When the pain only hurts in a bad way

Quite a while ago I wrote a little piece about how being a slave helps you enjoy pain and I’ve been thinking a bit about what I said way back then.

If you’re like me and can’t be bothered to do the clicky-click if there’s no chocolate dangling on the end of your mouse to spur you on, the nutshell version of what I said is that non-masochistic people start ‘enjoying’ pain when they’ve got someone to endure it for.

There was a time when I used to find certain levels of pain ‘enjoyable’ in the sense that it gave me purpose. The “I have a purpose feeling” only comes from when the other person truly enjoys giving you a bit of slap and tickle though. If you know they’re just going through the motions or you get a whiff of, ‘Do I have to?’ from them, then you both start thinking, ‘What the fuck are we doing?’ and the enjoyment factor goes straight out the window.

In addition to ‘purpose enjoyment’, there were also some cases when being beaten gave me ‘entertainment enjoyment’, as in, ‘I’m bored, want to beat on my ass for a while?’ The enjoyment in this tends to disappear very quickly though when I realise that pain hurts and there are other less painful ways of being entertained.

By and far though, the thing I get the most satisfaction from is ‘endurance enjoyment’. It comes directly from my ridiculous competitiveness that I blame on my I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-you’ve-done father who I wanted nothing from but a bit of approval or at least a half-mumbled, ‘You did good’. I was driven by trying to get a reaction from him and as a result nothing I ever did seemed to be ‘good enough’ and I just kept (keep) pushing myself.

(I understand he was pressed for time shagging every bit of pussy that he could lay his hands on, but ya’know that kind of ignoring tends to scar kids a bit.)

I used to be almost desperate for the ‘approval’ of someone – anyone. I suppose in many ways, the whole bdsm thing was a great way for me to set up a huge set of challenges that would result in satisfaction, pride and pleasure for my owner, which would then see me receive the holy grail of fulfilment: approval.

When you want the approval, you are willing to do anything – painful or not.

Herein lies my problem: M has made things entirely too easy for me.

He drops compliments, support and approval like grains of sand in the desert and he does it effortlessly like it was second nature to him. Getting a, “That’s wonderful sweetie, I think your achievement/idea/result is fantastic” from him is not like extracting a tooth without anaesthetic, it’s like having a cup of coffee in the morning – normal, effortless and a part of everyday.

He’s a rare jewel this one.

So, pain for me now is just pain. It’s not a source of enjoyment, a source of entertainment or a much-needed source of approval. I know I can get approval in so many other ways with him, so I don’t have the drive, the need to do the ouchie in order to get a ‘good girl’ and a pat on the head from him.

But what about doing ouchie stuff simply for the ‘highs’ of pain that everyone goes on about?

I’m not quite sure what an endorphin rush feels like. Is it like feeling tipsy? Is it like a sugar rush from a block of chocolate and a bottle of coke?

The only thing I’ve felt after having large needles stuck through my skin or nearly losing a nipple to a bull whip is, ‘Thank fuck that is over!!”

Where the fuck is my slave’s high?

The only thing I feel after an endurance run is nausea and, “My legs are about to drop off!!”

Where the fuck is my runner’s high?

It’s relief that I feel. It’s the removal of the sense of impending doom that was hanging over me. I’m not soaring like a kite or buzzy, I’m just glad to have lived through the experience.

It reminds me disturbingly like my mountain-climbing ‘experience’ in Japan when I went up a mountain with my ex-hubby carrying nothing. Night fell when we were still way up the mountain, we got lost and we started to panic. Fortunately we stumbled across another hiker with a torch and made it back down with him. Then I proceeded to give my ex-hubby a blowjob in the car park because I was *that* relieved to have made it down the fucking mountain alive.

I think I may also have provided a bj after I climbed Uluru because it scared the complete fuck out of me and I thought I’d never get down again.

(Actually, I’m not sure how post-climbing bjs tie into this story, but I’m sure everyone enjoys a random bj story at any time of the day.)

So yeah…. What I’m trying to explain here is my lack of interest these days in things of an ouchie manner. I might be able to work myself into a need for an ‘entertainment enjoyment’ beating every now and then, but the other enjoyments are not really driving forces these days.

