Tuesday, July 31, 2012

I ate bread and butter pudding cake for lunch Pity my stupid camera phone didn't focus properly

It Seems Oddly Appropriate

New Zealand conservation rangers have saved a seal tangled in a G-string near the Lovers Leap cliffs in Otago

Well, of course. Shrug. Hand to chin. Where else would this happen?

Monday, July 30, 2012

Adam Cullen

Adam Cullen, the painter, has died.
 I liked his style which, according to wikipedia  has at times been called by some critics as simplistic, crude, adolescent or puerile, though he has been voted one of Australia's most collectible contemporary artists.

In one media interview Adam Cullen described happiness as ''just a delusion that's created on TV'' and the world as a place that was ''not quite right."

What I take from that, is that life is a struggle for most people, juggling jobs they don't like, to the tsunami of ever increasing expenses involve in staying alive, to relationships that eventually fade away to nothing.

He was curious about his own death and said dying would ''be some kind of conceptual relief.''

He was sickly during his life, so you can take from that what you like. 
It is easier being dead, I guess, easier than the ever diminishing returns of being a live. You know, just when most of us have some hope of having life worked out, our health goes and we slowly rot away.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Nut Therapy

I woke up at 10.45. Lovely. I thought to myself, Oh fuck it, I’m might just stay in bed today. But, my bladder was telling me that wasn’t going to be the case and a delivery truck’s reversing alarm was sounding out in the street just in case I had any thoughts about fighting the piss.

There was that employment agent who I should go and call. Yes, be sensible, it is a day for that.

10.50? How many hours sleep was that?

I pull my fingers out.

I don’t know what I want to do? Jill thinks I should go on antidepressants, she reckons if I did I’d be able to make a decision.

Second hand… six and three quarter hours sleep?

A pill and the rest of my life would just fall in to place. That’s what the pharmaceutical companies want you to believe, now isn’t it?

Do I need to sleep on it?

Missy was sitting on the staircase heading up to the third floor, staring down at me. “Meow.” It was as if she was saying, “good morning”, but really I know she was saying, “About time, I’m exhausted. I was beginning to think you’d never open the door.”

She sashayed into the bedroom once I have returned from the toilet saying, “Pat me, pat me’ pat me.” Before she gets into bed.

It is raining and wet and overcast, time to pop the central heating on and light a fire.

I wonder if my rent will be sitting on the bench waiting for me? It wasn’t.

I made coffee and chopped kindling in the rain. Everything in the garden dripped.

The firewood seemed to be fire retardant this morning, I don’t know why, but it was being particularly annoying. Why should it be any different to anything else in the world? I squatted down and watched it for the longest time. I’m sure I have the genes of a pyromaniac in me, as gazing at fire some how soothes me.

Good morning
Well done!  Have some more time off, did you have a look on Seek to see if you could see it advertised.
I had yesterday off, I can't seem to shake this cold and cough. It's driving me mad, but at least I can take days off here... it's great!!

I went and got a smoked salmon roll and a muffin from the bakery for lunch. Fuck I love smoked salmon, I could live on it. Today it cost 50c more than it did yesterday, inexplicably. The chick behind the counter couldn’t explain it either.

I must go out and do my tattsLotto… it is the only way left.

Anthony called to say he had a tooth problem and that he wanted to complain.

“Get to the dentist,” I told him.

“It hurt a year ago…”

“And you didn’t go to the dentist then?”

“Well, no, I ate some nuts and half of it fell off and the pain went away.”

“Half of your tooth fell off and you still didn’t go to the dentist?”

“Well no.” Laugh.

“I see.”

“I’m thinking I’m just going to get some more nuts.”

“Get to the dentist.”

“But I have to go to the outer eastern something or other clinic and they’ll take my tooth out.”

“Well, you see, you have to give up smoking.”

“What? That’s outrageous.”

“I had to give up before I lost my teeth, Adrianna was told she would loose all of her teeth and Mark has lost all of his teeth.”

“Oh that is just out of the question, I’m going for the nut treatment.

“Get yourself to the dentist, or the pain will get so bad at 2am that you’ll be putting a knife in your neck, or catching a taxi to the dental hospital where a foreign doctor with out a work permit much less a degree will take it out forcefully without anaesthetic.”

“But I have a bag of cashews ready to go.”

“Call the outer eastern whatsit as soon as you hang up from me and make an appointment.”

“But it is the weekend and they won’t be there.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Is it?”

“Friday lunch time.”

Shane arrived home with the rent. He reiterated about the two new episodes of True Blood and then he was gone. Really? Lovely.

The phone rang almost immediately. I hate it when the phone rings, it is never good news. Always someone wanting me to work, just lately.

“Hello.” It was Anthony.

“How did you go?”

I made a ham and cheese roll

“I meant with the dentist?”

“I made a roll and a huge piece of my tooth fell off and the pain has stopped.”


“Yes.” Laugh. “I just thought I’d call and tell you.”

“Self treatment, you should have been a dentist.”

“Oh, I wanted to be in my youth.”

“Go before the pain comes back… and it will.”

“That was the problem, and now it is solved.

“I strongly suggest you go to the dentist.”

“Oh no, everything is now fine.”

Santo and I went to the supermarket in the rain. It was falling heavily from the sky when we came out, so we walked from the back exit to the front exit and walked along Smith Street under the shop awnings. I love it when the water drips from the verandas in big droplets and the world shines and everything goes swoosh!

We hired dvd’s. It was that kind of night.

We made cream pasta, chicken and mushroom. Yum, yum. I must be due to have my cholesterol checked?

