I’m coming back I promise!

16 Nov

Yes, I have been a blog LOSER and completely neglected my desperate rants over the last two months. I was snowed in with work and doing some crazy sixteen hour days, throw in a trip to Paris, a date with a billionaire and my experiments with online matching sites as well, and we can see things have progressed somewhat..and not at all.

I’ll be back from tomorrow with fresh posts! I have to confess, that I’ve been worried that my neglect will result in rejection from readers, much like when you cheat on your coffee barista at work and then have to run past and pretend you have just been sick for the last two months instead of fessing up that you found better coffee around the corner…

I hope you haven’t been cheating on me with other blogs or we’ll need to have the ‘talk’..

See you in the morning!

Much love
Miss Procrastination

Chronically Single

16 Sep

I’ve been single for six months now.

Six whole months.

This is the longest period in my life where I have not had a man(assclown) to curl up to.

And, I’m not talking about having a few dates here and there, a pash and dash or anything else. I mean single. Alone. By myself…just me.

Most of the time I am okay with this, I almost feel empowered. Liberated. <cue track  ‘I’m a survivor’ with beyonce bootylicious moves>. I’m the type of girl who normally merges her men, so it’s almost nice to have a breather.

However on the occasion, I have fears that I will end up a crazy old cat lady in my older years, whispering to my feline friend ‘Tigger’ or some other terribly cliché name for a cat about how much better it is that it is ‘just the two of us’. I’ll pour him (and then myself) some timely whiskers biscuits from a packet while I watch ‘The price is right!’ re-runs and pretend Larry is really talking to me when he yells ‘Come on down!’.

So where do you the draw the line between being single and happy and free…and becoming ‘chronically single’. And when is it right to throw your heart back on the line and ‘get back out there’ vs curling up in the fetal position and swearing off the male species forever?

In my quest to refrain from becoming ‘feline lady’ I’ve come up with my five top signs for when I have moved over to the ‘chronically single’ dark side and need to hit the eject button.

In no direct order, i’ll be asking my friends to watch for the following:

Sign 1: When I start taking tips from Christian Carter, and read self-help books about men: Has anyone ever read Christian Carter the dating guru? Please save me…he comes up with dating tips such as ‘men like women who take care of themselves, have clear skin, a good figure and are happy’. No shit, Christian, and you want me to pay $39.98 for your e-book? When I actually hand over my visa details, I’ll know I’ve crossed the line.

Sign 2: Forgetting personal hygiene: Let it all go!! That means embracing body odour and excess body hair in all sorts of fun places such as your bikini line, lip and your underarms. When I start picking my nose, grow my toe-nails and think it’s funny to fart and burp in public I’ll know I have ‘winner’ status written all over me.

Sign 3: When I’d rather hang out with ageing relatives: Listening to Great Uncle Barney go on about his time in ‘Nam’ and Great Aunt Jude teach me how to make a patchwork quilt are just the  type of activities that will have me counting down the hours until Saturday night. Say L real loud for LOSER.

Sign 4: Floral on the bedspreads, floral everywhere in pastel tones: Pink and lavender pastel is the hottest thing around, overlay it with some delightful 80’s retro floral work and don’t limit to the bedroom. When this colour scheme infiltrates the kitchen and patio you know you’ve hit your stride. Time to check myself into a clinic that offers a cell with a padded room.

Sign 5: Dedicating a song to myself: Dialling 188-L-O-V-E for those of you based in Sydney will land you a hot date with Richard Mercer on the love line. When I call up and through a sweep of tears dedicate ‘how do I live without you’ to yours truly instead of my husband who has been incarcerated for a bungled 7-11 hold-up, I’ll know I’ve just invented a new word for ‘wrong’.

So what are the other signs for knowing you have been single too long, and you’re no longer ‘liberated’ but have crossed over to the sad side. Tips anyone?

Couples are so boring

30 Aug

So now that I am single I have realised something…

Couples can be SO BORING

I was kindly invited out on Saturday night with a group of couples that myself and aforementioned assclown used to hang out with it.

I love all these people, but sitting there on the outside, even though we were in a fabulously chic restaurant that cost over $600 for about three mouthfuls of food…I realised how utterly boring the conversation was.

Couple 1: “So how is work for you guys?” <sipping on a dry semillion>

Couple 2: “Oh you know work is the same for us…” <competing with a crisp verdelho>

<Silence>

Couple 1 & 2 <In desperation>: “Miss Procrastination, how is work for you?”