If you’ve been thinking to yourself that it’s been ages since I was beaten, you’d be right, but it’s not for a bad reason that beating has taken a backseat in my life.

It’s because the person driving my car is just a whole lot better than anyone who has sat in the driver’s seat before.

Just a quickie

I’ve got two words for you : my boss.

I don’t even know where to start with him…

First, he was annoying the crap out of me, but fortunately I’ve managed to get used to his annoyingness and it doesn’t bother me so much anymore.

Secondly, we went out to dinner with him and his newly arrived wife and M and I decided that he is definitely punching over his weight (she’s disturbingly normal…how does she stand him?)

Thirdly, they’ve been married for four months (three and a half of which they have been living in separate countries for), have only lived together physically in the same house for two weeks and have only recently consummated their marriage (or so we assume…at least we hope he has done so by now…because last time we were talking about it, he hadn’t…) Then he tells me today that he wants to up their health insurance because they WANT TO HAVE A BABY!!!

Well, rather than they ‘want’ to have a baby, it was more along the lines of, “Well, now we’re married so of course the next step is baby…”

I feel like I’m living in the dark ages or something. I feel like screaming at her, “Take the car out for a test drive before you buy it, baby. And at least fricken know the person whose DNA you are going to create a sprog from.”

Actually, more than anything, I feel really angry about the whole situation. She knows no-one here, can speak no English and suddenly she’s going to have to deal with doctors, obstetricians and all that messy parenting stuff before she even gets her two feet on the ground.

I think it’s irresponsible of him more than anything. She’s the sort of person who is just going to follow his lead and then later on down the track, crumble and say,  “Holy fuck, I can’t deal with this!” And the reason I know this is because that’s what happened with me. I hopped on the whole relationship conveyor belt and barely got off before I ended up somewhere that I would have truly regretted.

These kids of today…and when I say ‘kids’, I mean my boss. I’m feeling the twelve month age gap between me and my younger boss to be as wide as a chasm.

Interesting things in my box

It’s been a while since I’ve had an amusing email from those folk over at alt.com containing pics of their best specimens of bdsm folk.  The first one was reasonably funny, the second one was pretty damn funny, but I think I’m finding this particular gentleman even funnier:

I’m not sure whether I’m more confused about the KISS-like makeup in the first pic, or the other pics that look like he was auditioning for Zena the Warrior Princess.

I can barely contain my enthusiasm for signing up for alt’s paid services, so I can find ‘great men like him’.

A few days earlier I also had this rather amusing message:

Being the very submissive person that I am, calling me BITCH sooooooooooooo makes me want to click on suspicious links so it’s quite an effective approach (except it would be slightly more effective if I did give a shit about people finding out I’m into ‘dirty stuff’).

Also being the slightly non-morning-person that I am, when I first looked at the message I had a moment where I was trying to remember who I ‘broke up’ with…lol.

Danshari

I’ve had a few posts with a decidedly Japanese flavour recently. That either means that I’m going through a period of Japan withdrawal (for the 245th time) or I’ve been watching too many Japanese programmes on my iPod again. I’ll let you decide which one it is, but I’ll give you the hint that I have more videos on my iPod than music and I have constant Japan withdrawal. (Did that clear things up for you?)

One of the latest crazes to sweep Japan is danshari (だんしゃり 断捨離)and it’s written like this:

If you’d never heard of it, you’d swear it was Chinese, not Japanese because it’s a made-up word that consists of three very important actions intrinsic to the idea of danshari:

Refusal

 Disposal

 

 

Separation

 

 

Basically, it’s the idea of getting rid of the clutter in your life and living with the bare minimum of things. I guess it’s similar to the design concept of ‘minimalism’ in some ways, but it also includes the concept of removing the emotional burden that comes with having too much stuff.

But isn’t having lots of stuff a symbol of your wealth, your comfort and don’t certain things have lots of memories? Isn’t it also good to have things ‘just in case’ or ‘for a rainy day’?

Not in danshari.

According to danshari, clutter weighs you down in more ways than one. It keeps you looking in your past and unable to enjoy your present or make plans for your future. And when you think about it, things don’t have memories – you do.

