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A La Solo - March 2007

Chasing Rabbits in Wonderland

Online dating has manufactured a new breed of men to be included in the very long list of types that come under the heading: "MEN WHO ARE NOT SUITABLE FOR RELATIONSHIPS". I have named them Wonderlanders for reasons which will soon become apparent. I'm sure that in university lecture theatres sociologists will someday soon refer to these men and muse over whether it is technology which created them or simply gave them an ideal environment in which to thrive. Both my best friend and I have both encountered this particular specimen of online male so I feel justified in generalising - particularly if it helps someone to identify one more quickly.


If I were to write an ethnographic definition it would go as follows:

Wonderlanders: Sensitive, shy, techno-savvy males who prefer to conduct social relations in virtual reality so as to disguise the fact they are not as sexy as they fantasise themselves to be. Prone to emotional outbursts, continually require reassurance, in close contact with their mothers via email. They prefer to conduct their entire lives from a keyboard and while they desire relations with women, are convinced that meeting one in real life will possibly result in rejection, organ failure and the annhilation of mankind.

My friend has tolerated her Wonderlander for longer than I have. She was attracted by the way he heaped flatterring praise on her, was always available to talk to online and seemed very serious about meeting her. A year later, she has told me that after countless broken promises of the long-awaited and extremely overdue 'date' (if she were Rapunzel she would have been able to make a ladder out of her own hair by now) she has told him to forget it. Apparently, he broke down in tears over the phone begging her forgiveness and hoping hope-against-hope that she would be patient enough for him to arrange an interstate visit.


I told her not to worry.

I had already met the same type of guy months previously who seemed to be everything I loved. He was diligent in maintaining contact, sending text messages on special occasions, exchanging photos and being perfectly charming. All the time he danced around the act of asking me out on a date. He would begin to ask about my availability then quickly shy away to another topic. Patiently I waited then one day I said that I was no longer comfortable with flirting with someone I had never met. He agreed and we made plans to catch a movie the following Sunday. Sunday came and he sent me a text message saying he would have to postpone the date. Alarm bell one. When I got online he reluctantly revealed that he had cancelled the date to talk to his mother. Alarm bell two. After a bit he then revealed that he had to talk to his mother about travelling to Bangkok soon. Alarm bell three. Then it all came out - he needed to travel to Bangkok to get his receding hairline treated, that he had a foot fetish, he was actually two years older than it stated in his profile and that he didn't look half as cool in real life as he did in his picture. By this time the alarm bells had turned into Fort Knox in shutdown mode. "Abort conversation! Abort conversation!" my head screamed but instead I graciously reassured him and said the obligatory things such as, "Let's just meet up first - hey, I might not be all you imagine either."

I never could have imagined things could get that weird.

I've concluded from my experience and my friend's, that we are experiencing a new sort of guy out there - not a predator, and not even dangerous but just strange and shy and completely gutless when it comes to women.

So if you suspect you have encountered a Wonderlander (so named after the land that Alice had adventures in) the litmus test for it is this:

Ask them to meet you in real life. If they hedge, hesitate, waiver, make excuses or just don't show up then you have a fair dinkum Wonderlander. They are only available for digital dating and any silly hopes you might have of anything more substantial than the caressing of fingers over keypads is in vain.

Wonderland is not such a bad place but just like Alice you will soon be looking for a way out.
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Desperate Housesitter

My 92 Toyota Corolla trundled along the dirt road while I merrily belted out eighties tunes in heartfelt exuberance. Suddenly there was a bend in the road and I pitched into gutters that tossed my car back and forth. The cd stopped mid-song and so did I, silently chastising myself for going so quickly down a dirt road when my shock absorbers were about to give way.

I was on my way to see a man about a horse. And some chickens. And some alpacas and dogs too because I was applying to be a housesitter for his idyliic sounding property in the bushland. I had begun early because I knew that with my tendency to instinctively turn in the wrong direction that I needed to allow enough time to find this place. The turn-off should be any moment now...I was still saying that to myself in growing apprehension as the dirt road steadily grew steep and the bush around me more dense. In optimistic perseverance I pushed on, convinced that I had not missed the turn-off to their property.

Half an hour later I was deep in no-automatic-car-land hesitating in front of a water crossing. It had rained the night before causing the dips to fill with opaquely brown water. It didn't look too deep but I hugged the shoulder and kept it in first - just to be sure. It was the third water crossing that really worried me. I checked my phone but I was out of range. There was a niggling doubt now that I had somehow missed the turn-off but with the road so narrow there was no possibility of turning around at this point...

The heat was too much for my air-conditioning which tends to give up after the temperature gauge hits 25 degrees. In dismay I could feel my clean skin become wet with perspiration - not a good look for a first impression at any interview. I kept stopping to check if I had reception and pushing forward as my appointed time of arrival slid by...

Finally, I came to the top of a crest where a four-wheel-drive was coming from the other way. I stopped him but before I could open my mouth he asked me, "Do you know if this is a private road?" I sighed and replied, "I'm new here too - if I keep going where will I pop out at?" He told me that if I kept on for another 10k or so I'd hit bitumen so I decided it would be better to reach glorious asphalt than risk sending my sedan back the way I had come.

