Pottery Class Gone Wrong

We got kicked out of pottery class last week, which in retrospect, I guess I understand. We weren’t as interested in the pottery class per say as we were in recreating that sexy clay scene from Ghost. We even had Unchained Melody queued up on hubby’s iPhone set to play at precisely the right moment, which was right after he removed his shirt and sat behind me. The teacher was horrified and disturbed by this, and asked us to leave immediately and never come back. We didn’t really understand where she was coming from though because we were actually making a really nice piece of pottery. I guess recapturing a memorable scene from one of the most romantic love scenes ever is a no-no when you are taking pottery. Or perhaps we should have recreated a scene where the focus was more on the pottery itself, and less on the love… Maybe then she would have been happy. We aren’t sure. But what we are sure of is that we are out $125 bucks each.

Whatever. I will stick to buying unique kitschy pottery on Etsy rather than attempting to make it myself. Fuck you pottery class. Fuck you!


Rejection at the speed of Porn


She figured that the best way to capture a man was to work out compulsively and tan her body until it resembled an old leather boot. She wasn’t much for talking about the issues of the world, philosophy, or anything to do with spirituality and instead preferred conversations about shopping, working out, and sex.

“Why can’t I find a decent man?” she asked her sister one day

“Maybe they’re just intimidated by you” her sister said

“Yeah that’s probably it.”

One day she saw an ad in the paper for a speed dating event in the bar down the street. With nothing to lose and everything to gain she decided she would go and do her best to open herself up to the possibility of love.

She showed up to the event wearing her best tight mini skirt and bust endowing halter. Her legs were freshly shaved, her toe nails nicely manicured, and she had a brand new pair of black pumps on. Men smiled at her, and she smiled back. The organizer quickly ran through the rules, and the event began.


“So what do you do?” he asked

“I work in the adult entertainment industry.” she declared

His face changed. She quickly took the focus off of herself and asked “What do you do?”

“I’m a commercial lawyer”

The following minute or two got awkward. Rick rudely got up and went to the bathroom.


The next man she met was a scruffy looking guy named Brad. He smiled at her and said “You’re smokin’!”

She gave her best giggle and said “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked her.

“I don’t really know.” she said. “A nice guy who’s interested in more than sex.”

“What do you do?” he asked

“I work in the adult entertainment industry” she said

Brad laughed heartily and said “but you want someone who ISN’T focused on sex?”

“Well… yeah” she said “Why?”

“Shouldn’t you maybe change your career then?”

She stared at him blankly and finished her martini. “You can go now” she said. He left the table and went over to join his buddy at the bar. They both laughed and looked over at her.


Jason sat there sweating silently avoiding all eye contact. He kept compulsively taking sips of his drink and then clearing his throat. “Okay… Shall I start?” she asked

“Uh. Sure. Okay. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” said Jason

“Why are you here?” she asked

“Well, I guess I just don’t seem to have time to find a woman and I thought this might be a good opportunity to connect with someone who shares my interests.”

“What are your interests?” she asked

“Umm well I am a credit analyst, but really my passion is medieval reenactments. I am a member of several medieval clubs in the city and do a number of events. I also really like science fiction movies and have a collection of over 200 DVDs all alphabetized. Some of them still in their original packaging.”

“Cool” she said with a glazed over look in her eyes. “Listen, I have to go to the little girls room.”


BJ was 2 minutes late sitting down for their speed date.

“Sorry I’m late” he said. “Just had to have a quick puff”

“Oh you smoke?” she asked

“Not cigarettes” he smirked

“Oh” she said surprised “Like a lot?”

“I don’t consider pot to be a drug” he said. “It has huge medicinal ingredients and is way better for you than alcohol. Some of my friends get stupid drunk and I just like to smoke a bit of the reef and I’m good. I smoke a few times a day. The first joint of the morning is always best.”

She sat there silently smiling, watching him sway to the background music. Something else was going on in his head.


He was perfect. Hansome, built, stylish, and a great smile.

They flirted immediately. He moved his chair close to hers and touched her hand while looking into her eyes.

She giggled and said “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this”

“Expecting what?” he asked

“To meet someone… I don’t know. Like you.” she said

“You think I’m hot?” he asked

“To say the least” she said. “What about me? You like?”

“I like” he said. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They went back to David’s place and had some wine and small talk, which mostly consisted of sexual inuendos and overt remarks about what they were going to do to each other.

