Wednesday, August 31, 2011

This is wrong on so many levels

This is what was sent to me by, I can only assume, a well meaning friend this morning.

Does this really pass as funny... or am I getting as precious as those people I call precious?

THE GAY FLIGHT ATTENDANT (This one is too funny to not forward.)

My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant, who seemed to put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.
As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and told us that 'Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be landing the big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put your trays up, that would be super....'
On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and rather Arabic looking woman hadn’t moved a muscle.
‘Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines but I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.'
She calmly turned her head and said,
'In my country, I am called a Princess and I take orders from no one.'
To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied, without missing a beat,
'Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country I’m called a Queen, so I outrank you. Tray-up, Bitch’

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


The first thing I learned straight after turning down the new job, was that my old contact at my old recruitment agency/employer has left.

OMG! There goes my secret advantage. Ug! The person who knows me, who has got me my last however many jobs, the person who I didn't have to explain anything to, the person who, I'm sure, genuinely liked me. That person. Gone.

Then suddenly, I think that maybe I shouldn't have turned down the other job. One hour later and I'm wishing I could undo, cavalierly, turning down the other job. One hour later and I want to take back the untakebackable.

I have left two messages for the new consultant/chick. Then I speak to her. I may be being unfair, but she sounds like a woman who has taken over from someone who had done the job for the previous fifteen years.

She promisses to call me back shortly. The evening comes and I am still waiting.

Santo says the right thing when I say I have made a mistake.
"Get the job you want babe, I can't have you complaining in my ear about your job."

Monday, August 29, 2011

The wash up

I take my car into be serviced. A new starter motor it is now. How long has that taken... four visits to the mechanic over a few months.
I come home, it’s a lovely walk through the Exhibition Gardens, and turn down the Footscray job.

The first thing I learned straight after turning down the new job, was that my old contact at my old recruitment agency has left. Kathy has left U-Beaut Employees-R-Us.
Fuck no!
OMG! There goes my secret advantage. Ug! The person who knows me, who has got me my last however many jobs, the person who I didn't have to explain anything to, the person who, I'm sure, genuinely liked me. That person. Gone.

Then suddenly, I think that maybe I shouldn't have turned down the other job. One hour later and I'm wishing I could undo, cavalierly, turning down the other job. One hour later and I want to take back the untakebackable. You had it... and you let it go, that sort of feeling.

Mark calls me pissed off about the non-invite. He ran into Campbell. Then he calls back to tell me how disappointed he is in me for not saying something to Shane.
Shane goes to school.
I retreat to bed, sad and disappointed that I let Mark down. It makes me cry... well nearly. I well up. I feel defeated.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Birthday Lunch

Santo and I spent the day on the couch smoking Shane’s pot, to be truthful. He knew.
Shane went out to lunch with his mum and dad, with Sebastian, crystalled off their faces. Shane’s parents know that Shane (and his friends) take drugs recreationally, not that anyone was owning up to anything, other than a “big” night... the specifics of which went unmentioned.
Shane came down and asked if the pot was all put away, which we confirmed that it was. “My parents are due.” Then he got it out and wide-eyed said we have to smoke a joint in front of my parents. “Will you roll it when we are just about to leave?”
“I don’t want to smoke joints in front of your parents.”
Shane leaves the room, wide-eyed.
Santo and I smoke another joint, playing with the Apple TV we gave Shane for his birthday.
Shane enters the room again. “Are they just left their house about to arrive, or just parked the car and about to knock on the door about to arrive?”
“About to knock on the door, about to arrive.”
Shortly, Shane’s parents arrived. We chat while they wait for Sebastian to arrive.
As soon as he does, Shane announces loudly, “I have to take Sebastian upstairs for a Sudafed.” Nudge. Nudge. Wink. Wink.

Shane says that he just needed a joint before he went out. “You don’t mind mum, do you? I don’t smoke every day any more. Just on special occasions. I’m pretty proud of that.”
His mum laughed. She’s really lovely.
So is Shane’s dad, but he had disappeared into a Banksy book and wasn’t paying complete attention.
Santo looked at me and I looked at Santo and we both inwardly cringed at the weirdness of that moment.

Santo and I drag ourselves off to Grilled in Brunswick Street. We’re starving by the time we get it together and leave the house. We’re claiming weaken energy and lack of function all the way there.

