18 January 2013


Holy Shart!

It has been a little too long! Happy New Year and all that bizo. Am I too late to say that? Kind of like asking someone how their weekend was on Thursday - we're on a slippery slope to the next weekend thanks, so get on board!

While we are on the topic of the holidays I hosted Christmas for the first time just gone. I realised I have always been a Christmas Crasher and it was time to lay down some Christmas traditions for myself. Let's just say dividing a group of drunk and/or full people into teams and pitting them against each other in a competitive game of Trivial Pursuit will not be one of those traditions for future Yuletide celebrations.

All I am going to say is the answer was fucking Oman.

Let's move on.

So, after the New Year celebrations I find myself in a sort of Significant Date Purgatory: there really isn't anything to look forward to, the weather makes me want to open my veins and sit in a warm bath, I'm edgy because I haven't given into the fact my NY resolution is completely ludicrous - God damn it I will wear musk pink again - and I, like many of us, want to hibernate to Couchland with a box of wine and endless bag of doritos.

But I have decided not to give into these New Year misgivings and have gotten myself a Tennis Coach.

Random I know, but bear with.

He's hot.

My attack is two pronged: what better way to blow those January cobwebs out than a run around with a hunky Tennis Coach AND I need to get my game up to speed if I am going to impress this summer at gay tennis. How gay!

The website says it is for "confident gay and lesbian tennis players". Does that mean you know how to wear a headband or just have a good overhead? I'm going to say both. I used to be good at tennis - just quietly I was aged champion 3 years running in high school and my partner and I were an undefeated duo in our weekend comp. Granted the opponents were like if the veterans tour had a special needs classification, but a win's a win.

So, this is where the Tennis Coach comes in to advise on things like tennis skirt or short shorts or whatever it is they do.

I have never had a coach for anything. Tennis Coach, Life Coach, Coach Handbag. Nothing. My motto has always been, if you can't teach it to yourself then what good is someone else going to be? I do realise this goes against most peoples inconvenient tradition of education, but it really is just trying to avoid the embarrassment of failing badly in front of someone whose opinion I value highly. Like the gays at gay tennis - I value their opinion highly ergo I will have tennis lessons until the blisters on my heels pop and my socks fill with blood and pus so I don't look like a fool in front of them. I will literally be Pus in Boots.

I wish those pusie/bloody socks were a metaphor for my love life. I don't want a guy I am dating see my foibles because I value his opinion so highly, so rather than hiring a "Tennis Coach" (just say) or letting go and allowing someone in, I would rather not do anything about it and pretend that I am OK being alone. Well I'm not! I have decided that 2013 is going to be the year for completing the Project New Boyfriend.

(I do realise I also said that about 2012)

So, I had my first session the other day and I have to say I wasn't half bad considering I haven't picked up a racquet in 4 years. I also don't think my Tennis Coach is gay/likes me which is a bit a Debbie Downer. I know this because when I did my best grunt he didn't even flinch. Unless he is playing hard to get and if so, well played Coachie, well played. I also call him that rather than his civilian name, Brett. I don't think he likes that either.

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