Lesbians Are Complicated

If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard a woman tell me “Men are assholes, I should just become a lesbian” I’d have…well, realistically I’d only have about a buck. But my response will always be the same–“Lesbian relationships are just as, if not more complicated!”

You want an example? Say you’re friends with someone. Say you and someone are staying overnight in a crowded house and you and that same someone share a bed. Voluntarily, mind you! Say that you and that someone spend some time laying in bed, cuddling up, and whispering secrets and talking about hopes for the future. Say you and that someone have a nice, comfortable evening together and all is dandy. What does it mean to you?

Chances are, if you’re two heteros of opposite sex, it means that you’re having some kind of connection and that you’re probably both thinking about getting it on. But if you’re gay? Well, then things are a bit more complicated, aren’t they? Because girls have a special role for each other, and that includes cuddling–even in the straightest of hetero friendships. Girls like to cuddle. Girls like to share secrets. Girls like to be close. So then how the hell does a lesbian know if she’s a friend of a girlfriend?!

Well there’s one easy way to tell–just wait until the next morning! Because a night of shared cuddling between two lesbians will ultimately result in someone needing to discuss what went on. And there will have to be a conversation about what it all means. And someone will have to say “we’re just friends, right?” and someone else will have to say “of course we’re just friends. I love you.” It can get very complicated for lesbians to be friends!

So, dear readers, let me make a blanket statement just to clear the air. I am not interested in bedding you. Even if I kiss you or make out with you for an hour, I’m not interested in having sex with you. If I want to screw you, you will know because I will tell you. Are we all clear on that now?

I Love Myself

I Love Myself
written and read by Scott Weaver

Oh, I love, I love, I love myself!
Yes, indeed, I do!
I love, I love, I love myself!
And I think that you should to!

Now don’t be coy and subtle with me,
If you think I’m a handsome dude!
Just walk right up and tell me so,
And I’ll say, “How do you do!”

Oh, I love, I love, I love myself!
Yes, indeed, I do!
I love, I love, I love myself!
And I think you’re starting to, to!

Now don’t be all shy and ladylike,
Cause I can’t read that crap either!
If you want my love, you’ll have to prove
That you’re an eager beaver!

Oh, I love, I love, I love myself!
Yes, indeed, I do!
I love, I love, I love myself!
Don’t you love me to?

Now if you really want to be with me,
All you have to do is say, “Hi!
You’re really, really hot and sexy,
And I want you to be my guy!”

Oh, I love, I love, I love myself!
I really, really, do!
But I’m kind of tired of myself,
And I’d like to try-on you!

Now if we meet, and do hook up,
Don’t wait for me to make the move,
Because you see, I’m shy as can be,
And you’ll have to do that to!

Well, I love, I love, I love myself!
You know this to be true!
But for as much as I love myself,
I could really use a screw!

What I Wouldn’t Give For Love

I wouldn’t give up my rights, my body, or my identity.

I wouldn’t give up my vote, or my voice.

I wouldn’t give up my values and ethics, nor would I give up my spirituality.

I wouldn’t give up my independence for the sake of a partner’s need to be dominant.

I wouldn’t give in to cultural standards of beauty and gender, nor would I give up my own style.

I wouldn’t give up my family and friends, nor would I give up my social life.

I wouldn’t give up my hopes and dreams.

I wouldn’t give up my optimism, or my desire to see the world as a beautiful place.

I probably wouldn’t even give up my animals.

Love doesn’t ask you to give away parts of yourself, it appreciates you the way you are.

What wouldn’t you give for love?

Valentine’s Day

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You have a Valentine’s date,
But I have two!

Still single, and bringing a whole new meaning to “Double Fisting”,

Scott

Incommunicado: The Art of Bad Relationships

Okay, let’s be honest. How many times have you said one thing to a partner but were thinking something else? Have you ever actually had the thought, or worse, said, “Could you just wait until the [game, show, decade] is over?” during a conversation? Have you ever been accused of not listening?

I know I have. The question is why? Why aren’t we honest, upfront, and real with the partners in our lives? Is it because we get bored? Do we actually lose interest? Are we all just a bunch of douche-bag-idiots determined to screw up our own lives?

Or is it something else?

Being single, I’ve had hours to ponder this question (nothing, and no one, to do will do that to you), and I think I may have discovered a reason, or at least a reasonable excuse, as to why we do this in matters of love. It’s the act of dating, or early courtship, that screws most of us up!

Why dating? Simple. All of us manipulate ourselves to better fit our perceived ideas of what the other wants in a partner. We hide, lie, or hold back the truth about the things we don’t like about ourselves. We push the things that unite us, and stuff those that don’t in a dark closet with the rest of our secret desires, our unfulfilled wants and needs, our unmentionables. We do it easily, and often, and we call it compromise. But, in reality, what it is false advertising. It’s the human equivalent of infomercials. Sure, it slices, it dices, it squirts mustard with the push of a button, but after a year and 4 uses, will you feel it was worth it? Did you really need something that only fulfilled part of your needs? Do you miss the things you stuffed in a drawer to forget?

This is what we do people! We start off not communicating! We don’t offer-up the real me because of the fear that the other person won’t like the real me. We hide our true selves just to have parts and pieces of us loved. Sometimes we do it to just fulfill a physical need. And we do it over, and over, and over again, because we know, we just know, that no one would want the real me.

You know you do it. We all do. Even the best of us are completely screwed up. And the reality is that this unfortunate flaw is built into the very core of our being. We will never change. We will always have difficulty communicating. But it doesn’t mean we have to do it blindly. It doesn’t mean we have to hide everything. It doesn’t mean we have to be afraid of being ourselves.

