Monday, February 28, 2011


James Franco does look stoned in this shot. But apparently, according to his publicist, he was suffering from exhaustion. Of course. Isn't it always. Too exhausted from the pot he's smoked.

But, I don't care if he was stoned at the Oscars, or not, I could marry him and live happily ever after. I think he is cute as. In fact, being stoned would probably only make him more fun.

If it wasn't for the harrowing arm amputation scene, I'd be heading to his new movie, or, at least, I would have already been.

I dreamt about James in his jocks. I dreamt about him in grey jersey trunks stretched loosely over his tight, hard buns. I dreamt about him lying on my bed and sniffing amyl and laughing red faced, rolling around luxuriously on my bed in his semi nakedness. I dreamt of those eyes. I dreamt of that smile.

Ah James, you are quite a boy.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

My sore head

I went to Sebastian's birthday party last night. It was the usual suspects and the usual party treats. Oh! Too much! Thank the universe it rained all night, as I vomited in the garden four times... without making any admissions... wash away the evidence. Yes, I know, classy stuff.

See what happens when the boyfriend goes away... ha, ha... cigarettes and all. He said he didn't know whether to be disappointed... or jealous.

We played toilet paper bride... too, to out of it.

I'm too hungover to gaze at the screen, I've just found out. The print is like a swarm of ants... walking around.
I'm going back to bed.
My muesli tasted like sand... but the coffee was good. Then I wondered about being dehydrated, you know, that's why your head hurts, and my three cups of brewed coffee, so I drank big glasses of water all in a row. I stopped when my stomach felt bloated, thinking that should do it.
I feel sick from the cigarettes, got to stop tomorrow.
Later.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

I went to see Smoke and Mirrors

I went to see Smoke and Mirrors last night in the Spiegeltent, it was fantastic.

How amazing is Iota. Truly. I've never seen him before and I was completely mesmerized by him from the very first second he came out onto the stage.

The whole cast was fantastic. There are three muscle boys who appear in small red and white striped shorts, who are funny and sexy, and amazing to watch.

There's a beautiful trapeze girl.

The bearded lady blows you away completely.

There is a pretty talented tap dancer, who is kind of the jester part.

Half way through, I remember looking around and thinking, if only people would stop watching TV and came and see more talented art like this, the world would be a happier place.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Santo leaves today

Santo leaves for Malaysia today for a holiday. You know, he's so organised and has everything planned so well that he had this holiday booked before I met him. His years break.

I hope to knock some of that out of him, ha ha. You know, he'll make me more organised - the hair on the backs of the neck's of all my ex-boyfriend's just raised up and none of them know why - and I'll make him more laid back.

It's good, it'll give me time to miss him.

He's gone to eat and shop. He loves good food and he loves technology.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

What a beautiful morning

What a beautiful morning. I headed over the road to post a letter around 9.30am. The sun was shining there was a gently breeze. The world glowed in it's gentleness. There is nothing quite so lovely as that glow of the new "dayness" of the morning, before the full heat of the day time sun kicks in. Everything is fresh again, everything is bright, the future looks rosy. The world opening up.

I was going to work until Santo messaged me and asked if I was going to work. It wasn’t until that point that I stopped and thought, Oh is there a choice?
I‘d been listening to the radio bang on about the Christchurch earthquake since long before my alarm was due to go off. I’d been awake since sometime before 7am relaxed and thinking how sad it was that I didn’t really have time to drift off back to sleep, when I gave in and turned my alarm off and the radio on and listened to what they had to say.

After watching it all on TV last night as well, all I could think was that the news agencies are lying on their backs with their hands firmly up their snatches, slurp, slurp, slurp! Another disaster.

Sometime later...
I had lunch with Santo in the city, as bold as you like. Sick day? What do I care!
The one concession I did make was that I walked around the edges of the CBD to get there, which lead me through the Exhibition Gardens. I lay on the grass for some time on the way back. I had all day. I sent messages to Santo telling him how hard life was, as I felt the cool blades of grass on my skin. It's lovely that feeling, fresh, green grass against your arms and legs.
Ha, ha, he said. Do something you lazy arse!
The grass was lush, the sky blue with fluffy clouds as I lay under the branches of the tall elm tree.

I bought an extra tattslotto ticket on the way back, if I win work will simply never hear from me again. Not a word.

Now my brewed coffee is ready. Lovely.

Then I played with photos of Volkswagens for the rest of the afternoon. You know, as you do. Give me a tattslotto win and I could really piss my life away, no doubt about that.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Out to Lunch

Have I told you about my job since Beck left? The Brunette Blonde, my boss, and the Senior Blonde, her/our boss, are ramping themselves up into a frenzy over my department. Talk about work for work sake!

They came up with a six page action plan, for a department that esentially hasn't changed, other than people who don't know what they are doing coming to work in it.

They are changing everything because they just don’t understand anything that is going on, and so they do, and so they look important, they are implementing major changes.

Talk about a palaver!

