What do you call a gay cougar? A PANTHER!

I’m not exactly a spring chicken. I often joke that I am a middle-aged queen and refer to myself as ‘a man of a certain age’. To be specific, I’m 39 and now only a matter of months away from the big 4-0. I can not wait for this massive celebration and as a general rule I don’t think I have a problem with growing old (Botox helps!).

I think this is because I don’t think or feel like a 40 year old. I’ve always struggled with ‘maturity’, it doesn’t sit well with me. I behave like a child, I socialise like a teenager and I date like I’m in my early 20’s. Now this has become even more apparent in the last few months when I’ve got myself back on the singles scene. I spent most of my 30’s in a beautiful relationship and now that this has ended I think I’ve regressed in age.

Leader of the Pack: Demi

I may be 39 but I am back acting like someone a decade younger. And it seems my tastes haven’t evolved in that time either. I’ve caught myself a number of times recently ‘engaging’ with those much younger than me. There was one moment at Daywash on Big Gay Weekend when I found myself all animated in the middle of a circle of 22 year olds. I swear some of them weren’t even shaving yet. What could I possibly have in common with these boys?

You are right, absolutely nothing. 3GreggyD and The Sculptor airlifted me out.

I'd do anything Madonna does

But this has been happening a lot. To the point where it’s started to make me uncomfortable. Then suddenly the penny dropped.

I’ve become a gay cougar!

The term cougar has become a synonymous with modern-day dating and often used to mock. But I completely understand now. It was a lightbulb moment – I am a cougar! But I struggled to see myself in the image of the traditional cougar – I wear pants but no make-up – so I put the call out on Twitter. What do you call a gay cougar? The response was quick, dramatic and unanimous. A gay cougar is a…

…PANTHER!

How fucking cool is that! I’m a Panther and I couldn’t be more proud. I love that there is even a term for it. I should have known the gays would be all over this one. Oh the fun I am going to have now that I can legitimately call myself a Panther. They have sleek black coats, can move incredibly fast and pounce on their unsuspecting prey with stealth like precision. Kudos to me!

Calvin Klein and boyfriend

Before I lose myself in a sea of Panther jokes, I have to admit there is a more philosophical debate to be had around the existence of cougars and panthers. If you had of tried to explain this to me even 6 months ago I wouldn’t have understood, but now after a while doing the pub/bar/Grindr circuit I completely get it.

The dating scene is entirely dominated by the young. And by young I mean under 35. Boys in their 20’s are literally swarming everywhere. You can not buy a vodka, lime & soda or turn on your Grindr without them popping up everywhere like cockroaches. Now this is a brilliant thing if you too are in your 20s, if you are ‘a man of a certain age’ it really does narrow your focus.

Elton John and boyfriend

There just aren’t that many men of my age out and about – on the scene or online. Maybe they are all shacked up by now? Maybe they lost interest in the scene a long time ago? Maybe they have secret places they go to that I don’t know about yet? But I’ve been on a 7 year hiatus so I’m playing catch-up. I’ve got my training wheels on for sure but I’m yet to find a way to meet people that isn’t dominated by the young.

I have no choice but to become a panther!

Without getting all sociological on you arse, I can imagine it would be very similar for the cougars. If you want to meet someone, have some company, have some fun; then your options to mix with people of your own age are very limited. They are all off choosing their new home furnishings or planning couples weekends away. They are having dinner parties with old friends and going to school concerts.

Us panthers and cougars, well, we are out to get some action!

Karl Lagerfield and boyfriend

And the only other people out doing the same are the young. Age does have its advantages for the cougars and the panthers though. We’ve had many more years to fine-tune our wit, charm and intellect for the sole purpose of luring in our prey. They are putty in our hands when they come across our specilaised skill-set. Well, sometimes.

So today I’m all about empowering the panther and the cougar. Now that I understand this social group and recognize that I am part of it, I can completely appreciate and encourage our existence.

Besides, someone needs to be teaching the young how to do things properly.

No reason for this photo, just that its my favourite from the weekend!

Big Gay Weekend!

To the uninitiated, Big Gay Weekend is a fabulous series of parties and events co-ordinated as a fundraiser for the wonderful people at New Mardi Gras. Some of you may remember Sleaze Ball, well that has been replaced by a 3 day extravanganza. The Gays must be increasing in their stamina.