Miss Procrastination: <throwing down a lychee cocktail> “Work is awesome, I have an incredible team, and I get to travel all over the world first class for next to nothing. Last week my work signed off $3m worth of funding for me, and my team executes everything while I sit there and cut through bureaucratic bullshit all day, and pretend to be really important”.

Note the difference?

A couple of months back I am sure that assclown and myself would have been competing ourselves with a new grape variety along the lines of a gewurztraminer white, but now sitting on the outside I realised how deceptively bland life as a couple can be.

Life revolves around only a few select topics:

  • How long you have been together, when your man will be popping the question (get on with it already!) and where you will inevitably hold your wedding
  • How much money you need to save to hold ‘holy mother of god, how much?’ wedding and ‘ you had to sell your liver to afford that?’ honeymoon
  • Whether you will be staying at your place of employment after you get knocked up or will invariably have to nurse working mother guilt, does this mean you need to sell your sports car as well? decisions decisions….
  • The move from the city to the suburbs, and pretending that this is completely fine…that and grabbing yourself a nice .44 magnum to shoot yourself in the head with, as you realise that your mammoth mortgage no longer allows you the opportunity to pick up those ‘on sale’ Manolos anymore.

These crucial points, and whether you need to get roman or horizontal blinds, should you use a suede fabric for the couch or go for the more purposeful leather upholstery and do we really need a dining setting for 12 make up the basis of most couples day to day conversations.

But what I really want to know is, why was this conversation and way of life so acceptable for me a mere six months ago and now it bores the bejesus out of me. So much so I feel like my life force is being sucked dry. I want to scream “get a freaken life already!”

Is it latent jealousy?  Am I secretly longing to be part of this world again, or has my alter single ego who is quite happy with ensconsing herself in doing whatever she damn well likes just too happy to care?

Why is it that when we are single most of us are just so much more interesting? And if we are so much more interesting when we are alone…why are we all so desperate to become a couple and inverariably have it taken away from us eventually?

I am sure that tomorrow I will be lusting over Eric from True Blood again, and think oh yeah…thats why, but for the most part unless the guy you are obsessing over is part of the undead…what makes us want to attach ourselves to another so desperately….to unwittingly end up like this anyway? 

P.S Remind me of this conversation in a few days when I am crying on the couch <covered in a lovely cross thatch fabric mind you> throwing myself a pity party again….

The Pity Party

17 Aug

I’ve never really been one for the pity party

In fact I’ve never really had the opportunity to throw one for myself until last week. I’m not talking about the daily whinge after work about the woman that makes you want to scratch your eyes out, or the bitching to your girlfriend about the latest assclown you have dated…I’m talking about a full on ‘woe is me’ pity party.

I spoke to a very good friend of mine, who tells me that the pity party is a complete and necessary part of life. She indeed, had her own version on the same night as I, where she sat in, ordered a large pizza and a black forest gateaux and devoured it through tears.

So what makes a good pity party, you ask?

Here are the necessities:

Location: Your house, probably the floor or a couch. Somewhere where no one else can see you as you slober your words, and preferably where you can lay flat and scream obscenities.

Food: Basically anything fatty or sugary. Pizza works a treat or ideally something with a lot of dairy in my case. If you are already at the pity party, you may as well throw in a few ‘fat’ jibes along with a good case of cellulite to boot.

Drinks: Our friend alcohol tends to work the best on special occasions such as these. Gin or Rum if you really want a cracker of a night. Although, that said I have also found the ice-cream spider to be quite acceptable as it can take you back to times when you used to run under the sprinkler and ‘life was just so much easier then’ sigh.

Dress Code: Your underwear, the ones that are too small and the elastic is gone in the waist. This or a version of bleached track suit pants and that t-shirt someone was giving away at work as part of a merchandise drive.

Sound Track: Any sad songs, something by Mary J Blige tends to work well. Pretend you’re bad ass rap lover has been shot by a member of the crips and you are avenging his death through song.

Entertainment: It’s important to compile a list of things to worry about. Follow this up with condemning yourself and others for not being perfect. Grab a copy of Vogue and compare yourself to Miranda Kerr. Suspect everybody has a plot against you and then blame yourself for everything that has possibly gone wrong in your life.  Switch on ‘MTV Cribs’ in the background of all of this to remind yourself that you will never be that rich or that famous.

