So, the blogging itch is starting to niggle away at me, yet again. I know that I'm starting to head down the same path when I find myself with random urges to write things down, and the fact that I've just bought a notebook to carry around with me is a perfect example. However, I'm yet to write anything in fear of somebody finding it, pointing and laughing at my emo poetry, or whatever I've decided to commit to paper. Plus, I can type approximately 3000 times faster than I can write, so I find myself here, yet again.

I have been dealing with all sorts of philosophical bullshit of late, the "what am I doing with my life", "why am I on this planet", "am I better off becoming a hobo than sitting in this job for the next 20 years" thoughts that generally plague the 20-something. i.e. The Usual. I am reading deep, dark and scary books and considering spending my free time in a cafe, wearing a black turtleneck and a beret and loudly declaring my thoughts on Nietzsche to a bunch of people who click instead of clap. That's what they do in the movies, right?

I am wondering if I will ever feel like it's ok to Settle, and be content with my mediocre life, and Have Kids, and all of the stuff that I'm supposed to do now that I'm an adult but really don't feel like I am, and may never be, ready for it.

And you thought I was kidding about the emo poetry, didn't you?

So I might start up another blog some place to spew and belch vitriol all over the internet, as it's been a while. Or maybe I won't, if I continue to be a lazy git.

In bright and sunny news:

• Things with the new chap are going swimmingly! Sunshine and rainbows and all of that.
• I am going to Melbourne for my birthday later this month, and it will be tip-top.
• It's only two months until I go overseas on the very long world-wide holiday, and right now I'm about 5% excited and 95% freaking out that I won't have enough cash. However, I have mad cash-saving skillz, so I am hoping that all will be ok. If not, those hobo dreams may be fulfilled involuntarily.
• I am completing a ridiculously nerdy training course for work at the moment, and it hurts my brain.
  

And, well. That's about it.

In this super introspective phase of my life, I realise how much of a creature of habit I am. As Relationship #4 begins to find its feet, like a clumsy, ridiculously long-limbed, newborn fawn, I find myself following a familiar pattern. With 27 rapidly approaching, maybe I'm beginning to figure myself out?

Stage One - Excited! (Status: COMPLETE): Oh gosh, someone new! Someone new who is lovely and into me and gives me the giddies! I thought we were just shagging, but now I think that, gasp!, you might be my, gasp!, boy, gasp!, friend! Gasp!

Stage Two - Alone Time (Status: COMPLETE): We are hanging out so much, but I don't want this to move too quickly - I think some alone time is in order. Excuse me while I get a bit moody and distant, leaving you confused and dejected, while I make no effort at all to explain my behaviour. Poor new boyfriend!

Stage Three - Jealousy! (Status: COMPLETE): Everyone you have previously shagged, and everything you have previously done, fills me completely irrational and petty jealousy! The thought of you doing those things makes me super annoyed! Did you like her more than you like me now? I bet you did. Grrr!

Stage Four - I obviously care for you more than you care for me (Status: POSSIBLY STARTED YESTERDAY?): the fact that you didn't send me quite as many e-mails yesterday, and chose to stay at home to catch up on things rather than play XBox with me, obviously means that you are not as crazy about me as I am about you. Of course you say that you were super busy with work yesterday, and that you had to stay home to at least wash some clothes so that you weren't walking around in dirty jocks, but I know the truth! You hate me! Gah, what a mistake I've made jumping into this so quickly, now my heart will be broken into a million pieces!

Stage Five - Settled (Status: NOT YET STARTED): I no longer get the tummy butterflies when I see you, and I'm over my pathetic fight for (perceived) independence, jealousy and self-esteem issues - now we're lovely and comfortable and I'm pretty much certain that this is Forever. Yep, this is Us, for the rest of our lives, and it's grand. I am going to sigh contentedly, a lot. Ok?