So, I just couldn't face it today. Nah, no thanks... if it's all the same to you. And it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining down all summery. Finally, some may say. You could smell it, you could taste it.

Funny, I was awake early, 6am, maybe it was the anticipation? I decided last night that I wasn't going. I rang and left a message at 7am on voicemail. Fuck it, I thought.

Santo text me early and scoffed at me taking a sickie.
So you really are at home, huh? Lazy, lazy, lazy!
He suggested we have lunch on the Yarra in town where we normally do, if we eat by the water. We have a seat on the north bank. I thought that would be cute, you know, if I stole along the river bank for a rendezvous... right in the heart of our great metropolis when I'm supposed to be sick. We could sit on our seat out of sight. Lovely. We could even hold hands. I don't care what the straights think, not that they'd care anyway, let's face it.
So, I rode in on my bike, in my new big tongue t-shirt. But, I had to get food, so we met at Southbank, which is far enough away from my office, although a major meeting place none the less.

I bought him lemon tart, I must remember it's chocolate that he likes. Sweet not sour. My boy's sweet, it shouldn't be too hard to remember.

It was nice riding in along the Yarra. Gorgeous! What a gentle ease; fresh air, golden sun, blue sky. Nobody should have to work. I tell ya. That is interpreted as I shouldn't have to work, you understand.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Mike's and Josie

Mike was crossing Marls Street, diagonally straight across, from his corner to the far corner, where the street dips away and heads down the hill. All along that side, before the dip, is the old brewery building which has been closed down for years and has been about to be renovated ever since the boards went up over the doors and windows.

Mike was in a rush, for he had a chance at a job for a number of weeks in a city bar, dressed only in micro shorts for the lunch time rush, filling in for the regular guy while he was in hospital getting a haemorrhoid removed.
It was a job. Mike shrugged at the thought. What did he care if the punters perved on him.
He had to meet Merv at 9am, who told him to be ready to take his clothes off if he expected any chance of securing the position.
"There is always something younger and pretty, don't forget that." Merv sniffed what sounded like a huge gob of snot down the back of his throat, in an ear splitting rasp. "Sorry, got a touch of the fucken lurgy. Come in with clean jocks, as we'll be seeing them."

Mike's a big strapping boy with tree trunks for thighs and a solid arse his mates make fun of. But old Merv liked the look of him in his red nylon speedos at the swimming carnival. Merv couldn't keep his eyes off Mike's bulge.
"I bet that comes up real nice, hey Matt."
"Mike, it's Mike."
"Whatever. The jobs... um..." Merv's eyes glanced downwards again and his hand came out straight at Mike's crotch, so fast that Mike was only just successful at pushing the old goat's claw away. "yours...if ya..." Merv made a clicking sound deep in the back of his throat, twice. "play nice at the dress rehearsal." He looked up and winked at Mike. "If ya know what I mean, m'boy." He looked back down at Mike's crotch and ran his fat slug like tongue around his lips. Merv laughed. "I promise it wouldn't hurt a bit."

Josie V was getting across to her grans to change her feeding tube that is attached directly to her stomach. Gran smoked for far too many years and now her throat isn't any good for anything but the occasional polyp removal and a clean with a cotton tip where her trachea used to be. She can still get around, old Nan, but she's getting lazy about her food and her hygiene these last few months.
"Oh Josie, ya good and all and what would I do without ya, luv? And don't get me wrong, but if it weren't for you, I just down think I'd bother."
The machine like voice synthesiser just wasn't the same, Josie just couldn't get used to it. She missed her grans laconic Australian accent, even if she could somehow imagine it as the synthesised tones escaped from her grans neck.

Mike hoofed it across Marls Street right up behind Josie V, stepping it with her steps, marking her footprints behind her. She started to walk quicker, as did Mike, but only because he was running late, he was so absorbed with what lay just ahead of him he didn't, actually, take in Josie V walking in front of him, to any great extent.

Josie V was terrified that she was just about to be mugged. The guy running her down was twice as big as her and could very well over power her, no problems. Not one to shrink from a challenge, ever in her life, she half turned and eye Mike. "Sorry," she said. "Sorry." She recoiled as she spoke.
Mike went to step around her, just as she stepped in the same direction to avoid him and they collided, despite both of them heading in the same direction.

Josie V screamed. Mike thought he'd come in contact with a complete nutter. You know, screaming lady.
She backed up against the abandoned building, shaking as she wailed. Mike instinctively grabbed her by the arms to reassure her everything was alright. When she wouldn’t stop shrieking he put his hand over her mouth as he shhhh’d her.
“Stop! Please stop. I’m not going to hurt you. For fucks sake, shut up! Shut up!” He applied pressure to her face and she went silent, maybe more out of fear than compliance.
“I’m not going to hurt you, do you understand?”
Josie shook her head in the affirmative.
“Now I’m going to let go… please keep quiet.”
Josie shook her head in the affirmative once more.”
Mike pulled his hands away and Josie instantly punched him in the stomach. “Get your fucken hands off me!”
He held his hands in the air, the plastic bag he was holding fell to the ground, as he gasped for breath. “Sorry! I just wanted you to stop.”
“Talk about scaring me!” She punched him again, in the arm this time.
“Ouch! Fuck!” He turned away from her and she punched him in the back, and in his opposite arm. “Stop hitting me!” He held his hands across his chest protectively.
“What were you trying to do, tell me that?”
“Nothing, it was an accident.”
“Why did you run me down?”
“I’m going for a job interview. I’m late.” He looks at his phone. “Even later now thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me!”
“If you’d just get out of my way.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“I’ve got to go, I haven’t got time for this. I’m late for my interview.”
“Dressed like that?
“I’ve got to get changed when I get there.” He pointed to the plastic bag on the ground.

