Advice Part 109- Becoming an "irregular"

It's been a long time between drinks, dear readers, primarily because I have found it hard to motivate myself to so much as get out of bed, let alone write this blog. But today, I am feeling inspired (or it could just be that my only other option is to read a somnolent article on telemedicine, and, well, that's an opportunity I'd rather not avail myself of at the moment....).

So, without further ado, let us begin......

Much as I like to fancy myself as a free-thinker, always keen for some adventure and excitement, the reality is very different. I am what could best be described as a creature of habit (or, to be more precise, extremely boring).

However, I have recently come to realise that whilst regularity can be good, my advice to young players is that should you decide to change your habits, you had best be mindful of the consequences......

How do I know this? Read on.....

When I first met Rodrigo (why I am insisting on using an alias, I don't know, as anyone who reads this blog knows who I am talking about....but humour me), and we were in the first fine flush of fancy, we used to go out to dinner every Friday night, without fail. And nine times out of ten, we would go to the same restaurant, a particular Italian establishment near me.

This continued for about a year, during which time we became "regulars." Regularity meant:

• We knew the names of the waiting staff, where they lived, and their relationship statuses; 
• The manager would always ensure we got "our favourite table" when we appeared at 8 p.m. on the dot;
• We didn't need to look at the menus, because everyone knew what we would be ordering.

This was all very nice for a while, but then a variety of things happened, namely:

• Our favourite waiter and waitress both left;
• I started to get a bit stingy; and
• Rodrigo discovered cooking.

So we stopped going to the restaurant, and moved from being "regulars" to "irregulars" to "never set foot in the placers."

This would all be fine and dandy if said restaurant were in the backblocks of Woop Woop. But it's not. Rather, it is on the main street of my suburb, meaning that we end up walking past it EVERY SINGLE TIME we go to the shops. 

This is somewhat embarrassing, and I feel incredibly guilty when I see the manager leaning against the doorway. "It wasn't anything you did! Honestly!" I want to yell. But instead, we just scurry past, heads bent, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

My greatest wish now is that the restaurant becomes so popular, it has to move somewhere else. Preferably a long way away. A VERY long way away. 

But in the meantime, if you see two people racing past on a Friday night, under heavy disguise, you will know who they are.

Advice Part 108- How to tell if it's time for a new job

When I was but a delicate flower, not yet weary of the world and its ways, I was naive enough to believe that a joyous and fun-filled career awaited me. I imagined myself skipping (well, that's perhaps a SLIGHT exaggeration) to work in the morning, to spend my day doing interesting tasks, surrounded by friendly colleagues, and being paid an enormous wage for my troubles.

Aah, how foolish I was....

My mantra is now not so much "If you do a job you love, you'll never have to work a day in your life" as "Another day, another dollar" (a phrase I adopted from the local sage, otherwise known as my neighbour).

However, my advice to young players is that there is a BIG difference between being "a little bit restless" at work, and finding yourself COMPLETELY BORED OUT OF YOUR SKULL, and if you're in the latter camp, it's probably a good idea to start looking for other opportunities.

How do I know this? Read on.....

I have been in my job for approximately 7 months. It's certainly not the worst job I've had, but it's not exactly excitement by the minute. I sit in front of my computer ALL DAY, researching such topics as hand washing hygiene, the government's policies on integrated care in the 1980s, and whether there's any empirical evidence out there on ePrescribing. Sure, it's (vaguely) important work. But let's just say, if asked to describe my dream job, it definitely wouldn't be this.

I realised how bored I was yesterday, when, upon checking my calendar, I saw that I was scheduled to have my flu vaccination at 10:45am.

And, I'm sorry to admit this, but I was EXCITED by the prospect.

OK, so being stabbed with a needle isn't exactly pleasant, but

• It would give me an excuse to spend some time away from my desk on "legitimate business" 
• My colleagues had reported that the line was very long. Bonus! Even more time away from the office
• If I was brave, I would receive the obligatory lollipop (and cartoon character sticking plaster) for my efforts

What more could I ask for?!

Bubbling with enthusiasm, I headed off to the injecting room nice and early, and I was rather disappointed when I found myself back at my desk less than 20 minutes later, with another 6 hours of tedium stretching before me.

Has life come to this? Unfortunately, yes. 

