My love-ish life is a riot these days! As a friend pointed out recently I’ve been in the heavy artillery zone, and its a shock I’m still alive.

But this isn’t a post about a girl who built walls around her heart to keep people out, or to protect the fractured pieces of her heart. No, I like to think my story is far more fun.

You see, to destroy a cliché, I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. No I throw my heart at people, like spaghetti against a wall, to see if it will stick. It hasn’t yet, but my heart has an unheard of elasticity which gives it this bouncy quality and in time it slowly bounces back to me. ( There is some undiscovered lesson here about the pasta only sticking when its ready…. I’m just going to ignore that.)

Let me expound.

One of my best friends recently fell in love with her best friend. Imagine water being poured into a glass until its brimming, about to spill over. That’s the emotion that goes along with that story. After a few weeks (or was it months) his mom started to pour the water out. Then society threw the glass against a wall. And now she is an empty glass. Broken and sad.

Unlike that story, the water going in and out of my glass is more like the clink of ice cubes as it splashes into a glass full of *insert your favourite drink here. Liquid starts to spill out, but lips quickly find the brim, so as not to waste a single drop. Liquid Fire that guarantees a fun night and a painful morning. The glass is in the hand of a dancer. She bumps and grinds, spilling a little here, a little there; most of it going down her throat;until the glass is empty. And now I’m an empty glass. But there is a scent of fun still left over; colourful droplets catching the light and sparkling like gemstones.

See the difference?

It’s not that I’ve become an Ice Princess-super-player-bitch. No, I’m a warm tropical princess. I take people into my arms, mix them a fruity drink and make them feel that, with me is where they belong. (At least that’s the intention.)

Let’s talk about Fernando, the most recent fixture in a series of gentlemen who wandered into a room where I happened to be standing and got my heart thrown at them. Poor Fernando, didn’t know what he got himself into, when, in a drunken stupor, he let his desire carry him away. My heart is currently stuck on him, but slowly sliding off. And unless he catches it (as I’m sure he won’t), it’s going to bounce right back to me. But that’s ok, it’s bounced about 3 times this summer.

But how can I convey that I’m not a loose woman?!

I have a rule about boys.

I never make the first move.

Once initiated though, i reciprocate with vigor and enthusiasm unparalleled in the known universe.  I’m also not above breaking social norms, rules and morals on behalf of some instant gratification, and physical satisfaction.

My gregarious love life, full of late night kisses, nibbles and intoxicated, intoxicating evenings of carnal pleasures is one of intense joy. I get sad, like any other  hot-blooded woman, when I realize that tonight didn’t mean every night. I’m just better at taking the events of my life with a smile and a jig; and my heart always bounces back

No regrets. No holding back. No pretending.

Just a glass full of your favourite drink. Waiting to be drunk.