I got out of bed this morning fairly optimistic that today would be a somewhat enjoyable day. The clouds hung still barely overhead and a light rain misted over my balcony as I enjoyed the forbidden fruit of a sneaky cigarette (washed down with four coffees). My cat curled up on my lap irate at having been woken but happy that it was nearly his breakfast time.
From that contented peak, the day deteriorated.
The main event for today was to attempt a sober date. Now I don’t generally date anyway (just not my style) but I figured it would give me a week’s worth of blogging fodder because, as is always the way with your’s truly, things would undoubtedly go horribly awry with comedic consequences and everyone would be left with yet another good Nathan story.
The problem is, there’s just nothing to do on a rainy weekday evening in Sydney that doesn’t include alcohol. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. I asked a married colleague who has young children, her response was that she simply has no life. I asked another colleague in an LTR (who doesn’t really drink) what she does for dates- apparently they go to pubs and her partner gets wasted while she sips on something more civilised.
If this were London, Berlin, or even Melbourne, I wouldn’t have this problem. I don’t eat at Chain Restaurants, I only enjoy going to the cinema by myself (it’s hardly a social activity anyway), and Sydney is best enjoyed under fierce sunshine. And it’s raining. So I tried trusty old Time Out, which is full of fascinating tips and things to do for every city in the world- other than Sydney apparently. I looked for something quirky- the best I could find was a piece of Japanese Performance art where the artists install themselves and control their heart beats with yogic breathing and various unspecified medical apparatus. The Japanese are renowned for taking everything to the next level, but I think that sort of installation would be bordering on plain weird. Now if they were screening a good Snuff Film I’d be game.
Good old shock and awe standbys such as bungy jumping don’t exist (I don’t see why you can bungy off the Auckland Harbour Bridge but not the Sydney Harbour Bridge- other than the fact that New South Wales is owned by Insurance Corporations). Sailing or anything harbour related- out. All my favourite cocktail bars, pubs with terraces, boozers with views, live music venues, bordellos, all out during NOvember.
The worst is the realisation that I’m actually rather shy when sober. As in, not terribly interesting. I asked my German co-workers for advice this morning and, with typical German pointedness, advised that I need to conceal my cat ownership, rabid political views, geekiness, and arrogance should I want any date to go well- if I actually have to make conversation instead of drinking my way through it.
Well what the hell else is there to talk about then? The period of, erm, culture, art, and personal development that I enjoyed in Berlin when I was 23? Do people outside of the Hauptstadt even know what a Crisco Party is?
I also have charitable MOvember commitments as well. On the brink of MOvember disqualification due to hiding the offending Mo in a camouflage of beardfuzz, I was required to shave so I popped up to the local Italian barber for a good ol’ fashioned cut-throat. The result? A cross between Tom of Finland and a Village Person.
Obviously I did the only respectable thing I could at this juncture and cancelled my date.
We’re allowed one cheat each in NOvember- only to be used in times of extreme crisis and it can only be used once. It’s an emergency stop gap in case of extreme bereavement, breakup (in Luckys case), STD Diagnosis (in my case), or a good old fashioned self esteem crisis.
I haven’t decided yet, but my hand is slowly reaching for the panic button.
Charlie is missing you...
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