But hey, if I'm clever, I might be able to schedule in a few trips up to the tearoom to fill up my water bottle, followed by a bathroom break, topped off with a sortie to the downstairs stationery room to really liven things up!

Or not.

Advice Part 107- "Wow, you look just like the guy from......"

Aah, celebrity. If, as Andy Warhol says, we are all going to be famous for 15 minutes, then surely a person who resembles a whole bunch of already "famous" (I use the word loosely) people could be said to be "livin' the life", right? Such a person could enjoy the perks of fame without having done anything notable themselves! Think: great tables in exclusive restaurants. Hire cars. Loads of fawning minions.

Aah, if only. 

In fact, looking like a celebrity when you are not one is a pain in the rear end. 

Hence, my advice to young players is that if you meet someone who looks like a "celebrity", and you decide to alert them to said resemblance, please be aware that they have a) probably heard it a few times before, and b) may not be 100% delighted with your suggestion.

How do I know this? Read on.

Two and a bit years ago (eek!), I began seeing a man who has an appearance which I would describe as "a bit different." He has long, curly, black hair (with strange green and red streaks), glasses with fluoro green and white frames, a liking for T-shirts with unusual pictures on the front, and an omnipresent skateboard. 

I had never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. But clearly, I was in the minority.... 

Most weeks (and sometimes multiple times in the same week), we will be at the shops/at a cafe/at the train station, and my unfortunate male companion will be approached by a random member of the public who wants to tell him he looks JUST LIKE a particular celebrity. 

More often than not, said celebrity is Redfoo. This does not go down well, because, after all, who wants to be told they are the long lost twin of a man who is famous for dancing around in shiny silver undies singing that he's "sexy and (he) know(s) it", and whose musical skills appear to be minimal?

But lately, a few more doppelgängers have been added to the mix. In the past month, he has been told he looks like:

a) "The guy from Slayer" (Tom Araya). 

b) "The guy from Soundgarden"(Kim Thayil)

c) Pro-skater Sammy Baca

d) Damien Marley (son of Bob)

e) Cat Stevens (OK, so this is my suggestion)

OK, so I can kind of understand that he does look A BIT like some of these men, but I'd hardly say the resemblance is overwhelming. The resemblance between myself and (insert name of exceptionally intelligent, witty and attractive person here), though, is a completely different matter.... ;-)

 

Advice Part 106- On being mistaken for a flirt ;-)

One of the more brave (and foolhardy) things I have done in recent years (and trust me, there's been a few....) has been to try to learn to speak Spanish. Apart from two terms of Japanese and French at high school, this has been my first attempt at another tongue.

And let's just say, it hasn't been easy. Rather, the more accurate description would be this:

From this experience, I can offer the following advice for young players- when writing in your non-native language, it is best to exercise considerable caution with your epistles, lest you unwittingly give the wrong impression.

Read on......

During the Christmas break, I had a respite from my Spanish classes. Whilst this was good, after a couple of months, I realised that my tenuous grasp on the language was becoming ever more slippery, and that I was in danger of forgetting a fair chunk of what I had "mastered" (sarcasm intended).

After my previous unsuccessful attempt to meet a face-to-face language partner, I decided to join a website where you can search for an email pen-pal who writes in your target language, and who wants to learn your native tongue. Perfect, right?

The next day, I was contacted by a gentleman in Spain, who was keen to practice his English. Even more perfect!

Said gentleman lives on a farm outside of Barcelona, and is very interested in grass (not THAT type of grass), the natural environment, and healthy outdoors pursuits. This was a bit of a problem, as I know NOTHING about such things.

Model conversation partner that I am, I tried my best to convey enthusiasm for his hobbies using my dreadful Spanish. "Ooh, you went on a walk on the weekend? That must have been FUN!!!!!" I gushed. Then when he mentioned a new grass species he'd identified in his garden, I replied "You are very smart!!! I think you know a lot about grasses. You are an expert, in my opinion!!!!" In order to make it REALLY CLEAR that I was enthusiastic, I put a hundred exclamation marks after my every utterance, as well as multiple :-)s and ;-)s.

I thought I was doing really well, until I received an email from my correspondent, saying thank you for my "flirtatious remarks and compliments", and suggesting that I was a "very friendly lady, jejeje ;-)" (That's Spanish for "he he he")

I was mortified. The unfortunate Spanish gentleman obviously thought I was some sort of coquette, with my overly effusive praise and attempts to be friendly and engaged (NOT that kind of engaged! The other one!).

