I decided to write this before the sobbing subsides. I am naturally (or as a result of my upbringing) a pessimist. Or a cynic. Or both. So I went into this month assuming that I would not be pregnant after the artificial insemination 2 weeks ago.
But, while I talked the talk, I obviously let a glimmer of hope in, as since my period arrived at 6am this morning I haven’t been able to stop crying. I felt like it might come yesterday and had contingencies in place - I would go out and buy litres of red wine to scoff to console myself… after having gone without for a few weeks.
Instead I lay there in bed last night. Wondering and waiting before eventually sleeping. Then, like clockwork, there it was up bright and early. With the birds.
Work has been busy and I had to leave a bit early Friday for other commitments so I felt I could not take the day off. After all, there may be a few of ‘these’ days of disappointment if I keep trying. So, I lay in the bath, listened to loud music over headphones and drank diet coke. Not having to worry about my caffeine intake or eating a healthy breakfast, I lay there, cried before getting dressed and to my bus stop.
What I endured then, was the bus trip from hell. I was greeted at the stop by a regular (and neighbour) who I don’t particularly like. The first thing she asked me was, what’s wrong. I must have looked that bad. So then it started. I attempted polite conversation with her but from the moment I got on the bus the sobbing started. And it didn’t stop. As the bus was full, I was not only at the front, but sitting side-on, in profile view of all of the other 7am commuters. Initially I tried to subtly poke at my eyes and turn my head to the front and wipe away tears before they fell. However, the 4.5km ride ended up taking 90 minutes. Every time I thought I had myself under control I lost it again. I blew my nose on my headband and kept wiping my tears away with my shirt. Every so often I faked a cough in the hope that my fellow passengers thought I was fighting a cold not bawling my eyes out, in front of 50 semi-strangers.
I thought that the busy-ness of work would keep me focused. It didn’t. I lasted for an hour and a half – constantly crying through the emailing and calls. Fortunately I face a wall. Unfortunately people need to come and ask me stuff. All of the time. I felt unprofessional. I felt devastated.
So, I packed up and skulked off. I can - and will - work from home, but I feel bad – that it has come to this. Me sobbing inconsolably. A friend offered to call. I said not to cos I can’t talk. I am used to dealing with things alone. I do want to talk to my mother though. She won’t mind if I cry down the phone to her. She hasn’t been supportive of this but she will be sad for me.
I had contingencies in place. I have felt so bad about myself recently that I decided that only a fat camp would whip me into shape. And I don’t mean a health retreat, where pampering treatments feature on the pricey menu – but a non-stop no frills boot camp type thing. After some investigating I discovered a former “Biggest Loser” competitor has one near Melbourne. At about half the cost of the pricey health retreats, it is akin to that competition. Big house, own room but shared facilities. Teams and training. You have to be 20kgs overweight and can only go in two week blocks. I can go from 10 May.
My contingency plan has been that I have this month (May) off the fertility drug / baby-making exercise and do this. Now I am thinking I might need to go for a month. I need something earth-shattering to wake me up and bring me back to life. I hate that my life has come to this. How could I ever love anyone else (anyway) when I hate myself so much?
So, perhaps I have that to look forward to. In the meantime I need to find some short-term coping mechanisms. It is 10.30 in the morning so red wine probably isn’t a good idea and champagne seems entirely inappropriate. Instead I will wait to talk to my mum, drink diet coke, do some work and keep crying.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Appreciating Joss
I check out other blogs from time to time and one caught my eye recently. Sufficiently impassioned, I felt obliged to respond to the author. In a positive way.
Kaye Dacus (http://kayedacus.com/) recently wrote about her favourite (new) shows which are currently airing in the USA. One of these was the new Joss Whedon show, Dollhouse.
I suspect it won’t be here (in Australia) for a while. Some of my recent favourite TV series (Mad Men, Dexter) are actually here on DVD before they appear on our Free to Air television.
Nonetheless, I will look forward to the show – whenever it arrives.
For those not-in-the-know, Joss Whedon is a director, come writer (etc) who created Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly and now Dollhouse. I was thrilled to see that blogger and writer Kaye (a sane, intelligent woman and not a sci-fi freak, as you so often see with Joss’s fans) appreciated his work. And, as a result, I felt obliged to add my glowing recommendation (in response to her and in my own blog).
I became a Joss fan during the Buffy years. Not the early years, as a show about a vampire slayer wasn’t something I would have even considered watching. As it happened, in 2000 I was living in Asia and – in desperation – I succumbed to cable tv and one night (for something to do) watched an episode of Buffy. I was intrigued so went back for more. I then bought the DVDs to see all of the earlier episodes and waited for new episodes with a surprising impatience.
I am aware a lot of Buffy-viewers were ‘goth-like’ characters themselves and loved ‘all-things-vampire’. I must admit to fast-forwarding through some of the fight scenes, and cringing at some of the other-worldly characters as what I loved most about Buffy was the dialogue. The witty-repartee, the Buffy ‘catch-phrases’ were what stuck in my mind.
It would be easy to write off the show as trite, light-viewing, featuring some teenage-superhero-wannabe.
I was well into the series before I realized how incredibly talented Joss Whedon and his crew were. Through interviews accompanying the DVD series’, I learned that Buffy’s mother (Joyce) knew that she was to be killed off years before she was (and the episode of her death is one of the most poignant things I have ever seen on tv). The obscure references to her sister Dawn’s arrival a year or two before she appeared intrigued me as well. I guess I had thought the writers sat around informally and randomly came up with ideas and scripts. I hadn’t expected that much rigour, talent and intelligence around the process.
I read later that Joss is known for mapping out his shows in advance, but the commitment and adherence to detail that must go with that level of focus is amazing.
