For some reason my recent thoughts have tended towards expansive life-planning. To be more specific, I have become somewhat obsessed with researching stuff to do with teaching english overseas.
Funnily enough, when I mentioned it to DW a few days ago, he actually took it somewhat seriously, despite my protests that it wasn't a real plan or anything. Not that he particularly liked the idea, as it would presumably involve being separated from him... but he didn't dismiss it as a ridiculous hypothetical or anything. And that kind of made it feel a little more like a, well, real plan. Heh. His bad!
Of course, ridiculous or not, it is a hypothetical. A dream in subjunctive II. If it were to happen, it wouldn't be until I completed my arts degree, in another two years or so.
(Two years?! I want to be on a plane to Seoul now!)
Ahem. So yeah, based on my vague understanding of the curriculum structure, I'd finish my arts degree with maybe two or three semesters of 'straight law' left before I finished my law degree as well. It wouldn't be unthinkable to work and live overseas for a year, maybe save a bit of money, then return to Adelaide to finish the tough end of the law degree while (here's where it gets fuzzier) ideally getting some law-relevant experience (assuming I wouldn't go back to work at the hostel, it would be a good chance to look for a part-time clerkship, or some reception/admin work at a law firm or something) and (now we're getting even more subjunctive) if I were still with DW (pause for effect, because in my imagination I undeniably am, and maybe I do just want to possess my cake and eat it too) he would likely have his own place by then, and I could move in with him, and life would be a soft-focus picture.
Then I would have maybe had enough frittering around the world for a little while, and the real career stuff would start, and we'd have babies and lalalah.
Ok! So there's my life, right? It scares me a little writing nakedly what I want to happen, and yes, my naked mind contains lots of parenthicals. It scares me because I don't want to look back and go, I was so naive/idealistic/full of it/how sad that it all ended in tragedy/how stupid that I thought I would be so lucky.
It's that part that I wrote in a few words - 'work and live overseas' - that I have been thinking about to the point of saturation. You know, when the amount you think about something is just so disproportional to the amount that it needs to be thought about, that the daydream becomes a liquid you can't dissolve anything more thought-matter into, it's... saturated. Incidentially, the last time I felt like that was when I was obsessing over DW before meeting him 'in real life'. There was only so much I could think about a guy who I had never 'met', and there's only so much I can plan for something that would not happen for another two years.
Wouldn't it be awesome if DW came too? Two English teachers keeping each other sane in a foreign land? Unfortunately that does start to veer within the realm of the actually-not-going-to-happen because DW's interest in foreign living, children and language teaching approaches Nil, whereas his interest in having a job in his field of choice and settling in Adelaide approaches High. It would be so cool to talk it over with him though if we were both going, plan it together... pick a country. My thoughts at the moment:
South Korea: Kind of have a gut feeling about wanting to go here, although rationally it might not be the best, because it seems kind of hit-and-miss. Stupid reasons for wanting to go there: I like their alphabet, and am well-liked among the Koreans at work (apparently the girls refer to me as an angel! hahah). Better reasons: apparently it's the best country for earnings as relative to the cost of living, they seem to have four seasons and pretty mountains, and there's a lot of online information for expats. Possible reasons to avoid: unscrupulous Hagwon owners, bad attitudes among foreigners living there, somewhat more insular society. Expensive to go and live there while sussing out a school for yourself, but risky to get a job somewhere you don't know much about.
Taiwan: Apparently you can go here on a holiday visa and switch to a working visa while in the country, which seems quite good. And, Australia even has working holiday visas here? Not sure about that, but it seems easier in a practical sense, like you could come here and look for a job yourself pretty easily. Would probably be my second 'gut' choice, only below Korea because I dunno, Korea somehow appeals to me more than the China-America humid industrial mix that I perceive Taiwan to be.
Japan: High cost of living. More competition for jobs. Probably a nicer and more hospitable culture, though. Probably wouldn't do unless I decided to be a bit more serious about it and apply for JET or something.
