Premiere

As always, there are engagements and functions to attend at this time of year and strutting your new found single status is a little tiresome among old friends. It is so much more fun to shake things up with surprises.

An old, old, like started school together old, friend returned to Sydney a few days back to premiere a film he had made.

He is one of those people who ooze success and talent. He is a joy to be around and despite him now being based in Europe with subsequent long breaks between catch ups, it is like old times when we hang out.

The premiere was going to be full of old friends and acquaintances. Industry types looking glamorous with much back slapping and ass patting. There would be so many people that I had lost contact with or just not seen face to face for years once my mate, the nucleus of the group moved away.

I needed a date at short notice for this night of nights. Single all of three days after a weekend of gut wrenching shit that is another failed relationship. It was a big ask, but my life has a magic touch to it and 24 hours after the farewell discussion an opportunity slid into view.

Attractive, foreign, well educated and liberated. Her shoulders sun kissed and rippling in toned muscle and tickled by the tips of her coiled blond locks of hair. Conversation was easy through her accent as we laughed at the antics of single life and the adventures of trying to remain single for long enough to enjoy the summer months without commitment or constraint.

It was all about the moment for her, no plans to be tamed just yet. Date, be merry and tell the boys to piss off once they got serious or clingy. A player of the female type.

We exchanged numbers on Sunday night and agreed that drinks some time soon would be fun.

On Monday night I tossed an turned over who to take to the premiere....option X would be fun but she would presume it was a real date which I did not want, option Y would not fit into that crowd, option Z could be a future lover and as such way too soon to bring to the party.

Scrolling through the phone I saw her number and hesitated. Why not?

So I did.

She said she would love to come along. A fist may or may not have been punched into the air right there and then.

I explained the motivation, it was one of those events where you need accessories, shiny ones. Preferably shinier that every one else's. It would be fun, the film should be entertaining and the company stimulating. She was excited and agreed that bling was obligatory and she looked forward to sparkling.

On picking her up from her apartment with harbour views I was greeted by a vision in a slinky dress. Shoulders out and every curve shown to perfection. If I had booked an escort for the night I don't think I could have done as well.

On arrival, heads turned as planned. There were lots of pretty people there as expected but I had a quality cut diamond on my arm for sure.

In a group of old school friends and film school/uni mates the question as expected was blurted out by the person most likely to ask awkward questions.

"How long have you two been together?"

Before I could answer an arm slipped around my waist and with a confidence that made me hard in an instant she explained to the group that while it has not been long, it is lots of fun.

I just smiled and sipped beer while she talked about kite surfing and travel, so happy to be in the passenger seat for a change and knowing I just hit social gold at exactly the right moment.

The problem with cheating

I don't work in the city, I don't do suits. I don't do office drama and drunken Friday night shenanigans with the girls from abc bank/lawyers/brokers.

It is not my scene. Just never has been.

On Friday I was reminded why.

I went into town to join a mate for drinks of the Friday evening office worker type.

On arrival she greeted me with a smile and warm kiss. The sort of kiss in a crowd that says, he is mine ladies so back off.

That is fine, I already knew she was coming home with me so I was more than happy to be owned.

The real sport was in watching a Billy Zane wanna-be get shot down by a bunch of women for being a cheating twat.

You see Billy is engaged, all but one of the girls knew this and the rest were manoeuvring like reef sharks. The girl who didn't know this little detail had been picked up by Billy earlier in the night at another bar. Foolishly he bought his trophy with him to this gathering of friends and acquaintances.

Now there are some simple things about cheating that you learn early in life.

1) you will probably get caught.
2) among women, a cheating man may as well have the pox.
3) among boys, a cheating man is just as likely to be hung out to dry just for the sport of cutting his grass.

The simple solutions are, don't cheat or do it in private. All other options will lead to pain.

Billy must have been a slow learner. The sharks were circling.

The first one darted in for a taste.

"So have you known Billy long?" an innocent smile asked.

I squirmed for Billy, there was blood in the water.

