The Turnstile

Now I'm thinking this Lava thing is like a constantly revolving turnstile. Obviously Enrico-Not-So-Suave didn't work out. Not that either of us stood a chance with each other anyway. I was too free-spirited and he was, well... too much.

Toulouse and I broke up the other day. He was back on Messenger, full Euro-style, no foreplay, just launched directly into, "Do you want to watch me masturbate?" I said, "No, not really." And that pretty much cemented it... the relationship, not a sculptural representation of his phallus. P.J. suggested he go into a dark corner, away from the general populace, to do his business. Ah, the cultural differences between Europe and North America, the Great Divide. I only entertained this one time notion of Toulouse because he was hot, bringing back a saying I once heard: Sexual harrassment is only sexual harrassment IF one of the parties is unattractive. Truer words have rarely been spoke.

I had to cut Ghana off at the knees the other day. It was in response to his telling me how excited he was to have found me. Joy! He prepared me in advance with the placement of everyone in his family tree, how I should best address them and how he was slowly building that nest egg (for us?). He was a very nice fellow and I really loved the idea of having a penpal so far away, but I keep forgetting that people aren't 9 years old anymore and penpals seem like a waste of time to most people. Sigh.

The Dark Russian speaking Ukrainian is slowing proving himself to be bi-polar. He likes it best when I show absolutely no interest in him, but when I do he completely severs contact, or makes contact brief enough to sustain belief of viability, but Jesus, I'm not 18 anymore and I can't play "Fuck me, you're asshole. No, fuck me, you're a bitch" games with anyone. If it had been a relationship built on the solid foundation of sex, sex, lurid sex, where I could teach this young man all the intricacies of carnal love, that would have been one thing, but I don't think I could. This Eastern European mentality of "what's the point of living" wears a bit thin after a while. Still, Dark is hot.

Just so you know, whoever you are, there are a few different scenarios that typically play themselves out in my foray of all things Lava related. They are thusly, in no particular order, they just particularly happen to me:

1) Some guy shows interest via IM. I launch his picture, slowly breathe in and out to push bile back to its place of origin. He writes something poetic in my little IM window like, "hi". This has happened constantly with some young fellow, who shall remain nameless to protect not him, but me if he ever finds this fucking blog. Let me paint a visual: black and white photo; location: bathroom; his *best* sweatsuit on; both hands behind his back. A friend asked what he was hiding back there and I said, "Obviously a butcher's knife in one hand and his father's freshly decapitated head in the other. Mom was there taking a trophy shot." I close said window and get the hell off of Explorer vowing never to go on Lava again.

2) Some guy shows interest with the Lava Interest Indicator - a smiley face. His user profile is hot linked, which I launch, eyes bugged, still trying to push bile back down convinced I'll now get gallstones from all of this billic yo-yo-ing. The mean age of interested folk has been 57. There are jowl removal procedures, follic treatments that include run of the mill hair transplants and poor comb-overs with a strange auburn veering on fire engine red colouring. This colour is found nowhere in nature. Their greatest asset? Their Miata. I close said window and get the hell off of Explorer vowing never to go on Lava again.

3) I'm sitting around, late at night, drinking too much beer... alone... and I go into the kiddie section of the site. 18-24 are my parameters. I spray estrogen all over the swing sets, close said window and get the hell off of Explorer, knowing I'll peek at the home page the next day. Like a fisherman, lines cast and slack, waiting patiently for her prey, knowing full well I am a dirty old girl.

4) I'm minding my own business, and the business of hot, young, sinewy flesh and some guy writes singing the praises of my (pick one) fine qualities, ability to express myself, my "wacky sense of humour", blah, blah, blah and of course I'm flattered. This is the worst because I end of chatting with them. BIG MISTAKE. Once you chat they, all of a sudden, think you're interested in them. Then you have to find some way to backpeddle out of going for the seemingly innocuous coffee date. I'm convinced now that the suggestion of a date over coffee = the guy is cheap and doesn't want to spring for cocktails, which loosens a person up, or worse, dinner, which is too much of a financial and time commitment.

5) Some young herring has taken a nibble on my line! Ah. The moment of truth. I find out I'm horrible at online sex. I get way too embarrassed and end up closing the window and getting the hell of Explorer, not before giving sweet pilchard my hotmail address, just in case I find myself a little more brazen the next time.

So out with the old and in with the new. New, in this case, doesn't really encapsulate improved. But there is still room in my little Lavaic turnstile.

Twice yesterday I found myself in the grips of #4. Some comedian by the name of Simon and some lawyer by the name of Rick. Understand I hate actors and I hate lawyers. I think both are dancing in the 6th ring of hell, according to Dante or someone else wise enough to know they are self-serving assholes. But, strangely, they're nice enough. AND they think I'm *awesome*, so they can't be too bad.

Rick has difficulty on Lava's engine. Rick is a luddite. Rick is probably 92. I had to explain to him what a scroll key was. ! He also didn't know what directional arrows were. ! He gave me his phone number thrice, which freaked me out, but he was having so much difficulty that I felt I had to call, just to bail him out. Great. Now he has my phone number. Stupid, fucking call display!

Simon is a stand-up comedian. Apparently he's been doing it for 25 years. I've never heard of him. I've never seen him before. I don't think he's that funny. He thinks I'm hilarious. Great. We'll switch off for a while. Maybe he'd like to be a waitress instead.

So, my little weekend is over. Back to work tonight. Back among the peops. Just in time. I was starting to get sucked into this strange vortex of 1's and 0's. I do blame the Matrix for the conceptual proliferation of The One.

Still looking for Neo...