I love Cat Tinder. So much better than actual Tinder.
A friend recently had her cat do a runner on her and six weeks on, not hide nor hair has been heard from him. Reportedly a gregarious beast, he's probably residing a few streets away under an assumed name living the life of Riley.
But now my distraught friend is now accepting of the fact that her furry house demon has decamped and is on the hunt for a new moggie.
So I've been playing Cat Tinder, vicariously, for her. I think she may have found a replacement now. He passed the phone interview. My sister also played Cat Tinder with me when she was looking for a replacement for her beloved Maggie. She now has Hope - also known as Hopeless and Hope-she-doesn't-get-run-over-like-the-last-one.
Cat Tinder entails going to all the cat shelter websites and looking at who's available. A bit like Tinder. Except they're not going to meet you, make you feel like crap, then block you.
I want to take them all home.
I mean look at Elma who's presently at the Lort Smith waiting for new parents.
It was one of those late night, gin-infused conversations you find yourself having. One of those deep and meaningful chats that you fall into like you fall off a kerb, leaving you a little unbalanced and pensive at the same time.
Him: So, while we're learning stuff about each other, what is your number?
Me: (internally) Shite!
After a bit of humming and harring, I came back with the standard answer to this question, provided by Carrie in Four Weddings and a Funeral. "You know. Fewer than Madonna, more than Princess Di."
After a some gentle goading, I provided my number. Which does sit in the bracket of fewer than Madonna but more than Princess Di. I hope.
And I watched him blanch a little over FaceTime.
Sexual histories are strange things.
Him: Really? Me: Yep. I'm not sure whether I'm proud of the number or embarrassed by it.
Him: But...
Me: Well, what's your number?
It wasn't a big number. It wasn't two, either.
Me: Part of me wishes my number was around your number. But then again, you were married for the better part of twenty years. I've never had a long term relationship.
Him: But...
Me: And no buts. I look at my life and I divide it up into two parts. Before therapy, and after therapy. I've had one partner in the last ten years. And one partner in the five years before that. They were after therapy.
Him: And before?
Me: Before that, well, yeah, I'll put it down to youth, alcohol and a few poor choices. Before, well, I've never been in a long committed relationship as you know. I can sleep with whoever I want as Sinead O'Connor wailed. Sure, there's a few I'd rather not be on the list. Others I was with for a few months. But I've always seen myself as opportunistic when it comes to physical touch. If it was on offer and I felt safe, and protection was available and used, then why not?
Him: Hmm.
Me: You're sounding a bit judgmental.
Him: I'm not...
Me: You are. You're putting me in your terms. That's passing judgement.
Him: But, what do you think about this?
Me: See, that's being judgmental. It's all part of a life. Besides, I've had the odd STD check. I'm clear. That's a sensible thing to do.
Him: Really? Did you need one? I hate that you felt you needed to do that.
Me: Well having an STD check is just sensible. The last time I saw my gynae, we were talking. I said my relationship was over and she said that while she was down there she'd take the swabs, it was nothing to get tested. I can go in clean the next time around.
He was a bit flummoxed by this.
Him: But, you've...
Me: I've lived a life. I've done nothing which wasn't within my rights to do. You can't change it. Move on.
And I shut down the conversation.
Taking a bit of a stock take later, I pondered the number. Could I name them all? Umm, if I'm honest, no. Do I have my favourites - yes. And they're mostly the guys who stuck around for a bit, or made me laugh, or they were just really good experiences. Others, not so much, but again, it's part of growing up and learning about yourself and others.
There's also a difference between looking at this twenty years after the fact, and looking at who you were, and what your soul was doing in your twenties and thirties, and who you are now.
And Edna St Vincent Millay starts to ring in my brain.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
I remain a bit more hopeful than St Vincent Millay. I think summer may return. Well, I hope so.
And I'll silence the judgmental critics, internal and external, for earlier choices. As these choices form, for better or worse, who you become.
I've been pondering turning my spare room into an office.
There are pros and cons to this thought.
Pro:
I'd have a designated work area
I'd not be working in the lounge room.
I could shut the door on work at the end of the day.
It would force me to clean up the spare room
and keep it clean.
And work will chip in $500 for the set up.
Cons:
I'd be forced to clean up the spare room
And keep it clean
And if I have overnight guests, where would I put them (saying that, when was the last time I had an overnight guest? Years ago...)
There's no heating or cooling in the room
It's not a big room and there is a lot of junk in there already.
And there would be less room to dry clothes when required.
Powerpoints are at a minimum - would mean buying more powerboards.
And where will the Hemingway chair go when I'm finally allowed to collect it?
Because of the work I do, I need a deeper desk, independent monitor and space for the laptop, so I need a desk at least 80 centimetres. Then there's all the peripherals - new keyboard, mouse, monitor and stand, mat for under the floor to protect the floorboards. It's also a lighter room than what I'm working in now. At least in the lounge there's black out curtains for when it gets too bright. I'm a bit of a vampire when it comes to full sunlight.
