The Seven (Eight?) Steps of An Internet Date

Note: This is not a manual. This is my personal experience. This is probably why I am still single. I know, I know...... 

Stage One

Receive kiss/smile/nudge/message/swipe from person on Internet Dating site. Think, "Oh, he's cute! Thank god! There are still cute people left in my age group!" Respond positively.

Note: If the person is repulsive, terminate here.

Stage Two

Begin messaging the person. Think, "Oh, he's funny and can spell! Thank god! There are still funny people left on the internet who can spell!" Casually ask what the person's job is to check he is not in jail, unemployed or a real estate agent. Breathe sigh of relief. Casually how long the person has been separated/divorced/widowed/single to check he is not married, 'separated but still living together', 'looking for some threesome fun' or needing solace after the sudden death of his wife last week. Breathe sigh of relief.

Note: If the person is illiterate, married, grieving or a real estate agent, terminate here.

Stage Three

Exchange real names. Immediately Google the person to check they are, indeed, who they say they are. When LinkedIn profile matches Internet Dating profile, breathe a sigh of relief.

Note: If the person does not actually exist on the internet, terminate here. Everyone who is a real person has some kind of online footprint. I mean, some people actually don't, but they are to be approached with the utmost suspicion and caution and I ain't got time for that.

Stage Four

Exchange phone numbers. Add person's name to phone with helpful reference details such as 'Phil the Accountant from RSVP', 'Mark the Podiatrist from eHarmony' or 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder'. Commence texting.

Note: You probably wouldn't really save 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder' in your phone as he probably won't be around for long, but I'm trying to be comprehensive here.

Stage Five

Exchange witty texts for a couple of days. Forward the choicest texts to your best friend with captions such as 'He's so funny!' and 'He's so clever!' and 'Look how cute he looks holding a wombat!'

Note: If he can't spell for shit, is boring, or doesn't respond to your texts within an hour, terminate here.

Stage Six

Speak on the phone.

Note: If he sounds like something out of Kingswood Country, if there are massive, awkward silences, or if he has a higher voice than you, terminate here. 

Stage Seven

Meet.

Note: If he looks twenty years older than his pictures, if he is six inches shorter than specified, if he is obnoxious/rude to waitstaff/boring/arrogant/disinterested in you, if he has no sense of humour, if he doesn't get your humour, if he cries when talking about his ex, if he becomes purple with rage when talking about his ex, if he doesn't ask you anything about yourself, if he talks excitedly about your future babies, if he proselytizes about God/clean eating/manifesting your own truth, or if he simply does not resonate with you for whatever reason, terminate here.

Stage Eight

Fucked if I know. I guess you meet again?

How An iOS Upgrade Nearly Destroyed My Life

I wanted to download a ringtone. It wasn’t a big deal. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. Other people had personalised ringtones so I thought I could have one too. It’s not like I’m some sort of technology Luddite. I’m a Woman of Social Media! I have a blog and everything! And if I can email and Tweet and Facebook and Instagram, then surely I could download my favourite song to play when my phone rings.

Well, it wasn’t so easy. It never is. I tried to download my ringtone, but my iPhone got stroppy. “You have to upgrade to the latest iOS,” it said. Now, I don’t know what an iOS is. I’ve never given iOS’s a moment’s thought. But apparently, I had to have one, and so I set about finding it.

I realised that I couldn’t upgrade my iOS simply by looking at my phone in confusion (though if I could have made it happen through act of will alone I would have had such a late version of iOS the thing wouldn’t have been invented yet).

By a process of elimination (that looked a lot like throwing things and sweating) I deduced that I could upgrade my iOS by plugging my phone into my computer and pressing a few buttons. Easy! Except that it turned out that the upgrade took OVER TWO HOURS and if my computer lost internet connection for ONE SECOND the whole thing would fail and have to restart.

Which it did. THREE TIMES.

By the time the thing was complete, some six hours later, I was exhausted. I was also disappointed to discover that the upgrade hadn’t actually taken effect (using ‘disappointed’ in the sense of ‘I was disappointed to learn that a meteor was hurtling towards earth and we were all going to die). By a process of elimination (that looked a lot like crying and drinking gin) I deduced that I had to start and restart my computer and phone and then plug them into each other again and wait, without breathing or moving a muscle, until the upgrade began to work. (I don’t know why the breath holding and remaining still was so vital, but it just was.)

