Tuesday, December 31, 2013

What did I learn in 2013?

What did I learn in 2013? 

I learnt that the Australian public can't be trusted to vote in decent human beings to run the nation. The public can't differentiate between decent human beings and self serving, elitist cunts.

I learnt that the general public doesn't really care about the environment, and therefore, I can only assume, they don't care about the future of their children.
Otherwise, maybe, they are just stupid. You've got to wonder?
I'd be happy to interpret the election against the carbon tax another way, but what would that alternative interpretation be?

I was shocked (that is sarcasm) to learn that most super foods are only super because some marketer said it was so.

Don't buy undies in Vietnam. Vietnamese boys have smaller arses than Aussie boys. Vietnamese boys are petite, and you can't stretch Vietnamese boy's undies across Aussie boy's beefy bums and expect them to stay in shape. Six months and they are falling apart.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Hot and sticky

I was awake at 8am. I’d been dreaming about schools, no, country roads, no, tracks and… oh… um… (Santo has now put a computer game on the TV and I can’t think) People were trying to get somewhere, I was trying to get somewhere. I think there were muddy roads and difficulty travelling. I woke up, ah! Shake of the head. Oh?


I got out of bed, the light was still shadowy. I bent over to pick up my laptop from the desk and I involuntarily farted. Burble burble.

“Lovely.” Santo’s voice broke the quiet.

Oops. He was awake now, I thought. So I let the rest of the fart go. It burbled long and low.

“Just lovely,” said Santo.


I couldn't help but laugh.

"Lovely," Santo said again.

I don't know to write? It is a quiet Sunday morning. My boyfriend and my dog and my cat are sitting next to me.


The dog tried to play with cat and the cat headed into the front of the house.


We watched cats doing funny things on YouTube.


We've done our chores, all done. Santo insisted. Back yard sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, kitchen cleaning, clothes washing. Santo thinks I am a lazy arse, shrug, I guess he is right.

It is overcast and humid, dark and sticky, grey and thick. Lady Gaga sings Applause.

I walked to the supermarket to get milk. I got port wine jelly and blueberries. I also go whole meal bread, thickly sliced for toast. Ah, Sunday, you've got to love them.

It was raining as I headed off. My old legal firm umbrella is the umbrella of choice, it’s a golf sized umbrella, it keeps me the driest. I guess, the company had to be good for one thing. That is the only thing about carrying that umbrella, is that it is advertising the "hell" legal company. I want to get a black texta and write, is a shit firm, and, is a shit place to work, graffiti style on the white panels. I wonder what they'd do if ever they saw it? Is it free speech? I wonder.

On the way back, I saw an abandoned bag of supermarket shopping, followed by a smashed pair of sunglasses, followed by a discarded pair of, some what, stretched pink knickers. My mind reeled with plot lines. What happened in the middle of the night? Although, a bag of shopping would indicate that the middle of the night wasn't, perhaps, the actual time.

A bit further along, Awesome Dog was sitting on the veranda of his student house, in his canvass pants, with a discernable bulge, his cute blond-hair-framed face, flushed red, with ever so slightly wonky eyes. He thumbs up’d and muttered, “G’day mate.” I didn’t have Buddy with me, so he didn’t smile broadly and say, “Awesome Dog.”

A bit further along and not far from home, a strapping builder crouched down in front of me and started doing something with the floor of the house he is renovating, facing me was his tan pants, the elastic top of his white undies and the delicate hairs of the top of his furry arse crack.

Well, look at that, I thought.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

What to Write?

I haven’t known really what to write, because I just appear to have forgotten about the fact that some other individuals who “view an issue I wrote about” for what it truly is and may perhaps not agree with me. I might be turning away a decent number of people who might have been supporters of my website.

The issue was smoking a joint.

The fact is that I think marijuana should be legalised. There is no real reason that it shouldn’t be. Nobody has ever died from a marijuana over dose.

If you substituted the joints in the piece for glasses of red wine, nobody would think anything about it. Alcohol kills how many people a year?


I'm sure there would be an argument that could be made that if all the "boys" boozed off their minds on alcohol in King Street on a Saturday night had smoked a joint instead there would be far less violence and possibly lives saved. Not to mention, dare say, that if they taken ecstasy they'd be hugging each other rather than punching each other.

The only real long term out come of banning drugs is to make a great number of criminals very wealthy.

If we took all of the money away from policing the drug problem around the world, that would include the budget of the jails to house the people who were caught smoking a joint, or whatever it was they were taking, from all around the world. If we put all of that money into the health budget, I am sure, that everyone, including all of the drug addicts, on the planet would have access to the best medical treatment, all around the world.


I think the rich should be taxed. Lower taxes with more emphasis on flat taxes has only made the divide between rich and poor wider, so that social experiment hasn’t worked.

Successive conservative governments have lowered taxes and sold off assets to afford it and now we are broke because of it. We used to be a country that offered free education and free medical. We should try to become that country again.

I think The UN’s powers should be expanded and they should be given authority over food distribution, there is enough food on the planet to feed everybody well. The UN should also be given authority for environmental controls, because modern politicians are too self interested and too piss weak to pass the laws that are necessary.

Otherwise, the human race is simply not going to survive. I don’t really care if the human race survives, it is too self-focused and too selfish and too stupid to really matter, but I know a lot of people do, so lets give this ago.

I think abortion should be uniformly legalised through out the country, there is no substantive reason why it shouldn’t be. I think voluntary euthanasia laws should be passed and yes, tired of life, should be allowed as one of the reasons.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The Knitted Xmas Tree Project... I think that is what it is called.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Bad Habits

I left at normal time. I stopped for the last cigarette at the normal place in North Street. I thought those days were behind me, shiver. Still, all the smokers are coming to stay because of the funeral.

I got to work on time. Yadder, yadder, yadder. My (working) life is safe and on time. Keeping busy, with so few demands on my time. You think that would be good, be it isn’t really.

I went to sneak out at lunchtime, 12.30, to have a cigarette before I ate and down came the fucking rain. (Even though I have fessed up at work, I still do it behind their backs.) "@#$%^&! Oh, of course!" I don’t think it has rained all morning and it choses this moment to piss down. Bloody hell! 

I had my computer in my hand. I slung it over the right hand side of my face, as if a vampire caught out in the morning sun shine. Or a witch in the rain.

I had a mornings worth of work, that I stretched out for the whole day. Yay. So easy. Put my feet up. I wished.

Santo was just making the short walk home from the corner of Gertrude Street to our front gate, when I turned the corner into our street tonight. He smiled and waved.

