Where have you been?

Well, I've been rock bottom, I've been to Montreal (6000 miles there and back), I've been finding a new job and I've been completing the first year of my MA...

But on the love life front, there has been a barren desert of nothingness. No new lovers to speak of, and dates have been pretty average.

Average.

In fact, you get to the point where you wonder if they're worth the effort. I went on one recently and he said "We DEFINITELY have to do this again." Sure. Okay. Fine. When I text him to ask if he was available it was a different story; "Err... Sorry, the age gap is too much for me." (which was 10 years... I wasn't asking for his hand in marriage). It doesn't even bother me anymore. The quicker the say no, the less time you spend arsing around with all the other stupid stuff, like pretending to be interested in their knowledge of English monarchs, or their ability to tell you which line of dialogue is from a certain episode from Friends. I met up with another guy who was one of those "I'm not into you, but I'll give you a chance".

Guess what? I wasn't into him even after I gave him a chance.

Dating is a catch-22; if you don't go on dates, you're less likely to get anything sexual/ intimate/ emotional with anyone, but if you do go on dates, the less likely you are going to want to date in the future.

And so the cycle continues. I have taken to chatting up the most unlikely people in the worst places then swanning off somewhere else. Kind of like a cat playing with it's food and deciding not to eat it after all because it would just be greedy and pointless. Still, some sparks would be nice, but all it seems I'm doing is bashing two pieces of flint together for the sheer hell of it.

Complete and utter apathy

Have you ever been asked out by someone, only to wonder what the point is because you know how it's going to go anyway? Or has anyone ever smiled at you on the tube only to wonder what the point is because nothing ever happens? Have you ever been in a club and wondered what you were doing there because you're not even having fun anymore and the drink isn't doing anything? Has your fuckbuddy ever turned round and said to you "we need to stop doing this because I like you" and it didn't seem to register? Have you ever contacted someone online, for them to ask you on a date and you don't want to go? And for someone else to discount you offhand and you can't be bothered arguing with them anymore because you stand to acheive nothing?

No?

Me neither.

French Fancy? I'll Have Mine Iced With Jealousy, Please

I think we've discussed the fact that I believe in relationship karma; everything that you do in relationships will come back to you eventually. As it happens, I'm next in line for a bit of heartbreak.

Anyway, I went to the pub with a friend of mine and who should pass me on the stairs but some very hot French bloke I had a one night stand with. I remember at the time he had just split up with his boyfriend. So who else should be accompanying him but the very same ex-boyfriend. Who, it turns out, knows exactly who I am.

So, he came over to speak to me. Cue suspicious looks from ex. French guy continues to stare and smile at me. I, of course, continue to smile at him because I am evil personnified. Ex gets more and more wound up until he eventually explodes at French guy. I sit back and chat to friend knowing I have caused devastation on the other table.

I go outside to speak to the French guy while he smokes a cigarette. Ex follows and looks at me in disgust. I have to stop myself from laughing.

I've still got it :p

Letting things lie....

I don't know about you, but I am absolutely terrible at letting things lie, especially when there are loose ends to be tied up. At first, out of foolish pride, I will ignore the situation, but it eats away at me until it becomes a compulsion. However, one of the major lessons in life I should learn is that sometimes things need to be left to lie.

So, cue the text to the famous "It's raining" guy... Well, I thought there was some genuine chemistry there and I will now admit out of foolish pride I rejected him. It has played on my mind since then whether or not I did the right thing. So I texted him again and said "Okay, I'll take a chance... If I'm not so stubborn this time perhaps we can go on that date?"

No answer.

Turns out I did do the right thing. However, I wouldn't have known for certain until that text was sent, so this is my only saving grace here.

Lately, I have fallen victim to Facebook. And I found someone's profile on their who I had a casual relationship with once; the kind where you end up more enamoured with them than they do with you. It ended quite acrimoniously, so I sent him a message saying "hey, nice to see you... It's been 3 years! Blah, blah, blah..."

It turns out that some people are not so welcoming or forgiving as myself.

Men, eh? You can't live with them, and you can't kill them.

First Date Etiquette

Recently, a friend of mine met a guy at a party. He said, in that sickeningly coy manner, "What would you say if I hypothetically asked you out for a drink?"

"Hypothetically I would say yes," he replied. (I know, I know... Try and keep your dinner down for now. It gets better)

So they talked and arranged to meet that Wednesday. Wednesday came and he hadn't heard anything, so he texted him and said "Hey.. So tonight, when and where?"

And nothing.

Then he tortured himself over and over by asking whether he should phone him or not... Would he look like a stalker? Wouldn't he? Would this guy go out on a date?

The simple answer is call him.

If he's being a wanker for not letting you know either way, then call. If he doesn't pick up, fine; make other plans. If he picks up and says no, that's even better; at least you know you can make other plans. I really resent the fact that we've all been reduced to being concerned about how keen we are. The fact is no-one is that desperate- that's the truth. I think anyone with the tiniest ounce of respect for you will let you get on with your life.

