Monthly Archive for February, 2009

No Sex and the City

Published on February 27, 2009 in Lazy Bitch, Married Life, Pop Culture and Queen Me. 1 Comment

Last weekend, I watched two movies* whereby in which two main characters were cheated on, due to a lack of sex. Hmmmm. So the question is, in this highly theoretical scenario of a dry spell *ahem* who would I be – the cheater or the cheatee?**

*I really enjoyed Sex and the City. More than I thought I would. And me, Ms Don’t-Shed-a-Tear-on-Pain-of-Death had the sniffles at least three times. Craziness. And it wasn’t PMS week. He’s Just Not That Into Youwas pleasantly distracting. However there were moments where it was just too cringeworthy for comfort. I was looking at the top of the screen, the palms of my hands as my head lay in them and my friend’s shoulder. Girls aren’t really like that….are they?

**Not that I condone cheating but you know if it is in the movies, it is true, right? Can I pick Hugh Jackman for my shenanigans? Or Jessica Alba -for me or Beloved – either way is fine with me!

In Honour of Me Acting Like a Total Turd This Time-ish Last Year

Published on February 25, 2009 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Queen Me and Teaching. 0 Comments

Wrote this after my birthday last year. What a whingey brat I am! Enjoy the self-involved crapacity of it all!

I guess it was my fault really. Partly karma, partly too-high expectations. There were lots of exciting events coming up and I suppose I thought my birthday would be encompassed in all the goings on.

I had planned not to have a party, even though 30 is a milestone year (or is that millstone?) because two of my very good friends (my bee-maids in fact) were having their own celebrations very close to my wedding/birthday/hens night so I thought I would give it a miss till next year. I was already getting lots of attention I didn’t need much more – that’d just be greedy.

However, I didn’t actually expect my 30th birthday to go, not unremarked, but largely like any other old birthday….except less special. First of all there was a bot of a mix-up on the present front with Beloved. I found some earrings I like and he said I could have them. And then I had a moment of panic and said they were too expensive and if Beloved needed to tell me no and give stricter financial boundaries, that was fine. He had a think about it and said I could have them, but after the wedding and honeymoon (which I have shamefacedly contributed very minimally) I will have to buckle down and at least pretend to save money.

Closer to my birthday Beloved told me that he wasn’t getting the earrings, and I would have to nominate more present ideas. I wasn’t sure if he was throwing me off the scent because it is very unlike Beloved to renege on a deal. I obliged anyway, looking around for cheaper earrings and perhaps some sunglasses, perfume, a new wallet/purse – being something to hold money (notes and coins) credit cards, drivers licence etc

My birthday drew nigh and I hadn’t officially chosen another present but Beloved seemed to have it all under control. I had covered my bases at work, telling a few key people it was my birthday. I am not shy and a bit of birthday attention is a nice thing in my books. I had organised a birthday dinner with my family at a lovely Lebanese restaurant so I figured I was heading for a nice, special day.

The day dawned very early as I had boot camp. Beloved had assured me he would be up (if not at em) to present me with my first gift. When he couldn’t even bestow the obligatory ‘I love you, bye’ on me, let alone ‘Happy birthday and here’s your present’ cos he was so sleepy I was quite upset. But off I went to boot camp, and at the end of the work out there was Beloved at the front of the gym, not a little shamefaced, bearing a gift of perfume. So I was mollified.

At work, while I was greeted by many lovely email and Facebook messages wishing me a lovely day, the same couldn’t be said of my esteemed colleagues, who even when they did find out, (due to Resident Eccentric Teacher peering over my shoulder when I received a large and colourful happy birthday email from my sis) didn’t even go to the $2 Shop for a card with kittens on it. Although RET did tell his whole class of year 9s that it was my birthday and I had also had my hens night, complete with policeman stripper, which was totally fabricated.