Eventually, the upgrade took place and all was well in the world. My phone looked slightly different, which mildly concerned me, but I figured that it was just the new, improved iOS - whatever the hell that was.

I felt proud of myself and in a celebratory mood. I turned on some music and prepared to dance the ‘I’m Queen of Technology’ shuffle. Except that the music didn’t come on, because somehow all my music had been wiped from my phone, and it was clearly never, ever coming back.

By a process of elimination (that looked a lot like rocking in the corner in the foetal position) I deduced that the iTunes music was not syncing to my iPhone no matter what settings I chose or plugs I stuck in. And this made me very, very disappointed indeed.

Happily, though, I managed to get my ringtone. Unhappily, this will be of little use to me as I never plan to use my stupid iPhone again. From now on it’s carrier pigeons for me. And the only ringtone will be their gentle cooing.

This Woman of Social Media hates technology. 

My Dark Secrets. REVEALED???

There is much talk at the moment about a certain Facebook 'glitch' that is causing private messages from before 2010 to be posted on people's public timelines. For those who are not familiar with Facebook, this means.... Actually forget it. If you're not familiar with Facebook, then you're probably not tech-savvy enough to open this blog and read this post, in which case I'm talking to myself anyway.

I panicked when I heard this rumour about Facebook and began frantically scrolling through my timeline. Then I relaxed when I realised I didn't even join Facebook until 2011, so I really don't have anything to worry about. But it suddenly occurred to me how deeply vulnerable the internet has made me.

me after my private messages are leaked
 

Some of my direct messages on Facebook and Twitter (messages meant only for the eyes of one other person) would destroy me if they were made public. I know I come across all wise and mature and supportive of all human-kind, but stick me in a private conversation with one of my besties, and some of the things that come out of my mouth (or, as the case may be, fingertips) would appall you. I can be rude. I can be judgemental. I can be shockingly intolerant. I can rant about loved ones and poke fun at strangers. I wouldn't do it publically, because I don't wish to offend (or... you know... look bad) but with one or two select intimates I can be an utter disgrace.

And that's not even mentioning the dark secrets I share with my besties. Okay, so I may not be moonlighting as a call girl, or have a second family hidden away in the country, or be married to the mafia, or sport a third nipple on my bum, but there is a great deal there that is not for public consumption. And up till now I've just trusted it wouldn't be. But what if it was? What if Twitter suddenly spewed all my direct messages into the public domain? What if my email account suddenly became available to all? Oh my god - what if the whole world could access my DIARY???

It doesn't bear thinking about. It does, however, make me very tempted to use the phone from now on. That is, unless my phone is being tapped by the government.

My phone isn't being tapped by the government, is it?

IS IT???

Hilarious

I've had a rough couple of days (don't ask) and so I thought that instead of feeling sad I'd think about happy things. Even more specifically, things that make me laugh. A lot. So I have compiled a list. Please add your own!

Things That Make Me Go Ha!

• Playing charades with nearly-four-year-old Boo. It goes something like this:Boo: Stands up in front of us, and makes some inexplicable sign with her left hand. Us: "Movie? Book? TV show?"Boo: "No!" Holds up three fingers.Us: "Three words?"Boo: "Yes!"Us: "Dora The Explorer?"Boo: "No!" Holds up one finger.Us: "Spongebob?"Boo: "No!" Holds up five fingers.Us: "The Simpsons?"Boo: Thinks for a minute. "Yes!"Us: "Hooray!"

• The cable TV show "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant", about women who had no idea they were pregnant till they started giving birth. I particularly loved the 20 year old who assumed she'd gained 25 pounds because she was eating so much junk food (you know, after the condom broke), and the 46-year-old mother-of-two who assumed that she was going through menopause and that her stomach was growing because of a 'tumour'. Oh, and I adore the re-enactments of the births with actors who are mysteriously far, far better looking than the real women themselves, and the 'newborn' babies who look like they've been at pre-school for a year.

Boo. Don't mess with her.

