All The Small Things

So things today did not go as planned.

GM called at lunch time to say that he has the flu and won't be able to make it.

No worries. You're sick, head on home to bed.

Sure, I'll catch up with you tomorrow.

 

So I just realised that I'm actually going out with my beautiful girlfriends tomorrow night, so I call his house up to tell him that I'm not going to be free. I'm going on a trip tomorrow morning, and I won't be home till late, and I think its a) rude to cancel, and b) rude to cancel at the last minute.

So yeah, I ring to cancel. And he's not home.

????????????

 

My mum used to have a rule. If you were too sick to go to school, you were too sick to go out after school hours.

While I think hanging out with me is heaps more fun than school ever was (though sometimes the uniforms are the same!) the rule should still apply. If you're too sick to go out with me, you're too sick to go out. Surely.

And while I'm not a violent, jealous, nasty bitch by nature, if I find I have been ditched in favour of footy training, I'm not going to be a very happy camper.

I’m not giving him the old heave ho or anything – exactly the opposite actually.

 

Tomorrow I’m going to introduce GM to my beautiful Nicky.

 

And then to my family.

 

I’m a bit torn about how I feel about the whole situation I guess. I’m not even remotely concerned about him meeting Nicky – I know that she’s just going to love him. There is something just infinitely likable about him. I think it’s the no-BS factor. Children are particularly good at picking people who are full of crap, and Nicky is a superb judge of character.

 

As for him liking her, well he just better. Because she’s my girl and I love her, and liking her is not a negotiable trait in a prospective partner. If he doesn’t like her then that will be it. All over red rover.

 

Again, I’m not terribly worried that that will happen. She’s just about the most delicious little person you’ve ever laid eyes on, and she’s an angel child. She’s very lovable. Takes after her mother really. *dusts knuckles on shirt*

  

My family on the other hand is an interesting prospect.

 

I can see that he will get along with my Dad – if anything I’d be more concerned that he’ll end up (like so many before him) preferring to spend time with my Dad than with me. They have a fair bit in common.

 

Mum on the other hand I can see being completely perplexed by him. She’s a very spiritual person, and she’s on this kick at the moment about your body being a reflection of your emotional state.

 

In which case I’m sure she’s going to have a field day with him!

  

Tomorrow night we are also going out on our very first DATE! We had this discussion on Sunday morning about how we’d never actually been out on a date before. And he say’s “I’m a bit slack aren’t I. Have to do something about that I reckon.”

 

I said it didn’t really bother me. And it doesn’t. While I appreciate romance, and being squired about like a princess, and hitting the town with a hot man on my arm as much as the next person, I don’t need that from him. He treats me so beautifully each and every time that I see him that I really don’t need him to do anything else. I know that I’ve had a sook in the past when men just jumped the dating stage and leapt into couch cuddles in slippers stage.

 

I don’t feel that we’ve jumped the dating stage at all. I don’t feel that he’s taking me for granted, or that he doesn’t think that I’m worth the effort of taking out, which is where I was coming from in my previous sooks.

 

It feels so very different with GM.

 

I prefer the natural, gentle, homely way that our relationship is developing. He treats me like I’m something incredibly precious and valuable, and the way he looks at me makes me feel so very beautiful.

  

I hope everything goes well tomorrow.

GM and I are still disgustingly happy and spending much time gazing adoringly into each others eyes, which, I’m sure you’ll agree is as boring as bat shit to read about. 

(NB: This in no way means that you’ll never have to wade through another post on this subject, merely that I am writing on something else this evening.)

  

So this week I have found myself missing my little sister.

 

Which is odd, because I never see her anyway. And when I do see her she just stabs me malevolently with her pointy sharp serrated eyeball knives.

 

Perhaps I am just used to the fires of hatred that she keeps burning just for me… and now that she’s moved to the other side of this little blue planet, I’m missing the radiant warmth that that provided.

 

The issue is I guess that she moved away and nothing was resolved before she left. I wasn’t invited to her going away party, then we had a family dinner on the last night, to which I was invited under sufferance. Realistically, I was invited because it would have upset my grandparents if I wasn’t. It was made very clear to me that I was not welcome there.