Before I get dirty with the party details I need to address my Manscaping issues I wrote about last week – the contradiction of the full beard needed for one function with the clippered torso required for another. I may have had the beard but it did nothing to help my fit in at gathering of Bears. Clippered my torso for dance party but because of my flabby gut there was no way my singlet was coming off. Note to self: hair is neither here nor nair.

The Sculptor (who purposely does that in photos), 3GreggyD and McDimples

So who are the key player on this Big Gay Weekend? It was a gathering of Twitterati that’s for sure. We had visiting Melbourne Gay Royalty 3GreggyD who as it seems knows more about socializing in Sydney than I do, sad but true. He’s also more connected. He planned our whole weekend god love him. Staying at Man Pit with me (Little Sammy and I make him sleep on the floor) is ex-ex-boyfriend-come-beautiful-friend The Sculptor. The three of us were a posse the whole weekend.

The Sculptor and Little Sammy

Playing very important Special Guest Appearance roles were McDimples, Lucky Paulie and Murdoch. McDimples put in some hard, fast yards over Friday and Saturday night and left me breathless with his flirting abilities. Lucky Paulie had to work over the weekend as he is changing the face of Australian television so he couldn’t misbehave. Murdoch is a new Twitter friend, he came from nowhere on Sunday and BAM! he was all over it!

As you can see from the shot above, 3GreggyD, The Sculptor and McDimples enjoy a certain crowd so they dragged Princess St. Murphy to the Oxford to kickstart BGW. Yep, still don’t fit in! It smells. It’s overcrowded. It’s a fucking nightmare to get a drink. If there hadn’t been porn playing on the TV’s I would’ve wanted to leave much earlier. I didn’t even get felt up and I was wearing my best Japanese-butt jeans. But both my Melbourne visitors knew of another party we could go to – Commando.

Now this had me intrigued as I am sure one of them told me it meant you had to go Commando, as in no underwear. I held high hopes I was gonna be undie-checked at the door cause at least I could interpret that as some action in my lonely head. But alas, we got a bum-steer. No one checked my Kenneth Cole briefs as I handed over my cover charge. Commando that night started two trends that went for the entire weekend – 3GreggyD and The Sculptor know more people in Sydney than I do and gay men do not like wearing shirts. Especially in a 400m radius of a dance floor.

Commando was cool, the music was brilliant. But the best bit was the Ball Pit. It brought out the inner child in us all. Frollicking in the Ball Pit is just like you would imagine, hilarious. That is until I thought I thought I lost my wallet. Luckily my jeans were so tight nothing was coming out of those pockets and it was a false alarm. Phew! How could I rack up more debt if I didn’t have atleast 2 credit cards with me?

Suitably drunk and super-confident we strutted our way up Oxford and hit the Shift. The first gay bar I ever went to was the Shift in 1995. I think some of the same crowd is still there. If ever you want a snapshot of the sheer diversity of the gay community step into the Shift one day. You can say a lot of things about this place but ‘dull’ is not one of them. I love and adore it, but I think maybe for all the wrong reasons.

Something very strange came over McDimples at the Shift – he got his sex-face on! He was like a MAGNET!!! He was being showered with love and affection from someone different every time I turned around. It was some phenomenal flirt-work, the likes you rarely see. Now if he was putting notches in his bedhead….???? Me, I’m still finding my feet. There was one (far too) young boy from Mississippi who I gave a whole new meaning for Mississippi Burning due to my facial hair. Weirdest part of night was towards the end when our Melbourne brothers turned to us and say “We’re going for burgers”. What the…? Is that code for something? Apparently not, they went for burgers. McDimples and I kept drinking, that’s how we role in Syd-er-ney!

Saturday is a blur. 3GreggyD and The Sculptor dragged me out of bed for lunch where we told our war-stories from the night before, quickly organized a dinner for that night and then they put me back to bed. Satyrday night, Una’s for a schnitzel is a life-changing experience. It is my favourite meal in Sydney. It is heaven on a plate with gravy. Although we kept choking on our food cause we had some funny stories to share. Lucky Paulie was finally able to join us and thank god he is as Twitter/Grindr/Scruff obsessed as the rest of us – we love our phones (RIP Steve Jobs!). I hurt from laughing!

