Friends, fucking and love contemplations

Today I read a quote that I had to share because I’ve asked myself some of these questions while I take the time to heal myself:

“I asked my ex, now good friend, if she would ever have an open relationship and she said, ‘No, I don’t think I could do that’ then after a pause and a smile, ‘but what about love affair friendships?’

She went on to describe an impenetrable fortress of female friendship, her own group of best mates who’d known each other since school and had supported and loved each other through almost all of their lifetimes. They sounded far more bonded to, and in love with one another, than their respective husbands.

It struck me that we don’t have the language to reflect the diversity and breadth of connections we experience.

Why is sex the thing we tend to define a relationship by, when in fact it can be simple casual fun without a deep emotional transaction?

Why do we say ‘just friends’ when, for some of us, a friendship goes deeper?

Can we define a new currency of commitment that celebrates and values this?

Instead of having multiple confusing interpretations of the same word, could we have different words?

What if we viewed our relationships as a pyramid structure with our primary partner at the top and a host of lovers, friends, spiritual soul mates, colleagues, and acquaintances beneath that?”

—Rosie Wilby, “You’re More Polyamorous Than You Think”

I think there’s a whole host of relationships that we have with other people and this quote has made me sit and think about these friendships, relationships, loves. For some friends who I love with all my heart and I’m totally in love with them as people.

I believe there’s a whole other world out there that could explain that we all do lead poly lifestyles in a way without even realising it. We give our love without thought to those we hold dear but don’t fuck. So why does only the ones we fuck count as loves of our lives? I’ve had more deep and meaningful relationships with some friends than I’ve ever had with partners.

So why do we focus on fucking for meaning when there’s meaning in so many other areas? How does this all tie in to me though? Sex is really important to me, but it’s not the be all of me and how I relate to people.

But I had to put this here to remember to think outside the box while I keep working on myself.


Bless, the blog loving.

I just wanted to write a quick note to those of you who reached out to me privately & in my comments section about my last post, thank you.

I wanted to say you made my day and reminded me that what we put out we get back and that making yourself vulnerable and open about mental illness doesn’t make you weak. You all helped to make me stronger when I was feeling a bit wobbly.

All the love to you, we may have never met but your words all touched me in the little place behind my left boob.


From the promises of meeting for tea, the cheeky spanks, the pictures and just your words.

Y’all are the best.

So this post was bought to you by the blog love. I’m sharing.



A friend-three-some? A pleasant blast from the past…

It’s been one of those weeks where I’ve been pretty sick and some guy messaged me on OKC.

He didn’t objectify me or make me want to stab him repeatedly in the eyeball with a rusty spoon. He looked vaguely familiar from his pictures and I couldn’t place him, I thought he looked like someone my old roomie had the hots for but I couldn’t be sure because I didn’t really spend that much time staring at his face – or any other part of his body when he used to come over. We spend time chatting outside while we smoked together and then I’d head in and do my thing and they’d do theirs.

So anyway, back to the story. This guy messages me. He’s smart, articulate and engaging. I’m sick, curious and vaguely interested if only because he’s not going for the kill and sexualising everything. So I message him back and give him a pat on the back for not being a jerk-off with the first few emails backwards and forwards.

Fast forward to today, I’m feeling a wee bit more human, my ovaries still feel like they are trying to chew their way out of my body but I’m functioning to a degree.

We go from OKC to Kik and he sends me a picture of himself cuddling with a cat. Said cat and him look even more familiar. I put it off to someone I must have a passing acquaintance with.

Then he asks me if I ever lived where I used to live a few suburbs away from where I am now. And like a jigsaw, all the puzzle pieces fit into place and I died laughing. No really, I did.

Continue Reading


The ex factor. With added friend equation.

The last few days have seen me in a weird place.

You see I found out one of my friends is dating an ex of mine from years ago. Do I care? Not really, except I guess I do because I would have expected her to tell me or say something to me herself.

Instead I hear about it down the grapevine 2 months after the fact.

In a perfect world she would have mentioned it to me, I would have gone oh, but I thought you hated him and he definitely hated you? But you know, hey whatever. But obviously we don’t live in a perfect world and for some reason she never mentioned it.

Our breakup was one of the messiest in my life, it took months of drug therapy in my friends’ hot tub. Not to mention the thought that I had some horrible sexual disease that might kill me in the meantime – back in the days where HIV tests took 6 months. The fact that he not only cheated on me but was a baby-daddy 3 months after we broke up was just a big a slap in the face as any.

Yes, cheers for that matey. But it’s one of those things that I’ve forgiven and every so often the baggage comes back to bite me in the ass even though I think I’ve worked through it.

So on one hand I really truly don’t give a toss about it yet at the same time I’m pissed off that she didn’t say anything.

It’s a very weird place to be.

I find this whole situation really bloody bizarre. Did I slip into an alternate reality? If so where the hell is my Jason Momoa? Who, by the way, I met at the Oz Comic Con in Sydney last weekend. He’s a mountain of a furry man who I’d climb any day. Oh yes. PHWOAR!

Getting back to the point though, am I making this out to be something it’s not? Should I even care? It’s not like it affects my life one way or another.

In keeping with this thought process I believe I’ll just cut it loose. I’m similar in my relationships as I am in my friendships. If my friends can’t be honest and upfront with me then why should they remain my friends?

And to end on a nice bright note, mountain of a man. Furry. Tattoo’s. HAWWWT. Please apply within.


Here’s a picture of us stalking Jason Momoa @OzComicCon – Sydney. You’re welcome.