I went in the back door. He went in the front door. I stopped and patted Buddy at the roller door half expecting Santo to walk up the laneway, but he didn’t. As soon as Buddy heard Santo opening the back door, his ears went up and he leapt out of my grip and sprinted to the house. I was left crouching in the driveway, the roller door up and my car door open, on my own.

Who’s dog?

Santo decided that we should head straight out into the sunshine, to buy food. Translation – no joints.

“We need to get ready and leave, now! Move, move, move!”

“Oh come come,” I said. “If you are going to take this ridiculous attitude, I’d better roll one right now, even before I change out of my work clothes. (I always get changed first)

“You still haven’t learnt that if you follow my instructions you will get on better in life.”

I looked at him with the mull bowl in one hand and the mulli in the other. I laughed. “No.” 

Santo adopted his “just poisoned” attitude and called for tea.

I’ll follow you instructions to any where, baby.

Santo decided that it was seafood risotto, unless I could come up with a better idea for dinner. I’m short on ideas for food, it is too hard. Thank goodness for Santo. 

“I see, you just don’t want to stand there and stir.”

“That’s not true.” It was true.

“So what it your better idea?”

I didn’t have one. Looked as though we were having risotto.

So we drank a cup of tea, dunked what was left of our Scotch Finger biscuits. Then we smoked another j, with a sustain objection from he who wants to be obeyed. Once he’d got over his second bout of head spins, we saddled up the dog and headed to Woollies. 

We walked down the street to the supermarket. Santo headed inside to do the shopping. Buddy sat down and wouldn’t take another step, all the time gazing in the direction in which Santo had gone. 

A cute man in a truck babysitting what looked like his daughter said, “Look at the doggie,” or some such thing. He smiled at me.

I’ll look at your doggie, I thought.

“Nice dog, mate.”

I smiled back. Cute.

Buddy still wouldn’t budge a muscle. No, nothing. And to all you people who think I was being a wimp, you have never owned a bulldog. They lie down and look sideways at you, as if to say, you’ll never move me. He would not put one paw forward. Not one. Not interested. The sun may have been shining weakly, but I was getting cold. I text Santo to hurry up in there. I accidentally typed “bored” instead of “cold.” Oops. 

I dragged Buddy across the road to the sun. Sometimes it works if you cross the road, and on this occasion it did. As soon as he was on the other side. No, that’s as far as I am going, no further forward. The bulldog sat down.

“Goodness me, you can’t wait while I am doing the shopping…” said Santo when he reappeared.

“I meant to type cold not bored.”

“I see,” he replied. “Let’s go.

I stirred the risotto for, what seemed like, hours.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Rich Dies

Buddy came inside this morning, while I was having a cigarette on the wicker chairs. When I looked around, Buddy and Santo were cuddled up in the middle of the lounge room floor. After Santo got up to make raison toast, Buddy looked alone in the middle of the lounge room, with a very sad face. Still, not to be perturbed, he just headed off quietly upstairs to find a bed to keep him warm. He is as silent as a mouse when he pulls that move. Santo tried to stop him, but Buddy was determined, so Santo said when he appeared minus dog at the kitchen door. 

“Go get him,” was the order.

“He’s your bulldog.”

“He’s your bulldog.”

I had to retrieve Buddy from our bed.


Santo said that the Waterdales will all be here for Xmas, more than likely, as we brushed our teeth. Santo wondered if he’d head OS to visit his parents, he’s been thinking about it for a while. 

“You know there will be drama.”

He’s not one for drama. He has wondered if he should visit his parents over Xmas for some time now. I told him he should go if he wants to, he has mentioned it quite few times. I don’t want him to go, but I also don’t want to stop him going either.

I was leaving early this morning, before 8am. Well, I couldn’t have that, so I switched on my PC and pissed about on it.

There were a whole bunch of updates and the computer, of course, as I hardly ever turn my PC on now a days. They were slow to download. They took forever after I’d finished what I was doing. I went outside and had a cigarette. I went outside and had a second cigarette, but they were still downloading when I came back in.

It finally finished after 8.15, so I had to get my skates on. I went from time to spare to potentially being late, stupid me. I still got to work by a minute after 8.30.

We had spongy, creamy, chocolaty layer cake for morning tea. Christine bought it in. I think it was her eighteen year old's left over birthday cake. I thought about Jason in his new birthday undies momentarily, as I held the spoon over the wedge of cake, looking Christine in the eye. Shake of the head. Focus on the triple chocolate portion. Push down the cutlery. The cake was nice, layers of sweet fat.

I ate sushi for lunch. No sweeties.

Sitting in the long line of traffic in Langridge Street, waiting for the impossibly short lights at Hoddle Street, I thought to myself, I drive like a burglar, I don’t need you to let me in. Who needs to be let in, if you drive intelligently, there is always some other doofas who doesn’t have a clue that us smart drivers can always take advantage of.

So don’t look at me, who has sat in the line of traffic for twenty minutes waiting for the green light, to give you anything. If you are stupid enough to get yourself into that mess, get yourself out.

I hate the traffic, it makes me grumpy. Smile. Clearly.

Rich Waterdale died at 8.30am this morning. Mark called and left a message. I skyped him. Rich died with a nurse with him. (sister) Chris was on her way, but she didn’t make it in time. 

Mark is trying to change his flight back. The airline is being difficult, call centres and recorded messages. Machines have no empathy.

Santo was home when I got home. We dunked Scotch Fingers in our tea. It is Santo's latest thing.

“Oh, I made a few mistakes today.” I said to Santo, “I wonder why?”

He replied with his customary, “Er!” Roll of the eyes.

...as I passed him the joint.

Santo cooked stir fried vegetables and egg with bitter melon. I hate bitter melon, but he thinks it is good for us. Apparently, it cleans your blood.

“I want to see the proof,” I said.

We sat on our fat arses and watched TV. No walking. No leaving the house.

I pulled together Rich’s funeral photos. Only Emily has sent me photos, still, of course Emily would, she's the coolest. Old Rich. Grumpy, cantankerous, generous, inclusive Rich. It must have been hard for him to accept all of his son’s gay lovers, but he did. All of us say (the handful of exboyfriends) that he was always lovely to everyone of us, no exceptions. Not bad for a 90 year old.

Monday, December 09, 2013

The Day Drifts By

I had a cigarette outside on the wicker seats this morning, as Buddy went back to his kennel and didn’t reappear. He reappeared once, to hang a no smoking sign.