"Do you know him through Julie?"

Ouch. The colour started to drain from his face.

"Um no, Who is Julie?" Billy's mark enquired.

"Oh...no one. Billy can explain." as she backed away.

Billy squirmed. Panic was starting to show in his eyes.

I sat back and got comfortable with drink in hand and wondered how he would escape the inevitable.

Sure enough, another shark, emboldened (or is that embalmed) by cocktails started circling. She had that look that said that if he was going to cheat on his fiancée then it should be with her not that new slapper he just met.

"So what is your fiancée doing tonight? Why isn't Julie here?" the razor sharp teeth gnashed.

"You have a fiancée?" her voice boomed as all nearby conversation lulled.

Like a grenade had been lobbed into the room, people started to dive for cover. There was no etiquette of women and children first, this was a full scale, every man for himself abandon ship.

A few of us sat there transfixed, ready to run but not going to miss a moment. It was the proverbial train wreck.

The interloper stood and straightened her skirt. It was a motion that tried to scream dignity and poise. The shark started to smirk showing teeth like great white. Billy looked around the room for support and found his friends deep in hushed conversation or the tourists like me grinning back like idiots. There was no support. He was a dead man walking.

She turned on one 3.5 inch heel and walked without a word. Billy followed like a scolded puppy dog. Leaving his jacket and manbag.

Like a wave rushing up the beach, conversation resumed but not soon enough to cover the strangled "Just fuck off!" from the street.

We giggled like children at poor Billy. What a tool.

The last shark to have a nibble, grabbed a serviette, scribbled a note and thrust it into his jacket pocket. She would not say what was on it - I can only guess it was either her number or a note to his fiancée....we may never know.

Billy slunk back in. Tail between his legs. The girls all cheered and raised their glasses. Billy sneered, called them cunts and left. They cheered again.

My girl snuggled into my neck and chuckled that there was nothing like front row seats for Friday night theater. I had to agree.

It was all rather funny if you weren't Billy.

The mark of a woman.

I can't remember the last time I got a hickey.

That ugly red bruise, like you have been hit in the neck with a high velocity squash ball.

A mark that screams teenage passion, territorial marking and mischief most recent.

Actually I can remember the last one...it was fucking yesterday.

In a moment of mock rage I suggested she just cock a leg and piss on me if she wanted to mark me...there was a pause as she considered it. A long enough pause that I regretted the suggestion.

Kite surfing, yacht racing and swimming are my only waters ports .

She knows I am a player and this is the price I have to pay. A mark to warn others off I suppose.

Talk about not playing fair.

Devil in the detail

When I was a kid, I was a geeky, Star Wars loving geek king of kid.

Sure I played with death constructing the jump of doom for my trusty BMX. I lobbed my self up and down cliff faces occasionally using a rope and some semblance of safety gear.

I always wandered way too deep into the local bushland to see just where the creek went - and all of this before the days of GPS, mobile phones and parents bubble wrapping their children.

But after all of this fun there were still action figures play war games with in the pile of dirt that was on it's way to being a four car garage.

Unfortunately it was in the home made trenches that my little problem with attention to detail came to the fore.

You see even in the pre computer enhanced, original Star Wars movie there were hundreds of Storm Troopers. Their numbers were obviously a direct response to their inability to shoot straight and see where they were going under those funky helmets.

But Storm Troopers were cool. At least they were cool until you only had one of them in your arsenal of action figures.

You could get away with one Han Solo, one Luke, one Darth Vader, one R3D2 and even one C3P0 - despite the fact that for some reason you had ended up with the 12" high version of the slightly camp gold android when the rest of the cast were only 2.5 inches tall.

All of that was forgivable because after all, there was only ever one of each character in the movie. Storm Troopers however, when all alone are as useful as tits on a bull.

So began the long cycle of paper rounds, begging, borrowing and I have to admit stealing, to build a proper army of Storm Troopers.

I would hate to think how many kids started their life of petty crime at the hands of George Lucas and the seemingly impossible task of getting enough Storm Troopers to have a proper battle.

