Ghosts of the Past

I know it's been a while, life changes, self examination becomes excruciating - but sometimes we find ourselves returning to what we know, or do we? Pause for thought.I think in the last 10 months I've been through yet another intense, emotionally crippling relationship, and I'm not over it, not by a long shot (hence my silence), but then again, I'm not over the relationship I was in two years ago.

Melbourne is such a strange place - it's 2 degrees of separation, not 6. But what has me really, really shocked at the moment, is the differences between the way men and women's neural processes work. It's hard to be objective here, but the story so far... I've recently reactivated on of my dating site profiles. Much more cautious now, I don't have a face picture on my public profile, just a an obscure body shot, slightly revealing, but rather coy non-the-less. Imagine my shock when contacted by The Liar last night. More shocking, he apparently has no idea who I am. And moreover, I'm shocked at how devastating I find this. It's almost incomprehensible to me. And I find myself back in that agonised. fetal ball I was a couple of years ago, unable to breathe or think properly. This is where the neural processing comes in - I would know him at a glance, face picture or not, I know the dimensions and shapes, planes and contours of his body better than I know my own. My last relationship always felt slightly wrong because I always did an unconscious shift when we went to bed, purely because his body wasn't the one I was anticipating. In the film I saw last night was a character who cannot get over her former boyfriend and his death - her new man entreats her to "pretend I am him". It's a horrible, confronting thought, but there's only really been one person since that I haven't had to do that with. Some 28 months since the last time I saw him, I could pick him out anywhere. Men apparently, don't remember the bodies of their lovers. And yet, they are the one's who are meant to be more visually stimulated - look at porn for instance. Men apparently remember faces and eyes. Especially eyes. I surveyed some of the guys I've been in contact with, posing my rather odd question - all of them told me they would not recognise the body of a former lover without a face attached.

This, paraphrasing the words of a friend, has made my world tilt. Is this really true? How does someone who held me so tightly while sleeping, and knew me so intimately forget that? The thing that gets me is, what I'm wearing in the photo was seen again and again by him, and so was my tattoo. It's fairly distinctive, and unique. I had that tattoo done six months into our relationship.  Is he that emotionally retarded, or just stupid? Playing games? As my housemate said, at least his taste in women is true to type. Small consolation.
I don't know whether to run, or pretend I don't know him. I don't know whether to respond or not. Play innocent and subtley find the answers to all my heretofore unanswered questions? His profile says he's in another location, which makes sense work-wise, and that he's divorced. When did that happen?

In all, excruciating honesty, I know I need to walk away. The head is sensible. Sometimes. I also know this could end in disaster. Again. To be honest, it hurts deeply to know he has no clue as to who I am. It hurts to know he would pull all contact if he did know. It's an entrancing, seductive, destructive piece of heads pace to be in. I've spent the last two and a quarter years trying to fill the gap he left with others so very similar to him, it's driven me crazy at times. Dangerous games. And I know games are unacceptable. My recent experience has been so filled with manipulation and deception I've been so badly hurt by, but if I'm realistic, I was pursuing the dream I had with the Liar, and wearing blinkers to avoid the awful reality that one cannot go back, one cannot recapture what is lost, and it would be foolish to try.

What we reveal

So when did "fun" become a euphemism for sex? As in an eye-glinting question "So, so you want to have fun? i know it's been forever, but when I was younger, the term was never bandied around in such a manner. While I'm whole-heartedly embracing the dating thing, some might say a little too enthusiastically, there are moments when I am genuinely amused - and bemused.I guess some of my puzzlement comes from the fact that I've never really dated before. Ever. From my late teens, I guess I've been what could be termed a serial monogamist. Sure, sometimes relationships might have overlapped in a grey, foggy  new beginning preceding end way, but there's always been someone new immediately following the break up. So I've never actively gone out with a range of people without ending up in a relationship. I'm also discovering a whole other side of human nature and openness about sex which is refreshing, even if at times blase.and confronting.

After enduring another lecture from one of my dear male friends exhorting me to choose and settle down with just one person, I found myself examining my choices of late, and realised that actions speak louder than words. I'm having a great time at the moment. So why should I settle? I've also expanded my boundaries - after deciding I couldn't date men more than 5 years younger than me, I've discovered oh yes I can! While there's the pitfalls of immaturity and self absorption, I'm finding that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with age. And younger men are generally a lot less complicated - no wives, ex-wives, children etc. They are available at a moments notice and happy to drive sometimes unexpectedly and spontaneously across town with the "fun" carrot dangling enticingly - and if it doesn't work out that way, there's no resentment. There is also the issue of physicality where youth and beauty are not a dim memory of a bygone era.