We watched John Carter, I couldn’t follow it at all. Not at all. Santo thought I was stupid. Apparently, “I’m usually good with these things.”

I found a review of John Carter… the next day.

One critic describes John Carter as "a terrible film with an incomprehensible story, ludicrous, mutton-headed characters and unspeakable dialogue". Other critics said it was actually worse.

Pissing Around the House

I glanced over at the clock and it was 11.11. It always makes me smile, feel contented, connected with the world, in tune. Not really sure why, I guess like all other human beings, it is because it is about me. When it is about me, we all luv it. That is when we luv it, hey?

Of course, my bedside clock is set 10 minutes fast so it wasn’t really 11.11 at all, but it did spark something in my brain and I did hop out of bed.

Down in the kitchen, while I was making coffee, I picked up my phone to text David to see how he is feeling today – he had one of his oestrogen filled 28 day cycle girlie blue days yesterday – and my phone said 11.11, I guess, just in case I wasn’t convinced about it earlier.

Too blue to get out of bed.

Crying hysterically over, well… um… very little.

The product of a spoilt childhood, which has set him up for an adult life where the world had better revolve around him or he’ll have emotional turns and take to his bed.

Underneath it all, he is just an emotional little girl.

He didn’t answer immediately.

I turned on my laptop and wrote my journal, which now a days becomes my blog. (Maybe this is why my readership has dropped off dramatically?) It was quite a lovely day, but, you know, all of this sitting on the lounge room floor with my laptop on the coffee table is doing me no good at all. I’m beginning to creak when I get up. I never used to creak when I got up, when did that start? Grrrr! Too much sitting in one spot immobile all day. What is it “they” say 10 thousand steps per day? I’m wondering if I am currently doing 10?

Why can’t I do one hours exercise in the morning… each morning? You’d think it would be the easiest thing in the world to do? No, really?

So, after I’d finished my muesli and my coffee and the morning news, I decided it was a day to do something, even if it wasn’t exercise. Achieve! Yay! You know, like the rest of the world. Something. Shrug. Get up and walk around.

There have been syringes in the front bush, which hangs through my front fence, for quite some time. Mostly used and all paced away neatly back into their packets. All at kid height, it is fair to say, who’d be a parent now a days? HANDS IN THE AIR! It must be the WORST decade of the WORST century to bring up the devil spawn. WHO’d be a mother, the hardest job in the WORLD! … yeah, right. Sheesh! Pack of fucken wingers! However, the syringes didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so I decided to leave them just where they were. You know, if it isn’t broken and all that.

But, in the last week there has been syringes on the footpath in front of my front gate, so I decided it was time to remove the lot, all problem syringes. Not that it made any sense, as the syringes lying on the ground in front of my gate were out and uncapped and ready to spike some stupid child who’s mother wasn’t keeping a close enough eye on her devil sprog, where the syringes from the bush were capped and put back in their packets, like a good little drug addict who thinks safety first.

And some filthy little bitch dog has crapped on my front veranda. I noticed it yesterday when I was coming in the front gate from the supermarket. What is that on the wall next to the front door? I thought. A patch of something? Euw! As I got closer, I saw that there were three small brown turds below the semi circular patch on the wall. “Oh really?” Some dog had taken a crap and then lifted it’s leg and pissed.

So I headed out with pink rubber gloves, tongs, a couple of prodding sticks and a pan and broom, as well as the larger broom for sweeping. The sun was shining, the sky was blue. Time to get into it.

Once the syringes were safely in the neighbours bin – oh relax, it is the annoying business from Gertrude Street that leaves it’s bin on the footpath all week – I pulled out the weeds around the tree on the footpath. They were growing thick like grass, a mat of them, suddenly they were there. The last time I looked it was just mulch. And I was on a roll, you know, once you start doing stuff, you just want to move on and do more stuff. Once you see the cleanliness spreading around you, you just want to spread it around you some more like jam on toast.

I was on my hands and knees, (assuming the position) crawling forward, ripping at the earth with my fingers, like a giant, actually, tiny, physical hoe.

“You’re working hard,” said a voice behind me. “I could watch you all day.”

It was Jackson Wag, my next door neighbour. He was up for a chat, I could tell, he simply stood next to me waiting for me to answer. I stood up and took a deep breath.

“Someone has to do it.” I wiped a pink rubber hand across my brow

We stood out the front like a couple of old woman over the back fences and chatted about the neighbourhood.

“Lovely day, ay.”

“Yeah, lovely day.”

Jackson had new teeth. They looked nice to, great actually, very natural. I’d already noticed them, but he mentioned them when he was talking about getting acting jobs.

He’s won an award lately for short film making, in which he acted, so it has inspired him to seek out some more acting work. Hence the new teeth.

He said that there had been people shooting up in the laneway, as he had found discarded syringes outside his place.

He asked me how I was going.

“I’m not working much and I don’t seem to care. Sometimes I tell myself I should be worried, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect on me.”

“Oh, what’s the worst that can happen? You sell you house, you take your equity and you travel for the rest of your life? You know, this could be a great thing, not a worry at all.”

He headed off to get lunch.

Travel for the rest of my life? Could you imagine? I don’t now how much Jackson Wag thinks my house is worth, such is the pity.

I decided that I had done quite enough and come back into my laptop and a fresh coffee. Lunch?

Activity over. Achievement done.

I’m still pushing ahead with my photo restoration, as I want to give a restored copy of my family photos to my brother and sister.

I rescanned that central Australia photo of us kids on the back of our blue hired Datsun, which has always been backwards, which I have always said I needed to rescan. That led onto rescanning photos for the rest of the afternoon.

