Thursday, June 30, 2011

I've been walking around the city with my camera

It was just lunch again today, even if I did sleep in until 11.30am, I still got to the city by 12. All I had to do was jump in the shower and walk out the door, not too hard, as they say.

So, that's lunch yesterday and lunch today with Santo.

We met Charlie as we walked down Swanston Street afterwards, he was off to get Transformers2 (is it 2?) tickets. Everybody wants to see Transformers, I don't really get it.

I tried to do some serious writing today, but I failed miserably.

I should go apply for the dole. I've never been on the dole before, I guess it's something to do before you die?

It was such a lovely, the sun was shining and the birds were singing.


Wednesday, June 29, 2011

It's Wednesday

Ug! The cleaner comes today. Very soon I'll here the front door go click click and I'll hear the scuff of her gold jiffies on the floorboards. She'll stop at my study door and I'll look at her and she'll look at me and we'll both shiver at the very same moment and I’ll say, “Newman!” Ha ha! “Guadalupe!”

And she'll say, "Ullo," in that way that she does, with that nasty mouth and those suspicious eyes.

Rats!

I've got to go and have a shower and be ready to vacate the house at a moment’s notice.
I've got my bag packed by the door - iPad, iPad keyboard, camera, latest novel I am reading - Martin Amis, The Pregnant Widow, just by the way - a health bar, wallet, keys.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Post lunch

There was an old Jewish chick following me up Chapel Street after lunch in her silver Mercedes, she was a gun. She looked like she was in her seventies, with her red permed hair and her thick glasses and her burberry scarf. As I weaved in and out of the traffic, passing all the idiots, getting next to trams and racing them off at the lights, whipping through the orange lights as all those around me dilly dallied and were left behind, there she was right behind me, hoiking that Mercedes through the traffic like a pro.

I was very impressed.

I had lunch with Rachel in Chapel Street. She took six months off last September when she sold her restaurant and she's still not working. We both agreed how much unemployment suits us.

This week was my week to get my act together and get out there and look for work.

I'm thinking I might brush off that old romance novel and get writing.

Monday, June 27, 2011

After waving Santo off to work, I walked to the supermarket

It was early, before 8am. I put on a leather jacket with my track suit pants and Santo said he was glad that he wasn't going to be seen with me... just rude, really

I was very tempted, let me tell you

The sky was crystal blue

3 silver Peugeots all in a row

I love doorways, don't you? One day I'm going to do a whole book on them. I guess, it's already been done, hey?

A lovely old Mercedes

It was a gorgeous morning

If a little cold...

...but that blue sky, what a treat

Melbourne has lovely, sunny winter days

yes, that is the famous TV shop

dappled morning sunshine, nothing quite as lovely

And there were cute workmen

Good luck little soldier

Maybe even a book on windows

Ah, the daisy's are in bloom again

That's me, giving a wave

Sunday, June 26, 2011

I Reckon This Would Be Sweet On Your Tongue, no matter where you licked

You'd lick his cock, you'd be lying if you said you wouldn't

Long hair

Usually, I don't really like long hair on men. I just never have. You know, the Fabio's of this world. In the past, it has stopped me hooking up with guys, oh you know, next. It always seemed so messy and, usually, wet when you are, you know, getting it on. I've been flicked in the eye, before, at the height of passion and it's not so nice, it's not sexy. Oh, get a hair cut is what I usually think. I generally like my men more masculine than long hair makes them. I don't know, it has just never done it for me.

Although, there have been some exceptions.

I remember beautiful smoking man, when I worked in Collins Street. Of course, he was exceptionally handsome and it probably wouldn't have mattered, actually, if his hair was short or long, or frizzy red. (Well?) I say probably, as I, of course, never saw him with short hair. But he was so handsome, I used to just gaze at him, as we both smoked our cigarettes out in pariah's lane.
I always wanted to say to him, "No, don't smoke. Don't do anything to spoil that perfect face."