 

My sister didn’t speak to me all night, instead sitting beside Mr. D. and Shell, who had invited themselves along.  Actually Mr. D. was invited, Shell invited herself along. Along with her son, who proceeded to jump all over my grandparents, sit on my sisters knee and basically knock Nicky out of the road wherever possible. Little Brat.

 

I was so shirty that they had come along. Mr. D., ok. I can see that. He knows all my family, and they love him. Shell? She’s an insecure, water retaining, overly fertile, contraception deficient, hormonal fool. Ok, so she’s friends with my sister. She should have gone to the going away party, not the family dinner. And her brat? I would have cheerfully taken him out to the car park and let him play in the traffic. Nicky shouldn’t have to compete with his fat little boof head for the attention of her grandparents and great-grandparents. I’m sure his own family think that the sun shines out of him, but all I can see is an overfed, overindulged, personality deficient, not particularly bright, attention seeking oxygen thief.

 

And yeah, I am feeling a bit harsh tonight. I can remember a time when I thought that they were both great, and I was happy to have them along to family things. Ahh, the halcyon days before she grew a foetus and horns, and before he started calling Mr. D. Dad.

 

What was my point? Right you are. So this dinner was an exercise in awkwardness. My sister fawned all over Shell, whilst pointedly ignoring me. Ok, Ok, I get it. You hate my guts. You don’t need to grease up to Shell to rub it in.

 

She did give me a very half hearted kiss goodbye when she left, however, this was negated by her then moving on to Mr. D. and Shell and falling apart and having a big showy sob over how much she was going to miss them. Puh – leese.

  

A bright moment in an otherwise depressing week with her leaving was that she dropped off a heap of stuff at Mum and Dads, including a big photo frame, full of pictures of her friends and *shock* her family.

 

Including two photos of me.

 

Never ever ever did I think that I would see my sister with photos of me. She had three big photo boards on her wall at my mum and dads when she lived there, and I wasn’t on any of them. In some cases, she’d cut me out of the photos, in others, she’d tacked someone else over the top of me.

 

So I was very pleasantly surprised to see myself on there. It made me think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t hate me as much as she says that she does.

 

But of course, now she’s gone and I won’t get to see her for another twelve months, let alone be able to talk to her about the ifs and how-much-es of her hatred for me.

  

It upsets me knowing that there won’t be any sort of resolution to this situation for that long.

 

So yeah, this week I’m missing my sister.

 

I do hope that her trip is everything that she wishes for it to be, and that the Japanese feed her some sort of mystical cookie that heals her heart and soul, whatever it is that ails her.

So I think we've all gathered that GM and I are doing the deed.

Hiding the sausage.

Kicking goals.

Doing each other like a dinner.

And so on.

Now there comes a time in each girls life when she has to make a decision. Latex or chemicals? Or shall I just get him neutered?

(I'm biding my time on that last one...)

So I decided that latex works for Halley Berry, but it really doesn't do much for me.

Chemicals on the other hand, do a lot for a lot of people, so I'm told.

So I'm officially outing myself as a chemical girl. But not just your average run of the mill chemical girl! If you're going to do something, might as well do it properly.

So today I went and got what looks like a miniture stick of plutonium stuck in my arm, juuuuust under the skin, so you can still feel it. (Gotta go for the ewww factor - its so sexy mmmmm)

For the record, it hurt like a bitch. And it better work, 'cos I don't think taking it out would tickle either.

 

So now I am free to have mucho mucho sex*. Hooray for Chemicals!

 

*Which I'm still not going to tell you about. Dirty buggers.

 

Today I had a beautiful girlfriend in at work, the one that I helped move not that long ago.

We were talking about Sassville, and she was telling me that she'd been speaking to her mother.

She said that she'd told her mum that they wouldn't be moving back to where they'd come from, they'd be staying here.

I remember the first time we met, she was telling me about how unhappy she was, and how much she missed her old home. I really didn't think that she'd stay.

So I said "Are you happy here then?"

She started to cry. "I've never had friends like I've got here. I was there for 8 years, and I never had such good friends."

I started to cry too.

 

We really do have the most magnificent group of girlfriends here.

 

It got me to thinking, that in my life I've been so incredibly blessed. I have a bunch of girlfriends that I've been friends with since primary school, more who joined the team in high school. We might not talk much, God, on the whole, we are some of the worst damn communicators out. But I think that we all know that if one called up and needed us, we'd be there.

