He Said!
The poets and the dreamers tell us that every great love story has three sides: His Side, Her Side and THE TRUTH. But who are we trying to kid? We all know that HIS side is the truth!
For if his side is an upside-down meat pie served with mushy peas and tomato sauce from Café de Factually Correct at two in the morning on the way home after a big night out. Then her side is an immaculately plated fluffy strawberry sponge cake topped with half-truths and flavoured with meet-cute inaccuracies and whimsy; served upon her nana’s best china. You know, the china she keeps locked up in the good cabinet in case the Queen pops by for a visit.
The story of Logan and Kristi took place in the first person, for things naturally happened to Kristi and myself in that way. But the story will be retold here in a (hopefully) engaging combination of first person and third person narration. For such miracles and wonders as are herein contained, at times require a degree of omniscient authorial narration unavailable in the world of ‘I said’ and ‘I did’. For to tell the tale correctly, the author must at times remain outside it. As the best view of the game is sometimes not from the field of play, but from the Goodyear blimp flying overhead.
Logan and Kristi – a Love Story
The story of Logan and Kristi is a beautiful and enduring tale about the power of love. About how love conquers all. How it can heal a broken heart. And how it turns up when you least expect it. It’s also a story about how – if you want someone badly enough – it pays to have a game plan on how to stalk them. Just ask Kristi Anne dei Machiavelli Dormer…
But…I’m getting ahead of myself! Let’s rewind a bit to give context to the content!
Beginnings
“Nothing ever begins. There is no first moment; no word or place for which this or any other tale springs. The threads can always be traced back to some earlier tale, and to the tales that preceded that; though as the narrator’s voice recedes, the connections will seem to be more tenuous, for each age will want the tale told as if it were of its own making.”
Clive Barker – ‘Weaveworld’
The genesis of this particular tale begins innocently enough in the early part of August 2015, when I advertised for a flatmate for my apartment in Wollstonecraft on domain.com.au. Now as anyone who has ever lived in share accommodation knows, finding the right flatmate is extremely important. It is also extremely difficult. For while it’s easy enough to write a description of what you want your perfect flatmate to be like. The truth is that finding a ‘Six-foot, size eight blonde Nordic lesbian who pays her rent three months in advance, likes to cook naked, and really enjoys cleaning, even if you don’t’, isn’t as easy to find as one might hope. But that’s okay, because if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that God often brings the people into your life that you need, rather then the ones you think you want. A truism born out by the fact that I’ve yet to so much as meet a six-foot, size eight blonde Nordic lesbian, let alone get to watch them cook naked in my apartment! Instead, I’ve met some of my best friends in the entire world – and indeed met the soon to be Mrs Logan – via my posting the following humble share accommodation advert:
Million Dollar Harbour Views from Your Room!
Own Bathroom & 65″ HD 3d Plasma TV in the lounge!
- FEMALE NON-SMOKER to rent a room in a blissfully quiet top floor older style corner apartment with amazing harbour views!
- Rent is $250 p/w (plus half of electricity, phone, Foxtel).
- OPTIONAL EXTRAS (only should you need them):
- Garage for storage ($50 p/w extra-only if you want it) and Wireless Internet ($15 p/w extra-only if you want it).
- Un-furnished 3 m x 3 m bedroom with built in wardrobes.
- Stunning harbour / water / city views from your bedroom (from every room actually-plus from the balcony).
- Trust me you’ll love waking up to these views!
- Did I mention the NON-SMOKER part? I did? Excellent. Because I’d hate to miss that bit out…
- Guys, Couples, Hermaphrodites and Republicans need not apply!
- Mid-size room (3 m by 3 m) with built-ins.
- Own bathroom (with shower AND bath).
- Brand new HD 65″ 3D plasma TV in the lounge!
- 3 minutes’ walk from Wollstonecraft train station (but we never hear any trains).
- 5 mins walk from Crows Nest.
- 5 mins train from North Sydney or 20 minutes’ walk.
- 2 mins train from St. Leonards or 10 minutes’ walk.
