Only dead fish swim with the stream

Wednesday, 27 August 2008

It never ceases to amaze me how much a little ray of sunshine brightens the mind and the soul. Like everyone in NZ right now, I’m soooo over the rain. Even sunny Nelson has been horrendously foul over the past months and our storms have even been up to Welly standard (hard to believe I know, but true).

You don’t realise how much it takes a toll on your general demenour until a day like today arrives; a day when the sun shines brightly from dawn till dusk. When it’s warm enough to wear a dress without jeans underneath, elevenses consists of a 20 minute cat nap on your bean bag in the sun (isn’t self-employment great!), the doors and windows are wide open all day and you take lunch on the patio in the sunshine.

It puts a spring in your step and makes the worries and doubts that seemed so much bigger yesterday seem like mere minor concerns, and not worth stressing over. It reminds me that I can do anything, limited only by my imagination; only dead fish swim with the stream. Bring on spring!

Out of my tree

Monday, 11 August 2008

Popular legend says you’re not a horserider until you fall off at least 100 times. I’m thinking I can’t have many more to go now. But I do think it’s really important to bring your own unique style to things, as with my last ‘creative dismount’.

Amongst the other horsey folk where I keep Charlie Brown, I have the reputation of being a bit of a bush basher; if you want to come riding with me – beware! I do a lot of riding in a nearby forest and am always on the lookout for new trails (or potential new trails) so often end up going a little off-piste. I wear gloves so I can push the prickly gorse away from my body easily, my helmet protects my noggin and a good deal of faith is also required.

In such a situation over the weekend, I decided I couldn’t be arsed getting off my horse and had faith we could get through a particular tight and tricky spot. Going under some extremely low and prickly foliage I leaned down over my horse’s neck. Needless to say I couldn’t see much and the next minute I found myself off my horse, hanging rather precariously in a tree with my arms hooked over some branches. Meanwhile, my horse has continued through to the other side and is taking the opportunity to snatch some food while he waits for me to disengage myself.

The bruises are starting to come out now (and they’re big and very sore) but I really had to laugh at how amusing it must have looked to any nearby wood nymphs :P

No more Mr Nice Guy

Sunday, 3 August 2008

I am not a man eater, but sometimes I feel like one. My friends, and even my landlady, are ever more frequently pointing blokes in my direction that they think I should date. The last one was a bloke in a pub that asked my friend to introduce us, so she brings him up to the dance floor and leaves him there with me. I know they mean well, but what am I supposed to do with that?

I’m a polite person (ie. I hadn’t had much to drink) so I talk to him a bit before I go back to the dance floor. He is ‘nice’ enough but doesn’t really pique my interest in any way other than a passing conversation. But when he asks for my number I stupidly give it to him. Why? For no better reason than because I’m pathetic and I feel really rude saying “No, I just can’t be bothered”.

He texts me the next day (and a mental note to any prospective future suitors, I’d be much more impressed if you fronted up and actually phoned me rather than sending a cop-out text). Even when I tell him I actually preferred the singer in the band the night before, he still wants to take me out on a date. So (like a stark raving mad lunatic) I agree to go. I don’t know why I agree to go. Except that I feel like sometimes maybe I’m too judgemental when it comes to blokes and I should give it a chance to get to know him.

The result of the date is that he’s a nice guy. A nice guy like all the other nice guys I’ve dated over the last 2 or so years. A nice guy in that he’s perfectly ok (for someone else) but he doesn’t make me laugh, or think overly hard, or anything else in particular. He’s just, well… nice. (No offence intended to any exes that might be reading this!)

I realise this sounds harsh and where do I get off even complaining about it. But blokes always tell me that they know within 30 seconds of meeting a girl whether there’s potential there or not - based on looks alone. I don’t even care about looks, I honestly couldn’t give a rats. But there has to be a little inkling of something (anything) and simply being nice just doesn’t cut it for me. Even if I dated an axe wielding maniac at least it would be memorable.

So I’m officially over dating. Over it. Maybe this is the beginning of the road to being one of those eccentric ladies with many cats, but I don’t care. Maybe I will become one of those bitter and twisted witches through lack of good meaningful shagging. So be it. Maybe I deserve everything I get, given my ridiculous attitude. But please, no more Mr Nice Guy or I WILL SCREAM!

Or am I just a B****? I'm coming around to accepting this possibility should the hat fit.

(PS. Nice AND interesting will do just fine though!)