No questions. No excuses. Just be there.

 

And now I'm in this new place, a different life really. And I have this new group of friends, and they are equally as amazing as my school friends. Obviously we don't have the collective history that the original crew do, but in some other and more intrinsic way, the relationships are quite similar.

 

My "old" friends, we may not see each other for a year, or even more, and when we get together it just clicks. We aren't talking about old stuff, we're talking about our lives as they are now. I think we probably have a knowledge of the souls of the people in our group. We don't know stuff about each other, we know each other on that deeper level. The level that allows you to crumble the walls and not talk shit about being fine when you aren't. There isn't anything remotely bullshit about our friendships, no pretending, or faking.

The sort of friendships that will endure forever, I sincerely hope.

 

My new friends are much the same. We don't have any pretentions in our relationships. We cry, support and are there for each other.

I don't think that most people have that sort of relationship even with their school friends, which is truly sad. I think you need people who knew you when you were young and stupid and naive, when you had a mullet (nb: I had some terrible haircuts as a younger person), or wore flannel, or dated complete dickheads. People who can remind you how far you've come, who can tell embarrassing stories to your kids or at your milestone birthdays.

I think as you get older it becomes harder to make friendships that are of this quality. Sure, we make friends at work, or in our sporting clubs, with the neighbours or at playgroup. But these can be transient. A new job, a new house, an injury, kids growing up. These things tear away at the fabric of those friendships, until you have nothing left in common and they disintergrate.

I really do feel very blessed that I've got the most incredible friends in my life. Both those who are spread round the countryside, near and far, and those with whom I get to share Sassville.

 

Here endeth the sap.

 

And for your patience: Have you ever heard oral sex referred to as special kisses? Discuss.

I have heard it said that the opposite of love is fear.

Not anger. Not hatred.

Fear.

 

So am I afraid of falling in love?

Its interesting you know. Two days ago, when I wrote that last post, I was absolutely terrified. I was thinking about the pain that I'd experienced in the past, the potential that GM had to harm me. The rawness of my heart, and how exposed I felt. How terribly terribly vulnerable.

I guess a couple of days has allowed those feelings to wear off a little. Or maybe I've just decided that on the balance, even taking into account the pain that I've experienced in the past, this relationship is worth it.

Have you ever heard that song, "The Dance"? Its by Garth Brooks. It was Mr. D. and my song, way back in the day. It completely sums up how I'm feeling at the moment.

Today I'm feeling more settled about the whole thing.

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared beneath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance

Holding you I held everything
For a moment wasn't I the king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance

Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I'd of had to miss the dance.

When you think about it, thats the crappest song that you could possibly choose as "your song". It just screams THIS RELATIONSHIP IS DOOMED!!! DOOOOOOOOMMMMMMEEEEDDDDD!!!

(Hey Look! The song was right! LOL) 

Mmmm. Yummy. Steaming hot irony.

 

Where was I? Right you are...

I look back on the relationships that I have had in the past. Not the silly little ones, I'm not talking about "play" relationships here. I'm talking about the big ones.

The first guy with whom I fell desperately in love. The rather spectacular and public ending that ensued. Would I have changed it, if I knew? Knowing now what I know now? NO.

No I wouldn't have. Was it embarassing and crushing and horrific? Yes. Did it take me a long time to get over? Yes. Was it the hardest thing I'd ever done? At the time, yes. Did it almost break me? Yes.

But...

Did it make me grow up, become strong and teach me some incredibly valuable lessons? Yes. Did it shape the person that I am today? Without a doubt. Did it stop me from seeking out happiness? NO! Did I score some excellent bling? YES!

On the balance, in the long term, a positive life experience for me personally.

 

Mr. D.: Would I have changed it, if I had known what I know now? No. No I wouldn't have. I loved every minute of our relationship. I love our daughter. I love the gifts that he gave me - independence, honesty, integrity, and trust. I love that our relationship was the catalyst that made me the person that I am today. I really like the person that I am now.

OK, so right now is a bit on the shite side.

But again, on the balance, in the long term, a positive.

 

GM: I know this feeling. This feeling is foetal stage love.