- 10 mins train from city.
- 10 mins train from Chatswood.
- 10 mins walk from Fitness First gym in St. Leonards (woo-hoo!).
- Oh, and the train is only THREE (3) minutes’ walk away from our front door. (But you never hear any trains as we’re a top floor apartment facing the city / harbour!).
- VERY safe suburb (Ex PM John Howard’s home is in Wollstonecraft, so you never get any crime. The crims wouldn’t dare!).
As you can see from the above advert, the room I was renting out had AMAZING harbour and city views and came with its own bathroom. All for the paltry sum of $250 per week. And did I also mention that the apartment was in Wollstonecraft, in Sydney’s yuppie Lower North Shore, less was than 10 minutes from the city?
I think we can all agree, with a measured degree of impartiality, that $250 p/w was a bargain for a good-sized room with built-in wardrobes, million-dollar harbour views and your own bathroom. And one that had the added bonus of being only 3 minutes’ walk form the Wollstonecraft train station (and yet was blissfully quiet as it was a top floor corner apartment facing the harbour).
In the spirit of fairness though, let us not guild the lily too much, and thus call a spade a spade. The apartment was of an older vintage. And the (tiny) kitchen was an ugly and unwanted homage to 1986. But those minor niggling facts notwithstanding, the apartment was neat, spacious, bright and well laid out; had panoramic views of the entire Sydney Harbour Bridge, the city and Sydney Harbour from every bedroom, as well as from the balcony. Was furnished with the world’s comfiest couch (like, seriously!) and had a “massive” 65-inch 3d plasma TV! (Hey, don’t mock it – it was the biggest TV you could get back when I bought it!). Plus – and this is the kicker – as everyone who visited my place always commented, the apartment gave off a ‘Really warm and inviting vibe that felt like home as soon as you walked in’. I suspect this was partly due to the furniture I had and the way everything was laid out, and partly due to the fact that the apartment was on the top floor, and had loads of natural light streaming in and amazing views. All of which gave off a ‘light, happy’ ambiance.
Now combine all of the above with ‘The Best Flatmate Money Can Buy’ (TM!) and I think it’s fair to say that the lucky gal who got offered the room was getting a pretty sweet deal for $250 a week!
Though apparently, that ‘sweet deal’ wasn’t sweet enough for Kristi…
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself again! Ahead of the story. Let’s back up a little to where I advertised the apartment and Kristi applied.
Our First Meeting
When I opened the door to Kristi, I was greeted by a graceful, pretty woman with an engaging, if slightly nervous, smile. You have to remember of course that at this stage I thought Kristi was genuinely looking to rent the room I had advertised and was actively seeking to share an apartment with someone.
How wrong I was! How naive!
As you’d expect, I was at this early juncture, blissfully unaware that Kristi’s favourite movies were apparently ‘Single White Female’ and ‘Fatal Attraction’, and so innocently believed that her true motivation for visiting me that cold winter’s night, was to find somewhere to live. Consequently, I blithely took her on the tour of the apartment, throwing in some A-grade comedic banter at no extra charge.
The official tour over, we then sat down on the couch for the most important part of any potential flatmate interview: THE CHAT.
The Chat
The chat is the part of the interview when you can tell if a) the person is genuinely interested in the apartment after all; and b) if you feel the person would be a good fit as a flatmate.
The rule of thumb here being: the longer the chat goes…the better the flatmate will work out. The logic for this is that every potential flatmate has their ‘interview face’. And it’s easy to keep that mask on for 20 minutes or so. But over an extended period of time, the mask falls away, and you get to see if the person sitting opposite you is actually someone you could live with or not. Because many a ‘good first impression’ is just for show when it comes to flatmates, I’ve discovered. And it’s only when you’re sitting opposite them having a chin-wag that you get to work out if the person would make an amazing flatmate or not.