McDimples, Lucky Paulie, St. Murphy & 3GreggyD

My beautiful Schnit

Una’s was followed by gay-casual drinks at the Green Park. Everyone was still mocking me for my diarrhea story from dinner. We were now sitting on stools. I can’t help my bowel condition! Had one of those moments when the pendulum could have swung either way – home now or out till lunchtime tomorrow. Commonsense and the return of daylight saving prevailed and we tucked ourselves into bed at a respectable hour. Such good boys, almost angelic.

Sunday was the big one! Daywash.

I love a crowd of any sort, always have. Make it a gay crowd and I’m even happier. Make it a gorgeous gay crowd heaving to the dance-version of Adele with no shirts on and I am in absolute HEAVEN!!!! I hadn’t realized how much I missed dance parties until the moment the first bare, incredibly toned, torso took to the podium. Papa was home!!! It’d been 4 years since I’d been to one and that will not happen again. Just unbelievable fun. Fun fun fun!

3GreggyD and The Sculptor were in brilliant form. Again, they knew more people than I did. At one point I was completely surrounded by boys from Melbourne and Brisbane. It started at noon so no excuse for anyone to have a shirt on (except me of course!). My $2 Thai singlet worked a treat at this quasi-summer event. A prominent Melbourne gayer gave me a corsage of a body-loofer from the overhanging clothes line and I also acquired a hot pink tutu to complete my spectacular dance outfit. And dance we did. Lost count of the amount of times I heard Adele on steroids.

The spunky and hilarious Murdoch was backing up from the night before, left his friends at home on the couch and came and played with us all day. See, Twitter does good things.  We’d become friends online and had only met so briefly only the week before. He is now my dance-party buddy and we’re planning for the next. He’s very tall and can see everything so he was like my own personal telescope.

3GreggyD, The Sculptor and Murdoch

We all moved from room to room doing our best So You Think You Can Dance impressions, we’d wander off and then come back to the group, we socialized with strangers and caught up with old friends. It was truly joyous. I literally loved every second. EVERY GODDAMN SECOND! My little heart sank when it finally ended.

We shuffled our way back across Hyde Park for a much-needed costume change before the after-party, Splash. I forgot to feed Little Sammy which I didn’t realize until lunchtime the next day. But I did remember a Yves Saint Laurent spritz, a new singlet and a fresh pack of B&H. Splash was v. cool but yes, everyone was starting to get a little messy. Perhaps even me. I did think at one point I’d never seen a hotter group of men than the crowd on the dancefloor but that could have been the double-vodka’s talking. And I’m out of training, four years out. So my little meaty thighs were starting to get tired. Positioned myself provocatively on a vast leather couch and chatted and giggled with some old and dear friends.

Oh dear.

Then suddenly the lights came on! Oh dear, warts and all. There was talk of a new venue but for fucks sake I’m 39! I needed to curl up in bed before serious injury/possible heart attack. A quick check of my compact and I looked 105. Yes, time for this tired old queen to punch some Z’s. Waved goodbye to 3GreggyD who still had some fight left in him and stumbled, staggered, pretended to strut my way down the hill (thank god!) to Man Pit. A very hungry Little Sammy needed some cuddles.

But a better weekend is hard to recall! This was one of the great ones!

Had an absolute fucking ball!

Four and a half very important things!

Today I have four and a half very important things to share with you, very important indeed. Well, one news piece, 3 very importants and a half of silliness.

I’m going to start with the ‘half’.

Yeh, I’ve been a slack bitch! It’s been days since I posted. Got absolutely distracted by Big Gay Weekend. In fact it was so big and so gay that I’m sure I lost more than a weekend. It felt like a mini-holiday with vodka and lots of naked torso’s. But what else would you expect on a Big Gay Weekend other than vodka and bare torso’s. So the BGW post will be tomorrow. Actually, let me rephrase that, the censored, PG, ‘don’t want to make the straights jealous’ version of the BGW post will be tomorrow. As a teaser I offer you this…

The Sculptor

I have news! Big news! (and another reason for being so distracted lately!) After a very stressful few weeks we sold our house yesterday. So relieved, so glad it’s over. Things went from bad to worse while we were selling so it started to get a bit ugly for us. But we have the world’s best real estate agent – Will Phillips at Bresic Whitney – so in the end we avoided going to auction and got a price that we are both more than happy with. The sale brings to an end one of the most important chapters of my life. So I’m filled with relief but also very sad at the same time. Much sadder than I expected I would be.