Then there was beautiful Anton, with his bushy black hair, blue eyes and that smile, when I went to have dinner with Jill at our friend Rachel's restaurant. He and his sister Amy walked in at the end of our meal and sat with us. I mustn't have seen him in a while, although it didn't seem that long, I'm sure. Boy is he gorgeous. Is it wrong to look at a friend's sixteen year old son and think how beautiful he is? No, of course not. It's a compliment, if anything. I mean, I only thought it, I didn't say it. He'd have never have known.

Then there was that mechanic who used to work on my Renault. Black hair down to his shoulders and, more often than not, overalls unbuttoned down to his crotch, just so I could see the white elastic of his jocks. It was very distracting. And a French accent, which I always suspected was put on. Not sure why now? But it completed the picture, let me tell you.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Friday, June 24, 2011


Car mum, car mum, Friday

I've got to go see my mum today. I haven't seen her since I was terminated. I just haven't felt like it, you know. Of course, that week I smoked pot for the whole week didn't help. Comfortably numb. It was after that I felt down and stressed, sinning around in circles, holding my breath but nothing changes.

Poor mum, at least that is the one advantage of Alzheimer's. "Where have you been? You haven't been for a month."
"Nonsense old woman, you're talking nonsense. Let's go out for lunch."
"Oh yes, that would be lovely."
Ha ha. Oh well, if you don't laugh at this awful disease, you know what else you'd do.

I've also been having car trouble, the GTI has been playing up like a little retarded bitch. It's had a starting problem, although I have always managed to get him going, some days I'm not sure how, and a rattle in the suspension, which has driven me... well, it's been irritating. In fact, I'm just off to the mechanic to pick him up for the fourth/sixth time in a month/2 months, yeah.
And although my mechanics have always been fantastic, to the point where I recommend them to people, I'm not at all sure if the ongoing problems have, for some reason, been mechanic slackness, rather than the car as such.

They just didn't seem to be able to fix the starting problem, it turned out to be a loose engine mount. (I know, I'm not sure either) And the suspension was fixed by them, after which there was a squeak, which developed into a rattle, which was happening the last time I took it in for starting, but they didn't look at it. I believe the term, we forgot, was used, which is highly unusual for them, however...

On the upside, I don't have to work, which is great! And I can just wander in at my leisure.... a stroll through The Exhibition Gardens, then hop the City Circle (Santo calls me tight arse Christian, I deny it, of course) or not. Perhaps a leisurely walk all the way to the workshop. Either way I'm happy. Whatever I feel like doing?

The sun is shining, the sky is blue.

I don't want to work any more. I think I'd like to go to art school

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I've been cooking

I've been cooking while I have been off work. It's funny because usually I don't cook and everybody seems to think that I can't. Shane has been quite surprised with my efforts, although the down side is that now that he knows that I can cook he seems to think I'll be cooking the evening meals. When he comes home and says, "What's for dinner?" I don't know why, but it kind of pisses me off.

I used to love it as a teenager, although I am primarily a pastry chef, that's what I really like doing. I used to like getting a new recipe and giving it a go. And all the stuff that I learned way back when with my mum as a kid is still in my brain, which is nice.

I've cooked spaghetti carbonara, beef stew, a fritatta, a pork roast, vegetable soup, a pumpkin and chickpea curry and roast pumpkin soup.
You know, I like it when I have time to think about it and have time to fit it in to the day. It is so different to coming home from work and then having to cook.
There is a joy to it when it is relaxed and not rushed.

Santo has been helping me.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


I'm just doing lunch now a days

I felt stressed, this morning, about everything I have to do; go see the lawyer, as my sister thinks I should "go" my old law firm for money and she got me the contact. I have to go and see my old company about work. I have to go and see my mum, I haven't seen her since I got the chop... go see, go see, go see... Why do I feel nervous and insecure about it all?
It was cold this morning and I stood in my lounge room and shivered with the cold and insecurity.

I headed off late to have lunch with Santo. I walked to Lonsdale Street where I found myself standing outside the Korean cafe, where the Fat Boy serves up the spicy pork. I messaged Santo and said meet me there. He said I should have planned better, which is his thing. I didn’t think of eating there until I was looking at it. Santo is the planner, I'm the laid back one. Let it loose I'm always saying to him.
Santo looked super sexy with his new hair cut.

