This Blog is meant to be about girls, but I was a bad child of the forest and wrote about cats last time. So, now I repent: I write about girls.
I do have one defence for my departure from my usual theme, viz that cats and lesbians are two sides of the same coin. Not just any coin – a shiny silver American Dollar. Aka an awesome coin. Not your run-of-the-mill coin. No.
Both cats and girls are equidistant from my soul. Cats sit to the left, next to my ventricle. Girls sit to the right, squarely placed on my aorta. When my heart pumps blood, a bolus of haemoglobin passes by cats, and another passes by girls. They respirate, using my oxygen. And I like it that way.
For fear of being universally condemned for using a Carrie Bradshaw-ism, that got me to thinking – how alike are cats and lesbians, really? I hypothesise they are kindred spirits. They are like Rosco and Kool-Aid. They are like Wesley and student hackery. They are like me and Jean Val Jean. Have you ever met a lesbian who doesn’t like cats? I mean, have you really? I doubt it.
Cats like licking pussy. For risk of sounding crude, lesbians like that too.
However, there’s one big, fat, obese difference between cats and lesbians. For risk of sounding jaded (which I am), cats don’t break hearts. Sure, they share their love around a bit; they’re most definitely polyamarous, but they’re not giant douchebags. Girls, unfortunately, can be. We’ve all had our hearts broken. But not by cats.
However, something (slash someone) has waltzed along into my sphere of acquaintances and made me feel a bit less jaded. She’s really fucking lovely, and we have a date on Sunday. I’m kinda really excited. I haven’t let myself BE excited about a girl for a while, because they usually turn out to be total, mammoth letdowns. But this one is special. She’s genuinely brilliant. Like, smart and insightful as anything. I know that because she has a comic and I’ve read most of it now, and it’s bloody good. Like Neil Gaiman good. I’m not kidding.
In other news, I’m listening to Iron & Wine at the moment and it’s kind of rocking my world.
It’s really no secret that I am enamoured with small mammals of the feline variety. Small little things that are made of fur and organs and tough tongues and skinny tails. Tiny little things that sleep and poop and purr and cuddle. Aka cats.
I identify as many things, one of which is a crazy cat lady. I live with two other crazy cat ladies, namely my housemates, Wesley and Rosco. Sir Boffin the Boy has an affinity for Wesley and the foot of Wesley’s bed, whereas Dame Pillicent likes my room. I’m not sure what it is about my chamber that gets her going. Perhaps it’s my three IKEA lights. Perhaps it’s the smell of my perfume. Perhaps it’s the Melbourne Football Club calendar on my wall – I’m pretty sure she likes checking out the players.
That’s another thing about Pillie. She’s straight. She likes men. She likes Rosco’s boyfriend, Lucas, a lot. He’s one of the few people who can pick her up. Anyone else, she flails and wriggles until she is dropped. Since we are a Queer household, naturally we expected, nay, we DEMANDED that our kittens be queer. But Pillie has failed us. She likes men. Luckily, hope remains, as the jury’s still out on Boffin’s sexuality. I secretly suspect that Rosco is having an affair with Boffie in the depths of the night, but of course, until I purchase a security camera and install it in Rosco’s room, I have no proof.
Even now as I sit in my Hemnes blogging, I have two cats between my legs. We are engaging in a mutual transfer of heat. It’s really fairly wonderful.
Now I must finish this blog, and write another blog, about girls.
Rosco is an odd fellow, who I am nonetheless very fond of. However, living with Rosco is a bit like living with a very sexually active racoon. Rosco, loving and lesbian-ish by nature but horny as a rabbit, likes boys a lot, and when he falls, he falls hard. I’ve lived with Rosco for over a year, and I’ve seen them come and go. Here’s an official Isle of Lesbos rundown of Rosco’s boys:
1. Jizz McCumface: when I moved in with Rosco, he was smitten up to the eyeballs with this one. Jizz is a nice enough fellow, very camp, and works at a certain entertainment establishment (no, not a brothel). Rosco and he seemed to actually have a fairly healthy relationship. Jizz would stay over once, twice a week and it was all very nice. On NYE that year, Rosco jumped into a swimming pool and his insulin pump (which he needs to live) fell out, and Jizz brought him home, which I found to be quite sweet. Jizz and Rosco, both being somewhat twinky, made very girly orgasmic sounds, which I did tend to find a little disturbing.
2. Country Bumpkin: this one was a Grindr find, I believe, but was quite normal and friendly. Very stocky and masculine, one of those “I look really straight” gays. I didn’t hear much of their sexual escapades through the paper-thin walls, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have any. At the time, my relationship was going fairly well and so I probably was too busy with my own sex life to worry much about Rosco’s. In the end, Country Bumpkin dumped Rosco, and none of us know why to this day. However, I suspect it was because Rosco is a crazy cat lady, as am I, and Country Bumpkin was far too down-to-earth for all that shit.
3. Creepy Klepto Greaseball: this one was, as the name suggests, a bona fide kleptomaniac. Klepto looked a bit like a hobbit who had never encountered shampoo before. Klepto was friendly enough, but decidedly weird. When Rosco is single, his standards tend to drop a lot. Rosco is about ten million times more attractive than this guy. Sometimes Candace and I would wake up, go to the kitchen, and find Klepto sleuthing around. It was quite weird. When Klepto was on the scene, shit went missing from the house. I kid you not. Weird things, like the remote control, the salt shaker, and the microwave cover. We had to buy new ones of all these things. Thank fuck, Klepto didn’t last long as Rosco came to his senses and ditched him (potentially with a little, or a lot, of encouragement from me).
4. Jaded Lovestruck Oddball: Oddball was around at about the same time as Klepto, and was smitten with some guy who lived in Dandenong or somewhere like that. All he would talk about, in between bouts of fucking Rosco, was his long lost love. It was bizarre.
5. American Puppy: the Puppy, as I’ll call him, was a nice enough guy but not very good for Rosco. Within a day of meeting, Puppy had moved in to our house. After two weeks of Puppy’s presence, which incidentally were the first two weeks that Rosco and Puppy knew each other, Candace and I cracked the shits at Rosco and he got an attack of the guilts. From then on, Puppy was only over a mere four or five nights a week. Rosco and Puppy merged extremely quickly and the whole thing was really quite weird. Eventually Puppy went back to America and Rosco was really upset for a while. No doubt about it, Puppy and all his emotional crap fucked Rosco up. Rosco has come a long, long way since the fucked up days of Puppy, but I will never forget what the Puppy-era proved – Rosco is truly just another lesbian, looking to merge.
6. Leonard: finally Rosco has found someone normal. Thank fuck! Leonard is nice, smart, friendly and actually not a complete oddball! They did meet on Grindr, but I really can’t judge that as I’ve gotten laid off Brenda before. Leonard is a keeper and I hope what he and Rosco have can last for a long time.
The moral of this story is that if you date/fuck enough crackpots, eventually you might be lucky enough to find someone nice, with the aid of geographical hook up apps such as Grindr.
Wow. That’s fucking bleak.