It got the point that anyone with more than one Storm Trooper was an instant best friend for life if they could bring them over to play. Even the kid with warts and a perpetual sniffle was allowed to join in because he had three.

It was at about the critical mass of four Storm Troopers in my personal collection that disaster struck.

The second Star Wars movie was released, which we now know to be the fifth in the series because George has a problem with time dyslexia and forgot where to start the story...but I digress.

With the Empire Strikes back came a new round of characters and a re-issue of the originals. The problem was that on screen Luke was still a weedy nerd with puppy dog eyes but the action figure looked like he had been on steroids and punching out sets at the gym.

Indeed you only had to look closely to see that everyone had been cast with a six pack and biceps that would be better suited to GI Joe or Conan the Barbarian. It was just wrong. These were not our screen heroes, they were impostors.

Added to that, there were even more Storm Troopers. There were even Storm Troopers fitted out for battle in the snow. It just was not viable to build another platoon and we don't get snow in Sydney. I had to admit defeat.

I did the only thing that a young boy knows how to do best. I destroyed the lot.

Fire works were still being sold in these good old days and one by one my action figures became victims of fire, smoke and acceleration that put them into backyards far from their original home.

Only the over sized C3P0 survived. Too big to launch with all but the most expensive model rocket engines and even to my young mind, sporting the aerodynamics and mass required to randomly to kill anyone within 100 meters once in flight. He had been relegated to be bottom of the toy box long before the purge began.

I found him this week while looking through old stuff I had stored away.

Amazing how one thing can take you back.

How much is that pussy in the window?

The guide books suggest you see other parts of Holland first so that you don't get the wrong idea about the Dutch if you go straight to the red light district in Amsterdam.

Fuck that I say. Goldmember taught me everything I needed to know about these crazy Dutch basrards.

All I needed now was to do some window shopping.

Making the most of existing connections, I spent the majority of the day cruising from pub to pub in a mates boat before setting in and waiting for dark to fall and the gawking familys to finish their tour of the red light district.

With darkness not really kicking in until 11pm, it was a lot of beer before the night life really got going.

Walking the streets of the Rossebuurt felt safe and clean. The sex shops were like any other in the world with the only advantage to making a purchase here being the joy of a bag search in Sydney when coming home.

The scene from Fight Club about "the vibrator, not your vibrator...." when discussing humming luggage came to mind.

The icons of the red light district are the prostitutes in the windows.

Most look sad and tired. They stand and bounce and jiggle with cigarette in hand, swim suite or knickers glowing with the red hue of the neon lights.

Every now and then one will tap their window,wink and beckon but nothing about it felt sexy or appealing.

Just when I thought it was time to head back to a pub and seek out more interesting and fully clothed company for the night, I saw a face that actually stopped me in my tracks.

She looked familiar in some way and in my brief pause she obviously thought she had a customer.

She opened her glass door and asked if I liked what I saw.

"Actually,for a moment I thought I knew you."
"Well,you always can get to know me..."
"Yeah, I suppose that is how it works"

I grinned back like an idiot. Her smile felt genuine and held me for a moment longer.

I don't really know how but as she leaned against the door frame we got chatting. Early on I made it clear I was not buying but she did not care, she was up for a chat.

She was smart, educated and well travelled. She had worked at home and came here for a change and some quick cash.

Tourists were stopping to watch. Curious if they were going to see a John walk through the door, to see what happens next.

After a while I quipped that I should let her get back to work, she smiled and thanked me for the chat.

The smile made me melt a little more and wonder what her future held.

Back in a pub later that night, a bunch of English girls were making a ton of noise. It became obvious that a dare was being organised and I was part of it.

Eventually the looser approached.

"We saw you talking to the hooker...did you do IT?"
"Ha ha, no she is my sister, I was just checking on her" I replied.

Needless to say that got me to their table with another pint of beer and that is about all I remember from the night.

