I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
My Friend, The Bo, has a date tomorrow night with The Man with No Name. I don’t envy her one little bit (on account of Man’s missing name, I don’t think she envies herself much either). There are people, however, who do love the whole dating experience, those who thrive on endlessly repeating the same information to virtual strangers but personally I’d rather go bald than have to go through a succession of crap dates in order to find ‘the one’ or at the very least, someone willing and able to accept my mentalness and agree to a 2nd date. Mind you, in lesboville, a 2nd date equals moving your furniture in, while date 3 equals a joint purchase. Date 4 is the loss of sex and by date 5, you bitterly hate each other and are working out how to snare your next prey in order to avoid the whole dating process once again.
It’s funny, lesbo relationships* move so quickly, following the same repetitive pattern. You have a passionate/tempestuous relationship for a few years (moving in, buying things together, getting to each other’s idiosyncrasies etc) which then fizzles out because it all happened faster than an unexpected shart** and then it begins again, full circle. Lesbos get their claws into the first person who as much as raises an eyebrow at them, whether suitable or not, and they cling on for dear life. Is it deep rooted insecurity? Is it because there are so few available lesbos to choose from that once you get one who vaguely likes you (or one who is more mental than you and therefore makes you feel sane), that you must keep it, make it your own?
Generally lesbos don’t have kids to bind them to each other but instead have material possessions. ‘Don’t leave me; we have the washing machine to consider!’ Or, ‘You will stay with me forever because because we have joint custody of the bedset!’ It’s even worse when after 2 months of togetherness the 'happy' Lesbos decide they need a pet in their lives to cure their already ailing relationship that will undoubtedly outlive their coupledom… And cat/hamster/fish goes to stay with a willing friend because neither of the lesbos can cope with the perpetual reminder of the demise of their relationship. Cynical? Me? Hell yeah.
So, yeah, good luck tomorrow Bo and I do hope I don’t find myself there again… actually, the lesbo race should be hoping they don’t find me back on the dating scene because really I wouldn’t wish my scintillating conversation on anyone. The art of conversation is really not something I have been blessed with which therefore rules out all dating, socialising and general being.
And so I go consider shovelling my body into a dress. Consideration is a terrible thing.
My one MSN buddy, Golden Boy!
The snow! Though after last year’s debacle, sledging is out
My green nails; like little peas on the end of my fingers
Hollyoaks and its current gayness
Snow filled hair
The possible loss of my favourite umbrella, real tears sweetie, real tears L
Corine Bailey Rae, boring
*basing this, of course, on my own experiences and of those I know so yes, generalising completely… :-)
**shart – you know, when you fart and a bit of shit comes out…A word made famous by the films Along Came Polly
2/08/2007 01:50:00 PM
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