Danshari involves you first making firm decisions about what to keep and what to reject. Then you dispose of things you have rejected to keep in your life. Finally, you emotionally separate yourself from those things that you no longer need and gain freedom from the clutter.

Danshari is mostly an intervention designed for hoarders, but there are a lot of ideas that I like in there. I like the idea of going back to basics in these times when we’re overwhelmed with gadgets we ‘can’t live without’.

I also like several of the alternative ways of thinking about things.

For example, there is the idea about mottainai.

Although mottainai is translated in English as ‘to be wasteful’, the Japanese word contains a deeper nuance from its buddhist origins, meaning ‘no longer having its original form or meaning’. So when you keep things because they might ‘come in handy’ and because throwing them away would be ‘such a waste’, do they actually retain their original meaning by being shut away in a cupboard somewhere? Things don’t actually have a meaning until they are put to use, so isn’t not putting them to use actually more wasteful than keeping them just in case?

There’s also an interesting take on gifts received in danshari. It takes the stance that gifts are just things that other people have bought. When you fill your home with gifts from other people, it becomes filled with the ‘tastes’ and ‘choices’ of other people and not yourself. When you say to yourself, ‘I can’t throw that away, it was a gift from so and so’, is that a good emotional state to be in when you are in your home, your sanctuary?

So that brings to an end our lesson about danshari. It has kind of given me the urge to go and dispose of some things to get that clean, sweet feeling of emotional freedom.

I had a dream…

…that I was watching Charlie Harper doing bdsm stuff with a chick wearing a geisha hairdo (not the make up, just the hair) who was chained up takatekote style.

Like this, but with chain

 

He was like a kid on xmas morning using one toy for a couple of minutes and then going onto the next and he was strangely undoing all the locks on everything with a knife. The last thing I saw before I woke up was Charlie surveying the roof beams and exclaiming gleefully,

“And now comes the doggie harness!!”

I think I’ve been watching too many episodes of Two and a Half Men…

Because I’m anal, I was looking around for the name of that particular way of tying someone up and on the way I furthered my education about rope, tying someone up and all things Japanese bondage-like! *beams*

In summary:

There’s not a lot of information about hojoujutsu (ways of tying up prisoners with rope) because the ties used to be unique to certain groups and were closely guarded secrets.

The ties used indicated the social status of the person apprehended.

The colours of the ropes used indicated the crime and later on, represented the apprehending group.

Hojoujutsu got thrown out with all the other assorted Edo period stuff (a.ka. samurai stuff) when Japan embraced European ways in the Meiji period.

Hojoujutsu made a come back as shibari in the 1950’s and 60’s in Japan thanks to some girlie magazines.

 

God bless google and wiki.

Housekeeping

You may or may not have noticed that I changed the look of my blog. I felt it was time for a spring clean, so I’ve changed the template and the background image. The change-over was pretty painless except for the fact that now my menus don’t cascade, so I need to go in and make myself a heading page that I can put all the links to the individual pages on. Bear with me while I avoid doing that annoying task with all of my might, okay?

And I’m so proud of myself for using the word ‘cascade’…

Now does that sound ridiculously geeky or is my twat as furry as a bear rug? (yes and yes)

While pottering around on my blog, I happened to glance at today’s search terms and had a rip-snorting chuckle.

Behold!

Speaking of search terms…I found a link to my blog in a blog written in German and was insatiably curious, so I sat there with google translate (because my skill with German ends with guten abend) and worked out what was written there.  It turned out to be a blog about how interesting the search terms on my blog were. It was gratifying to know that my quirky search terms had gone global…lol

And as a last snippet of stuff that you didn’t really need to know, but will find endlessly amusing, I’ll tell you about my unfortunate run-in with long-lasting lipstick.

The other weekend we were invited out to lunch and I was again under strict instructions from the man to go ‘slutty’. I managed to squeeze into a dress that – quite honestly – I’m a bit too fat for now and thought I’d go for the slut look with some cfml (cum fuck me lipstick). It was a deep purple and the type that is not supposed to budge. And actually, as far the ‘not budging’ is concerned, it performed really well…

…on my teeth…

All the lipstick on the inside area of my lips managed to rub itself onto my teeth giving me a look akin to a yokel who had spent the last two hours chewing tabac. Mmmmm…oh so sexy.