In the morning she woke up with a smile on her face and looked beside her. His side of the bed was empty. She threw on one of his t-shirts and strolled into his kitchen hoping to find him making her breakfast or coffee. Instead, she found a note on the counter that said:

“Thanks for the great night. You are a sexy little vixen. Had to run. See you again soon!”

He didn’t leave his number or ask for hers. She found that very strange and began searching his apartment for anything that might have his phone number on it. After twenty minutes she decided that perhaps it was best if she left hers and trust that he would call her. After all, he did say “see you again soon”. That had to mean something.

Every day for the next week she thought about David and obsessively checked her voicemail. By the second week she started to think that maybe he had misplaced the piece of paper, or maybe he was out of town.

Three weeks went by. He didn’t call.

She quit her job.

Crazy Bitch


She sat on her couch staring blankly at the muted television playing reruns of Seinfeld. She could hear waves of mania whispering in her ear, feel it piercing into her bloodstream, pulsing through her body like an oncoming freight train. Now, all she had to do was wait. It was coming…

She smirked at the TV as she thought about what it would be like to rub butter all over George’s bald head. The visual image of this caused her to laugh hysterically until tears rolled down her cheek and her stomach hurt. Her heart was starting to pound out of her chest. She had to get up and go do something. Sitting on the couch just wouldn’t do, not with this type of energy, she had to get out… she needed to explore.

Feeling pretty good about herself, she put on some bright Red lipstick and a short mini skirt then headed off to do some shopping at Holt Renfrew, somewhere she normally never shopped. She tried on a dozen outfits until she found the one that was just right. Without looking at the price she ripped the tags off and walked out wearing the new outfit, her old one sitting in a trash can outside the dressing room.

The store security chased her out onto the street.

“Ma’am STOP right there NOW!”

She turned around with a smoke dangling from her mouth and a raised eyebrow “What?”

“You didn’t pay for that.”

“Oh” she said unsurprised.

She walked back into the store and threw her credit card down onto the counter.

“That will be $345.”

“Sure. Whatev!”

Dressed to the nines she headed back to her car. She cranked Peaches “Fuck the Pain Away” so loud that the bass rattled her windows and sent vibrations through her body. Disgusted onlookers glared at her harshly when they heard the nasty lyrics proudly pouring from her Honda Civic.

People just weren’t driving fast enough. “A bunch of fucking slow motherfuckers” she whispered under her breath. She laid into her horn getting the finger from several drivers around her. She decided to turn down a one way street (going the opposite direction) to make things faster and pulled up directly outside of a pub with loud music and drunk chicks hanging over the patio balcony.

“Perfect” she said.

Illegally parked on the sidewalk she headed inside.

She opened the door and strutted her ass over to the bar, walking with the swagger of a porn star about to collect the award for Best Fuck. Men stared at her hypnotically as she slid her body from side to side smirking with her pouty Red lips.

A loud obnoxious corporate guy shouted “you’re fucking hot”. She stopped in front of him and grabbed his tie, pulling him close to her, then licked his lips and the tip of his nose. She laughed and turned away from him as he watched her walk away, bewildered and turned on, but a little scared.

She sat by herself at the end of the bar. “I’ll have a double shot of Jack Daniels on the rocks” she shouted to the bartender.

“Sure thing” he said

She sat there for an hour or so and drank 4 double shots of JD, turned down 3 offers to buy her a drink, got 6 dirty looks, and stole 1 wallet. A hot Blonde woman strolled up beside her and asked “this seat taken?”

She smirked “it is now”

“I’m Celeste” the girl said, extending her hand


She swayed back and forth to the music and watched Celeste bent over the bar ordering two drinks; one for each of them. Celeste was wearing impossibly tight jeans, a slinky tube top, and some very nice stilettos. After some small talk and a few more drinks the two girls headed to the dance floor and made heads spin when they began dancing provocatively with each other.

“Lets get out of here” said Celeste

They went back to Trix’s house. The TV was still on mute and all the lights in the house were on. The fridge door was slightly open and the phone was off the hook. They sat on the couch for a few minutes and discussed the art in Trix’s living room.

“Do you wanna do something crazy?” asked Trix


“Lets go downstairs and do some painting. I have this thing with being naked and rolling around in paint, then throwing myself at a canvas. It’s awesome and it makes for some pretty crazy art. You’ll love it. Come on.”

The next morning Trix woke up and looked beside her. Celeste was naked with crusty Red, Black and Pink paint covering most of her body. She looked down at her hands, they too were covered in paint.

