# Helen One Hundred
No one told me the end of a fifteen year relationship would smell exactly like barbecue chicken. But this, as it turns out, is misery’s signature scent. It has been sixty-one days since my partner left me with the words “I’m leaving you” and with little to do but sob into well-finished floorboards.
At first, I sobbed into the floorboards beneath the sounds of Cher: Empowering Homosexual Diva.
I’m listening to Mercury Rev, now. Also, Midlake, Danger Mouse, The Boss and other emotionally constipated white men. Cher is gone but the house still smells of chicken and I cry three, possibly four times every day. Chiefly, I cry in the loo.
Should you feel mildly troubled by this disclosure: don’t. I’m doing okay. I am engaged by projects and people of extraordinary quality. Really. I am working with some of the best thinker-activists you’ll ever meet toward goals no less lofty than civic good. I have loving parents, good, good friends and two handsome cats. I exercise daily.
However, the house still smells of chicken.
Chicken purchased from a man of belligerent friendliness which recalls the 70s Australian bush-chiller Wake in Fright. Chicken eaten in bed. Naked. Chicken consumed with a near-grandiose revulsion between great sobby gulps of unsatisfying oxygen and cries of ‘I AM GOING TO DIE ALONE”.
The cats eat most of it. The cats eat the corpse of the bird with the same heedless relish they will one day visit upon mine. Yes. You will find me dead, smelling faintly of chicken grease clutching the Girls box-set in a hand that has been gnawed to the bone by a tabby named Eleven. Probably.
As you can tell from my elevated and sunny tone, I have grabbed the opportunity for personal development. Just as I have grabbed the chicken: with cruel detachment and in one slippery hand.
Oh, kids. I think I fucked up.
I did EXACTLY what the ethical person ought to in the weeks following an ugly, devastating and unexpected break-up. Viz. immediately find a perfectly wonderful human of great erudition, fuck their hot, tall body to a vulgar mash and then, just as they begin to look at you with rare love, turn into a Succubus of Selfish Hate and apportion to them the blame for all the pain from your previous shitty relationship JUST BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T ANSWER YOUR TEXT MESSAGES WITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF RECEIPT, YOU MAD WHORE, HELEN. (Dude. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Be my friend. You can’t know how sorry I am.)
I am ashamed. I am ashamed and I am not very good at humans.
I need to get better at humans. I don’t want to do this sort of thing to a sweet person again. And, I don’t want to live in a love-vacuum with someone who loathes me again. I don’t want to cohabit at all. I don’t want to reproduce; my eggs are probably powdered, anyhow. I don’t want to consume you whole.
All I want. All I want. Well, at my age, all I want is to move from unstinting self-regard and a wan obsession with my “needs” and desserts to real friendliness; to genuine intimate and accommodating interest in my fellows.
Also, I would quite like to have sex, eventually.
To this end, I have decided to “date” persons and to do this with an attitude of minimum expectation and of maximum respect. I am aiming to date one-hundred persons by the end of the year so, naturally, I seek your help in attaining this goal.
If you are neither biologically old enough to be my parent nor young enough to be my issue, I cordially invite all comers to a low-cost assignation.
I would like to embrace all sorts of people. However. I should say that I have, ahem, an “issue” with addiction. Particularly alcoholism. I can’t be around it. And, I’ve an issue with those to whom it has not yet occurred that the material conditions of existence determine, in large part, the shape of a person’s life. Yes. I know. I am looking for a moderate drinker from the left. WHAT THE FUCK AM I THINKING?
Good luck with that unicorn, Razer.
Clearly, if you’re a racist, an essentialist or have ever uttered the sentence, “You know, that David Icke makes a lot of sense”, who the fuck even ARE you?
Of course, you should know before accepting my invitation that I (a) will blog all details of our encounter in this space and (b) am really – despite a genuine desire to be better – quite a tit. And I’m not just saying that as a sort of coy double-bluff that will have you refusing with a “No, no! You are clearly lovely.” I’m not. I’m awful. And if we are to have any hope of a second date, it’s pretty important that you are, too.
I have attempted to compress our mutual awfulness in short advertisement form:
Sexually ambivalent middle-aged crank seeks unusually literate hard-left nut-job for mutual distraction from suicidal ideation.
44-year-old newly divorced chicken carcass seeks fellow Marxist snob for complex hate-fucking.
Ageing poseur with unhealthy interest in spanking and the works of Jean Baudrillard seeks recently bathed human.