It was a very over cast morning driving down Victoria Street. The light was blunted by grey clouds and a still atmosphere, the air was thick. Everything was on matt finish, the weather was threatening to turn to something else.

Big rain drops fell before I made it to the smoking spot to have my last cigarette before work. Standing in the street. I had to pull up somewhere new. I had to think quick. I pulled up in front of the pub, badly parked.

The sky was matt grey, the heat arguable. Indecisive. I didn’t bring a jacket, and I had to walk to Vic Gardens at lunchtime to get food, it could be a problem.

Santo sent me an email during the morning to say that I ignored him over the weekend, too fucking out of it, is what I think he would have added if it wasn’t a work email.

We had spongy, coffee marble type cake for morning tea. Cathy bought it in.

The walk to Vic Gardens at lunch time was over cast with the possibility of stronger rain, as there were rain drops falling as I left, in the slight humidity no doubt the rain was causing.

I bought sushi for lunch.

It poured with rain for most of the day. Heavy, pouring rain.

We ate the leftovers of the stuffed turkey roast, it was yum.

Mark called. He has had all of his lower front teeth removed. Apparently, they were a mess underneath, rotting and infected.

He called to give me an update on Rich, who is still struggling, renal failure, so nothing had really changed, and Mark was in too much pain to talk for too long.

Mark will be home next Thursday.

Jane called for an update on Rich. I told her what I knew, but then told her she should call Chris.
Emily sent me photos and I pulled together a collection of Rich photos for his funeral.

Sunday, December 08, 2013

I don't care what anyone says, I love the spring sunshine

Who's your daddy?

I was up at 6am. Awake. Bam! You know when you know that you are not going back to sleep, a sixth sense that humans are so good at. So, I got up. Santo will say, “Ah yes, the goddess called.” He will say that when he gets up, I can be assured of that.

I put on Joan Armatrading, strictly the her first cd, it is a work of genius. I watched Tom Dailey youtube. He is a sexy little beast.

At 7am, Buddy woke up, stretched next to me, stretching his front legs out and his neck up, I said to him, “Do you want to go and sleep… er, okay, I did say daddy,” but I swear I would only ever refer to Santo in such away strictly when it is only me and Buddy, I wouldn’t dare utter those words in public, too cutesy. Buddy followed me up the stairs, he powers up, not so elegant on the trip back down. He was straight into the morning-sun filled bedroom and up on to the bed.

“Oh, why did you bring him in here.” You’d think I’d take this as my first clue? But, no.

On the bed, sneeze. That's my bulldog.

Not repentant, I closed the door.



I came down stairs and I rolled my second j.

Marvin Gaye followed Joan.

An hour later, the boyfriend and the bulldog arrived back into the lounge room. "Why would you do that?" Truthfully, that should have been my second clue.

"Don't you want to sleep with you bulldog?" Then I offered him a j. Truthfully, the joint offering was probably the biggest mistake.

He flung open the windows and the doors. The wind blew in cold at 8am.

He's not in favour of the pot head boyfriend. Shake of the head. Not so much.

I pointed out to him that he just got blogged in real time. I wrote it as it happened. He smiled. He switched on his laptop.

"Where's my coffee?"

Leo Sayer followed. He was a great song writer, and singer. The man can sing.

Muesli, milk, banana and honey. 9am.

Santo played Diablo, accepting the "poison stick" intermittently.

The bulldog got washed. The front and back gardens got swept.

There was a walk to the supermarket, where I was promised free range at whatever I wanted. It was a “sweetie” run and I could buy whatever I wanted. Could I eat all I wanted was also checked, in case there was trickery afoot. Yes, apparently, I could. Then Santo said he would come too.

Donuts and cakes were dismissed immediately. “No!” The Venetian cookies were scratched from the shopping fairly early. Actually, we wanted Scotch Fingers and Venetian cookies, but they had to be the same if we wanted the “special” to apply, so we got the Scotch Fingers as Santo wanted to dip into his tea. Ice creams were scratched too, but we were allowed to get a tub of ice cream, which we weren’t allowed to eat today. Chips were allowed but, again, they couldn't be eaten today.

We ate a whole packet of Scotch Fingers dipping them into two cups of tea each. Yum. I love the way the short bread biscuit goes all “puddingy in your mouth.”

We ate rolled turkey with macadamias and cranberry stuffing and roast vegetables.

Saturday, December 07, 2013

Perfect weather today

It is the most perfect day in Melbourne today. Sparkling sunshine.

We ate Pho with David, he's been waking up crying every morning for three months. He denies it is to do with the cocaine binge he and his boyfriend did in Amsterdam in August. He seemed fine today, but Mike has packed his bags and gone somewhere for a break. David can be a nightmare, although I never let him when we lived together. I'd slap him and tell him there were people in the world who didn't have access to fresh water.

Santo and I walked home in the sun. The sky is a beautiful blue.

Anthony called to say he was expecting a lovely dinner tonight, he'll be over soon. He wouldn't believe he and Leah were supposed to come for dinner last night. At least Leah messaged and apologised.  He insists it was tonight. He wanted to see Leah's apology texts when he got here.

"It was definitely tonight, don't be ridiculous " 

That usually indicates he's back on just the "one" wine with lunch. 

"Just the one bottle. I'm perfectly fine."

We're eating fried rice, despite the pre-approved menu being fish. Anthony always likes to check, maybe suggest an alternative, subtly, if the suggested dish was not to his liking. I made a mistake, I should have check with chef before making any promises.  He'll have fried rice and like it.

Being the perfect host, I sedated everybody and put on stand up comedy. I must admit that I was, shall was say, sleepy on the couch. The night slipped away.

Friday, December 06, 2013

Study in blue and grey

Stood Up

Both Leah and Anthony bailed. Leah, at least, messaged to say she couldn’t come, Anthony, nothing. Nelson Mandela died, so I just assumed Anthony was deep in morning over the great father’s demise. Still, Leah only responded to my where-are-you-text. I’m guessing if she hadn’t heard from me, she wouldn’t have messaged. You know, you just know sometimes. 

Some how, I’d allowed myself to think about smoking this evening. And when I said that I wanted some, Santo simply said go call Guido. Guido messaged back in minutes, he was just down the road, come down and see me, which I did. I had it in my hands only an hour after I first truly thought about it. You've just got to love inner city living.

Santo and I ate leftover noodles.

I spent the rest of the weekend stoned off my bonce.