Time: Anywhere from 6- 12 hours should be suitable

Invitees: You

Anything Else: Tissues, a bucket (just in case you progress to the vomit cry) ensure you also haven’t washed your hair, had a manicure or pedicure, exfoliated or moisturised, or shaved your legs. It is crucial to feel as disgusting as possible during the pity party.

However, once it’s over, it’s important to take the time to recover as you really don’t want this pity party to proceed to ‘poor me syndrome’. This is where martyrdom kicks in and even your own mother wants to set you on fire because she can’t stand your slobbering any more.

The ‘Type’

11 Aug

oh god, I’m  in love again

I know, I know…I’ve only just let the bed go cold, and I swore that I would take some time out for myself this time, but oh I’m in love again.

….with Bear Grylls

If you haven’t seen Bear in action before, then you should really check him out. He is ‘all man’.  But to be honest it is slightly disturbing that I can be attracted to a guy that can eat salmon raw from a stream and sleep on a hollowed out camels arse.

And it has made me start thinking, about why I don’t have a ‘type’

In order to try and work out the patterns in my dating history and pick someone a lot better next time around, I have outlined some of my more serious dating conquests in ascending order.

  • My first boyfriend, otherwise known as the ‘love muscle’ stole my heart at the tender age of 16. We’ll actually he didn’t really ‘steal’ my heart, I just wanted to be cool and have a boyfriend, and I needed a date for the formal. We lasted all of 9 months, and when I broke up with him after cheating on him twice (once at the formal…smooth), I laughed down the phone. (Yes, I was a real sweetheart in my younger years) He got me back by telling me he had slept with my best friend, which resulted in an altercation at the pizza shop where he worked. He took off on the ‘501’ bus and last I heard he was living happily with a much nicer girlfriend.
  • My second boyfriend, I was madly and desperately in love with. I met him while I was on schoolies week, passed out on the stairs at a house party from too much Galliano Sambuca. He literally made my breath stop. He was gorgeous, an ex gymnast, and is still the sweetest man I have ever known. We had a beautiful relationship for three and a half years, until I realised that his aspirations included, smoking pot, smoking pot again, sleeping in and missing my university graduation. We tearfully ended one Friday afternoon after I realised we were not going in the same direction…but it literally destroyed my heart and served it up like sashimi to the man who I stupidly picked next.
  • My third boyfriend was a real winner. Warning sirens loudly went off from all rooftops across the globe from the first email he ever sent me.  It was titled ‘ I want you to chase me’, but I was desperate to distract myself from the loss of my second boyfriend, and stupidly went on a date with him.  He was the vainest man in the world, requiring not one, but two nose jobs before the age of thirty. I don’t know if I ever truly loved him, or if it was just the fact that our relationship was so heavily dysfunctional which kept me in this state of pure torture for four and a half years. Every time he pretended to go for a surf, I desperately wished he would get taken by a shark. After he dumped me, he turned around and said he wanted to marry me, to which I promptly dumped him. He now travels the world, loosing jobs and sleeping with Asian prostitutes.
  • The man who was to be the love of my life. Ahh he came along at the end of my torturess epic of a relationship with boyfriend number three and re-instated my belief in the male species. Kind, sweet, and dressed to kill, he grabbed me passionately in a dark lit club and kissed me to prove he wasn’t gay. He told me he would marry me after about five weeks, and soon enough we moved in and converted our second bedroom into a walk in robe to house his 387 shirts. The fact he could use a GHD better than me, had previously owned a fashion line and was mad at his parents for never enrolling him in dance classes because he thought he would have been a really good member for the Backstreet Boys should have been warning signs. Nevertheless, we got engaged and were set to be married until he carved up my heart. Not sure where he is these days, I am assuming he is in bed, with a man this time.

And now I am in love with Bear Grylls.

So I’m struggling to find the pattern. I’ve dated nice guys, bad boys, smart guys, dumb guys, metro guys, rough guys and through it all I’ve fallen for all of them.

Maybe I am a just a romance whore? Any ideas people?

Mid Week Let’s get deep moment: Me, Myself, I

3 Aug

I always wondered when someone asked me, “so what do you like to do outside of work”, I was always stumped. Surely after 29 years on this earth I could think of something a little bit more interesting than…ahhh I like to shop, hang out with my friends, watch TV….have facials…(cue stereotypical stupid blonde girl laughing)

Why was I the girl without any hobbies? Sometimes it would actively worry me, that I seemed to have none, even though I was always busy.