The truth is men like that are cowards.

So next time you find yourself in that dilemma, do not focus on the negatives; remember that if they're wasting your time now, imagine what it would be like 3 months down the line. And if they don't want to see you, they're missing out on being with a really rewarding person.

Move over, Oprah; I'm after your job!

Couples

As we've gone off the beaten path in the last couple of months, I decided to go back to ranting about those things that we should be more well informed about. Here I return to one of my old favourites that we haven't broached yet on this here blog; couples.

Now, I would say that when I was single, I still have a fairly positive outlook. Sure; we all get those days when we wish we had someone, but what the hell... You're single and having much more fun than having to listen to a whinging poof harp on about his 'feelings' and how you're not meeting 'his needs'. It's funny how 'his needs' were just copping off quickly at the beginning of a relationship, then suddenly turn into telling white lies about their insecurities.

That aside, there is nothing worse to a single person than a couple. And it's not because you're jealous, but because they're just so goddam weird. Here I'll take you through the stages of couple-dom and all it's strange rituals.

Remember those times where that crazy single friend you could always rely on who you would go out with and get trashed constantly seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth for a few weeks? It slowly dawns on you, being that you've been out having a laugh and suddenly paused to think "I wonder what happened to such-and-such... I haven't even had a text in a week" you sense that instant conclusion; a man. Yes, they've found a man, and you're back in Lonerville- Population: 1. In other words, you.

So why do people behave like such wankers at the start of relationships? Granted, they want to spend a bit more time with their new beau, but having been on the receiving end of this one too many times, I have now always always made time for my friends when beginning a new relationship. To those of you who think it's fine to swan off and get wrapped up in your own emotions and be all saccharine sweet while trying to swallow each others faces in public, spare a thought for your friend who's at home crying into a bottle of vodka and a Tesco Value microwave meal, probably tagliatelle with it's lukewarm white mush and rubbery pasta, for one. Yes, for one!

Then, after a few weeks or months, the first argument inevitably happens. And who do they turn to? That's right; their single friend. and you think "For fuck's sake, not only am I not in a relationship, I'm not in your relationship, so how the hell can I tell you what's happening, huh? Last week I was at home watching the Eastenders omnibus a good way through a bottle of Absolut, and now all of a sudden I'm your best friend again?"

And what happens after they've resolved the argument? We're back to crying about Dot Cotton's dilemma because we're fucked off our face on a Sunday afternoon.

Worse still is when couples get to years. After years of being together, they suddenly merge into one person. We're going to Montpellier this summer. We like Cherry Cola. We had an orginal thought the other day, didn't we? And so they start to talk to you about sofa purchases which, apart from that only being of interest to a DFS salesman, you've probably never had to consider in your life. And even if you had, you probably wouldn't be so boring as to talk about it. Besides, by this point you're probably so bored of the fact that every time you invite your friend out, their boyfriend has to be there, or them spending so much time with their other half that you've given up and gotten a new life.

Weddings mark the death of friendships sometimes...

So next time you get into a relationship, consider your single self and don't be so damn limp next time!

Warning: Moody Bitch Alert!

Just like women have a menstrual cycle, I believe that once in a while, every man also goes on the rampage (except without the bleeding). Women blame hormones... I wish men could blame something. Perhaps it is hormonal. Who knows?

Well, I had a birthday box full of surprises, really. Like all the loose ends of my love life turning up to one party and throwing in a stick of dynamite (with a healthy dose of alcohol). It started off well; the presents were coming, the drink was flowing (and I wasn't paying), and there was laughing and joking. Then the ex turned up. You know, THE Ex. The one who proposed to me and said we would run away to Denmark and get married (Civil Partnerships weren't even an idea here 6 years ago!). The Ex who you acrimoniously broke up with, but only because it was so painful, but then tried to scrape a friendship back with afterwards. The Ex who, at various times, you wondered if things would be the same if you got back together, then realised you were two different people and were sad for it.

That Ex. We all have one, I'm sure.

He gave me a present, wished me happy birthday, bought me a drink and sat down and started chatting to all those friends he hadn't seen for a while. You know, myfriends. The ones who were obliged to lay their loyalties to me after the break up. Then of course, there were those new friends that he didn't know, and that didn't know him. One of those friends happened to be an old colleague of mine I had a crush on but decided it would never work out.

And then they exchanged numbers.

And then I flipped.

"You could have been a bit more discreet," I snapped at The Ex.

"We swapped for work purposes; we're both graphic designers."

What a cheap excuse.

"How dare you," he continued, trying to re-direct the blame onto me. I should have seen this routine coming; when we were going out and we had arguments he was always the martyr, and me... Of course, I was always the irrational one who got het up for no reason.

"If you feel so offended then go. I don't want you here," I said, seething in a jealous rage

"Fine," he said putting his drink down, "I will."