The phone rang today. I reached for it just as the voice on the answering machine said, "it is V from (name of employment agent), I have a payroll position you may be interested in...." 
I gave out a little yelp! I recoiled, pulled my hand away really fast. I didn't pick it up.
Bad Christian!

I recoiled from the phone call from the employment agent. I should have grabbed the phone, it should have been what I was waiting for? But, suddenly, on hearing the employment agent’s overly cheerful voice, my actual “want” to work came sharply into focus. Suddenly, apparently, I didn’t want to work at all. Fuck it! I’ll take my chances, for now. I should be concerned, as I told Jackson Wag, but, apparently, I'm not.

I text David late in the afternoon to see if he is okay. He hadn’t answered my earlier text. He said he had only just got out of bed to head to the salt mines. I told him I ate asparagus. He said he wanted to smell my piss. I knew that would cheer him up.

Shane came home with fish and chips. He turned on the bad light in the kitchen, yet again. Then turned on the lights in the lounge. I had been happy with the open fire and TV and just as he got comfortable Tulli called on Shane’s phone and Shane headed to his bedroom.

Saved by the bell… er… bells… I thought. Or is that saved by the Sydney ho? Did I tell you he moonlights as a prossy? God I am a bitch!

Shane didn’t come back, which we love, except to make tea and generally interrupt, by putting on the kitchen light that glares into the lounge room. Despite years of being told not to use that light and despite years of using the down lights, which don’t glare into the kitchen, Shane is now flicking the switch on for the annoying lights. I don’t think it is deliberate, I might respect him more if it was. Obviously. No, I just think it is stupidity, no really I do. The umpteenth time he has flicked on the annoying light, I began to scheme replacing the globe in that particular light for a broken globe. Where do I get a broken globe from? I guess I just buy the cheapest globe from the shop and tap in on something a few times until the filament breaks.

He said something about going to bed and that he was going to Sydney tomorrow.

“Have you left you rent?”

“Oh… I don’t, actually, get paid until tomorrow,” he said. ”I guess I could drop in in at lunch time.”

“Okay,” I said.

“It’s just that I think I’m going to have quite a day tomorrow and I may not get time.“ Of course you are darling, it is always a “big day” in Shane’s world.

Clearly, he’d decided that, as soon as he’d said it, or as soon as I agreed to it, dropping in at lunchtime wasn’t such a good idea. “Maybe I could do it before work.”

“Okay,” I said.

So what am I to conclude? He had no intention of giving me my rent tomorrow?

My fireplace is still smoking, it still needs cleaning. You know some midget stuffed down from the top… flapping his arms. No, seriously, it needs a clean out. They say that a chimney fire is dangerous and potentially dangerous, however, I’ve always found it the best way to clean it out.

The chimney burned, after I put a dried branch completely covered in dead leaves into the fireplace. It roared like a steam train… funny expression really, as I have never, actually, heard a stream train. That isn’t strictly true, one of my parent’s friends had a massive estate up in Healesville, along the side of which ran a train line alone which ran a steam train. My sister and I used to go and stand on the bridge over the train line and watch the steam train roar passed underneath. Sparks and chunks of burning soot flew out of my chimney and into the drizzling night. I was pleased, cheaper than a chimney sweep.

Alley McBeal comes on after 1am. David Letterman comes on after 2am. Once Dave has finished it id always an indication to go to bed. I sat up in bed and watched a repeat of Top Gear, which I watched earlier in the evening.

I turned off the light at 4am. Such freedom, such independence, such happiness.


Translation, living in a dream.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Love Those Vampire Hours

Santo and I met on the corner La Trobe and Swanston Streets and ate at the Indonesian restaurant near by. I had Mi Goreng seafood, one of my favourites. Santo had the same. I got the chair facing the front of the restaurant, and therefore the view, I was faster than him, lately I’ve not been. I should never have shared that particular trick with him. I sometimes wonder what the other diners think when they see us jostling for the best seat. He usually wins, now he knows the game. He's got a greater hunger for it, I just like hanging with him, whichever chair I get.

We went to Big W afterwards to look for a new doona cover for my bed because it is… um… easier than washing them, you know. Ha ha, I don’t change them often enough, it is true. Santo complained as we crossed Swanston Street saying that he didn’t have time to go shopping, looking at his watch.

“Oh yes, it is a different story when we are going to JB Hi Fi, Dick Smith or…”

“Harvey Norman,” said Santo. He laughed.

“Aha. To look for some gadget for you.”

“Okay.” He smiled.

We looked at the doona covers but none of them were much chop. I wanted dusty purple, or deep crimson, or dark green, or at a pinch dirty blue, but they were all lollie, or cheap patterns that looked like they were straight out of Kmart, or um, Big W. I hate that.

I text Jill, the consumer queen, from Big W asking her where is the best place to go to buy a doona cover, when Santo seemed to lose interest and wanted to leave. Actually, that isn’t quite true, we both lost interest at what was on offer at Big W. Jill, at least, is addicted to shopping, in particular bed linen so, I felt, she was my girl. I was secretly hoping she’d buy me a couple and bring them around without me having to lift a finger, other than for a pen to write a cheque.

Actually, apparently… grimace… mention writing a cheque and it is the equivalent of our grandmas talking about a wireless.

I spoke to Jill when I got home. She laughed when I told her about the vacuum. How I thought about it some time after Shane had left the other night for D’s.

“Oh yes… ha, ha, I’ve got one of them, oops… ah, yes, the back of the car.” Grimace. “He, he. Silly me.”

Jill gave me a couple of online names to buy doona covers… apparently, there would be no mentally compromised deliveries. Pity.



Of course, Jill would know. I knew.