So how long did ‘The Chat’ go on when Kristi was here? Why, for about 2-3 hours that’s how long. Which to be fair is not that unusual. Not when I find a potential flatmate I ‘click’ with anyway. As when you get on with someone, chatting up a storm when you’ve just meet them is perfectly normal. And is something that has happened with many (if not all) of the terrific flatmates I’ve had over the years.
But Kristi didn’t become my flatmate did she. Nope. And Kristi wasn’t really looking to rent a share accommodation room, was she? Nope. So why on earth was she there, and why did she stay for the better part of three hours to chat with a guy she’d only just met, then?
Hmmmmmmmmm. Good questions!
Given we obviously got on like a house on fire and had similar interests (massage, exercise, health foods, supplements, et al). And given we also happened to know some of the same people(as I’d gone on a couple of dates back in the day with a gal that Kristi used to share house with, and also knew a friend of hers (Roslyn) and had actually known her longer than Kristi had). All these facts, plus the fact that I used to run a massage business myself and had more supplements and vitamins in my kitchen cupboards than anyone she’d ever seen, obviously made a connection with her.
So why, given all that cosmic synchronicity, did Kristi not become my flatmate? The answer to that is simple: Kristi never intended to share with someone else, as she was actually planning to move into a one-bedroom apartment by herself all along!
But why on earth was Kristi there then, if she wasn’t looking for a room to rent? What could possibly motivate a single gal newly back in Sydney to drive all the way from Beecroft to Wollstonecraft in the dead of winter if she wasn’t actually looking for a room to rent? Ah, now we’re getting to the nub of the $60,000 question!
Kristi was there, not to put too fine a point on it, because she was stalking me! And was oh-so-cleverly setting a honey trap that I fell into hook, line and sinker.
Not that I realised this at the time…
Sure, during ‘The Chat’, Kristi tried to throw me off the scent by telling me: “You know I I thought you were a woman when I applied?”. But that red-herring wasn’t fooling anyone! I mean, who’s ever heard of a woman called ‘Logan’?
The Honey Trap
The flatmate interview over, I showed Kristi to the door. And, like the seasoned stalker she apparently was, she shook my hand and left; making sure she was the one who got in the last word. Because, as she stood in the hallway outside my apartment, she half-turned back to me and had the temerity to use a ‘doorknob close’ on me! On me! A wily old fox of a salesman who’s been using that technique (amongst many others) since before Kristi was in long-pants!
To her credit though, Kristi delivered the close EFFORTLESSLY when she said (half-turned toward the staircase, half turned toward me): “By the way, you’ve got my number now. So if you ever feel like catching up for a movie or something, give me a call”.
And then, before I could so much as think of responding, she was off down the stairs and away.
And there we have it gentle reader, the whole reason Kristi came to my apartment in the first place. While I was foolishly thinking I was interviewing her to be my potential new flatmate, she was really interviewing me to be her potential new boyfriend! Thus the player got played. The master was out-maneuvered by the apprentice. The Bold was bested by the Beautiful!
When I think back on this first meet-cute, I find myself wistfully wondering exactly how many other pseudo-flatmate interviews Kristi attended during this period in search of ‘Mr. Right’? And what on earth prompted her to settle on me? A man for whom the Indiana Jones quote: “It’s not the years honey, it’s the mileage,” was never more apt. Plus, I don’t drink, I don’t dance, I don’t believe in glutton, I don’t eat kale, and I don’t ask people what their star sign is within two minutes of meeting them! So why then did I make the cutover everyone else?
Valid questions, all! Why don’t we skip forward to the first date to try to answer them…
The First Date
When someone gives you their number and asks you out on a date, etiquette dictates how long you should take to respond. If it’s your first rodeo and didn’t know any better, you might call them back too quickly. But nothing shouts desperation quite like calling them before they’ve had a chance to wonder if you’re going to call them or not. Or else maybe you’re busy playing the field and don’t call them back for a couple of weeks. But nothing screams: “You’re not my first choice but I’m feeling horny and thought I’d give you a buzz on the off-chance I got lucky!” like delaying the call too long. For there isn’t a woman alive who falls for the, “I misplaced your phone number but just found it again!” routine (especially when they know their number is already in your phone!). So, like the seasoned pro I am, I waited until the Wednesday after the Saturday ‘interview’ to call Kristi back. Three to four days being the optimal amount of time to appear interested, but not desperate. Intrigued but not enamoured.
