Adventure Girl learns it's all about the boy
'See that guy in the pin-stripes? The one who looks like he's got his shit together?'
My friend nudges me. I follow her gaze to the high-powered, stiff-shouldered, beefy suit with a cheese-board chin, who despite spending his life under the fluorescent lighting of the 35th floor, miraculously manages to maintain a tan.
'That's who you should be dating.'
'Wow. He's hot.' Except I'm not watching the after-work suit, I'm watching the gangly bar-tender. Pale, slightly effeminate ('arty', if you prefer), struggling to fill an undersized op-shirt.
Eyebrows raised – I’m sprung. 'That's the kind of guy I would have dated in my early twenties.'
(This is the same friend who sent me a link to datingpsychos.com, so clearly she has an inflated opinion of my taste).
She's right, of course.
But there must be something, some primal part of my make-up that believes it will benefit by sprogging up with someone barely capable of catching a spider, let alone whisking me away from the clutches of an over-sized tiger. I'm also one of the least maternal people I know, so perhaps my survival instinct just isn't that strong.
Or maybe it's that my mould was cut catching the bus at thirteen with my first pasty crush. Mmm that concave chest and scrawny arms, that alabaster English lack-of-tan, drifting bohemian-like from art class to orchestra...
‘What is it with you and pasty boys?’ another friend wants to know.
I delve into my psyche in new and uncomfortable ways, say something about non-threatening physicality and a prancing father...
'No!!!'
'Too much?’
‘Wrong much! I want to understand the attraction, the appeal. See what you see.'
'Oh! You want pasty porn!'
‘Yes. Well, sort of'.’
But how do you explain the subtleties of attraction? It's an imagined sensation, like a memory-scent.
For some it’s the appeal of an I-can-work-with-my-hands tool-belt, the rescue-me-dominate-me uniform. For others it’s the I-can-take-you-on-that-cruise-with-diamonds power-suit.
But not for me.
I long to see a guy who will embrace a guitar, a microphone, a keyboard, not arse-sniff their field-mates in an animalistic neck-throng. I want someone who will attack a blank page or a canvas, fill it with mind-spray, not piss up a wall playing fisticuffs. Give me elbow patches, English-department glasses and an op-shop corduroy suit, or a sweaty black T with mussed up hair.
I describe the line of a narrow waist, the feel of limbs encompassing without the push and shove of intrusive convex beef-cake. A gentleness – not weak, or passive, but free from inflated aggression. A hardness that yields... or something... (I’m drowning in clichés here).
Because when it comes right down to it, I like my catalogue cast.
I tip back my glass and head for the bar. 'More suits for you,' I say.
-AG
31 May 2010
30 May 2010
When like meets like
Christine Priestly shares why you should never date a writer...
Over the years I have watched lovers watch me 'in progress' during one writing fit or another. Working to deadline, real or imagined, letting my body moulder. During these fits, food becomes sustenance, sex a kind of manic release, and excercise something you do when your retinas begin to burn. You shower and dress only when you are forced to leave the house, and any outside contact seems alien and slightly awkward. You also, oddly enough, lose your ability to speak. Your verbal vocabulary vanishes into incoherence, and you struggle to maintain the most basic conversation.
These are things I have known about myself for years, but struggled to make known to and understood by my friends, family, and partners. All they see is an anti-social, ill-tempered, crazed bitch who lives on stale crackers and refuses to get out of her manky pyjamas for stretches at a time. How often have I caught myself saying, 'I'll be human again soon, I promise.'
More recently I have had the opportunity to witness this from the other side.
My lover - a fellow writer - has attracted the interest of a publisher, so for the past month my phone calls have become rude interruptions, Saturday nights have been spent in the throes of lap-top passion, and I have been haunted by a vague scent-impression of male deodorant and the image of my lover wearing something other than cruddy track-pants.
I’d love to say that tumultuous madness is part of our charm.
'You're lucky I didn't tell you to fuck off for an entire two weeks,' he told me.
He's right; in his shoes I might have done the same.
I find this curiously alluring. We develop our own habits, our own process, but the one thing we share is obsession. In the lunatic hours of the morning we call it a hobby, a craft, a desire, but the reality is it's so much more.
