Sacrilegious... and sexy

Yup... I'm going straight to hell.

Doing the walk of shame at pride fair...

It's no secret - I like my sex. I'm pretty sure everyone on this planet knows that I have no qualms about going out to a club, finding a man, taking him home and spending several hours performing rectal examinations on each other.

It's wholesome fun for everyone involved!

However there have been a few gentlemen recently who have wanted to take things a bit further than just the one night stand. I'm not talking deep and meaningful relationships after just one shag (well I think one certainly did) but they want to date and get to know me and share and learn all about me and all that crap.

In the past this would have thrilled the absolute hell out of me that a man would actually want to pursue me a bit, and perhaps eventually end up as a, gasp, "boyfriend", but lately these guys just aren't doing it for me on all the levels I need. I'm not talking sexually (well one certainly turned me off- he liked me to gouge my finger nails into his nipples as he reached orgasm. If I drew blood he was extra-happy... yeah that doesn't work for me, sorry), but more on the emotional level. There just hasn't been a great connection with anyone recently. And I think that's what I'm really searching for.

So how do I tell these guys that I'm not interested in taking things further? A quick phone call to say, "It's not you, its me"? God no. I simply disappear from the face of the earth. I stop returning their calls and texts. I delete them from MSN, I block them from Gaydar. I just do the total silent treatment, and pretend like they never existed.

Asshole.

I hate it when blokes do it to me, yet I seem to have fallen into the easy habit of just waiting til they get the hint, then going on my merry way and forgetting they ever existed.

That was until Saturday afternoon when I attended the Birsbane Pride Fair in Musgrave Park. Pretty much every time I turned around there was a man that I had slept with and then stopped talking too standing behind me. It was actually quite embarrassing.

On the front gate was "The Nipple Twister", then in the beer tent I saw "baldy back hair" and he was actually talking to "Priscilla Queen of Retail". Over in the queue for the toilets I saw "Bad in Bed" and then when getting some fairy floss I got served by "Hung Bottom Twink".

And I nodded and smiled at every single one of them.

And it got to me thinking... I have very few gay male friends. Well none really. All of these guys that I have ditched could actually have turned out to be mates, yet I simply push them away and try to avoid them. There are a couple of guys who I do talk to, but they really are ex's and there's always an undercurrent of sexual tension (probably just me being horny). It would be nice to develop a couple of friendships with gay guys that isn't based on alcohol consumption or the fact that we have seen each other naked.

But then again, I struggle to make new friends no matter what their gender or sexual orientation. Apparently I can be a tough nut to crack, and people often think I'm aloof and rude, when really I'm just extremely shy and don't know how to react in certain social situations.

I did have a great day though... mostly spent talking to lesbians. For some reason I get along with them really well.

I'm all discombobulated...

I've got an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a knot of frustration, anxiety, sadness, and anger all mixed together.

Work is shitting me - a million and one requests for HR support that everyone thinks will be actioned immediately when in reality you can go fuck yourself. Oh, and don't bother trying to tear me a new arsehole because you hired someone without the proper authority and now she hasn't been paid in 6 weeks. NOT MY FAULT YOU CAN'T FOLLOW DIRECTIVES.

I'm driving a million miles a day at the moment - mum and dad are away for three weeks so I have to go out to feed the dog. I've been staying over night, but it takes me almost two hours to get work in the morning, so I'm frazzled before I even get here.

Men are confusing me, well one in particular - drunken comments left on a post, leading to drunken flirty texts, and then general chit chat emails, with a bit more flirting thrown in. I want him, and I think he wants me, but where to from here? I'm no good at playing it cool.

I just want everything to be sweet and easy and cool. Is that too much to ask for?

Yes... because Jesus hates me for being a poof.

(And yes, I know if I want to be happy, I need to make my own happiness, take charge of my life, and all that shit… just let me vent).

I'm ballooning more than Oprah at an all you can eat rib bar...

I'm so sick of my weight fluctuations. Why can't I just keep going down, instead of this bullshit where I'll drop under 95kg, then back up an extra kilo, then down 1.4, and then up a little bit more?

But each drop does seem to take me down closer to my goal. I just want to be 90kg. It's only 4.4kg fucking kilos to go. Why does it have to be so hard?

Because Jesus hates me, that's why?

My Easter weekend of total boozy debauchery wouldn't have helped (even though I didn't have a single Easter egg). So much beer and scotch and sambucca really isn't gonna help the weight loss.

And then there was all the recovery McDonald's after each nights piss up. Hmmm... hangover double quarter pounder.

Oh.... but I will prevail. I will lose these massive love handles. I will be more tone and less jiggly. I will no longer be embarrassed to take my shirt off in front of strangers.

I will be thinner.

Now... time for afternoon tea. Where's my sausage roll and large ice coffee?

He's just that into you... because you're a big sloppy man whore

Things were very quiet on the dating front (or mindless, drunken sex front depending on the night) for Benji over X-mas and the new year period, but over the last few weeks my romantic leanings have been getting an airing again.

But, sadly, every man I meet this year seems to be jerking me around.