A first date is a tricky thing at the best of times, so has to be done right. I once made the mistake of taking a first date to a dinner party held by my mate, Pat. And Pat’s girlfriend at the time was an alcoholic bi-polar Irish chick whose name eludes me right now, but I suspect rhymed with ‘Botal Titch’…
Anyway, this gal hated me. Never did work out why? Probably because Pat wanted to spend his spare time hanging out with me rather than her? But whatever the reason, she spent the entire dinner party deliberately sabotaging any chance I had with my date by picking an acholic fuelled fight with me at every conceivable opportunity. And of course that put me in a no-win situation. Sit there and take it and I look like a doormat. Fight my corner and I look like a douche. Needless to say – not being a wilting violet type – I chose the latter option as the lesser of two evils. And needless to say there wasn’t a second date!
So when it came to a first date with Kristi,I was determined to play it safe. Because she was, after all,cute! And the cuter they are, the more thought needs to go into the date! So when I called her I decided to play it safe and ask her out to dinner and a movie.
Booooooooooooooooooo-rrrrrrrrrr-innnnnnnnnng!
Okay, okay, it’s not the most original of first dates, I’ll grant you. But at least this way the date would succeed or fail based on how well WE got on. And not be kyboshed by external forces out of both of our control. Because, even if the meal was awful and the movie rubbish (these being the only two things out of our control), we would have the shared experience of both of us realising that the food was awful and the movie was rubbish. And people have bonded over a lot less!
The first date happened on August 9, 2014. The night was Saturday. The location, Chatswood. Being a first date, and neither of us wanting to assume any gender specific role-play, we both made our own way to Chatswood.Once there, we walked around for a while looking for somewhere to eat and ended up settling on a Thai restaurant close to the cinema.
The Meal
Have you, dear reader, ever been on a first date and found that the person opposite you (either female or male) ordered their food like Sally from ‘When Harry Met Sally’? (No, not the faking the orgasms part!) You’ll know the type instantly if you have because they can’t just order off the menu like a normal person. Oh, no! They need everything changed just so.
Now I’m not talking about a person with a nut allergy or someone who can’t eat shellfish for fear of their face blowing up like a balloon. I’m talking about the pseudo-hippy/hipster types who have read one too many‘fitness blogs’ and viewed one too many Instagram posts from so-called ‘health experts’, whose only claim to fame is that they’ve got an Instagram account and look good in yoga pants. And thus, being genetically ‘thin’, believe they are in some way qualified to give out medical/health/dietary advice, no doubt based on ‘facts’ they’ve gained from reading yet more spurious blogs written by people who own even more pairs of yoga pants than them.
My advice, if you ever find yourself on a date with someone of this ilk, is to politely excuse yourself after the date is over and lose their number! Because what you’ve witnessed in their display of food ordering is, what they call in poker, a ‘give’. Said ‘give’ being a window into the world of a high maintenance partner. Because, if they’re that painful on the first date when most people play their cards close to their chest; just imagine what they’re going to be like a couple of years down the line!
Kristi for her part was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of the above when ordering the food on our date. Like me, she was happy to get whatever was on the Thai menu; and was also happy to share it between us. Plus she actually ATE THE FOOD RATHER THAN PICKED AT IT (which guys love in a gal). Because there’s nothing worse than having dinner with a woman who picks at her food like she’s Kate Mossmid-way through a celery cleanse!
I also really liked that Kristi didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I don’t drink. That’s something that throws people sometimes, as they can’t get their head around ‘why’ I don’t drink. Expecting some kind of moving backstory such as ‘I used to drink, but am now in AA!’, or else ‘someone in my family was an alcoholic and that experience scarred me for life!’. Whereas the truth is that I just don’t drink. And there’s nothing more or less to it than that. And while Kristi asked the obligatory ‘But why don’t you drink?’ question; she completely accepted the fact that I don’t drink with a shrug, no doubt thinking: “Cool, more wine for me!”.
