Lesson Four: Your Soulmate Is Not Always Your Lover & You Can't Switch A Gay Guy No Matter How Smashed You Get Him In Hamilton.

Allow me to introduce my soul mate. This guy teaches me lessons constantly and I truly hope that I have the same affect on him as he does on me.  

Michael David Rangi Puru. I first met Mike back in 1997 when I went to work at The Edge Radio Station in Hamilton. He was the night-show host but was covering drive after the death of Butt Ugly Bob.  I was taken into the studio so Mike could “show me the ropes” and sat across from him thinking, “What a cutie this Asian guy is”. (He’ll hate that.) We became friends pretty quickly through our similar upbringings and work ethic.

It’s pretty hard not to like Mike. So personable, generous, fun and genuine.  I think I’ve seen Mike angry once – when his old Nissan broke down near Taupiri – and even then he was only grumpy. He’s never forgotten where he came from to this day – and I recall the moment he sealed our friendship.

The radio station moved to Auckland and I was flatting with a girl who knew a TV producer looking for a presenter for a Current Affairs/Magazine show targeting kids called ‘Flipside’.  I put Mike’s name forward and it went from there. We were at work in Auckland when he got a phone call and when he hung up asked me to go outside with him. He stood in front of me and I got worried when tears welled up in his eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was all right. Mike looked at me took a deep breath and went, “Tarsha – I got the job and I am so happy and proud of myself right now and I want to share this moment with you. My dreams are coming true Tarsh”. Tears welled up in my eyes and I gave him a massive hug.

We’ve never judged each other, we’ve never had a falling out, he’s seen me at my best and worst and vice versa. He held my lucky charms when I won my radio award and held my head when my heart was broken.  I love him with all my heart and he teaches me something new every time I see him. I never have to pretend to be something I’m not, he is always there for me and I will always be here for him.  Mike really is my soul mate and I’m not ashamed to say that yes, after one drunken night in Hamilton, I tried to force-pash him and was kindly told “it’s never happening, you’re drunk, go to your room Tarsh”.

My Father adores Mike (from my Dad, that’s a massive compliment because he hasn’t been fond of the boyfriends) and thinks we‘re a match made in heaven.  Unfortunately I don’t have what is required for that to happen. A penis. 

Lesson Three: Dad Will Always Come To The Rescue No Matter How Embarrassing.

Lesson 3: Dad will always come to the rescue  - no matter how embarrassing.

My Father is going to have a lot of pages written in his honour because he has had a huge impact on my life. The old lady and he split up a few times but by about the time I was 12 she’d gone for good. It was a blessing for us all even though she left Dad with a very broken heart and much emptier bank account.

If you’ve had the luxury of having your Mum around when you got your period and went through “Those changes” – you’re very lucky. I was scared when I got my period and despite my older sister Michelle and I not being very close, I had no choice but to tell her because I was so scared and mystified. I got home and she gave me some of her pads with a stern, “You’ll have to get your own Tarshie because I don’t have enough for both of us”. I  made her promise NOT to tell Dad.

I was hiding in the basement when I heard Dad come home. I’d  only been there about five minutes when I hear the front door open and Dad’s slippers making their way towards me. I was hanging out with our dog Duke pretending to discipline him when Dad gets closer, stands there with his cup of tea and smoke in his mouth and goes, “So Tarshie, your sister tells me you’ve got your period”. I was mortified. Who says that? I just sat there saying nothing and Dad, not sensing my  absolute embarrassment or desire for him to piss off goes, “So Tarshie, come on, you can’t sit here all day, let’s go and get you some womanly things”.

So we get in the car, Dad’s wearing his stubbies, long socks, slippers and t-shirt, chain-smoking as we get to Guy’s Pharmacy in Roselands Shopping Centre and I cringe. The Pharmacy was owned by the parents of a rich kid in my class – and sure enough his Mother is working there.  We walk right up to the counter, Dad puffs, blows out some smoke and goes, “Gidday, this is my daughter Natasha, she just got her period, could you please help her get what she needs”, throws $20 on the counter and walks out to wait in the car.

Mrs Guy walks me over to the sanitary pads and explains the difference between deoderised and plain pads…anyway we grab three packs, she throws them into a brown paper bag for me and I pay her.  It was a weird feeling, I was grateful I had what I needed but it felt like a bad dream, only tipped off by Dad saying as I got back into the car, “Jesus, is that all the change I got”.

And to this day Dad retells that story because as he saw it, that was him raising two girls without a Mother, and doing a sterling job. 

Lesson Two: Always Fight Your Own Battles When It Comes To Men.

Lesson:  Fight your own battles when it comes to males.

I was five.  His name was Timothy McCleod and I believe that he's responsible for me never dating ginga’s. Timothy McCleod had red hair and heaps of freckles all over his face. He was in my class but we weren’t friends, he was the class joker and for some reason I was the butt of his jokes.  I hated the attention because I was so shy, even roll call would make me blush.