A couple of weekends ago, I met the loveliest guy in Sydney. After contacting online, we talked on the phone, then did a Face to Face call. We were both relaxed and not feeling any pressure when we met on the Friday night - he was funny, and fun and wonderful and a genuinely nice guy, He had a really early start on Saturday morning, yet on Saturday night sent me a text telling me how much he'd enjoyed meeting me, and he hoped we could do it again. Perfect. I let him know I'd give him a call when I know the details of my next trip. all good and wonderful. And the travelling encounter works both ways - over the past month I've met appreciably younger men who are passing through Melbourne, or working here, and they have been wonderful - not to mention great looking! Men who spend a lot of time travelling for work, have few connections and spend an awful lot of time in the gym. But what I really like is the openness. There's no agonizing, no pretending, no need not to discuss that you are on a website. I've had some great, amusing laugh out loud conversations during these dates - the good, the bad and the ugly. The gorgeous man from the Gold Coast asked me how I was finding the website we encountered one another on.
"Hit and miss" I responded
With a wry grin he chuckled and said:
"More miss than hit", eyebrow raised we both laughed and went back to what we had been doing.

It's above all, easier than actually dating someone for any length of time.

And notes to self - beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder - one of the sites has room to categorize one's looks - I've just recently changed mine from "Average" to ":See my photo" - it's a judgement call I can't quite make for myself - and I'm always taken aback when someone is really complimentary. It's easy to dismiss the messages telling you you are beautiful, or pretty, or hot (all of which I hate), but when it's someone you have actually met and enjoyed meeting it's a little more confronting. The Carpenter and I have been communicating - we did discuss deleting one another, but neither of us could quite bring ourselves to do so. Amongst  my rationalizations was that he is a lovely guy. Sweet, and with a conscience, funny, exceptionally good looking and with an amazing body. I was gob-smacked when he told me that's what he thought about me... before I'd even mentioned my thoughts to him. - and I am constantly amazed when someone I find really attractive feels that way about me - especially when they are 10 or more years younger.It's also much easier to date against type than I thought - most of these men have had dark hair and eyes, and it's not causing me any problems! Unlike dating my type... After months of exchanging messages and never quite being able to connect I finally got to meet the News Editor. We went out for a drink at one of his local pubs in Sth Melbourne. Where we ran into de Riguer. Slightly awkward to have to introduce two men who share a very similar appearance to one another - and seeing that recognition on both their faces - the unspoken acknowledgement that I'd been with one, and was now with the other. Neither looked terribly impressed, and I had to smile and promise to catch up while I had my hand take  by the other and was led away.Their obvious similarities made me pinch myself.

But back to the point - I switched my "Average" judgement call to "See my photo" because I've seen one too many men who rate themselves as "Attractive" or "Very Attractive" when I would put them at below average - it's a judgement call, and very subjective... and not a little immodest.And I'm tired of people who just wont show you a photo of their face - intimate photos of every other part of their body, but not their face? What gives? Is that the values of the world - that everything is on display but one's face? Reverse Victorianism?

If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with

So I knew the day would come - yesterday I went to meet with someone. He bore no resemblance to his profile - Hot hunk was more like - disheveled, aging paunchy hulk. About 15 years older than he claimed, and 15 (or more) kilos than his profile photo, a picture of a well sculpted torso - which I now suspect to be someone else entirely. Of course me being me, I didn't hesitate to tell him so - and boy did he retaliate! Like a 5 year old having a tantrum - oh and the vitriolic email after telling me my photos were clearly taken 10 years ago. Of course this caused me self doubt. Anxiousness - but I had to remind myself, the Carpenter from last week, the High Rise Building Construction Manager from Friday, the Ad Man, who I saw again last week, and the Chemical Engineer I had a second date with on Thursday didn't seem to think so. Of course they are all young, healthy and look like their profile pictures. So why so much doubt caused by one aging, bitter Lothario? And one who, after accusing me, had removed his photos entirely? Did he just loathe himself for his dishonesty and make me pay for holding up the accusatory mirror?

Because it taps into that tiny bit of self doubt I think we all carry. The tiny inner voice - will he like me? Am I pretty enough?  Of course the aforementioned aren't all perfect - the Carpenter called me on Friday, quite keen to catch up again, but when I talked to him much later in the night and many drinks later, his inquiry of whether I would still want to see him if he started seeing his ex again left an unusual pall over that particular encounter. The Building boy wanted to see me again to, but I'm not so sure that will happen. Grain of salt.
Am I being too flippant? Maybe - but I am damn well enjoying myself at the moment. On Friday the exhortations of a male friend telling me I must choose one made me indignant. Why? Why must I choose one? Clearly it hasn't worked for me in the past. And if I'm not hurting anyone, least of all myself, I'm good with that.

And there are so many - I'm at the point where I am no longer even disappointed when the cancellations happen. On Friday I'd triple booked, and not one of those dates happened, but the Building Boy did. They just pop up out of nowhere.- almost literally. My Saturday lunch date cancelled - I was annoyed at that. I'd had to get up really early to get my hair cut and I could have stayed in bed longer - end result was going shopping and meeting my housemate for a lovely lunch and shopping some more with her! Much more wonderful than a potentially awkward lunch with a stranger! Saturday nights date too was cancelled - quite a relief to have a night in when I was so exhausted from the night before and the day's activities rather than meeting at the Grand Hyatt for cocktails and dinner...

So, don't make me choose, I have decision fatigue.

Indecisive? Who me?

This week thus far, I’ve managed to keep it date free. And I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved I am. There’s a whole other energy that goes into organising and running a “successful” dating life, and I just don’t think I have it!

