Monday, September 30, 2013

I jammed my finger in the door. I was putting Buddy out and he wouldn't go. He stopped once outside, but not clear of the door. I pushed him, it was windy. I just about got my hand back inside, before the door slammed shut. On the end of my finger. It fucken hurt.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Let's party

Today is the day. We don’t have to do anything else except pass the hours away, move into the afternoon, 5pm. No more sleeps, none. Nothing else to organise, all done. Except maybe Monday off? It was all sprung on me, by Santo.

Christine is away today. Is she away on Monday? I don’t think so. I should just take the day off, don't think about it, just ask. It makes it an expensive “pastime,” so to speak, I lose as much in wages as it costs. Still, 
it is better than going to work wasted after the... um... er... celebrations. 


I was all done and ready to roll at 8.05am. I can’t work out these mornings, some days it seems like I have done nothing and I am pushing for time, other mornings it just seems to flow and I’m ready to leave with time to spare.


The police seemed to have a car stopped up Little Smith Street, next to Trippy Taco. They had the occupants out of the car and appeared to be starting a search of each of them. The car's doors and boot were open.

It was 8.10am.

That’s kind of topical, I thought, considering what we were about to partake in. I had to think really... coincidence? How much "drug business" goes on in this nick of the woods? It is a modern world, after all. I suspect the degree of drug participation is in direct relationship to one's home's proximity to the CBD.


So, the cops had the crims on the tarmac. 8 o'clock Friday morning? I would guess they are doing their weekend deliveries?

I wonder if the cops ever feel horny when they have those boys on the ground as they frisk them. Their hands could just go a bit further up the inner leg than was required. Just up against the bulge, briefly. Over it, momentarily  If it was a drug bust, I'm sure that gay coppers would be able to look in the boy's undies without any explanation required. A cute young criminal, hot and horny.

"Now I am going to have to search you," says the turned on gay copper. You could imagine what is going through his mind and he tells the cute young thug to "undo em."

I’m sure it’s happened. A particularly cute young criminal type, who need the front of his pants searched to check if he was carrying. Imagine feeling his well packed jocks. He'd squirm, but there'd be, essentially, nothing he could do.

The guy lying at the back of the car was big and fit, he was on his stomach and he looked like he had a nice arse. One of those cocky western suburbs Arab boys, or a muscly Greek. He’s tested the merchandise during the night, he struck out with the ladies, he finds, to his surprise, that he likes being manhandled. The gay copper took him back to the station for a full cavity search in private, just him and the kid. He complains about inappropriate touching afterwards, but none of the other cops listen.

Um… er… well, that’s what I thought as the cop cars and the stopped car quickly passed by on my right hand side.

Such thoughts for so early in the morning, as the annoying woman in the Yarris in front of me put her righthand blinker on at the last minute. Shake of the head.


I thought about Monday off, a lot first up at work. Then I just decided to ask. That leap of action… stop processing it and just make the call. The time for thinking is over, the time for action is here.” 

“Yes, of course, no problem.”

“Christine is not away on Monday, is she…”

“It wouldn’t matter anyway," said Cathy. "We are very flexible here.”

Done. I emailed Santo. Apparently, he even has a contractor in on Monday who he has to attend to. Poor him.


Then I pissed away the afternoon, with a knot in my stomach. Now I'm home and... a few pipes down.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Birthday weekend

I slipped off to the post office to pay my credit card because it was due tomorrow. Damn! I’ll do it tomorrow. (What? Set up internet banking?) But, today Cathy was going to be late in, something to do with her mother, and I’d only forget tomorrow. Always. So, I did it today, even if I was leaving a bit late as it was. I backed around into (side streets name) and parked in a permit zone, so I had to hurry, not that I didn’t have to hurry anyway.

I got to work at 8.36. Not so late, not so late that anyone would care.

After the small joy of getting my new Org Chart to work, if only on a minor level, I am buoyed to continue with it today.

Pissing away the day, hey hey, pissing away the day. No, not really, but I always feel a little that way when I am left to my own devices at work.