We both complain of hard hills, long and steep on the way back, even Santo, as we drag our sorry arses back up George Street back to the couch. This time we are both keen, it can’t be said it was just me who was being lazy.

We were all talking, when everyone gets back. Shane has bought a hat for him and for his parents. Shane says something about Sebastian, first, has a go, in a wide-eyed and ticking kind of way.
Sebastian looks at Shane.
Shane looks slyly at Sebastian.
(I can’t remember what it was now)
We continue talking about the fabulous gift that Sebastian had bought Shane, a saucepan set. You know, Bang And Olufsen of saucepans. Then Sebastian blabs on about how special his saucepans at home were, to which Shane’s mum said he should will them to her. She quickly corrected herself, “Not that I want anything to happen to you.”
“She’s just saying what you’ve heard a lot in your life,” I say.
“What’s that?” asks Sebastian.
“Die bitch.”
“Oh well,” says Sebastian. He holds his hand out, one for each side of the table, where Shane and I are sitting and says,” Have you met my two sisters? The Cunts.”
We all look at him speechless. Sebastian laughs. It was very funny, we were all smashed. Even innocent Santo, he was stoned, his eyes had turned bloodshot.
“Are you surprised I said that in front of your parents?”
“I’m surprised you said that in front of me?” I say.

Shane’s parents leave. Sebastian disappears. Shane heads straight back to bed.

Santo and I went to the supermarket to create a version of our house specialty pasta sauce – tomato and herb spaghetti sauce, with chillies and olives and tuna. We added cherry tomatoes and fresh olives, where the previous spaghetti sauce already had the olives added.
I must cook up some fresh tomato spaghetti sauce from scratch again, but that’s for and afternoon of cooking. This is just supposed to take 30 minutes, for dinner.
“Ready in thirty minutes,” said Santo. He smiled joyously.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Shane’s fortieth

Santo and I ate Yum Cha at Doncaster Shopping Town, before we went to the Apple shop to have his faulty new phone looked at.
Santo went to Apple and I stayed at the bookshop until I got bored and then I went and bought a vanilla thick shake. Santo couldn’t believe it, “Fat and sugar,” he said. “I don’t believe you.”
He is very pleased though, they replaced his phone again, second time in two months.
“The premium service club, exclusive membership,” he says.

Shane’s fortieth birthday at XYZ in Smith Street. Everyone was invited except Mark and Luke. I found this out when I got home around 5pm, maybe later, from spending the day out with Santo.
Jane told me. She was staying the night and was getting ready by that stage.
It just made me feel like I didn’t want to go. What was Shane doing? What for? Mark has been his friend for twenty years and Luke for no so less than that. How did he think that would make them feel?
It’s the “now back to me” syndrome. Shane can suffer from it, sure. They can’t ever get far enough passed how it makes them feel to consider how their actions make anyone else feel. The nothing beyond myself syndrome.

Shane was already secreted away in his room with Sebastian... being fabulous... being mysterious. They were doing “outfits.” When they came out they had eyes like tea cup sauces and they rushed out the door, saying they had better get there. I am the “star” after all. At 7pm, despite the invitation saying 7.30 for an 8pm start. Despite the fact that Anthony hadn’t arrived by 7pm as he said he would.
Whoosh, they were gone.
It made me feel like I was going to a sixteenth birthday party, who’s invited, who’s not, who’s in, who’s out, rather than a fortieth.
I wondered if I should go at all, as Santo and I stood in our street and waited for Anthony’s taxi. He arrived a few minutes later.

Sebastian, Shane and Jane were the only ones there when we got there. With Martini’s, of course. That’s what you do. That’s how you should be seen.

Eventually, it also includes, Mark W and Barnie, Matt (minus boyfriend) and Campbell (minus boyfriend), rounding out the three ex-husbands of Shane’s. All three were sitting side by side at one stage when Shane yelled out, “Alert! Alert! Alert! What’s going on down there? The ex-husbands together, I don’t like the look of that.”
D, Julien and Bobbi, Thomo, and Carlo, the men’s boutique guy who Craig met amid cock sucking in the change rooms. Of course, he made the birthday shirt, which I so didn’t get. It was a navy blue shirt?

Dinner was okay. The dishes were as if they had been prepared for midgets, everything was in miniature. You know the look, large white plates as large as a sun hat and two miniscule morsels plated with a scrape of deconstructed hollandaise and a grain of rice. There were seven courses, all the same. Thimbles. It was like I inhaled 7 shots for the evening. It was crap, really. Come on, just too clever for its own self.
Oh, isn’t this divine one wide-eyed queen said after another. Almost questioning, fishing for support. We were all too polite... or too pretentious.