Baffling old woman with reasonable cans seeks more-or-less sober life-form who genuinely dislikes Coldplay.
This is who I am. I am a heartbroken heartbreaker who never learned to hold her tongue. I think I’m right but am thrilled by those who satisfactorily prove me wrong. I am full of love. I am full of revulsion. I am leaking with compassion. I am the world’s worst snob.
Oh. And I can’t eat barbecue chicken in company.
Anyhow. If you’re up for a meeting in flattering light and don’t mind being the topic of polite inquiry (which will always have ME as its central topic of derision; never you) then be in touch.
My first date is next Monday with a lady from Twitter called Bernadette, She is bringing her mum. Who is 83.
It’s part-heartsickness, part-art. It’s Kathy Acker in Sweet Valley High. It’s Co-Ed Sluts Vol 2 Look Back in Anger. Oh, I don’t know. It’s a way for me to be knee-deep in nuts masquerading as “experiment”. Whatever this thing is LET’S DO THIS THING.
Let’s do the Helen One Hundred.
February 28th, 2013 at 12:27 am
I have stood over my kitchen sink and devoured a BBQ chicken with my bare hands straight from the bag……. On more than 2 occasions.
I had to tell someone.
February 28th, 2013 at 12:28 am
This is a supportive space.
Hello Stacey.
February 28th, 2013 at 1:53 am
The dry meat frm the breast- I like to slop it around in the puddle of oil accumulated at the bottom of the bag. And if you wanted to eat BBQ chicken also, you’ve got to bring your own because I need this one!
Good times! Hi.
February 28th, 2013 at 2:12 am
The firs step is admitting we are powerless over chicken fat.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:14 am
You had me at “dislikes Coldplay”…
February 28th, 2013 at 9:59 am
Break a leg! (But preferably that of an object or person or in a manner not likely to irritate the justice system. Possibly that of a helpfully pre-deceased and partially cremated chicken? (No, I am not a lawyer, but for some odd reason I care about your legal status. (Hey, the ’90s was an important radio listening period for me.)))
February 28th, 2013 at 10:00 am
One of the most uplifting posts about heartbreak ever.
Helen Razer, this is literary gold.
I hope your heart mends soon and I wish you all the best on your dating quest.
February 28th, 2013 at 10:03 am
My partner of 12 years ended our relationship with a text message. It has taken 2 years for me to be able to say that without crying. Reading your words is like seeing my diary published. I have a friend, a weird friend but nonetheless a friend, who believes if your relationship ends you should spend an equal number of years alone as you spent in the relationship to heal. I am definitely dying alone.
February 28th, 2013 at 10:22 am
Helen… I read this post three times in rapid succession. I wanted to devour it like you are devouring the bbq chook. I think, and this is the humble opinion of a slightly overweight middle aged white gay man, that this needs to be an experiment of literary foundation – that is, you need to write a book. The amount of shit and rubbish on shelves now could only be seen to be shittier and rubbisher if you were to convert Helen One Hundred in to a literary masterpiece, that then gets made in to the indie film of the year – Sundance, an Oscar nod – who knows.
I am sorry for the end of your relationship.. I am sorry that you are in pain and your heart is broken.
February 28th, 2013 at 10:34 am
severe dislike of Coldplay is hot.
February 28th, 2013 at 10:56 am
Too awesome, not your pain, but this quest. I wish I had the balls to embark on such an adventure, because being fat is lonely. I have been alone for more than 20 years and Im ok with that, most days. Some days the pain of ‘aloneness’ is unbearable. I would date you in a heartbeat! Good luck woman. xo
February 28th, 2013 at 11:21 am
I’m only going because of a desperate need to be blogged about. And in the hope of a pity fuck.
February 28th, 2013 at 11:22 am
You want fries with that?
And I feel your musical pain.
Chris Martin (father of an Apple) is a dick.
Why apple Gwyn?
“Apples are so sweet, and they’re wholesome, and it’s biblical, and I just thought it sounded so lovely and clean.”
Everything is NOT yellow.
Sorry for digressing
PS: Don’t substitute the chook for ciggies.
PPS: Vanilla slices are an ideal vegetarian alternative
February 28th, 2013 at 11:30 am
I am not fucking you, Bam. Who will drive me to the shops when it all goes pear-shaped?
February 28th, 2013 at 11:38 am
Helen you are my hero for doing this. I would date you under subdued lighting over a bottle of fanta and a philosophical discussion in a moment.