As it turns out, Cathy is possibly away all day, tending to her elderly mother. But, you know, she is that dedicated working type and where most people when offered a day off to attend to personal matters would jump at the chance, there is a good chance that she will be turning up later today. I’m sure there is a boredom issue here, what would she do for the rest of the day? Or something like that. There are identity issues involved here too, but I can’t be bothered discussing them.

She was at her desk when I returned from lunch.


Santo is funny. He suggested a certain course of action for my birthday, but that didn’t work out as we couldn’t get supplies in the required time frame. It has to be scheduled for a Friday night, but Mr South Yarra couldn’t get stuff to us until midday on Saturday. No good. I’d imbibed just a little of my (green) goddess, hick, and I didn’t even realised until I hung up the phone. Santo mentioned it. I had to call back. “No chance for Friday, at this stage,” he said. They aren’t nearly as friendly on the second phone call, let me tell you.

“Yes?”

“Blahdy blah blah…”

“No.”

Oh.

So, that was that. We had vague discussions regarding Mr South Yarra and collecting it from him half way through the weekend and keeping it for another time, but that was as far as we got.


We walked to the supermarket. That idiot dog wouldn’t walk anywhere else. I was pissed off, as I waited. I hate it when he does that. I wanted to text Santo that I was going home because, of course, Buddy will walk home.

I made seafood risotto.

After dinner, Santo got some messages and then he asked me if 5 for $350 was good?

“Sounds good.”

“He’ll be over this way later, he will message me when he is on his way.”

“Who? ...?”

“A contact he gave me.”

“I haven’t got Monday off…”

“It is your easy day, don’t be a baby.”

He got another message a bit later. “Where is the corner of Blah Street and Smith Street?”

I told him.

He’s funny, he said he was going to meet this guy, on his own. As if I’d let him do that. “I’ll drive you.”

We had to go to the bank and then to the meeting spot. Car parks were at a premium, Thursday night and all. We found a park in Smith Street and waited.

The next message came, he would be there in two minutes. A black 220. Santo got out of the car and walked over to the meeting spot. Moments later, a black 220 pulled up, over the crossroad, lights on, engine running. Santo got in. “Text me when you want more,” he apparently said, after the deal was done. You’ve got to love that. It is always hard when you don’t have a reliable contact. Santo got out of the car again. The 220 did a neat u turn and was gone before Santo was back in the car.

Good old mobile man. One of the (dick sucking) brotherhood, apparently. Good for him. Good for him trying to get ahead in life, make a little extra, it is industrious. I thought the govt wanted us all to embrace free enterprise?

Then it was the usual procedure, Manhaus and then Woolies for Up & Go.

I was told I should start preparing the long beans when I got home… but, I vetoed the food instead. Lately, when it doesn’t seem to work, we have always eaten just before hand. Shrug. I don’t know, but it is worth a try, I reckon.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Wet Wednesday... as happy as a camel

And did the rain come down. Shit, did it ever. Lovely. I couldn’t see it from my side of the work pod, but when I was bothered to get off my arse and take a look at what everyone was talking about, I could see it falling heavily.

It was the earth crying at Mrabbott becoming Prime Minister.

Or, was it because I wore crocks and socks around to the shops?

Who knows, but I know which I’d pick.

I like it, though, the rain. I like standing at the office window, watching the people running between the huge drops or, at least, attempting to, or the cars swishing through puddles one after the other, swish swish. I like looking out the window and seeing the huge drops seemingly bounce on the bitumen, like bullets, shattering like crystal, in some sort of slow motion orgy of water indulgence. Pow pow! Pow pow! ...

There were rivers whooshing down the gutters as I drove home. There were sheets of water moving across intersections like carpets. It rained and rained.

It’s always nice, on days like those, to get home. Home is like a comfy jumper you pull on out of the rain.

Buddy was well and truly parked in his house, looking out with big brown eyes. He wasn't getting even one paw wet.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

We ate Fried Rice

I left home on time today. It was overcast and wintery, kind of grey, but not cold. I had a smoke by the car, shh Santo still hasn’t guessed.

Lollipop Lady Shirl was on the crossing this morning, with her Stop Sign up to stop the traffic, as I approached. It is the first time I have, actually, seen her doing something, other than gasbagging on the footpath with mates. There were no cars to stop, so she was just out there with the sign and the kids, stomping about, little people in over-sized clothes, one and all. Ha, ha.