I walked him back to his office afterwards, it is nice, you know. It started to rain as we headed down William Street. I sat in Santo’s building reading the paper and drinking coffee in the foyer while it rained. I was in no hurry to go back to my life. Lovely, Santo said, as he headed back to his office. I'm acting like I'm Packer, or is it now Rinehart, as I got lost in the Age, not a care and when I looked up it had stopped raining, not sure for how long before.

I walked home, bought a tats ticket so I don't have to work again, jack pot something, blah, blah. That's my new pan, I'm n going to gamble until I win big, so I don't have to go back to work. I looked in at 101 Collins and remembered the good old days. I spoke to Mark on the way, who is trying to fix the dicey boiler, cheaply, now he has sold his house.

I stopped off in the Fitzroy Gardens and looked at all the bricks laid in the north west corner, as the sun came out.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Lunch with Jill

I looked at the date this morning before I went out with my friend Jill for lunch and I couldn't quite believe it was the 20th.

Really?

The 20th? I have been unemployed, sacked, kicked out, thrown on the scrap heap, disposed of by the unscrupulous corporate world, discarded for 20 days? Really?

What the hell have I done since the 01st of June? Felt sorry for myself? Santo would say pissed around. Time flies, hey?

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Peter T

I was cleaning out my attic... well, I can't lie around and smoke pot the whole time. Although, I have always found as long as you keep going, on the trajectory you would have if you haven't had a joint, everything will get done and in a much nicer frame of mind. It's only really if you stop, then you are a gonna.

Anyway, I was in the attic and I came across a box of photos. In one shot, there was Peter T pretending to be a knight, or something, Alex had the sword and was ready to joust him. It's a hot shot, Peter T has that swagger as Alex R charges. Ah, first love.

Collin W is in the back ground, with his hands on his head, in shock at what is about to take place, pulling his t-shirt up exposing his stomach. I'm not really sure why.

Peter T, Greek, built like a race horse, the school tough, wog boy alfa male. His partner in crime, Peter F, Greek, built like a tank, school tough, wog boy alfa male. A bit of a meat head, just on the quiet, best to be avoided. But, I was always friends with Peter T. He was fuck-off good looking, zero body fat, lean body, cheeky, smart, dashing, wog boy, just how I liked them. I always remember when he was late again for his umpteenth assembly, when he'd come in his running clothes the last time and had got told off, and the change rooms are too far away, as we could see the head master leave his office across the road. He just stripped off right there and then and calmly changed into his school uniform. There was one moment there when he'd stripped down to his beige jockettes, I realised what men should look like. I don't remember any of the other boys ever looking quite... like... that. (maybe Alex when he was naked and lying underneath me)

He came right up behind me in pottery class, which I remember to be year 11, but why I was doing clay work in year 11, I'm not really sure. I doesn't make a huge difference to the out come. What I remember, I was at the deep sink washing something down with plenty of water. Although, it would be my only mixed class, with other houses, otherwise classes are divided right down house lines and I would never have a class with him.
Water, noise.
Peter T comes right up behind me and as he passes slowly behind, he asks, "Fletcher, you gay?"
You are just setting me up, you bastard, I thought we had more than that. "No," I say, amazed that I didn't choke or fall down.
He takes hold of whatever it was past me that he was giving the impression he was reaching for and passes back behind me. "That's a pity because I want to fuck you."
I was speechless. I scrubbed at what was in my hand. I flipped it over. My stomach tied into knots. I looked sideways to where Peter T was moving back to, he was looking back at me smiling.

I can't believe that he is setting me up to get punched up by him and his neanderthal friend.

But, his eyes were soft and gentle, like he'd put himself out there honestly. He smiled back at me, before his head turned and looked the other way. One last look back, what I would recognise some years later, a soft and beseeching face.

They all piled onto the balcony as soon as the bell went. I was still distracted by what Peter said. I slowly packed up, as my stomach buzzed, as a chill ran through me. He meant that, he wasn't shit stirring. I looked around to see if he had quietly waited, he hadn't. The room was empty and he had gone.