Thursday, December 05, 2013

I was trying to photograph the sexy blond in the shorts, but the car got in the way

The bike riders seem to come in packs

Delicious

I’m a breath over 90 kilos. That is what my new fandangled scales said to me first thing this morning. The ones Sam bought… for the boyfriend he now calls “fat Boy.”

I haven’t done any walking in my new running shoes, as yet. The new running shoes that I bought because my boyfriend has taken to calling me fat boy.

“Maybe, you should walk to work,” said Sam, just as he walked out the front door, just before I headed out the backdoor to the car.

I should walk to work, but it is currently just a bit far, it would take me close to an hour, and I currently start at 8.30am. And I’d need a shower when I got there, as some of the cute boys do… but, too hard.

Everybody drives with their windows closed in the mornings. All of them. Every window closed. The sun glints off the closed glass as I can only imagine their air conditioning whirring away inside. The selfishness of man, wasting the world’s resources for their own comfort. Not to mention, that we are becoming so cossetted, so protected, so well, lets face it, beige for no real good reason. Not me, I have both my windows open letting the fresh air gush in. It was, actually, lovely this morning.

What to do today? The same problem as yesterday. (main boss) Peter appears to be away today too, so there is nobody to check up on me. Lovely.

Daydream? Read the news? Piss around? All of those things, and then some more.

I started to clean up, throw away all of my working papers that I’d generated thus far, but no longer needed. I started thinking back over the old days at the black law firm. I’m not sure, now, what prompted me to think about it? I think it was a discussion about the new bullying legislation we’ve had recently. I’d written on a pad, a doodle of regret about those times at the black law firm. It was my regret not having sued their arses for bullying, I would have had an excellent case. It was those notes I read and then threw away in my clean up.

The Gord Bitch became my boss, after the mentally unstable Anorexia Stupenda bullied my lovely boss Beck out of the place. Rebecca Gord, she didn’t have a fucking clue. She was nice to my face, oh so nice, but she blamed all of her incompetence on me behind my back. She had no qualifications for the Beck’s job and I’m still pretty certain she was licking out Ms Chest Pains on a regular basis to get the role. She had to have been. Favourites, that’s what she was. She was forever in Ms Chest Pains office with the glass door slid shut.

I should have got the role, I was the natural choice, but of course, I wasn’t one of the sisterhood, I didn’t suck clit. (2016 – oh could you imagine, in that den of miserable cunts? I made a lucky escape out of there)

The Gord Bitches’s boss was Ms Chest Pains – who tried to do so much she constantly suffered from chest pains in her late 30’s, she told me once in a rare spasm of sisterly generosity. She was the greatest disappointment, Ms Chest Pains, as she was a colleague once, but she abandoned all of that for status and prestige of the upwardly mobile career of middle management. She told me when she was a friend about the chest pains.

Our head of department was The moody/mentally unstable Anorexia Stupenda. She’d always been a piece of miserable work. The rapid weight loss and the excessive exercise regime only exacerbated her natural unpleasantness.

The problem you have when you have a whole line of female bosses, is that start to menstruate together and then they become diabolical. (As told to me by a senior, female HR manager) They become the proverbial Pack of Blood Bitches. I was simply waiting for my eligibility for long service leave to click over to resign, otherwise I would have got out long before I did. I would have resigned the day Beck did. But, I figured, that it was the only time I’d ever get a long service leave pay out and I wanted it. Upon reflection, that was a mistake, no amount of money could make up for the treatment I suffered at the hands of the black law firm and, as the IT Director called them when he was managed out of the place, the Witches of Eastwick.

I thought about those days when that Gord Bitch became my unbearable boss after Beck left, after Anorexia Stupenda had bullied Beck out of the place, before Anorexia Stupenda started on me. The day I sabotaged the Gord Bitch, just the thought bought me a whole lot of satisfaction all over again. It was a great retribution. It was a thrill, as though I was getting away with something.

I chose to sabotage the Gord Bitch because she repeatedly stabbed me in the back, as she smiled and gazed into my eyes and told me she had no problems with me, or my work. All the time she was feeding lies to Ms Chest Pains to cover up for her own mistakes, who in turn, I can only presume, was telling Anorexia Stupenda.

Anorexia Stupenda was calling me into her office to have performance issue discussions, which enabled me to realise I was being done in by the Gord Menace. It didn’t take too many meetings, with the astoundingly ugly Anorexia Stupenda (2016 – okay, personal attacks are not okay) to work out that some sort of retribution was needed.

The Gord Hag, when she clearly wasn’t coping, which was often, would leave early, there by leaving me to do as I pleased. I selectively destroyed documentation in those windows of opportunity. I never destroyed enough to create a pattern, but I destroyed enough to make the Gord Bitch look incompetent or, at least, more incompetent. It just started off with some letters she had left to post. She said something like,

“I’m glad I have finally got that done.” And then turned and left at 3.45pm, with the look of distain she reserved, it would seem, exclusively for me. That was what gave me the idea in the first place.

I was cleaning up, ready to leave, I had that mail in one hand, to take to the mail room on my way out, and some documents in the other hand to shred. I nearly shredded the wrong handful by accident, just stopping myself before I did, swapping hands.

“Oh you idiot,” I said out loud.

Then when I looked down to see what I had in my hand for the mail, I saw that it was Gord’s superannuation paperwork being sent to all the funds. It was a big job, a monthly chore, so many super funds. It just came to me in a split second, you know, like a light globe moment.

“I’m glad I have finally got that done,” her words repeated in my head. I’m so pleased, that you are pleased, I thought.

And then, I simply pushed the letters into the still spinning shredder without another thought. That was how it started. It gave me such a fucking thrill, I can hardly describe it. I felt like an espionage agent as I strode to the lift, my dirty little secret hidden amongst the indecipherable contents of the shredders belly.

I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. I told myself that it was really wicked.

But then the remaining four months had to tick over before I could resign. And the Gord Whore continually blamed me for mistakes she had made. I was called into Anorexia Stupenda’s Office on and off, for mistakes I never made. I was told what the issue was and, so often, my only truthful answer was, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

So, the destruction of the superannuation documentation escalated, deliciously as I had absolutely nothing to do with that work, that was all the Gords doing and she couldn’t blame me for it in any way. Well, I guess she could…

I think my greatest triumph was the HR girl, was it Hannah, who came back to the black law firm to work for 6 months, I think? That idiot Gord bitch had messed up Hannah’s superannuation, somehow joining Hannah up to the companies default fund, rather than her choice of fund. Hannah was understandably annoyed, but even more so when The Gord Idiot fumbled the corrections. I think she messed up the corrections twice.