It was a checking day, so no worries about something to do. All smooth sailing. The morning disappeared… with a bag of Twisties.

I wondered if it is strange that I sit in the lunch room and write on my laptop at lunch times. Is it strange if an employee goes straight from his work computer to a laptop in the kitchen? I’ve been writing this at work instead of reading the newspaper, I figure I get enough of the world psycho drama. So if my writing seems like a small, lemon square box, well that is the reason.

The day was all over and done with pretty easily, head down bum up. (Funny how work and play essentially have the same instructions) I am still going to have to address the problem of not enough to do. I can’t sit and twiddle my thumbs like I can at home, no, it is the exact opposite. That last excruciating tick of the clock up to 5pm is interminable, otherwise. I have to be busy at work, flat out is preferable.


I got home in 12 minutes, door to door, speaking of flatout. A Ford Focus followed me quickly from the new flats, around the brewery. Around the S bends. Over the speed humps. The sharp left. The sharp right. He was behind me all the way. It was fun. My eyes glanced in the rear view mirror. I looked out the front. I could see the green lights up ahead. I sped through the Hoddle Street intersection, I've never known the lights to stay green for so long, I thought, as I sped through with the light still on green. The Focus didn’t make the lights. It’s 50kph along there, grimace.

I came home and rolled a joint. Straight up. Don’t be mistaken.

Jill rang from the fat farm. She says she is meeting women like her who all want to tell her their stories. She said she’d run out of enthusiasm for it. She was down the cricket oval sneaking a mobile phone call behind the bleachers. If she smoked, she'd be sneaking one of them too. But she doesn't. I hope she didn't have any emergency cherry pie.

We ate Fried Rice. It smelt great as it cooked. It tasted better. There was a food mountain in the wok. We had plenty for tomorrow’s lunches. Yay. It is nice having lunch organised, I miss it when I don’t take my lunch box.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

I had to have a haircut

(David) You are putrid. Re... vol... ting!!! Christian.

I was up at 8am. Oh, I had weird dreams. I can’t remember them now. Something about a big slug. I felt like crap, bonged over to be sure. Headache, stiff and sore body, which way is up?

Buddy was ewoking at the door when I came down. We aren’t always buddies, so when he pays me attention I should jump.

I made coffee and rolled a joint. Sunday?

I cleaned the kitchen, everything from top to bottom. I think, at least once a week, you should make your sparkle, completely clean and tidy, otherwise you live in a mess for most of the time.

I put washing on. One of my weekly chores, like putting the bins out, or lighting a fire.

I made muesli and peaches. I brewed more coffee. I drink a lot of coffee.

Four joints by 11am. I smoke a lot of pot, when I have it. It is why I can’t have it most of the time.

We downloaded an Elton John album. I recently that I am missing most of my Elton John albums.

I hung out the washing. I started a new load. I just have to keep going until I have my chores done, all at once, over and done with, otherwise they don’t get done. Oh they get done, but by stretching them out makes them seem like they twice as long.


Santo cut the mount to the big frame that we had, so we could frame the delicate paper drawing I bought in Hoy An. I can’t watch him stoned slicing with a scrapper razorblade, which is really the wrong tool for it. He wouldn’t listen, and I just watched him destroy a perfectly good mount. He wouldn’t stop when I begged him to. I had to go out to the front yard, I couldn’t watch. I did some gardening while I was out there.

Santo got the picture framed and on the wall. It looks quite good.

I hung out the second load. All done. Over.


Vacuuming, it was very difficult, new carpet and all. So, I opted for watering the garden, it was a lot more soul nourishing. Lovely. Watching the garden come back to life again. The lemon tree is doing well. It is covered all over with blossoms, well, I think that is a good sign. Surely.

Santo stopped gardening and finished the vacuuming, shaking his head. The garden was green and lush.

I should plant the mandarin tree in place of the dead tree fern, instead of just talking about it. If I had done it years ago… I’d now have tree years old.


Jill went to a health resort today, for 11 days. She is hoping to lose weight. Eleven days of controlled food, she figures she has to lose weight. And you know, a couple of leg lifts, then it is a doze in the garden on a chaise, I’d guess.