I would love to have some sort of written, iron clad agreement that I'm not going to get hurt, and that I won't hurt him. God knows, that is just as bad, hurting someone that you care for. But I'm not going to get it.

So instead, I will focus on enjoying every single minute of this cloud floating, dream sequence, ever so slightly enebriated feeling that is love.

I don't know how this is going to end.

But I'm willing to take the chance and hope like hell that it doesn't end.

 

In related news and talking about things that never end, I puppy sat for my little brother this weekend. I have never seen a little dog produce so much crap. Seriously. My delightful dad said that he's a Turner. He turns food into crap. A never ending sausage of crap.

There is a reason that I do not have a dog at my house. It is a four letter word starting with SH and ending in IT and it is from one end of my yard to the other. Ewwwwwwwww.

Da Na Na NAAAA

Last night was the first public outing for GM and I as a coupled up countrified pair.

Off we headed to a Public Hall in the middle of a paddock in the middle of nowhere. It took me 40 minutes to get there, and when I arrived, the hall was full and festivities were well underway. Which basically meant that there were many, many drunk people attempting to answer musical trivia questions.

Of course, I'm sitting at a table with GM, who very cutely held my hand throughout the evening while we were sitting at the table, and my two beautiful next door neighbours, and some other lovely young folks whom I had previously met but not actually spent much time with. Making new friends makes the baby Jebus smile.

It was most interesting to watch the folks around as they mentally processed what they were seeing before them. They would look. Blink. Look again. Nudge the person beside them. Two would look. Brows furrowed. Enlightnement dawns, suprise is evident. Smiles.

End of the night saw us less than victorious unfortunately, but not disgraced, which I thought was a damn shame as the prize for the wooden spooners was a block of chocolate each, and I think we all know about my deep and committed relationship with Mr. Cadbury.

At the end of the night, we were standing outside the hall watching as the rest of the tanked up audience got into their cars and drove home. As they left, groups would stop and say goodbye to us, as they knew either myself or GM or both. It was lovely to catch up with some folks that I hadn't seen in a while, while also slightly horrifying to see that drink driving is still alive and well in the country.

"Its only 8km down that road, I'll just follow the white line" said one gentleman who should have been old enough to know much much better.

Favourite thing about this farewell format:

• The number of young farmer types who'd been eyeing us all night who came over to introduce themselves...
• and to find out in stage whispers from GM if "this is the new missus" or my personal favourite "Is this Mrs GM?"
• GM put his arm around me and was obviously as pleased as I was to be standing there proclaiming our coupliness.
• That there was an equal split of people telling each of us that the other was lovely and that we'd made a good decision in choosing them.
• We got to say goodbye to everyone, and so the news should be well spread by Monday.

From there, I was being asked if we were going back to Club GM. Which apparently the name given to parties hosted by my lovely man at his place. There was already a party underway, and we were heading back to it. Turns out that there was 5 of us going back, and boy oh boy, was it an eye opener.

Firstly, the music. While GM and I share quite similar tastes, the stereo was under the control of some of the other guests and GM's little brother, who was holding the party. Death Metal was the flavour of the evening, and I think it would be fair to say that I'm not a big fan. It just sounds like noise to me. I appreciate that its a stereotypical viewpoint to suggest that such music is the domain of depressed and suicidal goths, with greasy hair and stinky vans and lots of drugs at their disposal and in their systems, it was the last type of music I would have expected these wholesome farmboys to be listening to.

If listening is the right word. It was so loud that the music was almost tangible. I felt like I was swimming in it. It made me feel kindof dirty and wobbly, like I'd been driving for a long time at high speed down a bumpy dirt track in a convertable. I wanted a panadol and a hot shower.

In stark contrast there was an incredibly talented young man playing guitar and singing in the kitchen, creating a beautiful soundtrack for those playing pool. Am I the only person who gets completely swept away with the talent of live performers and falls a little in lust with them? Probably.

GM was a perfect wonderful companion throughout the evening, and we went to bed at about 2am. I'm not going to give details, mainly 'cos that would just be feeding CK's addiction to smut, but I will say this... Isn't it nice when things, just, work.

There was much deep converstation over the course of the night, because despite hitting the pillows at 2am, we didn't actually go to sleep until 6.30am.