Digital monkey

I am the first to admit that I am a geek and early adopter of technology. I would however say that I tend to watch, wait and research a product until I know it will do what i need and in a fashion that meets my expectations.

This post for example is being written on my new phone, the HTC Magic while I sit at the airport ready for another jaunt to Europe.

Some have dubbed it the iPhone killer, for me it was more that it was an open architecture operating system and not locked down like the Apple offering.

You see I am all about choice. Having the option to to do as I please is everything and the older I get the more important that seems to be.

Clever things along with clever people make me happy and as such I tend to seek them out.

Choice however seems to be expensive. Yet another relationship has crashed and burned because I can't slowdown. It is a bit harsh to say she could not keep up so I will keep that thought to myself for now....

Anyhow, life is full and my flight is being called. I am on the lookout again for female fun so we will see what Europe has on offer...

I'm a half twit

In the interests of riding another techno fad wave face first into the shallow shore break of the internasty I have joined Twatter to find out what all the fuss is about.

So far it seems that the number of people on it does not match the hype and surprise, surprise, the updates are just as banal and silly as those on crackbook.

Despite all this, I shall persist for a little while longer as I can at least get a blow by blow update of how many Johns have passed through the Shrinking Kitty poon shop in the past five minutes.

With the amount of creative energy I have right now, 160 characters is probably the perfect length for me to express myself in too.

Come tweet my twateer here : http://twitter.com/Josh_Monkey

I don't understand.

I have a dance partner and a lover.

One was born about the time I finished school and knows none of my silly music, life or film references.

She has an eternity of growing up to do, none of which I want to carry her through.

She is slim and petite but almost too much so for my carnal tastes.

She lacks the self assured sexuality I desire despite being able to turn on just enough to make the judges happy. Especially the dirty old ones that enjoy rolling their eyes over her naked navel.

Meanwhile I give myself to my lover, expose myself to hurt and disappointment. I give her a key to my house where she can seek refuge and live in my space for a weekend, explore and find out who I am with out my censorship.

Watch my porn, read my books, check under every rock and behind every closed door to see who I am. I feel naked and probed but content that I can be so open about who I am.

A thousand kilometers distant we pour months of hard work onto the dance floor and are rewarded with results exceeding our honest expectations. The one person I wanted to share it with is not there and she is told this again and again.

Yet all this trust and love is met with jealous accusations. Twice in two weeks now.

We do spend an insane amount of time in each others company, generally in a close embrace with our sweat, blood and tears mixing. We finish each others sentences like and old married couple and could get an Olympic medal for long jump when it comes to crossing the line in our private jokes.

Yet we go home to the ones we love, know that we are not connected that way and never will be.

I need her to understand that or it will all end.

True Love

The plan was simple, dance until late, return to my place and snuggle the night away with a lazy sleep in.

Yes, it was a school night and the lazy sleep in was to be on a Friday morning but I am the boss so fuck off back to work and don't question why I am late ok?

As I gently woke from my slumber and peered through bleary eyes at the alarm clock there was a confused recognition that the numbers were much lower than they should have been. 0700? What is that all about? Where has my bed warmer run off to? What is it with female bladders and early morning toilet runs? Wonder if she is getting ready to surprise me in that way of ways? Hmmmmm, warm bed....sleepy.

"Fuck...Oh no...Fuck Fuck Fuck" she mutters from the bathroom.

Cold tiles? Splashed cold water on her self?

"You ok?"

"Nope...I am early!"

It is 7am, damn right you are early I think. Then the penny drops...the red dragon is in the house.

"So much better than being late!" I quip back.

"True, but I am not prepared. I am like clockwork and this is 24 hours early, I have nothing with me..."

I know what this means. This is that moment when I get to find out the most intimate details. The whole plugs or planks discussion, mini, maxi, regular, wings or installation thing-a-ma-jigs...

"Do you want me to run up the shops" I enquire pulling on shorts and a shirt. My sleep-in dashed on the rocks of a feminine hygiene product emergency.

The specifications are given and I depart to the nearest Coles looking every bit like a man just out of bed.