I think it's just more argy-bargy I don't want to think about at the moment.
Maybe if I give the spare room a good clean out I could see what happens. But I think a clean out would have to happen first before even contemplating buying office furniture. And it's not in too bad a state. The wardrobe needs a going through. It is the place where shoes go to die. And errant paperwork. And as we are still in this never ending lockdown, I supposedly have time.
Mind you, I like where my work desk sits here. I'm by a window. The cat can come and keep me company on the windowsill. And the room has heating and cooling. And a place to walk around, which the spare room, if there's a desk and a Hemingway Chair. And the telly keeps me company. I'm not great working in silence. I was the kid who did her homework at the dining room table and I like having background noise on when I work.
OKay, so it's Father's Day here and I'm feeling rather ambivalent about it all. My father died over twenty years ago, and we didn't have a great relationship, and yeah, I will just shut up now.
We're still in lockdown. I'm over it.
So I will get on with one of the joys of my life, the Sunday Stealing questsion, provided, as always, by Bev.
(And now it is twenty to eleven at night and I forget to do this - argh!)
1.What's your favorite TV channel to watch in the middle of the night?
I'm not much of terrestrial telly any more as all it shows is rubbish. If I am watching telly after midnight, I'll tend to turn on one of the streaming services and watch an old comedy - something like Frasier.
2.Which decade do you feel the most special connection to and why?
The Eighties. Ah, the music for the most part - you cannot get better.
3.What is your favorite oldie/classic rock song?
This:
When it comes to classic rock, you cannot beat The Rolling Stones.
4.What Disney villain are you the most like and why?
I really can't say - I haven't seen a Disney movie where I equate to the baddie. I do like Cruella de Vil, but I'm more like her in the film Cruella, if anything.
5.Have you ever been a girl scout/boy scout?
I was a brownie for about three months. Then we moved to the country and there was no brownie pack down there. (Brownies are where you go before you became a girl guide. I'm not sure if they still exist. I was a Tintookie. That's all I remember.)
6.If you were traveling to another continent would you rather fly or take a boat?
I'd rather fly. As much as I like boats, flying gets you there quicker. Oh to travel.
7. What are three of your favorite dog names of all time?
Sheba
Henry
Bozley
The last two were my sister's dogs and I loved them. Sheba was my dog when I was a child and she was awesome. Mind you, every child of the seventies seemed to have a dog called Sheba.
8. How do you feel when you see a rainbow?
Happy. I love rainbows. And I make wishes on rainbows. Always.
9. If you were in the Land of Oz would you want to live there or go home?
I already live in Oz - well, Australia. If it's the Oz you get to by following the yellow brick road then I'd come home. The flying monkeys, the wicked witches and that creepy wizard - I think there is no place like home and we will leave it at that.
10. What is the first word that comes to mind when you see the word:
Air: Supply - I'm all out of Love.
Meat: Loaf - I never want to hear Meatloaf again. Grrr.
Different: Strokes - I used to love that show.
Pink: She is an amazing artist. Puts on a fantastic show, and her songs are great.
Deserve: Love.
White: Linen - which always reminds me of my aunt. She used to wear this - and Youth Dew.
Elvis: Has left the building.
Magic: Is everywhere.
Heart: Corazon Melone. It's my mate's WIFI password and he explained it meant 'Heart of a Melon' in Spanish. Strange, eh?
Clash: Joe Strummer. London Calling
Pulp: Jarvis Cocker (From the band from the nineties)
I'm not surprised most of these came out with musical references.
There is a bong lying on the lawn near my carport. Please remember I live in a block of flats and the back lawn is a common area.
It's not my bong. I've never owned a bong.
And I really like using the word. It's fun to say.
BONG.
(Dong is a fun word to say too)
I don't know where the bong came from. It's not a big bong, nor a small bong. It has been used.
I believe that many people get very attached to their bongs, so why it's sitting on the back lawn, discarded, feels a bit of a travesty, because bong don't belong on the wet grass in a back yard. It should have pride of place on some bookshelves in a student's room - for isn't that where you normally find bongs?
Then I think, do I rescue the bong? Or put it in the bin? Or just leave it on the grass where it's owner might want to come and collect it. I'm still not sure how in heavens name it got there? Did a dope fiend in one of the other flats come round for a sneaky smoke, then leave it there after a few quiet chuffs? Or was it a ditch and run? An angry girlfriend from on of the other flats turfing it over the fence?
I have no idea why there is a bong sitting on the back lawn other than it's not mine.
In other news, the supermarket was out of panko crumbs, or so I thought. It's time to make chicken pajamas (Chicken Parmagiana) again. I'll make the red sauce from scratch - a can of tomatoes, tomato paste, onions reduced down. I'll make the chicken schnitzels too. And I like using panko crumbs, not ordinary breadcrumbs - maybe with a bit of parmesan in there to for good measure.