Josie picks up the plastic bag. “What’s in here?” She pulls out the small strip of black material. She started to laugh, she couldn’t help it. The shorts seemed so ridiculous. “What are you a prostitute?”
Mike exhaled loudly. “I fucken hope not.”
Josie looked surprised. “You hope not?”
Mike smiled sheepishly.
Josie laughed even harder, it all seemed so ridiculous all of a sudden. “I’m accosted by a call boy…”
“I’m not a fucken call boy…”
“What do you call these then?” She holds up the shorts in her right hand. “I call them your little black dress.”

He snatched them out of Josie’s hand. She was still laughing.
“Put them on,” she goaded. “I want to see you look all pretty for me.”
"Look I'm sorry for scaring you..."
"So, are you gay?"
"No."
"You don't look gay."
"I'm not."
"So what's with the shorts?"
"It's a gay bar."
"So, you are going to let men perve on you for money."
"They can touch, for tips."
"So, you are a call boy."
"No."
"Sounds like it."
"You gotta do what you gotta do. Gay guys think I'm hot and they've got money."
"You are hot."
"Thanks." Mike smiles his sexy smile.
"Well... good luck." Josie laughs. "I hope the guys have got small hands and big wallets."
"Me too."

Monday, February 21, 2011

I got myself ready and headed over to Shady Gardens

My day off. Yay! If only that were really true. If only i could sit back and let my imagination flow out of me onto the page all day, in finally detailed prose, without a care. If only life was like that, if only it worked that way.

You know, when is it going to be my turn?

I got myself ready and headed over to Shady Gardens to see mum first up, without letting the day slip away to the point where I didn’t want to go.

If you are supposed to be doing something, it is hard to give your full concentration to something you are not supposed to be doing.

Lottie was by the front door pacing when I walked in. Always a part of the action, all her life, up front and centre, nothing has changed there. She was a treat, too – het up, agitated, I could see that straight away. Big eyes, exasperated expression. If only I could have backed out at that point! Disappeared. Become very small.
She started banging on about wanting to leave, wanting to go to the nursing home up the road, on the corner, as soon as she clapped eyes on me. No let up - no hello, no how are you, no nice to see you.
"I'm not staying here a minute longer."
"I see. Really?"
"I'm ready to go to the other one."
"What other one?"
“You know the one, on the corner!”
“This is the one on the corner.”
“No, the other one! The other corner! You don’t know anything, do you!”
So, I said come to your room and we’ll talk there. She wasn’t making much sense today. She had packed all of her belongs in a suit case because, of course, she is leaving.
"I'm leaving today."
"Today?"
"Yes, the nice man is taking me."
"What nice man?"
"The nice man."
"The nice man?"
"Yes, the man. The nice one." She looked at me like I was a dill.
She said that I hadn’t been to visit her for weeks.
"You wouldn't care you haven't been in for... for... forever!"
“Oh mum!”
“How long!”
"A week."
"Nonsense!"
"A week!"
"Two, three!"
"No, just a week."
"Well, it seems longer."
"Well it's not."
"It seems like it."
"So you said."
Of course, that is because (my brother) Will was down for the week and I didn’t go in on Friday. She said that Will was lovely.
Of course.
She said he didn’t keep telling her all the things she didn’t want to hear.
Naturally.
He just takes her on lovely drives.
Absolutely.
I said that she only saw him once every six months and it was much easier for him. I only gave her the truth of the situation. She said she didn’t want to hear it. She said she didn’t like me anymore and that she didn’t want me to come and visit her any more.
I said she should be careful what she wishes for. (I know, I shouldn't have.)
And then she stormed out of her room.
"I don't want to talk to you any more!"
The room was silent, I contemplated just sitting there. I eyed off the pillow with intent. I swear if she comes back...