As I get out of the car I am reminded that in my haste to clothe myself I neglected to step into underpants. The reminder comes in the form of a light brush of drilled cotton shorts on the tip of my knob.

A head conversation ensues like so;

Penis: Morning!! (stretching out to greet the day)
Head: Oh damn...forgot about you...em, can we save the morning greeting for about 15 minutes?
Penis: What's happening?...hmm, like this fabric, makes me tingle (now rubbing against the inside of the shorts like a cat weaving between your legs when asking for attention)
Head: Hey! quit it. We are shopping for girly stuff, this is not the time to look aroused.
Penis: but I am aroused....look at ME! (springing to full salute)
Head: but I am not so back to sleep for a while ok?
Penis: Too late! Hey, did the check out chick just glance at me?
Head: Fuck I hope not...I must look like a total perve.
Penis: pretty sure she just saw me waving at her...
Head: I am going to beat you when we get out of here..
Penis: I love it when you talk dirty...
Head: NOT like that!
Penis: Too late, I am ready for what ever you can give me!

So there I am, with an unrestrained, attention seeking boner, be dazzled by a million colourful packets of pads and tampons and wanting to die. I make my selection and dash for the check out.

The name tag introduces her as Amy, she is as flustered and flushed in the cheeks as I am. There is a brief mental exchange between us where I exert my full jedi will on this young and impressionable mind...

Amy: Is that what I think it is???...
Me: Yep, you saw it and no I am not stealing a Salami..
Amy: Do I need to call security???..
Me: No, no need for security, this is not the boner you are looking for..
Amy: No, this is not the boner I am looking for..."$5.70 please.."

I pay and leave as fast as I can. Knob straining against my shorts as I trot to the car.

What a way to start the day.

Exclusivity in the modern dating game..

What does it mean after one date, a bit of a snog and a few saucy text messages to get hit with the question "so are we exclusive?"

It is a bitch of a question in my book because it is way to early to know the answer to that unless you are a 18 year old romantic that still believes in true love and in reality when it is ready to be exclusive, you should not have to as such a stupid question.

Being the cynical bastard I am, I took it as a trap. A test to see if I was playing her.

I replied that while I had nothing else on the go, I could understand if she needed a little time to sort stuff out.

I could see us going exclusive in the near future but one date was a little early for me to expect her to just drop everything as well as her nickers.

She liked this answer and I thought I had dodged the bullet. More fool me.

This girl is out there in the land of crystals and auras and connection with the universe.

My connection with the universe is limited to acknowledging that in the words of Carl Sagan, I am made of star stuff...on a chemical level I could just as well have been a part of the sun or a comet.

Ironically those chemicals get all mixed up in new and interesting ways and as luck would have it, between answering the exclusivity question truthfully and date two I was hit upon by two other girls that seem much more interested in lube and a lack of exclusivity .

Normally this would not be an issue, despite my levels of mischief while single, when committing to a relationship I am right there in the moment and such opportunities while flattering, are not acted upon.

They were let down gently and both made sure to remind me to call if the situation changed.

Date two was a challenge.

It involved the reading of auras, the channeling of energy, a guided meditation and me being the only bloke in a room full of slightly quirky new aged girls.

Did I mention that three of them were insanely hot Brazilians...oh, it must have slipped my mind while I was focused on channeling white light to my chakras.

So after ruefully watching the last bit of Brazilian skirt leave the party we retired to the beach to discuss exclusivity.

It seemed that it was not a trick question but one aimed squarely at ensuring she could go on a date with another bloke. It was her perfect reason to delay things progressing beyond snogging, just in case she likes this other bloke more.

Rain and a thunderstorm provided the perfect excuse to wrap things up at that point.

As I drove home with my head spinning a little I did the only thing that seemed fair. I texted the other two girls that I had brushed off earlier in the week and made a date with both of them, for the same night...

The way it always happens...

I have a mate who, along with his wife are Virgin Blue flight attendants. It is hilarious the antics they get up to and the fun they hare having.