When I did reach a bitumen road I was grateful I wanted to get out and kiss it. Instead I perused the options - left or right. Choosing left I was disappointed to find the bitumen mysteriously ended after only fifty metres. To my rage, I found that going right had the same result. Presently an older couple on bicycles pointed me in the right direction and I finally reached the highway once more. Speaking to the owners I asked if it was still worthwhile to see them today (secretly hoping that I had missed out and could go home). Instead they said they had barely begun for the day and would love to see me. Damn it.

After another hour I finally reached their gate on a dirt hill. They had expressly instructed that I close the gates behind me so the horses wouldn't get out so I diligently parked my car on the other side of the gates and went to close the gates behind me. But there was a problem. Through my heatstricken glaze I grabbed one gate and pushed it closed then looked at the other gate which had also swung wide open. It was about three metres away. Letting go of the gate I held onto which swung back to its original position I pushed the other gate closed and looked at the other gate. It was, as before, three metres away. So I tried swinging the gate I held the other way, wondering if it would hold fast at some point at a reachable position. Neither of them would. The windless, dry heat was playing tricks with my head I thought - how could they close the gates if they were alone? Was this some sort of Chinese puzzle which I had to pass before they would give me the keys to the house? Why did I come out here anyway? Finally, I grabbed a large tree branck from the ground nearby and propped it up against one gate and was then able to fetch the other one to close it.

I parked my car and opened the door. Suddenly, my face was blanketed in fur as an over-grown alsation jumped onto me in exuberant curiousity. I manufactured some adoring comments as the owner appeared. He offerred me a drink. I said yes. He asked if I wanted juice or water, I said yes. He asked if I wanted tonic water in my juice, I said yes. I couldn't say any more yeses due to the dryness of my parched throat and I was fairly close to knocking him to one side, turning on the tap and sucking the water out of the facet. Smile politely, smile politely.

The couple were city-people turned feral as they put in their own words and had a solar-powered home with rainwater. They had plenty of animals to keep them too busy to worry about the fact they had bought 160 acres of the scrubbiest, driest, bushland around that would never produce feed for the livestock they had invested in.

Surprisingly, they were only just ready to begin administering the alpacas with their monthly injections. After two hours of helping to corner the beasts and holding them in a headlock while they jabbed and soothed I began to wonder if the timing of our appointment had been at all contrived make full use of my presence. It was past 1 o'clock and we were only halfway through the herd. The final straw was when a female alpaca delivered a vigorous spray of spit square into my face. Laughing on the outside I anxiously wondered if they had been vaccinated for rabies. Wrestling alpacas under a tin roof was making my head swim and I felt nauseousness creep into my insides. After mumbling an excuse I quickly left. And that's the beauty of housesitting. Whatever alternative lifestyle I agree to undertake I can always look forward to...leaving it!

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By Any Other Name They Would Still Stink

I promised not to freak out. And really, I have been very open-minded about it. After all, I pride myself on being a very understanding person. Nothing much surprises me. But for all that, I have to confess, I am just a little bit bothered by it.

This guy I've just met has told me that there is one part of a woman that fascinates him most.

It's feet.

At first I was bemused, even sympathetic, after all, why should one body part be less sexy than another?

But then I looked at my largish feet with little hairs sprouting from my toes and less than savoury undersides...and I didn't want to show him my feet.

I've always felt secure about my feet because they're not expected to be attractive. They're broadly assumed to be the odd-looking and fairly aromatic appendages that are best kept away from food, noses and eyes. And yet, someone that I am attracted to thought very differently about that.

I tried to imagine being with this guy and I couldn't help feel a pang of disappointment would come when the body parts which I consider worth considerable appreciation be passed over in his thirst to see my voluptuous toes.

Would the rest of my body feel an odd limbic jealousy of my feet? I think they would. I think the other parts of my anatomy would be crying out for adoration and screaming, 'This is not natural! Feet are merely the pedestals for the grandeur suspended above!'.

Would I be able to stand the pressure? Could I maintain my feet to the pedicured and parfumed standard that a foot fetishist might demand? Could I possibly avoid chipped nail polish? How can I erase thong-shaped tan lines?

I'm going to tell him that I'm saving my feet for a vow of lifelong devotion so he'll have to demonstrate his appreciation of all attributes before I even consider unveiling so much as a pinkie to him. And, if my feet prove to to be to his satisfaction then maybe I can grow to appreciate his tastes.

After all, who doesn't love a good foot rub?Your text goes here







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Shooting Stars are Hard to Target

Picture this: I've got my camera taking shots of a beautiful fullish moon over hills bathed in twilight. I lower my camera down then Whoosh! the most amazing enormous shooting star you have ever seen, so big it has chunks coming off it zooms beneath the moon and then is gone forever. I was three seconds from becoming photographer of the century. It has seemed lately that this incident with the shooting star represents all of the opportunities that flown right over me but I've failed to be prepared or was just plain unlucky. Its been a growing trend for the past year or so but I'm hoping to undo the jinx by remebering to take advantage of the opportuniities already bestowed upon me. The opportunity to go to a dentist is one. I heard that Schapelle Corby has two rotting teeth but is not allowed to visit a dentist. Imagine twenty years without a dentist. So I've resolved never to complain again about the dentist or any other amazing gift of freedom that you can get in this country. Its blissful enough just to have the everyday sort of opportunities like driving a car or eating good food.

Of course, that won't stop me from chasing the shooting stars...
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