But, every day after school, without fail it would happen and I found it really traumatic. Every day after school I would walk out of class towards the pedestrian crossing manned by the two lollipop monitors.  As I would get close to the monitors Timothy McCleod would come sprinting up from behind me and yell out, “Gizz a kiss Natasha” and bang, he would plant a kiss on my cheek and then sprint off. To this day I don’t know if it was a crush or a dare or what….but goddam it embarrassed me and all the kids would laugh and point. This went on for weeks. Then one day I accidentally told my crazy Mother. Now, saying she’s crazy is a pretty light description but this isn’t about her

The next day the unthinkable happened.

The school bell went to signal school had finished and I grabbed my bag and walked outside the classroom and towards the school exit.  I started walking faster because I saw our blue Holden parked on the other side of the road, across from the pedestrian crossing and I didn’t want my Mother to see Timothy McCleod. Too late. I heard his footsteps in his black and orange Bata Bullets coming towards me, heavy and fast like usual because he was running.  He came up and yelled, “Gizz a kiss Natasha…” and smacked his mouth straight onto my right cheek and went to run off. But just as his lips made contact, out of my peripheral vision I saw my Mother get out of our blue Holden.  I watched her 5’2 frame come storming across the pedestrian crossing, illegally as the lolliop monitors hadn’t raised their orange bars to say it was time to cross the road safetly. Across she stormed, face like thunder and I knew this was going to be bad for everyone.  Timothy McLeod had seen this little Maori woman coming and for some reason screamed to a stop in his tracks just to my left. Crazy Mum walked right up to his face, grabbed his shirt and screamed at the top of her voice, “TIMOTHY McCLEOD, IF YOU EVER TOUCH MY DAUGHTER AGAIN, I’M GOING TO SMACK THOSE FRECKLES RIGHT OFF YOUR F***ING FACE!”.  And with that she grabbed my hand, dragged me across the road, threw me in the car and drove off.

Timothy never spoke to me again and I’ve never dated a ginga.

Lesson One: No Matter How Embarrassing The Moment Is, At Least The Cute Guy Noticed You.

I’ve been infatuated, frustrated, fascinated and amused by men since I was five years old – in short, for the last 35 years.

They’ve loved me, broken my heart, embarrassed me, made me laugh, angry, blush and drink copious amounts of wine. But, they've taught me invaluable lessons so I'm going to tell you all about every man who has affected me as a woman, a dater, a cynic and a lover of the our testosterone friends. Of course I haven't asked their permission and none of them will  have any idea about the lasting affect they've left or even remember who I am...until they read this. Of course,  their male ego’s will be stroked and they will earmark every page they’re mentioned on. But before they start reaching for the preverbial beer and double clicking their own mouse….I never promised too only mention the good things.

It started when I had just turned five, living in Caughley Crescent in Waiouru. My older sister Michelle (then 7) and I got up early, even before our parents and got ourselves reading for school.

We grabbed our lunch Mum had made the night before and trotted off, up the road we walked, not even talking to each other because in our family, we barely spoke making for two very shy girls.

Two minutes up the road and I spot a boy from our school skateboarding towards us and I thought, “There’s that cute boy from our school, skateboarding towards us”.  He got right up to us and my sister staunchly went to march past but he stopped in front, kicking up his skateboard and saying ,”Where are you girls off too”. I was so fascinated and pleased that he actually spoke to us I boldy said in my loudest voice, “We’re going to school!” and I said it in a way that meant, “We’re going to school you dork, where did you think we were going” . To which the cute boy with the skateboard replied, “Uhhhh, it’s Saturday!” and he started laughing as he skateboarded off.  I went bright red of course as I turned around and walked the few metres back to our house with my very sullen sister, but I thought, “Wow, that cute boy actually spoke to us” before the embarrassment of going to school on a Saturday even entered my head.

Boy One: Cute boy on skateboard, aged 5.

Every day is a Saturday

Tomorrow is the first day in my 39 years that I will wake up without an alarm because I haven't got a job.
I wasn't fired, I wasn't laid off, I was replaced and opted for redundancy. A decision that many would gape at after 16 years in the radio industry, but you know what...it was a decision easily made, based solely on my gut instinct. And in all honesty, I couldn't be happier or feel freer.

Unfortunately I haven't been blessed with the winning Lotto ticket or a sugar daddy - I've chosen to chase some dreams - and yes I'm aware those six words make me sound like a stoner. But it's what I'm doing. That and keeping a regular diary of what this experience is going to be like.

I've had moments since I got the news four weeks ago that I could be losing my job. Fleeting moments of panic but they've been quickly dissolved into the feeling of excitement, freedom and anticipation. The challenge is what is driving me, that and my pedantic work ethic and newfound confidence I discovered this year. (NB not to be confused with arrogance, after all I'm pretty shy and realistic)

My dream is to write. A column, a blog, a book and freelance journalism for magazines and thick Sunday newspapers.

Murphy's Law that I also fell in love - both with the city I currently live in and with an amazing guy who keeps me balanced and laughing.  As with many girls, I've been unlucky in love several times, plus I've always had a yearning to return to my hometown. I can't even relate to those two former aspects of myself any more and it's great.

Saturday is my favorite day. So let's get this journey underway and see if every day can be a Saturday as I set out to chase those dreams I've had for at least 25 years.

Tarsh