After many phone calls and much effort by the Gord Liar the problem was fixed. Hannah was furious, but placated that it was finally fixed. The Gord Hag had completed all of the paperwork and had written out a cheque and the proper payments were being made. I listened to the Gord Bitch apologise profusely and promise sincerely to Hannah that it was all fixed. Definitely! She was posting off all the paperwork and the payment that day. All done.

The Gord Bitch grovelled, oh the simpering was almost too much for me the stomach, and Hannah seemed to be pacified. No she wouldn’t escalate the problem to the HR Director now that the Gord Bitch had promised, seemingly on her mother’s grave, that it was all fixed up. Definitely. No exceptions.

All I could think was, I need to get my hands on that paperwork. I entertained myself with the thought, not really believing that I would. I didn’t really care, just the thought was enough. Then, as luck would have it, the Gord Whore left early for the day, tossing the paperwork into the mail tray, telling me not to forget it.

Don't forget it. I watched the Gord Bitch remove her fowl body, stinking of inauthenticity, from the office, disappearing through the door to the lift wells. All that work, I thought. So many mistakes. Such an angry, position of authority, employee. All fixed now.

Oh, you can count on it," sounded Gord's insipid tones. Let me just apologise again, I got a thrill, which I enjoyed just a little too much, as my hand wrapped it self around the multiple envelopes.

The shredder was a big mother, there was no amount of paperwork that it couldn’t cope with. It went zzzzzzz. Lovely. Gone, in a millisecond. I shivered all over with excitement. It was one of my funnest moments.

It would have been delicious. I only wished I could have been there for that next phone call from Hannah.

Hannah would have been beside herself with rage, when her super was not fixed. The Gord Bitch would have been at a loss to understand what had happened. She was dumb, really. She knew a bit, but really she got by on her looks and her rat cunning. But, I tell you, her looks were beginning to fade when I left. Her face was puffy, she had bags under her eyes. Hannah would have added to that degeneration by the time she was finished with her. Hannah was connected at the black law firm, she had friends in very high places. She was a very senior employee only removed from her position by child birth. I like to think that my effort with Hannah’s super drama expedited the Gord Bitch’s exit from the company.

But, I had resigned by then and I had left a few days later.

It would have been great.

I heard that the Gord Bitch resigned not long after, apparently, of her own choosing, but, you know, maybe not? The only disappointment with it was that I never got the feedback on what happened, due to my handi work. Sad really. I hope, in my own way, that I added to the Gord Bitches demise. I can only hope. She was way out of her depth. She had no idea what she was doing. I can only assume it caught up with her. Ha ha.

And I wonder if she ever realised that, as Sebastian loves to say, you should never cross a queen?

I should have put in a bullying claim, I really should have. Still, it does do me good to think about my retribution occasionally. Ah, good times, snatched from the jaws of bullying.

The day drifted away after that. I did nothing much before I went to lunch. Noodles. Yum!

Then it was back to work. Yay.

I was going to go for a walk, in my lunch hour, but the weather had turned, yet again. We are back to winter, incomprehensibly. We are back to cold and overcast with rain. I was almost going to brave the elements, I went outside to gauge how it was all looking and it just looked a little too unpredictable to risk it. It looked as though it could really rain down hard at any moment.

So I went back to my desk and read the online news.

Shayleene and Cate went to Vic Gardens to get me a chocolate bar. (Yes, that will help)

Peter came in early afternoon.

Christine went shopping.

I twiddled my thumbs for the first part of the afternoon.

I guess I should be concerned about doing my work and being productive? Why exactly? I’m not going to get a good performance review? I’m not going to get a performance review at all? I’m a temporary worker. It is up to them to make sure I am kept busy. I don’t get tenure. I’m out of here in less than two months. I don’t have a career that I have to attend to.

It is better that way, as most bosses are cunts and they will use any employee’s performance review as a means to further their own careers. Performance reviews are bullshit.

Wednesday, December 04, 2013

It was a quiet night in front of the teli

I’m on 90 kilos, it has just crept up on me in the last year, or so. I haven’t smoked for two weeks though. The no smoking must count for something. I have to lose ten kilos. Fifteen. I’m in denial. I still haven’t gone for a walk in my new running shoes. I've been a lazy twat, I'm still being a lazy twat. I must get into it, because when I do I lose weight fairly easily. It drops off easily, usually.


The sun tried to shine as I drove down Victoria Parade. It did a bit. The traffic was fairly easy. Cruising down the parade I have it easy in that sense, 10 minutes to work. I must remember to get a job in the CBD that I can work to... with Santo. I like walking to work with him. I like spending all of my time with him. We chatter away all the way/ all the time/ all our lives.

Three days with nothing to do? I couldn’t decide if that is good, or bad?



Santo stressed about Buddy and wanted to take him to the vet tonight. I’m not sure what the vet was going to do, take Buddy’s temperature with a thermometer up his bum. Dogs always look weird with they are having their temperature taken analy. They have a special face just for it. I can’t remember Buddy exactly, but my previous dog, my Rottweiler, used to get a very strange look on his face, like how I imagine a straight boy would look if he got a gay boy’s finger up his arse.

We googled sick bulldogs all day. It was so confusing. It was all forums and people self diagnosing. So instead I sent Santo pictures of bulldogs with ice packs on their heads.



I decided to read the latest financial journal that (minor boss) Cathy said we should all read. I got the feeling that she was going to test us somehow on the updates and legislative changes, being the over achieving type that she is. There didn’t seem to be much in it. I think she was over reaching, to be frank. You know, a busy mind is an active mind… er… um… whatever.

I read the cover of The Age. I’ve maxed out the number of articles that I can read per month, or whatever the time frame is. Usually, I don’t care as there are lots of online news platforms. But, I worked out that if you take the title of The Age article you want to read and just Google that, the system will let you read it if you access it that way. Great Age, really likely to make people subscribe.



It went dark early in the day, late in the morning, and then it rained like a bitch for most of the rest of the day. Every time I looked out the window the rain seemed to be coming down. What is with this crazy arse weather? It is even weird for Melbourne, you all have to agree.

Brrrrr! It was a nice day to be inside.

The sun was almost shining when I walked out to the car at the end of the day. I text Santo as the car warmed up telling him to bring samosas. He said no. “No!”



Buddy was very excited when I got home. He was a bundle of energy. He was waiting at the roller door when it opened and from there he was all go go go He was clearly feeling much better. He came zipping out the front with me as I got the rubbish bins. He came barrelling up the stairs and hopped straight up on the bed as I got changed out of my work clothes. I felt a bit tired after work and I lay down on the bed with him. Then the two of us wrestled o the bed until we heard the click of the front gate and the key in the lock of the front door.