China: Eh... it's been a bit 'done', with my aunt teaching at an international school in China now. Still, connections... although she probably wouldn't be there in two years (two years! sigh).
Cambodia/Thailand: I'm sure there's plenty of differences between these places, but they've both been equally peripheral in my online travels. I wouldn't disregard them, but they seem more party places than places to earn money. Nothing wrong with party places, but I'd probably rather visit for a holiday than live there for a job.
Eastern Europe: Interests me, although I don't know a lot about it (yay, more to research!). Puts me off a bit for being less safe than much of Asia.
South America: A bit put off by the macho culture and higher crime... again, appeals to me for travelling more than living.
Middle East: Supposedly the best money, but nah.
Well, I'd better retire to bed so that I can get up early for the hostel. I really need to start focusing on the realities of life i.e. my legal research assignment, too. But hopefully typing out these ruminations will mean that I don't have to deal with them skipping around in my brain as I lie in bed or peruse a legal encycopedia.
-khere might try some kimchee before getting too ahead of herself
Monday, September 21, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Read, see, do
It's the 'coming together of biology and biography' which fascinates him, and its that fusion that he translates so well into books. I'm loving Oliver Sacks at the moment. Recently I finished Seeing Voices, and many times I had the urge to throw the paperback at people, gibbering that they just have to read it, have to know about this or this. I've got a bookmark in Awakenings (one of his most acclaimed, but so far not quite as profoundly interesting as Seeing Voices or The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat) and Musicophilia is sitting on my desk after I picked it up from the library holds desk today. Although I've seen some criticism of his heavily footnoted writing style, it's this which is one of my favourite things about him. His writing and people don't exist in stand-alone little capsules, but are always connected to informational asides, commentary, reflection, counter-theories, a place in time. You get the feeling there could always be more - that he wants to keep going, 'which reminds me!' and 'by the way, another interesting thing about that is -'
On the fiction side of things is Lionel Shriver. I read We Need to Talk About Kevin in greedy gulps. Once I'd finished it, though, I didn't have much desire to dwell on the text itself, although I did immediately jump to read reviews and online discussion. While I didn't find The Post-Birthday World as immediately absorbing, after a few chapters in I started really enjoying it. It was more indulgent than Kevin, I felt, not as meticulously edited, more like Shriver was just enjoying herself writing it. Perhaps because it was so lengthy, by the time I finished I could hardly believe there wasn't any more to read - I had grown quite fond of the characters and read the final chapter twice before eventually setting it aside. I felt like I should be able to google 'where are they now' or something. Oh, and Lawrence? Not completely unlike DW, I have to say.
I've got just two nights left of that chilled first-half-of-the-semester feeling, I think - on Friday I'll have a take-home exam and research assignment, sigh. BUT I have some good news under my belt already... 90 HD for client interview! Was so stoked. Am so stoked - not just the mark, but for what it's for. Yaaay.
What else has been going down? Life has been pretty chilled, with cold rainy nights meaning nobody's been too up for big nights out in town. There was the Royal Show, with plentiful free food and wine - well, the wine wasn't plentiful, but it was free. Leaving town in H's Datsun, squeezed next to a tyre in the back seat. Sustainaball, with op shop clothes and Bollywood dancers and catching up with some less frequently-seen friends. Our friend the 'councillor', a denouncer of all things fair trade won the prize hamper, hahah. There were some nice days out with the girl friends - markets and boat rides at Port Adelaide, seeing the movie 'Adam' in town. I've watched DW and the boys play indoor soccer and get beaten, and had those nice post-game car chats and sweaty-haired kisses.
There are a few things to write about and to ponder that may not be as fluffy and nice, but maybe I'll save that for another day. I like ending on kisses (again).
--khere is a blurry photograph of your favourite night.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Winter Run
Running with pink knees and wet hair stuck to my face, pounding around the curve of grey gravel. An simple painter's easel: grey sky, grey rain, blue wet-speckled clothes and green to fill in the gaps. Nobody around but me and the rain. Rain pelts down but my skin is numb to it, and the wind sweeps the water from the puddles in my direction. Streak those colours, sweep some bristles sideways over the picture, rough it up.