First there was Mr Mercedes Convertible - he's the guy who dated my house mate's friend, but we worked out that I had hooked up another ex of his last year. Confusing? Yes -but it's explained (badly) here.

So Mr Mercedes Convertible does, in fact, drive that sort of car. Nice. He also has fantastic taste in just about everything - nicely decorated house, nice clothes, nice wine choices, and he took me out to a fantastic restaurant.

We met on-line, and as such spent several nights chatting via MSN, then moved onto SMS and finally an actual telephone chat. Conversation flowed freely. We laughed about the multiple connections we had, but also laughed about a lot of other things as well. A date was set for Thursday night.

That's when I got to see the house, the car and when he took me out for the best pizza and steak I've ever had. It was a fantastic date, so I stayed the night.

And then that was the end of it. He stopped returning my calls, stopped responding to my texts. Three days later I got the "Thanks, but no thanks" text. I wasn't even worthy of a telephone call. Apparently, he was having issues with the fact that I shagged his ex, and he wasn't really looking for a relationship right now.... blah blah blah.

OK. Thanks. Message received loud and clear. See ya.

But this is the year of Positive Benji. I'm not going to let one guy get me down.

So onto Mr Footy Shorts. Once again, met him online. Well, really he tracked me down after we had had a massive pash on the dance floor at The Beat one night last year. Can't say I really remembered him, but we chatted on line, moved to SMS, then the phone calls.

When the night came for us to meet, her came to pick me up wearing footy shorts and a singlet. Not really a great outfit for a date, but looked so fucking hot. So hot, that we didn't make it out at all.

Things went a little bit better after that first date - texts continued to come my way, he even called most afternoons for the following week. Then when he didn't call me back one day when he said he would, I just assumed this was going down the same track as Mr Merc.

So for a whole week, nothing at all. Until last night when he calls and says he wants to cook for me and we'll watch a movie at his place.

I said yes in a second, and once again he picked me up in the footy shorts and we had a really nice night.

So this afternoon, I texted him to say thanks (Mum taught me to be polite) and told him that I'd like to see more of him. Of course - nothing.

Why am I not surprised? It just follows suite from every other fucking man on the planet. But this is really effecting my mood today. I went to the gym but couldn't concentrate, so came home and ate a shit load of food. Typical Benji response to emotional turmoil.

I feel like a total fucking loser - not for putting the feelings out there, but for letting it get me down like this. This is type of response is not a new thing for me. Men are jerks, but how many times did I go through this bullshit last year, and how many times this year?

But I've been a jerk, in the past too - I've not returned emails and texts, so maybe its just karma getting me back.

Maybe my man slut ways of last year have now established a reputation for me in the Brisbane gay scene. Maybe the word out on the town is that Ben is a good root, but you wouldn't more than one date.

It's probably just because Jesus hates me.

The nickname game

I used to have a rather juvenile habit of assigning nick names to people who were once part of my life, but now, I don't really give a shit about. Some still lurk around the edges, but I try not to talk to them as they generally shit me to tears.

Beth Ditto - a former housemate, who unfortunately bore a more than striking resemblance to the lead singer of The Gossip. A friend named her T-Bone for her stark diet consisting of T-Bone steaks and mashed potato.

Eyebrows - I've briefly mentioned him before, mainly for his annoying habit of wiggling his eyebrows during oral sex.

Elbow - my first ever boyfriend. He was 16 years my senior, which put him very close to the age of 50. He was given the horrible nickname of "Elbow" by friends (not that he ever heard it) because someone surmised that his "old balls would feel like the dry skin on your elbow". I did my own comparison on him one night. They felt nothing like my elbow skin. (Confess - your feeling your elbows right now)

Whore Lip - this is a horrible nickname for someone who I still talk to quite a bit, but she gets really really bad cold sores on her lips. Anyone that's seen American Dad will get the reference.

The Slapper - I was this woman's team leader for a couple of years. The first day I arrived she had the nerve to tell me that she was much more qualified to do my job but decided to give someone else a chance to do it. That kinda set the tone for many months of hell in managing this chick. She was also massively overweight, and had a bad habit of wearing dresses that were way too short for her. She had bad body odour and the day she perched herself on my desk I almost passed out from the smell.

Tumbleweed - a certain manager in this place who only blows in during the quiet times and blows right out the other door.

Moley - another boyfriend, and this guy just had so many moles on his face so it was an obvious choice. On his ears, on his lips, on his back, arms, legs, chest, hands. He used to use solariums quite regularly, so I was quite concerned about the melanoma risk. He just wanted to be tan, even though he was South American and already had a great skin tone. He was also known as the hairdresser, as, um, he is a hairdresser.

The Twin - we dated for a few weeks and well he was a twin (duh), but strangely enough he was also named Ben, he was my age and was pretty much the same height and weight as well. He did have a lot more hair than me. Bastard. Wish that one had gone somewhere though.

Hot Ash - a guy at the gym who strikes a remarkable resemblance to a random gay guy I know, but is much higher on the hotness scale.

