My second weekend of NOvember has gone well. I went into work for a few hours today, perhaps not in the best mood (see- Nicotine withdrawal and not wanting to deal with people bitching about the state of the office kitchen). It was productive. I then made a slight detour on my run home and stopped by Lucky's place- and for the first time in the years we've known each other we socialised outside of work, sans alcool. We didn't really know what to do with ourselves at first- instead of drunkenly exchanging witicisms (we're both incredily intelligent individuals which tends to normally manifest as drunken, albeit hilarious, one-liners and other related wise cracks) and actually talked about life, feel-ings, and of course, not drinking. And binged on ice cream- and maybe a couple of cigarettes (ok- minor slip up I admit). But it was really nice to sit outside and enjoy each other's company without being wasted- even if we devoted a good portion of the conversation to alcohol.
After spending two full weekends at home (hiding from alcohol related temptation) my public appear to be growing concerned. You'd think that one of the advantages of being a compulsive facebooker would be that my entire social circle are continuously kept abreast of my goings-on (such as not drinking) however that's not entirely true. First, not as many people perv on my profile as I like to think *runs crying to the bathroom*. Second, I only friend actual friends (and the occaisional random who requests me even though I've never met them before, because I suffer from the complete inability to say 'no' to anyone, and have met a couple of really good mates through facebook in the past). But generally speaking I don't 'friend' club mates or casual liaisons. Especially the latter.
Now Sydney Men being what they are, and the fact that no one's seen me out for two weeks, the texts have started flying in. How dare I deprive them of attention. Five over the course of the weekend, to be exact, all following the similar format- eg 'Oh haaaaaaaai. Haven't heard from you in a while. What are you doing?' Which roughly translates as 'Hey, had a rough weekend and looking for some company and maybe a shag while we're at it.' I politely fobbed off all but one of them, advised that I wasn't drinking, and in cases of multiple texting, gave the impression that I was busy at the gym and doing other health related activities. When in fact I was sat on my balcony in the throes of nicotine withdrawal talking to my cat, along the lines of "Yes Chuck, someone's coming down and trying to get into Daddy's pants, but we're not going to give it up, are we? No we're not!" *pat pat pat* *scratch behind ears*
I may be known as something of a sure thing (especially when alcohol is involved) but that's more because I've always had a very liberal attitude towards sex. If you're single, there's nothing wrong with being promiscuous- as long as no one transmits any diseases or otherwise hurts anyone, it's all good, clean, wholesome fun. But take alcohol out of the equation, and it loses it's appeal. You suddenly find yourself developing standards (most likely arising from the need to actually talk to them sober first), and realise how clueless most of them are, and time after time I find myself giving the Disinterested Nathan Face succumbing to the clammy vicegrip of chastity. No, I haven't gotten any since NOvember started.
Not that I'm known for sweeping generalisations, but the conclusion I've drawn- Sydney Scene Queens are generally intolerable, apathetic airheads. Being Post Gay (From a Political standpoint) I find it infuriating that these overpreened bogans need to run around screaming about their gayness to the point where that is all their personality consists of. They can't do anything that is not 'gay'. Which is just so, well, Gay. At all. Ever. They have little dreams of going on little gay holidays (Oh how quaint), refer to Arq with the fashionable reverence normally reserved for places like London's Fire or Berlin's Berg-Hain, debate the finer points of Grindr ad nauseum, and spend all their time in the company of fellow pinksters to further reinforce this like a pack of sympathetic wolves (albeit with great skin). Most infuriating, none have any clue about the Nation's political goings-on unless of course it's related to the Gay Marriage Debate in which case they all become rabid over-enfranchised activists. To be honest, I think energy policy is actually more pressing internally and if we really want to gay it up, the treatment of gay people in despotic kafir shitholes such as Uganda, Malawi and Zimbabwe externally but that's neither here nor there. (On an aside- I pride myself as being non racist, however, having lived on the continent I will unapoligetically use the term 'Kafir' to describe any African who commits human rights abuses. As well as Julius Malema who represents the up and coming generation of tin pot dictators.
There are of course exceptions to every rule, and Sydney men are no different. I just need to find more of the exception and less of the rule. For example, one of my favourite gay couples ever are Sydneysiders. Cute enough to not be irritating they're also intelligent, well travelled, easy to talk to, politically literate, and drama free (as a couple. Though they are known to occaisionally create mischeif with others, it adds to their appeal). I know a few single people as well who are as bitter as I am (funny they're all expat Londoners). And more than a few Aussies who can hold down a conversation and a career and still find the time to get wasted with me and have a good bitch. Well, obviously not during NOvember. I miss you guys too.
So to that end, and another unintended consequence of NOvember, I have decided to abstain from Bar Trash. Completely. Had I realised this at 18 instead of 29 and 3/4s, the last 12 years of my life would have turned out far differently. To this end I've even agreed to cross the Rubicon of Sober Dating *thunderbolts*. Yes, I accepted an invite (he worked for it, to be fair) to go out this week on an alcohol free excursion with someone who is slightly older *gasp* , who doesn't have a substance abuse problem *hushed awe* or serious daddy issues, and doesn't think the world is out to get them *violin screeches*. I don't even plan to put out *more thunderbolts* and probably won't even ask for a second date unless I really enjoy myself *shocked disbelief*.
Holy Fuck I'm growing up.
Better late than never, I suppose.
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