I told her about Shane and Tulli and Shane going to live in London at the end of the year, which solved my problem meaning I didn’t have to ask him to leave.

“He’s going to change countries and live with someone he hasn’t even lived in the same city with, let alone the same house.” Raised eyebrows. (not that Jill could see my eyebrows, of course)

Jill said, “the relationship probably won’t last till the end of the year so don’t worry too much about it.”

Not worry about it? I drew in sharp breath and said, “Don’t say that, I’m counting on it.”

Jill laughed.

“It has to last at least long enough for Shane to give up his job and his car and everything else and move out of here and make it to London… then Tulli can dump him.”

We both cackled like witches.

I settled in for the afternoon on my laptop with the open fire burning and… um… well, as per usual, I don’t know now exactly what I did, but the day slipped away unnoticed. Again. Lovely. Gone.

How long have I got to go? Groan. Forty years? More?

And before I knew it, it was time for the finale of Masterchef. Last night. Over. Handsome Andy. What do you think the likely hood of me ever seeing a picture of him dressed just in his undies? Oh, never mind, it was just a thought.

Audra was out on the entre. Then Julia and the lovely Andy had to make a main course that was quintessentially Australian.

Matt Preston said the following that I liked,

From Byron Bay to Broome, St Kilda to Kings Cross, give us the taste of this great southern land.

Poetic, I liked it. Andy won with an interpretation of a fisherman’s basket, getting a 10, no less, from one of the judges.

Then Andy was 6 points ahead.

We should chat here (Skipe rather than instant message) at the moment until mountain lion is released tmmr, messaged Santo. I can't get iMessage for mac, it's coming tmmr.

Why? I asked.

Because the iMessage u use is beta and tmmr mountain lion released.

It looks ugly, Julia’s dish

What do you mean?

Julia’s dish looks ugly

Oh, the desert, not the message?

Andy will win

They asked Andy what he was going to be doing after this show.

Marry ben, go for gay marriage, fight for gay marriage with ben, messaged Santo.

Fuck Ben, I messaged at the same time.

Lol, Santo

Oh I should have cooked my dinner before this time of night... but I didn't want to be cooking during Masterchef, I didn’t want to miss any.

Ugly little girkin, messaged Santo

Andy would have a pretty gherkin, I replied.

I can picture Andy’s… um… gherkin. It would be handsome like him.

He should win and “I thank masterchef for bringing me Ben.”


And it’s magic that the family now know he's gay.

He’ll win. Andy will win. It will be around 7-8

Yep, she didn't get six points more then him

That’s what he says to Ben… all breathlessly, give it to me please.

He’s WON!!!! He’s won already. It wont be 7, or less than 7 and he won already.

It can be a 7, he still wins

And it's 9 points. BEN BEN, where's ben? To the FRONT!

He said "f***! and there's no beep.

He didn't mention Ben... I think the producer said cant make it too GAY… but the camera man cheeky... wow! $50K is lots

Oh. julia got $15, happy ending

Oh damn, I knew I should have cooked before now… as Sebastian is coming over, apparently.

For? cooking?

Nah… just to poison the air.

Shane went to his room to talk to David who is having a blue day, oh something about her hip, so it is all back to her today. Odd that a “back to me person” would call another “back to me person” for comfort? One would assume that each one of them wouldn’t be able to stop talking about themselves long enough to even think about the other person’s problem.

Shane ordered from Coconut Palms for the second night running.

I cooked risotto after Shane had disappeared to his bedroom. I didn’t want to cook earlier as I didn’t want to have to offer him any, so I had to wait for him to have his dinner before I could prepare mine. He went to bed when he got home and didn’t resurface until after 8pm, when I heard him talking to Sebastian about him being hungry and that he couldn’t wait any longer for the unreliable Sebastian to turn up. So then there was the possibility of Sebastian turning up as I started to cook my risotto.

10:15 PM
did they look after you babe?
10:32 PM
poor poor nana me
10:35 PM
what are you doing babe?
10:35 PM
why am i been ignore?

I have just cooked my risotto
you are never ignored


I am just stirring rice

That’s a very late and unhealthy dinner

I know... but Masterchef went for too long, silly me, I should have cooked before hand

You see, no plan

I know

Bloody Apple… doesn’t even wanna take my $21 for mountain lion.

Bitches! What are you doing?

Try to spend $21... bitches at Apple.

I'm watching free love and sex on ABC2, Dawn somebody.

Lots people in twitter have same issue. Too popular, the nude?

All nude

But cant see the guy’s dicks

It’s all about a reporter who is actually joining in. No you wont see much as some of them didn't even want it filmed. It is the biggest free love commune in the world in Germany, of all places. In a wood, or should I say, in a vood.


No, not a slut, I said. She was nervous… beforehand.

I mean people there

No, not slutty... it is freedom… the opposite to our hung up world

I see

Do you know that we are becoming so conservative and soooo hung up about nudity and sex… online there was a gallery featuring actors who have stripped for the movies. It turned out the gallery was actors who had gone shirtless in movies. Some how men going shirtless now equates to nudity. It is so bizarre, our world is going backwards. And, of course, you now it is guilt. Guilt over what the older generation, who are now waggling their moral fingers, did. Or less likely, wanted to do. No, it would be what they did.

Shane didn’t appear again, not even to say good night. All I saw were all the lights he’d left on from his bedroom to the kitchen had been turned off. Maybe David drained him of the will to live.

Sebastian didn’t seem to turn up either, although Sebastian doesn’t come out and say hello to me any longer, not exactly sure why? He’s had a plank up his nose since the “birthday fiasco” and I could care less to sort it out.

My bacon and asparagus risotto was lovely.

