Friday, October 12, 2007

More irritating ironies of the Alanis Morrisette variety

Bless me for I have sinned - it's been four weeks since my last post and there's a lot to confess. Astute readers will have realised that I was most taken with the old friend that I wrote about in my past entry, and I'm sad and heartily delighted to confess that the days of the Grey Lynn Singles Club have once again ended, nearly as soon as they had begun.

I'm not quite prepared to describe all the ins and outs of finally getting into a relationship with someone who, it does appear, fully reciprocates my feelings. I've secreted a large swathe of bad poetry (some of which has potential), and experienced the highs and lows of coping with having the object of my obsession living a rather expensive plane-ride away. However I can offer some highlights - don't blame me if you end up puking from all the mushiness....

1) Booking a ticket to Wellington only to have him rock into town two weeks before the departure date and spend five days with me, including a weekend, because of being in Auckland to observe focus groups for work.

2) Doing a geographic from work and flying down to Wellington at short notice for 13.5 hours before flying up to face the music in what has been one of the busiest periods in my recent professional life.

3) Reading my poetry and listening to him read his over the phone.

4) Being told at regular intervals how fucking wonderful I am.

5) Returning the compliment.

6) The sex.

7) Wandering around a suburban supermarket in Wellington making jokes about mis-stacked food and personal hygiene items and labour relations while gazing moonily into each other's eyes.

8) Having a few wines and venting about work without feeling it was inappropriate or difficult.

9) Seeing the inside of his house - you can tell a lot about somebody from their house. His is filled with art and music.

10) An indefatiguable happiness soaking into everything.

The big question at the moment is when he'll be able to transfer up here. But I'll keep you posted. And if you want more details you can send me a comment, can't you??

Monday, September 17, 2007

Reality sets in

Oh, what a weekend it's been. Although I have to say it's been a salutory experience - with my parents and an old friend of the male persuasion in town online dating has taken something of a backseat. It was Ponsonby and vodka on Friday night, closely followed by a trip to Waiheke with my dad, to meet a teacher of his that he hadn't seen in 50 years. I took a picture or three of them to send to the Southland Times and on the way home I talked with Daddums about Facebook and Peak Oil.

We agreed that cohorts don't really exist anymore - the idea of going to the same vocational course as a good proportion of people from your high school like Dad did would be very strange now - there are so many more options to navigate. And things like Facebook allow people to stay in touch in ways they couldn't before. Why wait 50 years to touch base? It's been something I've rather enjoyed of recent times, discovering people from the past I know who know each other in ways I never realised. How very New Zealand.

However I do sincerely fear that when peak oil hits the happy days of nice new computers and travel to the other side of the world will take a fairly severe hit, even if it isn't entirely permanent. I heartily recommend the doco Crude Awakening currently screening at Auckland's Academy Cinema. Basic premise: thanks to advanced industrial processes oil can be extracted insanely cheaply, we are almost wholly reliant on it for the energy required to transport anything, farm anything or manufacture anything and it's about to run out. Cue a vision of the world where we are earth-bound, hungry and gradually a lot less populous than before. And where our ICT dwindles in the face of the excessively high energy consumption required to develop and run it.

The optimists I know are convinced that technology will save us and they might be right, but it can't start doing that till it starts doing that and no one has begun the process yet.

On the dating front, my lack of a mate pales somewhat as an issue, but it's not something I'm ignoring. If you're wondering what happened re dates at the weekend, the first was interesting - a union researcher. We discussed logical positivism, peak oil (of course), post-structuralism and mental illness. He manged to plant one on me at the end of the date, on Queen St, in broad daylight no less, but I wouldn't rule him out entirely, except for a nagging feeling of "better as friends".

The second date was fine but not much in common and just not a terribly interesting conversation. A nice guy though. No surprises. Possibly what is surprising is that Mr not much chemistry has messaged me twice since last night, while Mr I'll try my luck hasn't messaged me at all. I'm never going to understand men. But then I'm prolly never going to understand myself either - possibly because of my predilection for touching base with Facebook friends, the person who most captured my attention this weekend was the boy from the past who I took out to Ponsonby for vodka. What a waste of perfectly good online potential. Still - there is something slightly irresistible about seeing someone for the first time in ages and realising that 1) they're hotter than before and 2) they're more like the guy you've always imagined yourself being with than most of the people you see daily. Can fix cars: check. Also knows what a codec is: check. Doesn't dress like someone from a magazine: check. Has a position on the political spectrum: check. Literate, literary and articulate: check. Makes stuff: check. And, when you text and say, "what's your landy, I feel like a chat", just calls your cellphone straight back. And, just to balance the whole mess out, lives in Wellington, has a disastrous track record with women and is sensibly suggesting he isn't ready for a relationship at this point in time. What would lassie do? Run home immediately, tail between legs, no doubt. Oh life is filled with amusing little ironies - of the Alanis Morrisette variety. I'm just a bogan chick with a degree secretly seeking a bogan boy with similar and it looks like a permanent malaise.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

The week that was, part 1

Oh - there's just not enough time for everything. The online dating story has been told and retold to various friends and family members and distilled down to a few funny lines, but I've been so busy replying to lots of dudes that it hasn't found its way to the blog. The first message was a penis, the first guy I messaged was someone I already know (hi Alan), two married farmers from the Waikato propositioned me (one sent a picture of a horse), I got asked to have sex "tonight", one roided-up Fijian guy with 20 red-eyed, muscle-bound profile pics decided we had lots on common even though I hate the things he loves - principly gaming and horror movies, an accountant and also a network cabler - neither of whom could write - tried to chat with me, three hot guys I messaged weren't having a bar of it, a really rather attractive musician did message me back but his grandmother died (or he was off-line for a week for some reason) and things didn't really take off after that, I had a coffee date cancelled twice at the last minute by a jazz drummer I really wanted to meet, I went for dinner with a Buddhist who has a philosophical attachment to open relationships and told him no when he asked to hold my hand and I made dates with a shy-sounding and highly educated cat owner and a nice, seemingly well-adjusted guy from Morrinsville (roll on Sunday). As the week wore on I found myself beginning to chat to guys who messaged me about the process of online dating which is a good way to establish something in common but a bad way to light the fire. It's been a crazy seven days, but now all the regulars have pawed my profile over once, the frenetic avalanche of messages has dwindled to something more manageable. And I'm regularly messaging (text, online chat and via the site) the two Sunday dates and the jazz musician, which is nice. Who knows what the weekend will bring!