Unfortunately I am in that age bracket that is probably too old for Virgin Blue and too young for Qantas.

Anyhow, having also worked for an airline in a different capacity in my deep dark past I had preconceived ideas about staff travel allowances. I had already lived through years of budging mates wanting to get cheap flights that I could not provide and all the shit associated with travelling standby.

The day I booked my first fully paid seat and turned up at the airport knowing I was actually leaving as planned, rather than waiting for some idiot to forget their passport or get stuck in traffic, was the second happiest day of my life. The happiest was when someone else paid for it and it was business class...

So while chatting with my mate about the similarity between Virgin Blue and Fresh!, he drops it that if I want to go anywhere to let him know so he can put me on his staff travel list.

The what the fuck you be talking about Willis????

I had just booked and paid for two trips to Melbourne and one to New Zealand and now the twat offers me staff travel on poon blue?

I was gutted for a moment or two until I realised what this means....Party time people. I have mates in Briz Vegas I am going to visit, chums in Melbourne that I will call on if it ever stops burning down there and maybe even a little bit of Island hopping to chase the wind.

Giddy up.

A new year and an old friend

Boxing day was every bit as much fun on the water as expected and many more afternoons like it followed.

With new years eve rapidly approaching and no firm plans in place I did the only thing I could think of doing and put in a booty call to water bed girl.

There was no commitment as she was trying to make something else happen. We agreed that there was a dance party to fall back on for the evening if needed.

So much like the days before, new years eve started with a massive kite surfing session. I had half my wardrobe in the car to allow for all eventualities and arrived at a mates place for a BBQ and kids fireworks viewing, salt encrusted and skin glowing pink from sun and wind. Much to the amusement of the guests that did not know me, I invited myself to use their shower and re-entered the party fresh as a daisy and much better groomed than 15 minutes beforehand.

With the last chicken skewer finished, the smell of cordite still in the air from the 9pm fireworks and the temptation to settle in for the night on cold beverages and good company, my host chased all the kids off to bed so the adults could take over the wii and Guitar Hero.

It was at this point that I realised two things. One was that as much as I love performing, I really have to be drunk to sing. I was not drunk so there was no way in the world I was picking up that mike. The second was that playing the drums in guitar hero is more fun than playing the guitar. I know guitarists get all the chicks and drummers are prone to vanishing in a puff of smoke if you are in Spinal Tap but it was brilliant fun and an as yet unknown talent was discovered. Even if I say so myself.

As much as I was enjoying this I was surrounded by couples that were very set in their couple like ways. There was drinking and laughing but there was not going to be any sex and even the few single mums in the crowd were in man hating mode. It was obvious that as much as I was good mates with them, rolling drunk and playing guitar hero was not how I wanted to ring in 2009

Around 11pm the expected beep of the phone confirmed that all other plans had not worked out for water bed girl with the simple statement "Going to DP. Don't want to be alone tonight.."

Now, call me opportunistic but I finished up my set, threw the drum sticks into the cheering crowd, pushed passed the groupies signing bare chests as I went. Once in the safety of my car, I started the cross town dash to a guaranteed liaison of the skin on skin kind.

In a moment of panic I realised that I may have been a bit wishful in my thinking to get right into the heart of Five Dock in the last 40 minutes of new years eve but I managed to negotiate all the closed roads with little traffic and even got a parking spot in time for a few dances before the clock struck 12.

Waiting in her glass slippers like Cinderella was water bed girl with that mixed look of joy knowing what was on the menu to start 2009 and a little sadness that neither of us were really spending the night with the person we wanted to be.

Despite that, we put the negative thoughts behind us and I was again left with that smile that waking in a water bed puts on my face.

Christmas continued..

Yet again my enthusiasm for Christmas was failing fast.

Cracks in my relationship with LTL were tearing open faster than the San Andreas Fault in 1906. Arguing over stupid shit like my choice of tree left me dazed.

Christmas eve continued into an ever increasing whirlpool of negative vibes.

