The Internal Error

In our every day lives and loves, we tend to experience a series of fails.

I see it at work, when it becomes my fault that no one has RSVP'd yet the cancellation policy DOES apply as you are still currently alive and are not the boss of me.

Sometimes, we are mistaken, due to a few contributing factors that are never our fault. It has come to my attention that I display symptoms of Cinderella Syndrome. I expect someone out there to subconsciously see that I am the nice one going through a hard time, and I need to be rewarded with The Prince, stat. It only leaves me more disappointed.

For example, I went out on Friday night and caught the aroma of freshly baked Stud Muffin. I locked eyes with Mr Muscles, and proceeded to size him up for Potential. He asked me if I wanted to dance, but being recently jilted, I reply with a shy "maybe in a month or two". He catches me later, and offers several times to buy me a drink, which I finally accept.

The You Were Hot and then you Opened Your Mouth fail:
Once at the bar, he states "I never pay for drinks here, do I (insert-bar-chicks-name-here.. for the story's purpose, let's call her Druscilla)?. You wanna party for three days? I'll go. I'm just that type of person".
"You'll have to pay for one of the drinks" replies Druscilla.
He pats around for his wallet, and just when I thought that falling off my chair in slow motion as it breaks underneath me was embarassing, I hit a new low.
He turns to me and says "you got five bucks on ya? I'll give it back to you in a minute, my mate has my wallet".
I play it like I'm not mortified and that this happens all the time, hand over my dignity, and proclaim a need to pee.
He escorts me to the bathroom and waits outside, while I burst through the double doors, into a cubicle and slam my Gin & Tonic down my face. 10 minutes later, I emerge, and he has thankfully taken the hint and left to prove to someone else that there is no such thing as a free drink!
It wasn't the aroma of stud muffin, it was the bitter smell of a one-pump-chump.

The Silly Woman Fail: 
Sometimes we are mistaken by our own strength. I delighted myself with the sick notion that I could change my own tire, I didn't need an M word to do it for me. (Male, Man, Mr, Malaka..)
I couldn't even pull the tire out of the boot! And car jack? The only Jack I knew I needed was one with a penis attached to do it for me!
My I-don't-need-a-M word-levels dropped faster than a frozen pizza into a sink of hot soapy water. (but that's another fail for another blog).


The Know Better for Next Time Fail:
Sometimes people mistake the creepy-dude for nice-dude, and before it becomes obvious, you already have 4 new emails, 2 texts and a Facebook add. "Confirm" or "Not Now". Now NOW? Not EVER!!! 


The Financial Fail: 
When pay day is the same day as late night shopping and you find yourself restless with nothing to do.
Enough said.

The I Look Like a Penis Fail:
I have learnt never to call a boy if you haven't thought of a proper reason for doing so. Apparently "just to say hey" isn't enough sometimes. Just because you are in the mood for a little validation, small talk and soothing tones, doesn't mean they are. And you're all "ohh heyyyyy", and you get a curt reply like "hi-what's-up?". ABORT. Do not follow with "ohhh.. nothiiiiing :)", because as the heading suggests, you will end up with a penis on your forehead. Your response will be one of the following.

a. silence
b. ahh.. k
c. (my favourite to get me warm and fuzzy) can I call you later?


Thought we all hate to fail, in all of the embarrassing ways possible, I will say this...

We shouldn't fear our failure, we should just try to fail better next time.


Off to find my own damn glass slipper,


<3 Miss Coordinate

The Truth on Moving Day

After much needed inspiration from an honest and open blogger, who writes about her life in a raw and unabating way, I've decided to do the same, no matter who the audience may be. Thank you Kelley, for giving me the courage to delve into the belly of the beast. http://ripthelifeiknew.wordpress.com

When my family decide to have a serious chat, it's never in a formal setting. In fact, I would say that they wait for the formal sitting to be over, and then catch you when you're doing something completely personal, like bathing.

I quite like my grandfather's approach. He doesn't speak many words at all, and he is always very clear & eloquent. "You still go to work?" he asked, to which I nod. "You want some dollars?". "No Bapi, it's fine, I don't need dollars". For the words that he doesn't speak, my mother does.