Plus:
A hot bath, no bubbles.
= natural high.
Plus:
A hot bath, no bubbles.
= natural high.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Little Red Corvette
The carpet of the bedroom floor underneath our bodies. Cuddling under his warm skin for a few minutes longer before the cool air forces us to sit up, to cover ourselves or dress.
We lie on top of the covers, rather than underneath - he doesn't like his bed to be all messed up once I leave and he goes to sleep. The sleeping bag he keeps for extra warmth is an innocuous item, but one that saves us. For I like to snuggle under the weight of blankets, my feet get cold, and besides, what kind of mean boyfriend won't let his girlfriend in his bed? We would lie in bed under the covers when we were a newer couple - what, now you take me for granted, so much so that you can expect I will come here and pleasure you (such nice words, but said as if they taste bitter, dirty) and then not even want me to lie in your bed for a while? That was one of our only fights, and I fancied that his reluctance to peel back the covers was a symptom for something more significant. I made it clear that I could disregard his preferences and mess up his bed if I wanted to, but I wouldn't because I understood that everybody had their little quirks and you abided by them because you loved them. But I let him know that HE ONLY HAD, LIKE, TEN POINTS OF IRRITATING QUIRKINESS TO USE UP AND THIS COVERS THING WAS LIKE, EIGHT POINTS. Next time I came over, he had the sleeping bag at the ready. Turns out it wasn't a symptom of anything. Now I enjoy snuggling with warm feet and feel affectionate about both his 'quirk' and his ever-practical solution.
He sometimes picks me up from work at night in town, even when it's not on his way at all, so can spend some time with me.
He gropes me when I'm driving.
I think the two are connected.
He talks about concrete and physical matters, like anecdotes from his day, things that have happened or will happen. Or else he starts bantering, silly back-forth exchanges as if the two of us exist nowhere but the present, which is nothing-talk and at the same time everything-talk. In contrast, sometimes I bring up abstract ideas, hypotheticals, analysis of feelings, theories about other people. When I do that, I can become self-conscious of feeling like I'm just talking out loud without engaging him. But often, weeks or months later, I'll hear phrases that I've crafted, my own theories and analyses, spoken as fact from his mouth.
He came to a family gathering a few weeks ago with a bloody scratch on the side of his nose, and told people wryly that he'd got in the way of a shovel when helping his dad with something. Later he mentioned to me that his dog had actually bitten him. When I was baffled as to why he would lie, he chuckled and said, "I just wanted to see how long I could keep it up before somebody realised that my story didn't really make sense!"
"...You're right, you exposed my family for their... lack of detective-level interrogation? Willingness to take you at face value?"
"Ok, fine."
"Boy, did you show them!" I started laughing.
"Shut up."
"They'll be soooo embarrassed when they realised!"
He started wrestling me with a couch cushion. I won that one.
He thinks he'll be such a good catch 'when he's thirty' and all the women are starting to turn away from the party boys and want someone with financial security who can actually look after them. And they'll be like, late twenties and starting to be a bit paranoid about losing their looks, and the biological clocks will be ticking. And maybe by then he'll be able to play the 'dad card' to endear himself even more to these sporty single ladies... Equal parts horrified (who mothered his kid, then? Where is she *cough* I in this scene?) and amused because I'm sure he's not wrong. When I went to say the above in protest it suddenly felt forward to presume myself the mother of his fantasy child, and instead came out just, "Where am I then?"
"Hopefully right by my side," he said, looking over from the passenger seat and smiling. And now it was he who was being the forward one, and I was a little taken aback. "Well, where do you see yourself in five years?" he said. "Am I there?"
"I guess so," I said.
"You say that with some trepidation!"
But it wasn't trepidation, it was more like a numbness at the bigness and greatness of it, to hear it, however tentatively, put into words.
He hugs other guys and finds it funny to pretend to be gay. He mouths the words to 'Little Red Corvette.'
