Hearts And Flowers

Well I pretty much ignored Valentines Day again this year. Of course that might have had something to do with the fact that I don’t have anyone with whom to actually celebrate. It is also however because I don’t have the burning desire to do something ‘significant’ with all my single girlfriends, go to the trouble of proclaiming myself as being ‘anti-valentines’ or jump on the feminist bandwagon that now apparently claims the day as ‘V-day’ – a day to celebrate Vaginas or to raise awareness of violence against women. Not that raising awareness of the violence issue is not a worthy cause, but I’d like to think that I might actually celebrate this consumer driven Hallmark Holiday at some later date so I’m happy for it to remain as it is.

So yes, I ignored most of the hoopla and only belatedly caught up on the His and Her Guide video segment that Sam de Brito and Sam Brett (of the Sydney Morning Herald blog fame) filmed for Valentines Day. It was a predictable, kitsch couple of minutes worth of stock standard ‘romantic’ gift ideas. I didn’t really get anything from it but the urge to throw up. Boy Sam, a man more after my own heart managed to temper that of you must send flowers, make it to your love’s workplace but you should really try and personalise your offerings as much as possible. Girl Sam on the other hand was your quintessential female and reminded me of a puppy dog that craves attention. I’m sure that’s completely unfair but she professes to want chocolates and flowers and teddy bears and cards. She also can’t imagine anything better than being proposed to on Valentines Day.

Now there is nothing wrong with each of these ideas individually, well apart from proposing on Valentines Day, I think that’s terribly unimaginative and people who do it should be clocked over the head. The idea of all the other gifts, especially together though is a little twee. I wouldn’t actually be adverse to receiving flowers, food or some sort of stuffed animal but since I’m not big on roses, milk chocolate or tiny teddy bears, picking out something so generic for me would probably not inspire great heights of passion or favour on my part. As for cards, well there is something that just annoys me about them. Girl Sam seems to love them and would not mind receiving some poem or ditty inside (I’m guessing Roses are red, Violets are blue, I’m sorry I gave you Herpes Type II is not what she means). I, in comparison like to throw them out and would much prefer a letter to keep any day of the week.

I don’t know, maybe I’m too difficult or fussy or high-maintenance. And as they say, beggars can’t be choosers. I think however if you are going to make a gesture out of love or affection, there is something be said for knowing how your gesture will be received. Any bloke who uses the rationalisation ‘she’s a girl, she’ll like this’ might just deserve everything he gets, or doesn’t get.

Old Maid

Well its more or less official. I am now the old maid of my college girlfriends. The last single one left. The sole object of pity and platitudes on finding a partner that always seem to contain the words ‘time’ and ‘eventually’. Or maybe ‘fish’ and ‘sea’. Actually I’m really not that bothered and I don’t feel pitied at all but I am still going to be the unmarried one for a good while yet. Not that this is actually much of a distinction as we were really only a group of four but when I did hear the happy news at the end of last year that my friend Gina was over the moon to accept a marriage proposal from her partner, it did cross my mind that I’m now on this particular limb all by myself. Well, compared to the others that is. And as I said, its not really that much of a distinction anyway.

The first one of us to grow up and settle down did so a couple of years ago. As she was actually also the first of all my close friends to get married, it was kind of fun and novel – and now she and her husband are also the first to start on a family, well that’s kind of fun and novel too. The second to leap out and spread her wings to fly beside another, definitely didn’t do it by halves. She moved to England and married a South African. Her Australian friends of course had a few things to say about the fact that we didn’t get enough notice to be able to attend the wedding but we all wish her well anyway. Now Gina has been the next to succumb and will be tying the knot at the end of the year. Not that this actually changes much.

As is the case with a lot of my friends today, they live with their partners before they marry them. They may already own assets together and the only real difference that a marriage seems to make is the dent it puts in their bank balance for the wedding. This is not the case for all certainly but definitely the majority. I always find it interesting what people find important though. I am admittedly a romantic and if I was going to spend my life with someone I’d want to be married to them. I’d probably want to be married sooner rather than later if I was sure as well. There are some people however who don’t want this. I have some friends who have pretty much decided that they don’t want to get married together for the rest of their lives. I think that takes commitment too.

As for myself though, I’m yet to come across the decision. I’m not actually concerned that I’m turning into an old maid however. There is more to life than being married for some. There are marriages that fail and love affairs that last a lifetime. On the other hand, if you don’t happen to find one or the other, thats really not the end of the world either.