I stayed up until after 2am watching Ally McBeal and Dave Letterman. Vampire hours, it is just so easy. The night is dark and long and suddenly it is hours past mid night. Not a fucken care! And the world closes in and it seems so small and the black envelopes us and we are held in stasis noir.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Please Sir, I Want More

I woke up to a feeling of disappointment today, at 9.44. I seem to wake up to a feeling of disappointment most mornings of late. It is safe to say that the sparkle has gone out of my time off. (Only because I feel the pressure of earning some money before I am completely broke) It seems to have shifted into a place that is hard describe, and is beyond simple words to say really how I feel. I guess the simplest way to describe it is with that time honoured plea to the universe, There must be more to life than this, surely? There must be something more interesting than going back into the corporate world and getting another tiny corral to lock myself away in on a daily basis that we call an office. There must be more to life than going to deal with managers who have chips on their shoulders and something to prove because the universe endowed them with tiny penis’, or ugly cunts.


The sun is shining down crisply, it is sparkling beyond the windows in my balcony doors, as I stood on my two feet, scratched my arse and surveyed the morning countenance.

I slipped downstairs to get coffee and muesli before Guadalupe got here, but she was already in the kitchen with yellow rubber gloves, facemask and cleaning clothes, like some demented surgeon about to begin. I said I just wanted to make coffee and I’d only be five minutes.

“Doesn’t matter.” She waved her hand in the air as if to emphasise the point and then disappeared.

I put the rubbish out as the coffee brewed. Ah, the pesky rubbish, like the pesky washing, it always seems to need to be done.

In the hallway in its tatty cardboard box was D’s vacuum. Guadalupe here today, I wondered if that was the reason why Shane went over to D’s place last night, clearly it was. So, that must be his answer to the vacuum problem. Borrow D’s, keep it until D screams for it, as he must have last week, then take it back, only to call, presumably frantically, the night before Guadalupe is due again and ask, nay, beg for it back, if the performance about getting Santo’s vacuum the day before Guadalupe was due a month, or so ago, was anything to go by. Oh yes, good plan.

Shane’s kind of stuck with the problem, you see, he promised to take it on in the first period of my non-employment when I wanted to get rid of Guadalupe and he argued for her saying that he would take care of everything and I wouldn’t have to do anything at all, except pay the money, of course, out of his rent.

I bet you he didn’t envisage the non working vacuum problem. Of course, his solution of buying a $50 cheapy off the internet was never really a good idea. I’m to understand that it is the repair of the said cheap Dyson knock off that he is, somehow, going to accomplish to solve our… chuckle… his vacuum cleaner woes. That is never going to happen and I predict that I will be slipping in into the garbage bins, or taking it out and depositing it on the front footpath to get rid of it.

I chuckled to myself as D’s vacuum is exactly the same as the vacuum Jill gave me, which is still in the back of my car, except D’s is a red Volta and mine is a green Volta. The newly acquired one is in perfect working order, as it is just that Jill is addicted to buying new things, particularly over the internet and that she has come over all girlie and bought herself a smaller, lighter Dyson to use upstairs, or at least, for her cleaner to use upstairs. Raised eyebrows. Oh, I know, I should just give it to Shane… and it is only complete bitchery, which is stopping me.

Wide eyes.

Actually, it is me allowing him to fulfil his promise of taking care of everything to do with Guadalupe that has thus far stopped me from giving him the new acquired vacuum. The moment I step in and produce the vacuum, therefore solving the problem he seems incapable, or unable, to solve, I feel that the problem of the cleaner will then, at least in part, resort to being my problem, yet again.

Jill has upstairs and downstairs vacuums. She also has a smaller, more portable vacuum to use on smaller messes to be cleaned up around the kitchen. Then, of course, she has an office vacuum, as well, to use in her office, which is at the side of the house. I some times wonder if higher wages are actually doing the planet any good and that one day to stop consumerism to save the planet it will be a political strategy to cut wages so people can’t waste the planets resources. Of course, that will be in the second half of this century when the planet is basically poisoned because the politicians haven’t had the political nouse, or will, to do anything up until that point and it will then be battle stations planet earth and there will have to be the most severe restrictions bought in in the last dying days of the human race in a sad, vain attempt to save the planet, and our sorry arses, not unlike the austerity measures now being used to save the planets financial institutions and lovely Greece... producer of some of the world’s finest sons. Um…er…

I guess, until then, we will drive our four wheel drives and vote Greens to clear our consciences.

But more to the point, when, and why, do you think I have become a negative person? Just be nice to people, be positive and be kind, be generous, I know that is the best, possible, way for us to behave to have a happy, fulfilled life. Why have I become bogged down with the negative?


Now I am off to have lunch with Santo… if Guadalupe would ever stop cleaning the frigging bathroom! Get out woman! I've got people to meet, places to beI tell Santo that I can’t get into the bathroom to have a shower. I think he thinks that I am stalling for time, or making excuses, as he replies with Move! With his customary exclamation mark!

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

White Shirt

Work? Don't work? Work? My head is spinning.

I woke up at 11am.
I was straight into worrying about my future. The thought that I am never going to get another job, if I don’t do something about getting a job soon, seems to be haunting me. Fuck it. Nobody wants me, they all think I am shit what the fuck am I going to do? That is what my paranoid self was saying. Even my current employer doesn’t seem to want to employ me any more, my work has dropped off to such an extent. I am be being paranoid, I am.
And ironically, if I just got a job this would all stop.
What the hell do I think is going to happen? I haven’t, actually, looked for a job, as yet, myself. So what am I thinking? Do I think that someone is going to come along and offer me a job, out of the blue? Clearly that is what I think.