It cost some astronomical amount of money, way passed the estimates, I think, because the birthday boy and his wingman drank non-stop martinis all night. Then there was a second round of requests for money, for the tip, which, actually, was for the take home bottle of vodka the birthday boy and his wingman required.

A lot of people left early, a select few came back to our place. D turned up at our place, despite having left the restaurant early.
Guido bought pot. I rolled joints. D did too. (Santo would famously dish D’s joints on Sunday)
Shane unwrapped gifts, in a big show. Out of it Sebastian shoved the boxes into the fire place, until he made quite a show of the flames licking up the front of the fire place ferociously.
“Um Sebastian? No more boxes.” As the crazy-eyed, faux flock shirted one, was attempting to shovel another box passed the Towering Inferno threatening to end all of our nights.
D hung around for a time, being his current caustic self, until he blurted in my ear, “Where are the drugs? I’m only here for the drugs. He was supposed to have organised them.” Pointing at a completely spaced out Sebastian. “I’m going home, in that case.” And D left.
My next door neighbour – concerned, lefty, lesbian, and one of the 21st Century fearful – stopped me out the back and told me how worried she was about the flames shooting out of the chimney... as I stood quavering between one step and the next, as she lurked through the opening in the fence.
“There were large embers flying about. And our gutters are all block up.”
My immediate thought was, Well, unblock you gutters, you lazy bitch. Instead, I said, “Oh I’m sorry. We were just unwrapping birthday presents and one of the drunk guys put a box on the open fire.”
“Well, as long as they know not to do it again.”
Oh, bugger off. “Oh, they know not to do it again.”

Shane even talked about Jane’s birthday/the final evening at Bolago and what he and Sebastian were going to do. I was gobsmacked at the lack of sensitivity. Momentarily, it felt like a new all time low.

When I was sitting on the floor with my head against the arm of the chair and I slipped away into the land of nod, I decided I’d had enough and I took Santo’s hand and left Shane, Sebastian and Anthony to it.
The “back to me’ers” handed Anthony joints all night, unable to think passed their own well being/selves.

I wondered if Shane found it all a bit sad and lonely when the thing he most craves is a boyfriend. I wondered if doing drugs etc is not so much fun on your own. I find it a couple thing to do.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Back to work

I went for a job today in Footscray at the uni. I was recommended by a friend. They all seemed very nice, friendly, it seemed easy and they seemed keen. And, I have to say being back at Uni seemed exciting.
However, the job really is a junior kind of role - large team and I'd only be doing a small part of the role I used to do on my own. And I'd have to drive there, after having the luxury of walking for the last ten years.

They offered me the position there and then and I accepted, but... now, grimace, I think I'm changing my mind.
On the way home, there was a hold up in Kensington and then a hold up in Victoria Street and while they were kind of minor, it gave me an insight into what it would be like at peak hour?
Oh what to do?

You see I was thinking there would be another GFC, the position is only until the end of next year and I thought I should take it rather than sitting around on my arse for the rest of the year doing nothing.

But, driving to a job at which I'm, probably, ultimately going be bored? I don't know.

Oh, it just seemed so simple.

And the smell of Uni, I think was a little intoxicating. It took me back, that smell of books and testosterone.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Is there a Christian filter?

Sometimes, like yesterday, I do "next blog" thing and go off and read random blogs, for interest, expand my horizons, take off the blinkers, head out into the world (even if it is only the cyber world) and broaden my horizons. But, yesterday, I ended up swimming in a sea of Christians... shiver.

Is there some kind of filter I could put on my computer to filter out all of the Christian blogs? We could call it the "delusion eradication filter." It would make blog surfing quicker and easier and sooooo much more interesting... instead of next, next, next. You know, what they do in the privacy of their own home is up to them, I have nothing against it, per se, but do they have to make such a public display of their chosen life style? Think of the children.

I want to read the plethora of interests that people out there have... French provincial houses, space travel, dough making, poodle clipping techniques. I want to read something interesting that I wouldn't normally read. I don't want to have to be bogged down by the deluded religious types.