Her bed was smeared with paint, the sheets would now be drop cloths.

She sat there with wide eyes surveying the carnage of her bed. “Sex, paint, and alcohol… That’s what happened” she thought to herself. Suddenly she burst out laughing waking Celeste, who opened her eyes smiling. She grabbed Trix and pulled her close “You’re a crazy bitch” she said kissing her on the forehead.

“I know” said Trix “I know.”

Some Demons Don’t Die


I found him in his walk in closet. Door closed, naked, holding a shotgun. I could tell by looking at him that he’d been there a while. He had all of his paraphernalia beside him, and remnants of his compulsions littered the floor.

“Dude… I’ve been worried about you.”

“Shut the door. Hurry up and get in here. They’re out there.”

I shut the closet door behind me, sat on the floor cross-legged and put my hand on his leg. He was twitchy and so far gone I barely knew how to relate. He’d been slicing up his arms and legs something awful. The words “HELP ME” sliced into his Right forearm in blood, the words “I HATE THIS” sliced into one of his legs, and a big “X” on his belly.

“God Jay… This isn’t healthy. I can’t watch you spiral down like this”

“Shhh did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“They’re fucking in here, I know they are.”

He clutched the gun closer. I knew it was probably loaded.

“Jay. I just got here remember? I broke in through the back door. Maybe you’re mistaking me for them? I walked through your house. Nobody is in here I swear.”

“They wouldn’t have showed themselves to you. It’s me they want.”

I didn’t bother asking who “they” were, since I was pretty sure that “they” were a fictitious drug-induced form of psychosis. You just can’t rationalize with a crackhead.

He looked like shit, stunk too. Probably hadn’t showered in weeks. It always amazed me how someone who used to be so talented and good-looking could just slide down into hell so easily and become part of the underworld of society. When you’re partying with your friends and everyone’s high and having fun, you don’t think that this is gonna happen to any of you. And when it does, it’s a reality check.

None of our friends came around anymore. I was the last one. Everyone else had been accused of theft, lying, and conspiring against him. He was so fucking paranoid it defied logic. Even the dealers didn’t like coming around. But he was a consistent customer, so they had to.

I put my hand on the shaft of the gun. “Do you want me to take the gun and go look around for you?”

“No… I can’t give it to you.”

“Okay, well do you want me to go look around unarmed? Because I will.”

“Fine. But make sure you look in the backyard and the basement. Be careful.”

I agreed and made my way downstairs into the destroyed house that used to once be filled with friends and life.
Dishes that had been there for weeks collected mold in the sink. Old pizza boxes littered the floor, some still with food in them.  The living room was a graveyard of beer bottles, cans, bottles and cigarette buts. At least two cigarettes had burned down to the end by being left and forgotten on the table or floor.

After a good ten-minute inspection of his filthy house, I went back upstairs to report my findings and to bring him some tea.

“Here, drink this. There’s no one down there. You’re just really high.” I sighed. “Listen… Why don’t you come with me to my house for a few days? Get away from this shit hole. You’re in a mental prison here by yourself, and you keep getting high thinking that it’ll make you feel better, but all it does is make you more psychotic. You need to give up the drugs dude. How much worse can things get?”

“I know, I know. I did too much. I bough enough for a two month supply and used it all the past two weeks. It’s all gone. And now I’m too fucking high to go get more and I’m gonna get sick.”

My throat had a lump in it and tears began to sting my eyes “Dude look at you. You’re fucking cut and bleeding everywhere, you’re paranoid as fuck, you don’t have a grasp of reality anymore. You quit the band, you don’t play anymore… You’re spending all your money. A lot of our friends can’t deal with you. You need help.”

“I know” he said

I opened the closet door, stood up and reached down for his hand. He stood to his feet and walked out into his bedroom, squinting at the sunlight coming in through the window.

“Give me the gun Jay. And here, put these on.”

He handed it over and I went downstairs in the basement to hide it while he got dressed.

When I got back upstairs he was lying on his bed shivering.

“Come on, you’re coming with me.”

He didn’t put much of a fight up. I brought him back to my apartment and put him in my bed. Listened to him scream, shout, throw things, cry, and moan in agony for a week. All I did was take him tea, soup, water, vitamins, and T3s.  He begged to use my phone, begged me to take him to his dealer, tried to sneak out onto my balcony but realized it was too high, and eventually… gave up.