Missy was scratching on the door pretty soon. Did I roll over in bed noisily? Did I clear my throat? Did my fingers make an abrasive sound as they scratched through the hairs in my arse? Does she have x-ray vision?
I hopped out of bed to let her in. My… um… er… misery slid off me as I did.

What to do today? My head spun, as I leapt back under the sheets. The future spread out in front of me as a long empty laneway stretching out into the far reaches of my mind.
Too drama queen?
I laughed.
I can’t imagine working.
I can’t. There is no vision there… that is an image in my head and not a path through the future.
I can’t envisage not working.
Too lovely. A dream. I’m destined to be industry fodder like everyone else.

I glanced through the window on the stairs and it looked like a nice day. Already winter is receding, I can feel it. Santo commented on my comment about the fact that we’ll be able to see the days gradually getting lighter by the end of July. He said he has already noticed, which is more than I have, I’ve got to admit.
Coffee, muesli and news on line, just for as long as it takes to eat my breakfast and then I will put in some serious thought about what it is that I am going to do.
I read about the Olympians admitting that the Olympic Village is a hot bed of sex. Sydney Olympic Village ordered 70 thousand condoms, which wasn’t enough, and they had to order another 30 thousand, which has lead to a standing order for 100 thousand condoms per Olympics. Breaux Greer, the village pretty boy slut from all accounts, Dominik Meichtry, Tony Azevedo, Eric Shanteau, LaShawn Merritt, Ryan Lochte, they are all looking forward to it. I googled photos of them. Anyone of them, let me tell you, I’d watch any one of them.

Funny thing happened, Grindr crashed in London today, on the first day of the Olympics.

Then, I lit the fire and I settled in at the coffee table and sorted my photos for the day. Now all of my photos are in date order. Lovely.
I didn’t give my future of work any more thought. I should go on the dole just to complete the picture. Yes, I’ve still never been on the dole. I’m not really sure why? Stupid, probably. I have no objection to anyone going on the dole, it is the minimum level that we should all be guaranteed. Go on the dole, live on it, why not? I give my blessing. In fact, all of the tax (such as it is right at the moment) I pay can go to supporting people on the dole, I’d be happy with that. I don’t go on it personally, because I don’t want to have to look for a job. And, for me, I’m choosing not to work, so I think I should pay for my time off myself. But, that’s just me. I don’t hold anyone else up to that requirement.

Missy slept on the couch behind me all day. They’d never admit it, in fact they would deny it if asked, but cats like being around you.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Fuck it... a Day in Bed

I didn’t mean to, but I didn’t get out of bed all day. I got coffee and muesli fairly early and returned to bed, scampered back in my socks and track pants, puffed up my pillows and snuggled back. Then Missy joined me, for the whole day pretty much. She slept next to me all day, except for that moment when I reached out for the remote in the dark and grabbed her paw by mistake and she bit me, actually clawed me. Either way, it hurt.

And the day just drifted away, just like that. And I didn’t think about work, let alone looking for a job. I wonder if I am going to lose everything, with this behaviour? People do, I’m sure, just like this. Piss it away. But… I just don’t want to work. Actually, I just don’t want to look for a job, if Jack offered me one, I’d take it, of course. I so don’t feel like putting in any more effort than that.

I didn’t buy the wine until 4pm. I pulled on shoes and a beanie, no shower you see, and marched right around there. $5… it does the trick. OMG! Sad really. Yes, he had such promise, could have done anything he liked.

The trouble is that I don’t like.

And lovely Ben got evicted from Masterchef. Beaten by beef, dab at the tears, my tears. Andy's hero, mate, BFF and just like that the sweet bromance is over with Andy's buddy heading back to Tassy.

Ben says he has no regrets and regrets nothing, and the two mates are now planning to open a Mexican restaurant together.

Boo hoo!

The real problem is that I haven’t been writing anything, I’ve just been pissing my time away. If I am not going to work, I need to do something, I can’t just do nothing. I can’t just stop, no prospects at all. That is the real problem, the real disappointment.

I was still awake at 3am. Me and Missy.

What a lazy day.

I finished the bottle of wine. I had a bit of a headache after that. Bad me. Is a whole bottle of wine a bad thing? Surely not? Well, not every day. It is not even blotting it all out. It doesn’t seem to be having any effect.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Sunday far Enough Away

We got up late, had a shower and walked to Victoria Street for soup. The sun was shining down warmly, like honey or warm milk. Winter sun that I just wanted to walk in.

The soup was yum, Vietnamese, pork belly, eggs, rice noodles, and just what the morning called out for; huskily asked for, requested, like a nightclub singer dreamily the morning after Saturday night, croaky, gentle, slow.

Afterwards, we sat outside in the only coffee shop in Victoria Street and drank coffee in the sun. I so wanted the raspberry muffin, but Santo looked over at my stomach and winced, as he does when I want a fatty treat.

I read about the shooting in the cinema in Colorado and about the French premier being cancelled because of it. What does the French premier have to do with a cinema in but-fuck Colorado, I wondered, shooting, or no shooting. Surely, the two are a world away from each other? Surely, one has nothing to do with the other. Surely, that is over thinking the whole tragedy just a little too much, isn’t it? That is taking our “fear culture” just a little too far.

Still, it was a lovely day and what did I care? Colorado? Where is Colorado? Poor bastards. With their gun culture what do you expect? Sad though, almost incomprehensible, that that could happen just like that. One minute they were eating their popcorn... the next... Why would anyone want to defend gun culture?

It made good reading over Sunday morning coffee, or heads buried in our respective newspapers, those crazy Americans. Sure the Norwegians have been at it of late, but the Americans still own the genre.