Then when my life imploded I realised what my hobby had always been.

….Men

Deciphiring them, giving them what they want, making them happy, worrying about them, talking to my friends about them, walking on eggshells for them…blah blah….no wonder I was always so exhausted. I never had any time for me, never had made decisions just for me.

So now that I have all the time in the world, I have decided to find out who the hell I really am.

Do I have an interest in backgammon? croquet?  Sudoku? (Who the hell gets into sudoku anyway?, it’s a whole new level of wrong for me, how could anyone be bothered, and really who wants to list their interests as sudoku anyway?)

So I have started trying things, things that I have always been interested in but maybe never had the time or the money for, as I was always saving for the house, or the wedding, or the next holiday away with <insert man’s name here>

And it just so turns out, that I have lots of interests.

And I like hanging out by myself. A LOT. I think this is particularly cool. I always thought I needed a guy, but it turns out that my company is just as awesome, and I can decide to do whatever I like. So my interests have turned out to include:

  • Not exercising. I like this, I have sat in my bedroom deciding to not exercise, because I have always had someone who just so happen to think that I should be getting up at 6am to run around in circles in an attempt to whittle down my size 8 body to a more likeable 4 – 6. Nah – uh, I’m just going to sit here on my arse, eating Pringle’s because I can!
  • Not watching comedies. It turns out that I like to watch horror movies, thrillers, sci-fi’s, the home renovating channel, and just about anything else (Including antiques roadshow…I know…I know). My ability to now choose whatever it is that I would like to watch astounds me, and I’ve realised how much I have missed out on in the last few years while trying to appease a partner who was obsessed with comedies, because he was so miserable on the inside.
  • Not eating healthy food. Oh how I love travelling all over Sydney to eat some of the most decadent food available. If it is tasty, I will find you and I will eat you. And I will not feel guilty about it at all. And if I put on a kilo or two..you know what? I DON’T CARE!
  • Being Lazy. It turns out that I am really good at this. I have always been the type of person that had to ‘achieve’. Whether it was owning and running my own business at 24, while still maintaining a high pressure job, or becoming qualified in whatever it was I was interested in at the time, I’ve always had to be ‘the best’. Turns out doing nothing though, is a hobby in itself, and between you and me, learning how to be lazy without feeling guilty is a real skill.

But really, what I have found that what happens, is that when you don’t put pressure on yourself to have these ‘interests’ you actually find out that you have a lot of them.

I now have an active passion for pilates, I’ve realised that I love to eat and sometimes even get in the kitchen myself. I am addicted to my camera, and am about to start a course to study it more. I read tonnes of books, and watch loads of series and movies while curled up on the couch in my electric rug. I love getting my manicures and pedicures and facials and blow-drys on a Saturday morning, while sipping a latte and chatting on the phone to all my gorgeous friends. I plan lots of holidays and am about to jet off to Paris, Singapore and New York. I sleep in. I visit psychics. I write a blog.

I’ve realised I am a person in my own right. I have lots of interests and I have lots of facets to my character. And I won’t be boxed in again. I don’t have to worry about being that girl with no interests anymore, because really I always did have them, I just had to uncover them.

And from now on, I’ll be choosing whether I let you into my life, and not the other way around.

Crazy Gypsy Ladies II

21 Jul

As I mentioned before, I have a thing for gypsy ladies. (Not a ‘thing thing’…get your mind out of the gutter)

A very good friend of mine took me along to the mind body spirit festival shortly after my break-up.  I was walking around feeling okay about the world, (even after we had nearly lost each other in the car park – put two directionally challenged girls together and you get catastrophe!) until a wisened reiki practitioner grabbed me out of the crowd.

“Where’s the ring?” she asked (Great, do I have a sign on my forehead?)

” Ahh, it’s gone?” I replied as I swallowed back some tears

“Ahh love, that wasn’t meant for you, does that make you feel better?” (Does taking a shot of arsenic sound good right about now?)

“Don’t worry, the next one is the one” she said all knowingly and sauntered off

After this, I decided to go straight to the top…. I was convinced that obviously the psychic world wanted to talk to me…so I was finished with evil eye ladies and I was going to see Georgina Walker.

If you don’t know who Georgina Walker is then you obviously have absolutely no interest in anything psychically inclined…that and you probably don’t listen to 2day fm. (Not that that is a major atrocity by any stretch of the imagination)

Georgina Walker is an intuitive psychic that took me three months to book in for. The reason I was so keen on seeing her though, was the fact that she doesn’t use cards or any other form of tool to see the future. She basically just holds onto something you own, shuts her eyes and starts talking.