God I love that dude.
We lie on top of the covers, rather than underneath - he doesn't like his bed to be all messed up once I leave and he goes to sleep. The sleeping bag he keeps for extra warmth is an innocuous item, but one that saves us. For I like to snuggle under the weight of blankets, my feet get cold, and besides, what kind of mean boyfriend won't let his girlfriend in his bed? We would lie in bed under the covers when we were a newer couple - what, now you take me for granted, so much so that you can expect I will come here and pleasure you (such nice words, but said as if they taste bitter, dirty) and then not even want me to lie in your bed for a while? That was one of our only fights, and I fancied that his reluctance to peel back the covers was a symptom for something more significant. I made it clear that I could disregard his preferences and mess up his bed if I wanted to, but I wouldn't because I understood that everybody had their little quirks and you abided by them because you loved them. But I let him know that HE ONLY HAD, LIKE, TEN POINTS OF IRRITATING QUIRKINESS TO USE UP AND THIS COVERS THING WAS LIKE, EIGHT POINTS. Next time I came over, he had the sleeping bag at the ready. Turns out it wasn't a symptom of anything. Now I enjoy snuggling with warm feet and feel affectionate about both his 'quirk' and his ever-practical solution.
He sometimes picks me up from work at night in town, even when it's not on his way at all, so can spend some time with me.
He gropes me when I'm driving.
I think the two are connected.
He talks about concrete and physical matters, like anecdotes from his day, things that have happened or will happen. Or else he starts bantering, silly back-forth exchanges as if the two of us exist nowhere but the present, which is nothing-talk and at the same time everything-talk. In contrast, sometimes I bring up abstract ideas, hypotheticals, analysis of feelings, theories about other people. When I do that, I can become self-conscious of feeling like I'm just talking out loud without engaging him. But often, weeks or months later, I'll hear phrases that I've crafted, my own theories and analyses, spoken as fact from his mouth.
He came to a family gathering a few weeks ago with a bloody scratch on the side of his nose, and told people wryly that he'd got in the way of a shovel when helping his dad with something. Later he mentioned to me that his dog had actually bitten him. When I was baffled as to why he would lie, he chuckled and said, "I just wanted to see how long I could keep it up before somebody realised that my story didn't really make sense!"
"...You're right, you exposed my family for their... lack of detective-level interrogation? Willingness to take you at face value?"
"Ok, fine."
"Boy, did you show them!" I started laughing.
"Shut up."
"They'll be soooo embarrassed when they realised!"
He started wrestling me with a couch cushion. I won that one.
He thinks he'll be such a good catch 'when he's thirty' and all the women are starting to turn away from the party boys and want someone with financial security who can actually look after them. And they'll be like, late twenties and starting to be a bit paranoid about losing their looks, and the biological clocks will be ticking. And maybe by then he'll be able to play the 'dad card' to endear himself even more to these sporty single ladies... Equal parts horrified (who mothered his kid, then? Where is she *cough* I in this scene?) and amused because I'm sure he's not wrong. When I went to say the above in protest it suddenly felt forward to presume myself the mother of his fantasy child, and instead came out just, "Where am I then?"
"Hopefully right by my side," he said, looking over from the passenger seat and smiling. And now it was he who was being the forward one, and I was a little taken aback. "Well, where do you see yourself in five years?" he said. "Am I there?"
"I guess so," I said.
"You say that with some trepidation!"
But it wasn't trepidation, it was more like a numbness at the bigness and greatness of it, to hear it, however tentatively, put into words.
He hugs other guys and finds it funny to pretend to be gay. He mouths the words to 'Little Red Corvette.'
God I love that dude.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
That's What He Said.
Restless. Not sure why. After a busy few days of working and socialising, and with a barbeque to look forward to tonight, in theory I’m glad to have time to relax at home by myself for a few hours and get some studying done. Unfortunately the theory doesn’t correlate with reality, which has me skimming pages, snacking compulsively and watching the clock, glad when enough time has passed that I can do something like prepare lunch or message DW. Possible reasons for my unrest include:
- Windy day. What was that kid’s novel explaining why stuff went crazy on windy days?
