BALL-LESS BOYS

Once there was a boy. A super duper cute boy! The boy met a girl (not naming names, but let's just say that the girl writes really terrible and sporadic but sometimes funny blogs about experiences - or lack thereof - with boys) and he thought she was really cute. Thanks to some friends with loose tongues and hopes for this cute boy and cute girl to get loose-tongued together, the boy and the girl found out that the cute-feelings were mutual. Yay! One night, the boy went out to a hip underground club and saw that the girl he thought was cute was also there. All night he never once went up to her and talked to her, even though she kept smiling at him and hanging around like a good smell. And even though he knew she thought he was cute too, he never once tried to push her against a wall and kiss her (which happened to be the girl's fantasy). The girl went home disappointed but excited for the next time she would see the cute boy.

A next time did come. About 2 months later, back from a delightful overseas trip with her skin glowing golden, the girl went out (to another hip alley-way club) one night where the cute boy also happened to be. When he saw that she was there, looking cuter than ever, he said hello and then ran away. He never once pushed her against a wall to kiss her. And again, the girl went home disappointed, but puzzled because a friend of the cute boy had told her that the cute boy definitely wanted to kiss her.

"Where have this cute boy's balls gone?!" she thought.

Hopefully she will find them the next time she sees the cute boy when he *fingers crossed* pushes her against a wall to kiss her.

CATCH WITH A CATCH

I've met the perfect guy.

He's gorgeous (half-Indonesian background - I love my halfies), talented (singer/songwriter/writer/guitarrist), super lovely, laid-back, smart, funny, and actually enjoys my company. Did I mention he makes a sweet ass cup of tea? Hello!! Dreamboat!!

But, of course there is a catch. Not even the usual commitment-issues or already-taken or bats-for-the-other-team type catch. He's short. Like, as in, I'm tall and he's short. A good head shorter than me. At least. And I don't even mind being with a guy shorter than me, I would never rule it out. I can't afford to because I'm taller than average and if I was to rule out every guy who was shorter than me, well, I'd be ruling out a LOT of men. So while I stood at the bar with Mr Potentially-perfect-if-only-there-was-such-thing-as-instant-height-pills, discussing what kind of films we like, I was secretly visualising myself kissing - nay, BENDING DOWN to kiss him - and mentally measuring the distance and angles required for my lips to meet his.

Not cool. I mean, I was all about the whole Tom & Nicole thing while they were, and in a way I still look up to that. As much as Nicole is a complete looney bin, I admire her for standing tall and wearing heels in that relationship despite Tom's severe vertical challenges.

However, I don't want to pull a muscle in my back from bending down every time I'm in need of some intimate lip action!

So sadly, my dreamboat tea and song maker will have to remain nothing more than a crush, unless the next time I see him we are sitting down together & I can plant a wet one on his beautiful mouth by leaning across and in, rather than down.

Stupid genetics.

Ciao for now xoxo

FRIDAY MORNING F*CK

To My Newest and Most Sexually Active Housemate,

So, you have an active sex-life. In fact an over-active sex life is probably a more accurate description. Know how I know?
BECAUSE I CAN HEAR EVERY LITTLE DETAIL OF YOUR SEX SESSIONS EVERY TIME YOU HAVE SEX WITH THAT HORRIBLE BOYFRIEND OF YOURS WHO HAS THE BIG HEAD (PHYSICALLY AND EGOTISTICALLY). I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING RIGHT DOWN TO THE FLESH ON FLESH SLAPPING SOUNDS AND GRUNTING. EVERYTHING.

Good for you. But for me, it's foul. Torturous. Makes me want to vomit. No one should have to hear that, let alone be kept awake or woken up by it on a frequent basis.

Please do something about it or I will record it and play it back to you and all your feral friends at full volume next time they come over (which I hope they don't because they also piss me off).

Ta,
Your Sleepless Housemate

P.S. And no, I'm not jealous that you are actually having sex and I'm not. I would rather not have sex than have sex with someone with as big and ugly a head as your bf.

DATES. THE FIRST AND FUNNIEST ONES.

When I was 16, on the first date with my first boyfriend we went to the movies at Forest Hill Chase and he couldn't even decide on which movie to see and I didn't even care because all I could think about was holding his hand which we did during the movie but we never kissed and I cried when I got home because of there not being a first date kiss.