On the 8th day he emerged from my bedroom wrapped in my pink robe. He came and sat beside me on my couch while I worked.

“Hey” he said “Thanks for giving a shit.”

“If I didn’t, nobody else would” I said “I wasn’t about to watch you kill yourself”

“So, what now?” he asked

“Well you’re not going back to that depressing hell hole you call a home I’ll tell you that much. We’re gonna pack that place up and sell it. You can stay here with me until it sells. You can’t go back there. You’ll just start using again.”

A few weeks later Jay moved into a new apartment, conveniently close to mine. I hosted a BBQ for him and invited all of our old friends who’d abandoned him or who just couldn’t deal with him anymore. Everyone was so surprised to see a clean and socially capable Jay. Girls hit on him again, his old band mates hugged him, and he felt good about himself for the first time in a long time.

Things were going really well… He stayed clean, got a new job in a sound studio and even had a cute girlfriend. I was so proud of him and felt like a parent releasing their child into the world after college graduation.

Then one day I got a phone call.

It was the phone call I always knew could come, but hoped wouldn’t.

It was Jay’s mom.

He was dead.

One of Us


He was standing on the corner a few feet away while I waited for the streetcar. His presence made me kind of nervous in a “are you gonna pull out a knife and stab me” sort of way. He was pacing, nodding his head, and having an enthralling conversation with himself. I tried to observe him out of the corner of my eye without being obvious about it.

People who walked past him gave him a dirty or uncomfortable glance as they veered out of his way. I guess his tattered clothes, dirty dreads, and unstable demeanor made people uneasy, me included. He started singing loudly, something about Jesus, and began moving closer to me.

I threw the last of my smoke on the ground and was about to step on it when he shouted “WAIT”. He swooped over and picked it up inhaling the last few hauls like a fiend. I smiled at him and took two steps back.

He caught me off guard when he asked “So what, are you scared of me?”

“I don’t know” I said “Should I be?”

He started laughing hysterically, nodding his head “seen… I like you girl. You honest. Not like the others.” He pointed to across the street “They – none of them are honest. None of them.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Here? Like you mean on this earth, on this street, in this city?” He asked

“I just mean on the street. What happened?”

He stopped his aggressive pacing, looked down, and then back up at me. “Take off your glasses. I want to see your eyes.”

This made me very uncomforable, but I didn’t want to disrespect him, so I did.

“I am here because I fucked up.” he said “I used to have a job, a wife, a kid, and a life… Now, I’m just happy if I make it through the day with a decent place to sleep and without getting dope sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry gal. I made my bed out here on this street. I am the manifestation of my decisions. It’s hard to imagine me going back to join THEM out there in society now. I’m just a muthafuckin junkie. People don’t wanna talk to me, don’t wanna be near me, and don’t even wanna be on the same sidewalk as me.”

“I do” I said.

He kept singing:

“Glory be to Jesus, Who, in bitter pains,
Poured for me the lifeblood
From His sacred veins!”

Tears were falling from his eyes as he stared up at the sky looking for salvation.

My streetcar showed up and stopped in front of me. He looked at me sadly, the way he probably looked at any stranger who gave him the time of day. He was lonely and a little crazy, but there was a soul left inside that body even if it was being held hostage by a depraved junkie.

I waved the streetcar on.

“Wasn’t that your ride?” he asked

“It was, but I can catch another one. What are you doing right now? Do you wanna go grab a coffee?”

He laughed heartily, exposing his missing teeth. The lines around his eyes becoming more pronounced as he squinted in amusement. “Why would you wanna go for coffee with a washed up ol’ junkie like me girlfriend?”

“Why wouldn’t I. Now that I know you’re not gonna kill me or steal my purse I am perfectly comfortable around you. But first I will at least need to know your name.”

He looked at me with a huge amount of gratitude, smiled and said “Oscar”

We hung out at the Second Cup for a while. Cleared a few tables beside us and amassed an incredible amount of judgemental looks from most of the patrons. Oscar wasn’t phased by this. He kept up with his shifty twitches and mannerisms, occasional talks with himself, and spontaneous lyrics.

But he also shared a lot about his former life with me. Told me about how his wife cheated on him, then took off with his daughter and took him to court to seek full custody claiming that he was abusive.

“My daughter was my rock man… My reason for being here. When she took that away from me, what did I have? Nothing!”

“Did you ever try to go back to court and get joint custody?”

