Tough Week

I’ve done it tough this week.   I had my first birthday without my Dad.   In reality, I probably wouldn’t have seen him on my birthday anyway; but I’d have heard his voice.  He would have wished me a happy birthday… Told me he loved me.  I am surprised at how difficult this has been; for me and my fellow 12129ers - we have become a protective circle.  But there has been family angst; I guess because people handle grief differently.

So the day started out with tears; less than ideal really.

Usually, on my birthday, I take the day off work.  Not this year.  Instead, I went to work, put my head down and worked through; ignoring my swirling head.  I got phone calls and texts and good wishes.  I had plans to go out to dinner with the girl; and the kids put in and purchased me life drawing lessons with an artist in the next block – who I might add, sounded like my kind of person and I can safely assume we will be friends in no time.

In the afternoon, I received an email from the ex-squeeze and that put a cloud over my world; in fact, it is still weighing heavily on my mind.

As a general rule, he writes short, unpunctuated sentences that barely make sense.  Were I not a Gemini and so apt to leap conversations wildly, I don’t think I’d ever work out what he is saying.  This email was lengthy.  It was punctuated.  This was an indication that he had thought about what he wanted to say; tossed over words.  Highly unusual for him.

And I felt all of what he said.

I laughed when he knew I would.  I wanted to reply with equal banter.  I missed him; I missed what we had.  What we had before he became a stranger and a lied to me.  Before he decided that the Harridan and a manipulative teenager who picked his nose and wiped it on my walls were worth more than what we had.  But even as I missed him, I knew that I couldn’t go back to that.  

I couldn't be with or be friends with someone who was deceitful; who held hidden conversations with the harridan, that he knew would end our world..

It really wrecked my week.  Even though I miss him and our friendship; we can't be friends. Not now at least.  I don't know what the future holds; but I just don't see it.  I expect the same in all my relationships; honesty.

Beauty is in the eye…

Well I’m not exactly standing out the front of the house beating guys away with a stick, but nor am I sitting inside getting no contact from my profile either.  I’ve decided it is actually quite fun.  I forgot how nice this part is.  Everyone being nice and witty; they’ve been single for a while so they are looking as good as they can once you hit your fifties.  Yes, this is the good part - right before real life intrudes and you find yourself knee deep in crocodiles and kids and ex-wives and drama.

The original profile photo that I put up, and please note, it’s still my main shot – I really liked!  But it seemed it wasn’t ringing too many bells out in Man Land.  Since then, I’ve put some very current (the last week or two) haphazard shots of myself.  Full length and laughing; or day dreaming…  and the latest, drinking a corona in the sun on Sunday when my daughter took me out for lunch.

The guy that I have progressed to email with actually mentioned my beer shot…  Note to self; what a woman thinks looks good, is probably the opposite of what a man thinks looks good!  Beauty really in in the eye of the beholder!  And he is actually kind of cute.  A graphic artist; guitar playing, 54 yo guy who is actually taller than I am (praise the Lord!!!  Because I’ve started wearing heels again and I like it!) and only one adult child!

Okay, it’s an inroad.  It’s a move forward.  I know… I know, the chances of us hitting it off and sailing away into the sunset are next to nil.  Either way, I got a little spring in my step.  He did ask me to progress to “chatting on the phone” which I actually agreed to (and will now live in fear until I have to do it); or perhaps catch up for a coffee or drink. 

My battered self-esteem got a tiny, little puff of life in its withered corpse.

And that my friend…. Is a date.  Almost.  If you shut one eye and squint with the other it’s a date!  I’ve escaped the world of ‘Moodle, Potential Serial Killer and Harridan’ and within 4 months, I’ve managed to lose 9 kilo, get a great haircut and now, be asked out on a date.

Of course I’m not going.  Not yet.  It’s too soon.  But going isn’t the point really.  And who knows, if the phone goes well, maybe I will be ready by next weekend!

The game of thrones

Actually, that just  rolled off my fingers; I’m not blogging about the Game of Thrones even though I love that show.  I’m blogging about the dating game…

Weird.  Overnight it’s gone from slim pickings to me being up stairs repeatedly emailing or answering questions which I’ll admit has been fun.  Up until this point, I thought “sheesh!  I must be ugly and didn’t even realise it!”  I'm delusional!