Now, the three very important things I need to share with you.

The first is the too-brilliant-for-words ‘I Do’ video in support of Gay Marriage. Huge congratulations to everyone involved. Get on board and share it as much as you can.

Here is the link to the ‘’I Do’ website where it is so easy for you to share. There is also the link to sign the petition or contact your MP.

Secondly, one of my all-time favourite politicians Anna Bligh has recorded a message for It Gets Better. It’s a little bit special that Premier Bligh has shared this. And word on the street is that Anna has a phenomenally talented social media manager working with her.

Finally, I’ve come to know some amazing people in the blogging community. One of them is the divine BigWordsBlog. She is the amazing mum who stated the ‘I Love Equal Love’ button campaign - yes, the one you see to your right. Well her post this week is just beautiful and every Australian should read it. Bianca, you are a very special woman and I am completely in love with you. Read her post now!

The Equality One

That is all. Four and a half stories.

Hope you liked them.

St. Murphy

Manscaping!

I’m having issues with body hair. In the most part because I am a ‘man of a certain age…’ and there just seems to be more of it. The second reason is that now social occasions determine a certain hair aesthetic, a cultural requirement.

These are the pressure I currently face.

Lets start from the top and work down. I’ll stop at the belt line, cause I don’t want to have to use the term wippa-snipper in this post.

Brows have been important to me since my mid-20’s. This is when I quickly leanrt that a young-gay in Sydney should not have just the one eyebrow. I was mocked endlessly when I first stepped onto Oxford St for my monobrow. Cause I never went to gay-school I did not understand this rule. Me, I’d been cruising through regional NSW as a straight boy and no one had ever mentioned my massive, ear-to-ear-with-no-break-in-the-middle eyebrow.

This is another example, of which there are many, that gay men are held to higher standard than our straight brothers. The second most obvious is the beer gut. Completely appropriate on all straight men, it can even be sexy. The gayers will not stand for that. Its frowned upon. I’ve seen people whisked off for emergency sit-ups at Fitness First before their friends had to cull them.

Anyways, I digress.

I’m sure in the early days of having my eyebrows waxed I could get away with every 3-4 weeks. Slowly over time this became every three weeks. Well this year it is absolutely a maximum of 2 weeks. I feel like I spend more time at ManKind than I do at work. Not that I am complaining, I adore them. Especially my beautiful Ona who has never put a single tweezer wrong in all the time she has been my brow manicurist.

But surely having to go every 2 weeks is excessive! And don’t you dare suggest I should ‘maintain’ myself! If you knew the strength required to pull one of those fuckers you’d know that this is impossible. Ona is the only one who can do it.

Now in my weekly planner it is very clearly marked that Mondays and Thursdays are shaving days. This is primarily because I don’t care what I look like on Wednesdays or weekends. I’ve been shaving since I was in Year 6 and nothing bores me more, and I mean nothing. I’d rather watch repeats of The Nanny than shave.

This is where I get to ‘cultural body hair’. Just in the nick of time yesterday morning before I applied my Clinique shaving cream I remembered tonight! Phew. See tonight I have The Sculptor in town again and we’re going to a gathering of Bears. The Sculptor has taught me that they do not trust or like anyone without facial hair and there is nothing I hate more than being ostracized or getting the dresscode wrong. So I’m full hairy Bear for the night.

But here’s the contradiction. I have a dance party thing, Daywash, to go to on Sunday which will be full of the buff and the beautiful and you can bet your life there will not be a hairy chest amongst them. So while I’m thinking ‘thank god I remembered not to shave’ I’m also thinking ‘Where are the Remingtons, I need to trim down that chest’. There are different hair rules for every occasion.

Not mine, but a Stunt Double

I have to admit I’m not so opposed to clippering my chest though, for two reasons. The first, and most importantly, is that my chest is the only body part so far to sprout some grey hairs. And they look horrific. Only when I’m wearing a low-cut blouse does anyone notice. Chances are I’ll be topless most of the day so I need to trim those fuckers back.