When my mother told me she was going to be dating someone else, two weeks after my father had left, I was 11 "and a half", just home from school, and lathering up my hair in the shower. Now, that fateful wash will remain in my memory forever, along with the knowledge that there is a lock on the bathroom door for a reason.

Soon after, I packed all of my belongings and moved... to the bedroom downstairs. It was spacious and amazing, and, though I obviously didn't see the appeal back then, it comes in handy ten years later to be the closest to the front door when you get home drunk at 4:30am smelling like club-love while my mum and sister sleep soundly & blissfully ignorant, upstairs. Sometimes, however, I am still privy to the famous robe-clad, one eyed, Appearance of the Sleepy Mother when I get home, who always insists on telling me exactly what time it is. Like I care. 
I couldn't have consumed my drunk mcdonalds faster if it were served in a powers-shake & I pulled a muscle air-guitaring to the live band. I will probably wake up with my make up perfectly imprinted on my pillow tomorrow morning. Let future MissCoordinate deal with what time she got home the night/morning before!


Three weeks ago, I broke up with my boyfriend. It is a complicated bigfatmess in my brain. It also means that my double bed only has a single imprint in it these days.

Two weeks ago, my sister decides that as she is getting married in 6 months, it makes sense to order a bed now, and ensure that it is far too large to fit into her shoebox room upstairs.

Consequently, after dinner, I get a visitor to my bathroom. I don't know what it is about the closed door, running water and loud pipes that doesn't give the whole "Showering now" thing away, but low and behold, it was apparently Serious Conversation time again.

"Miss C, do your feet still smell?"

"WHAT?"

"Remember, your feet used to smell really badly? I haven't smelt them lately."

"Mum... I'm SHOWERING!!! Just because you made this body, doesn't mean you can oggle at it any time you want!"

"Anyway, you have to move upstairs. The Lovable Dragon Lady (which I have just decided is your E-Name, sister) and her husband can't sleep upstairs next to me in that little room now can they?
Also, this is happening next week. So doyouwanttokeepthebedyouhaveorarewethrowingitout? I have organised a council pick up next week so you have to getyourselforganisedandgetanewbed... orusethesinglebedupstairs... Ok goodnight".

I stand there alone & naked as the day I moved out of the womb, except now with less people around to gawk at me, with the same scrunched up winky face that comes from having womb-debris (or in my current situation, soap), in the eye. And I cry.

When you're newly single, your brain morphs into this sado-masochist of a self-hater, where everything is definitely an attack on your failed relationship. So as I lathered up, I got really lathered up.
I go to bed cranky, to have my light turned back on and my front and back spooned by the Lovable Dragon Lady and Mother Goose, because it's the perfect time for a serious discussion.

There were three in the bed and the little one said,"OHHH, MISS C IS SINGLE NOW, SHE DOESN'T NEED THE BIG ROOM AND THE DOUBLE BED. LET'S GET HER TO MOVE HER SHIT OUT IN A WEEK, BECAUSE THERE'S ONLY ONE OF HER and she doesn't MATTER!". Of course, I yell this in my best 'it's-all-about-me, you've-messed-with-the-wrong-jilted-blogger' voice. "What's next? Santa is skipping our house and God has LOST MY COORDINATES? HMM?"

After my little tirade, I saw logic, and moving day is here. It's 11:14am, and I do not want to step into my room. I do not want to face moving day, OR the fact that I am alone.


Marking this box FRAGILE,

<3 Miss Coordinate

The Game

“I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.” 

― Marilyn Monroe

I love the chase. It's the mystery that gets me.

The moment where you can believe you are captivating, mesmerising and have the ability to make any man fall instantly in love with you.

As I get older and more bitter, I realise it's that golden moment in which you are still able to believe that this might be Something.

 I understand that as you get older, men and women have more baggage, more scars and more reasons to keep a relationship casual.

I have my fair share of baggage too, but that doesn't mean that I deserve an 11pm text from a Potential, asking me if I want to go for a 'drive'. Don't get me wrong, I don't need a ring for a boot-knocking, but who do men think they are kidding with that rouse? It's as overplayed as Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas is You" every December. 

