My Lesbian Date….

I am pretty sure you have all gathered here today to understand the title and the meaning behind said tile.

This has occurred as a result of you being left confused and asking yourself a couple of questions like, “was she gay and I missed the boat completely?” or “Is she coming out of the closet to embrace her lesbianism”.

The story as to how I came about having a lesbian dinner date shall be later revealed but as you can see clearly by the photo posted above the blog beginning; Life decided to grant me a night away and as a result, gave me a time out.

A time out from being known and seen as the stressed nursing student in the midst of placement and sticking fingers up where they don’t belong in people’s body cavities.  To watching a procedure being undertaken within the ward while battling against a bluey, for vision due to my stupid height of five feet seven.

My height combined with how high the bed was resting at wasn’t clearly enough in this case as I managed to miss half of the procedure at I was standing off to the side of the bed.  All I can say is in this case, next time I am not taking someone’s arm, I shall have a box or something to stand on or at least ask the doctor to lower the bluey down a bit.

But like many things happening on the ward and within my own personal life, Life and time decided to hold the clock for a couple of hours so I could de-wind from the hectic and somewhat crazy life I had been leading during the week.

Also Life and time held the clock so I could make the escape from being the tired, strained and coffee infused caffeine addict to the fabulous concealer wearer, lover of all things make up and va-va-voom.

As a result, my life managed to be stopped for a few hours from its dictated complex life structure that resembled between the hours of 0700 to 1500 and 1400 to 2300 hours, Monday to Friday.   Because like many other students shall know, when it comes time to doing placement, time simply does not exist in any sort of context or form.

For it simply exists in the hours you spend walking in a sleep deprived, medical knowledge brain soaking and coffee fuelled bubble and you can think about is two things: showering and sleeping.

Not including the moments when you dream of escaping off ward, sliding your tired and weary body down the stairs and come to a stop in the coffee hub at the hospital.  Where you proceed to look at the coffee guy behind the bar and telepathically tell him: “Coffee. Full strength and 1 sugar”.


Before repeating the same course of action after trudging down the hallways of the hospital, all the while fighting for the right to have an uninterrupted lunch.  The desire and need to seal yourself in a vac room and blast yourself at high velocity to kill any infection, bugs or diseases on your skin.

Talk about a good time for no amount hand washing and sanitising will stop you from walking into your house after stripping off in the drive way (shoes and socks), drop your bag at the front door and make your way into the bathroom.  Where, you proceed to strip off completely and scrub yourself raw.

All because a patient accidentally lost control of their bowels and it ended up all over your leg and the floor.  In this case, it happened to me and I admit to scrubbing myself with a load of tuffies (antibacterial wipes) and in the shower.

Like I said, Life granted me the opportunity one Sunday evening to stop being seen as the student nurse.  Life allowed me time to put on some music, slap on a shit load of concealer before slipping on that ever classic red lip.

But before I continue on with the story as to how I become the lip stick wearing and cocktail sipping twenty something year old from the navy polo shirt nursing student; the story originally began at The Little White House.

Like many incidents I know of when I come to spending time travelling between The Little White House and Brisbane for various reasons, I tend to find myself reaching for my phone and sending out a mass group message.

This message is normally along the lines of what day I am arriving, what day I am departing for The Little White House and what days/weekends I am available for a social gathering.  More than not, I get messages in return stating people won’t be able to meet up as they are busy with their own lives and social gatherings.

However in this case, I received a message telling me this person couldn’t wait for me to get my arse back to Brisbane after a few weeks departure from the city and we should do dinner.

This of course caused us to sit down with our open diaries for our social lives and start planning as to what weekend was taken up with work, sleep and study as one of us was still studying.  After many weeks of back and forth, along with the occasional hot pic of a man, we concluded our date we would have dinner.

You would think would make things easier as we had already picked a date, until I changed the date.  The reasoning behind the change was because I became under the weather and felt as if I would drop in a faint at any given moment.  Least to say, I sent a message stating I wouldn’t able to attend a party with this person as I wasn’t feeling up to best.

With much sympathy and a miniature fainting spell in the shower, we rescheduled for the following weekend as I had night shifts.  This meant I could go out and have a social life without the fear of missing my 0500 morning alarm and would be appropriate for me if I wanted to have a social drink.


As Friday drew near and we had picked the destination of our social gathering and gossip time, all with the promise of a few cocktails and cake; I was asked what I had planned for the weekend by one of the people I was attending placement with.

Dearest Reader, this is where the story behind the title comes from.

Mentioning to someone I was attending placement with as we headed towards the hospital shuttle bus so we could travel home; I mentioned I was going out for a date over the weekend.  After being asked as to whom I was going on a date with and I of course replied with: “I am going on a date with a dear friend of mine who I have known for a while.  I am so excited to see her as I have missed talking to her outside of a screen”.

A comical look soon crossed over this person’s face as they stopped in their tracks and turned around to look at me. “OH…. I never knew you were a lesbian! Makes sense.”

I have to say this hasn’t been the first time I have been mistaken for liking or loving the same sex.