The second is that a clippered body makes you look more defined. Not sure how or why, it just does. You want take off a few kilos than No.1 clipper all over your torso. I’ve been meaning to go to the gym for a few months to be ready for this party but I kept forgetting/sleeping/eating. So now I still have the body of Marshmallow Man so the clippering will at least help a little bit. I’ll be more Sumo than Marshmallow after a once over with the Remington.

So not only am I getting hairier and greyer but there seem to be more rules to follow. What I should just do is become a straight man and not have to worry about any of this shit.

Hahahahaha. It'd be a cold day in hell....

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Happy Happy Joy Joy! Sound of Music Happy!

Goddamn I’m in a good place at the moment and I feel like shouting it from the rooftops/laptop.

First of all, I love Man Pit. So happy here. Really used to living alone now. I have my Clinique bathroom, my Diet Coke fridge, my vodka freezer, my My Dog pantry and Foxtel. What more could you want in a bachelor pad? Yep, nothing. I do wish the rent wasn’t bankrupting me but it’s a small price to pay for Man Pit.

I’m loving work! Very exciting at the moment. Have been with the same employer for 7 years so of course there are ups and downs, but at the moment its just up, up and away. And please do not let them know, it will make my life unbearable, but I love the people I work with. Love! Never a dull moment and so much fun.

I’m dating for the first time in my adult life and I’m thinking its pretty cool. I'm very bad at it but that’s a whole other post.

Sammy. That is all. My bestfriend and most loyal companion. And I’ll come up with any excuse to post a photo of him…

Made some very funny friends lately and they constantly amuse me. Also have met the brains and brawn behind both Australian Marriage Equality and Community Action Against Homophobia, personal heroes of mine. They’ve got a huge job to do between now and Dec 3 and I’m gonna help wherever I can.

I’m not even stressed that my financial security hangs in the balance with the sale of my house. I know we’ve done all we can and now it’s out of our hands.

Just my little photo spread in SMH's Domain

Summer is just moments away. Just praying it gets here before I lose all of my hard-earned Koh Samui tan.

And so much to look forward to the next few months…

First up, have The Sculptor and 3GreggyD up from Melbourne this weekend for Big Gay Weekend. Going to my first dance party in four years. I’m nervous/excited. It’s being held during the day though which is great as in the last four years I’ve also become the biggest nanna ever.

I hope they all look like him...

In a few weeks I have a blogging conference in Melbourne, which is great in itself, but I’m also sharing an apartment with Woogsworld, Edenland, StylingYou and Sawhole. Can you imagine? No neither can we so we are webstreaming it. Its scares me that I’ll be with a group of friends where I am the quiet one.

After that I’m having a mini-University reunion with some friends who I shared a dorm with in ’95. I can’t even begin to fathom how much has changed for each of us in the last 16 years but we are going to find out with a weekend together in Orange. With lots of food!

Then the big one! My beautiful Cousin Rach just got engaged to a very fabulous man, Nick; a fine addition to the family and a very happy occasion. Now I am the oldest of our generation and Rachel is the youngest, but in terms of maturity we are the same age. Heading home to Griffith for the engagement party and to celebrate with all the fam. And you know I have a very special family.

Huge and sincere congratulations Nick and Rach

Then before you know it its Xmas Party Season – my favourite time of year! Then two weeks off for the festive season.

So you can see why that today, September 27, 2011, I am a very happy man. Its all seems to have come together quite brilliantly at just the right time. More through good luck than good management, but hey that’s the luck of the Irish (a very tenuous link to my Irish heritage).

So after all my whinging on this page the last 6 months, it feels good to spray happiness today.

Thank you for your patience.

xoxoxo

There's a Bear in there!

Oh dear. I am a princess after all. I thought being nearly 40, carrying a few extra kg and not shaving as often meant that perhaps I was manning-up in my older age.

No. It does not. I am as big a princess as ever.

My friend The Sculptor has found a community he loves hanging out with, the Bears. They are a community-within-a-community of the Gayers. In a nutshell, and with sweeping generalisation, the Bears have lots of facial and body hair, tend to be large, wear lots of leather and flannel. And drink beer. And they love to party together.

