"Practical, convenient, and a bit of a laugh"

Pristy a posted a link to this article about Laos from the Washington Post today, which I read with great interest. Funny, the more I read or hear about Laos, the less idea I have of what to expect. It's as though the image of the country in my head is growing fainter and fainter with each definitive, reliable and vivid tidbit of information I get. I think it's better this way. I want to be shocked, I want to have no expectations.

Anyway, on Tuesday night, I had dinner with some friends and we ended up playing Trivial Pursuit. When I say "ended up", what I mean is that a game of Trivial Pursuit was always going to eventuate, I had already expressed my misgivings, but the game went ahead anyway, and I decided to just to try and have fun.
The thing about games is this: people might pretend they're fun, and entertaining and stimulating, or just, you know, good for a larf. But look deep within yourself, and what do you see? That's right: fear, loathing, resentment, that rampant competitive streak you like to pretend you don't have most of the time. They're all the same: cards, Monopoly, Pictionary especially. God I hate that game. Also charades, and...dear god I am shuddering just typing this...dress-up parties.
But I think Trivial Pursuit is especially bad because it makes people feel dumb, not smart. Maybe you're good at sports, but who wrote the Godfather Trilogy? Maybe you're a pop-culture whiz, but who won the soccer World Cup in 1986? Whatever. Having your lack of knowledge exposed to others is basically just a catalyst for all kinds of defensive and anti-competitive behaviour. I truly do think it's games like Trivial Bloody Pursuit that bring out the worst in people.
Needless to say, the Tuesday night game, played with 3 sisters, 2 boyfriends, and me, died in the arse.
Pictionary is the worst, by far. I remember years ago, on a drunken beach holiday, we played Pictionary. My friend Tiff was trying to draw the word "nerve" and she ended up getting so frustrated that she threw down her pen and yelled "Nerve!" Game over. Brooke said this was typical Aries behaviour, but I felt Tiff's pain, and it's not because I'm an Aries as well. It's because Pictionary is a stupid game.

It's a worry, actually, because many people have told me that there will be times in Laos where I will be extremely bored, so "make sure you pack a few board games, eh?" Which is exactly why, earlier in the week, I posted a large box of books, care of me, to the Vientiane College. There is no way I will be forced into playing Monopoly.
I packed an interesting selection, by the way: a mix of books I've been meaning to read all year but didn't get the time because of uni (Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, Katherine Graham's autobiography, Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe) and books I've been meaning to read my whole life because I think I should (Crime and Punishment, Anna Karenina, etc). Plus some old French books I studied at uni, and think I should re-read because I'll be in a French speaking environment again, and am hoping that part of my brain will wake up from a long sleep.

Anyway, enough of this. I have sore legs today, and I think it was from lifting all my boxes down the stairs yesterday. Whatever, weak. Then I went to the gym this morning, and rode on the bike. I hardly ever ride on the bike, because I already have my own bicycle, which I ride damn near everywhere. But my poor bike (purchased from Big W for $250 in 1999) is now in the back of a truck en route to Canberra. Plus, I hate watching the TV screens at the gym. But this morning, Channel V gave me a fine selection of music vids. (Shamefully, my favourite was a live rendition of "Lady Marmalade" by Christina/Mya/Pink/Lil Kim.)

But I digress. I was going to talk about love (in the abstract, of course), and why I've recently realised that it doesn't have to be so complicated, at least not all the time. One of my favourite couples in the world are my friends Connie and Vince (not their real names). They are in their 40s, she is English, he is Aussie, and they live in the countryside just outside of Greater Melbourne. They met in a tattoo parlour in London about 11 years ago, and have been married for the last six. They never wanted kids, but I think that's just because they enjoy each other's company so much that they didn't want to have their attention diverted elsewhere.

I had dinner with them a couple of weeks ago on Brunswick St, and they regaled me with stories of alcohol-fuelled rows they used to have in the early days of their relationship in London, and how hilarious it all was. It's funny because Connie, a former professional dancer, comes across as extremely proper (her tattoo, a discreet yellow and red sun, is well hidden on her shoulder, under her top).
Anyway, while Connie was in the bathroom, Vince started telling me about the time he asked her to move in with him in London, back in the '90s. They were lying in his bed late on night, having smoked a joint and had a shag.
"Do you wanna move in with me?" he asked.
"Why would I want to do that?" she responded, coyly.
"Well, think about it," he said. "It would be practical, convenient, and a bit of a larf."
Connie was outraged, and flew out of bed immediately. "How dare you!" she shrieked, pulling on her knickers.
"What?" he said, bewildered.
She finished dressing and stormed out of the flat. Minutes later, there was a sharp rap on the door. Vince opened it to find Connie there, holding out her hand, all businesslike. "And I need 20 quid for a cab," she said.
Just as Vince was telling me this bit, Connie emerged from the bathroom. She knew immediately what we were talking about, and drew herself up haughtily. "Practical, convenient, and a bit of laugh!" she huffed, stomping her foot at the memory.
Anyway, she did move in, and they lived happily ever after.

I had a conversation about this recently with my friend Amy. Although she is ten years older than me, Amy and I have a lot in common. Mainly our shared love of clothes. But also because we're both single and can't work out why.
We do everything we're supposed to. We both have lots of friends from different "milieux", we both socialise frequently. I am by no means a recluse, and nor is she. Plus, neither of us is, like, hideously ugly or anything. So what gives?
I've realised that it's one area of my life over which I have zero control. Amy agrees.
Anyway, I was telling Amy about Connie and Vince. And Amy sighed with contentment and said "I can't wait to meet the love of my life."
Just like that. Not "omigod what is wrong with me why can't I meet a man I'm gonna be alone forever etc etc etc". But a clear statement of certainty. It will happen. Maybe it will take a while, but he's out there somewhere.
Made me wonder why the hell I waste so much time worrying about it.
Granted, I worry about it a lot less than I used to. After all, I currently have the advantage of being able to move cities, or, in fact, continents, without the added worry of, you know, another person holding me back.

Right, I'm off to the pub. Oh, just a standard Melbourne hotel pub, since you ask. That's one thing I have really learnt to love about Melbourne, and will thus really miss when I go away. When I first got here, I could never understand the appeal of these dilapidated corner hotels dotted around the inner suburbs. They stink of beer and cigarettes, and always have sport on the telly. They seemed, at the time to me, to exist only so that people can get drunk and stumble home as easily as possible. There are at least 7 within walking distance of my house, for example.
Then I discovered the wonder of the $3 pot, and, dear god, the Chicken Parma. So bad it's good, you know?