Anyway, in the Asian aisle, they were out of these posh breadcrumbs. But in the spice ailse, down the bottom, there were some European boxed panko crumbs. Not the bag of crumbs that come from the Asian aisle.I hope they work alright.
Other observances:
New Lucifer episodes come out next Friday
Knitting cables is becoming easier
The inch of rain we had overnight has made the place smell better
And the cat is giving me longer cuddles and I love this too.
Yes, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel, and when you're talking about bongs, panko crumbs and ABBA you know that pickings are slim.
Like most children born in the late sixties and early seventies, the first album I ever owned was ABBA Arrival, and yes, we then grew up and d;iscovered rock and alternative rock and the great plethora of music out there to enjoy.
But ABBA remains a stalwart, a daggy cousin that you shouldn't admit to liking, just as you keep your penchant for watching Days of Our Lives, snacking on Chick'n in a Biscuit or trying to hunt out those elusive Bubble 'O' Bill ice creams you had as a kid (Though on the latter, please give me a packed of Barbeque Shapes and a banana paddlepop).
We had a chat about this at work today. My one up, who's about twenty years older than me, and my team mate, who's my age. And we agreed, there is something very timeless about ABBA. We all know their songs. We can all sing along to them. They have created many a great earworm over the years. So I asked the question of my colleagues. What what their favourite ABBA song?
Now, that is a question.
You can subscribe to the Muriel Heslop school of though that all ABBA songs are your favourite ABBA song. Muriel's Wedding did bring back a bit of a resurgence in the group's popularity.
There are also those who don't have a favourite ABBA song until they find themselves singing one in a lift.
For me, I don't think I could nominate a favourite ABBA song. It used to be Chiquitita until it was taken over by the McDonagh Brothers in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri when the cop goes into a rage. It's a bit like the song Stuck in the Middle with You. It's like you can't hear that song without imagining Mr Blonde cutting off that bloke's ear in Reservoir Dogs.
Of Waterloo, my mind always goes to the Eurovision song contest.
Mamma Mia takes me over to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Oh I love that film - complete with its ABBA references.
When siging Fernando, normally in the car, normally at high volume, I have to sing the alternative lyrics and it has to be off key, complete with a few howls - just because. My old dog used to like howling along to ABBA.
Of my favourite ABBA songs - well, that would be a toss up between:
The Winner Takes it All
Take a Chance of Me
When All is Said and Done
Doesn Your Mother Know
The Name of the Game
Sure they're not the best known of their tracks, and if you have a listen, it's got all that wonderul stuff that ABBA is best known for - easy lyrics, early synthesised music and dodgy fashion.
You gotta love them.
And many secretly (or not so secretly) agree.
And to think, after forty years, they've just released some new music and will be doing some avatar driven virtual concerts... heaven help the world.
Don't let the title put you off. I'm blogging about the book I'm reading. I'm mostly okay.
Anyway, I'm engrossed in a book, so much so, all I want to be doing is lie on my soon to be procured Hemingway chair and read it. Sod work, sod everything else. I'm in love with this book. I'm there. It's drawn me in.
The book is Meg Mason's Sorrow and Bliss. The book was liberated from the Mary Martin Bookshop near work, also known as the most dangerous place in Melbourne. It spoke to me.
Anyway, the book is wonderful. Part Bridget Jones' Diary, part Fleabag, part Evelyn Waugh Brideshead Revisted (or Dodie Smith's I Capture the Castle) set in the noughties, it relates the story of Martha as she travels through life.
What I can tell you about her is that she is a poor cousin, her parents, a scultptor and a very unsuccessful poet live in central London, supported by her mother's sister. You get to meet the aunt's family in their Fitzrovia mansion. Characters include the adopted 'coloured' son, his brother and his school friend, and the slightly airy-fairy younger sister.
Martha's own sister reminds me a lot of Fleabag's sister, Claire, though I think Ingrid is a little less snippy and not as demanding.
Martha has a lovely husband called Patrick, who's a doctor, and tolerates her occasional bad behaviour.
Oh, and Martha has some pretty big struggles with mental illness. As yet, she's not got a real diagnosis, but I'll put my money on her being bi-polar at worst, or chronically and clinically depressed as a next best guess. The novel gives a realistic view of mental illness.
But I'm loving the book. The scenes of London in the nineties, Martha's struggles with her wastrel parents and how she seems to drift through life.
It's also making me very, very homesick for London.
The writing is incredible. Sharp, witty, funny and glorious. The plot is relateble. The characters are people you know - or want to know. Or maybe don't want to know.
I'm just adoring this book. It's taking every fibre of my being not to lie down and read it all day, but the short sections mean it's great for having mini reading breaks.
It'll definitely be on my book group short list.
It's the thing that's keeping me happy at the moment.