On reflection, it was a really horrible thing to do. Espeically to the boyfriends. It really showed a lack of respect for them. Maybe Karma is now in effect and is making sure I don't find a new man for my past cunty behaviour.

Owwww. My ovaries.

I can't believe how god-damn fucking sick I am. It's x-mas eve, I'm about to start a two week holiday and I am sick as a fucking dog.

My throat is burnt to all hell from some major reflux action (damn you stress), my ears are all itchy and achy, my head is completely stuffed and I'm just plain exhausted.

Can't I just spend some quality time away from this place relaxing by the pool, catching up with mates and seeing my family without having to blow my nose constantly and splutter all over people?

No - Jesus hates me and he doesn't want me to be happy on his birthday.

It's simple really.

Somebody hates me....

It looks like one of us has pissed off some one in the street. But how?

A nice little note found in the letterbox when clearing the junk mail this afternoon;


Unfolds to reveal;

As much as I love Reel Big Fish, it's not so great knowing someone in the street doesn't like you. Maybe its all the noise from the orgies. Or the fact that we played guitar hero very very loudly around 3:00am on Saturday morning.

At least I don't mow in the nude anymore.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Friday night. Getting ready to go out for a few drinks with my boyfriend. I ask my housemate to "tidy up my hairline", before I shave the rest of my head.

This is what happened;

Morale of the story: never hand a pair of clippers without a blade to an angry angry woman.

Tales from the bus to boganville...

I've become a great user of public transport of the last 6 months or so, due to the car still being off the road. And while bus travel is generally much less eventful then the train, there have been many times recently where I've shuddered at some of the actions of people on my bus.

Yesterday afternoon there seemed to be extra crazies and bogans hanging around my usual bus stop in the city. There was one couple with a little girl that caught my eye - standing in the middle of the foot path smoking and swearing at the toddler ("You'll get a fucking belting if you do that again" and such). The woman had hair down past her arse, but it looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks and he had his pack of smokes under his shirt sleeve (I really didn't think people did that anymore).

I was praying that they weren't getting on the 375 with me, but Jesus hates me, so sure enought the trio piled on. The bus was filling up fast so they didn't get seats together, but took the seats on either side of the aisle right in front of me. I managed to score a seat to myself, so that was pretty sweet, until the next stop where an old, skinny, unshaved man got on and sat next to me. He staggered a little bit and looked like he was just kicked out of a west-end hostel (plastic bags and all).

This old man started waving and making faces at the little girl for a bit and then asked her "Do you know how to use a mobile phone sweetie?". It was a weird thing to ask such a small girl. What came after that blew my mind;

"She's three, of course she doesn't know how to use a fucking mobile ya stupid cunt," screeched bogan mum.

I, being of sound mind and fully skilled at avoiding bogan beatings, would have ceased the interaction at this stage, as the parents are obviously drug fucked. Old guy, however was obviously intent on interacting with this child, and continues with, "Is mummy right sweetie?".

Bogan dad now turns around in his seat with fist raised and screams at the old man "Don't you fucking talk to her or I'll fucking kill you! Fucking pervert..." with lots of muttering and more obscenities trailing off indecipherable.

I'm sitting there, making myself as small as possible with my headphones in, staring directly at my mobile phone, pretending to be absorbed by the whatever's on the screen, and trying not to get involved in any of this bullshit. But old man, who must have a death wish, leans over to me and says, "I wish I had a mobile, so I could call the cops on these two".

Way to go old man. Way to go. Lets antagonise two out of control bogans even more, and try to make me part of it. Thanks a fucking lot.

Of course bogan mum and bogan dad are now further enraged by old man.

"I'm gonna slit your throat you dirty old cunt. Try and call the police on me then!" screams bogan mum. Bogan dad chimes in with "I've been in jail fucker, I know how to fuck you up good and propper. Rip your fucking tongue out, cunt, for talking that shit to us".

I think at this stage old man worked out he had seriously gone a step too far with the bogans and leaped out of his seat and literally flew out the open doors at the next stop. Meanwhile, I'm worried that they're about to launch on me because he talked to me, but bogan dad turns round and says "Sorry about that fucker next to you. I hate cunts like that, hey?"

And that was the end of it. They continued to swear at each other and thier daughter all the way home, but no more threats of slitting throats or ripping out tongues. Just like a normal couple really.

They got off at the same stop as me where bogan dad said goodbye to me (like some sort of connection has been made), and bogan mum proceeded to duck into some one's front yard, pull down her pants and take a piss on their hydrangeas.

Classy as.

It's a conspiracy

Why the hell is a 600ml bottle of Pepsi Max only $2.50 in the vending machine at work, yet a 600ml bottle of Coke Zero is $2.80?

Yes, Coke Zero is a far superior product, and as such is my favourite carbonated beverage. So an extra 30 cents is potentially not much of a charge for a much more enjoyable drinking experience.

But if I buy one bottle a day every work day, that's an extra $72 per year because the vending machine company has a better deal with Pepsi. And that extra $72 could buy so much. Ummm, like 2 cartons of beer. That would be a worthy investment.

So why am I being punished? Because Jesus hates me. That's why.