Hence, I decided to tone it down. Now, when he mentions a bushwalk, I remark blandly "Walking is good for the health. It helps the heart and uses energy. It is a sensible hobby" or when he discusses his garden, I note "Flowers are beautiful. There are many different colours and varieties." I sound like some tedious English textbook, open at the chapter entitled "Talking about hobbies."

This is boring me to death. Perhaps a return to flirting is required? (Or should that be "Perhaps a return to flirting is REQUIRED?????!!!!! ;-) ;-) )

Advice Part 105- Pet names (and why they matter)

If, like me, you prefer to share your life with a feathered, finned, scaled, or furred companion (and no, I am NOT referring to Ramiro here), you will have invariably faced the prospect of giving said creature a name. And this is an endeavour which strikes terror into the heart of even the most valiant.

My advice to young players is, when deciding what to name your pet, think VERY carefully indeed, as your furry friend's name is likely to reflect not only on them, but also on you. And any subsequent owners.

How do I know this? Read on.....

Three months ago, I adopted a feline companion. Because said companion was a rather elderly beastie (she was, so to speak "second hand"), she had already been given a name.

Elvira.

And, just like its bearer, this name has been a source of considerable frustration and annoyance.

When someone asks me the name of my cat, I invariably receive one of two responses.

• Response A: "Elvira? Am I saying it right? Or is it Elvyyyyra? What a fancy name for a cat! Cool. And so unusual. I've never met a cat named Elvira. Or a person for that matter. Why did you call her that?"

This reaction is OK. I explain that it's a Spanish name, and that it was given to her by her first owner. But then, there is the other type of response.....

• Response B: "Ha ha ha!!! You called your cat Elvira? Hey, wasn't she some sort of PORNO actress? I remember she used to be on the TV in this sexy black dress. Umm, not that I really know, of course! Do you like her films? You must, if you named your cat after her!"

This response is very embarrassing. I explain that no, Elvira was NOT a porno actress, but was rather a "horror hostess", and yes, whilst she did wear rather revealing clothing, I did not, in fact, name my cat after this character. Sorry to disappoint.

I suppose, if I'd really wanted to, I could have changed Elvira's name to something else. Like Puss. But after 10 years as the Mistress of Dark, I can't imagine a nice, normal, and, well, BORING, name would cut the proverbial mustard.

(Picture by my great Instagram friend, stellarella_thecat)

Still, I guess I should be glad that I don't have children. If this is the sort of torment endured regarding the name of a pet, heaven help me when choosing a name for a child.....

Advice Part 104- Christmas gifts

Aah, Christmas. A time of joyful carols (well, joyful the first time....somewhat less charming when you are subjected to Jingle Bells for the thousandth occasion), crowded shopping centres, too much food, and Santas who seem to look more frightening every year (serious question- is it really that hard to invent a realistic looking fake beard?).

However, all this pales in comparison to the horror of trying to find gifts for troublesome family members. Particularly if said family members have rather...errr....."unique"...interests.

My advice to young players is that such a process is likely to be filled with considerable frustration, (and potential humiliation), so you had best be prepared.

How do I know this? Read on.....

My father is a 74 year old retired gentleman. He enjoys reading, documentaries (especially concerning Ancient Egypt or the First and Second World Wars), gardening, and anything to do with Alexander the Great (I was a disappointment from the very moment of my arrival on this earth-I was not a boy).

However, his favourite thing is mushrooms.

But not the kind that you eat- he hates those. Rather, he likes red poisonous mushrooms with white spots. Only red ones. And only with white spots. The parameters are strict, and widening them is a no-no.

Anyhow......

On Saturday, I went shopping for my dad's Christmas present, and decided that I would buy him something mushroom-related to add to his burgeoning collection. At Bondi Junction, I hit the proverbial jackpot. There, in a homewares store, was a delightful, crocheted mushroom, of precisely the right colour and shape.

There was only one problem. Said decorative mushroom was actually a baby's rattle, which emitted a jolly "tinkle tinkle" when picked up. Still, that didn't bother me, and off I went to the counter to pay. That's where the fun started....