I then went out to chat to Jenny. "I'm sorry about yesterday." They called and wanted me to go over, when Jenny was off shift, as Lottie was distressed about leaving. They wanted me to calm her down.
"I didn’t mind about that," I said.
I would have come over if Santo and I hadn’t just... um... er... ordered pizza, not that I told Jenny that. It some how morphed into that I was waiting for people to arrive for dinner... the pizza boy, in fact... as I was making my excuse as to why I couldn't come over.
Mark laughed at that, when I told him. So pizza is now more important than your mother?
At 9pm on a Sunday night when I haven't eaten, it is. Lottie is in luxury accommodation.
Jenny said she’d been in touch with mum’s doctor... at which point, I asked, "Can we could drug her?" Mark and I had talked about it before I left home.
Jenny laughed. "That is why she’d been in touch with the doctor, to see if we could get a calmative, by fax. If not, you'll have to take her to see the doctor yourself."
"Monday or Friday."
"Friday."
She thought a calmative would do Lottie a lot of good, reduce her anxiety. “Sometimes it is just what a resident needs to help them through the day. Allow her to see things calmly. It wouldn’t leave her drowsy or anything...”

“I’m all for it,” I said. I didn’t care if it left her drowsy, quite frankly. “Let’s just pill her out.”

Jenny raised her eyebrows and smiled.

Now, I have to take Lottie to the doctor. I wonder how I put it to the doctor?

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Story of the Frog

A little frog lived in a well.

The little frog was born in the well and had never ventured from it, so the little frog naturally thought that the universe was his well. One day the little frog heard a voice coming from above. The little frog thought that the voice must be God calling! What else could it be, but some greater being speaking down from above?

The voice was the little frog’s wake-up call and he jumped and jumped and jumped up the side of the well to the ledge near the top. When he reached the ledge all he could see was another frog sitting upon the top of the well.

“Are you God?” the little frog asked.

“No, not at all," said the other frog. "I am a traveller seeking truth.”

“Where are you traveling to?"  asked the little frog. "And what are you seeking?”

“I am traveling to the coast to see the ocean.”

The little frog was bewildered by the visitor’s answer. “What do you mean by ocean?”

“The ocean is a huge expanse of water.”

The little frog thought for a while. “Ah, the ocean is like a big well.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say the ocean is like that, but the ocean is, of course, very much larger.”

“I see," said the little frog. "The ocean is much larger than my well. Is it ten times bigger than my well?”

“No, it is much bigger.”

“Is it a hundred times bigger?”

“No, it is much larger than a hundred times bigger than your well.”

“This is all beyond my understanding." The little frog was now even more bewildered. "What you are saying is that this ocean you talk of, is maybe, even a thousand times bigger than my well, possibly even ten thousand times. I don’t think I want to hear anymore. I could get lost in such a big well.”

“Well, I’ll be on my way," said the other frog. "I have a long and tiring journey ahead of me. Good day to you.”

“Good bye,” said the little frog. And he scrambled back down to the safety of his own well, of his own world.

I’ve been blessed to meet an enlightened Master, thought the little frog, who has explained to me that the place beyond my well is a large place the size of which I can't even imagine. My mind cannot cope with such immensity, it's not something I can make any sense of. He has to be divine, and it has to be heaven that he speaks of.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Friday, February 18, 2011

Zen'ish Teachings



01. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me for the path is narrow. Walk your own path and be ordinary.

02. Sex is like air, it's not that important unless you aren't getting any.

03. No one is listening until you make a mistake.

04. Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.

05. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

06. If you think nobody cares whether you're alive or dead, you are probably right.

07. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

08. If at first you don't succeed, base jumping is probably not for you.

09. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will probably sit in a boat and drink beer.

10. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably money well spent.

11. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

12. Some days you are the dog, some days you are the tree.

13. Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time.

14. Good judgment comes from bad experience...and most of that comes from bad judgment.

15. A closed mouth gathers no enemies, but a closed mouth gathers no friends either.

16. Do not speak - unless it improves on silence.

17. Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.

18. Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.

19. We are born naked, wet and hungry, and that's essentially how we stay.

20. The world is like a mirror, smile and your friends smile back.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

How the beautiful get away with it

The Cyborg Queen came rushing through the doors to the lift today, just after I’d got back down from reception, where I’d heard some suit ask for her by name. She rushed on passed me straight to the closing lift doors, with barely a hello for me. If I’d been a gentleman, I’d have held them open for her, but I didn't. Oh well. Of course, gentlemen ceased to exist when the sexes became equal.

Anyway, once, she used to smile and give the impression of a warm greeting, even if it was just what she learned in “how to deal with people” at her remedial human classes when she was a partner for a well known accounting firm, when they were trying to find the human inside her. Maybe that’s why she jumped ship to law firms, no human required.

There used to be an almost girlish blush when she said hello to me, when I was an employee in favour, but not now. No longer. The Anorexic Bitch and Fat Boy have seen to that. The Cyborg Queen only listens to her immediate drones. You see, she has no idea how to manage people, she only understands balance sheets and profit statements, so she is completely reliant on her subordinate managers when it comes to anything, even vaguely, related to human beings. She has no choice, that part of her soul is missing, there is a great gaping black hole right where her heart should be. Some say, it is how she got to the top.

Of course, being gay myself, I can see the great big lez inside her, so it is no mystery to me how she got to ride the corporate world bareback with stirrups, using the profit and loss statement tightly rolled into a dildo for that extra gratification.