“Nah… I had my wages garnished for a while, her punk ass boyfriend threatening me with the bullshit she fed him, and then I got into the junk. In less than a year I lost my job, my car, my apartment, and my friends. And now… I’m here.”

I sat with Oscar for just over an hour and then we started walking back to the streetcar stop. We passed a huge beautiful church. I noticed him looking at it with hopeful eyes.

“You ever go in there?” I asked

“I couldn’t” he said “Not like this.”

“Sure you can. You should. Here – let’s go. I’ll come with you”

I tried to ignore my extreme discomfort with churches and organized religion as a whole, and went through the front doors with him. I stayed back as he walked up to the front and knelt in a pew to pray. The church was quiet. The sounds of the city blocked out. It was actually kind of nice.

A few minutes later he walked up and said “Listen – I think I am gonna hang here for a while. You better go catch that streetcar”

“Okay Oscar” I said “Take care of yourself okay”

That day never did leave me. Every time I returned to that neighbourhood I looked for him. I purposefully walked a few extra blocks just with the hope that I might see him talking to himself on a street corner, singing his Jesus song, or making people uncomfortable with his sketchy but friendly demeanor.

But… I never did.

A Certain Destiny


She preferred to hang around with queens and fags. Breeders just weren’t as interesting and always passed judgment on her extra-curricular activities and porn shop career! So what, if she sold ass plugs and dildos for a living… The people she met at work were far more interesting than any of the corporate robots who worked down the street in the business sector.

Sometimes it got slow during the day. She’d start putting batteries in things, cranking the funk, and dancing around the store like a freak. Occasionally the bells would jingle and someone would come into the store and catch her in all her glory. One particular day the bells jingled just as she was singing into a 12 inch vibrating dildo.

It was her mom.

“Mom… Oh… Hi… Oh my god. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you worked here and I just had to find out for myself.”

“HOLD ON… Let me just turn down the music okay.”

She walked over to the stereo to turn down the P Funk blaring out of the store speakers, while feeling slightly uncomfortable about having her mom standing there beside the sex swing.

Her mom straightened her skirt, looked up and said “Dear… What are you doing here?”

“I’m working mom. This is where I work.”

“This is disgusting. It’s perverted. It’s a porn shop.”

She looked at her mom in disbelief. The things that came out of that woman’s mouth were so horribly narrow minded.

“Here mom, have you ever held a 12 inch vibrating dildo?”

“No… Oh… God… get that thing away from me.”

She laughed… “See the problem isn’t me working here. It’s you not having an open enough mind for it to be acceptable. That’s why I told you I was a trainer. I mean, are you worried about what the neighbours will think mom? Because you don’t have to worry…  I haven’t encountered any of them yet okay. I’ve been here for a year and a half. It’s nothing new.”

She threw the dildo to the floor “who told you anyway?”

“I can’t say” she said

“Was it Mikey? That little fuck. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Leave your brother out of this. It’s not his fault”

Her mom looked around at the merchandise, obviously very disturbed by what she saw. She sighed. “Honey – can’t you just get a job as an assistant or a secretary in an office or something.”

“Actually mom… I’d rather slit my wrists.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic. There are a ton of jobs out there that are just as exciting as working here.”

“Oh really… Like what?”

“Like… a… a… I don’t know. But there are interesting jobs out there.”

“Well, I’m not looking. I happen to like flogging porn, dildos, and ass plugs… Okay…. Fuck, why are you here?”

Just then the bell jingled and one of her drag friends, Destiny walked in looking positively glam. She ran over and gave her a big kiss! Destiny circled her mom like a land shark, raised an eyebrow and said “What’s with this one?”

“It’s my mom.”

Destiny laughed “Oh girl… Why didn’t you say so. She looks like Dorothy lost in Kansas in here”.

She gave mom a kiss on each cheek leaving a big Red collagen injected plump kiss mark on either side, then grabbed her hand and lead her through the store like a fucking tour guide at a museum. Occasionally her mom looked back for salvation, but she wasn’t about to try to escape Destiny’s 6 ft 2″ clutches.

While her mom and Destiny toured the store she patiently flipped through the pages of a Hustler mag and bit her fingernails nervously. Suddenly she heard a loud roar of laughter come from the back of the store.

“Mom?” She shouted. “You’re not enjoying yourself are you?”

Her mom walked back up to the counter arm in arm with Destiny. They were both giggling like school girls.