Continuing on with walking towards the bus, I started laughing until I felt tears fall down my face which left this poor person absolutely stumped as to what had me cracking up.  It took a few more moments of laughter that I was able to control myself long enough to spit out, “not a lesbian”.

After apologising a multitude of times, I simply waved it all away and told them I would be telling my ‘lesbian lover’ come Sunday.  The story of how I was on a lesbian date with them.  This of course made both of us laugh before parting our separate ways.

Like any week to come, we finish it on a Saturday and take up the new on Sunday.  With that thought in mind as I got ready and danced in the bathroom before slashing on some amazing red lippy; I jazzed up my hair and thought about what the week would bring me.

I thought about starting another week of placement and night shifts as my body slowly started to make it aware it was time for me to start thinking about dinner and then bed.  Pushing the thought and tiredness away, I looked at my reflection and thought about my second last week of placement and what the evening entailed.

With a casual ‘ciao’ being thrown over my shoulder, I made my way to my date’s house and pulled up in the gutter.  After sending a message telling them I was at there and being called a moron because I refused to walk into the house, I was greeted by their Mum.

I was not only greeted by the matriarch of the family but I was also greeted with the guilt trip of a roast having been cooked for dinner.

Like any true Italian girl, the thought of homemade food being presented on a plate and the taste of love and home floating around my mouth.  While leaving a lingering taste of love; had me politely declining as a plate filled with roast lamb was shoved towards me.

Not to mention the guilt trip words of, “are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

In that moment, I faced the angel sitting on my left shoulder going “you should stay for dinner and do your date another time because you know you will be breaking her heart if you say ‘no’”.

While on my right shoulder dressed in red and picking their nail polish was the devil going, “roast lamb…cocktails…. Cocktails always win lovely”.

Just like that, the thought of cocktails and gossip over cake won over a roast. This I have to admit as a proud Italian girl this says something completely.

Deciding my lesbian lover would drive in case I opted to have a drink or three, we made our way through the windy streets of Brisbane as we headed to our destination.  Soon parking the car and making our way to where food lives, breathes and enters our stomachs; we opted to the go the Beach House.

beach house

Having settled on what our dishes would be, I took the opportunity to head towards the bar for a drink of destination.  Also it was an excuse to see if there were attractive guys available for our little lesbian session to come to an end as I throw this person at them.

Once having seen there was no one that would spark this person’s mental capacity of not throwing a glare and eyebrow at me, my number for the bar was up and also my order was as well.

As I watched the lady shake my concoction of temptation over ice, serving it with a twist of lemon floating amongst the pink substance of desire and picking up the chilled martini glass; I took a sip and felt my optic nerves leap in the back of my sockets.

I glanced down at my drink before turning to stare up at the lady and watched as a smile formed upon her lips before she said, “Enjoy. You look like you need it”.

With this one sip of my cosmopolitan, I felt a tingle race from the top of my head to the tips of toes as my eyeballs bounded out of my head as I made my way towards my date.  When squeezing myself between the two tables as I had elected to sit on the lounge due to my Kardashian arse, I placed my drink on the table and felt the buzz of alcohol flow through my veins.

I suspect the one actual mouthful held enough alcohol to curl my straightened hair and eyelashes without the need of a curling iron and eyelash curler.

After that thought, I was merrily buzzing away as I sipped more on the drink that once ruled my Friday night; when I lived in Toowoomba and used to frequently go out without the thought of assignments and exams.

Sipping my cosmo some more and discussing all the finest things from lingerie requirements to blind dates with completely random people.  I brought up the comment of how this was my lesbian date.  This of course sent my date choking on her drink and the man who I had spent the duration of time, talking on and off, coughing into his drink.

This of course sent me to alcohol induced hysterics as I clapped my hands in utter delight.

All the while telling the story as to how I had been mistakenly identified as a lesbian by one of the guys I had attended placement with.  Having told my story, I collapsed against the lounge and said, “you know this will end up as a blog right?”

The reply was, “I wouldn’t expect anything else coming from you”.

This my Dearest Reader is the story of how I spent my Sunday evening getting slightly merry on a delicious cosmopolitan and how Lady Blacksnot III and I were mistaken to be a lesbian couple.  By not just one person but two different people on two separate occasions.

With that, Lady Blacksnot III is simply the best non-lesbian I have had a date with for what I can say state is for most of my life.  For we simply kicked back at the end of a busy year of studies being undertaken, assignments being penned until our fingers have bled and our exams ruling most of our lives into a sleep deprivation.

We kicked back with an excellent drink and dinner which was followed up by chocolate cake that unfortunately was not served with a serving of vodka drizzled over the top.  Finally, before crashing into our seats with our beverages to watch the story of The Dressmaker (out in cinema’s now) unfold before our eyes.

After being mistaken for a lesbian, I wonder how LBS’ father would take the news? As he has already choked on his dinner when I announced I would be having LBS’ children for her.  But as for that story, that is for another time and another blog.

Enjoy the photos of our date and until next time,

Cheers xo

My not so lesbian date.
lbs date
LBS’ perfect date for the evening.
Lip career is now in the midst..
New version of chocolate cake… minus the vodka.

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