But wait; maybe I'm not ugly after all because there has been a couple of quite interesting contacts today. Sadly was far too short and another, a little bit shorter, but not short enough to deter.  I text my sister to say “I’ve only just started wearing heels again after dating the bloody garden gnome for years – and I like it!” 

She replied to say I was a heightist; and of course I am no such thing…  At least things have gotten interesting.

Other than that, I’ve managed to slink outside between bouts of rain to do a walk but other than that, I’ve huddled inside watching “True Detective” and keeping warm with a hot water bottle at the small of my back.  Hope no one is looking in the windows or they’ll think I have a weird shaped bum.  

Love this...

Love this song.  Don't think I've heard a rendition of it quite as good as this.  Weird, considering it is on some tool reality television thing..  But this kid; Hell, he's got it.  I Can't Make You Love Me

This is the one I knew before, by Bonnie Raitt (okay, that is kind of nerdy-ish)

If you're in a particular sniffly mood; these are the lyrics:

And let's face it; we are all in a sniffly mood on occasion!

Turn down the lights

Turn down the bed
Turn down these voices
Inside my head
Lay down with me
Tell me no lies
Just hold me closely
Don't patronize
Don't patronize me

Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel
Somethin' that it won’t
And here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart
And I will feel the power but you won't
No you won't
'Cause I can't make you love me
When you don't
When you don't

I'll close my eyes
'Cause then I won't see
The love you don't feel
When you're home with me
Morning will come
And I’ll do what's right
Just give me till then
To give up this fight
And I will give up this fight

'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel
Somethin' that it won’t
And here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart
I will feel the power but you won't
No you won't
'Cause I can't make you love me
When you don't
When you don't

Slim Pickings

Well I’m out in the world of internet dating…  I have to say that as yet, it’s been slim pickings!  They’re not exactly flocking to my door.  Damn that Moodle!  I wasted the end of my 40s on that fool!  Now I’m in the pile of 50 something year olds and everyone knows that the 50 year old guys are all stupid enough to be searching for 35 year old women. 

I say stupid because five seconds after the “young wife” nuptials; while the rice is still sticking to their badly dyed hair; they find themselves breeding again.  Sigh, the world is half full of 50 year old guys with babies.  There is always a price to pay, after all.

Still, I did have one person email me earlier this week; quite a good email too and an even better profile!  He skipped right over the stupid sending of whatever the latest thing is that you are forced to send to the object of your desire! (Smiles or kisses) so enamoured of me was he.

Now I haven’t been on this dating site for very long.  Just long enough to have been pleasantly surprised by his profile, which I must say, did suggest that we share some common interests/values.  In the couple of days prior to his email, I’d been quite despondent while browsing my potential matches.  Mostly, I found them to be decidedly lacking in substance (and punctuation…  And, if I’m honest, a birthdate in this century.)

But of course, I am my father’s daughter.  I am cautious; careful.  I can still hear his voice ringing in my ears – “if it sounds too good to be true; it IS too good to be true!”  A wise and lovely man was my father.

So hot on the heels of the ‘pleasant surprise’, came a dose of ‘wary’.   I have a large family; some demanding vetting rights and some muttering dire warnings.  But I don’t need them to ring my “be careful” bell.  I have an extremely good imagination…  As I was reading his heart flutteringly good profile and looking at the photo of a man who although wasn't exactly a David Jones model, still had a certain “something” about him; the words seemed to flicker; and a seed of doubt lodged in my mind and grew.

I couldn’t focus on what he looked like.  Instead, I was wondering if he was a twenty-three year old Nigerian who is madly in love with me and would love me forever (after I fly him to the moon of course)…  Or maybe a serial killer, measuring me for a shallow grave in Marysville.  Truth tell, I’m not fond of either scenario.

The upside is, it’s early days yet and this morning, I received contact from someone who I didn’t have the symbols of caution crashing in my ears!  Yeah, yeah, he wasn't exactly a Taylor Kinney (yum and left) look alike, but he wasn't exactly in the shuddering stage either.

It's early days yet and I'm in no hurry.

If dating in my 40’s was hard…

I’ve been single now for about 4 months and so am thinking that maybe it is time to pause for a breath and think about dating.  Up until now, it really hasn’t been a priority.  Life has been like riding a raging bull in the house of mirrors while dressed as little red riding hood.