Of course, it would be good if the same filter worked on the equally deluded Islamists, there are a lot of them too and they seem even more whack.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

This is lovely

I sat out in the sun with my morning coffee, on one of the wicker chairs. I noticed that the calico cushions are now the same colour as the cane, as I sat down there in the morning light. The sun was like warm silk brushing against my skin. The sky was as clear as a twenty-something's complexion, with the big golden ball burning against it, reflecting the new light. A gentle breeze blew.

So... why do I have to go back to the salt mines, I thought? (Oh no, they think, not this again) This is lovely. People get very antsy when I say that most of us don't do anything important.
Speak for yourself, said one of my friends.
Why? Are you developing the cure for cancer. The next solar panel? The scram-jet to fly to the far off galaxy? No, you are not.

I don't do anything worthwhile... a bunch of numbers for bloated, fat lawyers, sucking the planet dry.

Colombian coffee, black and hot.

Missy rubbed around my ankles. I lazily dropped my arm down and tousled her soft fur, she purred.

My hands tense, on the woven wicker arms of the chair, into fists... I really do have to find a job. But, this is so lovely, this is what life is about.

Monday, August 22, 2011

People with money

People with money are too good for people with no money... it's a basic truth for most of us, as most of us are aspirational and we tend to be looking in the other direction.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Sunday Morning

Santo is still in bed asleep, when I come downstairs to discover we have no milk and no coffee beans. Bugger! Yes, of course, I could have gone to the supermarket, it is in my street after all, however at this point I had no coffee beans and no milk. I looked into the grinder optimistically to find ground beans, and probably enough for a coffee for me.

I kind of hope Santo would stay in bed long enough for me to drink the coffee and then for me to head to the supermarket to get more beans for him, and milk, of course. (and probably cigarettes, but don’t tell him that)

I regretted not grabbing my car keys, as I gathered up what I needed, as I left him sleeping in the bedroom. I immediately chastise myself for contemplating driving to the supermarket. Oh, it’s not that I’m feeling particularly lazy, I just want to be quick.

The rubbish is piling over, so I head out to the bin with that as my coffee is boiling. It is a lovely day, the sun is shining. Why am I the only one who empties the rubbish?

I pour the coffee into the biggest mug I can find. No, not because I’m greedy and want to keep it all for myself, but because there is a large cup worth of coffee in the pot. My eyes are still not open completely, or so it feels. No sooner had I poured the hot brown liquid into the biggest mug, when I hear a “chink.”

What was that? I gaze down at my cup, nonchalantly.

Suddenly my coffee starts to pour out all over the floor, the cup had had what they love to call nowadays a catastrophic malfunction... in other words, it had cracked.

Momentarily, I stand there and watch my coffee drain away all over the kitchen floor tiles, like someone pissing. Er? What? Nooooooo! Then, I realise I still have the coffee pot in my other hand with it's lid open and I simply reversed my hands, so the coffee cup is now above the coffee pot and dribbling back in into my macchinetta.

I save most of it.

I am pleased.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Must leave the house

I think of Santo, as i get out of the shower, there is my clean towel. He thinks my hygiene standards are questionable. It is truly nice to have a shower after four days. Lots comes off when I shave, like I'm covered in black 100s & 1000s.

Besides, if I don't pay my mobile phone soon, it will be cut off. And this month I will pay my credit card on time and if I do it today, my mobile phone too.

Besides, I decided I should just buy that new season of Weeds to watch, why not? I must check what season I'm up to. I'd hate to buy the number wrong. It would be one of the great nyer moments... right up there with the day I realised I didn't like the taste of cum... or when I told one of my (Ed note - I must mean prospective) boyfriends all of my thoughts on relationships and he answered, "Okay, fine, but I don't want to have a relationship with that person."

I think Celia is one of my favourite all time television characters, right up there with Karen Walker and Monty Burns.

My Prince

Apparently, I have ignored emails and not answered messages.

"No Sir! I deny it. I haven't ignored anything you have said, be it written of verbal, on purpose and if I have it was a genuine error... on my part... my Prince."

Do you like that. Prince? Prince Santo.

"Are you coming to lunch?"

Quietly, to myself, "but, it is raining."

I've got two and a half hours, I'm sure I can make that

I've been summonsed to lunch. Apparently, I've been having far too good a time home on my own. Apparently, holding up inside one's house with my bag of p, doing no exercise is not good for my health.

When Santo found out that I haven't left the house all week - of course, I deny this, I have been to the supermarket, at least twice and the lollie shop - immediate action was required and a location and time for lunch was picked forth with.