I can only imagine then, how devastating it was when his (post Buffy & Angel) TV series Firefly was cancelled after one season. He must have decided long before what would happen to these new characters he created. The movie, Serenity which came out later, I suspect was an attempt to get some closure. And not only for the fans.
Interestingly Joss has a habit of re-using actors he favours in his shows. Eliza Dushku appeared as the rogue slayer, Faith, in Buffy and now stars in Dollhouse. Nathan Fillion went from creepy bad guy in Buffy to sexy lead in Firefly.
He creates strong female characters: from the slayers and witches in Buffy; to River (the brain-washed and reluctant superhero in Firefly); to the ‘dolls’ being programmed in Dollhouse. In an era when so few female role models exist on our screens, and women still so-often play the sidekick to the lead detective, it is refreshing to see quirky and (slightly) flawed female leads.
So, I have missed Joss from our screens – he has an eccentricity that is rare and tries things others wouldn’t dare. He seems prone to some self-indulgence (writing his own theme songs, appearing in some episodes) and I gather he is a tad ‘precious’ – wanting things HIS way, which I suspect is usually the right way. Who else would think to write an entire episode of a show (Buffy) where no words are spoken, or another where all dialogue is sung.
But, it seems I can now look forward to Dollhouse, though gossip is that its network is considering axing it - already. Perhaps like Buffy it takes some time to whet viewers’ appetites and incite their addiction. In the interim, I will await its arrival here with anticipation.
Kaye Dacus (http://kayedacus.com/) recently wrote about her favourite (new) shows which are currently airing in the USA. One of these was the new Joss Whedon show, Dollhouse.
I suspect it won’t be here (in Australia) for a while. Some of my recent favourite TV series (Mad Men, Dexter) are actually here on DVD before they appear on our Free to Air television.
Nonetheless, I will look forward to the show – whenever it arrives.
For those not-in-the-know, Joss Whedon is a director, come writer (etc) who created Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly and now Dollhouse. I was thrilled to see that blogger and writer Kaye (a sane, intelligent woman and not a sci-fi freak, as you so often see with Joss’s fans) appreciated his work. And, as a result, I felt obliged to add my glowing recommendation (in response to her and in my own blog).
I became a Joss fan during the Buffy years. Not the early years, as a show about a vampire slayer wasn’t something I would have even considered watching. As it happened, in 2000 I was living in Asia and – in desperation – I succumbed to cable tv and one night (for something to do) watched an episode of Buffy. I was intrigued so went back for more. I then bought the DVDs to see all of the earlier episodes and waited for new episodes with a surprising impatience.
I am aware a lot of Buffy-viewers were ‘goth-like’ characters themselves and loved ‘all-things-vampire’. I must admit to fast-forwarding through some of the fight scenes, and cringing at some of the other-worldly characters as what I loved most about Buffy was the dialogue. The witty-repartee, the Buffy ‘catch-phrases’ were what stuck in my mind.
It would be easy to write off the show as trite, light-viewing, featuring some teenage-superhero-wannabe.
I was well into the series before I realized how incredibly talented Joss Whedon and his crew were. Through interviews accompanying the DVD series’, I learned that Buffy’s mother (Joyce) knew that she was to be killed off years before she was (and the episode of her death is one of the most poignant things I have ever seen on tv). The obscure references to her sister Dawn’s arrival a year or two before she appeared intrigued me as well. I guess I had thought the writers sat around informally and randomly came up with ideas and scripts. I hadn’t expected that much rigour, talent and intelligence around the process.
I read later that Joss is known for mapping out his shows in advance, but the commitment and adherence to detail that must go with that level of focus is amazing.
I can only imagine then, how devastating it was when his (post Buffy & Angel) TV series Firefly was cancelled after one season. He must have decided long before what would happen to these new characters he created. The movie, Serenity which came out later, I suspect was an attempt to get some closure. And not only for the fans.
Interestingly Joss has a habit of re-using actors he favours in his shows. Eliza Dushku appeared as the rogue slayer, Faith, in Buffy and now stars in Dollhouse. Nathan Fillion went from creepy bad guy in Buffy to sexy lead in Firefly.
He creates strong female characters: from the slayers and witches in Buffy; to River (the brain-washed and reluctant superhero in Firefly); to the ‘dolls’ being programmed in Dollhouse. In an era when so few female role models exist on our screens, and women still so-often play the sidekick to the lead detective, it is refreshing to see quirky and (slightly) flawed female leads.
So, I have missed Joss from our screens – he has an eccentricity that is rare and tries things others wouldn’t dare. He seems prone to some self-indulgence (writing his own theme songs, appearing in some episodes) and I gather he is a tad ‘precious’ – wanting things HIS way, which I suspect is usually the right way. Who else would think to write an entire episode of a show (Buffy) where no words are spoken, or another where all dialogue is sung.
But, it seems I can now look forward to Dollhouse, though gossip is that its network is considering axing it - already. Perhaps like Buffy it takes some time to whet viewers’ appetites and incite their addiction. In the interim, I will await its arrival here with anticipation.
Family SATC-style
I rely on my parents, a lot. Even though they don’t live nearby, my mother is often the first person I go to when things are going wrong. I have close friends, but sometimes there are things I can only tell my mother. When things aren’t going well and when I feel like a failure. I know my parents will love me – no matter what. (After all, that is their job.)
I am sure I rely on them too much, though I suspect this would be different if I had a partner. I suspect those with lovers or husbands or partners arrive home and whinge to them about their day; seek a hug when they are stressed or fraught with despair; or share their tears when they don’t get a job they expected to.
I have some very close friends who know almost everything about my life, but sometimes I don’t go to them. They are mostly there for me, but I am not their priority and sometimes it is too hard to admit failure to those who don’t HAVE to love you.
I have a number of single and married friends in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Some have kids, some don’t. For most of these friends, their families continue to play a major part in their lives. Parents and siblings feature often in our discussions - in both positive and negative ways.