A Smart Cookie

Apparently, the great thing about me is that I figure things out for myself. Sure, I do the dumb things that other women do in regards to relationships. I obsess over small details that, in the grand scheme of things are really not so earth shattering and I tend to ignore things here and there that I don’t particularly want to think about. As opposed to those other friends one has that make the same mistakes over and over again however and never seem to understand why things don’t work out, I figure it out by myself. A friend who lives halfway across the world to me pointed this out. Kind of in awe like ‘I kept on repeating bad behaviour and I wish I’d been more like you’ and also as if to say ‘I think you do some weird things Girl but I guess I don’t have to worry about you doing something totally stupid when I’m not there to slap you upside the head’. She’s obviously one of my best friends.

When she told me that she thought this trait was really cool I was kind of flattered. Its always nice to think that you’ve got a pretty decent chance of not doing something really dumb with your life. I was also intrigued. I’d never really thought about things like that before. I can see what she meant and what she was basing her opinion on though. I’m very good at post mortems on personal situations. I’m capable of recognising when I’m falling into old patterns and I’m also pretty good at rationalising the actions I take. The thing is, as least as far as far as some people are concerned I’m sure, I’m also good at arguing. Growing up with my sister I certainly got a lot of practice at it. I think I can probably make some things sound a whole lot better than they are and can convince others that something should be considered ‘a really good decision’ because ‘I totally know what I’m doing’ when in fact, I’m probably talking out of my backside. Trying to convince myself.

On reflection though, do any of us really know what we’re doing all the time? And if we don’t, is that something that we want? Some of us are better than others at choosing paths that don’t have depressing consequences. I’d actually like to think I was one of them but if I turned into one of those people that always knew exactly what they were doing and did the ‘right’ thing then I think I’d have to slap myself. My life would be no fun if you took all the angst out. I’m quite good at it so it’d be a shame to get rid of it now. I don’t really think my angst (or my lack thereof) brings me any closer or even further away from a relationship in the future but I guess its good to know that I’m quite possibly smarter than I look.

Hippo

The Pussycat and I came to the sad realisation on Saturday that we have no lives at the moment. Over the long weekend I returned to our nation’s capital (and my family), and my sister and I decided that we really should make an effort and go out on the town together. Whilst our parents took themselves off to the movies, my sibling and I changed into more presentable clothes and drove into the city. Those were really the first clues that we were a bit half-arsed about the whole thing – the fact that actually getting ready took mere minutes and that one of us drove and would be obliged to remain sober – but nonetheless we headed off. Our first port of call was a cocktail bar in the city.

One of the many bars in town that has changed name and ownership over the years, this place was just full enough to be busy but not to the extent that you could never get a seat. It was the kind of place that could so easily have been pretentious, filled with trendy guys sporting blond tips and white shoes or with moulded hair and the shirt so casually unbuttoned to mid chest. Or where 95% of the women preen with a religious fanaticism and come off as more artificial than their nails. (A snob…what? Who, me?) The place was relaxed however with a funky lounge atmosphere and served real cocktails. You know, the drinks that don’t include creamy concoctions of chocolate or sugar that would make any diabetic turn tail and run. It was also a place that provided my greatest source of amusement for the night.

I swore years ago that I would stop wearing clothes that necessitated constant adjustment whilst out in public. I have since had years to enjoy that wisdom but apparently others don’t feel the same way. This one particular girl I noticed was wearing a strapless grey dress, fitted over the bodice and fanning slightly out at the waist before it came back in just above the knees in an upside down tulip type shape. She looked attractive enough when she was standing up straight and she had just enough give in the skirt to walk normally. What she didn’t have however was the capability of standing with her feet slightly apart and grooving down to the beat. As soon as she bent both her knees, the material would pull taught over her admittedly tiny backside, tugging the bodice of the outfit down. Which is rather inconvenient in a strapless dress. The solution therefore was to make a fist inside her side pocket and lift it outwards thus raising the hemline of the dress (and causing a rather odd ballooning effect in the process) which allowed her to move more freely.

Awkward fashion moments aside however. My sister and I also moved on to another venue not at all renowned for its cocktail list and where I could get some tart fuel* to which I am also partial. It was somewhat refreshing to notice that the place no longer smelled of smoke now that the new laws have taken effect but at the same time the atmosphere, such as it was, seemed to have disappeared as well. We pondered this loss while I had a drink then we did the lap around civic, cause that’s generally what you do at some point. After we’d completed the circuit we decided to call it a night. And we beat our parents home. See, I told you, no life. The Pussycat and I both lament the fact that we don’t actually do more but creatures who regularly come out at night we are not. Of course it would help if we were little less lazy. Oh well.

*perhaps the most apt name for mixed drinks that I have heard