The sky was blue and I walked hand in hand with Santo up the Langridge Street hill. A world away? Two worlds a way.

Apparently, we have to go to the supermarket if not every day, every second day. Apparently. Oh really? We didn’t go yesterday, after all. Can’t we have scrambled eggs? But we had to go today. Maybe it was as punishment for my mean thoughts about Colorado. Maybe? Oh, they weren’t meant to be mean thoughts but, you know, if the world wide news didn’t bring mad men going on shooting rampages into my lounge room I wouldn’t know of such things, you know. It wouldn’t be apart of my world.

We only needed some bacon to cook another quiche. I tried to talk Santo into just having a quiche with no bacon, but he wouldn’t be in it.

“Slack Christian. Slack Christian!”

And since we were going mushrooms and a leek. I wasn’t being slack, just bored. Hands up who of you relish a trip to the supermarket?

I just had to defrost those two sheets of pastry that I thawed out yesterday and which I didn’t need, so I refreeze it.

“I’m sure it isn’t healthy to refreeze anything?”

“Don’t be a pussy,” replied Santo.

I wasn’t convinced that I was being a pussy. What was it that my mum always said?

To Mark

Is it bad to defrost pastry, not use it, then refreeze it and then defrost it for a second time and use it?

I decided to not live in fear. Realistically, it is not good to refreeze anything, but pastry is essentially only flour and water, let’s face it.

The quiche leaked everywhere out the bottom of my two piece pan, like a fat girl pissing standing up. Or that greeting card with the elephant spread legged on the front? What decade was that from? That was a very popular card, the elephant pissing on the from, often with the caption, It never rains but it pours. Would that be a popular card today?

Bugger! Good thing I had a tray under the quiche. It looked like fried egg, as it baked on the tray. Pity the quiche is somewhat empty? I was going to attempt to pick the egg up and return it to the quiche. Santo gave me that look, you know, a cross between mental and disgusting. We had a green salad to accompany it.

I whipped the rest of the cream and added the vanilla bean, which I didn’t really know what to do with it, and scooped big spoonful’s over large wedges of the red velvet cake. It was nice too.

It was a quiet night, just me and Santo and the open fire. We watched Masterchef and Modern Family. I love those two shows. I want to lick Andy’s… er… um face. Modern Family cracks me up.

We watched the best of Graham Norton, which seems to change segments at an unwatchably fast pace. Graham Norton is so cute, cute in a best friend kind of way, not a sex way.

We watched two new episodes of True Blood. Bill, Eric, Alcide, three of the sexiest men on television and some how Suki has them all under her spell, lucky bitch, as they say. Suki must truly have a super snatch, as the delectable Pam said.

I think Pam makes it into my all time favourite characters along with Monty Burns and Karen Walker, Celia Hodes and Sheldon Cooper. Pam’s great, really great.

Half way through the second episode we hear the front door open and close. Shane was home early as he had training tomorrow. That was surprising as he doesn’t come home from Sydney until Monday night. We were just about to go to bed anyway, the episode was just about over, so we didn’t see much of him.

I message Mark before I head to bed. He still hasn’t called me back, I hope he’s okay. I hope he isn’t thinking that I never call him?

Oh well, we ate it. So far so good, not dead yet.

sweet dreams, going to bed now.

You didn't call back

I hope you are okay

everything is going okay

I hope you landed okay

Saturday, July 21, 2012

We mustn't be anti social, it isn't becoming

We were doing our customary sit around the coffee table in the morning eating our breakfast when Raymond text a joint text to four friends asking if any, or all, of us wanted to go out for dinner, go out for drinks, whatever.

I get nervous now when friends text out of the blue to get together. I thought that as you got older ease with friends and social occasions gets easier, but I, actually, think the opposite is true. When You were young you were gung-ho, full of the enthusiasm of the newness of life, every thing and every one was exciting, to be completely absorbed and, at least, some of the time, fucked and kissed and taken in your arms. But even if it wasn’t to be fondled, every event was an opportunity for wonderful things and amazing things to happen. We were young and beautiful and the world was to be tasted and experienced. You know, that is your twenties.
I think by the time you get just a little bit older, you realise that most of that probably isn’t true, isn’t going to happen and a boring experience is just as likely as an interesting one.
In your forties, there is so much, I guess, jaded been there, done that, had a great time, creeping into your psyche that you know, well, at least some of the time, you are just not going to have the best time of your life.

And Santo is always nervous, rightly, or wrongly, true, or not, he still lives under the idea that English, perhaps, isn’t his first language. He has a thick accent sure, which isn’t always easily understood in a noisy environment, but his English is just fine. It must be a difficult switch to make though.
So between the two of us, you will understand that we can be pretty hopeless in that regard. But, you know, it is like jumping out of an aeroplane, or launching myself off down a ski slope, I just have to close my eyes and jump. Just jump! Grit my teeth and jump. It’s how I make a lot of my decisions nowadays. I over-think them for a while and then… It’s stupid, it’s irrational, it is dumb, but that is how I have to treat it. Otherwise, I just don’t make decisions. Failure to launch, as they say. I know it is what I am going to have to do regarding a job very soon. I don’t know why? I don’t know when it started? But it did, at some age past 30. I never used to be like this, but then, as I said previously, I was young and stupid.

A few texts backwards and forwards and it was decided on the vegi bar at 7pm.