- Too much tea. The ‘alert yet relaxed’ state advertised on the box was leapt over a few cups ago.
- Failure of internet connection. Let me procrastinate how I see fit, damnit!
- A feeling I need to say something to stabilise things with a good friend – there’s not a problem between us as such, but an undefined grey area which needs to be brought into focus.
- A slight wistfulness that I don’t feel like I’ve really spoken properly to DW for some time.
- I sort of felt all morning like going for a walk/run, but didn’t for lame reasons (don’t like running when I first get up, didn’t want to shower again, needed to study). Now I’m all unexercised and blah.
- Whenever I venture to crack open the pages of my property law textbook, it radiates some sort of invisible, odourless cloud that induces me into a stupor of boredom. Could you study in the face of that mysterious force?
UPDATE: The latter part of my day included noodle salad, a hilarious little dog that went into 'freeze' mode when its eyes were covered, friends and affection and plain old kissing. Man, kissing when you want to kiss is really good.
-- khere is a funky fix for guys and chicks.
- Windy day. What was that kid’s novel explaining why stuff went crazy on windy days?
- Too much tea. The ‘alert yet relaxed’ state advertised on the box was leapt over a few cups ago.
- Failure of internet connection. Let me procrastinate how I see fit, damnit!
- A feeling I need to say something to stabilise things with a good friend – there’s not a problem between us as such, but an undefined grey area which needs to be brought into focus.
- A slight wistfulness that I don’t feel like I’ve really spoken properly to DW for some time.
- I sort of felt all morning like going for a walk/run, but didn’t for lame reasons (don’t like running when I first get up, didn’t want to shower again, needed to study). Now I’m all unexercised and blah.
- Whenever I venture to crack open the pages of my property law textbook, it radiates some sort of invisible, odourless cloud that induces me into a stupor of boredom. Could you study in the face of that mysterious force?
UPDATE: The latter part of my day included noodle salad, a hilarious little dog that went into 'freeze' mode when its eyes were covered, friends and affection and plain old kissing. Man, kissing when you want to kiss is really good.
-- khere is a funky fix for guys and chicks.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
In other news: Borneo
TOMORROW
Tomorrow we are leaving the house, and going to the airport, and then going on a plane (eeee!) and then arriving in Singapore, and then the next day going to Borneo.
Woot woot!
I was going to write a more coherent entry earlier in the week but... I think the time has passed for that.
Borneo!
- khere micromanages her luggage
Tomorrow we are leaving the house, and going to the airport, and then going on a plane (eeee!) and then arriving in Singapore, and then the next day going to Borneo.
Woot woot!
I was going to write a more coherent entry earlier in the week but... I think the time has passed for that.
Borneo!
- khere micromanages her luggage
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sprouting Instructions Enclosed
There are good group vibes at the moment. Drifting threads of friendship and love and aquaintance suddenly all got tangled up and formed a nice little ring. As in: H is now going out with S, whose a friend of C, and C was a friend of mine whose now quite close to H as well, and S and C have a cool mate called L, who gets along really well with everybody, including DW, and now DW is friends with S and L, and his friends get along with their friends too, and everybody loves each other the end.
Yeah, I could use names, but its funnier this way.
I saw the History Boys play last night, with a friend who got me a ticket for my birthday. Awesomeness! Said friend, a guy we'll give the nifty name of A, is my best book-and-movie discussing pal, and is very highly attuned to awkward social situations. We decided to sit in the very front row, which meant A ended up staring practically right up the nostrils of whichever boy took centre stage. Oh the awkwardness! Where to look? He ended up looking to the man next to him for guidance on theatre etiquette.