...And I thought our self-absorbed delicate egos were the things to watch.
-CP
Over the years I have watched lovers watch me 'in progress' during one writing fit or another. Working to deadline, real or imagined, letting my body moulder. During these fits, food becomes sustenance, sex a kind of manic release, and excercise something you do when your retinas begin to burn. You shower and dress only when you are forced to leave the house, and any outside contact seems alien and slightly awkward. You also, oddly enough, lose your ability to speak. Your verbal vocabulary vanishes into incoherence, and you struggle to maintain the most basic conversation.
These are things I have known about myself for years, but struggled to make known to and understood by my friends, family, and partners. All they see is an anti-social, ill-tempered, crazed bitch who lives on stale crackers and refuses to get out of her manky pyjamas for stretches at a time. How often have I caught myself saying, 'I'll be human again soon, I promise.'
More recently I have had the opportunity to witness this from the other side.
My lover - a fellow writer - has attracted the interest of a publisher, so for the past month my phone calls have become rude interruptions, Saturday nights have been spent in the throes of lap-top passion, and I have been haunted by a vague scent-impression of male deodorant and the image of my lover wearing something other than cruddy track-pants.
I’d love to say that tumultuous madness is part of our charm.
'You're lucky I didn't tell you to fuck off for an entire two weeks,' he told me.
He's right; in his shoes I might have done the same.
I find this curiously alluring. We develop our own habits, our own process, but the one thing we share is obsession. In the lunatic hours of the morning we call it a hobby, a craft, a desire, but the reality is it's so much more.
...And I thought our self-absorbed delicate egos were the things to watch.
-CP
26 May 2010
Too many exes spoil the broth...
"Maybe she wants her CD player back?"
"Maybe she's getting married?"
"Maybe she's pregnant?"--Spaced, Series 1, Episode 7
Adventure Girl gets up close and personal with a ghost of boyfriends past...
So out of the dust your ex gets back in touch. They want to meet up. Been there, done that, but your stomach is churning. It's the ultimate unknown. Will your ego be plumped or terminally bruised?
Still, you rock up, wondering, wondering. It could be awkward as arse, surprisingly fun, profoundly deep, or spectacularly awful.
My recent encounter was a chef's combination, smothered in wasabi soy and drowned with a glass or three of house white. There was a touch of he-said-she-said, a smattering of what-ifs and if-onlys, and a whole lot of coulda-shoulda-woulda played out in second-hand clichés.
Of course I can't write too much - social networking and the interwebs provide a horrid mix of torture and solace in the game of oscillating cyber-stalking and avoidance we exes play.
But I am glad I went. I was reminded of why I went there the first time, but also why it didn't work. The kind of murky clarity only hindsight can provide.
Until next time, I'll chalk it up as another lesson learned ;)
-AG
25 May 2010
Not your average party
Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover if the end really does justify the means.
I arrived home yesterday to find the house in front of mine tomb-sealed. Blinds drawn, disco soundtrack blaring, but no sign of parked cars to signify a typical suburban party - those were around the corner.
I turned to my friend. 'Suppose they're making a porno?'
Eyebrows quirked. 'Or hosting a sex party.'
A young couple in an ordinary street in central Boganburbia, no kids, working all hours to fend off the bank? It could just be.
'How much do you suppose they charge?'
'A few hundred bucks a pop. Although they'd have to provide a few nibbles and drinks, screen out all the single guys and voyeuristic weirdos...' Then sit back and watch everyone get their kit off.
I step inside my own pad. Not too big, but not too shabby either. Perfect for suburban parties if you don't mind everyone piled on top of each other - or wait, that would be the point :)
I might just pay off those renos sooner than I thought...
-RP
I arrived home yesterday to find the house in front of mine tomb-sealed. Blinds drawn, disco soundtrack blaring, but no sign of parked cars to signify a typical suburban party - those were around the corner.
I turned to my friend. 'Suppose they're making a porno?'
Eyebrows quirked. 'Or hosting a sex party.'
A young couple in an ordinary street in central Boganburbia, no kids, working all hours to fend off the bank? It could just be.
'How much do you suppose they charge?'
'A few hundred bucks a pop. Although they'd have to provide a few nibbles and drinks, screen out all the single guys and voyeuristic weirdos...' Then sit back and watch everyone get their kit off.