Sunday I met someone in the afternoon. Neither of us were up to it – and we were really quite half-assed about it. We’d spent the preceeding 3 nights on the phone talking to one another for hours on end. And I did want to meet him, it’s just that he spent the afternoon repeating the things he’d already told me, and I was so hung over and tired I could barely respond. So where to with that one? Who knows?

I’m finding that I have absolutely no sense of judgement about whether a man genuinely likes me and wants to see me again, or whether he’s using that as his escape line. Two weeks ago I actually went onto a site I left long neglected in order to delete my profile. To my surprise, the Ad Man had sent me a message which was engaging and not a little cheeky. As was his priofile. I’m not much one for spontenaeity – I really had surprises. But having exchanged messages, numbers and then texts, when he told me he had a spare ticket to the Spigeltent for the following afternoon, I accepted. I’m very glad I did – had a delightful time and we arranged to meet up the following afternoon. When I left his apartment  (an enormous converted warehouse arrangement) he asked me to text him the next day – actually we exchanged amusing texts on my way home and he did respond the next day and the next when I let him know that a friend had called to ask me who he was as she spotted us on Gertrude St on the Sunday. All good.But then silence. And more silence. And just when I had given up completely he texts and rings me. And wants to see me.

Likewise the Chemical Engineer I went out with a few weeks ago – we parted and I didn’t think there would be any more contact, but last night he did call and wants to see me next week. And the sportsman – persistent if a little abrupt but I know I can’t be bothered with someone so self absorbed they can’t articulate even a little.

So, I’ve made dates with all of them. And perhaps that’s what they do – and it’s why I can go two weeks without hearing from one or the other and another before we can meet, because I am busy and have a life. As they do. When I muttered that I didn’t think I’d hear from the Ad Man again, I was admonished with the facts, - that he’s single, busy, has a wide range of interests and wouldn’t bother me too much – perfect! I’m unable to tolerate dominant or pushy, demanding men, likewise disinterested one’s who leave me to do all the contacting, but they are the ones  I tend to fall for. Does that make me indecisive? Confused? Or that I just don’t know what I want? I happily confessed to the Ad Man during our first date that I had no idea what I wanted – and he thought that was just fine.

My Way

Last night was one of those that gets all weird and introspective. For me, the lyrics to Frank Sinatra;s "My Way" resonate here. It's how I do and try to live my life. But sometimes it feels as though someone, or something has other ideas...

Last night involved discussion of missed opportunities, lost friendships and lost friends.and it led me to reflect on why certain people meet, and at what time or stage in their lives they meet. One of the most special people I'm eternally grateful to have had in my life is a guy I met during First year of my undergraduate degree. My lively, friendly (gorgeous) and vivacious friend I met during O week turned up one lunch time with him in tow. I confess to an enormous crush. Huge. We had classes together, but as it transpired, we spent most of out week together, and with others at the pub, sitting in the beer garden with the chickens scratching around our feet..This went on all year. Often just the two of us in the winter months. Fast forward  - I had taken the next year off, and all kinds of friendships and structures changed. We met up again unexpectedly in another class together.Again back to hanging out, but the dynamics of me being in a relationship and all the other pressures of work, study etc changed - the crush still remained! We caught up intermittently over the following year, more often in a campus cafe rather than the pub. And then he was gone.

When my long term relationship, which had lasted all through Uni  faltered under the pressure of changing lives and my notions that it was either time to take the nest step or part, a friend with whom decided I needed a proper night out on the town to bolster my spirits. The Espy was heaving, and over the pool table at the back, was my first year crush. After delighted reunion I was drunk enough to tell him that I'd always had a crush on him. He laughed and asked why I had never told him. I responded that I thought it was my friend he'd liked. He looked at me gravely with those brilliant blue eyes and shook his head and told me, "No, It was never her.".When I realised what he meant, I could have swooned. The thought of what might have been flitted through my head. He who knew me so well understood exactly what I was thinking. He  suggested that we might make up for lost time. It was awesome, but fleeting - he moved back to WA where he'd been working in mines in the intervening years, and I was ok with that.

The next time we saw each other was at the airport - I was heading off on a work trip and he was returning to Melbourne as he'd landed a construction job. We had five minutes to exchange numbers and arrange to catch up. It never happened. When I think about how I found out he'd died, I still cry - I couldn't believe a,) that he was dead, and b) it had taken me so long to find out. We'd always been remiss about keeping in contact, and until recently because of my lifestyle and work commitments had never kept up with the news and current affairs.  I was sitting on the 6th floor of the Raymond Priestly building, having morning tea at my desk. It was awful, We had the radio on in the background, and I still cannot believe the synchronicity of my browsing the paper, turning the page and seeing his face, while his voice, the OOO call he'd made as he drowned was broadcast as a report on the Coroner's Inquest into his, and another man's death. As horrible, horrible accident. Why do such things happen to such wonderful people?

"Regrets, I've had a few, but then, too few to mention". I don't regret anything about knowing this awesome person, I wish his death had not been so painful, and so frightening and so alone, but I celebrate that I got to share some time with him, and I wouldn't change any of it. Especially not the time we spent together at the pub, in tutes, and in our reunion phase before he headed back out west. But I still can't drive through the Domain Tunnel. Not without hearing his wonderful laugh, and then the haunting pain and fear as he drowned in a drill hole during the creation of CitiLink.