Stage Six - SELF-DESTRUCTION!!!! (Status: NOWHERE NEAR IT, YET): We've grown apart! I've been feeling this way for months but haven't told you! I'm going to let us continue on while I feel miserable and will fail to express it by bottling my emotions, as you're very aware by now that I'm a First Class Bottler. All up until it comes to a head, and we Call It Quits, which will be followed by several days of "I know this is for the best, but I feel so sad" non-stop crying.

And there we have it, my complete relationship life-cycle. History has shown that Stage Five will kick in at some point after six months, and Stage Six doesn't occur until the 2-3 year mark. Grim outlook, yes? I guess the aim this time round should be to break the pattern, so that Six never happens. And if I'm honest with myself I know that in the past I haven't put in the effort to stop Six from happening, for various reasons. And despite the idealistic outlook I portray in Five, I don't really presume that anything is Forever anymore.

Poor new boyfriend, ending up stuck with cynical old me. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

Despite the thrill of spam comments making me look far more blogpopular than I actually am, I've turned on word verification. Annoying, but I know that everyone secretly loves the chance of getting a random scattering of letters that just so happen to spell something obscene, so you can thank me later.

This isn't a proper update. I just thought I'd say hello, and mention that there is a billion things going on at the moment, some of which are possibly major occurrences in my otherwise incredibly boring life. And that pretty much all of them are not blog safe, so I'm kind of just sitting on them all, desperately writhing around in my seat wanting to blab everything out, looking not unlike a kid needing to pee quite badly.

So, uh, basically a post to say that there's nothing really that I can post right now.

Um. Hope you're well!

The Tale of my First* Drunken Pash since being a Single Person (and yet further proof that everything I do in life is an EPIC FAIL)

A friend and I had decided on a night on the town. We headed out on Saturday and I immediately felt underdressed (why do all girls wear pretty party dresses now? I like shirts and jeans, goshdarnit), but consoled myself with cheap and nasty beer. It was super, super fun and we were having a very delightful time.

Got talking and drunkenly wobbling around near the bar with a very good looking chap. In fact, this guy was incredibly good looking (i.e. too good looking for me, but obviously his judgment was majorly impaired by beer), and he spoke like this guy** to boot. And after the Ugly Lights were turned on and we were booted out of the pub, he then leaned in and kissed me.

And it was absolutely horrific.

There was a flurried whirlwind of tongue in the "washing machine" style so popular amongst high schoolers. After a moment, he pulled away and I became aware that the bottom half of my face was COMPLETELY COVERED in his saliva. In my very drunken state, I wasn't sure what to do. I was pretty sure that it would be bad manners to hunt down the nearest towel and mop my face. So I just kind of stood there, feeling completely drenched and gasping the sweet, sweet oxygen.

You would think that after that terrifying experience, during which I almost drowned, that I would have learnt my lesson. Alas, no, he kissed me again, and it was equally disgusting. Afterwards I kind of dabbed at my mouth, and then fortunately our lift home arrived and I was able to run away.

And if this isn't bad enough, as I was running away the subject of age came up, and I learnt that this chap was 20 years old. TWENTY YEARS OLD. Which means that he was born in 1989, or there is even a slight possibility that he could've been born in 1990. Hold on, let me just point out how distressed I am by this:

1990!!!!!1!!@!OMGWTFFFF!!!!1!!!!

When I got home, I vigorously scrubbed my face.

I fail. I seriously, seriously fail.

*Actually, the second, but the first must stay pushed to the back of my mind forever more.
**The accent, that is. That was a random video I picked, I have no idea what it's about, so apologies if you spend six minutes watching it and it's rubbish.

Skimming over some old archives, it's amazing to think that there's almost six years worth of my drivel online. A couple of breaks along the way, but there's blog posts dating from 2004 to now. Three break-ups, three overseas trips, three different jobs... hmm, pattern much? I had a read through some of my stuff from the blog before this one and man, I really had my blog shit together back then. I was churning out crap like there was no tomorrow.