I step inside my own pad. Not too big, but not too shabby either. Perfect for suburban parties if you don't mind everyone piled on top of each other - or wait, that would be the point :)
I might just pay off those renos sooner than I thought...
-RP
20 May 2010
18 May 2010
I had a dream...
Christine Priestly ponders a premonition.
Last night I dreamed I visited my dead grandfather.
He was slumped in an almost-modern couch inside a box-shaped room. He wore a pin-striped suit. My grandfather never wore pin-stripes.
Rheumy eyes peered up at me. 'You look like my daughter,' he said.
His daughter died as a child of cystic fibrosis. In the only photo of her I ever saw, she was a pudgy-pale thing, artificially pastelled in blue and pink, a hint of yellow hair that would turn to mouse if she'd been allowed to age. No sign she would grow up to resemble her unborn niece.
He seemed fit, virile in a way he had never been - at least, not while I knew him. My memories are of him snoring for hours in his armchair, keeping the hours of a cat. 'It's because for me, it's fifteen years ago,' he said.
We got talking in a way we never had. It was a surprisingly lucid conversation. 'I liked myself better then,' he said, of this fit, stronger him.
And then, when the alarm cruelly hammered me, I was left staring into dark, wondering, will someone die soon?
-CP
Last night I dreamed I visited my dead grandfather.
He was slumped in an almost-modern couch inside a box-shaped room. He wore a pin-striped suit. My grandfather never wore pin-stripes.
Rheumy eyes peered up at me. 'You look like my daughter,' he said.
His daughter died as a child of cystic fibrosis. In the only photo of her I ever saw, she was a pudgy-pale thing, artificially pastelled in blue and pink, a hint of yellow hair that would turn to mouse if she'd been allowed to age. No sign she would grow up to resemble her unborn niece.
He seemed fit, virile in a way he had never been - at least, not while I knew him. My memories are of him snoring for hours in his armchair, keeping the hours of a cat. 'It's because for me, it's fifteen years ago,' he said.
We got talking in a way we never had. It was a surprisingly lucid conversation. 'I liked myself better then,' he said, of this fit, stronger him.
And then, when the alarm cruelly hammered me, I was left staring into dark, wondering, will someone die soon?
-CP
17 May 2010
Mad Julie gets positive
Affirmations for today:
i am vague
i am tired
i am fuzzy
i am mush
i am counting down the minutes til the end of the day and the week...
i am trying to hide from scary work people
i am sad the weekend is over
i am...............
...........................absent......
i am vague
i am tired
i am fuzzy
i am mush
i am counting down the minutes til the end of the day and the week...
i am trying to hide from scary work people
i am sad the weekend is over
i am...............
...........................absent......
13 May 2010
A Lesson in online etiquette - Adventure Girl tries her hand at Chatroulette
'Show boobs or I will push the bird towards the snake!’ http://www.gizmodo.com.au/2010/03/nsfw-infallible-method-to-get-chatroulette-boob-flashing/
I recently spent a Friday night with friends playing chatroulette (don’t ask – we were VERY drunk). After all the hype, I had a fair idea of what to expect: randoms with their cocks out demanding I ‘show boobs’.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Me: 'How many inches?’
Random: ‘Eight.’
Me: ‘Really? Is that all?’
Random: ‘Show your tits’
Me: ‘ '
Random: ‘Tits!'
And so it went.
Sadly I got ‘nexted’ as soon as the random realised I wasn’t going to ‘show boobs’ – though I did tease that out for a bit ;)
After ‘nexting’ ten or so guys, I began to wonder why any of them started with their pants on.
My experience wasn't as varied and kooky as some (checkout ‘The Best of Chatroulette – What happen on Chatroulette should stay on Chatroulette’: http://www.bestofchatroulette.net/). It was penis-pump and animal-costume free, and disappointingly, I didn't end up flashing my boobs to an entire music festival in a game hosted by Faith No More front man Mike Patton.
Maybe if I try my luck again this week...
-AG
09 May 2010
‘No strings, yes please…’
Rhonda Perky goes under-the-covers to blow a load over Red Hot Pie.