It’s still not a priority; but common sense tells me that if it was difficult to find someone in my 40’s, it’s going to be next to impossible in my 50’s. 

And let’s face it; it’s not as though I was looking for a prince.  I mean is it too much to ask for to meet someone who has similar interests, morals and values?  Someone who I actually like and want to hang out with.  There were a few essentials on the list obviously, like I couldn’t feel the need to shudder or gag when I looked at them and there is an expected level of hygiene that is non-negotiable.

If I was doing a requirements document at work, they would be the “must haves” under the column for visual/personal.  Then there are the non-negotiable peripherals such as the ex-wife has to be an ex.  No ifs.  No buts.  Although the word ‘dead’ may float up here, that’s no good either – because you can never live up to the ghost of love past.  So divorced it is.  Done.  Dusted.  Settlement and acrimony concluded.

Like dominos, this knocks into the next point.  If they have some horror hanging on to the reins, look down; it's a given that there will be a swag of horrors that they bred clinging to his legs.  It's those that will kill you.

Oh, and maybe someone who when I say jazz, thinks Billie Holiday rather than Miles Davis...

Not a huge list of “must haves” really.  I don’t have anything about material things on it because everyone has their own story in the finance reality; having said that, they do have to at least want to plan for a new life.

The “nice to haves” are minimal!  Off the cuff, that would be their own teeth and if not some hair, at least a good shaped head.  

Then I have to think about dating websites, because where else in the world do you actually meet someone to date? 

Let the games begin...

Living life...

Absolutely love this; and how true it is.

Live life the real way.

The other woman…

Quite a funny movie; although I can’t ever see myself being friends with someone who was sleeping with my husband and the thought of befriending two of them is crazy talk; still, I guess the theory could work in some cases.    

Maybe I’m getting old.  Revenge just seems like a waste of time really.  That isn’t to say I always felt that way.  I remember going to dinner when I finally shuddered to life and left the slimy private eye I had wasted years on.  I went to dinner with a group of people who were in town for a laboratory assistant seminar – no, I didn’t just latch on to a group of strangers; my sister was one of them.   We laughed and laughed as I planned, with their help, how to chemically castrate the PI. 

He was a sleazy pig so I was going with “hit him where it hurts”.  Bromide.  The name sticks to the point where I had a giggle when I discovered it was the main chemical in my rat poison.  How fitting.  Of course planning the thing is as good as doing it; I didn’t actually need to castrate him.  I just needed to get to the point where he was “dead to me”.

None of them had millions to steal.  No ex’s were worth me dispensing bromide like fairy dust.  Still, it was a good laugh and a bit of fun on a rainy, cold, Sunday afternoon!

I used to be a boy…

Actually, I didn’t.  I did however, make the grave mistake of getting my hair cut as I passed from primary school into high school.  My blonde brown locks were long, curly and lustrous; but I was about to start high school.  I was a woman.  I needed something new; chic.  I was going to look fantastic and on the first day, even the people I knew were going to say “who is that???”

So I sat in a chair while the hairdresser zoomed around on her little stool with wheels and watched the scissors glint in the light as my tresses fell to the floor and shimmered like gold.  At the conclusion of the snipping, I looked in the mirror at the finished product.

I did not look elfin or cute.  I was not a 12 year old Twiggy.  I looked like a boy.

I hated it.  I cried.  The gold was gone.  Now it was boy short and poo brown. I would have thrown a tantrum but who could I yell at?  My mother hadn’t wanted me to get it cut but I had shot down her arguments!  I was traumatised.

Now, for the first time since I was twelve, my hair is short.  Shorter than it was back then.  And I love it.  My face grew into short hair.  it feels fantastic!  And it suits me.  I spent life as a brunette; then when I went blonde, total strangers came up to me with “did you know you look exactly like Deborra-Lee Furness?”  

And it’s funny, because we do have a similar shaped face.  Hell, someone in the bed opposite me when I was having my brain done, told me her son went out to the car to get his ipad to show her who DLF was to prove that I was her.  Now that it is boy short, I get it even more.

I’m not her.  I'm not nearly as glam as her.  I don't have lovely thin calves.  I don’t have some hunky Hugh.  It’s seriously unfair.  Why do I get frogs and she gets princes..?