Midday, be there, or be square.

I've got two and a half hours, I'm sure I can make that.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Bugger it! I have to leave the house

I’m awake at 9am.

Surprisingly, I'm feeling ready for action. You see, after a period of inaction, you do come out of it naturally. I called (the old manager) and make mum's move Friday. I called (the new manager) to confirm it. I called my sister.

I wonder briefly about getting a job. Apparently, our old HR manager has offered Beck the manager’s job at the law firm the HR manager went to... she has one part timer employee below her.
Coincidentally, I had applied for the part time position just when I'd been given the sack from the black law firm and my application was unsuccessful. I wonder if it has been filled?
I'd forgotten that our old HR manager was there. Idiot!

Would I take the part time job if Beck offered it to me? Sure I would. I hope I haven’t already kissed that one good bye with my rather, now that I think about it, half-hearted application a few months ago. I should have updated my resume properly, but I really wasn't convinced about a part time position when I did. Maybe, I was just asking too much money?
Could it be that easy?

Why didn't they offer me a job? Why doesn't anyone ever offer me a job. I suddenly feel deflated... wind left sails. Oh fuck them!

Bugger it! I’m out of cigarettes, I have to leave the house.

I buy a chomp.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

I'm a funny boy

Are we funny, if we think we are?
Do we have to think we are funny, to be funny?
Or is it just something we have, naturally?
If I laugh, does the world laugh too?

Monday, August 15, 2011

I don't have to do anything

Is it Monday? Is it Monday? Yes, it is. It is Monday. It is Monday. All day. I know I know that must mean something, but, quite frankly, it doesn't.

The beginning of the week, the first day there of. The beginning of another fabulous week. Yay, for the week. Yay, for me.

Lost weekend. Ha, ha! Santo was cross... not, seriously. How many times do you think he said,
"You have an issue."

We had some nice Vietnamese/Western fusion food in Sydney Road for lunch Saturday.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Day off

My sister was supposed to pick me up at 11am and take me with her to visit our mother? So, Santo went home in the morning.
And I waited and I waited.
Oh well. I don't need to tell you how heart broken I was that I didn't have to do that. Sad, really, when I think about it, that I would ever think that about my gorgeous mother. The sad reality of Alzheimer's. Awful, really. My beautiful mother.

Well, I was sure they were the arrangements we made. I'm positive that's what my sister suggested.

Oh well, day to myself.

They day drifted into night, I pissed around on my computer with photos and blogs, naturally. Shane was quiet all day, suspected of a big night Friday, but he is making no admissions.
Shane said, "Aren't you worried something has happened to your sister?"
Funny, how we go for the dramatic and the sensational and the fear, first. "No, I'm not worried."

Open fire all day, don't you worry about that, me luv.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Don't care what anyone thinks

Don't care what anyone thinks, chart your own course despite them all.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Squeal like a pig

Down on his knees, leaning down on his elbows, wearing only his white CK jocks, pulled down his thighs some way.

Thursday, August 11, 2011


If I stood on the roof of the 9 story building ready to jump to end my life and I felt scared due to my vertigo, shouldn't I take it as a sign to rethink the whole plan?

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Bad Christian (You know, I love that my name is Christian, just for that very reason)

I called and made an appointment at the high security aged care facility, for Lottie. Finally, I had done it.  I’d had the phone number for a week, but, I’d been sick and it had been scratching at my mind the whole time. Lottie, Lottie, Lottie! The old place wants to turf her out, apparently too obstreperous. There I’d done it.

Immediately, my thoughts were on other things. A reward. Medicinal.

It was about 19.00, when I started to give it serious thought. Actually it started earlier. Maybe, 17.00. When I was stacking the wood, what time was that? I'd just got back from the supermarket, firelighters and cigarettes. Oh yes, did I mention that? All through my cold last week, like a chimney, I'm incorrigible. My car didn't want to start with the first or second turn of the key, after I came out of the supermarket. But the wood man said in an hour, that's why I drove, you bastard thing, I had to be quick. “You've just got to go!” and it just started. I don't even believe you can “will” something to happen. An inanimate object? Please? The parking inspector was there, standing in the car park next to the one I chose. I was parked before I noticed him, as it so turned out. So, I took notice of the time, It was 14.30.