Santo and I went for a walk in the late afternoon. We set off on “the circuit” in the normal direction, but then I remembered I hadn’t lodge my tattsLotto for the week, so we returned home and got my wallet and first did tattsLotto in Smith Street and then set off around “the circuit” in the opposite direction to normal. Walking west up Johnson Street in the late afternoon was walking into the bright hot sun. The last of days, as the world shines its last hurrah of sweet sunshine. Hand over the eyes, delicious shadows on the inside of my eyelids. The long hot afternoon of my experience drawing to a close. It will never be this warm and this bright ever again.
The best of days, right here with me and you. I look over at the bright, crisp sun on Santo’s blemishless, handsome face and think once again how lovely he is and how lucky I am. We’re both lucky, he’s lucky to have me too.

We bought wine in Smith Street and then walked over to Brunswick Street and the Vegi Bar. Raymond had text twice between 7pm and 7.10pm when we got there, clearly being even fashionably late is no longer in vogue, certainly not in Raymond’s world anyway.
Kevin and Brent were going to be joining us also. Lovely clever Kevin and handsome Brent. Brent who I had a very strange drunken night with, when he was blotto and he wanted me to sleep with him up at Bolago. He was very insistent and quite demanding, so I went along as it seemed to be the simplest way forward. He made me undress and we slept naked in each other’s arms. He’s never seemed to remember it since. On the last occasion when we saw each other after that, I got the feeling by the end of the evening in question he got a certain look on his face that maybe said I am remembering what happened. But, the evening was over after that and we haven’t seen each other since, which is a few years ago now.
Brent didn’t seem to have any such recognition this time around. Yo know and that is cool, in fact, maybe preferable. Not that I ever get embarrassed by such things, who cares, we’re all just getting through. Kevin sat next to me and was his usual charming self. Jeff and Raymond told me about their new house, which in their telling of the purchase, seemed to e a fact that I should have know but some how missed. I’m not sure why I felt that? Raymond is doing his MBA, which he says he is loving.
The vegi bar was hopping. There was a permanent queue for people wanting a table.
The food seemed to be remarkably cheap, just $20 each.

Afterwards, Brent, Kevin, Santo and I walked home together through Fitzroy. Kevin lived in an apartment just a block from Brunswick Street. He assured us he would have invited us in if his place hadn’t been such a mess. Brent lives in Collingwood, so he walked us to X Street where we parted ways. It just seemed so lovely walking through the quite back streets of our neighbourhood, gentle and relaxed. Just a pleasant stroll. It’s why we all treasure the inner suburbs and it is why we are all so aghast at medium density housing threatening to fuck it all up in it’s pursuit of making property developers rich.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Santo's birthday

I looked over at the clock and it was 10.44am, time to wake. I have lots to do today, I can’t be lying around in bed for most of it.

It is Santo’s birthday and I’m going to cook for him. I’m going to make him nice stuff to eat. I’m not going to be rubbish and do nothing like I did last year.

I have to organise myself and I have to head to the supermarket. I have to look at recipes and make lists of ingredients that I need.

I’m going to make him a quiche, he says he’s never had one. I’m going to bake him a red velvet birthday cake. And I’m going to make marijuana brownies.

I decide on a fennel and orange salad to go with the quiche.

Shane is in Sydney for the weekend. Amazingly, the washing machine is empty. I checked. He seems to have been doing washing all week.

I lit a fire and ate my breakfast. I flicked on my lap-top and opened the recipes section.

I, of course, opened the news also. Naturally. The Friday off of the entire week off, I am pretty relaxed.

I called Jack, he has little work, just a job for me assisting in Collingwood, maybe. But nothing else.

I don’t know if I am being paranoid, but it feels like Jack has gone off giving me work. I have nothing really to base this on except intuition… and the fact that he hasn’t called in two weeks to give me a new assignment. I wonder if I have done something wrong? What the fuck am I going to do if that really is the case?

Oh fuck the world, I think. I’m not going to even think about it. Unusual for me, I know.

It is after 1pm by the time I am ready to leave the house. It is 1.30 by the time I remember that I haven’t, actually, wished Santo happy birthday, and I do so.

I message him, he answered with, Have you just remembered? I tried to explain that I hadn’t, that I remembered the moment I got out of bed, but the reasons why I hadn’t messaged him up until this point don’t make sense. I was trying to work out a food menu to surprise him with tonight. Some how, in my mind, that equated to keeping everything a secret up until this point, when I realised that was ridiculous and that, of course, I didn’t have to. So, how was I to explain it to him? He didn’t care. I needn’t have worried. He was distracted with the fact it had taken me two and a half hours to make a shopping list and that I still hadn’t left the house.

“Slack Christian.”

I seem to whizz around the supermarket in no time, the only thing they don’t have is buttermilk. Bugger them, I’ll have to go to Coles.

Coles is out too. “Oh, some guy came in an hour ago and cleaned s out,” says the wog boy Coles dairy guy. I momentarily contemplate Piedmontes, to the north, or Tribeca, to the south, wondering what drug can be made from buttermilk, but decide against it.

I head home instead, stopping back in at Wollies to get a small carton of full cream milk, I only drink low fat normally. I’m sure buttermilk wouldn’t be low fat, just think about the title?

Tick, tick, tick.

I made the cake first. I lit the fire.

I made the brownies second. I put on an old Elizabeth Taylor movie.

I made the quiche and salad last. I poured a… several glasses of wine. I wondered how many straight boys would put on an old Elizabeth Taylor movie, pour a glass of wine and settle in to cook for the afternoon? I mean, it doesn’t matter, it wasn’t meant to be a benchmark, it was just a thought.

I’m still cooking when Santo arrives. I’m a bit pissed but the lounge room is warm and the fire is crackling. He seems pleased. I tell him to sit down and relax, I’m going to do it all, he doesn’t need to do anything.