I love talking to him. He's measured and considered in his opinions, he asks intelligent questions, and he speaks his mind. I like that a lot. And he's really willing to discuss his feelings, not in an OTT irritating way, but in a "this is what I'm feeling" way. That's actually quite helpful, and I like it. He's very funny too, and he makes me laugh. The best part is that we seem to be on the same wavelength all the time - it all just clicks.

I know that there have been a number of men appearing and disappearing lately in my life, most recently the dancing man. Most of these men I could list positive traits for and had a genuine affection for at the time. But I daresay you would have noticed that I could find fault with them immediately, something about them that I wouldn't like to live with, or that they would have to change if they wished to maintain a relationship with me.

I don't have that with GM. I just like him *exactly* as he is. Undoubtedly he has faults, no-one is perfect (except maybe... me) and I'm sure that they will become evident over time, but for now, I can't see any at all. And having spent a significant amount of time with him over the past two weeks, for me that is almost a record!

And you know what?

It feels like love to me.

I've been head over heels twice in my life before, and this is what it felt like.

 

 

But I'm so very desperately afraid of that particular emotion that I'm avoiding those three little words like they are carrying live ebola in open test tubes.

The very idea of making myself that vulnerable again scares the crap out of me.

And that my dears, is a whole other post.

Comments are now enabled for ALL visitors! Yay!

Thursday, another day of rearranging furniture in heels. For the record, heels are potentially the stupidest thing ever invented.

My toes are squooshed in this rediculous pointy-toed disaster that is supporting my weight while simultaenously bequeathing me a lifetime of backpain.

One wonders at the engineering marvel that is the strappy stilletto, and wonders why we have not yet managed to solve the problem of renewable energy. Surely some of the minds currently applying their undoubtable talents to making a 2 inch spiked heel stay on my foot with nothing but a thin strip of ribbon could be put to better use? Perhaps we could leave stilletto designing as a task for next years Big Brother housemates, and get the others cracking on a darling pink sequinned solar panel with matching handbag and iPod skin?

Anyways.

Tomorrow is Friday. New Shoes Day in Sassville. I am off to purchase some blunnys. (Do you love the bumpkinness of that? Blunnys. Say it like Shannon Noll would and thats what I'm talking about.) I require these quintessentially australian farmer-type shoes to pot about on the farm with GM.

I shall also need to buy some tracksuit pants, or jeans that can get dirty. Make a list would you? Thanks ever so.

 

What does it say about me that these items have been missing from my wardrobe for at least the last four years? I own, in total, 4 pairs of flat shoes. 1 set of ballet slipper style flatties, 1 pair of dressy thongs, and a pair of slip on canvas shoes with a funky print, and a set of sneakers that used to belong to my little sister (I only have these because someone asked me to play tennis once, and she let me keep them when I borrowed them). Thats it. The other (20 odd) pairs lurking beneath my bed are nearly all stillettos.

My clothes are dressy, or cute, or fairly new, and not suitable for pulling calves in. I do not wish to get afterbirth on my new jeans. I do not wish to get afterbirth on my cute shoes. I do not wish to have cow poo spurted diahorrea style over anything that currently calls my wardrobe home.

Except maybe the "Staff" Rugby Jumper that I scored at my last job... that will save me buying a jumper at least. You needn't put jumper on the list. But I do need some bread, and red onions. Ta.

The whole "what do I wear" thing isn't really something that I struggle with that much these days. I knows what I likes, and I wears it with aplomb. But I'm supposed to go out tomorrow night with GM and a bunch of his mates, and I'm at a loss. He doesn't (phew) but the rest of them tend to favour big belt buckles, jeans, flannel, and of course, blunnys. Its our first public event, and I'm embarrassed to say that I'm quite nervous about it. But hey, I know them all anyway right? They know I dress like a citychick comparitively speaking. And they already like me, so thats half the battle of meeting the new beau's friends.

I think its more that I'm worried about what they are going to think of GM and I getting together. You know sometimes when people start dating their friends make comments like "he/she isn't good enough"? Well I've been getting a fair bit of it in town in the last few days, since the words gotten around that we are together. "Why on earth would you want to go out with GM?"