I sat there pouting, knowing that I was drunk and may have over-reacted slightly. Upset that even after all that time had passed, and I'm talking years, that the green eyed monster could rear it's head. After two minutes of silence, and my friends frantically asking what was wrong, I said, "Everyone has to leave... NOW!"

And I stood up from the table, grabbed my things, and left.

Yes.... I know; but I would openly admit that I'm a drama queen. Besides, it was my birthday. MY birthday. And it had been ruined. By me.

As I sighed and went home, I got a call from a person I hadn't heard from in a long time. A guy I dated who, on paper, should have been the perfect guy, but wasn't.

"Happy Birthday," he said in his Russian accent. He had remembered, and now I felt even worse that so many people who cared about me would make the effort on my birthday.

"Hi," I said "How have you been? Where are you?"

And as we chatted on the train home, probably very loudly and drunkenly, I remembered why we were first together. He travels a lot, and was in Lisbon when he called. I don't expect to see him any time soon, but it was enough that he remembered and wasn't afraid to call me. As he struggled to find the words (he speaks about 10 languages, and English is somewhere behind Russian and Portuguese), he said to me "If someone is in your heart, you will always think about them wherever you are."

So maybe The Ex was thinking the same thing. It didn't matter. I texted him the next day and told him I was stupid to believe we could ever be civil, or to build a friendship. I would always and irrationally be jealous of anyone who he was interested in. I guess I have to accept that it doesn't matter how enlightened you are, you have to remember that you're only human, and that humans are irrational.

I spent the rest of the weekend trying to put off thinking about it, and visiting an old friend, but somehow it just seemed to manifest itself in other ways; drinking too much, being snappy, telling friends all the things they've done that have irritated me over the past couple of months, trying to decide whether moving out of London was a good idea or not, considering throwing my mobile in the bin and ditching all my friends, or perhaps faking my own death and becoming 'someone else'. But why is it that none of these ideas would actually work? Running away from your problems doesn't work (or so I'm told... I've never tried it myself), trying to lose contact with everyone isn't fair on anyone at all and besides, they'd all end up figuring out where you were anyway and God forbid the police getting involved.

Right now I'm at work (I use the word "work" loosely), I have a cold, and I want to go home. And all I'm left wondering is what happened to the person I was last week?

I hate it when life tricks you like this. One minute you're fine. The next you're picking the bits of pavement out of your teeth when life ground your face right into it.

To Move Forward, You Have To Go Back

I think Carrie from Sex And The City was talking shit when she said "The worst reviews are the ones we give ourselves"

As my 24th birthday looms (it's only 8 days away; buy me something nice), nicotine withdrawals suck the rationality from my veins and the promise of romance snatched away as easily as it was offered in the first place, I'm forced to reflect on the year gone by in a most brutal and confrontational manner.

I met a friend of mine for lunch today, and having embarrassed ourselves on one of those dance machines in an arcade (why do they always put them by a window? Everyone looks in and puts you off! I feel like turning round and saying "I did contemporary dance once!"), I decided to take her to a bar I hadn't been to in ages.

The barmaid looked at me and lifted her head with resentment as if to say "What do you want?"

Hmmm... I thought. I had been going to that bar for 5 years and they knew my face.

"2 diet cokes please" (yeah, yeah... I know. Usually I would drink normal coke, but apparently changing your habits are good when you're quitting smoking) and as I turned my head I noticed a mistake.

It was a mistake that was slightly older, with long brown hair, a deep voice and an eccentric demeanour. It was a mistake that frequented that particular bar quite regularly, and knew the staff quite well... One might go so far as to say he was friends with them. And me? I was just lowly clientele.

"Shit." I thought to myself.

Now, believe it or not, I wasn't always this perfect (stop laughing at the back!). Roughly a year ago, in said bar, when my friend used to work there. I was DJing one night, and I threw myself at this long haired love in the middle of one of my sets (I cringe at myself sometimes), then went home with him. Long story short: Second date wasn't even worth mentioning, and an embarrassing incident occurred where coincidentally I was on a job at work and upon telephoning a point of contact, who else should answer the phone?

The embarrassment and shame caused me to make a fool out of myself twice more in front of him.

I thought it best after trying to be nice to him to just ignore him, or have as little contact as possible.

Unfortunately, about a week later, I walked into the bar and my friend said "(Insert name) is here".

And I said "Who?" and upon looking around, I went, "Ohhhh him! He was really shit in bed, you know"

And there we are; that phrase damned me as it spread round the pub like wildfire and right back to him. I am ashamed of myself for even saying it (no matter how much truth is in the statement!). So to bring it back, there I was having to face an embarrassing episode and, worse still, being made to feel ashamed about it by Ms. "I'm going to give you as little customer service as possible" as she thrust a crappy £5 note into my hand that she took out the till on purpose (you know; the kind that won't be accepted at any other shop) and Mr. Long Hair.