It means we have to be as much of our real selves as possible. It means we have to let others be as much or their real selves as possible. It means knowing yourself. It means being honest, telling the truth, and dealing with things when they do come up in as rational a manner as possible.

It means communicating.

Still single and unable to talk to girls,

Scott

To My Future Wife

To my future wife, on this Christmas Eve…

I pledge my undying love, affection, trust, and support

I look forward to meeting you

I miss you

I want you

I ask for your forgiveness

To all the women in between…

How you doin’?

Children

I love children. They are such beautiful, tiny pieces of human innocence. They are precious and darling, and they are able to turn the largest, gruffest man into a marshmallow. Children are amazing and I dream of having some of my own.

Unfortunately, as a single lesbian, children are not traditionally seen as a part of my future. Of course there are many who say that there’s nothing wrong with a single woman adopting and raising children on her own–it’s certainly been done before! But I came from a single parent household and I know how incredibly hard it is to raise a kid with just one income, and just one parent.

I think this may be the driving force behind my interest in dating. It’s not so much that I’m lonely and wishfully imagining romantic getaways…it’s that I ache for a family! Maybe not a white-picket-fence-2.5-children-and-a-dog kind of family, but a family of my own choosing.

Am I alone here? Or are we all ultimately driven by the desire for family?

Singles Guide To Happy-Family-Holidays

Are you a wild and crazy, single-and-happy-about-it, free-spirit that’s finding it hard to cope with the incessant questioning by “supportive” family members? Do you dread holiday get-togethers because people “in love” don’t understand you? Have you taken drastic measures in the past to avoid these people?

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Combat Comebacks: The art of expertly picking apart your annoying relatives!
Pre-emptive Strike Guidance: How to get to them before they get to you!
Lying to Grandma: How to sugar-coat the bullshit!
Pre-gather Punch: 12 delicious recipes sure to have you slurring before the first question!
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Still single and anxiously awaiting delivery of my very own Pocket-Prod with Crippler attachment!

Scott

The Birthday Dilemma

So, tomorrow is my 32nd birthday. 32 years old. No kids. No wife. No girlfriend. Not even a real prospect. Not even a messy divorce to blame it all on. Just me. I’m not the hit-on kinda guy, and everyone know’s it’s the hit-on kinda guy that gets the girl (apparently it’s something about actually talking to them, or so I hear).

So here’s the dilemma, what do I do? I want most of those things (not in that order, obviously) but don’t know how to go about it. I’ve been doing the dating thing and that doesn’t seem to be working out (either they don’t respond or they do respond and I wish they hadn’t). I don’t get hit-on myself. I don’t have a friend pool to really pull from (not to say there aren’t women in the circles I run in that I wouldn’t date, it’s just that their friends, and they’re everyone’s friends, so if it goes bad…). No one sets me up with other people (apparently I am unique — weird — enough that NO one — and I mean NO one — knows anyone that might be right for me). And they’re not coming to my front door.

So what do I do?

God, I don’t even have an ex to hook up with. I’ve already run through that very short list!

Well, I guess I could just run over a girl on my new bike…

Novara Aspen, my new bike.

Novara Aspen, my new bike.

Do you think CPR counts as a first kiss?

Still single and pedaling towards love,

Scott

Date Night Jitters

It’s 1:20 pm on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the apartment is clean, soft jazz is playing in the background while the cats lounge in front of the balcony door chattering at the birds eating at the feeder. There’s not a cloud in the late summer sky, the thermometer reads 81 degrees, and the forecast is for a high of 90.

It’s 1:20 pm, I haven’t showered yet, I’m smoking like a chimney, and watching the clock. I tried watching football, briefly worked on some writing I have to do, and have even done some last minute strengthening exercises. Nothing works. I still hear it, the “Click! Click! Click!” of the clock. No matter what I do, I hear it. “Click! Click! Click!”

This is a problem, you see, because my clock is digital, doesn’t display the seconds, and doesn’t actually make a sound. I hear it though, none the less. “Click! Click! Click!” in my head it goes.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m keeping time…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…going nuts…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…second after relentless second.

“Click! Click! Click!”

The plans are set. The place and time agreed upon. It’s actually going to happen…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…if I don’t go nuts first.

“Click! Click! Click!”

We’re meeting at 5:00 o’clock for drinks at the Island Cafe. It should be perfect. A floating, outdoor-patio bar with fancy tropical concoctions, fish and chips, and beer. The faint breeze off the harbor and the shade of the umbrella should keep the temperature pleasant while the sun sets in the West. We can watch the ducks in the harbor scrabble for each fry we toss them. We can watch as the power boats, yachts, and occasional kayaker go putting by. We can talk.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But it’s only 2:00 and I still haven’t decided what I’m wearing.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m leaning towards the clever and funny “Zombie Love” t-shirt and shorts.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But will she appreciate the zombie homage to our first conversation, or will she think me weird for wearing something with bloody zombie heads on it for our first date?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Maybe I should wear something black and slimming?

“Click! Click! Click!”

At least I got my hair cut last night and don’t have to worry about that.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But I still have to put product in my hair.

“Click! Click! Click!”

Spiky or flat?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Combed or stylishly mussed?

“Click! Click! Click!”

It’s still too early to shower.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I need a smoke…

“Click! Click! Click!”

Single and suffering… still,

Scott

“Click! Click! Ring!”

It’s 2:15 pm, my phone just rang, and clicking of the clock has stopped. It’s my date. An emergency with a friend. Babysitting. Sorry. We just have to laugh at this point. Monday or Tuesday after work? I promise it will happen. A text tomorrow to figure out the day. Sorry again.

The soft jazz is still playing. The cats are sleeping. In my head…

silence…

a little sad…

a little relieved…

a lot funny.

I wonder if Travis still has that tee-time reserved?