Like me, for some of my closest friends, their parents (mostly mothers and grandmother in one instance) remain confidants, offering constant and unwavering support and comfort.
As well as the emotional support family provides, there is also the practical assistance that comes from being a member of a family. You babysit, even when it is inconvenient and you help out when someone becomes sick. You attend family get-togethers; from celebrations to annoying family requirements. You make an effort even when you don’t want to. After all, when everything else goes to hell in a handbasket, family is all we might have left.
So, this is what I don’t get. They don’t really appear in Sex and the City. Relatives that is. In my recent spate of viewing random episodes on Pay Television, I watched Charlotte marry Trey. She faltered just before walking down the aisle and grabbed Carrie to seek reassurance. Concerns allayed, Carrie disappeared and an older man emerged from the wings and took Charlotte’s arm to walk to her down the aisle. I can only assume this man was her father, or step-father, or equivalent. But there he was – nameless and almost faceless. Was there a mother I wondered? While planning the perfect wedding, I don’t recall Charlotte ever mentioning a father or mother.
I know the show focused on the friendships, but it also focused on the girls’ lives – and I feel like there was a big chunk missing. In some ways the show was a ‘manual’ for living (albeit in a more luxurious, fun-filled, exciting and extreme world). So, while we learned lessons about men, relationships and friendships we were left in idle ignorance when it comes to dealing with our own families.
We meet Trey’s interfering mother and Steve’s annoying mother. I even have a vague recollection of someone’s mother (Miranda perhaps) dying during the series. But even from that episode, what I remember most is the support she gets from the girls, rather than the loss of a mother.
So, where are they the rest of the time? I mean, did Carrie even have parents? I don’t recall them offering support when she had been dumped by “Big” (again and again), or Aidan. Or any consideration of aging parents in her decision to move to Paris? What about the man who walked Charlotte down the aisle? Where was he during her stressful efforts to conceive a child and through her divorce?
So, I am intrigued. Where were their families? Carrie’s, Charlotte’s, Miranda’s or Samantha’s? We had the horror mother-in-laws, so what about the small-town mothers and fathers or siblings, not fitting into the girls’ NYC lives? A few embarrassing relatives wouldn’t have gone astray - but they are largely absent. Why I wonder? Is family not sexy enough for the city?
Did the four girls really emerge from their childhoods unscathed? What about some residual baggage? Sibling rivalries? Or even some backstories to fill in some of the blanks? After all, where did Samantha’s aversion to ‘love’ come from; and why was Charlotte such so desperate for Park Avenue and the perfect family?
Perhaps a prequel is called for?!
I am sure I rely on them too much, though I suspect this would be different if I had a partner. I suspect those with lovers or husbands or partners arrive home and whinge to them about their day; seek a hug when they are stressed or fraught with despair; or share their tears when they don’t get a job they expected to.
I have some very close friends who know almost everything about my life, but sometimes I don’t go to them. They are mostly there for me, but I am not their priority and sometimes it is too hard to admit failure to those who don’t HAVE to love you.
I have a number of single and married friends in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Some have kids, some don’t. For most of these friends, their families continue to play a major part in their lives. Parents and siblings feature often in our discussions - in both positive and negative ways.
Like me, for some of my closest friends, their parents (mostly mothers and grandmother in one instance) remain confidants, offering constant and unwavering support and comfort.
As well as the emotional support family provides, there is also the practical assistance that comes from being a member of a family. You babysit, even when it is inconvenient and you help out when someone becomes sick. You attend family get-togethers; from celebrations to annoying family requirements. You make an effort even when you don’t want to. After all, when everything else goes to hell in a handbasket, family is all we might have left.
So, this is what I don’t get. They don’t really appear in Sex and the City. Relatives that is. In my recent spate of viewing random episodes on Pay Television, I watched Charlotte marry Trey. She faltered just before walking down the aisle and grabbed Carrie to seek reassurance. Concerns allayed, Carrie disappeared and an older man emerged from the wings and took Charlotte’s arm to walk to her down the aisle. I can only assume this man was her father, or step-father, or equivalent. But there he was – nameless and almost faceless. Was there a mother I wondered? While planning the perfect wedding, I don’t recall Charlotte ever mentioning a father or mother.
I know the show focused on the friendships, but it also focused on the girls’ lives – and I feel like there was a big chunk missing. In some ways the show was a ‘manual’ for living (albeit in a more luxurious, fun-filled, exciting and extreme world). So, while we learned lessons about men, relationships and friendships we were left in idle ignorance when it comes to dealing with our own families.
We meet Trey’s interfering mother and Steve’s annoying mother. I even have a vague recollection of someone’s mother (Miranda perhaps) dying during the series. But even from that episode, what I remember most is the support she gets from the girls, rather than the loss of a mother.
So, where are they the rest of the time? I mean, did Carrie even have parents? I don’t recall them offering support when she had been dumped by “Big” (again and again), or Aidan. Or any consideration of aging parents in her decision to move to Paris? What about the man who walked Charlotte down the aisle? Where was he during her stressful efforts to conceive a child and through her divorce?
So, I am intrigued. Where were their families? Carrie’s, Charlotte’s, Miranda’s or Samantha’s? We had the horror mother-in-laws, so what about the small-town mothers and fathers or siblings, not fitting into the girls’ NYC lives? A few embarrassing relatives wouldn’t have gone astray - but they are largely absent. Why I wonder? Is family not sexy enough for the city?
Did the four girls really emerge from their childhoods unscathed? What about some residual baggage? Sibling rivalries? Or even some backstories to fill in some of the blanks? After all, where did Samantha’s aversion to ‘love’ come from; and why was Charlotte such so desperate for Park Avenue and the perfect family?
Perhaps a prequel is called for?!