And of course, being non-budge, I COULDN’T GET THE DAMN STUFF OFF.

So I was sitting there trying not to open my mouth and still surreptitiously scrub the crap off my teeth with a tissue, all the while making polite conversation with people (as we’d just fucking sat down) and putting my lunch order in.

I think I’d rank this right up there with my skirt-tucked-into-my-underwear-at-work experience and the embarrassing boss-makes-joke-about-M-taking-me-for-a-walk-by-attaching-a-leash-to-my-collar experience.

Sometimes I feel like I need a stunt double for my life…

Cream pie

I experienced my first cream pie yesterday.

It was quite an exciting moment considering I’d heard so much about them and seen them in so many movies over the years. For some reason or another, we don’t really ‘do’ cream pies in Australia. We have our tarts though…lots and lots of them in fact 🙂

So without further ado I present to you, my cream pie:

Banana cream in fact 🙂

I cheated with the pastry, using some short crust sheets of ready-made stuff we had in the freezer, but everything else was made from scratch.

You’ll have to excuse the pics as they were taken late at night. For some reason I always feel the need to start baking at 5 or 6 o’clock in the evening. It needed to chill in the fridge for a good two hours, so it was 7:30pm or something before we tucked into it and thus the crappy photos.

(And no, before someone asks, that’s not the head of a vibrator in the background.)

What I don’t understand, is why it’s called cream pie though. Why not call it a custard pie?

Maybe everyone just enjoys the titillating feeling of discussing cream pies.

When I’m bored, I amuse myself with…

Quizzes:

How many baboons could you take in a fight? (armed only with a giant dildo)

Created by Oatmeal

Kinetic Typography:

Top ten lists

I especially like the top ten videos of people stuck in an elevator (that guy with diarrhoea is just sad…) and the top ten toughest athletic challenges (serious bragging rights and cool t-shirts involved with these…)

Toilet paper origami

The dragon is awesome, but I’ll stick with the rabbit

Stupid games that are addictive

And I marvel at people who have waaaaaaay too much time:

(That’s Mario recreated on Excel using visual basic and macros by some Japanese dude….)

One wedding and a funeral

That title pretty much sums up my week.

I had a friend get married on Sunday, on that auspicious date of 10.10.2010 – along with ten million other couples it seems. I remember back in 2000 when I was into my second year of engagement and suddenly there were all these whisperings from his side of the family that we should be married on the auspicious first day of the new millenium,  1.1.2000 instead of waiting until I finished university. I’ve never really understood the ‘auspicious’ day thing – if your relationship isn’t strong enough to begin with, all the arguments of , ‘Oh, but we got married on a lucky day!’ ain’t gonna help one bit now, are they?

Case in point, my sister got married on 22nd November, which can be read in Japanese as ii fufu, meaning ‘good married couple’. I remember my ex getting all excited about what a good day it was to get married. Funnily enough, I spent 3hrs on the phone to her on Thursday night discussing her ongoing and very bitter divorce proceedings.

And the funeral bit, well the director of the company I worked for passed away so I attended his funeral on Thursday. I only met him once, but being the soft, soppy person I am, I ended up in tears several times during the service. All it takes for me is to see a bit of a sniffle from someone around me and suddenly I’m hauling out the tissues. There’s a word in Japanese for having someone else’s tears ‘rub off’ on you  – morainaki – meaning ‘to be given tears’ (and it’s those kind of cool words that keep me interested in Japanese after all these years…)

So yeah, I spent the whole day at the funeral and the wake with my boss – remember the boss who is driving me crazy? In the preceding days to the funeral he also successfully drove me crazy by calling me and sending me a billion email messages on my days off asking this, that and the other about flowers, condolence messages and so forth. I know I should be patient and happy to answer his questions about what to do on these occasions in a different culture and language, but I had to bite my tongue on so many occasions. I just wanted to say, ‘Google it for fuck’s sake!’

His wife arrived in Australia on Wednesday night, so at least I won’t have to feel sorry for him anymore and feel inclined to invite him to social occasions because he is all alone. I haven’t met his mystery woman yet, but I’m sure it won’t be too long until I do. I’m hoping also that she helps drop his anal tendencies down by a notch or two.