It was cold and I wanted a fire, now! The fire wood was on its way. I was out cutting wood for the fire. “Bring! bring!” Was that my door bell? I nearly didn't hear it, I was at the back of the yard. Can you imagine, after my sob story? That really is an hour, yay for ABC Wood! Yay for me. Cute, Italian delivery boy, with a stutter, which only made him more adorable. Forty, forty five. Lean, tight. I would have blown him. He backed his ute in the back, badly, on an angle. Oh, let me do it. All looks and brawn, like that is a bad thing, you say. Tilt and it was off, crooked. And he was gone. There, I’d done it.

Well, it was after that, when I sat on the back porch and had a ciggie.

Everybody thinks I am just going to make my mind up and go back to work. But, today, I decided that not working was a valid choice too. So, it was go back to work, or not work and enjoy it and feel guilt free. They were the choices, that's what it came down to, that’s what I decided. After 10 weeks off. And there, on the wicker chair on the back veranda, I decided that I am not going to work this week, and I am going to enjoy. Reassessment, next Monday. There, I’d done it.

So, I decided that I was going to act like I'm unemployed and I decided to call Guido and get some pot. It took me a while, perhaps 2 hours, I agonised over the decision, did I want to be that person? Didn’t I want to smoke less, not more. So I started to really think seriously about it at 17.00 and I called 19.00 and I was there by 19.30. Nice joint hello, lovely.

"So what have you been up to?

Light and easy. Guido is on light and easy? Guido? I got the full low down on Light and Easy, telling me it's virtues. "I don't care as long as I'm not hungry, if I'm not hungry. Food isn’t that important to me. It’s cheap, cheaper than the supermarket.”

It was a surreal moment.

"I'm beginning to feel it for the first time, mate. Gotta do something. If I still want people to think I'm half decent, I've gotta be half decent.” He was scratching his neck. “There is no way around it. There are no free lunches, as I'm always telling you. If I want people to continue to think I'm fit, I have to be fit." He shook his head. "You have to give 100%, all the time. 7 days a week, if you want to make it in any thing you do. Otherwise you are fucked and one of the poor people. Fuck that. Fucken do it when you can, so you can still enjoy it when you can’t."

The joint was kicking in, he lost me at feel it for the first time.

We watched Winners and Losers and some dating show, with an annoying straight boy who had to find the chickee babe of his dreams. He had beautiful eyes, though, and we decided that the best thing he could do was to die and donate his eyes to medicine.

I decided not to tell Shane or Santo. Not that I’m going to lie. I’m just not going to tell. Simple as that. It’s just for me. It’s for writing, I know, I write better when I’m stoned. Hemingway had booze. What is the difference? It’s my unemployment, anyway, I’ll masturbate if I want to. I don’t usually see Santo until Friday, even if I am seeing him tomorrow night, as it turns out this week. I can be stoned for days on end, writing. Hoo-oo! I don’t have to smoke while he is around, it’s probably a good filter for me, a break, a breather, anyway.

But... Santo messaged me.
What are you doing? Why so quiet?
I’m watching TV.
Why aren’t you picking up the home phone?
Dam! ...I’m watching TV with Guido.
Too engrossed to pick up the phone?
I’m at Guido’s.
Pot head.

Even so, he doesn’t need to know I bought any. Offer no information. Surely, that’s not lying.

I buzzed home. I only had the one joint at Guido’s, as soon as I’d got there, I’d been there three and a half hours. I was making good time home, despite getting every red light. I did my tiny side street cut through, to get around the street blockages. I turned up the first side street, to see a cop car parked across the corner blocking the way I wanted to go. There was a man being made to stand at attention, surrounded by six coppers. I could see their epaulets and the whites of their eyes. There were two more cop cars behind the first one. I stopped and went to reverse, but at the last minute I just wanted to get out of there, so I turned right instead of left and headed along the other section of the t-intersection opposite to the way I’d usually go, only to find the big side street I wanted was still blocked off at that point. So, I had to back up again, bloody hell, beam me out of here! I was stoned, after all, but only a little bit, but it would still show up in any test. And I had pot on me, of course. Guido is quite generous, he’s always had a soft spot for me. He always gives me a big bag. At the last minute before I stopped altogether, I saw a lane way diagonally across from where I was and shot forward and turned up there, just to get clear and away from all that blue and white. It turned out to be a dead end and I had to reverse again. And while all of those mistakes, were caused by the angle of the cop car, blocking my way in the very first place, the coppers should know that, I was still driving around somewhat like, well let’s say, in a fashion that would draw attention to myself.