What's in a profile?

I seriously think it's time to start my own business - one that specialising in creating an on-line dating profile for men, I swear – the online life must be a utopia I am missing – there’s a tardis out there and everytime someone creates a  profile on a  dating  site it takes them to a new world, a utopia in which every man there is laid (or layed) back, down to earth, has a good sense of humour, loves sports, carss, motorbikes and is looking for someone relaxed and with no baggage.

Clearly a huge amount of men I make contact with are so laid  back they can’t even  be bothered to turn up to an arranged date – it’s become  the de facto assurance once one has called a woman  assure her, don’t worry, I won’t stand you up!!!!

So obviously this is an accepted part of the on-line dating dance. The cancellation, or indeed the abandonment of foresworn  plans. I’m rather circumspect about this phenomenon. Laid back even “Lol” (which I’m beginning to suspect  stands not for Laughs out Loud, but for lamenting our lipservice.

The profile issue  is a conundrum – are Australian men that lazy that they cannot create something brief, amusing and to the point? This is why we are reduced to shopping on line for a man  by just looking at the pretty pictures – I’m actually all for a proforma, a couple of pics and away one goes! The worst are those that seek to identify all  of the traits he is NOT seeking – one such profile caused me a mild wrist cramp as I scrolled, and  scrolled and scrolled the list of  things this man did  want – if it had been on paper it would have gone on for pages… and the kicker being the concluding sentence. “Anyway I don’t believe this site is real, as no one has ever contacted me.” Well hellllooooo. What woman would – the litany of faults and  imperfections was so vast and voluminous I for one didn’t believe that there is any woman alive who could  gather up the temerity to contact this person – and after reading it, the “no thanks” button is little more than  an automatic twitch.

And what’s with the appalling profile pictures??? Blurry, indistinguishable, shot in bad light, with flashes reflecting off mirrors, taken from baaaaad angles, in dim light and uploaded  side-ways. If you’re lucky. My personal favourites are on one particular site where  there is a drop down menu to describe one’s looks, the photo is generally non-existant, or  only contains body parts, and the gentlemen in question have selected “See my photo” as their option!!!! Argj. And what’s with the body parts? Why does every second guy I chat to want to text me pictures of  their junk? And have me return the favour? Darling men, if you’ve seen one penis, you;ve seen them all – more or less, ifyou know what I mean. If I want to look at penises I’ll go online and download some free porn – god knows there’s a  surfeit of it – and don’t be thinking it will entice me to  date you just because I’ve seen it – seeing is not believing, and it’s incredible how much a crappy mobile phone photograph  can distort dimension and perspective. Enough said.

What I also don’t understand is the man who takes the time to write a reasonably intelligent profile piece, and talks about having fun but not being averse to a relationship with the right woman, who then goes against this be insistently demanding sex and only sex before even getting to the “My name is…” part of the introduction. I get a lot of this – my housemate doesn’t. Go figure. I had one guy tell me as his opening line that I looked like a sex maniac!  Where did that come from?

There’s an interesting thing about demographic too. I can categorise the age and type of men who attempt to contact me – the majority are between 26 and 34.  Well below my seeking criteria, as they say. There’s also an occupational thing – I receive messages and requests from an awfully high number of truck drivers, and personal trainers. WHY?????  The truck drivers I kind of get – in an obsure way – maybe they can’t read that I’m looking for educated, articulate intelligent men. But the personal trainers and former athletes? Am I to be a project? A rescue  mission?  I remember a former footballer I had a bit of a fling with – met him not on-line, but in the David Jones Food Hall on a weekday when I’d taken the day off for a doctor’s appointment and then gone browsing because I was extraordinarily early. What does a former athlete see in an incredibly unfit woman my age? Unfathomable… Anyway, the fling ended when he told me it was time for him to behave as his girlfriend was pregnant – might I add he’d not mentioned the girlfriend until that particular moment, and at that moment in time I hadn’t thought to ask – just assumed he was single.I must have been delusional, A former footballer in his early 30s with a penchant for encounters in shopping mall disabled toilets, what was I thinking???  Well I wasn’t… but now I do.  

And I’m very very sceptical – but that said, for every guy who doesn’t  turn up, or cancels at short notice, there’s one who will honour the commitment. Not all I have to do is find one who doesn’t drive me nuts, or go nuts himself.

Define "Bad Boy"

Ok, the past week's shenanigans has given me pause to reflect AGAIN of the nature of attraction, what one's type is and really - what constitutes a "bad boy". I guess I need to back track a little, and reflect on the varied men in my life and take note, they're not so varied.... I was brought up short by my lovely housemate early this week, who with hands on hips admonished me - "Don't go out with this man. I know you like bad boys, and he's the ultimate bad boy, so don't expect me to hold your hand and clean up the mess when it ends in tears." I laughed her off "What, his tears?". Great to be flippant, but she's right. And I did go out with him, and he has asked me out again, and already cancelled at the last minute. But that's ok.And it is true - she googled him and found out way more than anyone usually should - that's the thing about former international sportsmen - nothing to hide.