Bears are hairy. Fact.

I’m sure there is much more to it but as I’ve only just dipped my toe in at this time I am far from an expert.

The Sculptor roped me into going to one of the Bears annual dance parties this weekend, I was dead keen at the time. Never really found my clique on the gay scene even after being a professional gayer for so many years. Hardly a Muscle Mary or a Gym-boy, indie/alt inner-West scene is completely foreign, Drag Queens scare me and I am two decades past Twink. I was excited / scared about this party. There ended up being a clash of dates with my little resort holiday with Lady M so had to pull the plug on The Sculptor. SI instead I took baby-steps into the forest full of Bears.

They're recruiting! But do they really want me?

Instead of the big dance party I went to a warm-up Bear gathering on Friday night with The Sculptor. He was up from Melbourne and staying with me at Man pit. He practically dressed me. 90% of my wardrobe was not Bear-attire. What, a low-cut disco top, skinny jeans and a dress boot don’t cut? No.

After about 4 costume changes I’d never looked or felt so butch! I had to take all my jewellery off and use as little hair product as possible, can you imagine? I felt primitive. Then the cruncher – no frangrance. “What, no Chanel??? Are you fucking kidding me?” I would have no friends The Sculptor assured me. I was willing to risk it, I snuck a quick spritz as we walked out the door.

Talk about fish-out-of-water! I had no idea so much facial hair existed. Did I miss a memo? And tight t’shirts filled with either huge muscles or beer guts. Why was everyone so tall? Once you get over the incredibly intimidating look of these gents it was a delightfully friendly crowd. For an aging-wannabe-twink like me this was a whole new world. After 15years on Oxford St I’m still spreading my wings.

The Sculptor is sooooo in his element. I went to a bar with a  similar crowd in Melbourne and one of his friends said to me “he’s this years IT Girl!”. So true, The Sculptor is on Fire. He knew loads of gents. I even had some friends there, but sadly they weren’t wearing leather. Granted, I got very little attention. They could see through my fake wardrobe and probably smell my Chanel, they could tell I wasn’t one of them.

Me and The Sculptor

So at a very respectable hour for me I packed my self off home with only a slight wobble to my step. Smiling. Very glad that I went but even more glad I’m not going to the big dance party. I think that would have been too much for my virginal ways. Dance parties for me are mini-skirts and tassled arm braids, not leather harnesses and chain mail.

Well not yet anyway. But if you see me with a beard and ripped flannel shirt than you know all bets are off. 

One of The Sculptor's sculptures and yes that is a giant penis.

If you want to know more about the work of The Sculptor, head here!

Do you think I should be dating?

Yesterday I was banging on about being a filthy pig. As a flippant comment I ended the post saying I think I needed a boyfriend/cleaner to sort out my hygiene issues.

But this got me thinking. My mind doesn’t work like a normal persons, rather it’s a scattered mess of crazy thoughts. It’s like a Rubik’s cube of zigzagging ideas and scatterbrain thoughts.

Hey, would dating again be such a bad thing? Is being alone all the time really what I want?

If this had crossed my mind in the last 6 months I’d shudder at the thought. I have been determinedly single. If I’ve ever met anyone I’ve been very clear that I will forget their name in 3 hours. One of the reasons for ‘the break-up’ is that I genuinely feel that I’d be happier living a life alone. I’m not good at sharing. Anything.

So what the hell were these thoughts? Dating? Surely not.

           

Once the seed had been planted my synapses started firing all over the place. First thought was ‘what the hell is dating now days anyway?’ and ‘do 39 year olds even date?’. I have absolutely no idea.

I’ve never been good at dating. In fact, I reckon you could count the number of dates I’ve been on in my adult life on one hand. My memory is bereft of good or bad dating experiences. My track record speaks for itself. Every boyfriend I’ve ever had – 2 serious, a couple other worthy mentions – I’ve met in bars or nightclubs under the influence of vodka. Each time I’ve gone straight from ‘Hi how are you?’ to head-over-heals in love. I’m very lesbian like that.

I met The Sculptor in a bar on a Friday night and on the Monday he quit his job in Melbourne to move to Sydney so we could be together. Aschappelle and I moved in together after 4 months and bought our first house after 9 months. Dating was not part of either of my two life-changing relationships. And in between relationships I’m usually too hell-bent on having fun to worry about dating. Maybe some slutting around nightclubs but that’s it.