Relax. Drive back to the main road, turn right, just relax. I took the long way around after that, determined not to be noticed again. Could you imagine? Blah. Who needs that? And it’s all 40ks, around my place; it is the, shall we say, relaxed drivers optimum. Cruise home on slow, smiling all the way. The bitumen mesmerizingly clean, due to the recent down pour of rain.

I was home sitting on my back veranda at 23.00, decisions made having my first J.

I’m going to get those tiny filters and I’m going to roll joints without tobacco, by hand. It is a skill I realise I have, just recently, after how many years, it’s ridiculous. The secret is the roach, or the filter, it gives you the cylinder shape so easily. Through necessity, at Santo’s place, late one night, on the way back from Bolago, no machine. He was gobsmacked.
I’m going to have two in the morning and two in the afternoon (and a bedtime j, let’s be realistic) But that’s all. Nothing more. I can’t turn into "trough man", surely I can do it?
No tobacco, so you see it is practically smoking aversion therapy. It’s a distraction and I don’t feel the nicotine withdrawal. When this runs out, I will be over my nicotine withdrawal with even noticing it.

They were the promises I made.

Guido said no food after dinner, nothing until breakfast. Those words just made me think of plum jam toast, late.

Tuesday, August 09, 2011

Do you think it's disturbing that I find this guy kind of hot?

The resident nut job

It was cool and overcast when I gazed out the window at the day. I thought it had warmed up, you know, turned the corner into spring last week when the last of the fire wood was burned away. But no, winter made a come back and here we are with cold, wet, overcast days once more.

I was cold and there were two pieces of wood left to burn. Two, yes count them. One, two.

I called up the new, cute fire wood guy and he said Saturday.
"Really?" I asked. "Couldn't you do it before then?" We've been buying wood from the servo the last couple of days, and it doesn't take long for those purchases to add up to half of what we'd pay for a huge delivery.
"Oh, well, maybe Friday, see how I go. But we are really busy."
"Oh, Friday? I'm home every day and I could fit in with any delivery time you wanted. I've just run out, I didn't realise it had got so low." Mark and Luke will be down Wednesday, we're off to the symphony and I have to have wood for them, as they always complain how cold my house is. Truthfully, they have their own forest and they over heat like crazy.
"Oh... um... actually, in that case, how about today, in an hour."
"That would be fantastic."

The resident nut job was calling out about “too much pollution” in the world, again, as I stacked the first logs of the new supply of fire wood. Wow, that was quick, I thought, as I gazed across the next doors yard to see if I could see a face staring through a crack in the pailings. I don’t know where he is, but I suspect he is four doors down. I wonder if I should be worried about him? Crazy eyes and dribbling, is what I picture, possibly a tick. I wondered if those horrible murders that you read about in the newspapers start out like this. A shiver ran down my spine.

I imagined all sorts of things, from him appearing angrily at my garden gate confronting me in a deranged way, to setting the wood stack alight in the middle of the night as retribution.

I imagined all the things I could say to him if he appeared at the gate, all of which would work on a sane and rational man, none of which would probably work on a mental case.

I stacked the wood very quietly after that.

I was telling Anthony about him yesterday as we lit a fire with the last of the old wood. Anthony is my long lost mate reappeared who has had two periods of insanity in his life. He said not to engage him in conversation… and I guess Anthony would know.

Now I’m going to light a fire. I wonder if that will set him off in a frenzy of counting and twitches?

Monday, August 08, 2011

Another time, another place

I was on gaydar tonight for, maybe, only the second time in the last twelve months, or so. It was because gaydar had sent me a message saying something about their new look, it was probably a marketing ploy, and I went on just to have a look. No, really I did. It was the same reason why I was on the previous time, I had been sent a message from somebody.

I was having a look around and I got a new message sent to me. And it was Dean, lovely Dean, gorgeous Dean.

He asked if I remembered him, that he wouldn't be surprised if I didn't as it had been a few years. Did I still live in Fitzroy.

I know the code, did I still live in Fitzroy was always Dean's way of saying he wanted to come over, back when we used to catch up. He sent photos with his message and he looked just as good as he always did.

Lovely Dean? My mind raced for a moment remembering Dean's beauty, those beautiful eyes and how, really, he was someone I really did feel had got away, slipped from my grip when really he shouldn't have. It was just circumstances, we were both too timid at the time... and I'd always regretted it.