It’s funny between her and The Celebrity Head, who runs the company beside her, what she makes up in balls, he “brings” in femininity in equal parts per operating committee. She’s the quiet masculine type and he’s the fussy, self aggrandising type who sucks more oxygen out of a room than he puts in.
Yin and yang.

So, that puts me on the outer on two fronts. Firstly, from the muck raking and face saving of her lesser minions who she trusts implicitly... well, that’s the main reason, let's face it. They fucked up the department and now I'm the scapegoat to take the heat. God damn I was factoring in a major organ malfunction for the Anorexic Bitch by about now. You should see her, she looks like something out of Michael Jackson’s thriller video clip... the walking dead. I could theoretically pull this back from disaster if she'd just lie down for the count. It must be soon, has to be. When they announce the bad news, I’m going to laugh, I promise you. And do a little dance.

But, I digress...

My new boss, let’s call her the Brunette Blonde is beautiful. She’s also pretty clueless and well, let’s face it, on the dumb side. No, really, she is a true blonde, except with dark brown hair. Of course, she’s got the manager’s job and I’m being pushed out, so who exactly is the dumb one, I ask you? However, I’m getting a firsthand account of what the beautiful can get away with. Pretty much everything, it would seem. She doesn't know what she is doing, but they all make huge allowances for her. The boy’s fall over themselves, one after the other. It's a slobberfest, I tell you. Her fat real-blond friend, who works in the next office idolises her, and lives vicariously in the Brunette Blonde's nutmeggy light. And the Cyborg Queen, when she comes in, it’s reminiscent of Homer Simpson drooling... except, in an Armani suit. It’s no secret to me that the Cyborg Queen likes to lick a bit of snatch the way she strips the Brunette Blond naked in one glance.

My gaydar tunes into her gaydar and I can hear her silent plea, Come to me my pretty.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

We sailed down to ground

Tonight, the lift doors opened to reveal Champagne Sally, the head of HR, or should I say the Director of People & Development, standing inside, with her menopausal henna dye job and her brown smock dress valiantly trying to cover her expanding arse, chatting to who, I can only assume, was a senior lawyer, as Champagne Sally wouldn't be talking to any lesser mortal.

Damn! I thought. I hadn't seen the old political dinosaur since that meeting with the Anorexic Bitch at the end of last year, where she babbled her double talk with ease, no logic or reason to interrupt her. I didn't particularly want to talk to her as I headed home.

I made an open mouth at her, and she did the same to me – fake fake, fake fake – and then I turned my back on her and let her get on with her politics… talking with someone, thankfully, more important than me.

Now, my favourite co-worker just happened to get into the lift too. Funny Beth. She's whack and I love her for it.

I pushed the doors closed button and we sailed off to ground. At that time of night, it is a small miracle that it wasn't stopping all stops.

"You have the magic touch," said Beth.

I gazed at her. She smiled. Oh, please don't make me talk with Cruella Slagfest behind me. I glanced up at the floor indicator impatiently, some may say desperately, but it still wasn't saying "ground." We were still in the "express zone."

"So they say," I replied.

I heard Champagne Sally make a reproachful "oh" behind me, not unlike a Dame Edna accusatory throat clear. She sounds like a drag queen at the best of times, let me tell you. "Oh Christian...” Too many fags. Nasty laugh. Too much time spent on the yacht, drunk. “One person said that!" Laugh.

I assume she meant Beth?

I wanted to say, Why don’t you shut your nasty mouth! Could you imagine? Where would my job be after that? (Dame Edna type laugh) It would, almost, be worth it just to see that momentary look on her over made up gob. But, the lift doors opened and off I sailed, out first ahead of the women – well, we’re all equals now a days, aren’t we? – without a glance back, or a further remark.

Cow! She's looking very Bris-Vegas now a days.

What exactly did she mean? I hit the front doors. I could see them all reflected in various bits of chrome building trim trailing behind me - Picasso'esque nightmare. Was that a professional dig at me? Corporately, I don't have the magic touch? I think that's exactly what she meant.

It was a warm night, I slipped out into it and all of "that" floated from my back.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

I pulled her pointy ear

Missy came mooching around the base of the bed as I lay on it trying to type leaning on one shoulder, which is kind of hard as your arms gets really stiff and sore.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

I got a book, Edmund White when he was young and trying to be famous doing shit with famous people, which I read as I walked home from work. It's not as hard as it sounds and it makes the walk home seem so much shorter.
Which I should be reading. I haven't been reading much lately.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

Then Missy jumped up on my bed and it's been hot and humid and sweaty and she cuddled up to me, fur side against my bare skin and I felt fur-slimed. You know, stuck to me, instantly. Ew!
Purr. Purr. Purr.

She looked furious as I slid her off the bed again, on to the floorboards. Cats have a fury all of their own. Nobody does a cross and angry face quite as well as a cat does. She glared at me from the floor. She held it for quite a time, I have to give her credit for how long she could hold "pissed off."

Silence. Death stare.