He was still excited when Santo got home. Very obviously he was feeling better. Yay!



Santo bought home pork buns. Yum, yum. He said he wasn’t going to, but he did. Yay!


Santo made noodles and we watched the Big Bang Theory. Would I lie to you? QI. It was a quiet night in front of the teli.

Tuesday, December 03, 2013

Yowser! I shivered at the thought. Three days to do nothing

I left home early, a few minutes before 8am. I’m not exactly sure how that happened, it wasn’t intentional. It was bright and I was driving into the sunshine as I drove down Victoria Parade. I couldn’t see very well, but, I think, that was mostly due to my windscreen needing a wash, than the glare. Lovely sunny morning drive, who cares if you can’t see. Vision is optional. Oh come on, it is early in the week. I haven’t even woken up by then.

What was I going to do today, I’m still a bit light on for work. Ha ha. Er? Cathy had said to me yesterday afternoon, that if I wanted a break from what I was doing, there were a couple of things I could do. So, I got onto those things first thing this morning. I made it fill in most of the day. Something pretty simple, I stretched it out.

A break from what I was doing? Really? What did she think I was doing?

Christine was away with her son’s 18th birthday, so there was nobody behind me looking at what was on my screen. So, I read the news for a greater part of the day. E news. That is only fulfilling for a few hours, really, but I made do. Ha ha. It was a struggle but I made do.

What do they think that I am doing? I mean I ask you? I have two bosses, neither of who are talking to each other. That is how I get away with it. One clearly thinks I am doing something for the other. Shrug. While the other one thinks the same. To be fair, I’m 30% of my time in one department and 70% in the other at the moment I’m in the 70% which isn’t her time allocation.


On my way out the door I said, “Good night everybody, see you tomorrow.” Like I do every night. It is one thing I learned from the black law firm, you can’t be too nice to everybody. (if you don’t want it to come back and bite you on the arse)

“Monday,” said Cathy, peeking over the top of her computer.

Monday? What? “Pardon?” I said. What is she talking about?

“I won’t be in until Monday,” said Cathy. “I am spending two days with my mum and then I am taking Friday off.”

“Oh well,” I said. Why wasn’t I told. “Enjoy that.”

She smiled. Spending time with elderly parents, was I being rude?

I turned and headed out the door. Three days to do nothing, I thought. Yowser! I shivered at the thought. Three days to do nothing sounds good in theory, but at work that can become really boring, really quickly. It is always better to have too much work than not enough. Now it will be three days when nobody will be watching what I am doing in any way, shape, or form. Boo hoo/Yay!

Everybody loves me. I need to get out of there before they all twig, I often think. I’m a contractor, why do I care, I think after that.


Santo bought home samosa to eat before we went to North Melbourne. I post my tax to my accountant, but Santo still goes to see his. We had to be there by 7pm. It was the same place as in previous years, Queensberry Street. Buddy and I both went. I walked Buddy as Santo met with the accountant. She was half an hour late. Bitch! She was scared of Buddy and wanted me to move him away from the doorway when she got there. We were sitting on the front step waiting. Cow! She just kind of stood on the footpath and raised her shoulders up and down, rather than talking, like a half whit. Then she charged Santo $50 extra to process the contract work he did for his old company. Bitch! said Santo.

Buddy and I walked to Errol Street. I like North Melbourne, with its wide, open streets and its wide footpaths and its charm. It has a relaxed calm that Fitzroy has lost. We walked back, but Santo wasn’t ready. Buddy climbed into the car as soon as I opened the door as if he’d had enough. Santo text that he wouldn’t be ready for a while, so Buddy and I walked in the other direction, down Queensberry Street to where it tips over an embankment and seems to come to a stop at Munster Terrace. I want to live on Munster Terrace. What a cool address. We walked to Arden Street and then to Dryburgh Street. We met up with two curly-haired dogs that were being walked by two poofs. And older guy and a younger guy. I bet the older guy hates being described in that way. Older. He wasn’t old, he was just the older one. The younger guy was handsome. And kind of blushed, cute.


We were heading home around 8.30pm. We drove to Woollies so Santo could buy chicken to make Indonesian Chicken. Buddy and I sat parked illegally in a drive way. Somehow Santo missed us – the guy in the Porsche was leaving just as Santo walked by and he got distracted – and the next thing he was texting us from the round a bout up the road.

“How could you miss us?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t question me!”

“Really? That is the best you can come up with?”

“Do I need to come up with better?”

“Yes, mate”

“Ha ha! Walking back to you now.”


Buddy wouldn’t eat his food. He ate a little bit, not much though. We tried to feed him pieces of chow, he ate some pieces but he spat other pieces out.

Monday, December 02, 2013

Sick Buddy

Buddy has been off his food. His nose has been dry and he hasn't wanted to eat, but in every other way he has been normal. But, being off his food is a worry, as he usually eats enthusiastically, to say the least.

He's also been farting, like something disgusting turning to vapour and leaking out his arse. He has been clearing rooms with every brrrrrrp! OMG! Like nothing you have ever smelt in your life.

But, it is the cursory glance at the food bowl and then the turn of his head as though he just couldn't possibly, that is the most worrying part of it all.

Sunday, December 01, 2013

We've had lovely blue skies and sunny days

This boy had nice muscles. I tried to sneak a photo of him. I'm not so good at surreptitious photos

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Shopping at the market

It was a gorgeous, sunny day in Melbourne today. It was just lovely, really.

We ate Vietnamese in High Street at Bang Bang. We parked in a 1/4 hour car park that had half an hour to go before restrictions finished for the day. The sun was bright. I watched for parking officers while I ate my broken rice.

We went shopping at Preston Market. We parked in High Street. There was suddenly a car park, so we pulled in. Some old guy in a Magna lurched out into the traffic and caused a traffic jam, still, it was good he wasn't driving backwards through a shop window, hey. Truthfully, at the moment we parked I wasn't at all sure how far we were from the market. I had an idea, but wasn't sure. I knew one thing, however far it was, it was better than doing the Preston Market cark park madness. Round and round you go.

There was a caravan of Middle Eastern food we wanted to try, but we were full from the Vietnamese. The Middle Eastern boy serving was cute, if chubby. I wondered if Middle Eastern boys have fat dicks? It was a very nice white clean food caravan though.