Other than that, I’ve been running sporadically, studying for my test even more sporadically, lusting over True Blood and waiting to hear back on one of the jobs I applied for. Actually I did hear back from the recruiter I had an interview with nearly a month back, saying that the HR guy had been away travelling and they were going to be short-listing and doing further interviews in the week of Oct 25th.

As far as True Blood is concerned, you know you’re obsessed when you go onto YouTube looking for interviews with the cast members and you get slightly disappointed when Alexander is not nearly as cool in real life as he is in the show. I’ve actually been thinking about buying the books just to get more of a fix, but I’d like to finish watching season 3 before I do that. I saw the version 2 boxed set on bookdepository for $60 with free postage world-wide which beats the $127 they want for it in Australian bookstores.

Speaking of feeling totally ripped off, I’ve had to stop watching American restaurant shows on the Travel and Living channel because thanks to the internet, I can go online and actually see how much these places are charging for their food and it’s depressing. Ribs for $17? All-you-can-eat OMG YUMMO buffets for $20? It didn’t used to be so bad when the Australian dollar was worth less, but as of today, AUD$1=USD$1 and that means seriously feeling ripped off. Don’t even get me started on our $17.50 movie tickets or $859 16G iPhones….

And is it just me, or am I ranting a lot lately?? lol

This and that

M and I had a week full of job applications and assorted aches and pains. I applied for a job that in the best analogue Japanese way required me to actually snail mail in my resume and a cover letter and M had an interview for another position on Friday and applied for several others during the week.

In the aches and pains department, M thinks he has arthritis in his shoulder and I was dealing with the period of doom, a blister the size of a fifty cent piece on my foot and a non-functioning index finger on my right hand. I think we both need putting in a big pot and boiling up. (I’m not actually sure how the boiling in a big pot thing works, but my sage nanna always used to say it, so I’ll just go with the flow…)

I met a Japanese friend in town for coffee on Thursday and had a great chat for about three hours. Like me, she’s never gone down the route of having kids or particularly wanted to get married and so I find I really click with her. We’re both at that stage in our lives where we’re looking for ways to make our existence meaningful and it’s really refreshing to find someone who doesn’t want to talk about their kids/family/partner woes.

I think it’s great if you find fulfilment in creating progeny and your life revolves around your family, but I hate feeling like I’m “strange” because of my life choices. I hate the endless number of movies and tv shows that portray woman as only ever being successful and complete once they have a husband and children almost as much as I hated being asked *when* and not *if* I was going to have children when I was married.

And this may sound petty but I hate the fact that having children sees you getting so much financial support from the government and a VIP “parents with prams” carpark space right outside the supermarket. It’s your choice to have a baby, so why should I be disadvantaged because I chose not to have one? Shouldn’t you have to deal with all the responsibilities of having a child and all that it entails- extra financial burdens, heavy prams, etc.- if that is your choice?

I understand governments are obsessed with birth rates, population growth and whatnot, but quite seriously, I often feel like I’m being punished because I haven’t jumped on the child-rearing wagon that everyone has. But to me, I feel I should have the equal right to live my life as I choose without feeling inadequate or disadvantaged. Is that too much to ask?

/dismounts from high horse

I think the rush of babies on the blogs I read has got me thinking a lot about this topic. A good half of the blogs I read regularly have turned into baby zones in the last six months or so.  Part of me is sad that people whose writing I enjoy and whom I often admire have done something so ‘predictable’. I’m also sad that inevitably their blogs turn into a discussion of sleepless nights, toilet training and spit up. I know their blogs are their own creative outflow and will always turn to topics that are current for them, but I’m always sad to lose another member of the ‘non-child-focussed club’.

Anyway, so that was pretty much my week.

Notes to self:

  • Don’t go to IKEA at 11am on a Friday morning on the last day of school holidays.
  • Don’t answer phonecalls from your boss on your day off – ever.
  • Don’t even think about running on streets with names that include any of the following words: Ridgetop, Mountview, Escarpment, Heights, Trail, Deadman’s Bluff, Runner’s Folly, Big-Mother-Fucking Hill.