It wasn't until a few days later, when I was heading off to hockey practise, that I saw Peter again. He was dressed in his running gear, that black singlet, those sheer-at-the-sides shorts that seemed to split over each hip.
"Where are you going?"
I hold up my hockey stick. "Der."
"Der."
At which point the running master comes up behind Peter.
"Where have you been?"
"What? What do you mean?" It was the middle of the week, where did he think I'd been.
"I've been looking for you." Smile. "Wondered if..." looks over his left shoulder. "you'd thought any." looks over his right shoulder. "more about what I said."
"Come on Txxxxxx," lets go." says Mr Green.
"What?"
"The other day."
Huh
"Art class."
"Art class?" I was trying to be so nonchalant and that sounded like I knew exactly what he was talking about.
"I wasn't joking."
Green pushed him along. "Mr Fletcher, might I suggest that if you would like to speak to Mr Txxxxxx he will be back in precisely two hours." He looks at me. He pushes Peter. "Move."
"Wait for me."
"Okay," I heard myself say.
Then he was bundled onto the bus by Green and was driven away. Two hours is five thirty. Hockey will go for one, then I can piss around and help clean up, then it will just about nearly be five thirty.
Did he really mean it.
I ran onto the hockey oval. I wonder if it is too cold for a skins team.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Missy's paw

Missy had to go to the vet and she cost me $400. Yeah, good onya, great timing.

She's been in a fight and she has gotten bitten on the back paw, right through her pad. You should have seen it, the vet gave it a squeeze and splurt, blood every where. She had to be operated on, of course.

I'm taking great delight in squeezing the last of the puss out of the wound, let me tell you.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Gerard Butler

Jackson always walks up in dark sunglasses looking dishevelled

It was a glorious morning, the sun was shining down warmly like treacle, even if I was just sorting the bins in the street, it was lovely none the less.

The medium density ring-in neighbours put all their bins out in front of my place, which pisses me off when they could put them a few metres away where there are no house frontages. Call me the bin Nazi if you like..

Take mine, drag the neighbours up-the-lane bins back across the lane, roll of the eyes. To be fair, they've pretty much got it now, not in front of my place, it's just where the garbos left them after emptying them today. But, they still have that habit of leaving them out for a day, or four. See, passive aggression does sometimes works.

My next door neighbour staggers up in dark sunglasses, with the newspaper in his hand, looking dishevelled, but then again, Jackson always looks dishevelled. He either looks like a rock star, or a dero, never sure which. He's like Krammer, smart underneath it all.

"Oh... jee..." Contorted unwrap arm movement, as he looks at the bins. "Christian." Contorted arms wrapped back the other way. "Aren't you like putting them out like a week early, or something?" Arms spread as if as a question.
The original space cadet, the first space captain.

"No Jackson, they've just been emptied, I'm taking them back in."

He stopped, his eyes widened. He looked off into space. He winced. He looked at me, looked at the bin and then looked back at me, as I struggled with the bin.

“Oh... um...er...”

I was lost in my best efforts to get both bins back behind the gate side by side, when I looked up again, he was gone.

Embarrassed? Back to the mull bowl? Who can say?

He’s lovely, really, don’t get me wrong, he’s a character. I like people who are their own person and not beige facsimiles of the everybody else.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Man vs Wild

Out to lunch

A great day to have lunch with my sister, as she got the sack too. Yes, same week. There must have been something in the air, as my grandmother used to say. That's the property developer and not the alcoholic one.

I just went and got my mints from the car, you know, just in case the mouth goes dry. Essential kit for heading out into public and having to hold a conversation.

Mint?

Wink.

I'm glad to be heading out, the cleaner is due. Er! Any moment, I'm expecting to hear the front door go click, click and then unpleasant scuff of her jiffy on the tiles.

Oh. ullo.

OMG! And there it goes. Scratch, scratch. I kid you not, (in a whisper), at the precise second that I wrote that sentence. Click, click. OMG! ...Oh, is there a more terrifying sound. Spine chill!

"Ullo."

Come on sis!

Missy comes limping towards me in the hall. WHAT! She can't walk on her back paw. Er! Traitor.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Queen's Birthday weekend

June long weekend. Winterdaze, party all night, take drugs all weekend. Queen's Birthday weekend, it always seemed to be our very own, in some sense. That’s what we all would have been doing once, partying. The biggest buzz for this weekend was some pot. I organised it myself, on the way up.

