Google Eyes Pt 2

I rocked up to the ‘leslie’ event (‘leslie’ is my preferred term for a lesbian because it sounds less formal and the word ‘lesbian’ conjures up images of hairy arms and lizards, don’t ask me why). Google strolled in shortly after. Her height, broad shoulders and confident athleticism drew glances. Being an out of town girl she didn’t know anyone, which tended to stress me (I was officially unsuccessful at baby-sitting during adolescence). Caring for fully grown lesbians presented a far more complicated problem. Most women arrive in organised gaggles but not Google, she came to see me and the weight of that was crushing my toes.

Nonetheless she purchased our beers and we engaged in courteous prattle.

After an hour I tested her vertebral column by pointing out rather formally “Whilst it’s been great chatting, I need to get back to ‘my people’, can you arrange someone else to talk to?” Right on the words ‘talk’ and ‘to’, I strategically raised my eyebrows to emphasise the fact that I was important and popular and no doubt being noticeably missed elsewhere. Her face changed from relaxed self-possession to shear fright. Clearly she wasn’t familiar with being knee capped by a commoner. Of course I was delighted to be the first.

I found her intriguing enough to hand over my Pink Sofa username before she left, this was almost certainly because I was ready to be stalked again.

To Be Continued..

Google Eyes

About 3 years back I experienced a whirlwind affair with a woman several years my junior. This is unusual as I find youth an unattractive colour on me most days. Bit like getting a new pup, the excitement wears off after they shit on your rug. I think ‘younger people’ are great, just as long as I don’t have to engage with them. I am the world’s youngest curmudgeon, also known to terrorise stray children from my front lawn with a cane.

Google was about 5 years younger, which is almost a generation in my encyclopaedia.

We met at one of those Pride inspired fair days. I was volunteering as a ‘promo’ girl for Pink Sofa when she approached. Her ‘friend’ had put her name down to assist with promotions so we were introduced, something like '..and this is Google Eyes, she is temporarily staying with me, she’s from Sydney’ (nods and points at Google forcefully). Ok, so that wasn’t really her name, but protecting the innocent I am.

Google stared down at me (tall, she was, and athletic). I introduced myself back and felt her eyes burning into me, the way religious folk stare at you that moment before they think converting your soul is imminent.

Being quite flattered by her obvious attraction, I started to smile, a broad toothy trademark Zy grin (this is a typical nervous reaction usually serving to deepen the mess I am already in. For example when someone is yelling at me, or confronting me, an uncontrollable teasing smirk can erupt, frequently disarming my oppressor). We sparred a bit verbally before she was dragged away by the ‘friend’. Then, just before I finished promoting for the Sofa, Google returned, this time equipped with questions.

The interesting component in all of this was that I was trialling celibacy at the time. I had even hidden my profile from the Pink Sofa search feature for 7 days, that’s how serious I was about it.

I refused to give her my phone number, so she quizzed me for my Pink Sofa username. I told her I would be at the girlie dance event held after the fair, where she would be welcome to purchase my drinks. Also that I was not ‘available’ for anything else now that I was no longer sexually active amongst the lesbians. She agreed this was reasonable on the basis that lesbians can be very distracting.

To Be Continued..

The Vegan

What do you call a group of vegans? Are they an ‘announcement’, an ‘excitement’, an ‘assortment’ or an ‘irritation’? I think the latter. An irritation of vegans.

Recently I went on a date with a vegan. She suggested we go to what is known as a Vegan Festival. Usually the very mention of the words ‘vegan’ or ‘festival’ send me into spasms of aggravation. The fact that she popped those two words into a sentence that required my application is almost unfathomable. But since we had been messaging each other on Pink Sofa for 3 months, and she had finally plucked up the courage to ask me out, I couldn’t say no. At the very least this expedition could be an item to tick off my bucket list. There always has to be something in it for me.

Who knew vegans could be scorching hot? Murdering me she was, with her thick eyelashes and dark eyed good looks, the kind of girl who can say “Would you like to come to a Vegan Festival” and you hear “Would you like to lick this molten chocolate from my navel?”

During the stroll to the park where the plant eaters were tenderly rallying around cashew tea, my vegan date attempted to hold my hand. Not cool. Wasn’t it enough that I was going to subject myself to an abundance of clap-happy vegans for the afternoon? My credibility was already at risk (and I don’t care how hot you are, just don’t try and hold my hand at a vegan festival).

As we approached the hub of herbivorous activity, the vegan began to get excited. I followed at a safe distance in case she poked my eye out with a spare flapping elbow (don’t ask, it’s obviously a vegan thing). We passed by tents and displays of vegan wares and delicious sounding edible concoctions without incident. I was intrigued however by her ability to absorb vast quantities of foodstuffs (given her elfin composition).

Anyway. It turned out to be one of those dates where you start filing excuses to get out of there from the moment you arrive. Was it the dancing hippies, or the whiney children (who probably just wanted meat), or the inflatable carrot that was bulldozing my libido? I will never know, because that was the first and last vegan festival for this lesbian.

Thought Gasp

I was in chat with a long term friend on Pink Sofa the other night, and our discussion evolved into my latest mantra. You have probably heard the expression 'If you love something, set it free; if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't, it never was'.  I always liked that saying, but nowadays it seems way too limiting for the Zymeister.

How about just living in a constant state of freedom? Allowing your human relationships to flourish and grow continually by offering them complete freedom as part of a continuum.

"You are free to be with me now, as I am free to be with you. You know that if I stay it is because I want to be here. Because you are allowing me to make this decision continuously, you don't need to question my motives for being here."

This is my kind of world. No cheating. No insecurity. No games.

I would then add 2 more side dishes to complete my meal:

1. Treat others as you would have them treat you.

2. Always be true to yourself

So what do you think, achievable?