• Shop assistant: Hello, there. How are you today?
• Me: Very well, thanks. And you?
• Shop assistant: Doing your Christmas shopping? This rattle is just lovely, isn't it? It's wonderful when there's children at Christmas.
• Me (stupidly): Oh, it's not for a child. 
• Shop Assistant (curious): No? 
• Me: Oh no! It's for my dad.
• Shop assistant (looking a bit perturbed): OK. Sure.
• Me (trying desperately to salvage the situation): Yes, he just loves mushrooms! Especially red ones with white spots. He can't get enough of them. 
• Shop assistant (clearly fearing for my sanity, and likely concluding that my father is a "magic" mushroom fiend): Well, he'll like this one. I think. 
• Me (getting more and more desperate): Oh, he will. His lounge room is filled with mushrooms. 
• Shop assistant (silently looking more and more worried).....

Let me assure you, I beat a hasty retreat from that shop. And I don't expect I'll be going back any time soon. But I guess I probably provided an amusing anecdote for the shop assistant, who could go home and tell her friends about the crazy woman who came in to buy a baby's rattle for her magic mushroom loving father....

Advice Part 102- Dating Disasters Part 5 (otherwise known as "the date that never happened")

I realised today that it has been a while since I wrote about my dating disasters, as new material has not been forthcoming of late (whether for better or for worse). Hence, this story is being dredged from the very bowels of my collection, amidst the muddy, rotting detritus of awkward situations that I would prefer not to revisit with any regularity.....

But, that being said, I think it provides some useful advice to young players that if someone advises you NOT to approach a potential partner, it is often a good idea to take this warning seriously.

How do I know this? Read on.....

A few years ago, I was desperate. I am not ashamed to say this now, but it was a most grim time. My eyes were constantly open, seeking opportunities, and I thought I had hit the proverbial jackpot when my neighbour told me she was moving out, and she would be renting her apartment to her cousin.

The following conversation ensued:

• Me: So....Is your cousin a man or a lady?
• Her: A man
• Me: And how old is he? (subtlety was never my strong point)
• Her: 28. Around your age.
• Me (unable to believe my good fortune): And he's married?
• Her: No.
• Me (getting more and more excited): Single, then?
• Her: I'm not sure.
• Me: That's great! I can't wait to meet him! (Hell, relating this story now, I cringe at my level of desperation)
• Her (big pause): He's not the man for you.
• Me: Oh. Right. Fair enough, then. Umm.....

To be honest, I was a bit shocked by this. "Not the man for you"? What on earth did THAT mean? How did my neighbour know what sort of men were or weren't for me? I like to think of myself as very open-minded. Perhaps this guy was JUST the man for me! Or didn't she think I was good enough for him? That was a bit offensive. Or did he have some particular predilection for women of a certain "type" (e.g. blonde hair, Asian background) so that she knew in advance that he wouldn't have any interest in me?

My mind considered all possibilities, and, like a child who has been told that no, that sweet is "not the one for you", I became more and more determined to meet this elusive cousin.

But the day he arrived, I realised that she was right. He was NOT the man for me. Because not only was he in a relationship, but his partner was another guy.

Strangely enough, I was absolutely DELIGHTED by this discovery! There wasn't anything "wrong" with me, that made me an unsuitable dating prospect for the cousin. Rather, he was "not the man for me" because I was not a man for him, if that makes sense.

And I think that's a good thing.

Advice Part 101- Clothes that fit

Once upon a time, in the dim recesses of history (perhaps not the time of Socrates, but at least back in the Middle Ages), I was a size 10. However, unlike the ANZACs, age has wearied me and the years have condemned, and my waistline has burgeoned.

I am now a size 14.

At this stage, I would typically say "no biggie." But perhaps that isn't appropriate here....

However, in recent days, I have come to a rather startling revelation- whilst I know that I am no longer a slender adolescent, many others seem to lack the knowledge that they are NOT a size 10, and insist of wearing clothes which DO NOT FIT. Hence, my advice to young players is that if you are going to buy some clothes, please, PLEASE buy a size which fits, whether it is a size 10, 16, or 26!!!!!

How did I reach this conclusion? Read on.....

As many of you will know, of late I have joined the dark side and acquired an office job in the city. Besides an income, my job has provided me with ample opportunity to observe the sartorial preferences of my fellow city workers. And, snide and snarky as this may sound, I have noticed a disturbing propensity for both genders to don clothes which simply do. not. fit. And the vast majority of those who wear clothes that don't fit are wearing ones which are WAY too small.