Her failure to succeed in cooking some exotic rice based desert somehow became my fault despite me having no input what so ever. For all intensive purposes it looked like rice pudding but was done in some complicated way to ensure a less than edible outcome.

With a kitchen smelling of burnt condensed milk and rice it was time to exchange gifts as that is what you do next to a spruce tree on Christmas eve in her country. Fair enough, we can play that game. Pity about the lack of spruce tree.

Again I got it all wrong. Unbeknownst to me, her take on Christmas is giving lots of individually wrapped little presents. Failure to do so is punished with the quivering lip of disappointment and misty eyed dribble about how the Douche understood how to do Christmas properly. My gift was well received but it felt that the fact that there was only one of them was looked down upon.

It probably did not help that on receiving gift number 53, a calendar full of photos of cats in the same vein as "I can has Cheezburger" that I might have suggested that a single purchase of a Playstation 3 would have fit in better with the existing decor and used less trees in wrapping paper.

Sadly, joking that I would buy my own PS3 in the boxing day sales sparked a debate over the proper spending of funds - A PS3 was frivolous and not the best use of my cash I was told. You can imagine how well that sat with me.

On that note, Christmas eve ended with an early night, some lack lustre sex and me day dreaming about kite surfing or dancing on another part of the planet.

Christmas morning dawned with the news that she was not coming to our family gathering. Wow - more surprises I thought. Christmas is just so much fun!

Would she still be here when I got back from lunch? What about all our plans for the holidays etc. Were they still on?

She did not know the answers to any of the obvious questions and with that cloud hanging over me I went to hang out with family and cop a million awkward questions while I sat at the table with an empty setting beside me.

Thankfully my younger brother and girlfriend were about to produce grand child number two so my inability to produce a girlfriend for Christmas lunch was overshadowed by my inability to breed with one too.

On the drive home I finally gave in to my dark thoughts and quietly hoped she was gone from my house when I got back. Sadly, she was still packing to leave.

I had decided on the drive home that I was not doing another relationship with a girl from far away lands that was going to turn around one day and want to go home. I did not need a girl who despite meeting every other criteria I thought I wanted, would drive me nuts with a love of cats, Christmas and directing my spending habits.

With a wave she was gone from my life.

Boxing day and the sales arrived. I did the rounds of the game stores, JB hi-fi and David Jones. After some haggling I secured a shiny new PS3 with some games and Blueray movies. No sooner did I have it plugged in and the phone rang.

"Wind is building up man...time to hit the beach" the voice on the other end nearly screamed at me. "Is the girly going to come too?"
"What girl? we split yesterday.."
"Awesome. The next few days are going to be pumping. You are better of without a hand brake!"

As much as I was sad, I had to agree. She hated the beach and thought my obsession with kite surfing was silly. I had been looking forward to the plans we had made but really, what the hell had I been thinking? It was going to be blowing 25 knots for days.

To be continued...

An interruption to regular programming

It is that time of year. The heat wave that ravaged South Australia and Victoria is creeping up towards Sydney and it is making life a challenge.

In the middle of all the heat I am trying to rehearse three dance routines and learn a whole heap of West Coast Swing from a couple of amazing dancers from California.

To say things are a little insane right now is an understatement.

I have danced every single night in two or more weeks and have probably averaged about three hours sleep on each.

The legs are weary and I have had to punch a new hole in my belt buckle to keep my shorts on.

Dealing with romance is not a priority right now although that is not to say that the mischief is not continuing in spades. I just don't have time to write it all up.

Currently I am keeping my fingers crossed for Saturday night. Not only do I have the final of a competition to dance in but two other performances to do.

All of that with the following list of lady friends in the audience; one fuck buddy, two ex-lovers, two girls I am considering dating, a third I would sleep with in a heart beat but know would be a disaster to date.

Mean while all my attention will be on my hot little dance partner for most of the night then I am taking another girl back to my place so she can sleep in the spare room as we are just mates...honest!

Wish me luck and expect a good volume of blog fodder and confusion for all concerned.

