New Year, New You?

Well having picked myself up off the floor over the New Year, 2008 started with a great big bang that gave me enough determination to carry on with the rest of the year. Within 4 days I had an interview for a much needed new job and I got laid by someone very new for the first time in (*hacks a cough over hsi own words*).

Which, you know, was nice.

I'd like to note I said "someone new". I haven't been celibate :p

And he gave me his number, and we're going on a date on Thursday.

So for all my infinite wisdom, I hate the fact that we always return to familiar ground; the "does he, doesn't he" dilemma. The signs are positive; I text him saying I had a great night. He text straight back saying he did too and he'd see me sometime for dinner, ending it with a "take care." Okay, back off, I think and I'll wait till I ask him for a date to text next. Two days later I say "So would you like to meet me before work one evening?" (working nights is a pain in the arse, sometimes). Again, text in 5 minutes "Sounds great. How about Thursday? Let me know what time." Again, punctuated with the eponymous "Take care". So now I'm wondering if I text him back a time or should I just "take care"?

I text him a time. He said "Perfect. See you soon"

I'm confused. We have a time, a day... But I have no idea where we're going or what we're doing, and I'm too scared to text because I should apparently be taking care of myself right now. Worse still, he's absolutely gorgeous. Really. I mean, I don't think I've ever laid someone as inarguably gorgeous as him. The kind of gorgeous where people wouldn't say "I don't know; he's not really my type" but more the kind of "Oh my God, just stick your penis inside me" type gorgeous.

So I'm even more confused; I left my ex because I thought I could do better and when I do I feel like I don't deserve it. I was quite happy to let it be a lucky one night stand, but it was him who asked me for my number and now I'm just in a sea of unfamiliarity.

However, the great thing about being a bit older and a bit wiser is that you learn to ride the rollercoaster and not stress so much about the details. But here we are... It all starts again: The Game. But I don't know who's playing it more; him or me?

I guess I feel in the weaker position again. Analysing every detail, wondering if he would have asked me out if I hadn't asked him, does he still have his eye on other guys, or is he thinking that this could work?

All this and not even a first date. I need some valium.

Why is it....

That when you're really horny, there's no one around to take your frustrations out on?

Life Is All About Taking Risks

Or you'd think, wouldn't you?

Well, after heading to Leeds festival and a much needed short break with my family, I returned to London more tranquil and relaxed. More at ease with the world... And much more aware of the fact that I've been single for 2 and a half years. It could only mean one thing; I needed to get laid.

On the day I got back, I already had plans to go out with a friend of mine, so I got dressed up to the nines and headed out. The club was empty and the music was bad, so I consoled myself with some alcohol. Never a good idea.

But not one to be put off, I took my chance on Saturday night to go out and bag some first rate gay.

But first, coffee with friends. It's always important to make time for friends. Especially when said friends suggest going to TGI Friday's to drink goblets (and I mean huge GOBLETS) of cocktails at 3pm. And then suggest going out to a bar at 7.30pm.

So we ended up at a bar where I very unfortunately knew the deputy manager. After another drink, my friend asked if the barman was gay or straight. She was interested for herself. So, I asked.

"We'd like to know too," said my friend the deputy manager.

Thus, I set about making it my business to know. As he finished his shift I sat down next to him and started talking. God knows what I said. I can't remember. I do, however, remember being outside with him, holding hands and doing a film quiz. However I managed to get from trying to help out a female friend to muscling in on this guy myself is beyond me.

Anyway, it was going well. We stepped outside. I suggested we go elsewhere and invited him back to mine. He freaked out.

I lost.

I went all the way home before I decided to go back to see if he came back. The deputy manager asked me what happened in an alarmed manner. Apparently he'd come back and drank 6 vodkas. Hmmm... I can't even remember if I said something he took badly.

I took the nightbus home and did something you should never do; pulled on the nightbus. He wasn't even attractive. I guess that's what desperation does to you. However, it wasn't tweo minutes before I was kicked out of his apartment. In a confused state I asked why, and he said I kept giving him different answers to the same question. I don't recall this at all. It makes me chuckle, though.

The next day, I decided to go back to the pub and say sorry to the barman and give him my number. I exited the station, and there he was; right in front of me drinking a coffee opposite the road. He tried to ignore me, but I just went over and said, "I was just on my way to the pub to speak to you"

He looked at me.

I froze.

I handed him the note and left.

He never got in touch.

The moral of the story is when you well and truly fuck up at a bar through drunken antics, never ever ever go there ever again.

Ugly Sex

Ew.

I need a Brillo pad, some bleach, and a break from sex for at least 3 months.

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.

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.