The Movie
After we’d finished dinner, we walked over to Hoyts Westfield, and – choc tops and Coke in hand – settled in to watch ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’. A movie I was very much looking forward to, even if (as I suspected) Kristi wasn’t!
And if ever a movie was made as a ‘Mixed Tape’ to give to the gal you’re on a first date with, then this movie was the one!
Kristi needn’t have worried about the quality of the movie though, as it was AWESOME! And Kristi and I both had a great time! (And the film has now become ‘our movie’ whenever we see it)
Sidebar
Kristi’s not a genre fan like I am. So isn’t innately drawn to sci-fi, fantasy or horror. Whereas I’m drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet. But now, nearly five years down the track, Kristi would be the first to tell you that some of her all-time favourite shows are genre shows. Shows such as Fringe, Orphan Black, Grimm, Travellers, etc being amongst her (and my) all-time favourites. Which just goes to show that the person you’re with on that first date isn’t necessarily the person they’re going to be down the line. And that time together helps shape you both in a way that smooths out the rough edges, so that both parts of the heart fit together smoothly.
End of sidebar
The Second (non) Date
When I lived in Wollstonecraft I would, on the weekends, walk across the harbour bridge and back again on one (or both) days, for exercise. A journey that took a good two hours, there and back. The day after our first date(it being a Sunday), I’m walking back from the Harbour Bridge heading for home when I get a call from Kristi saying she was moving into an apartment in Wollstonecraft that day, and was there any chance I could help her move?
This remember was approximately two weeks AFTER Kristi had viewed my apartment to (supposedly!) share a room. And yet, here she was, already moving into her own one bedroom flat –IN THE SAME SUBURB AS ME!
Now I don’t claim to be an expert in these things. And it’s fair to say that I didn’t join the dots at the time. But riddle me this, Batman. If Kristi were intending to move into share accommodation, and (supposedly) changed her mind after viewing my place. How then, a mere two weeks later, is she MOVING INTO HER OWN FLAT!
The only logical explanation it seems to me, is that she had already made up her mind to move into a flat by herself BEFORE viewing my place. And also, had quite probably applied for, and possibly even signed, the lease to her own place prior to stalking – err, meeting – me! Because even I know that things in real estate-land take longer than that to sort out!
But, I digress again…let us return to the second (non) date…
There I was, heading back from my walk, minding my own business while happily listening to an audiobook, when Kristi calls me and asks me to help her carry the furniture into her new place. No worries, says I. I may not be good for much, but I’ve always been good for lugging heavy things.
Fifteen minutes later I’m outside her new apartment…MEETING HER PARENTS!
Yup, you read that correctly. Not only was I there to help her move. But so were her parents! And as any boyfriend (or prospective boyfriend) will tell you, that first meeting with the in-laws is a BIG DEAL. And is certainly not something you want to put yourself though AFTER ONLY ONE DATEand when covered in sweat from a two hour walk!
Still, there we all were. One big happy ‘family’ helping Kristi move into her new flat. Which was literally three streets away from my place. (The Stalking Handbook Chapter 7: ‘Always make sure you’re living as close as possible to your intended victim!’). Fortunately for me, Kristi’s parents were lovely, and were very grateful for an extra pair of hands. Especially with the heavy stuff like the bed and the ridiculous couch/fold out bed that weighed about as much as a Prius. And I for my part was happy for the extra exercise, with a bit of weight lifting at the end of two hours cardio going down very nicely.
The (Real) Second (and Third) Dates
Things progressed quickly from this point, with Kristi and I going out each of the following two Saturdays to see movies at the Cremorne Orpheum. I cannot remember either of the movies on these dates, but I do remember we had Italian food at a cute restaurant on Military road in the rain on the (real) second date, which was very romantic. And that we had Thai food at the restaurant opposite the cinema on the third. I also remember taking Kristi to Mickey’son Military road for late night hot chocolate after the movies; and going on romantic drives afterward down by Sydney harbour, with the view from the end of Blues Point Road and the drive around by Luna Park always amazing no matter the weather.