Because he's sweet and gentle and charming and funny and clever and I like him and he likes me and its easy to be together and I enjoy his company and I think he's just gorgeous and when he smiles I can't help but smile back at him and he holds me like I'm breakable and I know that he understands that my heart is a gift not given lightly and he treats me like I'm precious and valuable. Thats why. Of course, you can't say that to these people. They have an idea that he's just a stupid farmboy with a penchant for writing off cars, and they make it very clear that they think I could do better. Thats so rude.

I know we've discussed this before, and here it is - the situation that I said I would hate. God, I'm so predictable!

Is he the most suitable match for me? From the outside, probably not. I drive like a granny, he's written off a number of cars. Six to be precise. I'm an officious, articulate, paperwork loving computer nerd in stillettos. He's a dairy farmer who favours flannelette and uses his words sparingly. But from the inside of this relationship, we share very similar core values. We like the same things as far as music, tv, movies go.

He's very much more intelligent than others give him credit for. I think that they forget that he was educated in Melbourne for a number of years, taking full advantage of everything the city had to offer. He isn't a yokel, he just loves and chooses to live in the country, and he is very, very good at what he does. He's driven to be the best at his chosen career, and I can relate to that. He's very willing to share his world with me too, and these things make me think that yes, we are actually quite well suited.

So in the last week or so I have been learning the difference between the cows that you eat, the ones that you milk, the ones that you breed with because they have little baby cows, the ones that you "lop the heads off and sell", and the sort of cow (ie: not a cow, a bull) that you buy in straws.

There have been many, many, many too-much-information moments. However, I quite enjoy learning new things, and I'm sure it'll all come in useful one day. Until that day, I shall store the graphic mental image of how you give a cow a C-Section. And what you do if said C-Section is done from the wrong side and you have to take the guts out and then the calf, then wash off and replace the guts before stitching up the hole.

Yes. I know.

I'm sorry I had to hear it too.

What can I say, I'm a caring sharing sort of gal.

And on that note, I think this little thesis on the country love and life and footware is quite long enough. Goodnight!

*skips off to the farm humming something about a milkmaid*

I had the funniest thought in the shower this morning.

I wrote the whole post in my head, each sentence was a study in grammatical brilliance.

It had everything, humour, witty social commentary, a moral to take away and chew on.

And I've completely forgotten what it was, that thought. It was good though.

 

Thanks for letting me share.

Mood: Awesome

Well, first order of business: Gorgeous Man.

He hasn't forgotten me! Hooray!!! In fact, he rang me tonight, to see how my weekend was, and to organise a catch up during the week. How impressed am I that he didn't forget! I was a tad concerned that he might you know. So Yay. Thats one less thing to worry about. I'll be heading out to his place on Tuesday night.

I was pleasantly surprised by his house. His room was big, clean, and as tidy as you could expect a room belonging to a boy to be. He has one of those fridges with a computer in the front. My first instinct was to go "OOOOhhhh, AAAAhhhh, what an awesome fridge" and to run over and start punching buttons to see what would happen, but I didn't want him to think me all uncouth and stuff, so I restrained myself.

What I couldn't restrain myself from was exclaiming over was another kitchen inhabitant though. THE POOL TABLE. Yeah. The pool table. What kind of person has a pool table in their kitchen, but no dining table anywhere in the house? My kind of man, thats who. You just know that you aren't ever going to be asked to host a dinner party for a man like that. I'm becoming more enamoured of him each and every minute. I'm totally prepared to balance my plate on my knees for this man.

Hey, I know its a sacrifice, but I'm going to take this one for the team.

"Thanks Sass"

You're welcome team. (My team has excellent manners.)

 

 

Second: The weekend.

My weekend was yet again, brilliant. I think I'd die of shock if I ever had a shitty weekend.

Friday night consisted of me getting dressed up like this:

,

I had the most incredible costume, including the hat with the feather. And the glasses. I looked the witchy poo goodness. I was told far too many times during the evening that I am Maggie Smith to a tee. What is most disturbing about this is that I haven't actually seen the film, so I must exude an air of snotty bitch with a heart of gold naturally. Those who know me in real life are welcome to comment on that one.

So post Potter, I went along to the pub (yes, I was still in costume) to procure a bottle of vodka. Hilarity ensued.