When I was 17, a beautiful boy took me on our first date and he was such a gentleman until he ordered a cheesy pizza and after eating it confessed to have been feeling ill that day and now he wasn't feeling so good so we left and 2 minutes down the road he had to stop but we were on Fitzroy St in St Kilda on a Saturday night and there were no car spots so he had to double-park outside the nearest take-away joint and run in to vomit and other stuff while I sat in the car terrified because if the police or someone needed me to move the car I couldn't because it was a manual and I can't drive manual and I had no idea how long beautiful boy would be, then he eventually returned looking slightly less green but not good and we proceeded towards home but he took a wrong turn and ended up going down Chapel St which was banked up with wogs doing Chap Laps so we crawled along and couldn't talk because he was trying not to vomit again, but eventually we made it home and needless to say there was no romantic end of the date kiss.

A few years ago I went on a date with the then-love-of-my-life and just after he came back from the bar with our first drinks he knocked his drink over across the table onto me and the contents which hadn't already reached me with the initial splash rapidly poured onto the table -which happened to be one of those uneven wobbly tables and was tilted in my direction- and poured onto my seat so that my entire bum and crotch were soaking wet as though I'd pissed my pants and I had to go to the bathroom which was on the far opposite side of the restaurant ensuring everyone I walked past could see my shame and then it took forever and some strange conversations with women in the bathroom explaining why I was standing under the hand-dryer drying my vagina and ass, and the then-love-of-my-life had to get someone to come in and check if I was OK because obviously he couldn't come into the girls' bathrooms.

Disastrous dates are the best because they give you a reason to have another date to try and make up for the bad one and they give you something to talk and laugh about or can be handy fuel in an argument should you ever need it. I hope I have another first date sometime soon.

Bye for now.

CONFESSIONS OF A WORKING GIRL (THE 9-5 TYPE, YOU DIRTY BIRD)

Time is money and money is time. Or so they say. If time is money then why aren't I flitting around Paris, Milan and New York, showering the cash registers of Gucci, Lanvin, Alexander Wang and Manolo Blahnik with my piles of mulla in exchange for piles of fabulous threads??

The point is, the majority of my time is spent sitting in front of a computer at my desk (supposedly earning money). Hence I have a huge lack of actual person-to-person social time, and a huge amount of internet surfing time instead (Dear Online Shopping (Topshop and ASOS especially), I love you, From Me). I spend all this time on the internet, I have a shitty lovelife, yet I'm still not sold on the idea of internet dating. However when recently searching for a new housemate, for some bizarre reason I decided that I had come across a much better alternative.

We placed an ad on an online flatmate finder website and were conducting nightly interviews with potential new roomies in our apartment. It's the strangest experience. Less like a job interview and more like a first date - having a random person in your house and asking each other questions, sussing each other out to test for compatibility!
Anyway, as I sat at my computer perusing the Gumtree ads one lunchtime (ok, it wasn't my lunch break, I was just pretending to do work by being at my desk and intently looking at my computer screen with the occasional faux-type added in for realistic effect) and there he was. 25yo male looking for future housemate. His picture spiked my appetite, and as I read on he sounded like he had the perfect level of arrogance and financial stability to have me drooling at his feet. Plus at the end he'd added "...outside work I pursue my creative interests." A fellow creative. HOTTT.

Did I mention he was looking for a housemate to move in with him into a new converted warehouse apartment? So although he wasn't exactly looking to move into a cosy little unit like ours, I didn't see the harm in contacting him. This was the perfect opportunity. I would pose as an interested potential housemate, meet with him for the "interview", we would instantly fall in love and move in together anyway and live happily ever after. And if he didn't take my sexual bait then I would simply tell him I found other living arrangements and thanks for the interview anyway. Exit stage left.

So I contacted him. I responded to his ad via Gumtree as requested.

And never heard boo.

You know what though? I think he might be my evil male twin - the ad is still up on Gumtree to this day and I suspect he was thinking along the same brilliant lines as me in trying to score a date or 5.

Go look him up! drop him an email and let me know if you get a date out of it!

Ciao for now...