I'm pretty sure your chances were on the up and up before you suggested that I imprint my ass with your seat belt, while you imprint your sweat on me. While the idea of an evening overlooking the soccer field from your old ford is delightful, I'm fairly certain I'm old enough to know that there's a difference between a good time between two game players and an insult!

We all do things we aren't proud of when we don't feel like our best selves. Sometimes, one might hit on someone harder than a sexually frustrated hammer on an unsuspecting nail, (not speaking from any personal experience of my own whatsoever) and not actually mean them any disrespect... but my point still stands.

Dear anonymous,

You are vetoed. . Guns n Roses had it right, all you needed was just a little patience. By the time you realise, I will be back seat to Prince Charming on a white horse. 

Enjoy your solo baggage.

kthanksbye

<3 Miss Coordinate

“I don't mind making jokes, but I don't want to look like one.” 

― Marilyn Monroe

Just put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone

Just pretend that we're together all alone

Tell the man to turn the juke box way down low

And you can tell your friend there with you, he'll have to go

Happy Belated Birthday Elvis!

The Eighth Deadly Sin

omission is a failure to do something one can and ought to do


"He who has the ability to act on an injustice, but who stands idly by, is just as guilty as he who holds the knife." ~~Dracano Sapien


As the corporate world is quiet in the festive season, while we tend to our personal bad habits, I have been working on the reception desk at the hotel instead.
This, and a recent episode of Dexter, has made me explore our sins; mostly, the sin of omission.
We all seem to think that keeping something to ourselves / not telling the whole truth is always better than lying. I certainly seemed to think so. 

Then the plate crashed. 


I went in for a doctor's appointment at 4:30. The receptionist told me that the doctor wouldn't be back till 6pm. So I swipe my medicare card, do some shopping and return at 6, quite studiously. 
6:30 goes by. I think, wow, this doctor must be thorough. The waiting room is at a stand still.
7pm comes along. Three more patients are waiting. (Three and a half if you count the screaming child attached to one of them). 
I tap my foot, angrily flicking the pages of the old romance novel that wished it aged as well as red wine. "How long is this going to take?" I ask. 
"Not long now", is her curt reply. 
I overhear the receptionist tell one of the new walk-ins that the doctor hasn't even arrived. 
I think to myself, could have done with that information at SIX PM! 
I HAVE NEVER WAITED THIS LONG FOR A MAN! 
Feminists everywhere lose 10 points! Clearly, the woman is a sinner. Had she told me the doctor wasn't in yet, I probably wouldn't have thanked her for her honesty (and by probably I mean notafreakingchancemate), but I wouldn't have wound up feeling tricked!


Omitting to ask a guest how their breakfast was incase no one notified them it was included. Sin?
Omitting to dress properly or do your hair, after spending all of your time and energy on your makeup. 
Sin.
Omitting to tell the whole story to make your boyfriend look like a scum bag to all his friends. 
Sin!!!
Omitting to tell me you took items from the mini bar & filling up the long gone beer with water. 
SIN!
Omitting to tell your wife that your business trip to the hotel turned out to be a little more pleasurable than anticipated. 
Double sin!
Omitting to tell me you're just after a good time until I'm as naked as a native on your kitchen floor. 
Burn. Sinner.
Omitting to tell your brother, the secret serial killer, that you're actually in love with him.. 
Sin? .....No. Keep that shit to yourself. Hold it very very close and never let it out!

We don't need to be told that if you have the ability to make a difference for the greater good and don't, it's wrong.                     

Personally, I don't think there is anything wrong with keeping opinions to oneself. There's always too many of those flying around anyway! 

Figuring out the difference between opinions and facts, seems to be the key to opening your mouth, or keeping it locked! But that's another story for another blog.

Now I'm getting the rock out of here, because what other people think of me, is none of my god damn business! Stay tuned though, because I plan to make it yours!

<3 Miss Coordinate 

"In the end we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends" ~~Martin Luther King

The Choice

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