It really does make me wonder though, when I compare it to what I've written here, did I stop having fun at some point? Or stop seeing the funny side of everything? Or did I just get really slack? Did I hit an age where I just couldn't be arsed anymore? And then I think about maybe giving it another go, a proper go, but then balk at the thought of having to commit to multiple posts per week, and that it makes it seem a bit like a job, which makes it less fun.

I miss writing though. I think I'd even consider doing NaNoWriMo again, because five years have passed since I tried it last time and almost commit suicide from the complete and utter misery it caused me.

[insert hilarious and relevant segue here]

I had lunch with a co-worker today, who I don't know particularly well, but who told me that he possibly has feelings for a female friend of his, despite her being in a long-term relationship and him being married-with-child. And I tried to be a good listener and offer some thoughts but on the inside just sat there thinking "Gosh, I just came here to try this bizarre sushi with mango in it and now what! Is going! On!"

[second equally excellent segue]

Was offered a job today by my old Director, no interview required, no questions asked. It is a project manager role, which I am completely unqualified for, and which is now vacant due to the previous employee leaving in a stress-induced fit of rage. Extra cash, but alas, I feel like I'm finally finding my feet where I work now, and have been extended out until June (hoorah!). I acted very non-committal, but said I would at least look at the position description.

[insert heartwarming yet hysterical story, possibly featuring a pair of amusing pants]

Oh, HAHAHAHAHA, I agree wholeheartedly!

[spectacular closing paragraph goes here]

I am completely content with my spinsterhood, but can't help but notice:

Men who display interest in me:

• Men who are much, much older than I am
• Men who are married (worthy of its own blog post)
• Men with extreme emotional issues
• Men whose sexuality is questionable
• Men who I do not find attractive
• Men who look identical to one of my exes (no no no no no no)
• Men who I work with
• Men who I consider a buddy/brother-type, who then turn "weird"
  

Mainly a combination of several of the above.

Men who do not display interest in me:

• Colin Firth (in Pride & Prejudice (or any other) form)
• Ryan Reynolds (in bearded (or any other) form)
• Very tall geeks with beards (except for the ones who fall into the categories above)

Eh. As B*witched once said, c'est la vie. I'm going to go hang out with my cat now.

I'm not normally one for New Year's Resolutions, but I think that in 2010 I need to meet some new people. Seriously. I feel like I'm pretty much married to my group of work friends, and following on from the "propositions" from the previous post, and some other stuff (ooh, yes, very vague) it's all getting a wee bit awkward. The group is rife with gossip, deservedly so with all of the shagging going on, and the whole thing is feeling very incestuous.

At the moment, I'm given a slight respite by the fact that I'm on secondment to a different area, but if the rumours are true and I am going back to my old position in March, well, I don't really see myself successfully leading a team of people who have seen me drunkenly dancing like a hussy (many times) and on one particular occasion, vomiting in a very unattractive fashion.

My own fault, yes, I know.

So, ok, back to meeting new people. Or maybe reconnecting with old people. But preferably new people. Where are the new people located? Is there a vault full of new people somewhere? Or do I just need to "get out there" as they like to say. I don't know who "they" are. People who have successfully met new people, I imagine. And where is "there"? And is it possible to meet new people without them thinking that you are a desperate single person looking for a boyfriend? Because it's apparently almost impossible to maintain a platonic friendship with a guy without it getting "weird". Overuse of the "inverted commas" today, my "apologies".

Sigh.

Merry Chrimbo, Happy New Year, etc. Hope you are all well and jolly and have overdosed on gluttony and family mayhem.

Because there's some stuff I can't tweet:

Since being single for the past couple of months (oh, I'm single now, by the way), I have had not one, but THREE of my male co-workers "have a crack", so to speak. This is not flattering. This makes me suspect that somebody is spreading rumours that I'm a super easy slutbag. And what bugs me the most is that these are guys who I considered to be good buddies, and who were apparently biding their time to try and eventually get into my frilly pants.

