Category: Dating.

Sweet joy

Someone asked me today how I am and without thinking or analysing or overthinking I replied that I’m good. That I’m busy at work which is fantastic. And busy with life and a bit of love and also with dogs and kids and friends and the sweetest ripest granadillas and fresh food and fruit and very good wine and I realised something.

Something big.

I’m Happy.

Even with our political turmoil, I’m happy.

Even with a love life that is sometimes in turmoil, I’m happy.

Maybe it’s the weather; these glorious autumn days with glorious autumn colours.
Maybe it’s the possibility of love.
Of new kisses.
And skin.
Or sex.

Maybe it’s the dope I smoked.

Or all the dancing I’ve done.

I don’t know.

It could be because I finally learned how to use semi-colons which make me feel so good, like I  love using them and I think I need to use one immediately; would this be right?

I don’t know why, I just feel happy.

Perhaps I’ve become less difficult to please. More comfortable with me. And you.

And with life.

Whatever.

I just want to shout it out.

I’M KINDA HAPPY.

It’s a good feeling.

Insert semi-colon.

Right here.

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The guy who used to wear the yellow t-shirt

Remember the guy with the yellow t-shirt?

Well, I saw him over the weekend at a brunch. And out of the blue he gave me the shirt.

I was surprised and flattered and I giggled because it brought back all the stuff about how I met him.

And I love that we’ve become friends. That a chance meeting in a coffee shop turned into something lovely.

I learned quite a few things from that yellow t-shirt bumping into oh my gosh chance encounter.

Talk to strangers.
Talk to more strangers.
Engage.
Put yourself out there.
Don’t be scared.

Also, if they wear terrible t-shirts, tell them.

Trash them. Trash them publicly, trash them privately, trash them any way you want, but trash them. And you’ll be able to tell from their reaction, what kind of person they are.

The guy who used to wear the yellow t-shirt had a sense of humour. He laughed all the way through his public trashing.

Which is the other thing I learned.

Laugh.
Laugh at yourself.
Laugh out loud.
Giggle.
Chortle.
And chuckle.

Today I’ve been chuckling.

I woke up this morning and put the shirt on. It’s about a million sizes too big for me. It’s soft. Worn. Cosy.

It feels good.

And I’ve been feeling creative and arty and sexy in my oversized huge shirt.  I decided to paint.  The shirt is now red and blue and arsenic green and a mess and I love it.

I’m going to tell the guy who used to wear the yellow t-shirt that his shirt is no longer yellow.

That it’s a comfort shirt now.

He’ll chuckle.

I think. I know. I hope.

splat

Intuition, part two

And then there is the other intuitive thing
when he calls
and you say yes
immediately
because you know
you just know
this is right
good
fun
delicious
safe
and sexy
too.

image

Yes. No. K.

Hey Violet, I really need that story by 3.00, can you do it?
Are you mad, that’s like now, it’s gonna take days.
Please please, it’s important, I’d forgotten.
Oh, okay, sigh, I’ll get started.

Meet me for lunch Vi?
Nah, so damn busy and gotta…
Ugh, I gotta talk to someone, desperate.
Can we do tonight, no, really no, now, you gonna kill yourself if we don’t? Fine, fine, where, when, K, see you there, put the gun down, down, now..

Vee, we’re doing this fundraiser and…
NO, just no.
But you’re so good at it and think of all those starving children and..
Oh christ, can I say no, I don’t care about the starving children, oh fuck, fine, yes 2 pm?

Anal Sex?
No

Please?
Nope.

Can you do the school lift?
Sure, even though I think you’re a fucking cunt for never doing the school lift yourself. Sure.

Anal?
Oh fuck off.

Why do I find it so hard to say no to anything? Except anal. I’ve read all the self help books and been over this a billion times in therapy.  I know it’s about self worth and loving yourself and blah blah boring and I’ve definitely learned to say no a lot more, but – mostly I think as women we find it hard to say no because – because we’re kind?  Caring.  Loving.

I don’t know.

Anyway.  No.  I can’t help you with that right now.  Sorry.  Gotta go.  Heading to the dog park.  A date. I have a dog date.

That was a YES.

Oh no!!!

no

It’s only fair…

That I list a few things you should never say to a guy.

You’re like my best friend.

Ever think of working out?

Maybe you should see a doctor.

I thought all men could change a tyre.

Really?  Not even a light bulb?

Soccer?

Still soccer?

Oh man up.

It’s just a game for god’s sake.

Viagra?

Oooh, ja, it is small.

We should just stay friends.

A virgin? You’re kidding me.

What the hell is wrong with you?

I’m sorry I fucked your best friend.

I know it was our wedding, I said I’m sorry.

God, you really are a cunt.

oops

Just dessert

Keep your fucking hands off my dessert, I yelled at the guy sitting across the table from me, OFF OFF.

Calm down, Violet, I just want to taste it.

Then order your own Please. I hate sharing my dessert, I seriously hate it.

He put his spoon down. And gave me the death stare.

Apparently if you don’t like sharing you are a very mean person.

I must be a mean person. I don’t like sharing.

Unless it’s on my terms.

Like:-

‘Hey, John this is really delicious, mmm, yum, wanna taste?’

And when John says yes then I put a little bit on my spoon and pass it over.

But I do not want John leaning over me, digging HIS spoon into my dessert and helping himself.

Although that is better than him leaning over, taking MY spoon and helping himself.

It’s a bit like at yoga. My space is my space. And don’t you dare invade it.

I will share happily if the conditions are right. Like, if it’s in bed and we’re having great sex and there are strawberries or chocolate or champagne or all three and I’m naked and on top and it’s sexy and it’s fabulous and oh god yes more please yes oh oh god, yes!!!

Then I will share anything with you.

But. Hey.

If I don’t know you that well, and we’re new and we’re not even the slightest bit intimate and it’s a first date, like last night, and it’s not going very well at all, then:-

Have some boundaries.

You useless cunt

Keep your hands off my creme brûlée.

And don’t ever call me again.

Ever.

Thanks. And Bon Appetite.

creme

My gay friend

My gay friend is a very angry gay friend.

Violet!!!

He yelled at me over the phone.

I’ve been your friend for twenty years. Twenty fucking years. And you’ve never written about me, ever. Now, I introduce you to X and you write an entire blog about him. Same day. He gets immediate celebrity status and I get one teeny ridicululous mention as ‘The Gay Friend.’  

I giggled.   Calm down. At least I didn’t call you the fat gay friend. Or the fat grey gay friend. Or the old fat grey bad tempered friend. Or…

I was having fun. This was good for my story telling.

You are such a bitch, Violet. All I want is a bit of recognition. But no, nothing. X gets it, your disastrous lovers get it, even your ex bloody husband gets it. And me? Nothing. I’ve been steady in your life, always there for you, sometimes I even read your blogs, and – nothing, nothing.

It wasn’t helping that I kept giggling and interrupting him with things like Yeah but what do you think, should I botox, and hey I bought such a pretty dress today, also, you know I’m trying to do my stomach exercises, hold on while I switch ears.…

He was on a tirade. I let him go on. And on. And on.

He called me a few names. Names I’d never heard before.

Poeslappie.

Ew, I said.

Ew, he said back. Anyway, fuck you. I’m pissed off.

I got off my yoga mat, checked my abs, not bad, not bad at all. I was ready for a meal.

Ya know, I’m starving. Drinking only fruit juice and not having online sex has me ravenous. Wanna go out for lunch?

Sure.  He suggested the lovely cafe down the road.

Groovy, I said.  Bring X with you.

Okay.

See! The beauty of friendship.  Fat gay male angry friendship.

It’s perfect.

phone