Sometimes I imagine an employment position for someone to do the things that I dislike or can't be bothered doing. Let's say shoe shopping, ordering my room, etc. In this idea the position is something like a personal assistant, I guess, like whatever Elaine was for that guy in Seinfeld. Then, in this weird mental loop, I simultaneously think: That would be a fun job! Like imagine researching different brands of makeup so your client wouldn't waste money on crap stuff. Cool fun! Or creating a system of organisation for past uni work - sounds like a decent job! Working out possible Centrelink entitlements - woopee! Then I wonder why I'm thinking how great a job that would be, when that job is in fact my life, and who thinks about the pros of being employed to run their life?
This train of thought has become more rare recently as I move my thoughts away from making appointments and renewing licenses and shopping and the like, and onto things like limits on parliamentary power and situations in which a third party can enforce a contract. Exams exams.
I had a few weird experiences with male attention at the hostel recently. First one was kind of funny, this Aussie guy in town for a 'fresh start' who was completely not my type (and I mean not the type who would normally go for me, too) deciding that I was a 'real top bird' and grinning and winking at me from the other side of reception while repeating that phrase a lot. He asked me if I liked a good 'Chinese or Italian' meal (these were the two cuisines on offer, apparently) and if I would be interested in joining him. When I brought up my boyfriend he was momentarily deterred but then restated his offer with even more zeal, reminding me that I was a real top bird and he'd always thought I was such a catch, etc, and if I ever got sick of my boyfriend then just call him up for a good Chinese or Italian meal, he'd treat me right. Yeah, he'd treat me right all right! Because I was such a top chick, I was really something! Just remember, if I ever get sick of my boyfriend, alright? Eventually he left, after giving me his number on a scrap of paper. I didn't add it to my phone.
The second one was... well. A bit weirder. There's a guy who used to stay there, a ginger-haired Irish electrician who I always had a soft spot for. He's a very genuine guy, doesn't like the nightlife scene or the rraww my car is better than yours male mentality, just wants to have a laugh and a drink and talk shite, or maybe get me to play some Irish ballads on youtube while he reminisces about people singing in pubs back home. I often have interesting conversations with him. Anyway, he was at a loose end the other night and popped into the hostel, and ended up staying at reception, having a few beers and talking with me for a fair while. At one point it was revealed that I was only 20, and that he had imagined me older and somehow felt 'less intimidated' by me now that he knew how old I was. At another point he started talking about how he found me really attractive but couldn't imagine being intimate with me, and why did I think that was?
Well. By intimate he meant 'cuddly'. Like he couldn't imagine holding me, snuggling with me. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it was because he thought I was more educated than him, and it intimidated him, but that it was his own problem. He asked me if I did like cuddling, like not doing anything but just getting a really warm feeling of wellbeing by lying their touching another (yes) and then seemed to feel really bad that he had assumed I was this cold character who wouldn't do that. At this stage it was kind of awkward but interesting. I had my own theories, but he reckoned it was the education-intimidation thing, and his own insecurity.
We had been talking about checking out this bar, and so when I finished work I went there with him. He knew that I had a boyfriend. But once we were in the bar, and talking there, he started getting really... I don't even know the word. Horny, obviously, but there was more to it than that. Lovey dovey. He had gradually decided that he could, indeed, imagine being 'intimate' with me, and was glad about righting his mental state. He stroked my hands, and words like 'pure' and 'beautiful' were thrown around. He praised the way I was so professional and friendly at the desk, gave people my full attention, really talked to them, engaged with them. I reminded him of bartenders in Ireland. With another guy I would have hightailed it out of there a lot faster, but I really liked this fellow, liked his humanness. I was keeping a close eye on his advances, but I didn't want to scorn him because he had dared show appreciation. Perhaps I didn't want to be seen as cold and uptight, as I assumed he had seen me as before?
I wasn't drinking, because I was driving home, and I had warned him beforehand that I wouldn't stay long. It became increasingly apparent that sooner was better than later, though, when he gazed adoringly and leaned in close to kiss me (I moved away, and he ended up kissing my shoulder, proclaiming the shoulder the 'most attractive part of a woman's body'), and also when he started talking about how he would just love to please me during sex, how he would devote 99% of time to me and he would be happy with that, he wouldn't even mind. He fondled my fingers lovingly, my hands being the one part of my body I was happy to let him touch. At this stage I could practically hear DWs indignation in my head, and was slightly uneasy about the possibility of someone seeing us act all couply. Time to go.