I don’t know that the pain of a break up every leaves and I am sure I wear mine like a chain around my neck. I used to think that if I forgot my history I would repeat it. Now I know that I tend to repeat it because I’m a fool for love and I enter each relationship desperately wanting to be liked and wanting to please. Like Mr Shore, the time I am most truly alone is in a relationship.
I hope you find the space you are looking for because you are very brave and very wonderful. And your post has made my heart lift a little.
February 28th, 2013 at 12:02 pm
I was so happy to read your post. I eat BBQ chicken when depressed and I’ve never understood why, its the only time i eat chicken. And it never brings me any pleasure. Always feel a little sad for the chicken too as I am sucking on its bones. Dumbest thing
February 28th, 2013 at 12:13 pm
I just wanted to apologise for saying that thing about Baudrillard. Oh, and that you should rename your blog ‘Reasonable Cans’. Jean would have wanted it that way.
February 28th, 2013 at 12:23 pm
Helen and I are old friends
well at least she replied to a tweet of mine.
I’d love a date, but this offer sounds very similar to Julia Zemiro’s quest for men, she says all the offer she gets are from men that \list of disparaging attributes\ fit me to a T.
oh and i just split from my wife, I delivered the rationale in the form a Project Charter, I think it went OK
February 28th, 2013 at 12:34 pm
Fucking friendzoned!
February 28th, 2013 at 12:39 pm
Bam, don’t neg me. If I wanted that, I would post a profile on OK Cupid.
February 28th, 2013 at 12:40 pm
I would date you but (a) my partner of 16 yrs would not approve (b) you are in Melbourne (c) would have to eat bbq chicken alone. Good luck in the Helen 100 project, I will follow with interest
February 28th, 2013 at 1:35 pm
Though I loath the word date, the exception of course being its usage as an alternative to freckle or clacker, I would consider a brief meeting if it helps to make up the numbers.
For your consideration;
My most recent shower was six days ago but I have inadvertently bathed as a by product of submersion in the ocean each morning since then.
My knowledge of television comes almost exclusively from your twitter feed, and, I have never seen an episode of Q&A.
Today was the first time I had heard of David Icke. In looking him up I was not sufficiently motivated to continue reading past the first paragraph of his wikipedia entry.
I have never engaged in the hate fucking of a carcass, chicken or otherwise, and I have no feelings either way for Coldplay, or the oft ridiculed Nickelback. I can say I have listened to neither through direct and conscious choice.
My last alcoholic beverage was consumed reluctantly post burial (not mine) almost four weeks ago, my last BBQ chicken, solo, in underwear, across two sittings, neither of which occurred in a bed. I might add that the decision to purchase said BBQ chicken was based solely on price, having been significantly reduced for quick sale.
I have limited experience with “dates” having participated in only two thus far, and have a tendency to giggle or smirk in uncomfortable situations, I am perhaps best described as socially awkward.
The idea of being in a relationship ever again is to me, inconceivable. For the most part I prefer to be alone and can’t say I have ever genuinely felt lonely. I have been known to go for months at a time without powering on my mobile phone to check for text messages.
If nothing else it can be said that at 42 I meet your age criteria.
February 28th, 2013 at 1:54 pm
Dear Soulmate,
You are to me, the perfect embodiment of a woman. Your love of chicken, I get. Your love of cats, I don’t get… I’m willing to extend my love of humans and dogs to include these four-legged furrballs, if only for finishing off your tear-soiled chicken-flesh. Let the carcass be a reminder of your soul in its current state of nothingness and disrepair and slowly as you encourage each and every 100 dates, they will restore carcass et nothingness. Redeeming you and every one us, in celebration and togetherness. Your soul is repaired and in front of us. Everybody shower her with love, for she is now a male chicken, a rooster and a cock.
Regards,
Sarah
February 28th, 2013 at 2:10 pm
Matt. Would you mind awfully emailing me?
February 28th, 2013 at 2:30 pm
Ah Helen,
This genuinely is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. I have read and re-read it and wanted to make some pithy, cool, witty statement but did that via my sign up for the dating experiment. I wish I had not been quite so “funny” and flippant in my sign up and instead, I should have said thank you for writing this piece and letting us lonely folk know we are not alone.
I wish I could articulate my feelings as beautifully as you have just done. My partner of 9 years left me about 18 months ago and I still get home and weep gently onto my cat most days. Other days I just lie face down on the floor overwhelmed with ennui. I have had sex I regretted twice since then and have not been on a single date. I feel paralysed with not just fear, but also a lingering resentment towards my ex and overwhelming self-hate. Christ I would give anything just for a hug!