Also, you may be less familiar with the alternative quote - "If you love something, set it free; if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't, hunt it down and kill it" I think a lesbian coined that one.

34 Minutes Pt 2

I don’t use an iPhone for games, am way too sophisticated for that. I use my iPhone to checkout distances between locations. You know like how many k’s to the next pub, how many k’s to my last ex's place from ‘current location’, how many k’s between my last ex and my next ex. That kind of thing.  Really pertinent stuff.

After 34 minutes of iPhone and vodka tricks, one can become quite flappable. Luckily my date finally sauntered in with some sexy black evening gown and heels. I felt way underdressed in my jeans and country-girl shirt (a recent style I was trialling with large success).

I ordered Ms ‘34 Minutes’ a drink and watched her settle into a bar stool awkwardly, anxiously fumble with her purse and drop it. I tried to calm her by offering a playful jest like “You were 19 minutes late”. Her cross-eyed stare back conveyed pretty plainly we didn’t have a similar sense of humour. So my next strategy was to get her to talk (fortunately much easier). All I had to do was release inquisitive directives in her periphery at timely intervals and employ my sincerest listening face.

3 hours later she took a breath and declared “wow you are really interesting” which I found extraordinary. I let her know I was weary by setting free a wide yawn and simultaneously scraping my chair heavily.

After that she stalked me with a few private messages on PinkSofa.com, which I politely responded to (website etiquette), but when she started repeating herself it became easier to file her interruptions into a new file labelled “Be Wary – Date Shows Signs Of Dementia”.

34 Minutes Pt 1

I am going to rest the Lightning Lilly saga because I am semi-traumatised from having to relive it through this key pad for the past few entries. There is really only one more moment worth capturing anyway, the one explaining her name. Saving it for later, so build a clichéd miniature bridge and get over it.

This is a tale about a very recent date I had.

Special Note 5: You can expect my current dating experiences to demonstrate a more sensible approach in so far as candidate suitability, alcohol requirements and distance travelled.

We commenced chatting on Pink Sofa only because she was hugely impressed by my insightfully scripted bio (after 10 years on the site you reckon I would know a thing or two about how to reel the ladies in and I don’t mind saying that I do when I want to). She was quirky enough to entertain me, which seems to be enough these days (now that I have stretched my lesbian dating gamut).

As already stated, I am much more judicious in the bout of seeking love these days. A reduction of travel (for me) intended for a first date from 15, 000 miles (it only took 5 years of experimentation to realise it wasn’t terribly economical) to under a mile. So now I expect her to come to me. If I had invested in properties with the same tenacity that I have invested into dating, I would have at least 4 investment chattels, a house on the lake and a mountain cabin. 

I made her drive from the ‘hills’ to my coastal dwelling after she finished work for the day. To me that shows commitment.

Eww, did I really say that word? ‘Commitment’.  It even tastes wrong.

Some things about my dating repertoire never change, no matter how wise I get. I still arrive at least 15 minutes earlier than the arranged time. It really sucks when your date then arrives 19 minutes late. Which she did. Let me tell you I can drink quite a few vodkas in 30 minutes, especially when the only distraction is a downy muffin top bar chap. That’s right, a guy with man hips. And whilst that was fascinating so far from a circus, it is unbecoming to stare.

So I got drunk and played on my iPhone instead.

To Be Continued..

Personal Reminder

I want to be around a girl who isn't uncomfortable about who she is, because of who I am.

Lightning Lilly Pt 4

Her monologue continued for 48 minutes whilst I rehearsed my breakup speech to jazz tunes. Finally she gaped for air and I started in “I really have to go and do my washing/shopping/mopping so how about we talk later.” Not certain which of my personalities was speaking at that point, it just fell out of my mouth that way.

Next thing I knew she had her hand in my back pocket, was calling me ‘babe’ and pushing me up and down aisles like her trolley. 

The only possible solution during such a crisis was the mobile phone emergency plan. Pretending to conduct a price check on gourmet cucumbers I desperately clasped the gadget to my ear and made bold statements like “WHAT? Really. So you need me to come right over?” I gestured to my shopping date that something pretty big and pretty important was going down, and I would have to raincheck on the Moroccan lentil salad on tender.

This was met with a pouty expression. I wanted to vomit, she was already at ‘baby phase’ in Lesbian 101. Luckily she hadn’t figured out I was making the whole thing up to flee (she might have slapped me out with her beaded sandal).

Special note: When baby phase is reached, the relationship/coupling/arrangement is over. And don’t ever use a baby voice around me, not even when you talk to a baby.

To Be Continued..

Lightning Lilly Pt 3

Backing away from Lightning, I observed her close her eyes and let out a sigh (and I am seriously not making that up).  She seemed to draw something religious from the moment. She was digging me, which brought on rampant sweat secretion. I was supposed to be in love with someone else AND she knew about that. This was just a ‘thing’.

My phone had received 5 text messages during the 8 minute drive home. Yikes. Nothing turns me off faster than someone who needs to express themselves repetitively without encouragement.

The next morning the text barrage continued again from 7am (reminders and requests for coffee, how great last night was etc).  After bike training, I arranged a safe and public meeting point for coffee and debrief. ‘Debrief’ specifically meant I was going to have to end it. Lightning Lilly had already leapt way too far into a future I was never going to attend.

My plan to meet after a ride was intended to put her off.  Looking haggard and unattractive normally puts folks off right?  Not Lightning. I rocked up, secured a pose, sheltered my coffee and waited. Lightning bounced in like an omniscient prophet, sprouting enthusiastic clichés that linked like daisies on a chain. I couldn’t follow any of it, so instead settled back and listened to the elevator music playing in my head (gets switched on in certain people’s company).

To Be Continued...