Thursday, February 24, 2011

Cheeky Chatboxes


I have discovered something new. Late night chatting conjures up different meanings depending on the reader and what they desire as the clock strikes twelve. For some, it is harmless banter while for others it is only one thing - an invite to fuck.

I … never … knew.

Let me illustrate.

A long time ago, I met a man who I was quite smitten by. He played the keyboard with long elegant fingers, spoke Spanish with luscious lips and passionately debated gender rights with darting, intense dark eyes. He is also likely to read this very post so I suspect his ego has now burst.

I was caught in the world of a crush. I did what any sane woman would do. I Facebook stalked him. His girlfriend was the most gorgeous beast I had ever seen. She blew his beauty out of the water. Golden skin and flowing blonde locks, crisp green glinting eyes, a smile to die for and a PhD being completed. Oh sigh! Here was brilliance and beauty that was well and truly beyond me.

As with most of the amazing, beautiful men I meet, he left the country. Through the grapevine, I heard he was in Latin America, teaching impoverished children English and playing in a funk band. He was single, sharing his brooding dark looks and sexual intensity with the female latino population. Lucky lasses.  

A little while ago he returned suddenly to Melbourne and we started chatting online. Late at night when I was about to go to bed I would flick him a ‘hey, hows it goin’ via the facebook chatbox. I thought it pretty harmless. I was misled.

The Crush: ‘So I guess you want to sleep with me?’

Sierra: ‘Im sorry??’

The Crush: ‘All these late night messages are a clear indication that you are interested in something physical. Why else would you contact me at night?’

What??.... What?? .. What??

I clarified it for him. I was merely being friendly. Where was the misinterpretation? He apologised and the conversation halted. A night or two later he was back, this time with some game tactics in play.

The Crush: ‘I am an excellent lover’

Sierra: ‘That is all very well but…’

The Crush: ‘I am willing to satisfy for hours’.

A vision of those luscious lips and elegant fingers lept into my mind.

(Sierra pauses, contemplates, bites her lip)

He described the love making tactics he would use on me, to put me at ease, to make me feel like a goddess. He started describing his anatomy … in detail .. and even considered sending a photographic examination to prove his point. (Sadly the evidence never arrived. I would have opened it out of curiosity).

(Sierra rejects the offer)  

Now, I know what you are thinking, ladies. Sierra, have you lost your mind! How can you be rejecting this brilliant, luscious Romeo who is willing to satisfy your every wish? All around this city, the rest of the female race are starving of men and here you are sacrificing a juicy-chunk-of-meat man while they all try and make the most of limp-green-bean boys?

But ladies, I just can’t pre-plan a sexual advance via the internet. Sure, I can chat about common interests. Yes, I can organise a date. But defining and detailing the way two lovers’ bodies will intermingle. Well, this is beyond me.

Dear man of oh-sweet-longing, I have to let you slide.
A formulated fuck is not the luck that I want to transpire.
It saddens me to let you go but let you go I must.
I can not pre-plan the way my lips will kiss, the way my hips will thrust.
You may be oh-so-perfect.
Dark, daring, dashing.
But I shall be saving all my loving days.
For an unexpected act of passion.

Until next time,

Sierra x

Saturday, February 19, 2011

The Toothless Romeo

I registered. With only several clicks of a button, my identity moved into a whole new realm – the world of the virtual. A conjured up name, some sporadically chosen pictures, randomly picked statements that try to conjure up who I am. Yes - I have an rsvp profile. I am now a virtual dater.

It took so long for me to break through the boundary of moving my love life online but now that I have taken the leap of faith it feels like I was always a member of the world wide web of love and flirtation. Like any social networking device, once it takes its hold it is almost impossible to escape the grasp. You are hooked. An addict. A fucking junkie.

I wonder how I got sucked in so easily. It is not the quality of the candidates that drives my fingers to type these four letters into the search engine time and time again. No.. its certainly not the quality. An example? Here you go..

My first hit was a man who quite clearly fell outside the age range that I had specifically specified. He was in his late forties and wore a beard to his belly like a Ned Kelly fanclub member. His blue wifebeater had seen the blaze of the sun, his belly had held many a beer. Yet, his words … well… they were beautiful.

He had written a poem. His words drew images of blossoming flowers and freshly set dew, of bright blue skies and warm winds, love and passion and booming hearts. And then as soon as the poem stopped, the reality struck.

‘I have no teeth’, he said. ‘If you think that means I am a bad person then you can fuck off’.