When it is my Beloved’s birthday I always give him a gift (albeit cheaper than the ones he gives me) I will send him a loving sms and email and give him a call at work. If it is school holidays I will meet him for lunch and often cook him his favourite dinner and put sparklers in a Vienetta (which was only done once cos it made the ice-cream black) But nope. No call, sms or email. No flowers. Nothing. And my mother. All she could manage was a ‘Happy birthday dear daughter’ sms which to my trained eye was redolent with sarcasm. (She copped a serve from me cos she made up a weak excuse for not coming to my birthday dinner. Funny how she hasn’t come to any family birthday since November last year but she is a whole other story which I probably won’t tell)

After school I was feeling a bit down so I didn’t do the food shopping. I was supposed to but I didn’t want to further normalise the day by trawling the aisles of Coles. When I got home I had a nap. When Beloved got in he presented me with my nicely boxed (but unwrapped) gift. He gave me a lovely and obviously expensive Gucci wallet. AND a Gucci purse, which was sorta like a mini-handbag that I can’t fit much in, therefore can’t use all the time to show-off with. I asked why he had got it and Beloved said that the Gucci ladies had said it was a purse and I had wanted a purse. Ooookay. And then he clambered into bed for a nap too. 

Dinner was nice but low-key. No alcohol as I was still recovering from my hens night. The night drew to a close and I felt flat. But what did I expect? Fireworks? Didn’t I get enough attention at my awesome hens night – which included a birthday cake, candles, costumes, champagne, drinks, dares, gifts and a limousine ride? What a brat – good friends, a present buying fiancé and hello – GUCCI!

I don’t fully place the responsibility of my day on my Beloved and even if I did, it was probably karma. If I do recall last year – after his birthday meal, I ran off for my last lesson of the year for hip hop. Way to make him feel loved! I guess it was the ‘thought’ that was missing. Was he wondering if I was having a nice day? Was there anything he could say or do that would make me feel special in the face of turning 30? Probably. I dunno what I expected – it was just…more.

And while I spoilt my own birthday (and quite a few days after it) with my feelings of low self worth, I knew it was me that was really making me feel this way. I am an adult with a logical mind, not a spoilt brat, even if I acted like it. And that logical mind worked out that if I have a Gucci wallet and purse (which I didn’t really think is different) that means I still need a Gucci hand-bag! ;)

…..Got the Gucci hand-bag in London, cos I didn’t spend any of my spending money while on our honeymoon. My sister saw it and asked: ‘Is that your new make-up bag?’ Sigh.

 

Beloved Unveiled. The Cranky Bitch Version.

Published on February 19, 2009 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Married Life. 0 Comments

I pinched this from Dooce. Feel free to pinch it from me, this expose on the Beloved’s of the blog world. Perhaps I will have to do this one again when I am in a better mood with him. I feel I am being mean and terse with all of you with my answers too. Whatever.

What are your middle names?
Charmaine and David. Don’t they sound like a delightful, argyle sweater wearing couple?

How long have you been together?
Together nearly 10, married nearly one. Give or take 9 months worth of ‘off’.

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
About 2.5 years. He was the friend of a friend’s boyfriend. Then he started dating her after my friend and his friend finished up. Still with me? Hope so, then you can explain it to me.  

Who asked whom out?
He asked me on the premise of returning a book he borrowed.

How old are each of you?
I am 2 weeks off 31. He is just 32.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Beloved doesn’t have any, so my one sister gets the most face-time.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Uh…..him earning more money than me. I know, what an awful problem. But let me explain – cos because he ‘pays’ for more I  ‘do’ more to make up for it. I usually don’t mind but you know what? I work as hard as him, not my fault I get paid half what he does. So I come home to lesson planning and dishes. He comes home to scratch his ass.

Did you go to the same school?
Nope. He went to a wanky boys school. I went to a feral public school. I went to ‘university’. He went to what I suppose Americans would call community college. He fell into a job where he now kicks arse. He is super smart and driven.

Are you from the same home town?
Yup. Good ol’ 3 degrees separation Perth.

Who is smarter?
I am more….emotionally intelligent. He usually totally sucks at that. (Can you tell I am a little cranky with him right now?) I am good with language, being an English teacher. He is good at testicle technical stuff, money stuff.

Who is the most sensitive?
Me. He couldn’t give a shit if I cry, even though I only cry when really over-wrought. He cries at sad movies. So maybe he is.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
The Greek Taverna in Northbridge. They know us by name now, although my name is actually ‘Jodie Foster’. Supposedly I look like her. If we wanna book a table at the last minute we just have to drop that name and we are in.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Europe, for our honeymoon. Was awesome.