Being a vegetarian my chicken is potato chips; family sized packets which I eat in a single sitting, sometimes nude, sometime in a semi-dressed stated but always in private and always with a generous side of despair and loneliness.
I have a “buddy” system in place with a friend at work as I realised that if I were ever in an accident I would not be missed probably for around a week. She has to phone friends who have keys to my place if I don’t turn up to work one day without letting her know why. This is to save me from becoming the subject of the headline “woman eaten by own cat”.
I often worry about dying alone but wonder if I can truly say I am alone when I have amazing people in my life already and, anyway, we are all alone in the end I suppose.
The offer of the date still stands – all human contact is good human contact I say. I think it is some kind of joke that we have evolved into such selfish creatures yet still crave the company of others to add some validation to our miserable existence.
Linda
February 28th, 2013 at 2:43 pm
I genuinely dislike Coldplay
February 28th, 2013 at 2:52 pm
I have been thinking about this a lot, lately, Linda; these ideas of love and loneliness. I was talking to a colleague about love in the age of no-fault divorce and how it can possibly manifest or even survive.
I know absolutely that I do not want monogamy or to hold fast to someone out of fear of mortality or even, in fact, to live with another human. But I do know that I have A Lot of Feelings that I want to put into a place that will receive them well.
Also: sex.
Anyhow. That’s as far as I’ve got in my thinking about love at present. But, I do think I’m working on something a bit more serious than this longer form. Maybe a book. Hopefully, it will help us both x
February 28th, 2013 at 3:03 pm
Do you also genuinely dislike pussy, Jack?
February 28th, 2013 at 3:09 pm
jesus this is grim.
February 28th, 2013 at 3:10 pm
yes
February 28th, 2013 at 3:12 pm
Thank you Helen. I too really do not want to ever be dependent on another human for my own happiness. I think this is my responsibility and in so many, many ways I love living alone and really do not want to share my space with anyone.
My ex-partner fell out of love with me but still (she says) loves me because, hey get this – apparently I am amazing and kind and loving. I totally get falling out of love with people, it happens just the same way as falling in love with people happens – it was the cheating on me instead of communicating her feelings that really got to me. I can’t blame anyone for falling out of love and, in a weird way, I am certainly happier we have broken up rather than clinging to the raft of a slowing sinking relationship just to be in a relationship.
Good luck with the dates. I look forward to following them on the blog and I wait in anticipation for the book – it has the potential to be something truly wonderful and, hopefully, inspiring.
February 28th, 2013 at 3:14 pm
In fact the only thing more grim is considering the viagra-fuelled mid-40s hatefucking that will apparently ensue.
hell is other people fucking.
February 28th, 2013 at 3:41 pm
I too would like Matt’s email…
February 28th, 2013 at 3:42 pm
BACK OFF MATT IS MINE BITCH
February 28th, 2013 at 3:44 pm
Yes. Linda. I know. Cheating. GOD.
February 28th, 2013 at 3:56 pm
I’d happily date you, if only for the narcissistic pleasure / pain of seeing what a dead honest assessment of me as a romantic prospect looks like. I’m an almost-teetotal socialist, and in the right age bracket, so if those really are the only qualifications, I’m your man. As far as being awful goes, I think I do a good job of hiding it until the most inopportune moment, but it’s there if you care to look for it. Best of luck in your quest – I think the capacity to face the full horror of loneliness is a rare gift but also possibly a road out of it.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:05 pm
What a compelling piece, coupled with a knack for writing wonderfully honest personal ads (or maybe I’m just too easily excited).
Is there an age limit? And if so does 27 fall in the right bracket? Is a 27 year old that moderately drinks even believable?
I doubt it – but only one way to find out!
February 28th, 2013 at 4:10 pm
Linda and Helen I believe that we are soul mates.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:11 pm
Worst ending to a date ever:
‘Well, you look tired and I have to do some groceries.’
And she left.
I was a bit tired though.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:16 pm
Oh, honey. I am an old woman. But that is so sweet. x
February 28th, 2013 at 4:32 pm
This is too good an offer, Helen has that sexy brainy vibe.
I gather as a 40-thing woman, there must be a bigger class of crazy then previously displayed
February 28th, 2013 at 4:39 pm
You say that like it’s bad! 44 is old.. to teenagers perhaps. When you’re marching towards 30 it doesn’t really seem that far away
Always remember, old and oldER are two completely different things..
