Over Easter, although I’m definitely no nun, we’re reminded that the reason we have a four day bender ahead of us, is because of something religious. In Christian belief Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice for his people, and so two thousand years later, I question – are we willing to do the same for love?

 

They say that relationships are about compromise, but when does a compromise stop becoming a compromise and start becoming giving up? Who draws the line at where the sacrifices stop?

I agree that you should let your lover watch football on TV even when you’d rather be watching America’s Next Top Model. I agree that you should divide your time between his interests and yours and I believe you shouldnt be found in FiRE on a Sunday afternoon when you said you’d be at his parents for dinner. They’re compromises that a lot of relationships face, but what if these sacrifices aren’t enough?
Do we hang up the sparkly stilettos and stop putting on wigs when we’re high because it scares men off? Should we not take drugs because our DJ boyfriend doesn’t approve? Should we turn our back on our friends because they don’t meet our boyfriends standards? Or most personally, should we stop writing a sex blog because men are worried they’ll end up on it, slated?

 

Everybody who has a social life knows that Easter is the absolute BOSS of the homosexual calendar. A four day weekend, with the first rays of summer weather, countless events filled with wall-to-wall indulgents and friends in good moods because a) they’re drunk and/or high and b) they have an extra two days this week to be drunk and/or high. It starts on a Thursday night where after a couple cocktails and bar hopping, you move on to the after hours club, it did for us anyway.
EVERYONE was out; friends, exs, one night stands, potentials, and more D-Listers than you could imagine, even that girl in a wheelchair from The Undateables was out in full force. But like the old saying goes; it’s all fun and games until someone gives you a reality check.

I bumped into a guy I’d made out with once:

 

(flashback)
After attempting to hide my 6 inch leopard print wedges behind my man bag (so as not to put him off) I gave up. And despite dressed like a boy on top and a lady on the feet, he said I was “beautiful” – and I knew he wasn’t a tranny fucker so took it as a total compliment.

 

When I saw him this time, the first time since, he confessed:

“I’m an avid fan of your blog”

So the guy I fancy has been reading about the dreggy men I’ve shagged? Perfect.

“Oh so is that why you never called me?” I asked, tongue in cheek.

And then BAM! Like Nina Katz I was hit with the face! EXACT same expression. Now I felt like the undateable one.

It made me ponder on the question for a while. If the exposes of my dreadful dates were scaring men off should I stop doing what I love just to get a guy? Would I be happier single and being myself or partnered and masqueraded?
Unless I plan to hide who I am for the rest of my life, then definitely not the latter.

 

 

I thought about this through til Friday, where with no sleep we dragged our sleep deprived and bitchy selves to a friends BBQ. Obviously still too high to eat, let alone take off our sunglasses – and where behind our gold aviators we were caked in bronzer anyway. We were hardly spoken to, probably because we were half their age, twice as hot and still totally trashed. After forcing down some food out of pure politeness, we left to abuse some horse tranquilliser and join those blue bitches in the world of Avitar.

 

But back to the question in hand, after a blurry and sweating few days awake and gurning, I ended up back at a friends talking about myself (as per!). The topic of this blog and particularly this post, came up with a new guy I was totally crushing on. He was actually impressed by the whole idea, concept and drive I had.
“Fuck ’em. If a guy can’t accept what you’re doing, or see how good it is, generally fuck ’em. They’re obviously not the one for you”.

 

He was SO right, why did I need a stranger to confirm that?
And so now, I was obviously even more turned on by him. And I can’t believe I even second guessed myself.

And so, the facts are plain and simple; men, like mice, scare easily. So if you’re that debbie for a relationship, then stop doing what you love, wearing what you want and enjoying yourself. But the chances are, when that part of your character you’ve been repressing, surfaces later on – he’ll still run a mile.