Of course, dear readers, I do not believe that YOU fit (ha ha, see what I did there?) into the category of the "eternal size 10 who refuses to acknowledge that they are probably closer to a size 16." But, in case you are EVER tempted to enter this "forbidden realm", or in case some of your nearest and dearest are showing signs of toppling over the edge, I have decided to assemble a helpful little list.

How to tell if your clothes are too small:

• You are wearing a button up shirt, and the buttons gape open or pop off. If one button falls off, OK, perhaps it wasn't sewn on correctly. But when they all ricochet off regularly with abandon, this is a worrying sign.
  
• You are unable to sit down, because of the risk that the seams on your skirt or pants will split.
• Your pants are so snug that not only can passersby see the outline of your underpants from the back, they can also see the outline of your undies (and everything else) from the front. This is extremely disturbing.

• There is a big gap between the bottom of your pants and the tops of your shoes, so that everyone can see exactly what colour socks you are wearing. This is particularly embarrassing when the socks don't match, and one is a novelty Mickey Mouse style, whilst the other is a grey business sock.

• Your skirt is so short that when you sit down, your underpants are clearly visible. This is particularly bad when you're sitting opposite someone on the train. 

• Your shirt keeps coming untucked from your pants because it doesn't have enough material to stay tucked in.
• You have to leave the zip on your skirt (or dress) half undone because the material won't stretch sufficiently to allow you to do it up the whole way.
• It is possible to see the "control line" at the top of your stockings poking out from under your skirt. 

Hopefully, these hints are useful. And, if in doubt, remember my old adage (which I may perhaps have borrowed from someone): with clothes, sometimes more is definitely more!

Advice Part 100- Psychic coffee

I can hardly believe I have reached 100 posts on this blog, which started out as a way for me to fill in a Saturday night when I was home alone. I was going to do something "special" for the centenary, but a complete lack of motivation and creativity has unfortunately put paid to that. But hey, it's not every day you reach the big 1-0-0!

Anyway, enough of that....

Today's post sees us return to the psychic realm, a sphere I visited on a previous occasion. I would like to report that this particular visit was more illuminating. But that would be a lie. With this in mind, my advice to young players is that if you are offered a "psychic coffee cup reading", approach with a good dose of skepticism. If you approach at all.

How do I know this? Read on....

Yesterday afternoon, I was a bit bored, and so I decided to go on a little excursion to Newtown. I dandered along south King St, and resolved to partake of a coffee in a cafe I have visited previously, and rather enjoyed.

All was going well until I took a seat, and was approached by the psychic coffee cup reader, who apparently has a regular gig at the cafe on a Sunday afternoon. Said psychic offered his services. I declined. But...well....

• I was the only person in the cafe. 
• The psychic was bored. 
• So was I. 
• He was offering a cheap rate. 
• He has a 90% success rate (ho ho ho....I must have been in the other 10%). 
• And (perhaps most tellingly) Air was playing. On vinyl. Say no more.

One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was on the psychic couch, coffee cup upturned, spirit guides being summoned.

So. What did the psychic see? A variety of things....

1. That I work in a job "with a lot of paper and filing." Wrong. I USED to work as a filing clerk, but that was 8 years ago, and I'd hardly call it a "momentous experience."

2. I am "very close to my younger sister." Wrong. I don't have any siblings. The psychic tried to salvage this erroneous inference, by asking if my mother had had a miscarriage of a female foetus. Right.....

3. I am single. Wrong. Been in a relationship for 2 years. Although I guess the fact that I was in the cafe by myself on a Sunday afternoon might have given that impression.
4. I am a lesbian. Wrong again. Although he wasn't the first to make that mistake, as I've mentioned before. He tried to backstep here by saying that my partner must have "a lot of feminine energy." "Do you mean long hair?" I asked. This remark was not looked upon favourably.

5. My vitamin intake is inadequate. I didn't realise that spirit guides also offered medical advice! And there was I, stupidly consulting doctors for years!
6. I am going to marry a man called either James or Nick. I'm not sure how this fits in with me apparently being a lesbian, but I let that slide. The only Jameses I know are my uncle (let's NOT go there) and my friend's husband (or there, either). And I don't know any Nicks. But I do recall that a friend wanted to set me up with a guy of this name....Perhaps I missed my chance?!

So there you go. I am most intrigued to see what happens. And if your name is James or Nick, I would advise you to run.