I've never been one to be overly anxious to please my partner - in any subservient sense of the word, and I scoff at the notion of there being one perfect person for one, but given thought, my leanings toward those who are, well, not quite normal, fully functioning men are interesting. Let's just say I like the silent , non-communicative type, and ironically fume against their inability to communicate. There is a pattern. I love men who are outwardly confident, and slightly demanding. But not too much. Two things you need to know about me, I don't take kindly to being told what to do. And I don't take kindly to being told what to do. I also find compliments difficult to handle. It's taken many years to just smile and say thank you when someone does pay me a compliment, and not make objections.

I remember being head over heels in my early twenties with the poet. We met at a birthday party - which happened to be on a boat which took the party between Williamstown and the docks in Melbourne for the evening. It's the first time I've looked across a room (well cabin) and thought - mmm, I want HIM!!!! And then gone and done exactly that. We both had issues - both under 25 and straight out of long term relationships, not sure what we were doing and where we were going - but there were nights later when we would be at the Public Bar in Nth Melbourne and he'd look at me across the pool table, My heart would leap into my throat, and he'd finish the game and without a word we would be in a cab, holding hands and going back to his place.Complicit silence. He was bad. Alcohol, drugs, gambling. I remember nights when he'd hand me his ATM card as we went to the casino and he instructed me that no matter what he did or said,was I under any circumstances to give it back to him. Argh. This man would take a beer into the shower with him, and I was entranced. Artistic temperament, soulful and just suffering from melancholy which he self medicated, I could not stay away. Funnily enough though, I had the guard up - even though I would drop everything at a moments notice to see him, I never really let him into my life - I became a frequent fixture at his place - I'll never forget the look on his housemates face when I emerged wearing his shirt one morning to go to the bathroom and answered a question about a music track he was playing to the other housemate - he'd been playing snatches from an album and asking the other hapless housemate if he knew who it was - I emerged and pronounced "Charlie Sexton" and he nearly fell over - yelling to the poet that "your new chick is amazing". Hehe The poet often lamented that I didn't invite him to my place, he never met any of my friends, with the exception of the mutual friend who had introduced us, and a particular gripe with him, that I always, always woke up and snuck out of the house before he woke up. I adored this man, and turned a blind eye to the bad behaviour, until one night I couldn't and held him while I waited fro an ambulance to respond to my call. He died before they arrived, and it was way too late for Narcan. Any wonder that my next relationship was with a born again Christian?

My date last week with Bad Boy was startlingly frank - or he was anyway. He inspected me and asked me if I was interested. When I asked why, without hesitation he responded " Your gorgeous - I'd fuck you in a heartbeat"
I was amused, and bemused - it's only on reflection of who he is, and his former success, and what it's cost him that leaves me at ease with that - I wouldn't take that from anyone else. Except I did from The Liar. Another bad boy with emotional issues and a tough upbringing. and de Riguer. and one of the two men I met this weekend. And it's why, even though the Chemical Engineer I dated on Wednesday was amusing and fun and intelligent, I won't be seeing him again, Nor will I see the guy from South America who took me out for lunch on Saturday and was a perfect gentleman  either. I don't do perfect gentleman. Not for very long, anyway.

Technology pah!

Is it technology that gives us an advantage, or makes us opportunistic?

This week I received a random text message early one morning that was a wrong number. Maybe it’s because I’m completely frustrated with being at home and doing practically nothing, maybe it’s just because I’m me, but I answered – I certainly was anticipating that the texting would go on all day, nor was I expecting the questions I was asked, but how did it come to the point that a wrong number text and responding politely that I wasn’t the intended recipient turn into being asked to meet someone? Is this the new dating? Sending random, slightly intriguing texts off and hoping for a reply?  My attitude to this exchange was mildly amused – and curious as to how far it would go.

The transcript of the “conversation” is as follows:

J: Hey Kelly. Jerome here. Just got back from London. If you are free next week, I could hire you to try newly design high heels plus got some Jimmy Choos as well. Thanx

(Ok – it was the Jimmy Choo’s reference that made me respond – what shoe loving woman wouldn’t?!)

H: Hey you have the wrong number. But I do like the Jimmy Choo’s

J: I am so sorry. Whats ur name

H: Hehe, You’re fine! It’s H____

J: Hi H____. Nice name. Where do you live, H____? (at this point my eyebrows hit the roof, but fair enough I rationalised, could be anywhere in Australia)

H: Melbourne

J: Nice. Same. Do u wear high heels (at this point I decided I was going to anonymously push this as far as it would go – without compromising or endangering myself. I was also just waiting for it to go off the rails and get weird – and it did)

H: You said the magic words lol

J: Wow I might hire you for work. Whats the highest heel u got

H: I can’t at the moment. I’ve broken a bone in my left foot.

J: Can u send me a pic wearing ur highest high heel. So I can see ur legs and feet. (Okaaay – definitely weird)

H: There is no way I could do that kind of work. Feet are a mess and I have a tattoo on my ankle.