So you’re keen to find Mr No-Strings-Attached for some regular fun, or maybe a Mr One-Night-Stand for an all night scratch? Forget the hit and miss of bars and clubs, friends of friends, or playing chief bridesmaid yet again. With dedicated online hook-up sites like 'Red Hot Pie' and 'Adult Matchmaker', you can be shagging yourself silly in no time.
To begin, set up a profile. Give yourself a username that expresses your personality, such as ‘hottitties’, ‘kokraver’ or ‘wetnwild’. Stuck for ideas? Try browsing existing members first. If your faves are already taken, don’t lose heart, get creative with your spelling, or use the tried and tested method of adding ‘69’ to an existing username.
To maximise your chances of meeting Mr Right-Away, give yourself a convincing persona as a walking, talking, f*ck machine, always wet and ready to go (think late-night TV commercials for the sad-and-lonely).
Next, provide your specifications including cup size, a description of your pubic hair, whether you practice safe sex ‘for all activities’, not at all, or only ‘if required’, your sexual interests (nipple play, anal play, dogging, etc), fetishes (role play, S&M), and what you’re looking for (men, women, couples, group sex, MMF, FFM, TV/TS), attached or otherwise. Go all out. No matter how depraved and unrealistic, users will be convinced.
Apparently ‘profiles with pictures get more hits’, so the next step is to give yourself a suitable body. Just a single body part, an arse, a boob, whatever, will do the trick. In fact, the less shown the better. A pair of perts, nothing more than a c-cup, will say enough about you as a person for over a hundred users to want to meet you within 24 hours.
If you’ve done your homework and put the effort into your profile – your ‘handle’ and profile pic are priceless here – chances are you’ll meet [crassusername1] who wants nothing more than to take you on an all-expenses paid weekend away. [Crassusername2] will likely suggest bending you over his office desk at lunchtime, while [crassusername3] may be tempted to offer you his whole 9 inches. Expect to be approached by couples, too – male involvement optional.
You may find the sheer volume of responses overwhelming at first, and of course you’ll need some way to separate the wheat from the chaff. How can you be sure Mr-One-Night-Stand isn’t telling any old girl he wants to ‘lick their lollipops’? In this case I recommend setting up a decoy profile, or getting your BFF to set up their own, tamer profile, and comparing responses. For this profile, post some glamour shots, just of your torso with underwear on and no rude bits. Still no face, of course – you don’t want your boss/brother-in-law/significant other to stumble across a picture of you with your hand over your crotch during their meanderings. That would just be embarrassing. Keep those pics for your by-invite-only 'Private Gallery'.
Then fill in the ‘about me’ and ‘looking for’ sections. Try something a bit more subtle, for example, describing yourself as recently single, looking for a bit of fun, but open to things developing into something more (yes – an allusion to the dreaded ‘relationship’).
I guarantee the response will be spectacular.
Next: how to filter. When the hundreds of messages and flirts fill your inbox, look for 'Replicators', users who cast the net as far and as wide as possible, sending the same message over and over to dozens of profiles without bothering to read them. Some clues are offers for ‘discreet encounters’, ‘in town for one-night’ and ‘strictly daytimes’, despite specifying that you are only looking for ‘unattached’ matches.
The next thing to watch for is ‘template’ responses. These may appear to have been written just for you, but when you compare profiles you will find your BFF has received an almost identical message, ever-so-slightly tailored, or one from an identical 'set'. 'Sets' are multiple templates sent by the same user to different 'types' of profiles. At core, these are all minimal-effort responses. The best you can hope for here is some clue your suitor has at least glanced beyond your pic.*
Despite their promos, don’t expect to find the love of your life on a hook-up site, unless you’re also listing ‘constant disappointment’ among your fetishes. If nothing more it is an experience to see just how many men and women out there spend days on end online trawling.** And who knows, once you join them you may find yourself a f*ck-buddy or three to share.
Oh, and let me know if you get a worthy bite ;)
-RP
*Hot tip: keep an eye out for [crassusername4]. This user poses as a couple, but makes his move solo, and apparently desires nothing more than to put his head up your skirt – no need for you to do anything ‘unless you require it’. He sends this message in various guises to EVERYONE.)