Who has the craziest exes?
Mine are all still ‘around’. They were/are normal. I only know one of his. So jury is out.

Who has the worst temper?
I am generally the crabbiest on a day to day basis. But if you really get him riled it is fucking scary. I have seen it maybe twice.

Who does the cooking?
Me. At the moment.  He used to be better it but I am more house-wifey now. He does the best Oysters Kilpatrick.

Who is the neat-freak?
I am not a neat freak, but I like things tidy. Often I like to express my displeasure in actions. It is far more effective. One day after I cleaned the walk-in-robe, I came home to find it trashed. I found great delight in foisting his belongs from the floor of the robe between my legs, like the way a dog furiously kicks sand behind it, with its front paws. Satisfying.

Who is more stubborn?
Depends on the issue.

Who hogs the bed?
We both have our moments.

Who wakes up earlier?
Me. Generally 4:40 for the gym. Beloved used to when Perth did not indulge in the delight of daylight savings and he had to be at work at 6am to be on par with the Eastern States.

Where was your first date?
A cafe in Applecross and then to the movies to see Ed.

Who is more jealous?
Me.

How long did it take to get serious?
I dunno. About 6 months.

Who eats more?
Him. And the Coke Zero addiction is crazy.

Who does the laundry?
Me. See the bit about him earning more money. Plus he doesn’t read care labels.

Who’s better with the computer?
Him. You should see his nerd-hole aka study.

Who drives when you are together?
Me on the way to wherever we are going and him on the way home cos I am the piss-wreck.

 

GYL* Downstairs

Published on February 15, 2009 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Fur Baby, Lazy Bitch, Married Life, Pop Culture, Queen Me and Teaching. 2 Comments

I would just like to put it out to the world that I am not a hairy girl. The vegetation on my Map of Tassie is clearly within the demarcated boundaries. However according to the fashion of the times Tasmania should be a veritable wasteland of razed skin and stumpy stubble. 

I am fairly lucky in that I can wear a bikini and there is generally no escaping of errant pubic hair. If sexy times are to be had, Beloved does not need an afro comb or tooth-pick to start or end any horizontal adventures.

I have always been confident in my stance of the keeping of my lady-hair. Number one: it is hard enough to keep my legs and eyebrows waxed, underarms shaved, hair (HEAD hair) coloured and cut, face made up and pretty, clothes ironed, nails neat and body relatively toned (work in progress) let alone worry about some fur on a currently severely underutilised part of my anatomy.  Number two: regrowth is a bitch. I spend about 90% of my life in front of teenagers. I do NOT need to be standing in front of 30 teenagers with an itchy fanny. And let us not talk about the actual pain of the waxing, the ingrown hairs, pimples etc.

I haven’t always been so adverse to the idea of vag-scaping. I flirted with it a while back but I had a bit of an unpleasant reaction to it so I left the idea alone. And I haven’t really thought about it since. I am in a loving relationship where my partner is happy with the status-grow. I mean if he gets to keep the hair on his crack and sack, all is fair. (And that is not to say that if he did de-fuzz the beast that I would do the same. He has tried that one before. )

Due to my over-sharing nature, a number of Beloved’s friends have become apprised to the fact that I live a 70s life.  Teasing me mercilessly for an hour at an engagement party was sort of funny.  I was a bit tipsy and I am fun to razz because I will always rise to the bait and nothing embarrasses me. However what did shit me was that Beloved just sat there and let them do it. He claimed that I was holding my own but it would have been nice for him to chip in somewhere saying that he didn’t mind a bit of wookie action.

Fast-forward a fortnight and I am having a thoroughly pleasant night with the female halves of Beloved’s friends. There was great food, lovely wine and pleasant company- until the boys come to pick up the girls and somehow the topic of my carpeted entry-hall came up again.  What annoys me in the ‘teasing’ is the comment that I don’t love my husband enough to wax it, and the idea that it is generally dirty and publicly(pubicly?) unacceptable. Huh? When did something no-one can see become such a topic of hot debate, a forum of open discussion?

