Sex Toys are Not for the Faint-Hearted

I had the fabulous fortune to be rescued from extreme mortification this week.  We left Sydney on Saturday morning to go to NY for a couple of weeks holiday.  While we’re away, Joe is house-sitting for us.   

Very early Saturday morning we woke and got ready to leave, trying to be quiet as church mice as Joe was asleep downstairs.  As we were making the bed I had a thought.  Perhaps we should ensure that any truly personal items were not left where they could inadvertently be stumbled across.

What exactly do I mean by personal items I hear you ask?  Although, more likely, you’re saying to yourself, please don’t tell me, I just don’t want to know!  However in order for you to understand the depth of my mortification you need the truth, the whole truth. 

I’m talking sex toys.  Nothing kinky or over the top… just your standard normal healthy couple kinda stuff!  Think fluffy handcuffs & the like…

So I whisper to Matt that perhaps we should move them somewhere less stumble-upon-able… he agrees and heads to their usual hidey-hole to move them.  A couple of minutes later he walks back out looking just a tad concerned and dramatically whispers to me “I can’t find them”. 

Seriously.  What the fuck?!!!!!  We immediately begin tearing the place apart.  Looking everywhere.  But nothing. Nowhere.  

Then Matt has an idea. 

He goes to our suitcase. Our fully packed, already padlocked and ready to go to the airport… you know, THROUGH CUSTOMS and an xray machine, suitcase… and there, buried in the “extra space” top pocket are all the items. Nicely packed away from our last holiday.. one where we didn’t have to go through customs clearly!

Dear god in heaven.  Can you imagine?  A burly ex-marine, long since turned to fat, standing over us drawling in nasal bronx-ese  “Excuse me sir, can you please open the bag?” and we in our ignorance nervously but ignorantly acquiescing only to bring about our own fatal embarrassment?  Not an experience I’m keen to have…

Thank god we remembered beforehand!  Although it would have been a much better story if we hadn’t huh?!!


A Valium & a Quick Shag

I’m someone who struggles with getting to sleep at times… it’s a bitch but most of the time I deal.  Recently Matt, who usually falls asleep about 30 seconds after his head touches the pillow, has been a bit stressed and was sleepless.  So he visited the doctor who prescribed him some valium. 

Never having gone down this route before I was a little curious… and who am I if not someone who is willing to steal another persons prescription narcotics, I mean really?  And by steal, I mean that I asked if I could have one and Matt said yes.

So here we both are, 10 minutes later… a little relaxed but still not terribly sleepy, when something surprising happens.  We find that we’re both a bit keen to make creative use of this free time…

Now call me crazy but I can’t say I’d have imagined valium to work as an aphrodisiac?  There’s nothing on the box to that effect, no-one ever mentions that as a side-effect and to be frank, we’re expecting sleep not sex! 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had sex on drugs before (I’ve certainly have done no such thing mum, sheesh!), but it was not like that at all.  It was oddly floaty… limbs feel disconnected from the rest of you and your head was just, nowhere.  Weird.

Valium is a strange beast…

I REALLY like you but I don’t wanna “get busy” with you…

When straight girls met another girl that they really like, we most definitely form ‘friend crushes’.  Seriously this is a girl thing (although I think it’s a guy thing too, they just don’t realise it).  Ok sure, you don’t want to fuck her but that aside, it does have all the symptoms of something more… you think she’s great, you wanna hang out with her all the time, you’re physically affectionate, you find everything she says funny and charming and you think about her a lot…   That’s why we call it a friend CRUSH for christs sake.

So if said straight girl becomes friends with a guy, surely the same is true?  All the hallmarks of a crush are there and because they are opposite genders (and hetero) there is a presumption of attraction.  But like the aforementioned girl-based friend crush, what if there is no interest in pursuing anything more than friendship?  It’s easy to assume otherwise because that’s what grown up boys & girls do from time to time, but I don’t think it’s necessarily true.

This buys into that whole “can men & women be friends” discussion.  I’ve seen When Harry Met Sally, hell, I’ve reshot it using lego, but I’m thinking that was just an entertaining movie, I’m thinking they were wrong. Yes, the friend crush thang is there.  This is a person you really like BUT that doesn’t mean it’s anything other friendship.  Maybe that’s where failed relationships come from?  Those friendships that you mistook for relationships.  I reckon I’ve landed on something there.

On the other side of the coin, I’m a strong believer in “don’t marry someone you aren’t friends with”.  If you don’t “like” him/her then love alone just isn’t gonna cut it after 20 years.

I guess I’m contradicting myself a bit.  Don’t confuse friendship and attraction.  But make sure you marry someone you’re friends with.

Or am I?

Bogans are all about the fishing

It’s been a while since last I posted – what can I say.. Matt has been sick and I’ve had nary a spare second… so I thought I’d pull out a post that I wrote a while ago but never published.

It’s come to my attention that bogans love fishing.  This is a recent fact of which I have become aware. Whenever we go sailing, which is most weekends, there are 3 types of boats.

The first we call stink boats – although, they are more commonly known as speed boats. They go fast and are manned by either wealthy young men with pretty girls in bikinis or wealthy men in their 40s accompanied by several children. (Interesting, there’s a theme there. Young men take out pre-pubscent looking girls and older men take out actual girls). The boat names are always puns relating to speed (the movement not the narcotic), aggression or drugs (and this time, I DO mean narcotics). The occupants are always wearing something sexy. At the very least sunglasses.

The second are sail boats – generally speaking you’ll find a middle-aged man at the helm. Also clearly quite wealthy. Sometimes he’ll be alone – in the salty-Pete beard with no moustache kinda way. Sometimes our sailor will be accompanied by a son – who’ll be at the wheel while Dad leans back smug that his super-sperm have created such worthy progeny, just like him. And other times our sailor will be entertaining a group of equally as moneyed friends, all slapping each other on the back at their hilarious tales of European travel dramas. Oh ha ha ha, he he he, yes, yes, the traffic on the road to Positano is absolutely dreadful, isn’t it?!  (ah yeah, I’m not exaggerating for comic effect, I’ve got first hand experience – I have actually myself uttered those ridiculous words with absolutely no sense of irony).  The women wear white ¾ pants, crisp tops and white gold jewellery.  The men wear sailing shoes, polo shirts (the Ralph Lauren ones) and neat cargo shorts.  The boats names are, again with the puns, related to relaxing, literary or sailing puns and patting oneself on the back.  Right now I can see Pelican, Wind Archer and Running Gale.

Our final boat is the fishing boat. They are huge lumbering vessels, often 2 stories high. They always look pretty scruffy, the once-clear plastics are milky, the paintwork is faded and so is the canvas of the canopy. What was once a crisp rich navy blue is now patchy and faded around the edges. Fishing boats always seem to have antennas everywhere. And bogans. Lots of bogans. They tie up together, boats linked side-by-side, the occupants standing on the back, fishing and drinking VB (and I’m not exaggerating here, I’ve watched them unload their rubbish a million times and it’s always VB or tooheys – and maybe a few Corona’s for the older kids and the wives). Everyone is chubby, loud and wearing Rivers shorts. Men and women alike.  Inevitably, fishing boats are named after someones daughter or wife.   I can see MV Jess, Bella’s Time and Scott-Free. 

Honestly, I have never ever seen a stink boat or a sailboat with people fishing. Tinnys and run-abouts sure. But never a stink boat or sailboat.

There is one other boat that I’ve forgotten to mention. Houseboats. Almost certainly a bucks night or group of mates out to get hammered on the harbour. Expect wigs, music and beer. Never a fishing pole in sight.