Momentarily, and it really was only momentarily, I thought that Shane had gone to bed - another big weekend for Shaneo - and how easy it would be for me to invite Dean over. My, shall we say, mind buzzed with excitement for a matter of seconds.

I thought about Santo and I genuinely felt preemptively sad for him and myself if I took that course of action. I pictured Santo's handsome smiling face and for a split second I felt genuinely sad as a consequence of inviting Dean over.

I sat back in my chair and thought why would the universe do that to me? I have been on gaydar twice since last May when I met Santo and Dean said in his message that he was hardly ever on gaydar, just occasionally to check it out. So why in these most unlikely of chances would my unattainable boyfriend object suddenly reappear?

I chuckled to myself and decided to tell Dean the whole truth, not really a traditional gaydar message. He said he was flattered and that he'd grown somewhat since last time we'd seen each other, from a boy into a man and that he was pleased that I had someone nice in my life.

I wondered, afterwards, if he'd smile when he thought of my message? I wondered if it would come into his mind, at some odd moment, that there was somebody out there who thought he was really special?

Sunday, August 07, 2011

Tighten your muscles

Tighten your muscles. Squeeze them hard. Make them strong. He might have need of them.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Every emotion is legitimate

Every kind of emotion is legitimate, every type of feeling is real.

Friday, August 05, 2011

Three days in bed

Of course, my friends laugh when I say I have spent three days in bed... so, what else is new for you, hey? Just a normal day at the office for Christian... neryuk, neryuk, neryuk. It makes me think what exactly do my friends think of me?

Sometimes, I'm not sure if it is envy, or if they really think that I am the laziest bastard on the planet, well, on their planet, hey? I'm just normal on my planet, ha, ha. Of course, me saying that sleep is the best thing I do, doesn't exactly help. (Even if it is true)

I guess I had better get a job to put their minds at rest.

Ah! Get a job. I say no, no, no. What have I learned thus far, is the corporate world is full of self-obsessed toxic cunts. Let's put it bluntly. And quite frankly, my dear, I have to come to the conclusion that they are just not my kind of people.

If only I could get over the guilt/stress of not looking for a job/not working, unemployment could be fun.

Yes, I know, go back to work, you are all saying. It's a bit like why so many heterosexuals have embraced the idea of gay marriage... if we all have to be miserable doing this, why shouldn't you?

Thursday, August 04, 2011

I've got a badly blocked left ear, although I got myself out of bed today. My balance doesn't exactly feel normal, but, you know, I'm standing okay.

I'm blowing great huge lumps of yellow snot out of my nose. I guess you wanted to hear that. It's debilitating. (I guess, I should mention that to somebody in a wheel chair and see how they react)

I really don't feel like writing anything though. Poor me.

So, let's just do pictures.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

I'm sick

I've been in bed for two days with a cold. Sad face. I couldn't sleep Sunday night, with the way my nose was blocked up I couldn't breath. You know, when you can hear your breathing, or lack there of, loud in your ears? Oh, er, I feel like shit. Crap!

The floorboards next to my bed don't bare looking at, with all the used tissues lying there, when I'm sick I just don't care, I just toss them. I've picked them up twice, but the snot keeps coming. My nose appreciates the aloe vera tissues I got today, they are nice and soft on my poor, sore, red nose.

Five seasons of Weeds (petty I don't have some, you know, for the pain) has kept me entertained, however. I've got through 3 seasons and I have 2 to go, yay yay. It's amazing how 3 seasons makes the day (and night) disappear.

I mean, day time television? What can you do? Talk about crap! If ever you wanted to lose the will to live, tune in. Seinfeld was okay, of course. There are only so many episodes of Just Shoot Me you can watch. (you know, like one) But, The Dukes of Hazzard? OMG! Talk about ugly. I can't even say Bo and Luke are fit boys. Neryr. Hand in the air, rocking from side to side. And that was probably the best on offer, it's down hill from there.

Santo got me drugs. Yay! Oh, only cold pills, which I've been washing down with freshly squeezed orange juice.

I've been dosing up on apple cider vinegar, olive leaf extract and fish oil. I'm dosing up on oranges and mandarins.

Oh, my poor nose, sinus', throat, watery eyes and thick head.

Monday, August 01, 2011

Who said?

Good artists borrow... Great artists steal!

Pablo Picasso may have uttered these words... maybe even T.S. Elliot?