I just text her. How’s the fat farm?


Santo is keen to move onto the study room to clean. He likes to schedule housework. I fed him another joint and he is now asleep on the couch.


Elton John sings the blues. It seemed to take forever to download the music, then it seemed to play for hours. Elton John is very Sunday afternoon now. Tea and scones with Reg.


I had a shower and went to the hairdresser and got a hair cut. I had to keep telling myself that I had to do it. I’d put it off yesterday, with the promise of today. My Hair Boys were closed. So I went to Barber Aladdin. The middle aged ethnic woman hairdresser said she’d be closed on Sundays too, but she would rather work than stay home and do nothing.

That is sad, I thought.


I went to the supermarket, with my head spinning. Spinning from accomplishment, I had done one of the two things I had to do, and I was doing the second. I didn’t have to think about it any longer. We were going to make avocado ice cream, but the only avocados they had were rock hard.

Were having tomato and sausage pasta. Yum.

I bought more avocados from the milk bar, we now had $16 worth of avocados. That could have bought an awful lot of ice cream. Still, I was interested in the flavour. The avocado ice cream recipe is very involved, it has to be stirred while it is freezing and the put through the food processor a second time and then put back in the freezer to continue freezing. Santo admitted that he didn’t read the recipe through beforehand… after we had whipped the avocados and the condensed milk and coconut milk.

David called, He was Wonderlicious and fabulous. “Oh yes got back last Thursday… dashing home… must catch up… kiss kiss.” He still talks on the phone as he drives and no doubt still texts. He wont listen, he thinks he is fine doing it.

We ate curried chicken for dinner. It was nice too.

Anthony posted a hate’ish post for (stepson) Fen, on Mark’s Facebook wall... with Mark and son Fen's newly reunite relationship. I don’t know what Anthony is hanging on to, but he is hanging onto something? I sent Anthony an email, asking him if he’d thought the post through? I expected Mark to call me with the latest “guess what Anthony has written” but he didn’t.

Have you really thought that Facebook post through? Christian

The posting has been deleted ,and yes with much mirth I went ahead and wrote it , that is exactly how I feel . I deleted it after dinner purely for Mark's sake as his new relationship with the bogan may be tested . I think it is the absolute truth , and I have only just logged on to find your message there. I guess I was expressing my feelings in a public medium instead of an email , I just won't be censored or judged . I hope Fen read it quite frankly . As I said I decided to just remove it ,there are some that just can't handle the truth , so be it and it was for Mark's sake. I cooked the most fab roast lamb dinner and watered the parched garden today , so yes a good day .A(nthony)

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Friday, September 13, 2013

The high points of the day

The bitch who sits in the sales room always looks up and gives me the greasies whenever I come through the door of the sales room. Some days I just want to flick my chin at her, threateningly.

What is your entire problem, you Larson caricature? I think.

Oh, she is plain and fat. Her hair pulled back sharply. I have to go to the kitchen, that is where the coffee machine is. I have no option. I honestly can’t drink instant any more. That’s very Melbourne, I know. It is not like I am only going into the kitchen for the Kingston biscuits. I mean, not to mislead anyone, the Kingston biscuits are in the Sales Kitchen, I’m not trying to say they are not. The point is, the coffee machine is the only one on our level. Of course, Revolta at the door, may well have eaten her share of the Kingston empire in her day, there is little doubt about that, but I'm just going for coffee. It is just those eyes, suddenly, like clock work. Ev...e…ry time. She must work 100 hours a week because she always seems to be there.

I had no lunch box today, because we ate the leftovers last night for dinner. That is where cooking at home is cheaper, “the second meal.” So I had to walk to Victoria Gardens for food. Subway. And two pork dim sims, sshh, don’t tell Santo. But, no muffin so that must count for something. Free WiFi, it's shit, but it does the job. There I am with my laptop. Me and everybody else. I have to seriously admit addiction. Still, it is better than the misery in the newspapers. Everybody is looking at their phone, anyway. All those people in the food court, everyone looking at a small device in their hands. It doesn’t matter if they are alone, or not. There are groups of two, three, four and they are still all looking at their phones, none the less. Harness the internet and you harness the people.