Monday, April 20, 2009
SATC - The early years
There are a number of good things about this house-sitting gig. Not just being away from the building site-that-is-my-home; the larder full of cooking stuff (like choc bits, which I will have to replace before I leave); the excuse that I am out of my routine and can’t exercise; but also having access to Pay TV.
My brother doesn’t have the movies’ or sports’ channels. The focus here is predominantly on all-things-Disney, for my niece (who has a bit of a thing for Avatar, Hannah Montana and some show about two boys who live in a hotel with their mother). So I am spending most of my waking (and tv-watching) hours in front of ARENA and reveling in repeats of Sex and the City, which appears to be on constantly and usually in no logical order. The other evening, for example, there were two episodes in a row. The first one was the actual pilot episode (circa 1998). The next was from Season Four.
Why I am glued to them I have no idea. I actually have all of the DVDs at my place. All six Seasons. I could go and pick them up. Or wait until I get home and watch them. But instead, I am strangely transfixed to the randomness with which they appear on ARENA. I have to admit, I had forgotten how many men Carrie and the girls went through over the years. Samantha aside, the other three constantly dated with a never-ending stream of men through their lives.
Is this why we liked it I wonder? Not just for the clothes and fashions – and to see what strange combination Carrie would next don (and even more amazingly, pull off). Or did we just envy their seemingly glamourous lives and the fact that they seemed to be constantly in demand by the men of New York.
Critics railed at the realism of the show and the fact that – in the real world – similar women would be hard pressed to afford their apartments, let alone the lifestyle they portrayed; their clothes, their Jimmy Choos and constant stream of visits to the ‘happening’ restaurants and bars of NYC.
But did we care? Hell no! Who cares if, in the real world, one pair of Manolo Blahnik’s would set Carrie back a year’s salary. Instead we all envied their fabulous lives. We all wanted to be them. And, we’ve all done the Facebook quiz, wondering which of the four girls we really are. I suspect we probably all wanted to be Carrie (around whom the SATC world revolves) and I think the Facebook doyenne believed me to be so, but I always felt more like Charlotte with a bit of Miranda thrown in. Sweet but cynical.
So, having been exposed to a veritable kaleidoscope of episodes in the past week, not only am I surprised at how little the women changed over the six seasons (yay for botox!), I am reminded of a few favourite moments (and seasons) and amazed at the things I had forgotten.
Very importantly, I had forgotten that in the first episodes (and perhaps a few to follow – I will have to check later) Carrie speaks to the camera and the show featured mock interviews, with little captions. So, it started as a faux-documentary. Watching it now, I cringe. I resolve to watch the first season to see when this changes - when the producers realized they needed to go with engaging storylines, supported by narration, rather than a thought piece with a one-dimensional supporting cast.
I had also forgotten that ‘Big’ appears in the first episode.
I have also seen the final two episodes in the last few days. I remember – like hordes of others – being disappointed at the final episode. Unhappy that, for a show about how it is okay to be single and alone, the four girls all ended up partnered off.
I recall that when it first came out in 1998, the show was a celebration of independence and of strong single women. So, while I sympathise with the producers’ desire for a happily-ever-after ending, it fell like a sell-out. Carrie’s move to Paris was very much about her fear of being the ‘last-one-standing’ and being alone, rather than following her heart, or even her head. Bringing in ‘Big’ at the last minute, seemed too contrived, with the producers obviously in a rush to wrap six-years up neatly, tie the bow and present it expectantly to adoring fans.
This aside, when I think of the show, I think of it being about relationships and most importantly, about friendships. The scene I most remember from the movie, for example, is Charlotte’s anger (in the street) at ‘Big’ after he failed to show at the wedding ceremony. Her distress for her friend felt real and devastated me more than Carrie being left at the altar. It made me wonder about selfless relationships where true love, loyalty and devotion are fundamental.
The episode I watched (The Agony and the Ex-tacy) after the pilot was about the girls attending an engagement party for a guy they had knew (and several slept with).
The episode was about finding your soulmate. I hadn’t remembered that the show had really articulated the level of desperation evidenced in that episode. Miranda faking happiness at her singleness and Carrie’s despair (after everyone missing her birthday celebration) at perhaps never finding her soulmate. It ended with the girls deciding they were each others’ soulmates and the guys that came along were just a bonus. A lovely sentiment – but in my self-styled Miranda-cynicism I wonder if they were saying the same thing several years later when they were all paired off.
I have another week of house-sitting so who knows what morsels are before me. Either way, it has given me a taste of a favourite-but-forgotten treat. My appetite whetted, I will have to pull out the DVDs when I get home.
Finally, another perplexing question. Whatever happened to Skipper?
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159206/
My brother doesn’t have the movies’ or sports’ channels. The focus here is predominantly on all-things-Disney, for my niece (who has a bit of a thing for Avatar, Hannah Montana and some show about two boys who live in a hotel with their mother). So I am spending most of my waking (and tv-watching) hours in front of ARENA and reveling in repeats of Sex and the City, which appears to be on constantly and usually in no logical order. The other evening, for example, there were two episodes in a row. The first one was the actual pilot episode (circa 1998). The next was from Season Four.
Why I am glued to them I have no idea. I actually have all of the DVDs at my place. All six Seasons. I could go and pick them up. Or wait until I get home and watch them. But instead, I am strangely transfixed to the randomness with which they appear on ARENA. I have to admit, I had forgotten how many men Carrie and the girls went through over the years. Samantha aside, the other three constantly dated with a never-ending stream of men through their lives.
Is this why we liked it I wonder? Not just for the clothes and fashions – and to see what strange combination Carrie would next don (and even more amazingly, pull off). Or did we just envy their seemingly glamourous lives and the fact that they seemed to be constantly in demand by the men of New York.