As I skulked to a corner of the bar, I wanted to move cities. Remembering all this past seemed too much to bear, and the fact that my reputation (and yes, it would appear I have one) preceded me made me think that my name may have been irrevocably tarred. Was it worth staying in a city where all I was known for was being a blabbermouth, possibly even a drunken fool and a promiscuous weirdo?

But then I thought if I was that barmaid, I wouldn't really care all that much. She has a job to do at the end of the day. And then I thought if I was Mr. Long Hair, I would be a damn sight nicer than he's ever been to me when I've coincidentally bumped into him.

But then again, I know I'm good in bed. :p

So it seems life has not snatched away chances from me of late, but has been trying to teach me a lesson perhaps.

Lesson number one; don't be a doormat. I think the whole episode with the guy from the wedding showed me that I have become stronger and more able to pick out the flaws in potential dates, rather than being impulsive and reckless with my emotions. Yeah... I didn't know him that well, admittedly. And also I may have over-reacted a little, but I stand by my decision which also shows I know myself even better.

Lesson number two; forgive yourself. So you made a lot of mistakes and.... So what? We could sit there and pick fault with everyone and everything all day. As long as you can face up to what you've done and recognise that even though a situation may be your fault, it can often be circumstances that conspire against you as well especially if you were acting 'out of character' at the time. So what else can you do but let go? Or face up to it and say "Yeah, I was a shit, but at least I know it. A thousand other guys wouldn't have admitted their mistake." Hence Mr. Long Hair acting like a wounded puppy when really he was an alcoholic underacheiver.

Lesson number three; who cares? Over the past couple of weeks, I really couldn't care less anymore. My final 'shyness' barrier with men has completely dropped. I was thinking today that I remember a guy checking me out at a bus stop when I was 22, and even though I was intrigued and followed him on to his bus, I ended up running away because I was too nervous. I always regretted that. Only a couple of days ago, I smiled at a guy on the street and I finally had the guts to do that without fear of whether or not the smile would be reciprocated, or even if he was interested. It was a guess, and it paid off (even if I didn't give him my number!).

So I think I'm going to really like it this year. With this new found confidence, I feel as though I have shed the last skin of the young me, and finally become the person I always wanted to be.

Game Over

To fill you in, he text me on Sunday a few hours before the date and said:-

"Is there any chance I can see you tomorrow? I have things to do and the weather is really bad"

Bad weather? "Stuff"? I'm not rearranging my schedule for some unsubstantiated 'stuff'. I've been waiting all fucking week for 'stuff'.

I replied "Put off by some bad weather? It's a shame. If you saw the potential I did, you wouldn't have cancelled. A real shame"

I was willing to leave it at that. Then my phone beeped...

"Mate", it said, making me instantly want to punch him. I picked the wrong week to quit smoking, "I have shit (I mean what does this 'shit' and 'stuff' mean? Is he smoking crack?) to do. Plus it's raining (Yeah, it's raining... Didn't we establish this before?)

"I didn't mean to make you pissy, I'm just being honest," I said trying to stay calm, "This just reeks of 'I can't be bothered, and if you're like this now, what am I to expect in future?"

I thought it was perfectly reasonable.

"Woah, you need to clam down," he said. Oh, here we go.... Playing the psychobitch card because you got rejected? "I was going to rearrange but now I don't think I'll bother"

What? Hello? Did I not just make it perfectly clear in my last two texts that I wasn't interested in seeing some loser who cancels because his hair might get wet? He's the kind of person that says "You can't fire me because I quit" right after their boss has handed them the pink slip.

"Look, I've just been honest. I'm not mad at you at all. I hope we can be civil when we next see each other," I said, trying frantically to say "For fuck's sake, I don't give a shit. You blew it, mister!"

He asked me to post him back his cufflinks. I'm thinking of sending an umbrella along with them and a note saying "Just in case next time you arrange to meet someone and rains, you'll be well prepared..."

I'm evil. I know.

The Game, The Rules and The Clause

I remember someone once saying to me "I lost 'The Game'".

And I thought, "What is The Game?"

Then I realised that The Game is actually the intricate game of cat and mouse chasing when starting a relationship with someone. Texting, not texting, calling, not calling, not letting them know you like them, but giving them just enough to lead them on. And of course, with every game, there are The Rules. The Rules seem to be along the lines of this:-

Rule 1) THE GOLDEN RULE- Never reply to a text message that doesn't require an answer or can't be replied to in 3 days time

Rule 2) In the intervening time it is important to either not care, or pretend not to care

Rule 3) Never, ever pay them a compliment or let them know you like them

Rule 4) Live your life like you're chained to your diary, constantly unavailable and ever elusive

Well, I say fuck The Game. Fuck The Rules. If I want to text someone, I will text them. If I want to think about someone, I will and if I like someone, then why not go out there and get them. A man who can't take you for what you are is not worth your time at all, and no matter how gorgeous, talented or rich they are, remember that someone somewhere is already sick of them.