OK so maybe not entirely, but you get what I mean
February 28th, 2013 at 4:43 pm
Dude. I am super old.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:43 pm
I’m just here to put my vote in for Matt.
February 28th, 2013 at 4:43 pm
BUT FUCK IT LET’S GO OUT
February 28th, 2013 at 4:45 pm
How hot does Matt sound?
February 28th, 2013 at 4:53 pm
A random click on Twitter led me here to both laugh at and commiserate with your angsty pain. Good luck on your 100 dates. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding them. Blondes are so effing lucky.
February 28th, 2013 at 5:09 pm
Matt sure does sound great, but I need to be with someone who showers regularly. Like, twice a day! All the best with your Helen One Hundred challenge. While I do worry you’re going to be OK……I think you’re brave and inspiring. Be careful. I follow all your blogs, columns and tweets.
February 28th, 2013 at 5:18 pm
Don’t be too keen on Matt. Your enthusiasm may frighten him away.
Hang on, he’s male, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Good luck on your mission Ms Razer.
February 28th, 2013 at 5:24 pm
Dudette, super old is 46, worry about that later.
If it helps I feel much older than I am. But don’t worry, I don’t have Progeria or anything though. I also have a passionate contempt for Coldplay!
But Matt does sound hot..
February 28th, 2013 at 5:44 pm
Oh God, Helen.
I never really recovered from my previous relationship break up. I’m married with kids now, but that kind of hurt never really heals. Anti-depressants help though.
February 28th, 2013 at 5:47 pm
God, Senjii. THANKS
February 28th, 2013 at 5:48 pm
@Javid Let’s do this thing. Email me. AND YOU TOO MATT
February 28th, 2013 at 5:55 pm
My most slightly-funny-now-that-a-decade-has-passed post break up public humiliation was bursting into tears during a yoga class.
February 28th, 2013 at 5:58 pm
I’m going to step up to the plate here even though I’m going to swing and miss here
I am a non-handsome Ellen fan, bicycle-riding Victory supporting poor as shit Meltonian, I sound like fun don’t I
February 28th, 2013 at 6:44 pm
Emailing awfully?
Under the circumstances copying and pasting the lyrics to 10cc’s “I’m not in Love” should, in my mind, constitute a reasonably awful email.
Otherwise, if you can provide me with an email address I would offer you a copy of one of those online dating profile things which I wrote 3 years ago. It was quickly reported and subsequently deleted by the site but most, if not all, would still be entirely relevant today. Dating, by the way, suggests to me a manoeuvre not entirely dissimilar to scissoring.
Did I forget to mention I find attention only slightly less discomforting than praise? I find myself startled by all this attention, yet at the same time as the discomfort and anxiety – strangely giddy. I have butterflies in the stomach and my mind is racing. I feel furiously valid yet destined to disappoint. I suspect this is almost exactly what it feels like for a moderately attractive woman to catch public transport, aside of course from the heteroclite repeatedly touching himself then sniffing his fingers in the corner of the vestibule. I’m not saying there isn’t someone reading this and giving the chicken skin a good old scratch and sniff, but the distance of internet does provide a certain buffer.
February 28th, 2013 at 6:53 pm
hey good luck Helen and everyone x .(ps pls forgive my name, but I just love that song.)
February 28th, 2013 at 6:53 pm
So, when you’re done with Matt, are you going to share what’s left of him with the rest of us?
February 28th, 2013 at 6:58 pm
God, Matt. You’re emotionally distant, unstintingly literate and clearly uninterested. Were it not for your misuse of “discomfiting” (which we should probably blame on auto-correct) I would probably propose the commencement of an unhealthy but briefly rewarding Master-Pony relationship this minute. THIS IS MY EMAIL CLICK ON THIS LINK HERE . Or, form the sequence helen ATTA badhostess DOTTA COMMA. (One is striving to avoid unwanted email, here.)
Please. All. DO email me if you genuinely wish to correspond.
February 28th, 2013 at 6:59 pm
Jane, I am totally happy to afford you my seconds and I think we have established that.
February 28th, 2013 at 8:42 pm
Oh Helen you had me at BBQ chicken!
If you are happy to be treated to a night of burlesque by a voluptuous, closer to 40 than she’d like to admit lady to help ease you out off the chicken & onto some coffee martini, I’m your girl :)
I promise to be light hearted, derogatory to all exes if needed & to provide an excellent wing girl service as requested!!