Thats not a Christmas bush!

I did think long and hard about the offer.

The longer I thought, the harder I got but despite the attraction to waterbed girl, she just was not the one.

At the first opportunity, I set it out for waterbed girl. It was not going to play out that way. LTL and I were making a commitment so that took me off the streets or more to the point out of her bed.

To say she was pissed off was an understatement. She really wanted a play thing and I was messing with her plans. In trying to convince me that it really was a good idea to have a fuck buddy right up to the day that LTL landed in Sydney, she detailed all of my character flaws and showed a few traits that indicated she would be really good at cooking rabbit.

I was not sold on the idea so we parted company making for all sorts of awkward moments socially where we were guaranteed to meet up.

Meanwhile plans with LTL were going swimmingly. In a bold move, she was to spend Christmas with my family as she has none here.

She already knew my parents well enough and by now they had figured out that something was going on so it was a no pressure situation in reality.

We were still skulking around in secret because she had a lot of stuff to sort out with the Douche and did not need the complications that revealing our relationship would bring.

Sadly this is where the wheels started to fall off. You see I hate Christmas. I hate the pressure to buy gifts for people you only see at that time of year. I dislike singing carols and the messed up relationship between a religious birthday celebration and marketing hype. I am not a Grinch but I think I might be related.

LTL loves Christmas.

The more kitsch the better when it comes to Christmas art or decorations. I think she would give Clark Griswold a run for his money if cut loose to drape a house in decorations and fire hazard lighting.

I on the other hand have not dressed a Christmas tree or even had one in my house for the best part of 15 years.

As a surprise to her, I bought a living tree, potted it, decorated it and even wrapped presents in fancy paper and placed them around the tree. It was more effort than I had ever done at this time of year.

On Christmas eve she arrived at my home. The moment she walked in the door I had a bad vibe.

She commented that the tree was the wrong species, it should be a spruce.

I quipped that I considered a pruning a gum tree into a cone shape but ran out of time.

An awkward silence followed.

To be continued...

Complications of the highest order.

2009 is underway and I have already made a mess of things.

Way back before I started blogging I knew this girl, she is just my type of person except she had a douche bag boyfriend, from now known as DB. We always got along like a house on fire and through various sport related gigs spent a fair bit of time together both in Australia and overseas. This was not a dancing thing.

There were moments when I thought it was about to happen but we both always seemed to acknowledge the complications of the situation and would back away before it got messy. In March last year Long time love (LTL) and I had a discussion about the silliness of the game we were playing we finally just got it on and accepted that we really should be together.

Two issues immediately hit us. LTL was not living in Sydney, she still had the DB and worse still, she had no permanent residency just yet. That was in the final stages of processing.

Everything sort of went on ice except for the weekends we met up in which case, it all got a bit hot and bothered.

In that time and because LTL was still not sure when she would be able to leave DB I have to admit I played around and kept looking, and generally playing the field. This varied in intensity depending on how likely I thought it was she would actually ever leave DB.

LTL knew it was a risk that I might get swept off my feet and she would loose me but that was the risk that we were taking in having this play out over 9 or more months on top of the previous 3 years of sexual tension.

Just when I thought it was never going to happen things got hot and heavy with waterbed girl. That was cruising along ok except it was obvious that other than great sex, it was not going to be a life long deal. As if to confirm that was the case, two things happened.

LTL got her permanent residency and she then immediately left DB. Giddy up indeed.

It was time to break it to waterbed girl that while what we had was fun, we really were on different paths oh, and by the way LTL is now back on the scene so we really need to cool it.

That did not go down well. I was not surprised but hey, when it comes to love, you got to look out for number one.

What did surprise me was the reason she was not happy. It was not that I was breaking it off for another girl, it was because she wanted the sexin to continue.

It was her opinion that while LTL may be the real deal, she was not on the scene right here and right now so we should be able to keep fucking like monkeys and enjoying the moment for as long as we could.

Hmmmm. I needed some time to consider this.

To be continued....