crook with stomach pains for the rest of the day, which meant I had to raincheck on the Sheppidy night out with Mandy and co. So I spent the afternoon and indeed evening (how very sad) reading the papers and walking gingerly around the house.
Was fine Sunday morning, went back to the gym again for another hour of cardio. Did not feel any fitter from the day before, indeed pulled up from the Saturday session a bit tight in the legs, which was exacerbated by yesterday's efforts. Having trouble walking straight today, which should make for a fun game of netball tonight. (Foot has seemingly recovered from last week so will be playing). Did more reading of the papers yesterday, enjoying the sunshine outside, smoking and drinking coffee. Made the fart soup again in my renewed request to re-lose the weight I've put back on (weighed myself on Saturday morning and nearly cried - in the last 2 months I've put back on 5 of the 16kgs I lost last year). Made a great salad for dinner and settled in to watch the tele. 60 Minutes had a story about a 35 year study which tracked children of divorced parents and how they were effected, the broad results being that blokes of divorced parents tended to be very wary of relationships and avoided commitment, and girls threw themselves into relationships much more freely than they should. Makes a bit of sense.
Cricket boy texted me last night to tell me he's going back to Tas earlier than expected - Tuesday. He said he wanted to keep in touch (I presume this is in case he ever comes back and wants some sexy time). I told him to take care. Am going to delete his number.
No list making yet, but will aim to do so this week. Birthdays are good for that - similar to New Years - I get all motivated and re-evaluate how shitty I feel about my life and what I want to do to change all that. Invariably it starts with 'Give up smoking' which is one thing I honestly can't see happening, because it's my prime coping mechanism. One day.
Saturday I went back to the gym after a lengthy period of abstinence and did an hour of cardio, at the end of which I was sweating like a bastard, but it felt good. Then met up with my mum for lunch, which at the time seemed to be a perfectly reasonable idea. Except we had dodgy Chinese, resulting in me being quite crook with stomach pains for the rest of the day, which meant I had to raincheck on the Sheppidy night out with Mandy and co. So I spent the afternoon and indeed evening (how very sad) reading the papers and walking gingerly around the house.
Was fine Sunday morning, went back to the gym again for another hour of cardio. Did not feel any fitter from the day before, indeed pulled up from the Saturday session a bit tight in the legs, which was exacerbated by yesterday's efforts. Having trouble walking straight today, which should make for a fun game of netball tonight. (Foot has seemingly recovered from last week so will be playing). Did more reading of the papers yesterday, enjoying the sunshine outside, smoking and drinking coffee. Made the fart soup again in my renewed request to re-lose the weight I've put back on (weighed myself on Saturday morning and nearly cried - in the last 2 months I've put back on 5 of the 16kgs I lost last year). Made a great salad for dinner and settled in to watch the tele. 60 Minutes had a story about a 35 year study which tracked children of divorced parents and how they were effected, the broad results being that blokes of divorced parents tended to be very wary of relationships and avoided commitment, and girls threw themselves into relationships much more freely than they should. Makes a bit of sense.
Cricket boy texted me last night to tell me he's going back to Tas earlier than expected - Tuesday. He said he wanted to keep in touch (I presume this is in case he ever comes back and wants some sexy time). I told him to take care. Am going to delete his number.
No list making yet, but will aim to do so this week. Birthdays are good for that - similar to New Years - I get all motivated and re-evaluate how shitty I feel about my life and what I want to do to change all that. Invariably it starts with 'Give up smoking' which is one thing I honestly can't see happening, because it's my prime coping mechanism. One day.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Allmenarebastards.com.fuckyou
Text conversation the other night has rendered cricket boy out of the running in the fierce competition to be Kymmy's life partner.
He texted me to ask me how my day was, and to let me know that his grandma had passed away that morning (it's been on the cards for a while). I expressed the appropriate sympathies and asked him how he was coping, to which he replied he was sad and needed a hug. Cute and vulnerable (my favourite combination). After a few more benign messages he asks if I think we'll be able to catch up before he has to leave, Monday week. Surprised, I ask if he's still coming up for my birthday weekend as planned? He says that he's really sorry, but he doesn't want to have to drive home for 3 hours with a hangover on Sunday and then 4 hours to the airport on Monday, so thus he had suggested night in Echuca (refer to previous blog) on the Friday preceding. I say, well that's a bit of a shit, I would have really liked him to be there but I do understand as after all I wouldn't want to drive all that way with a hangover either and then have to take a flight the next day.
He says, and this is where it allll started to go really downhill, 'There's no point in us being anything more than mates at the moment as we will rarely get to see eachother, but I would like to spend another night with you'. Now, how's a girl to refuse an offer like that? With my blood boiling, I decided not to reply straight away, instead I went outside for a calming nicotine hit, stamped my feet a bit and then replied 'Yeah, this is where it gets hard. I don't think I can do that. I don't sleep with my mates. I'd like to get to know you better, but if you put a line down as to what can and cannot happen, I'd rather not'. To which he says he understands, and that he doesn't want to catch up again for a fuck, that he cares about me more than that, but it's just too hard to even contemplate a relationship when we won't see eachother very often.