I’m 99% sure I do not want a relationship so can I really trust myself to date without ending up back in one? Me thinks not. Not with my track record.

The other thing is that gay men have built this whole system of what can almost be considered ‘anti-dating’. We have all these tools in place where it is unbelievably easy to meet ‘like-minded’ (horny!) gay men. Online, iPhone apps, etc; our community may be fighting the good fight for Gay Marriage but there is also a recognition that there are advantages to single men loving other men. Grindr in particular has changed gay-dating forever!

But Grindr is a whole other post, and will come with a Parental Warning.

Which brings me back to ‘what the hell is dating in 2011’ and am I too old? So there is the cute boy at the fruit and veg store on Crown St, do we go for a gelato and call it a date? Or the hot boy at the gym who is most likely straight (gym attire tells you so much), if we shared a protein shake is that a quasi-straight-date? (yeh, I know you know I don’t know what a protein shake is) And what about those hot single boys on Twitter, if we met in person does that constitute a date? So goddamn confused!

And the age thing. 39. Even using the word ‘dating’ makes me uncomfortable. It seems a concept aimed at those much younger than I. Perhaps from your mid-30’s onwards we should start to call it something else? Like ‘judging’ or ‘interviewing’. Just an idea.

So after all these thoughts have been zig-zagging through my Rubik’s cube brain there is only one clear answer. NO, I should not be dating. The fact that it confused the hell out of me is a clear indication it is not for me. If I’m scared of it, don’t really know what it is or what I want from it then I really shouldn’t be doing it.

I’ll stick to nights on the couch with my Law And Order’s for a little bit longer.

Unless of course the guy at the fruit and veg shop asked me out. Then all bets are off.

I’ve had a religious experience! His name was Christian.

I’ve been touched by an angel!

Well I’m not sure if he actually touched me but he did hand my credit card back to me so that’s pretty close. Ahhh, it was a beautiful moment.

Christian (pre his new honey highlights)

Let me paint the picture...

Saturday morning I was revolting and foul. Snot and phlegm from head to toe, still wearing my tracksuit pants and baseball cap. I was sick as a dog with the Man-Flu and feeling very sorry for myself.

My houseguest, The Sculptor, and I both needed food and I also needed an armoury of vitamins so we dragged ourselves up to Kings Cross. I have an addiction to supplements so for all my supplementary needs I am a Gold Member of GNC. So in we walked to...

“Holy Shit, he is beautiful!”, I muttered to The Sculptor at a volume I deemed subtle. The boy behind the counter literally lit up the store. We made our way over to the walls of glorious pills and I got all flustered when he came over to help. For the life of me I couldn’t remember if I’d come to pick up some Vitamin C or a Toyota. I think I pointed to my dripping nose to explain my needs. Way to make a great impression St. Murphy!

Christian was using words that even I as a professional bullshit artist couldn’t fake an understanding of. I vaguely remember something about 'eating the leaves of your greens', but seriously who would eat anything green??? I just looked at him blankly. By this stage we were back at the counter when I noticed this mag in front of me…

Mag cover with Christian

“Is that you?”, I asked. Best sentence I’d put together since entering the store. He confirmed nonchalantly that yes, it was! I just stood there and bathed in the warm glow that is Christian. But before you think I’m a weird stalker... the thing about this boy was not necessarily that he was good-looking, which of course he was, but hot boys are a dime a dozen in the Eastern Suburbs. It was more that he RADIATED good-health. He literally glowed! His skin had a sheen to it for gods sake. I have never seen health personified like this before. It was startling, magnetic and disturbing all at the same time.

You too can have a body like Christian if you do his Kettle Ball Workout, but ask you,
what the hell is a kettle ball???

Now The Sculptor is a cynical man who pleasures in the darker side of life. He likes his men rough around the edges and with a beard. He had taken a quiet, silent step back so he didn’t suffer any sunburn from Christian. As soon as we stepped out of the store the conversation went something like this…

TS: Holy shit! What was that?

StM: Oh my god, it was like he was glowing.

TS: It was like looking into the sun.