There was a gorgeous, smiley Asian boy selling the pork. There was a cute wog boy selling the beef. There was a handsome Aussie boy selling fish.

Then I suddenly wanted bananas, I'm not sure why. (none of those boys were selling sausages that I could see, but each one of them would have had nice sausages, I am sure)

We bought aloe vera juice, wasabi peas and jack fruit. We bought mangoes and cabbage and bok choi. 

"Threeeeee for a dolllaaaar!"

"Each booxx twwwooo doollaaars!"

The fruit and vegi call, you have to have a particular voice for it, I am sure. I like it.

I bought bananas at $1.20 a kilo. I bought water mellon and oranges too. Yum.

I love the hustle and bustle of the market. I like the hubbub, I like the noise. The woman covered head to toe in black hijab. The old wog men sitting at tables sipping coffee and chatting, like they once did in Fitzroy. The jostling. The couples. The students. The people munching on bags of take away, sitting and eating pizza squares. I keep saying we need to get one of those wheelie jeeps, rather than have the multitude of bag cutting into the skin on our fingers, but I never have bought a trolley.

The main road car park was a short walk back to the  car with our bags, under the blue, blue sky.

We bought fish for dinner, but we forgot the lemon, damn, which we remembered just as we got back to the car. Grrr!

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

These boys were cute... as they crossed the street in front of my car. I want to see them all in their undies.

I think I'm losing my charm at work

I woke up at 6am and went and had a piss. I glanced at the clock and was pleased with the time I had left to doze. I love that in the mornings, an hour to drift back to sleep, it is the best hour of the day. I was having excellent dreams, I wanted to get back to them. The sun was gently floating in through the window. Santo snored gently, like he does. I stood momentarily and gazed upon the scene. It is, perhaps, one of the loveliest moments in life. Oh how I wanted that moment to last forever.

The morning came around soon enough though, of course, as it does. Buddy came inside covered in dirt. He’s been rolling around in the garden bed up the back, sunbathing. That garden bed, unfortunately, is basically dirt mixed with the ashes from the fireplace that I empty there, perhaps, once a year. We brushed Buddy’s fur and a cloud of dust rose towards the ceiling, as we sat at the coffee table with out muesli and coffee. It is his new thing, sadly. Santo declared him an emergency shower situation. I could see a shower every second day during summer, if the dirt baths kept up. We’re going to was him tonight, apparently. I can hardly wait. I hoped Santo would forget about it, but that was unlikely.

It was a lovely warm morning. You could feel summer was around the next corner, if not here already.


At lunch time, I’m in the kitchen writing on my laptop. Its good. I get so much of my journal written this way, which I wouldn't get written other wise. Better than reading the newspaper. Well, if I go to lunch at 12.30 and the others go to lunch at 1pm, or 1.30. “It helps make the day go faster,” they say. Oh really, Cathy? (my minor boss) Cathy runs for an hour at lunch time, of course – oh god don’t strike me down for this – Christine goes up the local drive through for her lunch. (yep, she's fat) And I go back at 1.30pm. And they come back an hour later. I get to read the online newspaper for an hour. Two hour lunch time anyone.


I’m losing my charm at work, I can feel it. Cathy is a grumpy try-hard and I am putting up my defences, I can feel it. She’s hard work. She’s not particularly smart, but she makes up for it in dogged tenacity. It could well be a poor education, rather than lack of intelligence. She would never have been treated as the favourite child growing up, maybe she was the middle child. Maybe, she was even not liked by a parent, possibly her mother. (she looks after her mother now with bitter resignation) I think sCathy has a great need to be thought of as worthwhile, as we all do, of course, but her need is greater than most.

I’m sure she is just lovely when everything is going her way, but when it is not, I’m sure she is an unbearable, cranky bitch. (no, she is)


She’s also a drunk, freely admitted. And she and her husband like to think of themselves as food connoisseurs, even if I doubt she would know what connoisseurs meant… with her royal blue shag carpet in Bundoora.


I’m not really liking her. She has very little charm about her, no warmth to speak of, nothing really nice to offer. I think my time here is drawing to a close.

Christine reckons that Cathy is feeling unwell today, but she would never admit it. Christine says Cathy is cranky and probably needs to take a sick day, but she would never, ever do that. 

She has to move forward. She has to be seen as a winner. "So busy."

Christine is lovely. (my colleague)  I’d like to work with her. She is laid back and down to earth and really easy to work with.

The other day, Cathy complained of a dizzy spell when she was chatting from her desk to Christine, at her desk. Cathy had to take a time out and flee the office. I reckon Cathy is wound up pretty tight most of the time.

I was secretly hoping she'd have a brain bleed while she was splashing water on her face in the ladies, hitting the floor like a bag of shit never to get up again. But, I guess, that is a thought I should just keep to myself.

I don’t dislike her, don’t get me wrong, she’s okay, actually, she’s perfectly fine. I just can’t warm to her as a human being. She just simply isn’t my cup of tea. Whenever I meet people who are wound tighter than a cat’s arse hole, I just want to see them unwind like a Catherine Wheel, it is a fault in me, I don’t doubt it. I don’t mean strips of flesh plastered against the ceiling and the walls, like crazy paving chicken fillets, no. I guess I mean the noise of the relief, the actual relief, of getting done over by an entire football team, possibly, minus the football team, for those of you who are squeamish. But the final outcome of that teeth grinding, jaw wobbling occurrence. That is the “unwind” that I mean and that is what we all want to see, surely, in the annoyingly overwound amongst us. Blouse undone, hair ruffled, cigarette in the mouth.
 



Did I just wish her dead? I think I did? But it is me, not her. I just don’t think I have the temperament any longer for long term assignments. I think I get too paranoid and start to think that the employer’s “go off” me, start to dislike me, you always get found out in the end, and it kind of winds down from there. Of course, I have to find someone else to lay the blame on, naturally. 

I am sure it is as a result of being bullied by my old law firm. I’m sure I should have sued them for bullying and got some closure on that whole horrible affair. Then I should have had counselling.
I’ve got to fight against getting my back up against the (imagined) enemy, because even if I do it silently, passive aggressively, I am sure it still affects my attitude, even if it is in a minor way.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Are you sure you are gay?

The bulldog was put out in his kennel and I was just heading off to bed. I couldn't think of anything to write, so I was shutting down the day. The boyfriend had headed off to bed ages ago, (Do you like that, The boyfriend?) we all know how he likes to tuck himself into bed early like someone's old aunt fucking Agatha.