I walked into the lunch room to make a cup of coffee in the afternoon. There were two of the sales guys in there already. The Ray Romano looking one standing up and the Jason Statham type sitting down. Ray Romano was talking, his last words before the coffee machine whirred into action were, “It is just fun.”

Whir, clack, grind, clack, grind, whir, whoosh, squirt, gurgle, gurgle, slurp, slurp, slurp, clack.

I could hear that they were talking, while the coffee machine was working, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Lick your arse,” were the three words I heard after the coffee machine came to an abrupt stop and suddenly there was silence, their conversation dropping decibels with each word. Then there was nothing, that’s not a couple I would have put together, I thought, as I picked up my cup. I could hear the mumble of conversation start to vibrate again, after I had left the room.

I wondered who would be the top? The obvious choice would be Jason Statham, but I reckon when it came down to it, he’d tuck his head under his arm and stick his arse in the air, and enjoy the man flesh. And Ray is the Italian, come on. I tried to picture Ray Romano all sweaty and turned on... in his undies... the hem of his boxer shorts sticking to his sweaty thighs.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

There is nothing I wouldn’t do

Don’t you hate it when you walk into the toilet at work and someone has done a splatter no 2 all up and around the porcelain and over the rim in some instances. It is a trap, you have walked into. Sure, he got away with it, filthy bitch, but you may not be so lucky. 

Do you want to be known as the shitty guy who doesn’t clean up after himself, even if it is only by one person. You are forced into cleaning, just in case someone comes in straight after you. As your eyes meet, momentarily, you know what he is going to find in seconds, the twitch of the smell in his nose already giving away hints at the possible treat he has in store. 

Do you really want that? There you are cleaning another man’s shit from the toilet walls, that is what it leads to, talk about a slave to your company. There is nothing I wouldn’t do.
Pretty Holden

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Man’s little helper

It crossed my mind to have a cigarette this morning, bad Christian! I am excited about getting home tonight though, I have to tell you. I wonder how long today will seem? I hope it is not interminable? I hope the scratching doesn’t start too early.

I know. I know. Pathetic. Hands in the air. Shrug.

That’s what it does. That is the down side. That is the dirty little addict lurking inside of me. I hope I don’t think about it, the monkey doesn't need somewhere to grip.


The sun shone down brightly this morning, it was a gorgeous morning. There was that hazy, milky kind of morning sun hanging from the sky in glistening threads.

I was just pulling into the left hand lane at the Hoddle Street Intersection when some idiot came down on my left hand side. I was halfway over on morning go slow. He was clearly some crap driver who was primarily using the bike lane, and half of the lane that I was halfway into. I tooted him. He looked in his driver’s door rear vision mirror and ranted and raved. He looked like some (handsome, young) raving Middle Eastern loon. I quickly glanced for P plates, there were none. I sat there and laughed at him, as he yelled at my reflection in his rear vision mirror.

It was too nice a morning for dopes like him. Really, I thought. What is with the attitude? You are too young to be so angry, too handsome to screw up your pretty face with such rage. Nothing really happened, nothing so terrible. I tooted you to indicate you were doing the wrong thing, in my opinion. You didn’t even have to react, if you didn’t want to. You could have just lifted a finger, if that. He’s just a boy who thinks he knows more than he does, I suspect.


The other staff went into training for the morning. I was told about it last night, and it was suggested that I should go too. Really, I thought? What for? I am a temporary employee, you are wasting your dough? But this morning I was excluded, which I am so cut about. Ha, ha.

I was almost turned off my bag of Twisties, my brewed coffee and my internet news, I was so concerned about what I might be missing.

Shrug? They should give me more to do.

When Shayleen questioned it, Cathy said that she didn’t think I would really get any benefit from the training. Shayleen harrumphed, like all good Gen Ys, taking it kind of personally, as she is the training person.

Ha ha, suck shit! I thought with a completely blank face.

Shayleen and Cate are so into work, they are so HR through and through. They take it all so seriously. They get genuine joy at a work success. Good little Gen Ys that they are.