J: That’s ok. U don’t have to do catwalk. I can use ur legs and feet to get ideas (oh really?? – and here it comes...) How old r u though! (knows how to use an exclamation point, but not a question mark) I prefer  someone older than 35 and curvy

H: Lol 41 and yes, fit that criteria

J: Wow. Nice. Cam send me a pic I asked pls

H: I know you did but I can’t do shoe modelling

J: You can try on shoes to get me ideas (hmm – ideas about what???). U don’t have to walk

H: I more than likely couldn’t get my feet into them, believe me, I am the least suited person for this kind of work – whatever it is – that you could find

J: Do you like  massage (now this really resembles dodgy dating chat)

H: So this has nothing to do with shoes?

J: Lol I’m learning it. I need to practice

H: Hehe I’m sure you do.

J: I will pay for ur time. Would u like that

H: You want to pay me to practice massage? And what kind of massage are we talking about?

J: Relaxation massage

H: And that entails?

J: I will give you a full body massage

H: (inherent sarcasm) Oh. A full body massage, And you will pay me? Interesting.

J: Yea I would. Coz I’m learning.

H: You’re an interesting man, if a little mysterious, Jerome

J: Would u like that

A break ensued as I went about getting from the tram to my Dr’s appointment

J: Are u ok

H: Yes

J: Do u wana do it

J: How much do u want?

H: I don’t know anything about you

J: About me I’m 28, single. Was born in the UK. My parents are SriLankan. I’m a property investor , and a designer Are u happy with 70 for an hour

H: I’m not happy with any of it. Not the kind of thing I’d be comfortable with, but it’s been interesting

J: That’s ok. What do you do?

H: I[‘m an archivist/curator

J: Awesome what do you activist abt

H: Not activist ARCHIVIST

J: lol sorry

J: I would love to meet you !

H: Why?

J: Coz I like. You seems interesting

H: I am. But no thanks

So it concluded – there was no way I ever entertained the thought of meeting this person, and it reminded me of a telemarketing interview years ago, before mobile phones where I just happened to have recently bought a bed - and that's what the survey was about. I giggled and flirted my way through the questions, he giggled back and the interview went on for far longer than the proscribed time. End result was that he invited me to meet him, and I declined, breathless, but thrilled. A rather different experience this time. A couple of days earlier I had broken my own rule and agreed to go out with someone of about the same age – emotional blackmail, deleting contacts, cancelling, re arranging and then  a sulky disaster which ensued in the date not happening and more sulking ensued. I’m starting to have serious concerns regarding the mental instability of men who are interested in me. And why are so many men in their mid to late 20s interested in women of my age – what on earth possesses them to think that they could hold any interest for me.? Many of them seem astounded that intellectual attraction is just a beguiling as physical attraction. Should two people be lucky enough to find both, then wonderful – but I often find that as I get to know someone, the intellectual over-rides the physical.

On Sunday I chatted on-line with witty banter flying back and forth for almost four hours with someone. Then a three hour phone call last night – the meeting next week should be interesting, or a complete let-down....

Vagaries

Argh. Just lost 3 hours of work – now I need to start again...

How does one balance feelings? How many is too many? What constitutes a slut? And why, why, why is the elusive man  who cannot or will not be pinned down the most attractive? In all immodesty, why, when I have a number of dates to choose from is it the elusive one I want the most? And it’s a physical thing. My heart races and my brain scrambles. It’s a physiological imperative.

Okay, so while I have  been whiling my time away on the couch, I’ve also been investing my time in the on-line and off-line dating scheme. Being somewhat immobile is no excuse for not meeting and greeting – just very convenient that the nearest cafe is a minute’s walk away. The only problem is that it’s become all so complicated and confusing. Easy in concept, and more complicated in execution – of course it is. It involves real people with real feelings, including my own.

My favourite, best date in a long time got very complicated, messy even. Somebody say pear-shaped? Lots of baggage on both sides, and no storage lockers in which to park it. Suffice to say that there have been misunderstandings,  recriminations and explosions – the seriousness of which was brought home to me today when I learnt that the reason I’v e not heard anything from him for days is due to an arrest and incarceration in a psych ward in one of our largest regional cities for the past three days. The erratic behaviour makes sense now – and I’m left with an overwhelming sense of guilt. I don’t for a minute believe it’s my fault, but perhaps I should have paid attention a little more closely and read the warning signs a little better. I’m not narcissistic enough to think that I sent him over the edge, but my behaviour hasn’t been all that wonderful. Declarations of emotions, spectacular fights and over-reactions and great sex all in the space of five weeks is definitely not normal. And there is the fact that both the Liar and my ex-husband frequently  let me know that I was doing their heads in.

A question that keeps going through my head is why people end up in bed when it’s readily apparent that they should not. And I’m surprised at my self-deluding naivete with this man. If one calls someone after midnight, and he invites himself over, why am I surprised by what inevitably happens?  Denial?  Absolutely.  Abrogation of responsibility?  Perhaps.  But not about physical and chemical reactions between us And I really do understand now that his repeated litany of “It’s only sex” was an affirmation to himself  and not a  reality he was desperate to impress upon me.

