Sun 6th February 2011

Erica suggested we go out for a drink the other day. We met up with a friend of hers. She was an adept at that skill that attractive women have to cultivate, of defusing the male gaze. In a crowded pub we got talking to this bunch of young men from a small town about an hour away by train who had come to Lancaster for someone's birthday. "There's not a lot to do in our town apart from drugs." They said they had some mephedrone with them - the "plant food" that was made illegal a few months ago. I passed my new pal twenty pounds, we went to the loos, and snorted a line each off the toilet seat. I liked the sordidness of it.

I wasn't expecting much from an industrial fertiliser, but it produced a warm wave of relaxation and mild euphoria. Everything brightened. Indeed, so calm did it make us feel that Erica and I then did something monumentally stupid: we tapped out a couple of little lines on the table and snorted them from behind a menu. I glanced up and saw the small black dome of the panotopic CCTV camera, feeling completely unconcerned. Worst than the legal penalities would have been the social ones: I know some of the people who run the place.

The rain was electric on the pavement. I set off for the theatre to see a one woman show called Sex Idiot, which turned out to be a rather whimsical recitation of the performer's relationships. Not enough sex, I thought, but that might have been the mood I was in. In bed, I texted Denise, my beautiful, curvy, redhead friend. The last shimmers of the drug in my system, it soon turned frisky. Everything felt bright and clear.

4 comments

Comment from: Sarsparilla [Visitor]

Blimey, Valentine’s is working its magic on you, isn’t it!

Sun 6th February 2011 @ 15:29

Comment from: [Member]

Thanks! Wish I’d started objectifying women years ago.

Mon 7th February 2011 @ 15:25

Comment from: heybartender [Visitor]

For some reason (*cough cough*) this made me think of you:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tracy-mcmillan/why-youre-not-married_b_822088.html

Tue 15th February 2011 @ 08:25

Comment from: [Member]

That’s quite good. She’s quite right about the chemically addictive nature of sex and physical closeness. I think romantic love is a cultural construct. I’d rather have something functional, that works and is mutually enjoyable, for as long as it continues to be so. I don’t want to get to the point where I’m getting texts saying “Have you remembered the bread?” Or “Where are you?”

“Working around a man’s fear and insecurity is big part of what you’ll be doing as a wife” is quite a depressing thing to be advising women in 2011. Come on Tracy, it’s not 1960s Ireland.

Wed 16th February 2011 @ 03:33

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

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Sex Idiot

4 comments

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

Rummage in my drawers

The Comfort of Strangers

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

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