Cate is nice. She chatted to me in the kitchen while she prepared her lunch and I ate mine. I wanted 20c for a chocolate bar, as the machine was “correct change only.” Cate said I could go into the office and get 20 cents out of her bag. Funny, such an offer, it almost sounded dishonest. That is not the reason she is nice, because she gave me money, that is just an aside.

My bowel exploded after lunch, and with not so old memories about Vietnam, I wondered what that was all about? Shiver. Then I remembered, of course, last night’s smoking.

Actually, it has been good, I haven’t had the post quitting constipation, which I always hate. I have been taking Metamucil. But starting smoking again, that is a who other story, you know, down there. I’m not sure, exactly, why you need to know this?


I was keen to get home. A man’s little helper. I was straight into it, right through the door, don’t you worry about that.

I left the back door open until Buddy finally managed to drag himself inside away from his bed. Dog? Be a dog!

A discovered if I say his name over and over and over again, he’ll come running. Perhaps, I am too laid back for him? I guess I have to put in some of the work too?

Santo came home and said, “You can’t even wait for me.” Standing at the lounge room door. As much as he protests, he never says no.

“I can wait for you to get home in future, honey.”

Santo soaked the warts on his feet in the blue plastic bucket, as we watched Big Brother.

We ate fried rice for dinner, homemade fried rice. It was yum too, Santo excelled himself.
Who are they? It's a portal, the invasion has begun. They now moved amongst us.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I heard the magpies call

I heard the magpies call in Richmond this morning. A gorgeous morning and bird song, who could ask for more? The fresh air coming in through my open driver’s side window was lovely, sweet and new. The air had a chill in it, but the sun was shining. It was a sparkling morning, and the magpies agreed.

During the morning, I met a member of the marketing team, with a new company there is always some new face the greet you. She asked which department I was working for, assuming it was HR.


Cathy said that I was working for both departments.


The marketing girl looked taken back a little. "Oh," she said. She raised her eyebrows and looked at me as a new breed.

I put my arms out to my side and pretended I was being pulled by each hand. And smiled. 

The marketing girl laughed.

Cathy said, “That is why he fits in.”

The marketing girl said, "Well, it is nice to meet me."

I thought I’d better agree, despite not really giving a shit. But, pay me and I smile.


Buddy was excited to see me after work, which isn’t always promised. He did his excited bulldog dance, kind of bouncing in the spot, before he bounced inside with me. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights where he looks up from his bed with one eye, his expression saying, Oh, you are home. I am very comfortable here. Another look. Whatever.


He came upstairs with me as I got changed. He ran in and was straight up onto the bed and straight into his reclining across the bed on his back relaxed pose. Of course, that did nothing for his restricted breathing. He has a big smile, courtesy to his mouth falling open, sounding like an emphysemic 80 year old.


Guido came over to get the possum trap. He messaged me in the afternoon. The possum trap, it could be slang for anything. Ha, ha. I couldn’t help myself and I messaged back asking him “if he had…”


“Jes chicko.”

Ashamedly now, I was quite excited for the rest of the afternoon. I got money and cigarettes on my way home, see I can be that organised.

Santo didn’t even seem to mind. It’s the one thing I have learnt in life, if you are about to do the thing your baby doesn’t like you doing, you can’t be more up front about it. Out in the open as soon as you get the chance, your honey will most likely fold with a direct hit. I got hardly a peep out of him. That’s what we like.


We walked Buddy to the supermarket, the lazy arse took a crap and then walked another block, and then he lay down and gave the distinct impression that he was done. Santo walked the rest of the way to the supermarket on his own, and Buddy and I waited where Buddy stopped. He wouldn’t go any further in classic bulldog fashion. When Santo came back, Buddy walked for home enthusiastically.


Apparently, A Current Affair is breaking a story about patrons in night clubs lining up to snort drugs in the toilets, like it is something new.

I’ve know people to do drugs in the toilet for the last twenty five years at the clubs I’ve been going to. Why is that a news story?

Is society really that ignorant? I think not. Ratings driven news shows like A Current Affair will, I guess, sensationalise anything.

Not that I go to too many nightclubs any more. So, nothing has changed, I hear, which, in a sense, makes it even more ridiculous.