I live in a world wherein my natural inclination toward a high libido is recognised in a semi-comedic, horror-struck relief by popular culture. – the character of Sam Jones in Sex and the City – I’m definitely not Sam, but there are character traits present in my personality. Friends who know me well accept this – some wholesale, others a little bemused and slightly disapproving. I value this, but also perceive the condemnation and admonishment implicit in our conversations that occasionally veer toward sex. Perhaps that’s my attraction to, and avoidance of recognising my feelings toward a man I struggle to be able to flippantly label. He’s important, and honest and recognises something in me, even though he cannot hope to return it, but he doesn’t deserve to be treated as though he’s disposable.

Afternoon Shift is a different proposition  altogether. The male version of me. Alarming thought. He shops, and bargain hunts , confesses to possession of too many clothes and shoes and boots. Spends a lot of time on ebay. He was also impressed and floored by my wardrobe – in a good way. He has a fragrance habit and while being addicted to tanning, he excuses his behaviour with the claim that he moisturises regularly.  Metrosexual to the hilt. He’s also funny, and constantly coming out with wry observations that make me really laugh, not just giggle. He’s easy to be with, and understands me and where I’m coming from. Lack of space will never be an issue with this guy. Oh and he’s really physically desirable.

So back to the question. How many is too many? Does anyone really care? Isn’t the most important thing to be true to one’s self, and try not to hurt anyone? Personally I don’t want to live in a world without hurt, because it only makes the good things so much better. The dating system in this country is unclear, it seems to be suspended between two traditions, American and British. Americans tend to play the field. It’s acceptable to date a number of people until two parties agree to be exclusive. The British model puts me in mind of serial monogamy. Dating is always exclusive and should another be deemed desireable, then break-ups ensue and the new pairing occurs. Except when the lines get blurry. It’s where cheating comes in. Last Friday I caught up with one of my supermarket guys. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in 8 months. Apparently he’s met THE ONE. So why was he trying to sleep with me? To test his feelings? To prove them? I don’t know about anyone else, but I wouldn’t tolerate it if I found out my boyfriend of 9 months had tried to hook up with another woman he had admittedly had a casual relationship with, just to see if he was sure he loved me. What I really resent however is the implication that because of said casual relationship I would agree to such an encounter. Needless to say I did not – and any feelings I had for him, however fleeting are now tainted. And I really, really resent being painted into a corner as the other woman. It’s my one, strong, adamant moral principal – I’ll never again see anyone who is even remotely attached.

Friday was a lesson and learning curve in all aspects. 4 dates – 2 unplanned and 3 of them spectacularly average and lacking in any way an earth shaking quotient. I often wonder why a man asks a woman to call him when it’s clearly apparent  that there is no chemistry. Not to say that there cannot be platonic sensibilities, but if a meeting has been full of awkward silences and I feel as though I have had an exhaustive work out in questionville, why would I wish to meet again and prolong or repeat the agony?  Something else I’ve learnt through experience is never to meet anyone without first having a conversation – accents and expressions are important! And I draw the line at going out with any man who calls me “Darl”. Ugh. Or “princess”.

On Friday I had a cup of tea with the Postie. A tattooed, snake-owning man who made me feel as though I’d had the proverbial work out. I’ve made this mistake once. I went out with a guy from work who works with one of my close friends. The Undateable man was painful to be with. I was exhausted by searching for questions to ask., a conversation to be held, and monosyllabic answers to everything. He’s also a pig at the table. Just because one is painfully shy and clearly isn’t comfortable in mixed company does not mean he should abandon any semblance of civilisation when eating,, or in this case, inhaling food. Ahem, I digress... The second was more articulate, but held absolutely no attraction for me.  Then there was the Painter, then the after midnight call.

I was supposed to meet someone on Saturday, but owing to lack of sleep, just couldn’t face it – I also couldn’t face the Sunday date at 12 and literally jumped for joy when the 2pm cancelled. Is it wrong to be that happy when someone cancels a date by text. I just wish he’d cancelled before I put my make up on. I couldn’t get out of my dress and into yoga pants and a t-shirt fast enough! All this was a prelude to being contacted by De Riguer. And the knowledge of where my heart lies. Out of the blue, blinding and devastating. My elusive object of desire. Months of silence and a text leaves me shattered and disturbed. Curse technology! This man had my heart at hello (clichéd as that may be) and clearly still does considering my reaction. So what’s wrong with me? Unfathomable,  and infallibly human. Is that what I’m seeking now? I thought I wanted a great sexual partner who is emotionally available and who knows how to pack and park any baggage. My actions and reactions deny this. Why shouldn’t I aim high and refuse to settle? Is that what multiple dating is about? History dictates that I am not happy with settling, nor am I happy in trying to fit a square peg in a round hole and going through the motions of a conventional relationship. I cannot reconcile myself to a life with someone who is not perfect for me – and I don’t mean perfect in the eyes of anyone else, just me. No Cinderella complex, but an aberration of that – I want what I want what I want. Thus I date, and date and date.