Critics railed at the realism of the show and the fact that – in the real world – similar women would be hard pressed to afford their apartments, let alone the lifestyle they portrayed; their clothes, their Jimmy Choos and constant stream of visits to the ‘happening’ restaurants and bars of NYC.
But did we care? Hell no! Who cares if, in the real world, one pair of Manolo Blahnik’s would set Carrie back a year’s salary. Instead we all envied their fabulous lives. We all wanted to be them. And, we’ve all done the Facebook quiz, wondering which of the four girls we really are. I suspect we probably all wanted to be Carrie (around whom the SATC world revolves) and I think the Facebook doyenne believed me to be so, but I always felt more like Charlotte with a bit of Miranda thrown in. Sweet but cynical.
So, having been exposed to a veritable kaleidoscope of episodes in the past week, not only am I surprised at how little the women changed over the six seasons (yay for botox!), I am reminded of a few favourite moments (and seasons) and amazed at the things I had forgotten.
Very importantly, I had forgotten that in the first episodes (and perhaps a few to follow – I will have to check later) Carrie speaks to the camera and the show featured mock interviews, with little captions. So, it started as a faux-documentary. Watching it now, I cringe. I resolve to watch the first season to see when this changes - when the producers realized they needed to go with engaging storylines, supported by narration, rather than a thought piece with a one-dimensional supporting cast.
I had also forgotten that ‘Big’ appears in the first episode.
I have also seen the final two episodes in the last few days. I remember – like hordes of others – being disappointed at the final episode. Unhappy that, for a show about how it is okay to be single and alone, the four girls all ended up partnered off.
I recall that when it first came out in 1998, the show was a celebration of independence and of strong single women. So, while I sympathise with the producers’ desire for a happily-ever-after ending, it fell like a sell-out. Carrie’s move to Paris was very much about her fear of being the ‘last-one-standing’ and being alone, rather than following her heart, or even her head. Bringing in ‘Big’ at the last minute, seemed too contrived, with the producers obviously in a rush to wrap six-years up neatly, tie the bow and present it expectantly to adoring fans.
This aside, when I think of the show, I think of it being about relationships and most importantly, about friendships. The scene I most remember from the movie, for example, is Charlotte’s anger (in the street) at ‘Big’ after he failed to show at the wedding ceremony. Her distress for her friend felt real and devastated me more than Carrie being left at the altar. It made me wonder about selfless relationships where true love, loyalty and devotion are fundamental.
The episode I watched (The Agony and the Ex-tacy) after the pilot was about the girls attending an engagement party for a guy they had knew (and several slept with).
The episode was about finding your soulmate. I hadn’t remembered that the show had really articulated the level of desperation evidenced in that episode. Miranda faking happiness at her singleness and Carrie’s despair (after everyone missing her birthday celebration) at perhaps never finding her soulmate. It ended with the girls deciding they were each others’ soulmates and the guys that came along were just a bonus. A lovely sentiment – but in my self-styled Miranda-cynicism I wonder if they were saying the same thing several years later when they were all paired off.
I have another week of house-sitting so who knows what morsels are before me. Either way, it has given me a taste of a favourite-but-forgotten treat. My appetite whetted, I will have to pull out the DVDs when I get home.
Finally, another perplexing question. Whatever happened to Skipper?
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159206/
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Singleton envy
One of my close friends recently did the unthinkable. Despite having been single for most of her adult life, she broke the code. It isn’t uncommon. It happens all of the time, but nonetheless, I was surprised when someone-who-knew-better did it.
Other people do it all of the time. My pilates instructor goes on about how lucky I am to have so much time to myself. She constantly tells me how much she envies my long baths and my reading. She warns me that having a child will mean I can’t do any of those things. Particularly if I become a single mother. She tells me that she wishes that she could sit and watch television or spend time reading. But she is too busy. Because she is a mother (and a partner). I just smile, but what I want to do is confront her with the fact that she is essentially saying she regrets having her son. I know she doesn’t as she is devoted to him. So I know if I did say something, she would respond that, of course she doesn’t resent him and tell me that he is the most important thing in her life. I know that she is just lashing out. Envious that I am my own boss and that my time is my own. I don’t get annoyed at her as she knows no better. She is someone who has always been in relationships. To her, being single for a year after her divorce (though she did have her son) was a long time. She doesn’t know any better.
I know that some of it comes down to ‘the grass is greener’ saga. As singletons, we dream of being in a relationship: being part of a couple; having someone who cares about you; who wants to hear about your day; and who is there for you, through good and bad, sickness and health etc etc.
Most of us spend our lives searching for someone to share it with. Despite what we say. When we are young we go to parties and pubs. We hope to get asked for a dance, our phone number, or to even share a taxi home. As we get older, we bemoan the lack of single men (or women) in our workplace, our office buildings, our suburb or even the city. We give up on bars and clubs, filled with women ten years our junior and for the men (our age) they attract. We try internet dating, speed dating, we even go on blind dates. We run out of friends to go out with. Everyone else becomes half of a couple. Not needing, or wanting to go out.
So, we lower our standards, tell ourselves that looks aren’t everything. We look less for Prince Charming and more for Prince Charles. In summary, we would go to almost any extreme to find ‘someone’. Not necessary ‘the one’, but ‘someone’ with whom to spend our lives. So we are no longer single; so we no longer have to keep looking.
So what exactly did this friend say, you may ask. How did she break the code? Simply put, she did one of those things that those-who-should-know-better, don’t do.
She wasn’t someone who settled down at 20 and no idea what it was like for the rest of us. She didn’t spend her 20s and 30s with a partner, smugly peering at the world outside.
Not at all. This friend was single until her mid 30s. Five years ago she suddenly fell for someone, got pregnant and married, then pregnant again; and again. She hasn’t wasted any time in bedding down her family. Before that, she went speed dating, went to pubs and despaired of ever meeting the ‘one’. She worried about getting older and not having had kids. Like many of my friends, she became (subtly and in a way that most won’t admit) more desperate to meet someone.