I have a date tomorrow and The Game is being played. I'm sick of The Game; too old. The problem with The Game is that it doesn't make someone interested, it actually makes them lose interest in you because if you're never available, never contact someone and never let them know you're interested, then why would any self respecting person bother to continue in a relationship like that?

So fuck The Game; it's time to go out there and grab what you want.

Here Come The Pink Squishies...

Awful term, isn't it? I'll explain. Once my friend turned round to me and sighed heavily and I said "What's wrong?" and she said "I've got the pink squishies." I laughed and I said "What?"

And she said, "There's a guy I really like, and I hate it. I really, really like him and I hate it."

Like all embittered fags, being single is really, really easy for me to cope with. Making snide comments at couples, other people's relationships, how untrustworthy men are... They're safe, and what's more it's a defence mechanism. I'm open and self-aware enough to know that it's all in self defence.

And now I have the pink squishies. And I hate it.

So bad are these ones that I broke the horrible golden rule and called him twice in one day. And suddenly you start to empathise with all those guys that never stopped hassling you, or that you may have branded a stalker. It's not an act of desperation, it's the fact that this feeling sends you so nuts and you behave so out of character that you wonder what the hell you're doing. Rationality is thrown out of the window for an impulsive high.

The worst thing is, he still wants to go out on a date with me, which means I haven't scared him off. Which also means there's a chance that he might really like me too.

So I'm sat here with love-sickness and absolutely hating myself for it. Ever the true Gemini, part of me is allowing myself to fall, and the other half just wants everything to go back to normal again. Half of me is airy-fairy and romantic, the other half is wanting to laugh at myself.

Because the worst thing is we all know that the pink squishies are a prelude to a heartbreak.

Life Is Not a TV Show

Stating the obvious, isn't it?

Talking to a friend the other day about 'culture' (I know, it's deliciously pretentious. I can't help myself sometimes), the main question was why are people so averse to contemporary art, or fringe theatre? And from fringe theatre, we started talking about the next logical progression; the Jeremy Kyle Show. I actually can't watch this show because it makes me feel like I'm squeezing cotton wool whilst having to listen to someone scrape their fingernails down a chalkboard. There are two problems I have with this show:-

1) If I'd done something so despicably bad like gotten pregnant (granted, chances are low) by another man, or conned my partner into thinking we were in much less debt than we actually were, or was having an affair, there is no way in hell I'd parade my misery publicly for the entertainment of the British masses.

2) The guests are chavvy, the audience is quite chavvy, the viewers at home are probably quite chavvy, and Jeremy Kyle is such a self-righteous bastard that I wonder if he will ever get a date again (except with a chav) because of his smug sense of patronising self-satisfaction that his 'tough love' stance always works. Just imagine him having an argument with his wife; he'd never admit he was wrong, but probably bombard her with platitudes until she finally submitted and decided that leaving the petrol tank half empty wasn't worth him harping on for hours about how hard done by he was and how he managed to pull himself out of it.

Poor woman. By the way he's been divorced; I would probably have to say enough is enough at some point as well.

Anyway, the cringe-worthingly poor display of daytime television seeps from TV into the real lives of people. I hope it's not just me, but don't you always have that one friend who always has a drama in their life? A drama that seems so utterly simple to sort out (because, usually, it's by their own blundering fault they've got into the mess), and yet it merits harping on for half an hour about how confused they are?

Of course, as friends, we lend an ear and give them our honest (sometimes sugar coated, sometimes giving Jeremy Kyle a run for his money) opinion and hope they learn. Pat them on the shoulder and send them fresh, back to their dilemma. The only fault with this is that people are obsessed by drama and scandal.

I honestly wonder what happened to the days of the good, old British 'stiff upper lip'; where everything was kept in dignified silence. This, of course, excludes times of real dilemma and emotion. I'm not vindicating bottling everything up forevermore. But since the emergence of soaps and daytime chat shows, people seek excitement by getting themselves into messy predicaments.

Anyway, you can hardly blame them sometimes. Life can be so utterly dull that creating stress can add a bit of zing to what was an otherwise boring lifestyle. But I cannot, in fact I refuse, to believe that with the amount of cheating that goes on is solely a development of modern society. In fact, I also refuse to believe that those people who have cheated were so 'deeply in love' with their partners in the first place.

There are always exceptions, and I think it's important to note. Like sleeping with someone drunkenly; we can all make a mistake. Or perhaps it takes someone to make someone realise that they weren't in love with their partner in the first place.

I think it points towards a depressing ideal perpetuated by shows such as Sex and the City and Ally McBeal; we need someone to be someone. Without someone, you're no-one. So people often 'settle', claim they're 'in love' and then someone who really knocks them off their feet and they think 'Boy, how wrong was I?'. And how often have you told someone you're single and they look at you like a leper? Or your friends try and fix you up so you can be 'just as happy as they are'?

Also, people are under the misguided notion that they will be saved from themselves eventually.