I say - well hey, lets look at it this way - You want me to come to Echuca, to a motel room, where, if we even go out for anything like a remotely civilised evening, we will afterwards undoubtedly get stuck into the mini-bar, sleep together, and I will have a great time (because, let's face it, when I'm pissed I and with a bloke I have a hard time keeping my knickers on), we will check out at 10am and then you will fuck off back to Tasmania and I will be left feeling like a cheap dirty nasty whore. He says no no no no, we don't even have to have sex, I just want to spend time with you (in a fucking motel room????!!!!) you are too gorgeous and wonderful and I don't want to make you feel like that, blah blah blah. And then…wait for it…."I know it’s bad timing right now to get too close to eachother, but how about when I move back we try properly". When he moves back? Quite possibly many years away? Because yeah, he's so fucking wonderful and I'm so fucking desperate that I'm going to put my life on hold pending whether he plays good enough cricket to stay on the team. What the fuck? At this point I'm no longer mad, I just laugh maniacally at the message on my phone and text him back to say lets not bother.
So there you have it. I did it again, I let a boy get in my head and then it turns out to be just about the booty. Which, once upon a time I would have found flattering, only now it just makes me sad that this is what it's all about. Why can't I meet a boy who wants to have more to do with me than what's in my pants? I know Raftis' advice "Kymbo, at some stage we all have to stop being dirty whores" - but with this particular boy we had even discussed, before we met, my theory on 1-nighters (further separate blog to follow) and it was resolved that if he didn't want anything to do with me after our first meeting he wouldn't even try to touch me, and visa versa. And believe me, there was a lot of touching going on. He's a nice boy, a very nice boy, which makes me even sadder about the whole situation.
So, at the end of all this, I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to give it all a rest for a while. No more boys, no more dating, no more going out and getting pissed and picking up. Because as much as I try to stay unemotional and detached, at the end of the day it fucks around with my head and I'm not able to cope with it. I'm going to concentrate on me for a little while (and no, haven't re-grouped or done lists or anything like that yet).
Once I get a bit happier with myself, I may be able to make better decisions and deal with things like this a little better.
After all, they say you can't love anyone else properly until you love yourself.
He texted me to ask me how my day was, and to let me know that his grandma had passed away that morning (it's been on the cards for a while). I expressed the appropriate sympathies and asked him how he was coping, to which he replied he was sad and needed a hug. Cute and vulnerable (my favourite combination). After a few more benign messages he asks if I think we'll be able to catch up before he has to leave, Monday week. Surprised, I ask if he's still coming up for my birthday weekend as planned? He says that he's really sorry, but he doesn't want to have to drive home for 3 hours with a hangover on Sunday and then 4 hours to the airport on Monday, so thus he had suggested night in Echuca (refer to previous blog) on the Friday preceding. I say, well that's a bit of a shit, I would have really liked him to be there but I do understand as after all I wouldn't want to drive all that way with a hangover either and then have to take a flight the next day.
He says, and this is where it allll started to go really downhill, 'There's no point in us being anything more than mates at the moment as we will rarely get to see eachother, but I would like to spend another night with you'. Now, how's a girl to refuse an offer like that? With my blood boiling, I decided not to reply straight away, instead I went outside for a calming nicotine hit, stamped my feet a bit and then replied 'Yeah, this is where it gets hard. I don't think I can do that. I don't sleep with my mates. I'd like to get to know you better, but if you put a line down as to what can and cannot happen, I'd rather not'. To which he says he understands, and that he doesn't want to catch up again for a fuck, that he cares about me more than that, but it's just too hard to even contemplate a relationship when we won't see eachother very often.
I say - well hey, lets look at it this way - You want me to come to Echuca, to a motel room, where, if we even go out for anything like a remotely civilised evening, we will afterwards undoubtedly get stuck into the mini-bar, sleep together, and I will have a great time (because, let's face it, when I'm pissed I and with a bloke I have a hard time keeping my knickers on), we will check out at 10am and then you will fuck off back to Tasmania and I will be left feeling like a cheap dirty nasty whore. He says no no no no, we don't even have to have sex, I just want to spend time with you (in a fucking motel room????!!!!) you are too gorgeous and wonderful and I don't want to make you feel like that, blah blah blah. And then…wait for it…."I know it’s bad timing right now to get too close to eachother, but how about when I move back we try properly". When he moves back? Quite possibly many years away? Because yeah, he's so fucking wonderful and I'm so fucking desperate that I'm going to put my life on hold pending whether he plays good enough cricket to stay on the team. What the fuck? At this point I'm no longer mad, I just laugh maniacally at the message on my phone and text him back to say lets not bother.