A side of crap with my death warmed over

I have to take a moment to say sorry to all those women I ridiculed in the past for their ‘girlie’ woes. Quite seriously, I thought lots of chicks were just jumping on the ‘period bandwagon’ and calling in sick or moaning about their cramps and whatnot just to milk some pity out of the menfolk and to get an extra few sick days. But I have to say that I’ve now a fully fledged passenger on the wagon-of-pain and I have to say there’s nothing ‘bandy’ about it whatsoever.

My period came yesterday and I felt like death warmed over with a side of crap.

I alternated between a pounding headache that was making me nauseous and a grinding, throbbing ache in my abdomen that I needed some serious drugs to live with. I went to bed at 7pm because I couldn’t stand to sit upright!!!

My period used to be a barely noticeable blip on my monthly screen that ended how it started: with me going, ‘Oh, was that my period?’

I used to ‘Pffffttttt!’ at chicks who said they couldn’t get out of bed or who needed serious numbers of those good drugs behind the counter, or heat packs, cold packs and the occasion six-pack to function at that time of the month, but these past few months I have a totally new ‘appreciation’ for their pain. I’m actually starting to really dread the end of the month like the plague.

I guess M doesn’t call it plague for nothing.

P.S No, I haven’t heard anything about that job I went for – maybe the toenails were overkill.

Is my hentai, your hentai?

When I’m looking for porn to push my buttons, one of the biggest problems I have is which ‘category’ to look under. Of course I tend to start out at the ‘BDSM’ category, but there seems to be a disturbing trend for anything with a bit of chain draped over the bed or a bit of a botty slap to be included. Generally I’m like, ‘WTF?’ after a few minutes and soon I’m delving into ‘anal’ or ‘hardcore’ and recently ‘anime’.

Although the ‘anime’ category tends be very broad too and will turn out such disturbing things as:

I don’t think I’ll ever look at Master Splinter the same again…

Invariably I end up at ‘hentai’ and there I’ll find some yakuza kidnapping or innocent-girl-with-debts-forced-to-work-off-her-loan-with-rich-dude-and-his-henchmen stuff and all will be well with the world.

But that ‘hentai’ category is full of all sorts of stuff and this is where the Japanese 101 lesson begins…

Hentai literally means ‘a strange state of being’. The first character ‘hen’ means different, strange or changed and the second character ‘tai’ refers to a state, condition or attitude. Put together they refer to someone who has ‘particular sexual tastes’. It used to have a softer meaning along the lines of ‘pervert’ and was what you called someone who suggested going to a love hotel on the first date or bought their wife frilly underwear.

Now, it tends to be used for everything from tentacle porn to the very bizarre:

I had a request from a reader last week to translate the captions on a ‘hentai’ comic posted over at fetlife. Being the obliging sort of person I am, I did and it got me thinking about that line between what was ‘normal’ porn and what would be considered ‘hentai’.

I find it interesting that we don’t even have an English name for ‘hentai’. I don’t think ‘hardcore’ or ‘extreme’ really covers the sort of stuff it deals with and it is a very interesting reflection of how creative Japanese people can be. In reality, the majority of Japanese are very tame in the sexual department. Brazillians haven’t ever really caught on, the pill was only legalised in 1999 and anything to do with sex is discussed using the codeword ‘H’ (from the spelling of hentai) and whispered about with lots of blushes.

I always wonder whether the whole hentai thing has come about as a result of sex being pushed so far off the radar for most people and all that energy bubbling forth and needing to be poured into something… involving tentacles, car-sized boobs or scary things covered with spikes.

Anyway, that brings to an end our Japanese 101 lesson. Keep an eye out for those very stretchy women on a vault at a gym near you.

Dear M

The art of letter writing is a lost art, is it not? (Actually the art of hand-writing is so lost on me I can barely write a shopping list anymore…) So I thought I’d ‘write’ you a letter!! Yay!!

After my wild-kingdom day yesterday where I saw a rabbit on the bus on the way to the station, dolphins in the river as I crossed the bridge and had something fly up my nose on my walk home, today was quite tame. And just before I tell you how tame today was, let me just clarify that the rabbit wasn’t on the bus. I was on the bus and I saw a rabbit hopping along the side of the road as the bus passed. I would have no doubt posted a video that would be going viral as I type if there had been a rabbit on the bus and because I haven’t and I’m simply sitting here writing you a letter, that should clarify things thoroughly regarding the rabbit.

