“Watch this space……” I last wrote. I did not see it coming but it hit me like an arrow in the heart & I’ve been hooked. He of Hotel St George fame has turned out to be my prince…as it happens he’s an absolute fucking lunatic & absolutely my type!
We first met in person at the Spire on O’Connell Street at his suggestion, which was fine by me since that is probably my favourite meeting point north side of the city. My first impression as he walked towards me was. ‘Oh fuck I can’t be with him, he just looks so fucking young!’ I smiled back at him all the same & we made our way to the Grand Social where we downed a delightful bottle of red & began to get cosy. To the Boardwalk with us for a canoodle & a half. On parting, we planned to get a room sometime.
Our second date landed us in the Hotel St. George & was perfectly pleasant really…lessons in French were had betwixt the sheets while enjoying some vin rouge. It was nice. Very nice. He, this man from the moon, reckons I was all sexed out. I’m reckoning he reckons right.
I revealed to him earlier over pints that I was writing about him tonight & he’s curious to have a read. I thought that might inhibit me from expressing myself, as if…I’m never going to get explicit about us but hey do I ever? I tend to but not always, gloss over the finer details of my goings on when it comes to my sexploits. What follows is definitely a sexploit gone awry…
Meanwhile…he’s home & up & at it checking into my Tinder profile. According to Tinder, I’m now 8 miles away. Damn I need to enlighten this guy with The Four Agreements: DON’T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS being one. He who was in breach of this agreement immediately assumed that I too was up & at it…in someone else’s bed 8 miles away. For Fucks’ Sakes!
Tinder teased us together & then Tinder almost tore us apart. That evil, conniving application lied about my location one super sexy souped up Sunday night. I had spent Saturday night & all day & night Sunday with Moon Man, finishing up with a bellyful of cocktails for me & beer for he in Mema’s on Parnell Street. We walked back to mine, he dropped me off with many kisses & I hit the hay sola mia like there was no tomorrow.
I couldn’t make this shit up! Moon Man moodily stewed on my whereabouts the night before all day long Monday until night fell & I invited him to join me in The Bleeding Horse for a beverage. He joined me, smiling as ever of countenance but, as I told him, his body language was off.
“I’m not stalking you or anything but…” …the lovely lunatic lover of mine pulled out his iPhone & pulled up a screenshot of my Tinder profile, captured at 3.46am Monday, showing me to be located 8 miles away. Ooops to you Tinder. I’m sending them a link to this blog entry. Tinder giveth & Tinder taketh away. The trust of my lover is lost. He believes Tinder.
We have weathered the storm, a week has passed & we haven’t fallen apart at the seams but where is the love without trust? Bairbre my erstwhile art therapist noticed a huge shift in my energy this week. I am no longer flying away like a hot air balloon, I am grounded. Grounded into grace & gratitude. God bless.
Faith In The Ripple Effect 