The Drunk Hair Dance (non) Date!
The last ‘date’ with Kristi that needs to be referenced dear reader, is what has become known in our relationship as ‘The Drunk Hair Dance’ incident…
It was a Saturday night, and my ex-flatmate Debbie and I were getting together to go to see Cirque du Soleil at Moore Park. An event we’d been looking forward to for quite a few months. So anyway, I pick up Debbie from Central (she’d moved out a few months before with her new fella – hence me placing the share accommodation advert that Kristi had replied to) and we drive to Moore Park, only to find out, literally as we’re pulling into one of the Moore Park car parks, that the show was cancelled due to a performer nearly dying in a fall that day. And we – and everyone else – are told this AT THE EVENT! No texts or emails or notifications of cancellations whatsoever. Needless to say we (and everyone else) were grumpy about this. But, as there was nothing we could do (and they were giving us a credit to see the show again on another night, a month or so later) we pulled stumps on the night and I drove Debbie back to Central and dropped her off to head back home to see her boyfriend (now husband).
Suddenly with a Saturday night to myself east of the bridge, I call Kristi on a whim on the off-chance she’s free. She says she’s at a trade show in the Australian Technology Park with some friends, and I’m welcome to join her. No worries, I say. I used to work at the ATP and know it well. And it’s only 5-10 minutes from Central Station where I’d dropped off Debbie. So I drive there, find a park, and make my way into an event that turns out to be a WINE tradeshow.
Oh great, I think. Knowing full well that I will be the only non-drinker at the entire event. Still, I ran trade shows for years, and quite enjoy them (for logistical reasons, how they’re set up and run, etc). So I figure I’ll say g’day to Kristi, check out how the trade show was put together, and generally make the best of it.
The moment I catch up with Kristi I realise instantly that she is err…what’s a kind way of saying this…um…well, let’s go with: ‘Not on her first glass of wine’. And indeed, neither were her friends. Because this is the night I met many of her amazing friends (and they met me). And all of them to a man (err, woman mostly) were already well cut by the time I arrived. It seems that the idea of going booth by booth tasting free wine samples and then spitting said sample out into a spittoon, was apparently a memo none of them received. Rather, they got the redacted memo which said for them to ‘Go booth by booth tasting a hundred and one different types of wine…and swallowing them all!’.
And you know what? Good on them I say. If I were at a chocolate trade show and could go booth by booth sampling free chocolate, you can be damn sure I’d have put on about 4 kgs by the end of the night! So I’m sure the same goes for wine drinkers. If it’s free, then have at it!
Anyway, after being introduced to everyone I hung around with Kristi and co, moving from wine booth to wine booth watching everyone get more and more drunk as the evening wore on. And as mentioned, they were already off to the races before I even got there!
As a non-drinker there’s only so much watching people get drunk that you can handle in one sitting. Early in the process (looking from the outside in), it’s all fun and games, with everyone giggling and losing their inhibitions and all that. But when the drinkers keep on drinking, and it gets to the point when everyone else in the room is slurring their words and having trouble seeing straight, then it’s time for the non-drinkers in the room to bid a fond farewell for the evening. Unfortunately, being a gentleman, I had offered to give Kristi a ride home (she lived only three streets away from me now, remember) and so had to hang around like a bit of a fifth-wheel.
Never wanting to be seen as a party-pooper, I temporarily excused myself at this point and told Kristi I was going to find the toilets. When in fact I just wanted to walk outside to get some fresh air. Once outside I faffed on my phone for half an hour and briefly chatted with the one other non-drinker at the wine trade show, who told me he was outside for much the same reason! Anyway, half an hour later I went back in to find Kristi and company and was struck by the sight of her and her friends having a boogie. Well, I say having a boogie; but that’s to do a disservice to boogies everywhere. What they were in fact doing was having some form of drunken vertical epileptic group seizure. The sort of thing that wonderfully embodies the axiom: ‘Dance like nobody is watching!’. Though in my case, I was the one watching! And Kristi, bless her cotton socks and cute 70’s Chelsea blue jump-suit, was doing the drunkest dance of them all (which let me tell you is saying something, if you saw the other girls!).
