The End of A (Canberran) Era

Last weekend I bussed down to Canberra for the very last time.

Incidentally, it was Valentine's Day, the weather was sh!thouse and we spent much of our time indoors. It was sad in some ways- as the bus pulled into Canberra on Friday night I saw the same guy I always see on Northbourne Avenue- his bucket and tools set down on the median strip, as he jogged from car to car, asking people whether they wanted their windows cleaned as they waited for the lights to turn green.

I walked around the "City Centre" remembering how astounded I was at the lack of people, the white pillars of the Sydney and Melbourne buildings and the slow-pacedness of it all. We ate, we watched DVDs and had a typically Canberran weekend.

On Sunday, when it came time to come home, I said "Bye House" to the place that has been Man from Mars' abode for the past six months and mindfully experienced the bus ride back that is, Canberra to Sydney. The dank smell of the bus. The traffic. The hours.

Never again.

Because, there would be no more Sydney to Canberra and back again.

This weekend, Man from Mars drove from Canberra to Sydney and back for the very last time. He offloaded all the things he no longer needs in Canberra- his bureau, his sauces, paper, a fan and some DVDs.

We had a typically Sydney weekend. Man from Mars got his haircut, we watched movies and ate lots of food.

The weather was sweltering, the sky was blue and the streets were crowded.

Today, when it came for Man from Mars to drive back to Canberra, he said "Bye House" to my house and we reminisced.

When it comes down to it, the Canberra-Sydney trek was okay. It was do-able. It was affordable. It was fine.

Now Man from Mars goes back to Melbourne and the longer distance is a little disconcerting. Plane tickets aren't always affordable. Riding planes isn't always do-able. Delays are inevitable. Airports suck.

And so maybe we won't get to see each other every weekend...

Is it wrong to drop the f-bomb in front of your boyfriend?

http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u185/anitokid/fart4.jpg

I don't mean f-bomb as in the swear word. I mean f-bomb as in the stinky ponga that sometimes slips out your bum.

My firm belief is that f-bombing is a natural phenomenon, everyone does it and so, when you feel comfortable enough in front of each other: go for gold.

Weirdly (or maybe not so weirdly) no one else agrees with me. Here are some answers to "Do you f-bomb in front of your boyfriend/girlfriend?" that my work mates kindly supplied:

• Mr Funky Glasses: "NO WAY! My ex used to let them go in her sleep and I would get so furious because it's gross!!"


• Miss Tiny: "Omg no way. I hope it never gets to that stage."


• Mr Russia: "(guffaws) NO!"


• Miss Katrina Kaif: "No. No way. I don't even do it in front of my family. I would rather die than do that."

Well, this was news to me. I was gobsmacked. I kept trying to convince everyone that it's natural and that you can't possibly go through dates without emitting a tiny methane bubble. But no, apparently you can discreetly slip out to the balcony and let it go in the safety of the wide open air. That, or hold it in forever.

Bad people, that's bad for your health.

Frowny smile...

This morning on the train, there was a guy sitting in the six seater with two of his mates. He looked about 16 and had chin length hair that was parted three quarters of the way. He flipped it every so often as he and his friends talked in that loud and excitable way that teenage boys do.

The thing that struck me as I observed him talking, laughing and flipping his emo hair was his face when he laughed. He naturally had a horizontal indent at the very top of the bridge of his nose, just below the space between his eyebrows, that became more pronounced when he laughed really hard.

The result: whenever he laughed he looked angrily joyful. Except more joyful than angry, because he was convulsing so hard with laughter.

Classic.

A couple of thousand words later...

http://fysop.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/words-12.jpg

After my post yesterday, I checked my inbox and saw an email from Man from Mars: A blunt email requesting an explanation for my hanging up on him and an invitation to discuss.

In not so many words, Man from Mars was extending the olive branch. Waving the proverbial white flag. Offering the handshake of truce.

I read the email, considered his words and thought about what I would write in response.

It turned out to be a super long email of about 2000 odd words.

Man from Mars' response was equally long.

[We've always rocked at sorting out our issues by way of email, because of the long distance nature of our relationship.]

As we exchanged angry thoughts, pointed criticisms, sincere apologies, heated justifications and finally, ways we could help the situation, I realised the whole fiasco boiled down to one thing:

Man from Mars felt like I was taking him for granted.

I felt like he never acknowledged what I put into this relationship and wondered: Well, what's the point?

In other words, saying thank you to each other goes a long way in keeping the happiness flowing.
Two words: Thank you.

Rolls easily off the tongue when you're talking to a stranger, but so much harder to say to the people who actually give a crap.

Why is that???

Don't underestimate the value of a bit of space...

http://sivers.org/images/barking.jpg

Man from Mars is officially annoying me right now. To the point that I don't want to talk to him ever again.

Maybe I exaggerate, but you know what I mean. I also know that I'm officially annoying him as well and that he wants me to apologise before he'll want to resume being the nice version of himself that he is 98% of the time.