"Oh, it doesn't matter if I smoke this crack; someone's bound to save me from myself eventually"

"Oh, it doesn't matter if I put this one thing on my credit card; someone's bound to save me from myself eventually"

Just like in the Hollywood films, right?

Right?

(One of) The Problems With Romance in the Gay World

Someone said a long time ago that romance was dead. I'm not sure to what extent I believe this, as if a lovely new beau surprised me by buying me a CD (I can never have too many CDs) I would take it as a romantic gesture. I also describe myself as having a 'romantic viewpoint' on life, meaning that I walk around and go "Oh, look at the Thames, look how the raw sewage really compliments the contrasting murky grey... Oh, how I love London".

And, as misguided and brainwashed as I am, I believe that one day someone could waltz into my life and sweep me off my feet.

However, this is misguided. Take for example the BRAND NEW homosexual drinking establishment that has just opened in London; 'Profile'. This bar has been set up by the people who run Gaydar (come on now boys, don't look at me and say "What's Gaydar?". If you don't have a profile, you've almost certainly heard about it) and, may I add, replaced a rather lovely cocktail bar called '6 Degrees' (cocktails were expensive but lethal!). Profile boasts FREE INTERNET ACCESS LOLZ

So what's the betting that 'Profile' is now going to remove ANY social element of going to a gay bar, sometimes the last bastion of hope for those in singledom? Who are you going to be making eyes at if their eyes are permanently glued to a computer screen?Call me a technophobe, but this isn't just about 'Profile', this is a phenomenon that sweeps the gay nation.

No-one talks to each other.

Okay, okay... So there might be the odd time where you throw yourself in the direction of the desired object (and please, for those of you who just attach yourself like a leech, can you provide sick bags for those around you? It may feel good to do, but it's disgustingly nauseating to watch), and ask their name et cetera, but it does take A LOT of guts to do that. Kudos to the boys out there reading who feel comfortable enough to do that. But generally, gays are very timid and judgemental. I have made eyes at so many people in bars, but following through? It very rarely comes from either side.

Additionally, if someone were to approach you in a bar, you either go to mush and they walk away, or warning sirens go off in your head saying "Abort! Abort! Abort!". And when you approach someone else, you get that feeling, as you crack a joke, that you're going down as well as a knackered lift.

And what about on the Tube? Isn't it a bit sad that they have those 'missed connections' boards because we've reached a day and age when no-one communicates. Alarmingly, in the gay community, we are also becoming more and more technologically dependent. A lot of people meet their dates through various websites, chat forums, text based services et cetera... Unfortunately for us, that's because we can't ask the question "Are you gay?" for fear of someone taking mortal offence.

So your eyes meeting across the room with some tall, dark and handsome stranger as 'Close to You' by The Carpenters plays, and you suddenly move towards each other in a conveyor belt motion in soft focus? Forget it.

But equally, you can probably forget meeting the love of your life on the internet. Sure; it works for some people, but weigh up the amount of times you've chatted to someone for ages and been disappointed in real life with the amount of times you've fallen madly, head over heels in love?

Exactly.

So basically, romance in the gay world? Well, the odds are against us. With only 10% of the population describing themselves as "of alternative sexuality" and only 6% in total likely to be gay men, it suddenly seems a lot to ask. Considering you have to find them attractive, and they have to find you attractive, be compatible personality-wise, share common interests, and then trust them, love is a very small statistic for us, if you bear in mind how many people we have to choose from.

To bring me back to my original point, Hollywood has given us all (gay and straight) false expectations of romance and romantic feelings. We hope for awkward chance encounters, and what we get is usually structured, pre-planned formality, especially where 'arranging to meet off the internet' is concerned. Because the gay population is so small (even smaller in some more rural parts), our chances of romance are small, and our failing communication skills and shyness are a hinderance.

But the worst aspect of the human condition keeps us all going; hope.

Suddenly in demand...

And then comes the time of year in every single person's life; being in demand. However, being in demand is not the walk in the park, pic 'n' mix, mix 'n' match heaven you'd envision in to be. No- being in demand is absolutely hellish.

For one thing, your social calendar becomes even more clustered. So as well as getting round to see all those friends in your social circles, you now have to squeeze in Mr. 'I could be the man of your dreams, or this could just be another waste of time'. But, being the way I am, I'm always saying, "Errr... I'm busy Saturday night. I have a window between 4.30pm and 4.37pm. Perhaps we could fit an awkward silence in then? That'd be great, thanks".

Secondly, you can't tell anyone of the dates that you're going on that you have a date arranged with someone else. Don't get me wrong- I'm not slutting myself around town, but if you decide to go on a first date with a guy, there's no point in telling one of the other guys that you're also going on a first date with someone else that week because the likelihood is that neither of them will work out.

I remember my old psychology teacher used to say "The guy who asks a lot of people out on dates gets a lot of rejections... But he also gets a lot of dates." It's a numbers game; the more people you meet, the more likely you are to find someone you like.

