Tag Archives: love

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?