We walked, arms hooked together, back to my car. He kept commenting on my brisk walking pace, although with the disclaimer that he liked that in a girl. "What's the hurry?" he asked. I wasn't even walking that fast, just more in a style of 'getting somewhere' rather than 'savouring the stroll'. It's cold? It's night-time, in town? We're in Light Square? I could think of many reasons, and thought with amusement that if I was with DW, he would be walking fast too.
I was saved the awkward decision of whether to give him a lift home when he stopped at the entrance to the lane where I was parked and was like, "ooh, I don't do dark alleyways". Dude, wasn't there a point to you walking me to my car? But I was somewhat relieved to have an excuse to see him off, and made my way to my car alone.
For some reason the whole thing kind of... shook me up a little? I couldn't put my finger on why. The relentless discussion of how I 'came across' to him? (such an ooky topic of mine) Maybe being confronted with the clear opportunity of another guy, did I feel 'restricted' by having a boyfriend? I'm not sure - if anything, DW's existence feels like an anchor, a comfort to me, in those situations - without that tangible line to cross, the 'line' of acceptability would be entirely in my hands, and I don't think I'm good with that. I didn't particularly want to do anything with this guy, but maybe I liked the idea of it? Did I? I didn't even know. But I felt all weirded out, and had to relax by watching a DVD of human dissections once I got home. Mm, science.
- khere is 'logical but extreme'
Yeah, I could use names, but its funnier this way.
I saw the History Boys play last night, with a friend who got me a ticket for my birthday. Awesomeness! Said friend, a guy we'll give the nifty name of A, is my best book-and-movie discussing pal, and is very highly attuned to awkward social situations. We decided to sit in the very front row, which meant A ended up staring practically right up the nostrils of whichever boy took centre stage. Oh the awkwardness! Where to look? He ended up looking to the man next to him for guidance on theatre etiquette.
Sometimes I imagine an employment position for someone to do the things that I dislike or can't be bothered doing. Let's say shoe shopping, ordering my room, etc. In this idea the position is something like a personal assistant, I guess, like whatever Elaine was for that guy in Seinfeld. Then, in this weird mental loop, I simultaneously think: That would be a fun job! Like imagine researching different brands of makeup so your client wouldn't waste money on crap stuff. Cool fun! Or creating a system of organisation for past uni work - sounds like a decent job! Working out possible Centrelink entitlements - woopee! Then I wonder why I'm thinking how great a job that would be, when that job is in fact my life, and who thinks about the pros of being employed to run their life?
This train of thought has become more rare recently as I move my thoughts away from making appointments and renewing licenses and shopping and the like, and onto things like limits on parliamentary power and situations in which a third party can enforce a contract. Exams exams.
I had a few weird experiences with male attention at the hostel recently. First one was kind of funny, this Aussie guy in town for a 'fresh start' who was completely not my type (and I mean not the type who would normally go for me, too) deciding that I was a 'real top bird' and grinning and winking at me from the other side of reception while repeating that phrase a lot. He asked me if I liked a good 'Chinese or Italian' meal (these were the two cuisines on offer, apparently) and if I would be interested in joining him. When I brought up my boyfriend he was momentarily deterred but then restated his offer with even more zeal, reminding me that I was a real top bird and he'd always thought I was such a catch, etc, and if I ever got sick of my boyfriend then just call him up for a good Chinese or Italian meal, he'd treat me right. Yeah, he'd treat me right all right! Because I was such a top chick, I was really something! Just remember, if I ever get sick of my boyfriend, alright? Eventually he left, after giving me his number on a scrap of paper. I didn't add it to my phone.