I am sure I could have nipped the conversation in the bud early on, but when you’re having a laugh and a few drinks it can be difficult. The problem now being, that from an interaction slightly related to my fur-factor, I left a lovely evening in tears. I haven’t even spoken to Beloved about it, even though he listened to me sniffle for a half an hour drive.  I don’t think I can. Because I don’t know whose side he is on. If it is mine he will have to acknowledge that I have issues the offender, and they are good friends. If it is NOT my side – well. A whole other can of worms isn’t it?  I will have a husband who is thinking I was too sensitive, tipsy and PMS-y to boot, and may not respect that I don’t wanna interact with this dude much at present.

But whatever comes of it, there is NO chance of Beloved getting the ‘pleasure’ of seeing me looking like a pre-pubescent girl. It is the principle of the thing.

* GYL in this case standing for Grungy Yeti Locks. Sorry. It is all I could come up with after a whole day of lesson planning.

Don’t Read This One Gordon*

Published on February 5, 2009 in Can't be bothered categorising, Queen Me and Teaching. 3 Comments

Today was a very important day in my teaching career. I have been waiting for a long time for this moment, a true achievement.

I pulled off my first drop and run. I have heard of other, far more experienced teachers pulling this manoeuvre off successfully, but I have never had the guts. They would use this specialised teaching method to provide subtle, (or not so subtle, as the previous meal’s make-up would dictate) behaviour modification.

As a graduate teacher I couldn’t quite fathom the audacity of these seasoned beasts. Surely the children would cry and foul and point the finger.  I knew that as soon as I tried it, I would be surrounded by a miasma of green gas and would blush as everyone pointed and laughed.

Today, as my class of delightful 14 year olds students wrote a paragraph on themselves, I went around checking their homework.  I made a chicken tortilla pie last night. It was delicious. It had beans in it. Period 3 and those beans were working their magic. It was quiet. It was subtle. Well subtle enough so that I wasn’t engulfed straight away, proclaiming my guilt. I sailed on down the row, ticking and checking and stamping. When I got the next row, the one in front of the one I had just marked, a poor child, a casualty of my generalised war on naughty children of the world said:

                ‘Aw, Miss – it smells around here – someone farted’ but unlike most students he said it very quietly, perhaps to avoid blame being laid at his feet (arse?) I just looked at him and shrugged with a ‘Kids – they’re feral . What can you do?’ look.

It was a small victory and it was sweet.

* Gordon absolutely cannot handle bodily functions. Despite this, and my love of all things farty, burpy and boogery, we are still friends. I thought it was only fair to warn him. Otherwise he would have been dry-reaching throughout that whole post.

Reciprocating

Published on February 1, 2009 in Beloved, Can't be bothered categorising, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Queen Me. 4 Comments

I am slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that no-one really likes me and my Beloved. (I know, I am obviously quite thick if it’s taken me this long!) We are social people. We like inviting people over for dinner, barbecues, casual drinks and pizza, spas etc.

However over the years it is come to my attention that the ratio of invites sent to invites received is a little uneven. It probably comes across as a bit tit for tat but I kinda thought when someone invites you to their place, you invite them back in the near-ish future. But some people just don’t. (I dunno – perhaps it doesn’t count if there are more than one ‘couple’ or lot of friends present?) Come on,  just because my house is fully tiled and I am a bit of a bush-pig it doesn’t mean I’m not properly toilet trained!

I have conversed with people in a similar dilemma and we have come up with some suggestions of why this situation is occurring:

a) No-one likes us but my Beloved cooks a mean barbecue – can’t say no to that!

b) People think they have to provide a similar fare if  we go to their place and it can be expensive.

c) It becomes expected of you – it’s your role in the friendship.

You know – I don’t mind if I have to bring a packed lunch to your place- I just like the thought that you want me to be there, socialising with you. I don’t let my guests get off scot free – they always bring their own drinks or a salad or $10 for Thai or whatever it is we are having. Entertaining at my house is all well and good but sometimes I want another vibe or atmosphere. It’s nice to be hosted rather than the hostess. (But I admit – it is great to get tipsy at your own house and have your bed and toilet handy!)

Whether your place is big or small, neat or messy – I don’t care – I wanna see you, in your own environment. (Okay, that had a weird bird-watching ring to it!) I will bring my world-class potato salad or rocky road.

But unless of course, you actually really don’t like us.