StM: I didn’t hear a word he said.

The Sculptors theory was that Christian had never done a bad thing to his body in his life. He went as far as to suggest that he wouldn’t know what a carb tasted like. Fuck we amused ourselves with this for ages.

To celebrate Christian’s good health and prosperity, The Sculptor and I went to Pie Face to enjoy the things that we knew Christian didn’t. I love a good pie. I then doubled my supplement dose so that one day I can look like Christian without having to go to the gym, or stop drinking, or limit fried food.

Surely the GNC Gold Member card can get me that!

My magic wand!

UPDATE: In research for this insightful article (and not because I’m a dirty old perv!) I think I’ve found Christian’s website. It seems he’s a published author. He has since had some frosted tips. Shot it through to The Sculptor to get his feedback and this was his response…

“I was thinking this morning that if you had the chance to touch him you would see a vision of the future where he would be fighting off the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse wearing ivory armour brandishing a sword of celery and a shield of isotopes.”

Sums it up perfectly! Sculptor, you are fucking hilarious!

Why can't I do more than one thing at once?

I am so easily distracted. And I’m not very good at doing more than ONE thing at once. Lets just say I’m pretty sure I will never be a CEO. Lets just take a look at 3 instances over the last week that have prevented me from carrying out the simplest of tasks, such as writing for this blog.


First off, the Airport Laptop incident...


So I'm coming through airport security last week and I was completely distracted by trying to avoid those awful people who want to stick their magic wand in my bag. Every time, and I mean EVERY time, I go through security they stop me. I’m sure it's because I’m a near 40yo dressing like a 21yo. I was so distracted trying to time my perfect run so as to avoid the wand that I left my beautiful, much loved, relatively new laptop on the security rollers. BLAH!!!! IDIOT!!!


I didn't realise until I'd landed back in Sydney. So dumb. I immediately tweet the beautiful people at Qantas Customer Service and they help me sort it out (I love the customer service benefits of Twitter! Qantas lead the way). I think it was Audrey who was a dream, then the wonderful Daryl at the Security checkpoint who found it and held for me. So relieved, so happy. Tweeted all my dramas and in the process found the wonderful MichelleLLeslie was coming through the airport later that day and she brought it home for me. So darling of her! Thanks Twitter for solving all my problems.


But alas, this was last Thursday and I still haven’t been able to pick it up from the lovely Michelle. Why you ask, its been 5 days??? Well the much dreaded repeat offender, the Man-Flu, has gripped me again!


So over it! By Sunday my chest was in trauma. Truth be known, I knew I was coming down with something on Thursday but stupidly, distractedly, completely wrote myself off on Thursday night. I thought my first vodka could be quite medicinal, sure as hell the 25th one wasn’t. Friday I do believe, in my Harden-The-Fuck-Up way, that I was close to death.


And I am the worlds worst sick person. I get so distracted by the fact that I’m sick that I can’t possibly do anything else. I sit on the lounge, watch Law & Orders and I pop pills. I had about 6 different pill boxes on the go at one point on Saturday. I am the world’s best self-medicator. Hasn’t seem to do much good though, but Monday night the dark cloud lifted somewhat. Dead keen to function like a normal human being on Tuesday.


And the icing on the distracted cake... I had a house guest for the weekend. Poor bastard. Had my dear friend (and ex-ex-boyfriend) The Sculptor up from Melbourne for the weekend. He had to fly solo on Friday and Sunday nights, a wingman covered in snot and phlegm is never a good look on Oxford St. So mature to be able to go cruising with your ex. Aschapelle and I are definitely not at that point yet, maybe some day, The Sculptor and I were 10 years ago. He was in town to teach bored rich housewives how to sculpt so I got no sympathy or support for my Man-Flu from him during the day. At least I had the lounge to myself to wallow in self-pity.


Next time he’s in town he’s taking me to manly leather bars. Can you imagine? 2011 is about broadening my horizons and that sure as hell will. The Sculptor is an expert. Dear lord what have I got myself into?


So my slackness in posting is because I’m a lazy, one-dimensional whinger who has a snot/phlegm problem. In a nutshell.


PLEASE NOTE: Sorry no pics because the 1980’s laptop I am temporarily using does not connect with any technology produced after ’91.