Saturday, September 08, 2007

It's raining men online

I'm late to return a text message to a 39 year old PI guy who plays rugby so I can't linger - I already no there's nothing doing but I swear that most of the men messaging me look at the photo and that's it. Why am I texting him? Well - he wanted to switch out of an online environment and I decided it was boots and all so off I'm going to meet him somewhere as yet un-decided. However since I accepted an invitation to an upgraded dating membership on Tuesday many dudes have messaged me - and since I've been replying to nearly all of them, things are getting out of control. I haven't slept (or worked) enough this week and as the first Saturday rolls around I'm looking at a mounting pile of messages in the inbox and realising that I'll have to change my tactics quickly or there's going to be trouble - or more trouble than currently. I'm aiming to do a longer update on the week's online action later today - it's really been one of the most fascinating experiences..

Sunday, September 02, 2007

The dating game begins in earnest

Well - I've just tidied up my membership on an internet dating site which will, (for the sake of whatever privacy my internet presence still affords) remain nameless. I was immediately assailed with two messages, one accompanied by a picture of a shaved and erect cock (supported by a hand no less), and the other demanding a photo. Men are curiously visual creatures are they not??? I blocked the dick and I've got a pic up now, so await a response from its rather terse requester.

My next step was to browse through what amounts to a men-u or a kind of catalogue of blokes all lined up in photographic equivalents of their Sunday best. I got to a profile that really made me laugh - out loud - and was just in the process of sending a message to its owner when I realised I used to work with him. I sent the message anyway, after laughing some more. Yeah - internet dating is pretty silly. In my profile I did carp on about my ideal bloke having a sense of humour, but the experience did give me a moment's pause..this is a guy I found attractive to a point, but the collared shirts always put me off. Could there be hope for some kind of post-working liaison? I simply don't know. In the words of one of my current workmates (who is sensibly circumspect in the face of my craven requests for technical assistance) "we'll see".....

Various men-merits

Friday night's encounter with the blue-collar artist's son did throw me into a pondery over desirable characteristics for future partners. Obviously there's got to be some adoration and attraction, but that in itself is made up of a a whole lot of subconscious cues about the type of qualities another person has, all fed through some sort of encultured filter. For example, tradesmen (a more Kiwi appellation for the Australian term "blue-collar" workers) are great potential partners - they've got money, they're smart, they're usually pretty fit, and they don't spend every single second they're not at work thinking about work. So far so good. But then, how would the average tradesman feel about women like myself with two degrees, a couple of jobs and regular stints in the office at the weekend? Add an unfortunate tendency to deploy items of lexicon that aren't in common usage while in conversation with new people and there are some obvious red flags for anyone with a pragmatic orientation to life. And then that nasty cliche of the working class man-alone, spending more time at the pub than at home raises its proverbial head, and I'm left thinking, yeah, well. Maybe not.

Playing statistics on this kind of thing is a mug's game - if my Ponsonby encounter reminded me of one thing, it's that people are always more than the sum of their culturally-coded parts. However the exigencies of dating, especially in a town the size of Auckland, mean that success in mating must most often go to people who are ruthless in their weeding of potential partners, right from the beginning. The blue-collar artist's son declined to take my number on Friday night, but I was happy with that honesty. No one wants to sit around with the sound of the phone not ringing in their ears. And in truth, he seems like a truly decent person (not so much the man-alone type at all) but I think we might have used up most of our conversation at the pub.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Single once more

I started this blog about two years ago, and as the title suggests I was single. I stopped writing it around about the time that I got into a relationship, and haven't put finger to keyboard in service of it since. Now that I'm single once more I'm relaunching the whole schebang and also myself with the Simpson's avatar you may be able to see below, and with this post. My life is increasingly finding its way onto the net so I've vowed to try and keep my web-presence something a mother (and any future employers) could be proud of. There will be no detailed accounts of any sexual exploits showing up here. But being single and admittedly more than passingly interested in stumbling upon a potential mate is a solid element of where I and my blog are at. There's no denying it. I expect a few diatribes about sad middle-aged divorced dudes in bars on Ponsonby Road and a commentary on the various merits of vs might ensue.

The current Grey Lynn Singles' Club is a rundown two-bedroom flat in a dubious villa-conversion on Williamson Ave. We're just two single gals who work too much and party a little too hard at times and don't clean the bathroom nearly enough. Things are generally quieter and easier than the previous 5-bedroom version on Crummer Rd, although I do occasionally miss being dragged out to some unexpected film or party.

It's a shame I tend to find Ponsonby such a souless place to go out given the GLSC's proximity to it. On the bright side though, people are always surprising me. Enticed by my flatmate I WAS out in Ponsonby last night and I ended up meeting a nice man who turned out to be an airconditioning installer, with a full-sleeve tattoo, which is not how he presented at first, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and (I kid you not) a trilby. Turned out he was an Australian who'd worked in Invercargill for a few years and his dad is a quote unquote blue-collar sculptor. Great what you can learn if you keep asking questions....

Here's to meeting some more surprising people.

Thursday, August 23, 2007