**Watch for people you know - you may see more of them than you ever cared to.
So you’re keen to find Mr No-Strings-Attached for some regular fun, or maybe a Mr One-Night-Stand for an all night scratch? Forget the hit and miss of bars and clubs, friends of friends, or playing chief bridesmaid yet again. With dedicated online hook-up sites like 'Red Hot Pie' and 'Adult Matchmaker', you can be shagging yourself silly in no time.
To begin, set up a profile. Give yourself a username that expresses your personality, such as ‘hottitties’, ‘kokraver’ or ‘wetnwild’. Stuck for ideas? Try browsing existing members first. If your faves are already taken, don’t lose heart, get creative with your spelling, or use the tried and tested method of adding ‘69’ to an existing username.
To maximise your chances of meeting Mr Right-Away, give yourself a convincing persona as a walking, talking, f*ck machine, always wet and ready to go (think late-night TV commercials for the sad-and-lonely).
Next, provide your specifications including cup size, a description of your pubic hair, whether you practice safe sex ‘for all activities’, not at all, or only ‘if required’, your sexual interests (nipple play, anal play, dogging, etc), fetishes (role play, S&M), and what you’re looking for (men, women, couples, group sex, MMF, FFM, TV/TS), attached or otherwise. Go all out. No matter how depraved and unrealistic, users will be convinced.
Apparently ‘profiles with pictures get more hits’, so the next step is to give yourself a suitable body. Just a single body part, an arse, a boob, whatever, will do the trick. In fact, the less shown the better. A pair of perts, nothing more than a c-cup, will say enough about you as a person for over a hundred users to want to meet you within 24 hours.
If you’ve done your homework and put the effort into your profile – your ‘handle’ and profile pic are priceless here – chances are you’ll meet [crassusername1] who wants nothing more than to take you on an all-expenses paid weekend away. [Crassusername2] will likely suggest bending you over his office desk at lunchtime, while [crassusername3] may be tempted to offer you his whole 9 inches. Expect to be approached by couples, too – male involvement optional.
You may find the sheer volume of responses overwhelming at first, and of course you’ll need some way to separate the wheat from the chaff. How can you be sure Mr-One-Night-Stand isn’t telling any old girl he wants to ‘lick their lollipops’? In this case I recommend setting up a decoy profile, or getting your BFF to set up their own, tamer profile, and comparing responses. For this profile, post some glamour shots, just of your torso with underwear on and no rude bits. Still no face, of course – you don’t want your boss/brother-in-law/significant other to stumble across a picture of you with your hand over your crotch during their meanderings. That would just be embarrassing. Keep those pics for your by-invite-only 'Private Gallery'.
Then fill in the ‘about me’ and ‘looking for’ sections. Try something a bit more subtle, for example, describing yourself as recently single, looking for a bit of fun, but open to things developing into something more (yes – an allusion to the dreaded ‘relationship’).
I guarantee the response will be spectacular.
Next: how to filter. When the hundreds of messages and flirts fill your inbox, look for 'Replicators', users who cast the net as far and as wide as possible, sending the same message over and over to dozens of profiles without bothering to read them. Some clues are offers for ‘discreet encounters’, ‘in town for one-night’ and ‘strictly daytimes’, despite specifying that you are only looking for ‘unattached’ matches.
The next thing to watch for is ‘template’ responses. These may appear to have been written just for you, but when you compare profiles you will find your BFF has received an almost identical message, ever-so-slightly tailored, or one from an identical 'set'. 'Sets' are multiple templates sent by the same user to different 'types' of profiles. At core, these are all minimal-effort responses. The best you can hope for here is some clue your suitor has at least glanced beyond your pic.*
Despite their promos, don’t expect to find the love of your life on a hook-up site, unless you’re also listing ‘constant disappointment’ among your fetishes. If nothing more it is an experience to see just how many men and women out there spend days on end online trawling.** And who knows, once you join them you may find yourself a f*ck-buddy or three to share.
Oh, and let me know if you get a worthy bite ;)
-RP
*Hot tip: keep an eye out for [crassusername4]. This user poses as a couple, but makes his move solo, and apparently desires nothing more than to put his head up your skirt – no need for you to do anything ‘unless you require it’. He sends this message in various guises to EVERYONE.)
**Watch for people you know - you may see more of them than you ever cared to.
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