It was Japanese curry for dinner. I think Japanese Curry means a mountain of rice and thick gravy. And beef and carrots, too. It was tasty. 

Monday, September 09, 2013

Crystal clear windows to our souls

I woke at 8.45, wondering again why I have to wake up so early on a Sunday.

It's Tony Time... with his deputy Prime Minister Julie Torrance. Boring bitch. “Here’s Tony!” Oh, I shivered at the thought. How could Australia be so stupid? A conservative, christian climate sceptic? The Liberal Party, without any policies, who were likely to sell Australian’s up the river to please their rich friends. Likely to sell the aspirational voters, who never have any chance of being on the Liberal’s target audience list, up the river. In the end, at the very last minute, the Liberal Party admitted they probably wont get the budget back into balance any sooner than Labor would have. Their budget line isn’t much different to Labor’s. Oh shudder!

Oh, it is best not think about it. Shudder! Hopefully, that duffus Tony Abbott will open his mouth and slide his foot into it some time soon. It is the only thing left, some cringe worthy entertainment from Captain Crud to make us laugh. It is sad, the only thing left is the entertainment value.

The morning after… shake the head. The sun was shining, belighing the profound tragedy that had happened.


I put on washing, first thing. Easy. Stop thinking, it is far too early for that nonsense. It is something you can do before you have to think. And it pleases Santo, interpretation, it earns me brownie points. He calls me a lazy arse more often than not. I have to be more on my toes, lift my game, I can’t let the side down. I can’t disappoint him. Santo likes to go go go, it is true. I like to sit back more, also true.

Or I say no, stuff you! I am sitting on my arse and doing as I please.

I could be Mr Whiny pants, if I want, but they are the two choices. And all those people who are in a relationship will understand when I say I chose the former.

I put on coffee and cleaned the kitchen. I wanted it to sparkle by the time Santo came down.

I gazed out the back window into the garden with my coffee in my hand. I thought about the world. Sunday, you say.


Is it wrong that I don’t really know if I want the job I am doing, any more? Six month’s work, possibly leading to a permanent role. Shouldn’t I just accept it, in these uncertain times, and be grateful? Shouldn’t I think of myself as lucky that there is a company that wants me? It only takes me 15 minutes door to door, it is pretty laid back, the work should be relatively easy. (Truthfully, thus far, there isn’t enough)

I have felt this way ever since we all talked about voting last week. Since Cathy and Christine agreed that they would vote for the party that fixes the boat people problem? They’d vote for the party who stops the immigrants from forming their own groups. The party that makes them learn English. The party that makes them assimilate. Oh, I know, that sounds ridiculous, but?

Is this the level we are at, OMG! That was my reaction.

Do I really want to work with dumb arses? Is what followed fairly quickly. With nice people who hold dumb arse views?

I guess, it is not so much working with dumb arses, as such, as… um… no, it is. Don’t they know anything about the history of immigration into Australia? Clearly they don’t. Are they that stupid? Yes they are. Well, maybe not stupid as insular, living their tiny little lives in their tiny little suburbs, with their tiny little ideas, being scared of what they don’t know.

You know that is being really fucking kind.

Think people. Do some research. Don’t just believe the charlatans and the snake charmers… that would be the politicians. Put some thought into it. Oh god think!

The boat people involves so few people and is such a beat up by politicians. What happened to you compassion for your fellow man?

And may be it isn’t so much as having to work with dumb arses, as that by its very nature it is excluding me from working with more thinking and enlightened people.

It could be much better than this?

People say these people aren’t racist, but no matter how I look at it, from whatever angle, I don’t know what else to call them.

And… it is not my normal role, which could be good, I thought… but may not. I've never worked in an HR role. The HR department, like all HR departments, has an inability to communicate its message. Oh no, it’s not irony, it is just fact. The HR director is as useless as they come. The others swear he has ADD which is pretty much par for the course for HR directors. Yay.


Santo appeared downstairs and pretty soon took the new cobweb broom, that we bought at Preston market yesterday and cleaned the entire house of cobwebs. Just like that. Done. He was determined to work. I was happy at my computer.