February 28th, 2013 at 9:57 pm
I broke 12 years of strict vegetarianism feeding a second pregnancy craving for chicken. I drove to the hasty tasty drive thru and silently went home and devoured the fatty skin from
A whole bird. I threw out the meat and carcass though
February 28th, 2013 at 11:27 pm
good grief
February 28th, 2013 at 11:51 pm
For me the end of a long relationship burns the mouth like cheap brandy. I think that’s why I haven’t had brandy, or a relationship, since. Nowadays I effect in company to be a Johnny Blue drinker (to maintain the respect of my supplicants) but really I just brew up a cold tea and pretend to cough a little when I take the first sip.
People tell me my social views are off the map to the left. I tell them I’m the only rational, pragmatic thinker they know. I despise almost all politicians of all parties who, if not actual war criminals (Howard, Blair, Bush), would be if only someone would give them a chance. Through my blog I have fought and won two federal elections against the Liberal Party here and, admittedly remotely, a US Presidential election against the Republicans.
I sometimes feel like the hero in the Allegory of the Cave who has returned to explain to the chained masses the deception they labour under – until I realise I haven’t got the faintest fucking idea what is really going on.
Being somewhat love-starved since my own marriage went the way of your chicken carcass I am therefore near bursting for a meaningless fling with at worst a vaguely acceptable short-term prospect.
Trouble is, I’m up here in Migently Towers and you’re down there.
March 1st, 2013 at 3:48 am
My girlfriend is in the US meeting her internet boyfriend (that she had well before we met in Sept last year) for the first time. I somehow doubt she’s coming back…..
Anyway, so we could spoon but thats about it.
She left on Valentines day……can you believe that shit?!
March 1st, 2013 at 8:04 am
It is with regret, Stacey, that I say, YES: I can believe that shit. I can believe it better than you know. I shun the idea of possessiveness and I do not think that monogamy is a good idea. HOWEVER, I know firsthand how LOW such betrayal is and it makes me wonder if it is not, somehow, the betrayal itself that is erotic to the perpetrator more than it is the affair-slash-relationship.
I never want to be in that place again. I really do feel for you. Ugh.
March 1st, 2013 at 8:12 am
If my husband didn’t object and I wasn’t in the wrong hemisphere I’d be up for this. I love cats and barbecued chicken.
March 1st, 2013 at 8:25 am
Actually Ive spent the last 6 months considering the value in monogamy too and frankly…….Im not finding a lot!
I dont think human beings are monogomous creatures and we are fucking ourselves in the arse from the start by trying to convince eachother otherwise!
Dumbasses setting ourselves up for failure.
Monogomy lemmings.
March 1st, 2013 at 8:26 am
Actually Ive spent the last 6 months considering the value in monogamy too and frankly…….Im not finding a lot!
I dont think human beings are monogamous creatures and we are fucking ourselves in the arse from the start by trying to convince eachother otherwise!
Dumbasses setting ourselves up for failure.
March 1st, 2013 at 8:56 am
Yes Helen, outwardly it would appear I am the full dream package, divorce, vasectomy, physical distance, emotional dissociation, an inability to say sorry, conflict avoidance and aversion to physical contact both public and private. Perhaps knowing I contracted gangrene last year would be the icing on this luke warm carcass.
It may seem otherwise but I can assure you I am entirely genuine, no caricature. My mordant coquetry may affect an air of disinterest but it should be seen as a reflection of the jaded broken husk I have become, not an intention. I do wonder if my apparent emotional detachment is simple cliché, a subconscious defence mechanism or a choice I make through fear. My awareness and a half-arsed desire for minor change suggests the latter. Perhaps I might embark on my own copycat version of this exercise in personal growth, 10 dates in 10 years sounds more feasible though.
The very idea of a date terrifies me, doing it in a manner that publicly opens myself to judgement or ridicule cannot be seen to be anything other than sheer madness. Confronting as it may be for me I do hope to achieve from this venture something other than serving as an entertainment.
The misuse of discomfiting can sadly not be blamed on auto-correct. It is not a word I have used before, but one that should most definitely be part of my vernacular. Certainly I am no word smith, writing, like any human interaction is something I find entirely difficult, evidenced here in my inability to communicate succinctly. I do make an effort but perhaps try too hard often resulting in paralysing indecision and taking the easier option to simply delete all and remain silent.