So once I'd gotten my vodka, my odd looks and jibes, I swished from the bar in a flurry of cape and headed for home. I was met there by Becks, who you may remember from about a fortnight ago. We had lined up to hit the pubs and get messy. It seemed like a really good idea at the time... I guess it always does, doesn't it.

So we decided that we were both on a budget, so we'd put away some voddy before heading down. Fiscally responsible aren't we?! So we had two glasses each, which equated to half a bottle, and off we toddled.

We did the usual, pool, beverages, dancing and laughter. It was freaking awesome. You know those friends who you just trust so much that you can't help yourself but let loose and have an incredibly good time as a result? I tend to be a bit more careful usually, but when Becks is around, I know he has my back, so its all good.

Things of note from the evening:

• I cut my hand open turning on a lightswitch. It hurt like a bitch once I sobered up, but I didn't actually realise that I'd done it until I saw the blood streaming from my palm. Don't ask why I was playing with the lightswitch, just be comforted by the fact that the owner of the establishment in question loves me to death and lets me do as I wish.
• I got behind the bar and poured my very first beer. It was terrible, but it was mine all mine. I practiced heaps, and I got better. It was good stuff.
• The new bartender at the Sassville asked me out. He was quite persistant, I'd have to give him that. Even when I told him that I was seeing someone.
• In the end, we saw him at the footy the next day, and he gave his phone number to Becks. That cracked me up. Becks has a boyfriend!! Hilarity.

I do believe hilarity is the word of the day. Hilarity. Hilarity. Hilarity. Say it thrice, it makes you feel good on the inside of your mouth. Like papadum. Its a user friendly word.

Anywhoo. So we headed home after the pub, and I cooked us the Worlds Best Omelette. Six eggs, 300gr bacon, an onion, and a shiteload of capsicum and cheese. Yum. Eeeee. We scarfed it down, and started in on coffee. Becks was still feeling adventurous, so he spiked his.

Then we realised that it was like 5am, so we decided it was time to go to bed. So we got our water going, and crashed. Up we got at 12, and cooked some greasies, washed some dishes, showered up, then we headed down to the footy.

Footy was cool, particularly the bit where we walked past one of the girls who hates me ('cos I'm beautiful) and she then had some sort of attack and ambulances came and stuff. I'm not claiming that I caused said attack...

But...

Wouldn't it be funny if I did cause it though?? Me walking by with Becks, and her all "That bitch! She's got another hot man on her arm, and I'm still ugly with a shit personality and no man! I can't breathe I'm so angry at God! Oh my God, I can't breathe!! Call an ambulance stat!"

He he he he he.

I'm a vindictive bitch sometimes. But hey, if she can hate me just because I took a man from her once, then I can make fun of the fact that she hates me. (And that she is ugly and has no personality, which is why I could tempt that particular gent away from her in the first place. Mrs Macca was there, she can totally vouch for me.)

Anyways, Becks and I had a great time at the footy, then went back to town, grabbed a coffee, then I went and picked up my beautiful Nicky, and went home. Today Nicky and I had a lovely day, we went to visit my parents, had lunch in town, and basically bummed. Its nice to be able to do that I think.

Thats all I've got for now folks, so I'm going to wish you all a very sweet goodnight, and toddle off to nigh nighs.

 

It would appear that my computer has been taken by the Germans.

 

Thats right. I feel more violated than Poland.

 

So I'm attempting to do this by braille, and if it doesn't work, well, bugger it. It obviously wasn't supposed to see the light of day.

 

Onwards to the NEWS OF THE DAY!!

So my last entry bemoaned my unceramonious dumping by that cad of a man, Gorgeous Boy.

 It bothered me all week, like an itch I couldn't scratch.

    I like him

        Why doesn't he like me

              He said he liked me

                    Why has he changed his mind

    What a rude bugger for changing his mind and not telling me why.

 

And so on.

Meanwhile, I'm talking to my dear friend at the Bakery, and he's telling me that he's giving the lad a hard time about it, because he's mad not to want me.

And his mum is telling me that she's giving him a hard time, because he's mad not to want me.

 

And so I'm feeling like he must be thinking "Who is this mad woman who is setting these people on me to nag me to go out with her?? She's deranged... THATS why I don't want her."

When we all know that I may not be completely following the co-ordinates of life, but I'm not completely off the map.

 

So last night I decided that I'd had enough. A quick drive for reconnaisance discovered that he was indeed at home.