Soooooooo my tame day today…well, waiting for you in the car while you did your interview was pretty tame. I’m not saying that you doing an interview is tame, far from it. I was so nervous last week doing my interview that I don’t know how you stay so calm and collected.

Actually , did I tell you what I did when I went for my interview last week? Well, I walked into the office, nervous as all shit and this chick headed straight over to me, shook my hand and said something to me that sounded like:

eifnanfk ksnfnainf Joanne”

I was there to see a chick called Joanne so I thought she must be Joanne so I said, “Nice to meet you.” Then she looked at me all funny and said, “I’m not Joanne” so I said, “Oh, ok.” Then she said, “I said that you must be here to see Joanne” and gave me another funny look as if you say, ‘You are a dumbass’. Actually I felt like I had ‘Me talk pretty one day’ tattooed on my forehead or something, but my interview dumbass-ness didn’t end there.

During the interview I got asked the golden question of why I wanted to leave my current job and I was *this* close to blurting out that my boss is a wanker and because my head was full of that, I took a really long time to answer. Like a really long time. Even though I’d practiced my, “I feel I’ve outgrown my current role” spiel and appropriately sad tone of voice for a couple of days, it was just not forthcoming.

So as I said, I’m very impressed with your cool demeanour (I wonder if that is due to your lack of empathy?? 😉 )

You know I’ve always wanted to work in a cool office with a security card that I can wear swinging from a lanyard around my neck like every other cool person. Unfortunately I’ve only ever worked in dingey little offices in out-of-the-way places that I’m mostly too embarrassed to talk about. Even that job I had at that high-profile company in Tokyo, it was in a shitty, shitty office that looked like it came out of a 1950’s movie – grey metal desks, green linoleum floor, nicotine-stained ceiling…I’m sure you get the idea…

Considering that the new job is in an uberly flash building, in the penthouse, with river views, I think I should just give up now. Obviously my office karma is totally fucked.

Anyway, back to my tame day. After your interview then we went and picked up the money for scrapping your beloved ute. That is also something I feel a bit responsible for because I have car-scrapping-karma. My ex scrapped his beloved ford probe after it got too expensive to run and now you’ve had to scrap your beloved ute because it was too expensive to fix. Once again, I’m thinking my fucked karma is to blame.

Then we were driving around looking for laksa because I’d announced that I felt like laksa for lunch and being the full of empathy guy that you are you (and who are these people who say differently?) you went looking for laksa. Actually by that stage, I was willing to sell my soul to the devil for food of any description because I had my need-food-now-or-I-will-scream! feeling and thank god it wasn’t long after that that you drove into the car park of the noodle place.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve had a serious craving for noodles the entire week. The laksa cured my craving for noodles, but it would have been nicer if it was spicier. The noodle place did get full marks though, for having those cute little noodle boxes that I always see in movies and have never seen anywhere in the flesh (in the box?) and even more marks for those fabulous takeaway bowls that I took away with me and will continue to get enjoyment from as only the Tupperware Queen of ’82 can.

On the way home we got some fruit and veg from the markets and I continued to be grossed out by the pool of sweat in my boots that was growing by the minute. I’m still trying to figure out where spring went. Practically overnight I went from huddling in front of the wood fire to wanting to turn the aircon on. I’ve been reading about the LA heat wave in the newspapers and all I can think of is, ‘Welcome to Perth in January!’

Oh, and you know on the way home how I stopped to buy ice cream? Well, I have to report that half of it is gone….already… Cookies and cream is a flavour I haven’t had since….ummmmm….Haagen Dazs in Tokyo….2001 maybe? What totally freaks me out about ice cream now is that every spoon of big-brand ice cream we eat in Western Australia is made 4000kms away and trucked over a desert. How special is that?

And now I’m just rambling, aren’t I?

Did you enjoy the ravishing session we had after coming home? I’m thinking the putting on of my collar turned the heat up a bit…or was it the boots? A combination of both perhaps?

All I can say is that this part of my day definitely wasn’t tame.