And I am happy for her. While (inevitably) I don’t see her much anymore, she has remained one of my best friends. We have a long history. Which was why I was surprised when she broke the code. After all, she knew better.
We were talking about my Friday night. I had gotten home from work, opened a bottle of wine and taken it to the bath, along with chocolate and a book and remained ensconced there for the night. My friend said, ‘You lucky thing. I envy you. I wish I could do that, but with hubby and the kids I would never be able to do it.’
I was shocked. She should know better. I expect those sort of comments only from those who haven’t experienced long-term singledom. I shuddered to think that a long-term singleton could become a ‘smug-married’ (to quote Bridget Jones!).
In an unusual move for me (though I find I am speaking my mind more and more nowadays) I said to her that she should know better. I said that if I had a choice, I would prefer to be cooking dinner for a lazy husband and screaming kids than spending Friday night alone. Instead, I was left to read my 5th book for the week, binge on chocolate and get pissed in the bath, because my friends are all in relationships and busy and there is absolutely nothing on television. I reminded her that she (having spent many nights and weekends alone) should remember what that was like.
I may never be in a relationship or have a family. But, if by some miracle I have those things, I can only pray I am not one of those people who turns to single friends and tells them how fortunate they are that they aren’t responsible to, or for, anyone else. Or how I envy them and their self-indulgent lives. I hope I can remember how alone it can be when you have had a bad day and have no one to talk to; to cry to, or with; no one to tell you that it is okay and that you are okay. I hope I remember that single people ultimately only have themselves: their own coping mechanisms; and their own tenacity. I hope I envy them that, not the long baths.
Other people do it all of the time. My pilates instructor goes on about how lucky I am to have so much time to myself. She constantly tells me how much she envies my long baths and my reading. She warns me that having a child will mean I can’t do any of those things. Particularly if I become a single mother. She tells me that she wishes that she could sit and watch television or spend time reading. But she is too busy. Because she is a mother (and a partner). I just smile, but what I want to do is confront her with the fact that she is essentially saying she regrets having her son. I know she doesn’t as she is devoted to him. So I know if I did say something, she would respond that, of course she doesn’t resent him and tell me that he is the most important thing in her life. I know that she is just lashing out. Envious that I am my own boss and that my time is my own. I don’t get annoyed at her as she knows no better. She is someone who has always been in relationships. To her, being single for a year after her divorce (though she did have her son) was a long time. She doesn’t know any better.
I know that some of it comes down to ‘the grass is greener’ saga. As singletons, we dream of being in a relationship: being part of a couple; having someone who cares about you; who wants to hear about your day; and who is there for you, through good and bad, sickness and health etc etc.
Most of us spend our lives searching for someone to share it with. Despite what we say. When we are young we go to parties and pubs. We hope to get asked for a dance, our phone number, or to even share a taxi home. As we get older, we bemoan the lack of single men (or women) in our workplace, our office buildings, our suburb or even the city. We give up on bars and clubs, filled with women ten years our junior and for the men (our age) they attract. We try internet dating, speed dating, we even go on blind dates. We run out of friends to go out with. Everyone else becomes half of a couple. Not needing, or wanting to go out.
So, we lower our standards, tell ourselves that looks aren’t everything. We look less for Prince Charming and more for Prince Charles. In summary, we would go to almost any extreme to find ‘someone’. Not necessary ‘the one’, but ‘someone’ with whom to spend our lives. So we are no longer single; so we no longer have to keep looking.
So what exactly did this friend say, you may ask. How did she break the code? Simply put, she did one of those things that those-who-should-know-better, don’t do.
She wasn’t someone who settled down at 20 and no idea what it was like for the rest of us. She didn’t spend her 20s and 30s with a partner, smugly peering at the world outside.
Not at all. This friend was single until her mid 30s. Five years ago she suddenly fell for someone, got pregnant and married, then pregnant again; and again. She hasn’t wasted any time in bedding down her family. Before that, she went speed dating, went to pubs and despaired of ever meeting the ‘one’. She worried about getting older and not having had kids. Like many of my friends, she became (subtly and in a way that most won’t admit) more desperate to meet someone.
And I am happy for her. While (inevitably) I don’t see her much anymore, she has remained one of my best friends. We have a long history. Which was why I was surprised when she broke the code. After all, she knew better.
We were talking about my Friday night. I had gotten home from work, opened a bottle of wine and taken it to the bath, along with chocolate and a book and remained ensconced there for the night. My friend said, ‘You lucky thing. I envy you. I wish I could do that, but with hubby and the kids I would never be able to do it.’
I was shocked. She should know better. I expect those sort of comments only from those who haven’t experienced long-term singledom. I shuddered to think that a long-term singleton could become a ‘smug-married’ (to quote Bridget Jones!).
In an unusual move for me (though I find I am speaking my mind more and more nowadays) I said to her that she should know better. I said that if I had a choice, I would prefer to be cooking dinner for a lazy husband and screaming kids than spending Friday night alone. Instead, I was left to read my 5th book for the week, binge on chocolate and get pissed in the bath, because my friends are all in relationships and busy and there is absolutely nothing on television. I reminded her that she (having spent many nights and weekends alone) should remember what that was like.
I may never be in a relationship or have a family. But, if by some miracle I have those things, I can only pray I am not one of those people who turns to single friends and tells them how fortunate they are that they aren’t responsible to, or for, anyone else. Or how I envy them and their self-indulgent lives. I hope I can remember how alone it can be when you have had a bad day and have no one to talk to; to cry to, or with; no one to tell you that it is okay and that you are okay. I hope I remember that single people ultimately only have themselves: their own coping mechanisms; and their own tenacity. I hope I envy them that, not the long baths.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Reinventing Justin
People reinvent themselves all of the time, but some do it better than others. In my (humble) opinion, one of those who has achieved the great rebirth, is Justin Timberlake.