Despite living across the road from a horse agistment and equestrian facility, being in walking distance of both a pony club and saddlery, not to mention a five year stint working in the hard core pornography industry, I am unfamiliar with Master-Pony relationships. I suspect it involves some sort of trenchant servitude. Much like shoes, I expect it to be the sort of thing I prefer to see other people wearing, not myself. I can’t say it sounds rewarding, no matter the brevity.
In any case, you now have my details. Should I make the cut I would gladly attend.
March 1st, 2013 at 1:26 pm
This thread constitutes dating and prelim dating – in that sense I (& y’all) already dated Helen. The Helen 100′s on its way!
March 1st, 2013 at 4:45 pm
Good luck, Helen. Nine years ago I left my abusive husband and came back to Australia because my ex-boyfriend (with whom I was still in love) had cancer (to condense a long and complicated tale). He died six months later, and I thought I’d never recover from the grief or find anyone again. But I have, and I did — and the great thing about being a little, ahem, mature and ‘dating’ other mature types is that people (including oneself) tend to have grown out of the crazy. No more screaming, door-slamming fights over the sound their fork makes when it scrapes against their teeth!
Nothing wrong with discomforting, BTW. Check your Fowler’s :-)
March 1st, 2013 at 5:01 pm
It might be wise to give yourself time and space to grieve, though. Are you sure you really wanna do this right now?
March 1st, 2013 at 5:16 pm
Just putting it out there, but you might want to expand your political expectations to include Libertarians. You may not agree with them on some topics, but we really make for great conversations over coffee or better yet, a decent bottle of almost cheep wine…
March 1st, 2013 at 6:09 pm
*blinks*
I’m not quite sure I have a comment about this article, or should. It’s the sort of thing that quietly, surreptitiously has the structure and delivery of begging for advice, without actually wanting any. It makes me feel sorry about you, but want to say utterly horrible things to you, or perhaps vice versa. Possibly that’s the sort of thing you expect and even desire. Possibly it’s all an immense trolling yuk-yuk for blog fodder. Possibly you don’t delineate between the two, or can’t, or do and don’t care. It’s almost certainly a terrible idea if it’s sincere, but I’m hard pressed to find anything on this page that I’d remotely label “sincere”, with the exception of the part about wanting to eventually have sex; I’m certain that’s legitimate, and may be the only relevancy here.
I’ve never read your column prior to this article. A few questions:
- Why one hundred? Just seemed like a good round number?
- How many cats do you have? Is the number in double digits? Triple? It’s not “one hundred”, is it? It’s not the reason you picked “one hundred” in the previous question, is it?
- Schopenhauer’s argument against a purely mechanistic universe; that is to say, that the question of objectivity cannot be asked without subjectivity, therefore self-destructing the question in the first place — brilliant or crap?
- Does the rampant vacillation between Sweden’s ever-imploding socialism and the United States’ ever-exploding capitalism, viewed as poles on a global commerce magnet, fill you with utter dread or excitement over the possibilities of economic model renovation?
- Did I use the plural apostrophe correctly both times in the previous sentence? I’m terribly insecure about that sort of thing.
- His eyes cold, forged as steel for purpose, solid as a shield against her under a waving banner of hair, full of emblems and house sigils against the greying, autumnal skies; and her own countenance just as audacious and unrelenting in its battering gaze, a constant ramming against the unyielding metal wall, ramming, ramming, that age-old philosophical puzzle of immovable forces against unstoppable objects rendered close in anger and gaze and sweat. Battering and bruises and real, genuine harm, just as genuinely meant with genuine spite. Would that she were a bird, that she could fly away over this field of battle, an uncaring, natural eye above a field of swaying, human trees, their limbs locked and ripping one another in the winds of a violent hurricane; and she would be above it all, drifting lazily inside an eddy of warm, soft air, protected from the whipping leaves and splinters. She was no bird. She was a hungry, dire porcupine, and he was a skunk. A calamitous pairing of spikes and scents. A rodent and a carnivore. Was it really worth her time and her heart to do this again?
- Really, Coldplay is not that good; they are outright crap. (I realize that’s technically not a question, but I thought you could use some cheering up.)
Good luck with your endeavors,
Chuckles
March 1st, 2013 at 6:43 pm
I’m a lefty, moderate-drinking daughter of alcoholic parents, and according to my family, insufferable with I start talking cultural theory (first person in the family to get myself edumacated). I’m just wondering if it would be creepy to wear the Revlon Vixen lipstick I bought in the 90s because I was a fangirl and it was you colour?