THE EXPERIMENT - 1ST PROJECT

Let me tell you a story. A true story. One day, after yet another disappointingly unsuccessful weekend of man-hunting (we went to a surfer magazine party at the Torquay pub during the weekend of the Ripcurl Pro, and STILL couldn't get lucky. wtf?) my friend and I started something we call: The Experiment. The idea was born out of the crux of a series of frustrations and countless, nay, ENDLESS discussions relating to our tragic lovelives. Both of us truly believe ourselves to be attractive, smart, funny young women - yet "WHY OH GOD WHY CAN'T WE GET A FRIGGIN' DATE?!?!" we're constantly heard asking ourselves/each other/friends/randoms.

And so The Experiment started. The idea is to put ourselves out of our comfort zones, be super pro-active in trying to meet new people (of the eligible male variety specifically), go to places we wouldn't normally go to, take initiative and action and hopefully in the process meet someone great, or at least get a date or two out of it. We've got nothing to lose and everything to learn. And at the very least The Experiment could provide us with some fun and potentially hilarious experiences.

One Friday night out we came up with our first project. It was certainly not at all original, but neither of us had ever tried it before and having downed a bottle of wine or two at that stage, it seemed like the perfect official start for The Experiment. So, without much fishing around in my bag (yes, I AM a female but I must have struck it lucky that night) I found an empty envelope, and a pen, and the kitchen sink (joking. Sort of.). I wrote my name and phone number on a torn off edge of the envelope, finished the last bit of my vodka lemon lime, and headed back to the bar in search of the fairly cute bartender who I'd exchanged drinks/money/a laugh with earlier.
I ordered another drink and slipped the "love letter"to him with my $50 note as I paid for the drink. I waited for my change, and to see his reaction when he found the note.
*Cue Benny Hill music* He looked perplexedly at the note (my note, not the money for crying out loud). He looked perplexedly at me. This actually surprised me, wasn't this one of the oldest tricks in the book? He came over to me with my change and the note, and looked at me questioningly.

Gay (because after what happened, I can only conclude that he must be) bartender: Who's it for?
Me: It's for you!
Gay bartender: Who's it from?
Me: Me!!
Gay bartender: What is it?
Me: My number, you bloody douchebag. People use them to call each other. Do you know what a phone is?? - ok this was really just in my head, what I really said, with a seductive smile on my face was:
Me: My number!!!

At this point he still looked puzzled, and not in an innocent and cute way. This was going nowhere at an illegal speed. I shrugged and walked off and guzzled my drink.
My friend and I spent the rest of the night in tears with laughter. Needless to say I never heard jack from the bartender either.

The outcome of project 1 in The Experiment? We learned to pick our targets more carefully, and to steer away from using old tricks of the book. You never can trust that dusty old book! But we enjoyed a good old belly laugh (at my expense) and are no worse off for it.

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FRENCH PRUNES & MEN WITH VANS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

26 today. I'm over the hump on the way to 30. Yikes!

Oh and I'm STILL single.
Even the French don't have a name for me anymore - I'm too old to be a Catherinette, I'm no longer considered pure, apparently I'm just old and dried up!
But I have a good feeling about 26. I'm going to be super pro-active this year in the search for love (or at least a semi-decent man who'll blow away the cobwebs - pun DEFINITELY intended).

Part of a good start to the day, it didn't take much facebook "research" to find the hilarious and strangely attractive guy I met on Saturday night. At the time he (or possibly the alcohol I'd been consuming all day) had me in tears with laughter, and I was highly intrigued/attracted... then he invited me to go to a secret Man With A Van party, but I thought he was joking. And soon after he quickly disappeared into the night without any number exchanges or even a pash.
Turns out the party was for serious! Clearly I just haven't been reading threethousand.com.au enough lately.

So the question is - to make contact and simultaneously look like a freak for having stalked*ahem*researched him down?? Or to let it be, and see if fate brings our paths together again...?

Well for now I can't be bothered wondering about it. I have birthday love and wishes coming my way by the bucketload and I'm going to bask in their warmth. God knows I need the extra warmth today (hello, Melbourne Autumn). I'm going to absolutely surrender and indulge in being spoiled for a day.

Happy Birthday to me!

Ciao for now...