Then the exboyfriend skyped me and we chatted. Mark. He is back in Hanoi. He and Luke left on Sunday. He says it is very pleasant there in the mid twenties but, of course, it is heading into winter and not out. So it will be getting colder and not hotter.

I'd already spoken to another exboyfriend earlier today. Anthony. He went for medical tests last week and his doctor's receptionist called and asked him to come in. He thinks he must be dying of prostate cancer, even if he is, probably, too young for that. Of course, that is not promised, but it is still unlikely. He also had cholesterol and blood sugars. I cheered him up by saying he was most likely diabetic and he'd better get himself in there before he has a turn. The best would be high cholesterol, out of those three, I'm thinking, a course of pills and down it comes. So I've heard.

My brother, sister and I have cholesterol a bit on the high side, but we all have very high good cholesterol too. So I take fish oil tablets. I'm very on-trend. Ha ha.

Buddy must have heard me and he barked from his kennel, so I let him in again. Then, I was just taking a moment to think about the day.

I told one of the girls at work from another department that I was gay today, before I've told my own department. It is kind of weird to be going through that again. It is kind of odd that it is something we have to do over and over again. There doesn't seem to be an end to it.

I'm out to everybody and have always been. One of my favourite lines from a previous job was when one of the old receptionists sidled up to me and asked me very earnestly.

"Are you sure you are gay?" she asked me very seriously one day.

I remember thinking, what kind of question is that? "Yes, very sure," I said. And without thinking to much about it, I added. "I've had it confirmed on numerous occasions."

Her eyes widened and she smacked my arm and laughed.

I'm not sure how this job got away from me. It was a temporary job that developed into something more permanent, of course. I don't know why, but I didn't really think about it and no one has really asked me about my private life, directly. I don't know how that happened? I guess they talk about themselves. 

I don't tell my temporary contract assignments that I am gay, generally. I guess I got out of the habit.

It just came up today. P and I have been discussing food and restaurants. She seems to eat a lot of the places Santo and I eat. Today I was heating up Japanese curry for lunch. She guessed it was Japanese. She said that I must really be into food to be cooking Japanese Curry and I responded that I have a boyfriend who likes to cook. We discussed a few other things and then she'd heated up her food and she was gone.

Let's see how long it takes for one of my team to ask me.

One of the most beautiful cars

Bristol 403

Monday, November 25, 2013

Maaate... suck my dick

It was a bright sunny morning this morning. A pulled-back blond-haired gold sunglasses wearing pointy-face chick driving a grey 335 BMW convertible hurled herself around the my street/Gertrude Street corner accelerating quickly towards Victoria Parade, so hard that all of her engine values opened up, like I am sure her snatch did against the leather seats. She quickly caught the small Hyundai hatchback that had been in front of me at Gertrude Street, that had just managed to slip across Gertrude before blonde-fantastic took over the road. I caught up behind her when it took a while for the black hatchback to get around the corner.

She turned right somewhere and I left her behind.



As we crossed over Hoddle Street, all the morons were sticking to the right hand lane. Idiots. There are two lanes, you dicks. Sometimes it has its advantages, if all the lobotomised humans stick to the right lane, I could pull into to the left lane from behind the black Touareg and slip passed just about everyone on the road, even passed a big truck that couldn’t decide what lane it wanted to be in. I’m assuming, it was moving from the right lane to the left lane, but really, such lazy driving. I slipped passed it, no problem. The red Prelude finally decided it wanted to be in the right lane and not the left lane, so it took off after the other dopes, which then left the right hand lane relatively free.


I heard the diesel engine of the truck rev and could hear it engage first gear and pull up next to me. The cute wog boy in the hi-viz vest and beanie looked down from the open passenger window that seemed a whole story above me.


“Hey maate, didn’t you see the truck here?” He was trying to be really smart and threatening at the same time. That kind of cool threatening serial killer kind of tone.

“I’m sorry.” Oh spare me, you halfwit.

“Maate… have you ever heard of giving way to trucks?”

“Mate, have you ever heard of the left lane,” I pointed to my car, “and the right lane, I pointed at his truck. Why don’t you try picking one.”

“Maate, how would you like me to make your car a convertible.”

“Mate, I can’t hear you?” I was considering saying I couldn’t hear him to everything he said.

“How would you like me to make your car a convertible?”

I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “That would be great, maaate.” I wondered if the crow call mimic of his expression was too much. “I’d love a convertible.” But I am not sure if the big lug really got it. The traffic began to move and I zipped off the mark, while dick head and his boof head buddies shuddered to life in their 2 toner.



I glanced in my rear vision mirror to see the three idiots, three across in the cabin in Hi-viz vests in the Hino Truck. They looked like the old “not so squeezy” add. I bet they were enjoying each other’s pressure on each other’s thighs. The big closests.


The traffic on the other side of Church Street was banked back to the intersection and Larry, Curly and Moe were still right behind me. I stopped at the white line the next car to go. I waited to the last minute until the Church Street lights changed to orange, despite the traffic moving forward some what, and then I accelerated across leaving the big lumps to rub their thighs together as I left them behind.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Hello handsome

We took Buddy to the dog park. It was a lovely sunny day, sunny. Santo and I had played up on Friday night, and we needed to get out in the fresh air... for the first time… since Friday. The first thing I did this morning was to take two nurofens. Oh, other than lunch but that was just Hainanese chicken rice and Nasi Lemak.


When we were driving home, there was a bike rider coming towards us on the wrong side of the road, our side of the road. As I like to say, that is the problem with the world, the idiots.




“Look at this… “ and then he got a bit closer and I could see the square jaw and the stubble and the handsome face… “um… er… cutie pants.” …the piercing eyes, the olive skin, the small riding shorts, actually, I didn’t see what he was wearing, but a boy can embellish… You know, so what if he is on my side of the road, sometimes you just have to cut people some slack, he thinks to himself. 


Terrible isn’t it, in truth, that the way someone looks affects the way others react to them. 


Well? Um? Thinking about it, I guess not for the handsome.

What do we care if the beautiful get away with a lot more than we ever can? Good for them. Is it just jealousy? Or does the intrinsic unfairness of the situation matter? Or should we just suck it up?

Should we really give a shit because we now one day they will lose their looks and it will be relatively hard for them to cope?
I remember travelling around southern Europe with the amazingly handsome Canadian David and being told by gay accommodation houses, “The pretty boys don’t have to pay.” I guessed that just having David around would attract other gay men to stay in the establishments? I rode in on his coat tails... ta da.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Shopping at Chaddy. I guess Mr Muscles did catch me taking a photo of him judging by the look on his face?