This came to me while ensconced in front of channel V last night (damn school holidays and the TV repeats they bring! What, do TV executives think people don’t watch television while on holidays?!)
But, back to Justin….The fact that he is even now (mostly) known at JT is a big change from the boy who started his career in the Mickey Mouse Club with the girl who was to become his high-profile ‘other half’. In fact, what I remember most about JT’s earlier life, was the relationship with Britney Spears. More than his successful career with boy-band ‘NSYNC’ and all of the teenage adulation (and hit songs) that came with that.
Sure, it appeared that he could sing and dance, well as much as you expect of a boy band member. But it was pretty much cookie-cutter stuff. Nothing new, nothing amazing. And then came the 2002 Justin-Britney bust up. The childhood sweethearts were over. Rumours flew, but they kept quiet about the why.
But, rather than fade into oblivion, JT moved on to Cameron Diaz and a seemingly ‘grown-up’ relationship and, with his boy-band behind him, he struck out on his own.
I am not an huge music fan, but revel in Saturday and Sunday mornings with the papers spread before me, diet coke a-plenty, left over Chinese (if I am lucky) and music videos on tv.
So, I was surprised when JT first emerged post-Britney and post NSYNC with Like I Love You. There he was with some rappers, dancing and singing and looking kinda cool. With them. Not a boy-band pirouette/twirly-thing in sight. The curls were gone and cropped hair hidden under a skull cap. I wondered how the collaboration came about. I was shocked: that legitimate ‘cool guys’ would actually deign to be seen with JT, let alone record with him; and even more so, that it seemed to be a good fit. For him.
And then they kept on coming. The songs - as a solo artist and the collaborations – with very hip and legit producers and artists.
He has had a stack of hits since he started his solo career in 2002, from Like I Love You, Senorita, My Love, Rock Your Body to the more melodic Cry Me a River and What Goes Around…Comes Around.
But what I find interesting is that he has continued the collaborations with popular and obscure artists alike, from Beyonce to 50 Cent. As well as a long-standing relationship with the way-cool Timbaland (Sexy Back, Give it to me), he has recently worked with Madonna (4 Minutes), Rihanna (Rehab) and TI (the current, Dead and Gone). It interests me that, in some of these songs – Rehab, Give it to me – JT barely features. In fact, on some occasions I am shocked to even discover he was involved. I find myself admiring him. A guy who doesn’t need the credit, or the adulation. A guy happy to just get on with it, in the background. Just doing the thing he loves doing.
I remember hearing feedback from a tour he did here a few years ago. The die-hard (been-there-since-NSYNC) fans were disappointed. The musos out there weren’t. I gather that JT loves nothing better than just ‘jamming’ with his band, which is what he did on stage. So, in my eyes his reinvention was complete. He has pulled off what so many of his boy-band contemporaries have been unable to do. While still able to ‘bring’ the moves, he seems content to focus on the music. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against boy bands, or performers (hey, I like the Pussy Cat Dolls for God’s sake), but I find myself bowing to this guy who has gone from clichéd boy-band member to cool and legit muso in a few short years.
This came to me while ensconced in front of channel V last night (damn school holidays and the TV repeats they bring! What, do TV executives think people don’t watch television while on holidays?!)
But, back to Justin….The fact that he is even now (mostly) known at JT is a big change from the boy who started his career in the Mickey Mouse Club with the girl who was to become his high-profile ‘other half’. In fact, what I remember most about JT’s earlier life, was the relationship with Britney Spears. More than his successful career with boy-band ‘NSYNC’ and all of the teenage adulation (and hit songs) that came with that.
Sure, it appeared that he could sing and dance, well as much as you expect of a boy band member. But it was pretty much cookie-cutter stuff. Nothing new, nothing amazing. And then came the 2002 Justin-Britney bust up. The childhood sweethearts were over. Rumours flew, but they kept quiet about the why.
But, rather than fade into oblivion, JT moved on to Cameron Diaz and a seemingly ‘grown-up’ relationship and, with his boy-band behind him, he struck out on his own.
I am not an huge music fan, but revel in Saturday and Sunday mornings with the papers spread before me, diet coke a-plenty, left over Chinese (if I am lucky) and music videos on tv.
So, I was surprised when JT first emerged post-Britney and post NSYNC with Like I Love You. There he was with some rappers, dancing and singing and looking kinda cool. With them. Not a boy-band pirouette/twirly-thing in sight. The curls were gone and cropped hair hidden under a skull cap. I wondered how the collaboration came about. I was shocked: that legitimate ‘cool guys’ would actually deign to be seen with JT, let alone record with him; and even more so, that it seemed to be a good fit. For him.
And then they kept on coming. The songs - as a solo artist and the collaborations – with very hip and legit producers and artists.
He has had a stack of hits since he started his solo career in 2002, from Like I Love You, Senorita, My Love, Rock Your Body to the more melodic Cry Me a River and What Goes Around…Comes Around.
But what I find interesting is that he has continued the collaborations with popular and obscure artists alike, from Beyonce to 50 Cent. As well as a long-standing relationship with the way-cool Timbaland (Sexy Back, Give it to me), he has recently worked with Madonna (4 Minutes), Rihanna (Rehab) and TI (the current, Dead and Gone). It interests me that, in some of these songs – Rehab, Give it to me – JT barely features. In fact, on some occasions I am shocked to even discover he was involved. I find myself admiring him. A guy who doesn’t need the credit, or the adulation. A guy happy to just get on with it, in the background. Just doing the thing he loves doing.