In the lead-up to my meeting with Georgina, I nearly made myself vomit.

What if she says:

  • I am going to be alone forever and own 42 cats?
  • My parents are going to knock down a wall between my bedroom and the room next door as they know i’ll be there for a really long time..?
  • I’m about to contract the Ebola virus?
  • I’ll lose all my money trusting a shonky but sexy property investor?
  • I’m irrefutably emotionally damaged never to love again (and believe me this one…I could  actually believe)

Anyhow, I used the GPS to drive all the way to Mona Vale. This is the equivalent of a normal person using only their sense of smell to navigate their way through the depths of the African Jungle, so you could say I was very proud of myself.

Standing outside the door, I prepared myself for the worst. I stood there, sweating with anxiety, praying to God that she had something good for me so I wouldn’t stop off on the way home at Ikea, and pick up cat litter trays on sale for $2.95 in preparation for my 42 new furry friends.

“Miss Procrastination” I heard from nowhere

oh wow, she was good….

Well actually she had just seen me waiting out the front from her balcony…but I was already impressed. (Yeah, you knew I was a sucker from my evil eye post…come on already)

I sat down, handed over my watch, said nothing, and she started talking at the speed of lightning.

“Foreign, you are going to get a foreign opportunity…don’t think you won’t get it..back yourself…you will” (Awesome!! 42 cats replaced with jet set lifestyle…hello!)

“You are going to Boston…yes you are in Boston, you may want to have a relationship with someone here, but you need to understand that he will always put his work first. If you decide to go there, you will need to entertain yourself” (No biggie here, I had to be my ex’s portable entertainment system for two years…I’m more than happy to only have to do it for myself for a change)

“You are going to be a WAG” (Hey Victoria Beckham…eat your heart out!!) at Epping Rugby Club…(BORING…Where is David Beckham in Epping? Where the hell is Epping anyway?)

“Your primary gift, is that you are inspirational” (Me 3, Assclown 0) You will be a mentor, and take on roles beyond your years, people will look up to you” ( I loved this so much, given one of the primary reasons I got kicked to the kerb was that I wasn’t inspirational…universe seems to think differently I see!)

This was all nice, but it didn’t really give me that feeling of…well…anything.

I handed over a photo of my ex, not talking about the relationship, just giving his first name and age.

“Unpredictable, oh dear so unpredictable, I can see one arm behind his back”

Hmm….maybe she was on the money…

“This guy is about to shock and disbelieve a lot of people, around something in September”

Okay, now she really was on the money…

“He is being taken off course, off track, I see tears…he knows what he is getting into though, he knows…he is being influenced by a pack of men, lots of male influence (does this go back to my father’s ‘likes to take it the other way’ theory?)

“I don’t know how you are involved, but however you are involved…you aren’t anymore”

No shit.

I sat there, and took it all in for a minute.  Georgina finally asked me “how do you know this man?”

I responded..”We were engaged”

She actually laughed. LAUGHED

“Oh no, bad match, bad match…he would have left you after a year or so anyway, even if you had gone down the aisle”

NICE

“There is someone else waiting for you” she said

Okay now this is where we get to the real deal, this is the stuff I wanted to hear. (please don’t say a cat named sylvester…please please please)

“oooh, he is so nice, so lovely, you are going to meet him in fourteen months”

Fourteen months!!!? Why so bloody long…..whhhhhhy?? (supposedly I need to find balance, rest and recovery)

“You won’t be alone for fourteen months – oh no, there will be men…” (Great, I am about to become a whore)

” But this one…he is like superman(does this mean he likes to wear his underpants on the outside of his trousers?)…everyone will be asking you..where did you find him?

“He is a banker (notice my winced expression after paying out afore-mentioned investment bankers) he has long arms (gumby?) and is incredibly well-travelled…(ghandi?) four or five years older than you, a real planner, an ex professional rower (god not the guy from the golden valley ad?) and supposedly six months after we have met he has decided I am it for him.

This is all going to happen by the time I am 32 supposedly.

I drove home feeling a lot better. And, I really hope she is right about superman, because to be honest I know I am supposed to be all enlightened by this ‘whole new world of single’ but I am starting to get a bit lonely, and I would like him to come and rescue me  real soon.