Now, I pride myself in being open minded. Appearances don’t mean much to me and, in fact, I purposely avoid the beautiful, the bronze, the buff. And yet, in spite of my moral high ground, I am not sure how I feel about a toothless, bearded, singlet-wearing bogan. I just don’t think I could ever go ‘there’ and I am not sure that I want to or should even have to. Oh the guilt I must carry for realising my own prejudgments! So what that he could only eat mushy peas and mashed potato. Should this really affect the way his words move me?

So as I press the ‘Im sorry but I do not think it would work between us’ button, I sigh. Oh evil world of deletion and rejection, am I ready for you? It seems I am… Since rejecting candidate number 1, I have become the queen of the delete button. Every day I end up deleting deleting deleting. With internet dating, you become ruthless. Likes snuggling on the couch? Delete. Wears a tiger beer singlet in his photo? Delete. Mentions his love for the ‘mighty Saints’? Delete. Any reason to delete and my finger twitches..

Do not fear, world. I am keeping my promise to you. I shall continue my search for love. In spite of the many deletions, I have held onto one, one that has virtually captured me. A boy who lives on the Peninsula, who loves getting muddy at festivals, surfs waves and camps out in his van, sports a 50s haircut, wants to travel to the wild parts of the planet and …. who… electronically kissed me back ..

Sierra x

Monday, February 14, 2011

a valentine's day special


It is the first official week of Operation Open-Heart and I am ready to embark on my adventure into dating and drama.

Love appeared to be blooming in Melbourne CBD last night. My favourite couple sighting was the tradie and his missus in the park eating out of pizza boxes and sculling a bottle of pepsi as they watched the passers by. They certainly looked a hell of a lot happier than the suited-up boys and girls in yellow stilettos parading their way down Swanston Street.

I also felt the love last night but this was not because I had a hot date (my sniffles have kept this option at bay for the moment). Rather, it is because I ended up dancing with the hare krishnas in the middle of the street. With lycra legs and flying hair, I waved my hands to the gods and let the joy rain down. In this moment, I found love.

So often we seek love in such a boxed-up, black and white, societally-defined way. It involves white picket fences and walking the dog and snuggling on the couch. It is ordered and controlled. First date, second date, the first kiss, going out, the shag, engagement, marriage, children, death. It is fighting over the minutae and searching for the passion that ordered love lacks in the arms of a stranger. It is beige and blinded.

This isn’t the love I seek.

To me, love is broader. It is wild and sporadic and hilarious and wholehearted. It is dancing in the street. It is letting the night take you and not knowing where you will end up. It’s the explosion of unexpected heart beats and a skin shiver at the other person’s touch. It is the words – you fucking rock my world, you let me be me, with you I feel alive, crazy, beautiful, desired. Most importantly, it is honest and true and happy with what it is. Earthy, real, dirty, whole. Pretences thrown out a window and smashed upon pavement. 

Dear world, it is this love that I seek and I believe it is possible. I am now on a path to find it …

Sierra x

Thursday, February 10, 2011

and it begins...

Dear world,

As I break through the barrier of my 28th birthday, it becomes clear to me that Melbourne's man drought is alive and well. It has taken over the city like a virus, leaving men to pick and choose from the many potentials and the girls to say, well I guess that will do. I guess I can accept a man who arrives late or cancels at the last minute, never texts back, thinks inviting me around to his friend's beer-bong drinking contest is an acceptable 'date', rocks up in his gym gear and asks if fish n chips will do, has no goals or dreams or passions or even.... gasp...values. 

Well, no ladies, this does not 'do'. This is not good enough.

I am one of the man drought's victims but I am not willing to drown in its darkness. This blog will details my melodramatic musings for 2011. This year I will approach the path of love with different steps. No, I will not be lowering my standards or taking the next bogan who yells out at me from a car window. I do not need a ride thanks, my recycled bike is more than enough.

Yet, I will be opening my heart to all the options and I shall not become dismayed. I will smile at the man sitting across from me on the tram and ask him to share his music taste. I will speed date. I will go to ratty night clubs and shake hip hop moves. I will rock on down to the local and talk music to the male punters in the crowd.  I will try and find love amongst the browsers of Border's bookshelves. I will blind date the best friend of your work colleague's brother. I will even go online. I won't worry that the nice looking gent who has caught my eye may be taken, gay, an asshole or all three. My heart is open.

I look forward to sharing my journey with you. I hope you can relate to my insights and learn through my mistakes for I will surely stumble along the way. If there are special moments- if I even find love and defy this drought that has left so many of us dismayed - then I hope we can celebrate together.

Sierra x