Monthly Archives: September 2013

“Basic Space” – the XX

Love a good set up. Normally I am on the receiving end of same, being one of a handful of single ladies in my social circle. However last weekend I played match maker myself. Just to try out how the other half live. Not that I had my work cut out for me: she’s a babe and he’s a bit of ladies man. Match made in artificially manufactured heaven.

Have I mentioned he’s a colleague? No, well that’s kind of crucial to the story. Daily interaction. Forced daily interaction.

First encounter was easy enough. She walked in the pub and he went “woah”. Not much I had to do to convince him. Her on the other hand was a bit trickier but I soon realised I had a God given and rarely used talent for finding other people dates. Shame about myself.

All went pretty textbook that evening thereafter. Boy buys drinks. Girl bats eyelahes. Before long I’m crow barring them apart.

Did I mention she’s my flatmate? Also crucial to the story and probably the reason I didn’t try my hand at match making earlier.

The clincher was waking the next weekend to find my colleague, clad in little more than a loin cloth, in my lounge room. To his credit he was endlessly entertaining and didn’t make me feel like a third wheel. Which is generous considering some hours prior I had been the worlds best wing woman and made small talk with several less than eligible bachelors while they pashed on.

After several days of relaying coy and not so subtle messages back and forth I was relieved when he finally got the figurative balls to ask for her number.

Lesson in all this totes awkes encounters? Set up people you don’t have to see every waking hour (and hear every hour allocated for sleep).

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Gen Y Yuppies: is disillusion with life causing excessive singledom?

An annoyingly accurate blog post has arisen on Huffington Post overnight here

Is the necessity for constant excitement and interaction making it impossible for Gen Y’s to commit to stable, long term relationships?

I’d like to blame my stubborn Taurean horoscope, but perhaps I’m so determined to find Mr Perfect that I’m overlooking Mr-Could-Make-Me-Happy.

In a world where woman are told that they can, and should have it all, I’m not willing to settle in any aspect. But am I throwing the baby out with the bath water? Is failing to respond to a text after three dates because he “fist pumped” me too often a bit harsh? I mean, bit of a minor flaw?

Not settling? Keep at it, Gen Y. Why not?


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“I came in like a wrecking ball, I never hit so hard in love” – Miley Cyrus, Wrecking Ball

My approach has always been softly, softly. Like standing on the edge of a 1950s dance hall, waiting for a chivalrous hand to lead me to the floor, I’m never one to initiate an encounter. Call me old fashioned, but I believe the man should make the first move. Chasing is unbecoming of a lady.

But does that mean that nice girls are finishing last?

If Miley’s chart topping film clip is anything to go by, brash is back. Perhaps I should take heed: plenty of times have I left a night out disappointed because a guy I fancied didn’t make a move. Maybe if I’d been more forward I’d have snagged a date. I’m not shy, not socially retarded; I’m just not overly a fan of having to pursue someone for their attention.

On one particular night I did make the first move. The end result? My first (and last) one night stand. Being forward is not my forte. I always feel, well, so tawdry.

I currently have a crush. I speak to him. Email even (serious stuff). But I’m so petrified that I’ve mixed his signals that I’m scared to even add him as a friend on the old Facebook. What if he is legitimately just looking for female friend. Whilst strutting around in flesh coloured underwear and gyrating on mechanical equipment might make my intentions pretty obvious, it’s not the usual way to go about the courtship thing.

For now, I’ll just have to hope he enjoys the chase, because I’m not running in his direction.

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It’s not over til it’s over…

… Til I’m over you.

Relationships are, by their definition, definable. Clearly definable. Friend, sister, aunt, colleague, lover, grandfather. But what if the boundaries are blurred. What if there was never any definition. What then, when the relationship is over?

I’m in the midst of such a redefining, if you will. The fling has ended. The tryst is over. However, for circumstances out of my control, we can’t let go. Not because there is any feeling there, but because we work about 100m apart.

It’s hard to have complete closure when it was never really open. Usually, a break up is dramatic and painful but it’s final. Kaput. Dunzo. In this case, it’s not that easy when you’ve not really got anything concrete to finish in the first place.

I never like letting things fizzle. I have gone out of my way to end things with dignity and respect even when they may not have been a Facebook- status worthy relationship. That’s just common dating decency. But I’m out of luck on this one. Short of leaving him a post it note thanking him for the random drunken hook ups but it’s now over, I don’t know how to end something that was, well, nothing.

I guess I’ve just got to wait till the fat lady sings.

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Not fucking plastic

Three Auckland law students getting beautifully funky and feministic to the hit track Blurred Lines. You Tube is in the process of deleting the video due to its sexist nature, so watch a pop up pirate one quickly before it goes: here

The ABx


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