So there you have it. I did it again, I let a boy get in my head and then it turns out to be just about the booty. Which, once upon a time I would have found flattering, only now it just makes me sad that this is what it's all about. Why can't I meet a boy who wants to have more to do with me than what's in my pants? I know Raftis' advice "Kymbo, at some stage we all have to stop being dirty whores" - but with this particular boy we had even discussed, before we met, my theory on 1-nighters (further separate blog to follow) and it was resolved that if he didn't want anything to do with me after our first meeting he wouldn't even try to touch me, and visa versa. And believe me, there was a lot of touching going on. He's a nice boy, a very nice boy, which makes me even sadder about the whole situation.
So, at the end of all this, I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to give it all a rest for a while. No more boys, no more dating, no more going out and getting pissed and picking up. Because as much as I try to stay unemotional and detached, at the end of the day it fucks around with my head and I'm not able to cope with it. I'm going to concentrate on me for a little while (and no, haven't re-grouped or done lists or anything like that yet).
Once I get a bit happier with myself, I may be able to make better decisions and deal with things like this a little better.
After all, they say you can't love anyone else properly until you love yourself.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Some things on my mind today
I have not used the word 'fucktard' for a very long period of time. I love the word and vow to use it more often.
How fucked up it is that I have started playing netball again after many years of not doing so for boosie-related reasons, and after 5 weeks (and some stellar netty, let me tell you) I have re-done the stress fractures on my foot that I did playing tennis two years ago.
I'm not sure whether to think that a text message from cricket boy received last night saying "You, me, champagne and next Friday night in Echuca. What do you think?" is wonderfully gorgeous, spontaneous and lovely or he just wants sex. Am I being carefully guarded or haggardly disillusioned? I don't want to let opportunities and wonderful things pass me by because I am too busy protecting myself, but at the same time I don't want to continue the vicious pattern that I have established for so long.
Excited about cooking husband-snaring risotto and having lots of drinks at my new house on Friday night with the girls. I really really like entertaining. It's somewhat mothering, nurturing and cathartic. And I like getting pissed too.
Worried about turning 24 and I've really nothing to show for my life. Am going to do some serious re-grouping tonight. It's time for a list of goals. God bless Raftis and her lists.
How fucked up it is that I have started playing netball again after many years of not doing so for boosie-related reasons, and after 5 weeks (and some stellar netty, let me tell you) I have re-done the stress fractures on my foot that I did playing tennis two years ago.
I'm not sure whether to think that a text message from cricket boy received last night saying "You, me, champagne and next Friday night in Echuca. What do you think?" is wonderfully gorgeous, spontaneous and lovely or he just wants sex. Am I being carefully guarded or haggardly disillusioned? I don't want to let opportunities and wonderful things pass me by because I am too busy protecting myself, but at the same time I don't want to continue the vicious pattern that I have established for so long.
Excited about cooking husband-snaring risotto and having lots of drinks at my new house on Friday night with the girls. I really really like entertaining. It's somewhat mothering, nurturing and cathartic. And I like getting pissed too.
Worried about turning 24 and I've really nothing to show for my life. Am going to do some serious re-grouping tonight. It's time for a list of goals. God bless Raftis and her lists.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
In accordance with Jen's request, I'm finally updating my blog. I know what she means, because I feel cheated if I come in on Monday and Vyner hasn't done an update about her weekend. It means I will spend most of my morning continually refreshing her blog in the vain hope that some Vyner bloggy goodness will appear and I can move on with my day.
Weekend was good. Here's why;
Weekend was good. Here's why;
- Moved into my new house. Finally have my 'things' around me. Including, but not limited to, my shoes. I have been surviving on about 4 pairs of shoes for 7 weeks now and it truly was a test of character.
- Got to spend some time with my dog on Mother's day. Because my dog responds when someone says to her "Where's mum?" by looking for me, and if I'm there, she comes and gives me 'loves'. Was slightly disappointed at the lack of Mother's Day card from her to me or any sort of gift but will forgive her because she's a boxer crossed with a labrador and cannot make cards.
- Hit the Aussie again. After a notable period of absence I again spent a Saturday night in Shepparton. Drank far too much. Still, home is where the heart is and sometimes I feel my home is at the Aussie.
Not so cool shit that happened on the weekend;
- Seeing fat and old ex-housemate at the pub and having fat and old ex-housemate ignore me and then do his smirky face in my direction. He is truly a motherfucker and I wish bad things upon him. I hope he wakes up one day with an angry sewer rat inserted in his rectum.
- My hangover on Sunday. Oh. My. God. Thought I was never going to recover. Why does drinking do that to you? It's so unfair.
- Not being able to find my coathangers when moving into new place. I've got an entire wardrobe of clothes that I cannot hang up until I find the collection of wooden coathangers which I spent a lot of money on.
Monday, May 09, 2005
I forgot....
Oops, cannot believe that out of the good things that happened on the weekend I didn't mention having a big chin-wag with Greggo! She sounded so happy that as much as I miss her and wish she was home again, I'm glad she's there and having the time of her life. Aside from making me incredibly jealous with her tales of strange bars and dodgy suburbs and briyant shopping and all the tall men…..Jen you sound the happiest I've ever heard you, keep on keeping on and never come back and live in sleepy old Tatura. Just come back and visit us to drink some piss and smoke some drugs from time to time.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