Then my arm was too sore and my mind foggy and too tired to read, so I turned the light off and pulled the sheet over me and all I felt was a "purdum" and then pad, pad, pad, pad. Then I felt a very still kind of rocking, just momentarily. Something warm and solid lay gently against me.

Cats are smart, she was quiet. But, they are really self-focused and she could help but...

Purr. Purr. Purr.

I slid my hand across the doona stealthily and pulled her pointy ear as if to say I'm on to you, I know you are there and you haven't got away with anything and she jerked her head away, pulling her ear from between my fingers, with a low rumble growl and a pad from her paw, claws retracted.
I knew I was living dangerously.

Silence.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Buddy

Buddy looked good in his running shorts. He had thick thighs and calves and a solid arse from all his training.  The red shorts had a split up each side of each leg allowing the material to flap open and his toned hips to be seen. He was always running, he had an inexhaustible amount of energy to burn.

Buddy's mum, Ange, could see her boy was all grown up. She wondered if the shorts were a little small for him and wondered about the politics of buying your 18 year old son new clothes? She was proud of her strapping boy and she knew he had got to that age when others would be finding him attractive.
So, she wanted him to look good.

They already did, of course. Zeak, Buddy's training partner, was always joining Buddy in the showers after cross country running; talking, assessing, horsing around, skylarking, washing Buddy's back, as Buddy claimed.

"Is that all that Zeak's wanting to do?" Ange asked.
"Oh mum!" Buddy blushed furiously and Ange knew that Zeak was probably not only wanting to do, but was probably actually doing more than washing Buddy's back, by the intense glow of colour in her son's cheeks.
"I mean," Ange started to retracted, she knew it, she could hear it in her own voice. "It's good to have a mate, a friend... um... er, someone like Zeak in your life."
"I know mum, he's my best friend."
"It's good to have a best friend."
"He's good with a loofha." Buddy smiled.

"I thought you were going with Rachel? I think that's what she thinks, anyway."
"Sure mum, I'm going with Rachel." Buddy tried to smile but it didn't materialise. "But mama, ah, mama, Zeako's bigger and stronger and he's got a much much more stamina." Buddy shrugged. "He can last the distance way better than a girl... with my needs."

"Well, don't you go breaking that girl's heart. If you'd rather play quoits with Zeak, that's okay, but you go tellin' Rachel first."
"Yes mama, I'll tell her the first thing I do."
"You make sure ya do!"
"I'll tell her that I'd prefer Zeak's quoit to hers."
"That's my boy."

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Big bum for a boy

"Jees, you've got a big bum for a boy!"
Mike did that swivel at the hips, trying to look at his own arse, look around. He did it to the left and then he did it to the right, as if to the right may be more successful than to the left. Then he did it to the left again.
He looked back and shrugged. “Well, I can’t see it anyway.”
“No! But everyone else can.”
“How big?”
Chris held his hands out in front of him about 40 centimetres apart.
Mike’s eyes widened considerably as he gazed at Chris’ hands. “What?”
Chris thought for a second and then moved his hands further apart again. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Mike looked up from Chris’ hands. “Come on!”
Mike grabbed his arse with both his hands and swivelled his head around attempting to look at it again.
Chris laughed.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