And O-M-G was it funny! Kristi likes a glass of wine, everyone knows that. But in the nearly five years since I have known Kristi, I have NEVER seen her anywhere near as drunk as she was that night (well, there was that night with Susan in Bowral that came a close second, but even that pales by comparison!). And this‘Drunk Hair Dance’ will forever be burnt into my retinas, never to be forgotten (no matter how much I try!). I just wish I’d had the foresight to get my phone out of my pocket and take some pics or a video! But who can remember to do that when you’re dumbstruck watching an inebriated dance that looks like the illegitimate offspring of the Dance of the Seven Veils and Boney M performed while being electrocuted!
A bit later, when the evening (and supply of wine!) was no more, I drove Kristi home, kissed her on the cheek by the steps to her apartment (making sure she didn’t fall over) and drove away. Safe in the knowledge that I had seen Kristi at her ‘worst’. But still wanted to see her again…
And that right there might be the perfect definition of love. Warts, sloppy drunk, crazy-hair dance and all… 😉
Stalking is More Fun as a Team Sport!
As is no doubt patently obvious from much of the above narrative, I am the helpless victim of Kristi’s stalking. But little does she know that after less than six months of dating, when I realised that she was the one for me, I decided to do some stalking of my own! Presents from Santa would turn up on Christmas day that were lovely gifts…but boy wouldn’t they look good if we eventually moved in together and had to share everything we own in one place…
Of course it was much too early in the piece to ask Kristi to move in. Slowly-slowly catches the monkey as the old saying goes…
And wouldn’t you know it that when I had to move apartments a year or so into the relationship, I moved ONE STREET CLOSER TO KRISTI. (The Stalking Handbook Chapter 7: ‘Always make sure you’re living as close as possible to your intended victim!’). Then, a little while after that, when the stars aligned and Saturn was rising somewhere south of Uranus, I asked Kristi to move in with me at my new place. And amazingly she said yes. Then a year or so later I ask her to LEAVE SYDNEY WITH ME. And again she said yes. Then I suggested we buy a house together…and she once more she said yes. And a year after that I asked her to marry me. And – wonder of wonder, miracles of miracles – she again said yes. This time with tears in her eyes.
So I guess what I’m saying is that: all’s fair in love and stalking when both sides are after the same outcome: EACH OTHER!
The Denouement
From the outside looking in it may appear that Kristi and I are from different sides of the track. I’m a working-classWelsh lad who was once described by an ex, years ago, as having, ‘The body of a knight, the soul of a poet, and the heart of a jester’.Which I always figured was just a nice way of saying that I was an ex-jock turned actor who doesn’t take anything seriously! Whereas Kristi is a health and nature loving hippy with a huge heart who takes EVERYTHING seriously! But ironically, I’m all imagination and dreams, and she’s all details and deadlines. I’m all ‘let’s take time to smell the roses’, and she’s all ‘Screw the roses, we’ve got somewhere to be!’. But doesn’t the old saying go that ‘Opposites Attract’? Because who wants to date yourself? What a relationship needs to survive and grow is someone who completes the missing pieces of your puzzle. Someone who sees your flaws (and mine are legion) and accepts you anyway. Someone whose strengths balance out your weaknesses. Who wants you to follow your dreams, however crazy and impossible they may seem, and who will never let you forget them. And someone who would take a bullet for you rather than see you hurt.
And that’s why I love Kristi Dormer. She is the yin to my yang. The night to my day. The drunk hair dance to my diet-coke with ice while standing in the corner people watching. And I cannot wait to marry her!
Logie Bear
xox