• The iPhone app that puts tattoos all over my kids.

• The outfit my husband dressed Boo in when I had to rush out of the house early before (think frilled pink summer dress over long sleeve navy jumper, worn fetchingly with purple sandals and Dora The Explora socks).

• The cost of replacing my car door handle after it fell off in my hand (though admittedly I was laughing through my tears).

• My husband's face when I explained that his daily morning 'coffee' was probably responsible for his bizarre, recent weight gain, given that it is a 'White Choc Rasberry Grande Frappucino'.

• Penises. Have you ever looked up close? They're hilarious. I don't know how men walk around with those things.

Take One Alex And Call Me In The Morning

In recent times I have got myself a little stressed. I know that most of you think I am super cool and laid back (and the sound you can hear is the guffawing and eye-rolling of all my closest friends at the idea that I am a) super cool, or b) laid back [and yes, I know that 'eye-rolling' doesn't make a sound, it was just a figure of speech]) but I am quite a stressy little person (and yes, I know that 'little' is debatable, but let's not get picky here, okay?).

Well, a couple of days ago I decided it all had to change. Which is not quite true. My husband The Architect decided it all had to change. He sat me down, gently stroked my angsty brow, and said:

"Sweet honey pie of mine, if you feel you can't relax a little more I will have to send you to a resort alone for a few days. It pains me so deeply to see you so uptight."

And if you believed that, clearly you haven't read my book. Or this blog. Or have had much contact with the male of this species.

What he really did was sit me down, look at me firmly, and say:

"Can you pull yourself together please? You're a total nightmare at the moment."

(And that, friends, you can believe.)

So I decided I had to destress at once, not just because The Architect told me too, but because I really was feeling horribly tense. Over the past few days I have engaged in many attempts to relax my body and mind. Some have been successful, some less so, but I will share them all with you today.

• Did online Sudoku puzzles. This worked wonderfully initially, as it refocussed my brain and gave me a rush of elation whenever I figured out where to put one of those little numbers. And then it backfired horribly when I got stuck about an eighth of the way through, and had to call my twelve year old son to help me finish it. And then, to rub salt into the wound, he got bored before it was completed, and wandered off with a breezy "You can take it from here, Mum". Which of course I couldn't. Bloody stupid Sudoku. Makes me bloody crazy.
• Watched Alex Dimitriadis running around in his swimsuit in 'The Slap'. This made me feel fantastic.
• Ate Nutella sandwiches for dinner, followed by spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar. This was fun and relaxing for the first twenty minutes, but rather less enjoyable when I lay moaning and bloated about ten minutes after I finished the jar.
• Took my kids to the beach. This was really gorgeous. We played on the sand, they buried my feet, I read my book, they buried my legs, I lay in the sun, they threw sand in my hair, I got really thirsty, they drank all my water, it was really beautiful, I got hot and sandy and had to get out of there that minute.
• Drank a great deal of alcohol. This has proven to be very effective.
• Read some books, watched some TV. Particularly 'The Slap'. That was great.
• Had a bath. Baths really do ease the body and soul. I just have remember to be more careful whilst acqua-texting. Still, I think the phone is drying out nicely.
• Nah, that's it. Though did I mention Alex Dimitriades?

Whozaam

The other day I was watching Love Actually in bed, and one of the bit-part actresses looked crazily familiar. I lay there, insanely irritated, trying to recall who she was, until I gave up and went downstairs to Google the movie. It was January Jones, from Mad Men. DUH.

This happens to me all the time. I'll see someone on the screen and know they're a famous actor but have no idea which famous actor they are. Last night, for example, I mistook Mathew Modine for James Van Der Beek, which I thought was quite understandable (they both have long chins), but which my husband took as a hilarious indication that I still fantasize regularly about Dawson's Creek*.

Of course, I don't just get confused about faces on the screen. I also get utterly confused about faces in the street (or, in my case, faces in Westfield). Either I'll know I know someone, but have no idea how, or I'll know exactly how I know someone, but cannot access her name from the dark recesses of my brain. Or I'll think I know someone, but she turns out to be someone quite different to the person I thought she was. Or I'll know how I know her, and I'll remember her name, but I can't remember the names of her kids, what work she does, or if she is the one whose husband just walked out on her for his personal trainer or if that was her sister.