From Ravi

We Indians have been around for thousands of years, watching empires rise, fall, clash, die change. Through it all, we have kept adapting to new realities, dramatically different circumstances, craziness of every shape, size, colour, density. We have chewed the cud for aeon's on millions of ideas and ideologies, indigenous, imported and imposed and survived, often thrived. And now we seem poised to take a giant step forward to a place in the world that we perhaps never inhabited before, or vacated many centuries ago. And clearly, it's because of the way we are.
First, Indians are patient, infinitely patient. We can out wait any other race on the planet, with the possible exception of the Chinese. We seem to be genetically programmed with an alarming amount of patience. From the hermits of legend whose tapasya (meditation) went on for so long that ants made built hills over them, to hundreds making themselves at home on a railway platform with improvised mats, snacks and cards as they wait for the train to arrive eight hours behind schedule, it's almost as we can calmly outlast time itself. It is impossible to decide whether this is good or bad, but in the world as we know it , it's perhaps a useful trait .it has helped us outlast foreign invasion, pogroms, hundreds of varied and strange regimes and every sort of catastrophe. We have defeated them with patience and equanimity.
And since we have lived every day of our history with so many different ideas and opinions swirling around us, we can deal with and accept contradictions and fuzziness better than any other people on this planet. We are a collection of such varied ethnic and social groups that if we didn't develop this ability, we all would have certainly gone barking mad (a billion barking mad people!). Some of us find it sacrilege to eat anything extradite from animal, the rest of us eat anything that moves, swim or flies. Some of us go completely naked, some of us cover ourselves from head to toe with only our eyes n hands visible to the world. Religious fundamentalism, secularism (of which, again, there are many varieties) and atheism live side by side. Naturally, then, we understand that there can be infinite number of belief systems, of different levels of validity and truth, and we can understand those belief systems better than most people. This is surely one if the key reasons why, after globalization was thrust on to us, we have been able to navigate the new world with confidence, and with success.
Which, of course, doesn't mean we don't argue. We are one of the most argumentative nations of the world, from street corners to corporate boardrooms and the corridors of the highest political power. But this argumentativeness also co-exists-at worst, in uneasy peace – with our acceptance of the innumerably of ideologies. No wonder currently India is destined to have coalition governments at the centre for more than a foreseeable future.
Add to that our natural ingenuity, the ability to find nifty solution or a short cut through everything in life. The common man uses it every day to make life easier, get things done. Businessmen have used and still do to cut deals, give their way, whether it was license raj that ruled, or blow hot blow cold liberalization. And our politicians can't do without it.
This natural ingenuity, combined with innate cunning (remember, Chanakya was around 1800 years before Machiavelli) is perhaps westerners often seem naive to us. They appear to take too many things at face value, they think that when we say "Yes," it means yes, and not the beginning of CONVOLUTED NEGOTIATIONS:" Yes, perhaps we can consider that, but we think we deserve to get a better price." Our minds have been born complex and devious. We think simultaneously at several levels, and we can hold several thoughts in our mind at the same time – thought streams that can be parallel, converging or even clashing. We can shift between Uriah Heep, Micawber and David Copperfield without missing a beat.
All of this doesn't mean we are BAD people; we are just, well, COMPLICATED, and possibly think more than most other people do. Which could be a competitive edge. Since independence we have steadily gained what we had lost: confidence. Indeed as seeing ourselves as inferiors too much of the rest if the world, we have progressed in much of the last 15 years, to gain enormous self-confidence, perhaps even overconfidence. We are ambitious without the baggage of the past.
But surely this overconfidence can be forgiven. India and Indians have come an enormous distance since dawn of time, without forsaking democracy or secularism, despite unfortunate deviations. We will surely be able to figure out whether it is overconfidence or not. We may be complicated, contrary, argumentative, infuriating, but we are also hard-nosed and realistic people. As a race, WE ARE EXPERIENCED !!!

Friday, February 11, 2011

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Say onion

"Say Onion."
"Ornion."
He, he, he, I love the way Santo says it.
"What month is between yours and mine?
"Ourgust."
I love the way he says that too. Gorgeous. It warms my heart. It makes me adore him just a little bit more every time he speaks.

I made him say onion every day last week, surreptitiously, he didn't catch on. It was my own, private joy. It was only when we were waiting for Mark and Luke outside the Grill'd healthy burger bar in Lygon Street on Saturday night, before heading in to see Catfish, that I fessed up to my little ruse.

He sees it as me making fun of him... which I'm not. Not at all! I adore his accent.
He sees it as being made fun of because he pronounces things differently to others, to Aussies.

Now, of course, he says onion and August and bewdy mate, thumb in the air, like anyone else.
I only had to point it out to him once and he's Aussied up.
And I'm horrified. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? What was I thinking?

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

I can't work on my days off

I'm expecting grief from the control freak, anorexic, bitch department manager today, because I told my manager I can't, actually, work on my days off. Fancy that, I can't work on my days off. Who'd have thought?

But the anorexic bitch department manager is going to shit! She's told me I have to be available.
"You know, your flexible work hours." She swung her rat face around fully in my direction for full effect.
It took my breath away - skeletal comes to mind.

The trouble is, my contract doesn't, actually, say that. First thing you do, go back and check the contract. Hands in the air. What the anorexic bitch thinks is written there and what is, actually, written there are two different things.

Does anyone else see the problem here? Her biggest gripe with me is about days I don't actually work.

So, I decided to bring it to ahead and I told my manager last week that I can't work Mondays or Fridays because of my sick mother. I'm involved in her therapy and her care. I don't know how long she will know me. It is very sad, quite heart breaking really.

"So are you saying that you can never work Mondays or Fridays?" says my manager. No commiserations, no wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, no reaching out to pat my hand. That was the only response I got. That was the empathy. The full sick mother story and all.

It's awful, really... working under these circumstances. But not long now, I'm resigning May 30th. Count them down.

Monday, February 07, 2011

Performance review

I made a list, yesterday, of what I should do today. You know, get organised, have a schedule. There's only one way not to piss away the day... make a list. Have a plan. Set your course.

I'd crossed everything off that list before my first coffee was brewed, this morning. Funny, hey. I was so earnest about it last night. Get organised. Ha, ha!

Everything but my performance review, I have to complete that, I've just got to, as my name is pretty much mudola around the office, round about now. All day today, that's what I'm going to be doin... oh, I so hate it.

I know they are not used in our gradings and pay rises. There has to be a certain number, or percentage, along the J curve... that's how it works. This just keeps HR in work and gives the company the appearance of doing something for the staff. So, it's hard completing this nonsense, when I know that's exactly what it is.

Still... I made notes on Friday, so it shouldn't be too hard. Bang it out, get it done, don't think any more about it. I know how to talk the talk and walk the walk. Let's face it, that's what it's about.

If only I could stop procrastinating?