“I’m sorry I judged you” she said. “If you are happy here and it’s what you want. I shouldn’t interfere. Besides… I am actually going to make a purchase today. Shhh don’t tell your dad. Destiny recommended this little Jack Rabbit here.”

“MOM!!! TMI… okay… TMI… If you wanna come in here to visit cool, but I don’t wanna know what you’re buying. In fact, if you wanna be a customer here, I’d prefer it if you came on a day when you know that I’m not working. I don’t want or need the distracting and disturbing visual of you getting your rocks off with the Jack Rabbit okay.”

Her mom laughed “Oh lighten up and ring it in will ya.”

Destiny egged her on like a proud mother hen and she left the store happier than a pig in shit with her new Jack Rabbit vibrator in her ambiguous black shopping bag.

She sighed. “Thanks Destiny”

“Oh it’s what I do best honey. No worries! I do have to apologize though… She will be back.”

“Oh fuck are you serious?”

And she was…

Her mom came to visit once every two weeks for the next 3 months, until she finally couldn’t take it anymore, and quit. She took a job in the business sector as a secretary. It was more money but the job was dry as hell. Thankfully, her boss was a fag.



I always thought I wanted to get married… When I was little I fantasized about my wedding day. Not so much the man standing beside me (he was more of an accessory), but more what I would wear, the artistic inspiration for the event, where it would be, what we would eat, how many people would be in attendance. That sort of thing. So, I guess it had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with wanting to be the belle of the ball by having my $30,000 day like everyone else.

As I got older, I just figured I would be fine with marriage, since it was a concept that I have been relatively comfortable with since childhood. After all, I am a woman. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do? Meet a man, get married, pump out a kid or two, then spend the rest of our days with a nasty little martini habit and a really great vibrator. That’s why we’re here right?

Then… why did I want to vomit and run when he got down on one knee? Why did my surroundings begin to spin like a merry go round, while flashes of dagger glares, back handed compliments and 30 extra pounds played through my mind like a never ending nightmare.  I thought men were the ones who were supposed to freak out about losing their freedom, identity and sexual prowess.

Suddenly I began questioning my beliefs, my morals, myself… My place in this world.

I knew I had gently allowed things to move in this direction, and by gently I mean actively. But now that it was here… I wanted to abruptly shove it back the other way.

Return to sender please.

I like my last name. I like not knowing what tomorrow brings. I like being a free agent, and not having a dog leash attached to my neck while some man shows me off like a cheap Armani suit. This has nothing to do with love and everything to do with fear. Marriages fail, people cheat, get bored, and quietly resent each other until one of them has the balls to leave. Women stare at their husbands while they’re sleeping at night and secretly plot their deaths.

Who was I kidding… I have the attention span of a gnat and (in case you didn’t notice) a bit of an anger problem. I’m not marriage material. I’m reality TV and front-page scandal material.

I guess I surprised him by saying no.

Maybe he was only asking because he thought that’s what I wanted. Maybe I was only making him think I wanted it, because I thought I SHOULD want it. Maybe neither one of us “really” wanted this at all.

Maybe none of us should want this.

My sex life had come to a screeching halt, which was nice.. Because my dog had become a little too comfortable watching us go at it every night.  I was expecting to see him with a pair of 3D glasses scarfing down a bag of popcorn with his tongue hangin’ out of his mouth. And nobody wants their pets watching them shag. So the mental and physical break was sort of welcome.

There was this lingering feeling of “what next… what do we do now”… But I never really owned those feelings. Those were the feelings of decades of repressed women, media empires, and religious tradition leaking their way into my unconventional psyche.

I think it’s an inherent flaw in myself and others to assume that in order to have a successful relationship, marriage is the next logical step, when statistics shout loud and clearly quite the opposite. I am the confused result of 30 + years of classical conditioning, media, bad 80s sitcoms, and drunk abusive neighbours who really had WONDERFUL marriages (I swear). I’m like a post-apocalyptic outlaw trying to sit down to a nice wholesome dinner with the Cleaver family. I mean really… What the fuck would we talk about?!

I can’t help but admire people like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, who have been happily unmarried for years. There are lots of examples of unmarried couples who somehow manage to dodge the dismal statistics that marriage seems to thrust upon the rest of committed society.

Then there’s the ones with balls. The free spirits, the anti-conformists, the ones who dance to the beat of their own drum. They go out; fuck and love freely, accept experience and variety into their lives, and often later the companionship of many cats.

Either way… Isn’t it better than snickering in bed every night while you imagine your husband choking on his dinner and dying?!