I took Santo up to the country. I, um, er, poisoned him all weekend. So often I looked over at him and he just looked in pain. It stopped me a couple of times. I don’t even want a boyfriend like this, so why am I doing it to him? I don’t want a pot smoking boyfriend, so why when I have one do I feed him pot?

It was a lazy weekend. May and Adrian were up too. Adrian has had breast cancer and she is still going through the chemotherapy. They cooked gnocchi. I cooked an orange cake with whipped crème and raspberry coulis.
I lay around all weekend, on the couch, in front of the open fire. Lovely. Santo dragged me out for one walk in the forest, something about fresh air, whatever. Mark dragged me out to cut fire wood.

You know I came home with pot. Of course. It wasn’t until after 11pm and I was hoping Shane was in bed. Well, after not getting half the dope deal – I just said give me half of what’s left and we’ll be square. Mark turned into his middle child and grabbed it all for himself – and only getting enough for one good days smoking, I suddenly became selfish and wanted to keep it all for myself.

Oh, I know, I’m a bad person. I’ll go to hell. How could I? Shane is the most generous person in the world. Yes, all perfectly valid points.
But, I did. I’m UNEMPLOYED!

The roller door slid open to reveal... oh damn! The lounge room lights on. Damn! The coast isn’t clear. So we’re hoping it’s just Shane, which it could be, he had an exam today.

Head in the door, and go straight upstairs, don’t stop, taking all the bags with you, so the pot is secure.

And the tall, miserable one is out of action, oh please yes. Good news on that front, he had a car accident. Woo-hoo. Pat me, prop me up, support me. Oh please! Spare us! I guess I should just sleep with him and get it out of the way.
And Sebastian will have been out partying, no chance he’ll be even conscious by now.

Oh good, just Shane.
Slip in the door, act nonchalant.
“Did you go to Bolago?” asks Shane.
“Yes.” Oh yes, wince, that’s right, he doesn’t like it when I do that. “I told you... seeing Adrian... remember?” I did tell him that. I mouth the Big C.
“No.”
“Yes, it was a good weekend. And you?”

Around the corner, out of ear shot, up into my room, hide the booty, like a gentle breeze.

Missy is stretched out on the clean washing I just never never leave clean washing on the bed for precisely the picture I’m now looking at. She must have taken up residence before my car was out the driveway Friday night, judging by the spinifex-wheels of fur blowing across my sheets.
She opens one eye. I gather myself. Spin around, down stairs.

Downstairs straight to the kettle. “How was your test?” The reason Shane couldn’t party this weekend, he an exam for night school.
“I didn’t go.”
Oh. Into the study turn the computer on. Back into the kitchen. “You didn’t go?”
“No, I didn’t have to, it was option...”
An option?

The kettle boils. Water in cup, milk in tea… back to the study.

I sneak upstairs and roll a joint crouched by the side of my bed like a thief in the night, to be ready the moment he heads to bed, must be soon. I slip back into the study unnoticed in the dark.

“Well dohl, I’m heading to bed?” Small talk, small talk, blah, blah, blah,  at my study door. I had to turn around, never turn around, sometimes you just got to turn around. Oh really, how lovely. Yes, yes. Ha hah!
Go to bed. Awkward silence. Don’t engage, you can out-stare him, you know that.
“Oh well, good night.”
Ahhhh, there you go. Hooray. “nite.”
Clump, clump, clump go the footsteps on the stairs.

I’m at the kettle nervously pushing the button, as I hear the toilet flush and the sink water being run. The kettle clicks like a gun in the dimmed light as I pour the water into my cup. Jiggle, jiggle, jigger, JIGGLE! goes the tea bag.
Out the back door in the crack in the dark, straight back to my sixteen year old self sneaking out the back door to go have a fag halfway through home work.

Click, click, click, sparks the lighter.

Puff, puff, puff. The night air has a lovely translucent quality to it, you see when you stand and gaze at it.