But sue me, I don't want to apologise because I feel like he labelled me selfish, mean, critical and void of any positive qualities worth mentioning.

All I can say is, thank you stars who made us decide that we would spend this weekend in our respective cities- Not only because we're officially annoying each other, but also because it was pissing cats and dogs and if he had come up, the drive back to Canberra would have been windy, wet and miserable.

But back to being annoyed at him.

We had an argument last night- an argument we've had before. It centres on the following:

Man from Mars: I will do anything for my friends- maybe even if they're not my friends. I like helping people and I enjoy it. I don't find anything wrong with this.

Me: I will do anything for my friends, if I know that they would do the same for me. I don't live life wearing rose-tinted glasses and I know that some friends veer closer to being classed as "acquaintances" and frankly, they wouldn't be there for me if I needed them.

This weekend, Man from Mars is showing a high school friend around Canberra. She's from Melbourne and is moving up to Canberra for work, with her boyfriend. In the past, he has driven her and her boyfriend around Canberra as they have searched for accommodation. This weekend, he has driven them from the airport and will drive them to the shops while they pick out essential groceries.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, I never said there was. I am sure they appreciate his help and are grateful to have someone help them in the at times, depressing city, that is Canberra. However, I also think that there's a point where you have to wonder how much they expect of you.

"I offered, they didn't ask", said Man from Mars.

I acknowledge this. But I also tend to think that Man from Mars puts himself in positions where he goes all out for someone, finds that they may not do the same for him- and gets bitten in the arse. Like he has been in the past. What's wrong with a bit of caution?

I said in response that I hoped they appreciated what he was doing and that they showed this. I warned him against people who take advantage of his hospitality and then, after becoming irritated at the school principal voice he uses whenever he's in defence mode, called him "weird".

Which caused him let loose and say a bunch of mean things which I'm sure he meant, but maybe not to the extent that he communicated in his smses.

I know I'm cynical. I don't trust people too quickly and I question their motives, partly because my parents have raised me that way. They have always said that if you go through life with a handful of good friends, then you're good to go. And I believe that- people drift in and out of your life as you move through different phases: your giant group of high school friends is whittled down to two- the rest are replaced with your giant group of uni friends who are whittled again down to maybe three, as you head off to work and find a new group of people to spend time with and get to know.

But I also know that it's stupid of me to "test" people, seeing if they will go that extra kilometre for me, before returning the favour to them. After all, who am I to judge? But it's my defence mechanism, and it's just the way I am. Everyone has their quirks and this is mine.

After all was said and done I didn't reply to his final sms. I can't be bothered. For all the time we have been together, I felt like he didn't really know me at all. And it irritated the bejaysus out of me. Because out of all my friends, with the exception of my family, Man from Mars is my best friend. I tell him absolutely everything. I let him see my witch side and I've seen his. But that doesn't make me a witch. By all accounts I can be testy and impatient and way too critical for my own good, but at the end of the day it's not like I don't dish it out to myself. I'm critical when I make mistakes, sound like a fool on the phone at work or mount the kerb trying to do a simple kerbside stop.

But then again, maybe that's part of the problem- maybe I should just chill on myself and then I'll be able to chill with everything else.

No thanks to Man from Mars, maybe I've figured something out from venting my spleen in this post.

Then again, maybe I do owe it to Man from Mars for living in a different city and not coming up this weekend. After all, a bit of space can do wonders for your own perspective.

Na Na Na Na Na Everyday, It's like my IPOD stuck on replay

So, I really like the song Replay by Iyaz.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZoG5jJ3E8rg

I like R & B, but most of the time I can't tell the difference between one rapper to the next. They all have dulcet tones, intermingled with rap and slick music videos filled with long limbed lovely ladies.

Anyhow, so this song is so R & B, complete with 2 African-American guys with aviators, gold chain and preppy cardy + button up shirt. But who can deny its catchiness?

What's cookin good lookin?

http://www.visitvictoria.com/content/2006/jun/apollo%20bay%20beach%20-web.jpg

I've just come back from 9 days in Melbourne. Welcome home, Me!

Man from Mars and I embarked on a relaxing week long journey from his house to the Mornington Peninsula and then down the Great Ocean Road to Apollo Bay, followed by more driving to the Otway Lighthouse, Season 3 of 30 Rock, a stroll around the 12 Apostles and a bunch of visits to the beach.

It was relaxing, sunny, food-filled, sleepy, shuffling and simple.

I loved it. The people across the road had a goat who just ate grass all day long. I felt like that goat. Except Man from Mars and I didn't eat grass, we ate breakfast at 11 am, lunch at 1 pm, a snack at 4 pm and a humungous three course meal for dinner at 6pm. We ate like Kings.

But like all things escapist, the holiday had to end. This week I came back to work; a little homesick for the beach but super excited to see all my work mates again- It was like a one week reunion!

Meanwhile Man from Mars is back in Berra- but he won't be for too long. You're in the home straight now Mister, don't think, just do!