I remember hearing feedback from a tour he did here a few years ago. The die-hard (been-there-since-NSYNC) fans were disappointed. The musos out there weren’t. I gather that JT loves nothing better than just ‘jamming’ with his band, which is what he did on stage. So, in my eyes his reinvention was complete. He has pulled off what so many of his boy-band contemporaries have been unable to do. While still able to ‘bring’ the moves, he seems content to focus on the music. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against boy bands, or performers (hey, I like the Pussy Cat Dolls for God’s sake), but I find myself bowing to this guy who has gone from clichéd boy-band member to cool and legit muso in a few short years.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
15-minutes pregnant?
It occurred to me, driving back to my cat-sitting residence at 7.30am on Easter Saturday, that I could be 15-minutes pregnant. But then I wondered, if that’s how it works or if something else had to happen. I searched the recesses of my mind for what I knew about fertilization and conception and realized it was very minimal. “Sperm enters, fertilizes egg. Nine months later, baby.” That was about the extent of my knowledge.
The obstetrician had inserted the donor sperm into my uterus. “Did that bypass some steps?” I wondered. Perhaps it gave the sperm a break from some of the usual swimming they had to do. Who knows. I have always been happily ignorant about physiological stuff. One of my friends is always talking about her internal workings and knows where everything is. “Should I be able to do this?” I wonder? Frankly, I feel I have better things to do. Best not to obsess and let it work itself out.
So, back to 15-minute old pregnancy. I am, of course, being facetious as I am working on the assumption that I am indeed NOT pregnant so that I will not be disappointed in a few weeks when I discover that to be the case. Nonetheless…. It makes you wonder. I have cramps, but that is nothing new, as I have had cramps on both sides of my lower stomach (perhaps my abdomen – who knows how specific one needs to be?!) for weeks. I have assumed it is part of the usual “I have eaten too much and feel fat” guilt-ridden angst which is a constant state of being for me. On the other hand, it could be something to do with the fertility drugs I took a week or two ago. I am sure they should have some effect other than feeling more teary than usual.
The insemination took place 2 days ago now. I did have some strange sensations that day. Almost akin to period pain. Then again, I did eat chocolate Easter eggs, a tin of caramel stuff with meringues and yoghurt as well as rice cakes with roasted capsicum dip, so it could just be my stomach (and whatever falls below that) rebelling.
I thought I would suddenly want to be healthy. On the off-chance that there was someone inside. But alas, that hasn’t been the case. While I have forced some fruit down, I have pretty much binged my way through the Easter long weekend. I went for a brief walk yesterday but found my stomach felt particularly heavy. Again, not the makings-of-a-baby, but possibly the concoction of food that I called breakfast - again involving chocolate, rice cakes, sour cream and diet coke. ( Note to readers who may not know me so well. These combinations are not pregnancy-related cravings. I have always eaten like this. My favourite breakfast is left-over Chinese, washed down with chocolate and vanilla diet coke. I can basically eat anything at anytime.)
On the other hand, I did slow my walk down a little, I have cut back on my diet coke consumption and am not having any alcohol. So, I am taking SOME precautions. The latter has been surprisingly hard as while cat-sitting I have access to Pay Television and have been privy to ‘Gilmore Girls’ and ‘Sex and the City’ marathons. As I have sat there, constant tears streaming down my face, all I can think has been how the experience would be so much better with some champagne to console me. I think the marathons continue today. Fortunately in the absence of champagne, I have procured more caramel, meringues and tissues. Am all set!
The obstetrician had inserted the donor sperm into my uterus. “Did that bypass some steps?” I wondered. Perhaps it gave the sperm a break from some of the usual swimming they had to do. Who knows. I have always been happily ignorant about physiological stuff. One of my friends is always talking about her internal workings and knows where everything is. “Should I be able to do this?” I wonder? Frankly, I feel I have better things to do. Best not to obsess and let it work itself out.
So, back to 15-minute old pregnancy. I am, of course, being facetious as I am working on the assumption that I am indeed NOT pregnant so that I will not be disappointed in a few weeks when I discover that to be the case. Nonetheless…. It makes you wonder. I have cramps, but that is nothing new, as I have had cramps on both sides of my lower stomach (perhaps my abdomen – who knows how specific one needs to be?!) for weeks. I have assumed it is part of the usual “I have eaten too much and feel fat” guilt-ridden angst which is a constant state of being for me. On the other hand, it could be something to do with the fertility drugs I took a week or two ago. I am sure they should have some effect other than feeling more teary than usual.
The insemination took place 2 days ago now. I did have some strange sensations that day. Almost akin to period pain. Then again, I did eat chocolate Easter eggs, a tin of caramel stuff with meringues and yoghurt as well as rice cakes with roasted capsicum dip, so it could just be my stomach (and whatever falls below that) rebelling.
I thought I would suddenly want to be healthy. On the off-chance that there was someone inside. But alas, that hasn’t been the case. While I have forced some fruit down, I have pretty much binged my way through the Easter long weekend. I went for a brief walk yesterday but found my stomach felt particularly heavy. Again, not the makings-of-a-baby, but possibly the concoction of food that I called breakfast - again involving chocolate, rice cakes, sour cream and diet coke. ( Note to readers who may not know me so well. These combinations are not pregnancy-related cravings. I have always eaten like this. My favourite breakfast is left-over Chinese, washed down with chocolate and vanilla diet coke. I can basically eat anything at anytime.)
On the other hand, I did slow my walk down a little, I have cut back on my diet coke consumption and am not having any alcohol. So, I am taking SOME precautions. The latter has been surprisingly hard as while cat-sitting I have access to Pay Television and have been privy to ‘Gilmore Girls’ and ‘Sex and the City’ marathons. As I have sat there, constant tears streaming down my face, all I can think has been how the experience would be so much better with some champagne to console me. I think the marathons continue today. Fortunately in the absence of champagne, I have procured more caramel, meringues and tissues. Am all set!
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