The On-line Conundrum

I'll be the first to confess, just like the real world, the on-line world can be confusing, depressing amusing. Reading between the lines is just as difficult as all the unspoken things that fo on between two people when they first meet. The on-line introduction should make things easier - but it doesn't. While I'm often flippant about this forum, it's sometimes hard to sort the wheat from the chaff, and have a good perspective on things. One needs to be thick skinned. There are bores, narcissists, and the very very strange and it's easy to give in to despair. The other night however, I discovered a much more fun way to deal with things - my housemate and I sat down together and went on-line. It was hilarious! We could compare bad profiles, giggle at awful photos and exchange shrieks of delight or horror. Much more fun browsing with someone to confirm one's thoughts than alone. She also introduced me to something I'd not indulged in in the on-line world., the concept of browsing profiles. I confess - I've never actually gone searching on dating sites - I've always just reponded either yes or no to requests or messages.

We dug up some horrors - the guy who was so proscriptive about the kind of women he did not want to meet (about 750 words worth who then scathing concluded his diatribe wit hthe disclaimer that he did n't believe that there was anyone out there because no one had ever sent him a contact request - hmmm, I wonder had the concept that why - his negative, misogynist post, dismissing most of the female population of Melbourne might have something to do with this?).

Whether spurred on by my compadre, or in the interest of providing fodder for my social experiment I accepted requests from two men I never normally would. The first was a 20 year old with a set of ridiculous photographs. The universe is eternally confusing - he turned out to articulate, witty and interesting. I just hope he understands why I deleted him - as well as the aforementioned blooming romance, I am NEVER going to date a man who is 20, and lives at home with his parents and sister (who has just had a baby) in Hoppers Crossing. The other was one of those incredibly vain profiles - no photo (which I never usually respond to). He described how extremely good looking he was, and how great he is in bed - now I know it was the wine and the hilarity of shared incredulity and mirth but this was beyond the pale. An exchange of "hi's"and then a message that read "You look like a sex maniac'. All over in 2 minutes. Delete profile. And cacklle hysterically. I wonder if I am doing something wrong? Are we supposed to respond in kind? My response would have been, "Can't say the same... don't know what you look like". But I'm jaded - and can't be bothered. Meanwhile my housemate was receiving the my most hated question - "What are you looking for?". I suggested my standard response: World Peace and a p-acket of Tim Tams that never runs out. It's my wheat/chaff sorter. I was reminded of a date I'd gone on. I met the guy without knowing what he looked like. In typical Melbourne fashion the weather put on a spectacular show, and so I sheltered in the doorway of a convenience store at the designated meeting point and enduring the embarrassment of asking several men who were only sheltering from the storm whether they were the guy I was waiting for. He eventually turned up and was NOTHING  akin to his description. The type of bald that is cringe-worthy (comb-over). A bad 70s style moustache (compensation for the lack of hair????) and a physique that was so far from the described athletic" it was unbelievable. Dinner was excruciating - as he sat opposite me,stripping me with his beady, protruding eyes, and his lizard like tongue moistening his pale lips, I felt as though I was on the menu. I couldn't wait to get away. I think he's been in this situation before, as I waited for the end of the meal, and my opportunity to pay and walk away he snuck off and paid the bill. Of course then I felt obligated to go and have a drink after dinner. He decided we should go to the Gin Palace, all the while talking about his joy of meeting women who are sexually like-minded and free. UGGGGHHHH. Okay - so to end the torment I told him I was going to the ladies, and escaped out into the rain. I actually ran full pelt down the alley and around the corner and then collapsed laughing not a little hysterically and gasping for air. Never again will I organise a meeting with someone who won't post a photo. Oh, and I'm a lot better now at just saying no when someone I don't have any connection with turns up. I don't do dinner as a first date either - it's much easier to walk away from a coffee or a drink than it is a dinner. All that's needed is a little balance and perspective. While I can sit and laugh at this now, I was terrified at the time - the sleazy guy who manipulated and controlled and wouldn't take no for an answer - escaping a dark , basement bar is an adventure now, but a nightmare at the time, and not something anyone should have to endure. Of course there's all kinds of crazy in the real world too - and sometimes I wonder, if a guy wants to have sex, or get a blow=job so badly that he will try intimidating a woman into it, why won't he just pay for it? At least the transaction is more honest - or is that the problem? The lies he has told himself are bigger and all-encompassing, and he can't see that by intimidating a woman to the point where she "consents" to have sexual congress with him out of fear or obligation isn't worse than handing over a few dollars????
At  least on-line there's the ability to walk away more easily, but sometimes that['s not the case. I've encountered complete and utter nut cases - one in particular cyber stalked me - and I do mean it. This was an older gent with a screw loose and a propensity for delusion. He sent me daily messages which contained highly detailed erotic fantasises. When I didn't respond he took it further - he found out my name, and where I lived and posted threatening emails. He constructed a fake profile on a sex website where he had photoshopped my face on to explicit pornographic pictures and advertised me as available for gang-bangs, then sent me the link and threatened to send it to all of my workmates. Stupidly he had attached his real name to my messages - so I googled him, found out a bit about him, and with the help of The Liar, fought back. He had been a lawyer, or was qualified as one - so when I threatened to go to the police with everything and mentioned the penalties for  identity theft and stalking he desisted. It could have been so much worse, but it wasn't. I was lucky, but I am now always careful - no full  names, no email contact and no hints on-line as to where I work - I never want to have to deal with anything like that again. Then again, as Mr B is wont to say: I do tend to collect strange men!