The second one was... well. A bit weirder. There's a guy who used to stay there, a ginger-haired Irish electrician who I always had a soft spot for. He's a very genuine guy, doesn't like the nightlife scene or the rraww my car is better than yours male mentality, just wants to have a laugh and a drink and talk shite, or maybe get me to play some Irish ballads on youtube while he reminisces about people singing in pubs back home. I often have interesting conversations with him. Anyway, he was at a loose end the other night and popped into the hostel, and ended up staying at reception, having a few beers and talking with me for a fair while. At one point it was revealed that I was only 20, and that he had imagined me older and somehow felt 'less intimidated' by me now that he knew how old I was. At another point he started talking about how he found me really attractive but couldn't imagine being intimate with me, and why did I think that was?
Well. By intimate he meant 'cuddly'. Like he couldn't imagine holding me, snuggling with me. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it was because he thought I was more educated than him, and it intimidated him, but that it was his own problem. He asked me if I did like cuddling, like not doing anything but just getting a really warm feeling of wellbeing by lying their touching another (yes) and then seemed to feel really bad that he had assumed I was this cold character who wouldn't do that. At this stage it was kind of awkward but interesting. I had my own theories, but he reckoned it was the education-intimidation thing, and his own insecurity.
We had been talking about checking out this bar, and so when I finished work I went there with him. He knew that I had a boyfriend. But once we were in the bar, and talking there, he started getting really... I don't even know the word. Horny, obviously, but there was more to it than that. Lovey dovey. He had gradually decided that he could, indeed, imagine being 'intimate' with me, and was glad about righting his mental state. He stroked my hands, and words like 'pure' and 'beautiful' were thrown around. He praised the way I was so professional and friendly at the desk, gave people my full attention, really talked to them, engaged with them. I reminded him of bartenders in Ireland. With another guy I would have hightailed it out of there a lot faster, but I really liked this fellow, liked his humanness. I was keeping a close eye on his advances, but I didn't want to scorn him because he had dared show appreciation. Perhaps I didn't want to be seen as cold and uptight, as I assumed he had seen me as before?
I wasn't drinking, because I was driving home, and I had warned him beforehand that I wouldn't stay long. It became increasingly apparent that sooner was better than later, though, when he gazed adoringly and leaned in close to kiss me (I moved away, and he ended up kissing my shoulder, proclaiming the shoulder the 'most attractive part of a woman's body'), and also when he started talking about how he would just love to please me during sex, how he would devote 99% of time to me and he would be happy with that, he wouldn't even mind. He fondled my fingers lovingly, my hands being the one part of my body I was happy to let him touch. At this stage I could practically hear DWs indignation in my head, and was slightly uneasy about the possibility of someone seeing us act all couply. Time to go.
We walked, arms hooked together, back to my car. He kept commenting on my brisk walking pace, although with the disclaimer that he liked that in a girl. "What's the hurry?" he asked. I wasn't even walking that fast, just more in a style of 'getting somewhere' rather than 'savouring the stroll'. It's cold? It's night-time, in town? We're in Light Square? I could think of many reasons, and thought with amusement that if I was with DW, he would be walking fast too.
I was saved the awkward decision of whether to give him a lift home when he stopped at the entrance to the lane where I was parked and was like, "ooh, I don't do dark alleyways". Dude, wasn't there a point to you walking me to my car? But I was somewhat relieved to have an excuse to see him off, and made my way to my car alone.
For some reason the whole thing kind of... shook me up a little? I couldn't put my finger on why. The relentless discussion of how I 'came across' to him? (such an ooky topic of mine) Maybe being confronted with the clear opportunity of another guy, did I feel 'restricted' by having a boyfriend? I'm not sure - if anything, DW's existence feels like an anchor, a comfort to me, in those situations - without that tangible line to cross, the 'line' of acceptability would be entirely in my hands, and I don't think I'm good with that. I didn't particularly want to do anything with this guy, but maybe I liked the idea of it? Did I? I didn't even know. But I felt all weirded out, and had to relax by watching a DVD of human dissections once I got home. Mm, science.
- khere is 'logical but extreme'
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