Ok, maybe more sensible than frilly.

Also, I experienced the wonder of being out with an Incredibly Beautiful Person the other night. I had come from work and was dressed in typical fashion, i.e. like a bum, and observed the activities with much interest from my spot against the wall, where I became completely invisible in her presence. It reminded me of that episode of 30 Rock where Liz Lemon goes out with a supremely beautiful man, who has no idea when he is terrible at things because he is constantly shown favour and given praise because he is beautiful. Kind of. It seems to work like this:

• Continual comments about her (very beautiful) appearance
• Men continually joking that she is their girlfriend
• Never having to pay for her own drinks
• Men making constant excuses to be near her and touch her
  

And so on. I thought about doing my hair nice, and putting on make-up, and dressing all pretty to see if it made a difference. For all of 5 seconds before I remembered that I really can't be arsed.

In other news, a friend and I are planning on a round-the-world trip for next August/September. I am 26, and should probably be saving for a house deposit. But travel is way more fun. Whoo!

Thinking about packing the blog in. I could come up with a few different reasons, whether it's wanting to free myself of the worry that somebody from work will find me on here having a bitch-fest, and get me in a world of shit, or that I just find it difficult to come up with my usual gibberish these days. Or maybe it's the fact that my ex (mentioned in this post) e-mailed me and implied that somebody reads my blog and reports information to him (or some such shit). This last part doesn't worry me, but it just makes me feel weary and exhausted. I am used to this from when we were together and since we have been apart.

So maybe it's mostly that I don't really want my life on display here anymore, for whatever reason.

I do have a lot going on right now, hinted at previously with comments about spending time in my head, and most of it really can't be written about here. Which kind of sucks, because writing is great therapy, but when you can't use your diary as a diary then it doesn't really have much purpose anymore. I would love to just vomit it all out, I'm sure I would feel much better. Alas.

Then again, maybe I'm just having an off day and tomorrow will be sunshine and lollipops. Maybe?

I like music. I am not one of these hip and trendy people who listen to new, innovative bands, but I like music. I like to listen to it, and I dabble at playing it, though I largely suck at the latter. I even sing along with my whiny cat-strangle voice from time to time.

So when people tell me that they are in a band or involved with music in some way, my interest is piqued. Mainly because my total suckage at playing/singing means I am immediately envious of them.

So! Imagine my interest when one of the guys I now work with tells me that he wrote a song. "I play rhythm guitar in a band, but this one time I wrote and recorded a song. The stuff I play is normally pretty heavy but this is more of a ballad. Really out of character for me."

Ooooooh! goes my brain.

"Can you sing?" I ask.

"Well I didn't think I could, but my friends say that I can," he replies.

I immediately started hassling him. "Send me the song! E-mail it to me! Go on! Here's my e-mail address! Go on! Please! I strongly advise you to send me the song, or I will annoy you about it forever more! Song! Send! To me! Yes!"

So he does.

Dilemma: the song is, well, really not that good. And by that, I mean that it's actually pretty awful. When somebody says "well I don't think that I can sing that well..." they are either being honest, or being modest, and I didn't think for a second that it was going to be the former. And now I am faced with this situation. Should I:

• Pretend I didn't receive it. Pro: don't have to give any feedback, Con: he will most likely send it to me again, and I'm not sure I could use the same technique twice.
• Be honest. Pro: won't go to hell, Con: will offend him and cement my reputation as Bitch Extraordinaire.
• Lie through my teeth. Pro: he will be happy, Con: is dishonest, and secures me a place in hell for being a dirty, filthy liar.
• Be vague and non-committal. Pro: avoids discomfort and lies, Con: would need a back-up plan in case he prompts me for genuine feedback.
  

Sigh. I replied to his e-mail and told him that the lyrics were poetic. I need to have my back-up plan ready ASAP.