March 1st, 2013 at 6:55 pm
Whoever made up that “it takes half the length of your previous relationship to be ready for the next” rule doesn’t know what they are talking about. I was ready to date within days of getting out of an abusive relationship that dragged on for 6 years, but it took me about 2 years to get over someone I only “dated” (if you can call it that) for about 2 weeks (4 if you start counting from when they first answered my ad).
March 2nd, 2013 at 12:01 am
Yes, Doofus. Yes.
March 2nd, 2013 at 12:14 am
JACKIE I NEVER WORE REVLON
March 2nd, 2013 at 12:14 am
I once looked at a girl at the pool when I was nine and I’ve thought about her every day since, to the grand old age of 35. She got the last of the Hava Harts from the tuckshop.
March 2nd, 2013 at 12:16 am
It was Chanel’s rouge noir as worn by Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction and it was nail and not lip colour. CALL YOURSELF A FANGRRL! X
March 2nd, 2013 at 12:49 am
Helen, I do love you (ever since JJJ). I love cats . Don’t even know any Cold Play songs , I’m sure that’s cos I don’t like them. I can introduce you to my Burmese, Boo. She may let you pat her.
March 2nd, 2013 at 2:21 pm
Helen, you’ve given me my mission for the year. Between me and all your other hundreds of followers, we’ll potentially get you way more dates than you can handle.
Just make sure you live-tweet them. ;)
March 2nd, 2013 at 5:15 pm
Damn! I was so sure I heard that on the radio! I can’t believe 18 year old me wore the wrong lipstick! My femme license may be revoked!
March 3rd, 2013 at 3:28 pm
Helen, let’s not exactly call it a “date” because my wife of 11 years will get ideas of that this is something which it isn’t. I do admire your strength, your fortitude, and your desire not to let the past stand in your way to allow you to get on with the next stage of your life. But I’m always here for you, as a shoulder to cry on. Is it possible for me to always be your friend, and yet extend my love and appreciation for what you’re going through?
March 3rd, 2013 at 4:07 pm
Helen, that person you hurt? Don’t just mention it here. Reach out personally and apologize. Nobody deserves to be used. Not you, and not they.
March 3rd, 2013 at 4:43 pm
The person is not identified, was not “used” and is a friend who has been approached personally and sincerely; but thanks for your advice.
March 3rd, 2013 at 10:27 pm
Seriously. I’m getting cats.
March 6th, 2013 at 2:24 pm
I’ve missed your wise words, Helen. Good to have you back. Oh, and as much as I adore you, I’m a hermit-in-training and even worse than you are at people so I’ll not be looking for an assignation. Thanks anyway! (If only you’d asked me 20 years ago!) X=
March 7th, 2013 at 12:21 pm
I don’t eat chicken thanks to a salmonella incident some years ago, and I live with a lovely, lovely man. So, I come to offer a platonic date. Want to come to see a circus with us? I am thinking perhaps March 15:
http://www.stardustcircus.com.au/2013/02/bayswater-coming-soon-1st-17th-march-click-here-for-times/
It’s my birthday present to me. :) They have big pussies there!
March 9th, 2013 at 9:29 pm
So that’s a no then? Doh :(
March 11th, 2013 at 4:49 pm
Oh wait, I’m 24 aren’t I.
Shite.
March 15th, 2013 at 10:20 am
Hi Helen,
Enjoyed your eloquent and humorous style in “Everything’s Fucked”, as I have with your writing here on some of life’s cold hard realities. Priceless! Thank you.
March 26th, 2013 at 1:52 pm
Couldn’t we just “go out” rather than “date”? which is a bit too Happy Days for me, I am just a bit too old and cranky for modern parlance. As to Chicken, I prefer chicken parmas to the full roast. The olny problem is that my wife my get the wrong idea, and I may be a bit too old for you…. never mind, it was just a thought.
April 15th, 2013 at 11:35 am
Oh Helen, if only you weren’t in Melbourne. :)
- Dermott Banana
Novocastrian
April 15th, 2013 at 12:23 pm
Are you, by any means taking applications for dates from straight, slightly disenfranchised 30 year old females who enjoy the odd bottle of Sav Blanc, St kilda football club and buying discounted BBQ chicken from Collingwood Woolworths?
April 15th, 2013 at 2:14 pm
Nothing beats sharing a chicken carcass with a handsome cat…as long as you get to eat the skin with a lavish unhealthy/healthy sprinkle of Trocamare
April 15th, 2013 at 4:34 pm
YES I AM
April 15th, 2013 at 5:34 pm
Count me in as a potential then. I’ll even supply the BBQ chicken.