Scarlett’s Date With The World’s Most Gay Straight Racist Cop.

Unlike other posts that are result of something happening in my life, watching something unimaginable at 8 o’clock in the morning or a random thought enters my mind, I wish I could say this post was a result of either one of those topics listed.  Something that could be listed as being sweet, docile and somewhat hilarious.

Instead, it was totally the opposite in an unexpected way because some parts appeared to be stolen and directed like a horror film shot on a seedy camera. As for other parts, they weren’t so docile and left me horrified at the end of the short, brief and horrid experience. In fact, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to start this post or rather, where I should start because I’m still coming to terms with what happened.

Having always written about meeting a nice guy with the correct set of morals for a human being, doesn’t listen to hard core heavy metal or screamo where I find myself screaming to be heard and is somewhat interested in settling down, outside of his mother’s house. As of this very moment, I seem to be attracting the complete opposite.

On my current agenda are the ‘baby-maker’ sperm donors, psychopaths, emotional f*ckwits, megalomaniacs, Daniel Cleaver wannabes, potential losers, questionable married men who slip their wedding rings off and downright racist pigs known to man and woman kind. This in turn, brings to mind something I was recently told by Lady Blacksnot III Esq. when communicating to her, my need and desire of meeting, dating and/or marrying someone.

Someone who is completely normal, doesn’t hate all women because they screwed him over alongside the population of man and isn’t deemed as being psychopathic or a mental mindf*ck. As stated by LBS, “Scar, you’re a catch. So why are you going for the ugly guys who’ll bring nothing to your life than someone whose Mr. Darcy?”

Guaranteed I may have changed, added, divided, multiplied and subtracted a few words to ultimately find the square root to finding someone ‘normal’. But this isn’t the story for normalcy or in fact, nice guys at all. Because in this case, I’ve learnt as a result of this experience and introductory Life Lesson into dating is that the bad guy clearly wins until he is caught, convicted for murder and ultimately was sentenced to spend his life behind bars.

True story in this case as I was informed but more about that later.

Like any ‘Once Upon A Time’ nightmare that isn’t really told to our children at night, I should start my post and story at the beginning and weave my nightmare magic just right. So I can paint the picture as to how I found myself, sitting at a table looking over the majestic site of Circular Quay for sixty minutes, listening to the endless stories of two male best friends and the regularly conquering of Manly together that ultimately left me going:

Photo courtesy of Tumblr

Having somewhat recovered from my both silent and somewhat vocal inquiry as to his relationship with his ‘friend’ because he may have been secretly gay and lived in a world of fear due to working in a male dominated field. Where even the women can’t be subjected to feminist acts for it’s considered a strategical weakness within the force and clearly, they let their emotions rule the game. 

It was while watching his mouth move in a stream of silent words and vows, I realised as I was hurtled back into my feminist views on life that he wasn’t a closeted gay. Rather, he was the world’s most racist cop.

Like any story written by others before me, we should start with the customary sentence of, Once Upon A Time…

My last few seconds of 2016 were spent slowly being counted down as the rebels lined the streets, danced with glee and guzzled wine from the bottle before planting drunk kisses on unsuspecting victims. Only then, would they scamper off into the night and as the last remaining second clicked over into the new year of fresh beginnings as the ever welcoming thought of fireworks lit the sky in colours so bright; the ending to what had been formerly known as my ‘spinsterhood’ era had come to an end.

With that second of change came the new sense of purpose, drive to succeed in life and a rather brief and precise resolution list that included eating a ton of pasta, discovering the self worth of prayer and developing a sense of security within the ever increasing world of dating and online dating. All the while, writing and documenting my initial thoughts on what life in the dating fast lane would be like and my adventurous lifestyle of a now eligible and dating woman.

These resolutions were firmly tucked away into a blog post for future reference and continuous reading over the many years to come as well as penned in harsh, bold, cursive black writing in my 2017 planner. All the while, a small, sweetly naive part assumed that life in the dating lane would be somewhat the same when I left a few years back and as a result, didn’t have the faintest idea that with changes in time came changes in the dating field but also the prospects of what others thought, feel and speak of.

My initial warning that should have indicated that I would be looking for the nearest exit or it would be the standard fluke of one person using the code for a ‘toilet break’ and never returning was while I was travelling to the meet up point. I was previously told that he would be staying in the business district as he was surprising a friend’s girlfriend at her surprise birthday party and would I like to have a cocktail in the evening.

After stating that I had a family dinner that I couldn’t reschedule, I opted to switch cocktails and the risky assumption that I’d be willing to fall into the nearest bed for a more reasonably lunch and coffee offer, during daylight hours of Friday afternoon. With both parties agreeing to lunch and coffee at 2 pm, I was in the midst of travelling towards our meet up point for lunch when my phone went off at 1:58 pm.

While my driver battled against detours that felt like they were leading us around the rabbits wren nest of Sydney while workmen walked the streets like it was YMCA week before posing like they were in a photo shoot with a piece of steel, balancing over their shoulder. As one fine specimen gave me a wink through the window after catching me, staring at him before spinning on the heel of my his boot, I glanced down at the message that had appeared on my screen.

It was only then after reading it once that my eyebrow slowly rose as I read out loud, “Popped down to Pitt Street Mall”.


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