Ada Cambridge Biographical Prose Shortlisting update

wil lit fest

I didn’t win but I’m now published so I’m a bona fide writer, obvs. I’m on page 82, hard copies are available at the various Hobsons Bay Libraries or on Smashwords –¬†https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/442820

My piece is titled Love, Death, Art, Gelato.

Consent is sexy… getting someone’s name before you proposition them is even sexier…

Consent is sexy... getting someone's name before you proposition them is even sexier...

Soooo it’s been a below average week. Working heaps and not writing much (anything) is bad. The lack of productivity is compounded by a death in the family. Well not my legit blood related family. Just the family that counts, the family that whangaied me (adopt/foster) when I was a pre teen.
So I’ve held it together okay. I don’t really cry much even when everything is agony and razor blades. However, I thought it would be prudent for my mental health to get on the vodka and go dancing. Just at the pub up the road. I ended up going by myself. This is not a bad thing. Most of my adventures are solo. I hit the birthday vodka (copper distilled barley goodness from London), put on some tunes and got ready (see selfie). I trotted down the road to the Commercial where Saturday night is always a party and the most glamazon molls on the dancefloor are gender bending and fabulous. I danced to Snoop Dogg, Maroon 5, Beyonce, Fatman Scoop and all sorts of trashy pop/rap/r&b…
I was also propositioned by a fulla who wanted to first buy me a drink (I politely declined as I had drunk 3 double Grey Gooses in 1 hour). I spoke with him briefly when he came back to tell me there was no bar person available. I told him to seek assistance from a member of the security team and went back to my Facebook shenanigans. He got served and came and sat near me and I heard a good hook and absented myself for the dance floor. I had another great boogie and when I paused for a drink break he came up to me again and asked if I had a boyfriend. My quizzical reply was “What would I need one of those for?” Bear in mind I was three and a half sheets to the wind by this stage (past 2:30am). He then asked for my number. I said, “Why would you want my number when you haven’t even asked for my name?” He proceeded to tell me his name and asked for mine. I told him and then bumped knuckles with him. He then asked me for my number again. I had to thank him for his interest but inform him that I was not at the pub for that reason. Hence why I had picked a tranny bar. He looked at me as though I had lost my mind. I then informed him that my foster mother had passed away during the week and I was at the pub to get drunk and dance. Finito. Thank you for asking me. Don’t take this the wrong way, however I am not here for that. I smiled politely the whole time. The last time I smiled this much was during a job interview. Do cis gendered het males really think women go to gay clubs/ drag queen venues/ tranny bars to pick up? To be sexually available to them? If this is so, I need to stop going out all together. I’ve never gone out to ‘pick up’. I only want to dance. Especially now I’m not in a wheelchair. Especially because I can. Especially because I’m physically able to do so. The evening was brought low by someone else’s selfishness. I’m sure the chap involved didn’t see it as a selfish act but when another person politely declines your offer of a drink and then has to resort to the brutal truth of a family tragedy to dissuade your pursuit, it’s a fair bet they are not interested. Perchance my perception of this episode is overwrought. Perhaps it is a minor miracle that I did not punch, kick or head butt anyone tonight. There is no great message within this post. Just remember this: Everyone is fighting their own battle, so be gentle. Perhaps that is a great message… Now don’t forget to drink plenty of water before bed and put some ibuprofen on the bedside table…