Back inside, sneaking all the way until I’m back behind the computer in my study. But, I know I have more marijuana and sixteen year old Christian makes a reappearance. Roll another, roll another.
I could see from the atrium that Shane’s bedroom light was off. And I decided that I was probably going to make less noise by reverting back to the lounge room mull station, rather than creeping around at the side of my bed up stairs.

Shane had gone to bed and turned off all the lights in the lounge, unlike him. And I see there is a fire burning, but the screen was there the whole time I was home. Shane probably was just on the moment of going to bed when I got home, see sometimes your timing isn’t so bad. I poke at the logs with the metal poker.
So, I turned the light on over the desk again and pulled the door down and rolled directly onto Mark’s great grandfather’s one hundred year old desk, in the only pool of light falling to the ground anywhere in the room.
It was just me in the lamp light. Shane had been in bed for a good half an hour by now. Sometimes he comes down, but not often. It was a considered risk.

My fingers work quickly.

Then there is a noise, a brush against a table, a flick of a tail. I glance sideways and there’s Missy sitting and staring straight at me, from the very edge of the lamp light on the rug... very big eyes.

I see, she says.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Long walk to the waterhole

It feels like I am on holidays

Off to the dentist first thing to get my teeth cleaned. I headed down to St Kilda with a book on the tram, lovely. People were heading to work, I didn't feel it. I click into non-work mode oh so easily.
My dentist is lovely. He looked kind of sexy when he walked in in his aviator sunglasses.

Then it was lunch with Santo at South Bank. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining down on us like molten honey. Gorgeous. These lovely Melbourne winter days, some of the nicest you'll experience. Blue skies, crisp sun.

Who needs to work? It's an out-dated ethic, I tell you.

Then it was a stroll around the botanical gardens, as Santo says we are both getting fat. And we are. Too happy, as they say.
I was bouncing around with far too much energy, as Santo said. Clearly, not a care in the world.
When I went to Costco, on Wednesday with my mate Jill, she said she hasn't seen me look so happy in years.

Then home to work on some photos, before Santo comes over after work and we head to the country for the long weekend. Queens Birthday, it's our weekend boys!

Lovely... see you Tuesday

Thursday, June 09, 2011

Maybe, I might just go on the dole, I've never done that before

Yesterday, I spent the day in Costco Docklands with my mate Jill. Oh my god, is that place amazing. There is just stuff every where and mountains of it.

At one stage we were standing by the apple pies in one direction, the mud cakes in another and the slabs of meat and fish in yet another and I said to Jill, could you imagine if  Ethiopians could see this? There was food just every where.

I bought new work clothes and shoes, now I'm ready at any minute to take up my temping role... when I feel the need. Read, when the bank balance dips precariously low.

Maybe, I might just go on the dole, I've never done that before.

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

I had a bitch lunch to go to

I had a bitch lunch to go to anyway, so I didn't, really, care if the weather was fine or furious. My first with the ex-(name of company) "We hate (name of company) club," plus an ever diminishing number of current employees, the nice ones, the people still with a little "normal" DNA left running through their bodies and not the super cyborg corporate plasma fusion where the blood used to be, aught to be, once was. In fact, the ratio has now tilted in favour of the ex's, with fewer current employees.

They were all amazed and perplexed about my exit. Apparently, my new collegue who I was, alledgedly, unpleasnt to, was in tears after I left. They all tut tutted about the anorexic bitches comments and spiel. They couldn't believe that what she used to describe me was, in fact, describing herself more accurately. They all agreed that the moody anorexic bitch now looks thinner and sicker than she ever has before and they all guessed at what her use by date might be with the company, nobody gave have anything later than the end of the year.

They all agreed unanimously that the anorexic bitch has always been a moody miserable cow. I gave little prompting, I promise. I wished her dead, I readily admit that and nobody tried to pull me up on it by saying that I didn't mean it.

They all wondered who might be next and for what reason, as they could see that the reason for my demise was scant.