Or in fact, if she has a sister.

And sometimes these occasions can be embarrassing. For example:

The time I bumped into an old friend and smiled and waved at her and was mortified when she threw me a patronising half smile, until I realised that she was actually a famous newsreader who I'd never met in my life.

The time I sat next to a celebrity in a cafe and was delighted when she smiled at me, until I realised hours later that she was actually my GP.

The time I was chatting to an acquaintance, and enquired about parents, only to be gently reminded that her mother had died about five years earlier.

The 17 billion times I've conducted animated discussions with people I bump into, pretending to know exactly who they are whilst having not the slightest bit of a clue.

There's only one thing that can help me. I need a Face Recognition app for my iPhone. You know how Shazaam will instantly tell you the name and artist of any song that's playing? I need an app - let's call it Whozaam - that will instantly tell me the name, personal details, and circumstances of meeting of any person I wave my phone at.

Of course, I do acknowledge that there may be some small privacy issues with this software. But let's face it: no-one has much privacy these days anyway. And the usefulness of my app will far exceed any minor concerns about having the details of one's life open to the entire world. Besides, I suppose an individual could always opt out of having their details on the Whozaam database.

But if they do, then they can't expect me to say hello to them. I know I know them, but I haven't the slightest clue how.

*Which I may or may not do.

Hey Minister! Don't Take My Mobile Phone

Transport ministers around Australia want to ban mobile phones in cars, even when used hands-free or on Bluetooth.

And I am not impressed.

Okay, so talking whilst driving is distracting. This is true. And when I first got my license about 150 years ago, I couldn’t talk to anyone whilst at the wheel, so scared was I that it would disturb my concentration. (Sadly, even in complete silence I kept backing into other people's cars.) These days I still turn off the radio and tell the kids to be quiet when attempting a tricky reverse park.

But in regular circumstances, I am perfectly able to drive my car whilst conducting a conversation, which is convenient, as I usually have three children in the car with me. In fact, not only do I have to talk to my kids whilst driving, I have to moderate disputes, pass out food, ensure seatbelts remain securely fastened, and provide regular updates on our Estimated Time of Arrival.

Believe me, if I can do all this, I can conduct a hands-free telephone conversation. After all, at least I can be certain the person on the other end of the line isn’t going to reach out and pull my hair when I refuse to pull over for an ice-cream.

The whole idea of banning conversations – any conversations - seems to me to be completely nonsensical. Think about it. Under the proposed laws, I would be permitted to engage in a heated debate with my husband whilst driving, provided that he is sitting in the seat next to me. I would not, however, be allowed to have a brief conversation with him via Bluetooth about what to eat for dinner.

I would be allowed to do my makeup whilst driving. I would be allowed to smoke a cigarette whilst driving (except that I’d become dizzy and run my car off the road, but I’m talking theoretically here). I would be allowed to take my hands off the wheel and adjust my undies. I would be allowed, if I was deaf, to have an animated discussion in sign language whilst driving (and, having been a passenger in a car driven by a very chatty deaf driver, I can assure you this is a very perilous activity). And yet I would not be allowed to have a hands-free conversation.

So why is this a problem? Why can’t I just give up my phone privileges whilst I’m in my car? Well, I live in Sydney, and the traffic is an absolute killer. I spend upwards of two hours in my car every single day just driving the kids to and from school, a mere four suburbs from my house. It kills me to have to waste so much precious time out of my short, short working day; for gods sake at least let me get some of my calls out of the way whilst sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic in suburban streets.

Besides, legislating against mobile phone use isn’t going to solve every driving issue. Nor is legislating against make-up application whilst driving, or eating whilst driving, or arguing whilst driving, or singing along to the radio whilst driving, or looking around frantically for a bathroom stop whilst driving. Ultimately, safe driving comes down to common sense and good judgement, and unfortunately no government can legislate that.

So in the meantime, let me make my calls in traffic. And who knows? If I’m distracted from the agonising frustration of 150 cars stretched out in front of me, perhaps you might even prevent a road rage incident or two.