Oh look, the kitchen floor really does look a fright, I should just give it a quick once over.

Sunday, February 06, 2011

Eat, eat, eat

We get up late, 11am and are both hungry, so we head to Victoria Street to eat my favourite Thai pink soup at I Spicy for brunch.

We come home and finish the trimming of the creeper growing on the side wall of the house. That's excellent, the creeper is a monster. I'm up the ladder hanging on for grim death, but I'm going to get it done.

We go and eat crepes at Breizoz, the French Crepe house in Gertrude Street. I love them, it's Santo's first time. One with the lot, egg, ham, cheese, tomato and banana & chocolate, both to share.

We buy a savoury muffin at Arcadia on the way back, Santo suggests. Then he buys egg tarts and a passion fruit yoyo, he’s like a man possessed, pointing at every thing.
"I'll have that and that and that!"

We go bike riding. The tennis is over, yay, so we can head around our full route. The Yarra looks full, more so than I feel that I have ever seen it before. Further down the bike path, there is a small section under water from all the rain. Then, nearly to the end, there is a large section completely submerged. It’s amazing.

We come home and lay on the couch entwined in each other’s arms.

We eat pork spare ribs in Victoria Street. The serve is huge, but, of course, like all spare ribs there is a lot of bone.
I drive Santo home are 21.30. It's a lovely night.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

Catfish

I went to see Catfish, I liked it. I thought it was interesting and sensitively done.

Friday, February 04, 2011

Yesterday, I bought Betadine

Yesterday, I bought Betadine on a whim just because I saw it out of the corner of my eye in the supermarket as I was looking for something else. My last bottle ran out eons ago.

Today, I sliced my finger open cutting up an avocado. I love avocados, it's my staple lunch, I've cut open hundreds of them.

You should never make a will, it's just tempting fate. Same principle?
Ha, ha.

Funny how things like that happen. Coincidences, they are what make life go around, so often. If you think about all the coincidences that happen in life, there are lots of them. It makes you realise what the great plan really is, random events, nothing else. As they say, such things would never be believed in stories, novels or movies, not really. And yet they happen in life all the time.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

Tap washers

I went to buy tap washers at Thrifty link in Bourke Street, so I could fix my friend Jill's dripping taps. Now, maybe I haven't bought tap washers for a while but, you know, I think I have. $5.95 for two tap washers. Two tap washers? Nice and neatly packed into their own cryogenically sealed packet, with all the colour and movement you'd expect from such 21st Century packaging. But?

Tap washers used to be 30 cents? Didn't they? Not so long ago.

So, either I'm losing my memory (mind) (interesting life, if this is what I've got to write about) or Thrifty Link ain't living up to its name.

I guess, I should check my facts before I pass judgement?

How cheap am I? Monetarily and good dead wise?

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Poolside Motel

It was hot, blisteringly. The unrelenting beat of the burning sun was tiring. There was a haze that seemed to be burning off just above the ground, shimmering skywards. The concrete, the buildings, the potted plants, the earth seemed to be melting.

Old Jim fanned himself, on his hot pink plastic lounge, with a dog-eared magazine. The sweat beaded on his lined, leathery, forehead and then rolled all the way down his pointed nose.

The neon sign over head flashed vacancy, languorously.

Brad pulled himself out of the crisp, cold water, with a hand on each of the chrome uprights of the pool ladder. One tug from his broad shoulders and he’d pulled his torso and hips out of the lapping, chlorinated water, which dripped from his tanned skin. His trunks slid from his curved buttocks as he heaved himself up, exposing the colour difference between his skin for public and private viewing.

Old Jim sat upright on his iridescent banana lounge, trying not to miss any part of the show. He looked like he hoped for more.

Brad didn’t care, he hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. He caught the glint in Jim’s eye and knew instantly what he’d be doing so as to avoid having to do a runner. Just close your eyes.

All he felt was relief, from an impossible position. Jim was nice enough, even if he did smell kind of odd.

Brad ran his hand over his curved arse and stared hard at Jim. Jim licked his lips slowly as he adjusted his seating position.

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

oh reallY?

I don't know if I'm liking this 30 degrees at 8am! Jesus, fuck! The sun's rays nearly bowled me over as I staggered to my open balcony doors in my jocks, scratching my arse and my eye at the same time, to close the double doors.

The sun was sharp and bright shining across the floorboards, long and stretched out... they were warm underneath my feet, like flesh.

"Bloody hell, that fucken sun's got some 'eat init!" One hand on each of the three-paned glass doors. "We're all gunna melt before this day is over, Missy. Mark me words."

The air is already hot, like warming the oven for baking.

I swung the doors in on each other and slid the latches closed, at the top and at the bottom. Click, click.

Missy glanced at me from the bed, licked at one of her out-stretched paws and then her eyes slid gently shut.

I gaze at her... envy would be too stronger word. Briefly, I contemplate a sick day, like for a millisecond. The bitches at the salt mines could do without me. It amuses me for the minutes it takes me to head to the shower.