And wasn't the weather furious afterwards, as if it was instant karma for my evil thoughts. Or was it the ebbing winds about to descend the powers of hell onto the evil anorexic bitches head. Oh, here's hoping.
Bitter? Well, maybe just a little. I expect to move through it soon, but to what? Anger? Grief? Melancholy? Maybe, I could move straight through to the Camilla Parker-Bowls stage, a dignified silence.
I'm sure all my friends have their fingers crossed. Actually, all of my friends think it is great. They think I have worked for Miseries & Co for far too long and think this is a positive move.

Tuesday, June 07, 2011

So, what do you do

So, what do you do when you feel like you have been hard done by and you are feeling just a little bit down?

Make an apple tea cake and pour yourself a strong coffee, what else?

Sit out in the garden in the sun and dust yourself off, figuratively, if you don't want to put your hand to cloth. (except, of course, it is raining today. Lovely)

And, of course, wish them all dead. (Well? I'm only human)

Monday, June 06, 2011

Okay, so we all agree

The cunts sacked me. I didn't really see that coming, even if my mate Jill suggested it and said it sounded so much like what happened to her, a number of years ago.

I've had several meetings with the CFO about my performance, none of which have made sense to me. The anorexic CFO has sat opposite me and made certain allegations, none of which seem to have had any bearing on reality, none of which had been brought up by my new manager.

I went back to my new manager, after the first meeting and tried to put things right and she said that she didn't have those issues with me.

What exactly was I suppose to do at that point?

I guess, I should have heard alarm bells at that, but I just put it down to the obviously very ill CFO loosing it. After all, she had just done the same to my old boss Beck.
This place is screwy, I thought. I should start looking for a new job, which I had just started doing.

After the second meeting, my new snake manager admitted to a small number of the issues, but said everything would be fine. Since then, I'd been asking my new snake manager for feedback and she had given me positive feedback.
I figured all the problems were behind me.

In the third meeting, I thought the CFO was going to say, Good work, nice to see everything is going well, but no, instead she said things were diabolically bad and that I was sacked. This time, nothing she said bore any resemblance to what I had been discussing with my new bitch snake manager.

Conclusion, the new bitch manager wanted me gone.

I don't think they, actually, have any grounds to sack me, but, you know, sometimes it is better just to move on. The best revenge is living well, as they say.

All the time the near-death anorexic CFO was blabbing on, all I could think was, Okay, so we all agree. You have made up my mind for me.
And you'll soon be dead.

Sunday, June 05, 2011

I like cooking

I cooked vegetable soup for lunch and chicken and mushroom risotto for dinner. I quite like cooking when I'm not rushing home from work at dusk.

I quite like cooking when I can meander down to the supermarket and buy the ingredients when it's not rush hour at the check out.

I also stewed some apple for my muesli, that made me feel like I was turning into my mother. Mum always had a bowl of stewed apple in the fridge.

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Friday, June 03, 2011

Photo of an old boyfriend, Andy

He always did have a good arse

Meeting Andy

Let me tell you about Andy. The first time I met him, actually, saw him, he was doing tequila shots off a bar somewhere with his best girlfriend fag hag. They were loud and full of life and I was naturally repelled and attracted both at the same time.

He had on a white bonds t-shirt which was tight on him, which left none of his fine muscles to the imagination. And he had on a pair of jeans that were baggy on him, pulled tight at the waist and bunching up right at the front making it look like he filled them out well. Of course, he did fill them out well.

Andy smiled at me and kind of winked and I was a little taken aback looking around behind me to see who it was he was, actually, smiling and winking at.

He and his girlfriend were the life of the bar that night.
I was there with a friend, he and I were out for a quiet nights drinking.

Sometime later, Andy came over in his big, goofy way and slurred in my ear, Let's go home together?

That boy. Sexy and cute and funny and smart and trouble and hard work and irrational and loud and gorgeous free spirit sex pig all rolled into the same sexy, muscular, contradictory mass of...

Pulling his jeans off sometime after that, I got to see what the term "hung like a horse" really meant. Two handfuls, more, hanging off him like some boa constrictor curving up to meet me. I'm sure that thing could have turned on me and swallowed me whole, over the following hour, if it had so wanted to do.