So I dash home, and call him up. He sounds pleased to hear from me, I ask if I can come see him to talk, and he quickly agrees.

Back in the car, and I drove like Brocky to get to his place, which, for the record is 22.5km from my house up some of the most windy dodgy backroads you have ever imagined. Top speed on my bald tyres was 87k/ph, which considering was pretty dashed fast. And it inspired me to buy new tyres today. But thats another story.

 

So anyway, I get out to his place, and he's eating his dinner. I plonk (in a ladylike fashion, as I was still in my work gear, and looking the goods) down on the other couch and we chatter away for a while.

He apologised for forgetting me, and explained that he's forgetting a lot of things lately.

I accepted, and apologised for the grief he was getting from other folks for forgetting.

"Thats one good thing about it," he say's "I get to forget that too!"

So we chat on for a couple of hours, his brother (who has just moved in with him) comes in, eats his dinner, leaves to go shooting. We talk some more.

Eventually, its getting quite late and I think I have to say something.

"So, what is this GM?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Well, thats not very helpful! We're mates right?"

"Oh yeah, of course"

"Right. Good. And do you wish to be more than mates?"

"Well, um, its a bit hard. Everythings just a bit hard at the moment. I'm all up in the air, and I don't know what I'm doing."

"Its not that hard. You either like me or you don't. I won't be offended if you don't, I just need to know."

"Nah, I like you heaps"

"Good! I like you too. I like you a lot. So what do you want to do about that?"

 

It continued in this vein for a while, I won't bore you with the details, but in the end, this is what it came down to.

He didn't think that I'd want to go out with him because of the problems he's having as a result of the accident.

He didn't even say that straight up though, he was talking about how he's not doing as well as he'd hoped he'd be doing, and he was worried about it, and I said, well you know I really don't care about that stuff. Your legs could drop off for all I care, I like YOU. Just the way you are.

"Really?" He says.

"Really." I say. 

"Well thats what I was worried about."

"So what does that mean?"

"I'd love to see you. I'd love to spend time with you. I'd love for you to be my girl."

 

WOO HOO.

 

So, by this stage it was really late (quarter to one for those playing at home) and he asked if I'd like to stay the night. So I did.

 

It was awesome. I smiled all day (Literally. I had trouble talking I was smiling so hard!) and I am so very very very happy right now.  He held me all night (among other things!) and I can honestly say its been a long time since I felt so very safe and secure and warm and wanted in someones arms.

I'm so very glad I'm a pushy wench who goes chasing after people for answers. ;-) 

So I was supposed to have coffee with this guy yesterday.

We hung out on Friday night, and in the last post I was referring to him as  Gorgeous Boy. So he stayed over at mine, in his own bed might I add, and we had a really good talk about how he felt and how I felt and stuff.

So we decided that he rather fancied me... a lot... and I thought he was lovely, so we'd go out for coffee.

So we'd go out for coffee this week, on this particular day, and he'd meet me at work.

So I waited.

And I waited.

And I waited some more.

He never arrived.

 

So being the modern women of the world that I am, I decided to give him a call and find out what was going on.

"Hello, this is Sass"

"Hi"

"Oh, is that you Gorgeous Boy?"

"Yup" Sounds completely disinterested.

"Oh... Well, hi! I'm just calling to find out if you've stood me up on purpose or by accident??" Laughing, joking, lighthearted.

"What?"

"Well, we were supposed to go out today"

"Were we? Well I'm not in town today." Sounding completely disinterested.

"Oh." Disappointed.

"Yeah." Nonplussed.

"Right. Well... I guess I'll catch you later then." Disappointed and confused.

"Yeah. Seeya."

Fin.

 

How weird. I know he's having trouble with his memory, but seriously. I think you can forget that you have a coffee date with someone. Thats understandable. But there are two things very very wrong with this picture.

1) He appears to not give a crap that he's forgotten. He didn't even apologise. This is not good.

2) He appears to have forgotten that he LIKED ME AT ALL. This is rather crushing. I felt like crap as a result of his Yeah, Whatever attitude.

 

I don't care how forgetful you are. If you have a date with a fantastic girl (ie: me) write it in your diary. And put little hearts around it. Cos I deserve better than to be forgotten.