I have to admit, it's a lot of fun as well

xx

The Rant: Why do women think they get it bad?

I was going to post this on www.ihatemen.org, but decided to treat whoever reads this to it instead:-

Why is it only bitter women? Some of your gay brethren get equal, if not worse treatment, from men.

At least women get a little bit of respect. At least they'll try and romance you for a couple of days first. We're put in the situation where, if you don't put out straight away, you're labelled 'frigid' or a 'prude' and if you do you're left with the door slamming in your face and a piece of paper with their MySpace address on; you know, so they can ignore you for the rest of forever, but then you get to spend time looking at those stupid questionnaires they bulletin and find out the most traumatic thing that happened to them at 3 years old.

If you ask me, they should be more traumatised about how shockingly bad in bed they usually are. Never thought men had to fake orgasms? Sometimes I've just rolled over and said "Don't bother." I find it saves us both a lot of time and effort.

And then you're laughing and joking with a girl friend and they say "Oh, why are all the best men gay?" and you laugh, but inside you're thinking "No... Just no." Talk about homophobia; *I* hate gays. Why? Because I have to date them, and I think that gives me the God given right to hate them more than those bloody Neo-Nazis out there. So you think bumming is wrong? Well, try being kicked out of bed at 3am and wondering round the streets of London trying to get a cab home because they're 'done with you', like some kind of used Kleenex that they can dispose of. It's pretty hard not to hate them after that.

What's even worse is that your straight friends will introduce you saying "This is my friend... He's gay". And you think "Oh, thanks... Because there's nothing else interesting about me at all... Like the fact I play guitar, or write music. No. It's who I sleep with that *really* matters". Coupled with that, at parties straight friends will introduce you to the most vile person and say "This is Kevin; he's gay too. I thought you two would hit it off."

Why? Because we both like to sleep with men? Well, James and Simon both prefer brunette women, but I don't see you introducing them to all brown haired uglies in the room. Thanks. For nothing.

Added to that, you get the people who think you're some kind of fashion accessory. "Oh, you're gay?" a blonde haired girl will shriek at you. "We can read Vogue together and listen to Kylie... You must like Kylie all gays do.. And go shopping, and check out guys and..."

And you think "Actually, I hate Kylie. I hate shopping, and I've never read a fucking copy of Vogue in my life and I'm not about to start. Thanks all the same, but perhaps you need to spend some time with some real gay men instead of running off that little gay stereotype in your empty, pretty, little head."

I digress. Needless to say in my dating history has diminished my faith in ever finding a man who is intelligent, or even just half decent. Instead it's a series of games including not calling you, then calling a month later because they were probably seeing someone else at the time and wanted to keep you onm the backburner, those famous "I'm not really looking for a relationship, but I hope we can be friends" words and, of course, I think we're moving too fast. Moving too fast? Isn't that the kind of insight you require before you sleep with someone? Before the romantic days out in Kensington Gardens?

And "I'm not looking for a relationship"? Well, neither was I! I didn't even mention the 'R' word that seems to have men running for the hills. It was *you* who said it, and now you make *me* look like the bunny boiler? Which, I add, is probably what he tells all of his friends down the pub when they ask him.

So thus ends my rant. I just wanted to get my POV across

The Single Cycle

And no; I'm not talking about how you should wash your whites. It's the life cycle of the single gay man.

1) Fresh out of a relationship, with residual bittnerness and angst dealt with, the gayer realises he can now go on the pull again and have lots of casual sex with people that mean nothing to him

2) Gets bored

3) Tries dating, and remembers how much dating sucked in the first place B.B. (Before Boyfriend)

4) Thinks about calling ex, but is disturbed by cute guy at the bar, and remembers his options are open now

5) Sleeps with cute boy at the bar

6) Feels good about oneself then lapses into residual boredom feeling

7) Tries dating again, and remembers how dating didn't really work B.B.

8) Out of frustration calls ex and sleeps with him, consequently feeling guilty and confused having to deal with the 'why aren't we together' feeling from one or other partner. Lies to ex and said there have been no others since they split to paper over the cracks

9) Tries dating, but this time decides not to sleep with them on the first date, and then realises how that didn't really work B.B.

10) Lapses into apathy, and realises he can go on the pull again and sleep with lots of people he may or may not remember the day after

11) Apathy gives way to bitterness and frustration. Tries to change appearance/ life/ sexuality in order to give a fresh start and a new focus

12) After distracting himself for 4 months, he posts an internet ad including such phrases as "bored of the scene" and "generic guy seeks similar"

13) After waiting a month and still receiving no replies, reverts to step 1)

The cycle is usually broken at step 11, when gayers usually decide there life is actually okay and are too busy becoming noveau indie/ setting up performance art nights in fields in the Midlands/ chasing after a girl when some guy called Joseph waltzes into the bar and coincidentally seems to like the same things you do, and shags like a rampant rabbit running off of a car battery.