He liked to work on cars and he had these blue overalls that he liked leaving unbuttoned right down the front. T-shirt, jocks, it's not much of an impediment when he is standing looking so god damn gorgeous in front of you.
His floppy blond hair, his square jaw, his three day growth. The line of buttons unpopped one by one all the way down his front, as if to make a proposition.

Thick thighs, big purple nuts, wide fat shaft, rock hard like metal. Foreskin. Precum.

Long sperts of cum.

Shakes his feet when he blows.

Thursday, June 02, 2011

Too negative

Santo sometimes looks at me, shakes his head and just says, "Too negative!"

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Morning PT Peak Hour

Get out! Get out! Come on move quick. Battle in, battle out, this is endurance, make no mistake, survival of the fittest, throw dark looks at the stragglers pushing in the final seconds to get out. Too late!

Push past, push past, push past the mannequins and the cadavers standing and staring blankly straight ahead. No brain activity, I swear.

Excuse me! Excuse me! Do I have to say it louder, Louder, LOUDER? Move, or I’ll move you.

Push past, push past, you make me not care. You don’t care. I don’t care. Nobody cares. Who cares!

The dopes lean on the ticket machine. What do they think I am going to do?
Wake up! Come back! Earth to moron! Get out of the fucking way!
They look at me blankly, seemingly no understanding, nothing registering. The big silver box, what do you think it is for? I need to get to it. No, it’s not there just to lean on. Come on, wake up Australia.

Excuse me.

They begrudgingly move a centimetre and I wonder if I have to fell them simply to get a ticket.

Oh well, not a care, they don’t care. I push them away with my mass, I slide my body into them and they move.
The ticket machine works, now there is a plus... or maybe not. There are dollar signs on the display, always a good sign.
The coins feel awkward in my fingers and I don’t want to be another of the dopes who rummage through their purse endlessly and then drops their money on the floor only to scramble through everyone's feet. But, of course, that only happens if I am waiting behind them.
I massage them with my finger tips into the slot. Clack, clack sounds the coins as they slide into the mechanics.

Clack, whir. Click, whoosh. The machine comes to life.

Clack, clack, clack, click, click, click. The white card appears in the slot somewhere by my knee.

It is the only (useful) organic thing, I think, as I take it with my hand.

Step away! Step away! Hypocritia doesn’t suite you.

I take my place on the conveyor belt taking hold of the grab handle overhead.
Stop thinking. Stare ahead. Packed in like dominos, or penguins, my city is black. Power down like all the other brain dead mother fuckers. It is just boredom, I tell myself. You'd have to have a mind like a steal trap not to be bored of this process. And it is a process. We are all processed.
The wheels grind metallically under foot. A woo-whir, woo-whir harmonic. Gr, gr, gr, gr on the steal track in the road.

Someone gets up and heads to the door. A vacant seat, amongst dominos, ready to fall, left just-like-that.
I want it! I’m having it! I’m getting it! It’s mine! As the punters look with hesitant polite faces. They are too slow to respond.
I duck under arms holding straps as if to salute, single minded, not a care. I weave through with intent.
I slide into that seat, putting my brief case on my lap as if as a finishing touch.

I exhale, deflate, sink into the wafer thick polyester cushion. I click into standby and stare blankly at the sentries standing all around me keeping fort.
They stare glumly, stare blindly off into space. This is business, a serious business. A moment's stillness before the tar pits. Silent. We snatch respite stacked in tight.

The wheels grind metallically underneath me. Gr, gr, gr, gr on the steal tracks in the road. The old girl rattles, despite being one of the new models. I momentarily think about the state of quality control in tram factories. For some reason, I picture big Eastern Europe mills. Manufacturing doesn't care about you, it is the dollar they pursue, people are the bi-product, the inconvenient truth, so who knows if the brakes will fail on the next application. Try not to think, "they" don't want you to think.

The punters are jiggling like cattle in a truck to market. And they are going to market, employment fodder.
Grey is all around. Grey is the colour of the day. Their faces, their attitude, all around. Glum is the attitude, silent, serious. We all rattle into the CBD. I always think CBD is some short of acronym for poison printed on a warning label on a big plastic drum. Health Warning, contains CBD. Contagion Distillate Barbital. Handle with care. Prolonged exposure could be bad for ones health.