MySpace: How Hipsters Do Rejection

Okay, so you spend a lovely night with a guy, you're not sure if you'll see each other again, but fuck it; single and fabulous, right?

So then comes the crunch. You know, you're not sure whether or not to leave your number (and just as a note, I always do. This isn't desperation, it's more because then you're absolutely blameless and they can feel guilty for not calling you when you're really, really nice to them if you ever see them out, even though you don't give a shit either way. I know; it's manipulative, but hey...). But recently numbers seem to have become obsolete, and there is in fact A BRAND NEW WAY of saying "this was a one night stand".

"Are you on MySpace?"

Yes; me and my friends have now discovered that if a man asks for your MySpace poist-coitus, you can forget the candlelit dinners, forget the drinks in the champagne rooms of Kettners. MySpace now equals "I'm never going to see you again but just so I remember who you are I'll read your bulletins occasionally, and maybe even make you fill out those fucking shitty questionnaires about what your favourite colour was when you were 3, and what you ate in the last decade."

Now this new technique works on two levels; one, they can file you away with their other 2,100 friends (and now I'm thinking how many of those people has he actually slept with), and two if you try and give them your number, they can rebuff you with "Well, I've got your MySpace anyway if I want to get in touch"

So no more guilt tripping with numbers. Just a piece of paper with www.myspace.com/dontletthedoorhityourarseonthewayout. I guess good old fashioned honesty is just an inconvenience in today's technological society

Sex, Love and Cake

One night stand. They seem like three very ugly words. It's kind of like the complete opposite of "I love you". It lasts for one night, you'll hopefully never see each other again, and you couldn't give a shit if they were run over a bus the next day. I mean, you got your rocks off, and that's all that matters, right?

I'm not going to tell you that one night stands are wrong, or pretend I'm morally superior. Neither of those statements are true. One night stands are fun, they make great anecdotes to tell your friends and even if they're crap in bed, you were probably so drunk at the time that you can't remember anyway. As far as I'm concerned there's only one problem with one night stands...

They only last for one night.

Sounds like stating the obvious, right? I know, I know... Sometimes you just want have a no strings attached fuck without someone whining about 'feelings'. But then isn't it such a waste? You carefully (or drunkenly) selected someone from the room to share yourself with, and then they walk out of your life just as easily as they came in. The least they could do is give you a repeat performance, preferably when you're both a little more sober.

The worst kind of one night stands are the ones where you seem to be getting on really, really well with the person, and then... Then nothing? If there was a chance that you could say something more to each other than "Oh yeah... That's the shit... I really like that... Give it to me", then maybe it's worth at least a drink to investigate those interesting conversations you had inbetween the post coital cigarettes.

What it cracks down to is, believe it or not, everyone still has a very fixed view of relationships. The purpose of this blog is not to say "One Night Stands are bad", but more "One Night Stands are a necessary evil that shouldn't exist". All too easily people think that if you have sex more than once that at some point during the night, some 'feelings' are going to creep in through the window and attack. Then, before you know it, it's that rocky road to marriage, mortgage, 2.4 children, the dog called "Fifi".

People should have more sex with each other. Sex can exist without love. Friendships can exist without love. I think relationships are a little more than having sex with a friend, but the crazy thing is a lot of people think that's the only thing there is to relationships. Suddenly those words "I would like to see you again" somehow sound like "commitmentcommitmentcommitmentcommitment". When you think about it, our sexual liberation has failed us. We have now created two extremes where you can have just sex, or you can have love.

Sure, you may tell me that you can have a fuck buddy, but tell me this; how many times has it happened to you where casual sex has turned into something more for one partner, and then the arrangement collapses within days? It's that old fashioned, "after repeated instances of intercourse we're somehow closer" point of view. Sex and love are so conjoined, but so totally opposite and they don't have to be. They can be seperate entities.

Sex is a bit like cake; you can always have a piece when you fancy it. You'll try a lot of cake, and you'll always have your favourite, like chocolate cake that tastes so good, but was ultimately bad for you. And you'll always have that horrible Jamaican ginger cake from time to time that you only bought because it was on sale and then regretted it when you had it with your cup of tea in the morning. But then there's madeira... You don't mind it, it's inoffensive and it satisfies your craving. No-one has strong feelings for madeira but you always want it from time to time. Ideally, you'd like to keep the madeira in the cupboard and have it when there's no chocolate cake around...

But where sex differs, you should be able to have your cake and eat it. If there were so many rules to eating cake, would you buy it anymore? And if you knew you could only try each cake once, would you not want to savour it for a bit longer?

Basically, why is something that appears to be so simple is actually totally complex, with lots of rules, regulations, how to fuck, how not to fuck, how not to get fucked around by someone, how it fucks you up and you end up completely fucked off with it all. I'll tell you one thing; it was clever of God to pin the survival of the species on it.

So next time you have a bit of madeira, remember that you might want to keep it on the shelf, and perhaps you'll take a bit more time with it instead of greedily scoffing it in one bite.