I paid the bills, mums bills mostly. I’d been slack and hadn’t really paid them since I got back from Vietnam. Sister Roz commented on my slackness, when we visited mum last week, she said that we were paying interest when I paid some of the bills late. I don’t think so, I said, but she insisted, with some of them anyway. Maybe it is true. I decided to get on to them, you know, just in case. I can’t have my sister telling me that I am not doing a good job, in that “convinced” tone that she gets.

Santo ironed shirts for work, for him and me. Isn’t he lovely.


It was a lovely day, the sun shining, the sky was blue, nothing indicating that the end of the world as we know it had started with those right wing idiots gaining political power.

The morning was kind of slow, Santo was kind of quiet, pottering about. I am getting the distinct idea that sitting around and doing very little on the weekends, as I like to do and as we have done thus far in our relationship, is no longer what he wants to do. He had chores for us to do. Especially pleased as he was from his recent bout of window cleaning, I should have realised what was coming next.

The glass roofed atrium had to be cleaned. I decided just to go with it, you know as Santo was very keen. Get up there, be generous, I told myself. Smile. Put in, be a do bee. The sun was shining, as I sat on the tin roof and he sat on top of the parapet wall and we cleaned the roof glass. Squeegee, sponges and razorblade scrapers. Of course, I waved a squeegee over the glass, while Santo scrubbed with a sponge. He went over some of the panes that I’d cleaned, giving me a look.

That roof hasn’t been cleaned for years. After however long the dirt doesn’t get any worse, as they say. I say. It just develops into a kind of streaky grey and everyone stops noticing after a while.


Santo cooked fish for lunch. He cooked cabbage and the leftover lamb from last night cut up. It was very nice.

I washed up after that meal. More washing up. Yay. But we had lovely fried fish, a plate full, that we bought at the Preston Market on Saturday. Ah the market, don’t you just love the market? The hustle, the bustle, the pushing and the shoving. The spruikers who have their own individual call, like a race caller, or a rare bird. I love the pungent smells, the boxes of specials, the people, the shopping jeeps, carting it all away.


Santo wanted to clean the inside of the glass of the atrium too. Of course. He was on a roll and not to be told otherwise.

“Can’t we do it later, isn’t the out side enough?” I protested as the huge roll of carpet is still lying on the floor making it difficult to put a ladder up. I sounded like a whiny child, even I could hear that.

“No.”

“We need to do it when the carpet isn’t there.” Although, when that would be I had no idea. Santo instructed me to hold the ladder as he hung off the side of it. He stood with one foot on the ladder and the other on whatever the closest piece of furniture was.

It didn’t, actually, take that long. Afterwards, the glass shone and the light was clearer and the atrium seemed bigger. The roof looked lovely, even I had to agree. The day seemed brighter, nicer, more lovely than I ever remember it being.

We both admired the clean glass for the rest of the afternoon.


Santo cooked pork belly, fish, and cabbage and shrimp. It seemed like a huge amount of food.

“That’s because it is for our lunch tomorrow too,” he replied. “Don’t eat all the pork belly.”

“Oh…?”

“Eat the cabbage.”

“Oh.”

I washed up. I felt like I was washing up all day. I winged and Santo started doing some of them, as I stepped into the kitchen to watch Alicia Keys on Sixty Minutes. Good on him, but I told him to stop. The agreement is that he cooks and he does cook without the whinny pants complaining that he hears from me about the washing up. Besides, I was just being a grump, and I’m sure he gets sick of me doing that, even if he doesn’t say anything.

We watched Power Games. Murdoch vs Packer. It was interesting to remember that back dynasties go back a number of generations. It was set in the first half of the 1960’s so the cars were really cool. Volvo 122. Holden FC. Rover P5. Mercedes limousine.

Sunday, September 08, 2013

A bit of gardening - this is the only photo I have taken recently

The dance

It is my brother's birthday today. Usually, I send him a card and then he sends me a card. My birthday is next week. But, the thing is that he only sends me a card if I send him one first. It is a dance we do.  He gets the advantage, as my birthday is after his. If I don't send him a card, he doesn't send me one.

The thing is, I decided that I didn't really care, so I didn't send him a card this year. I meant to, but I forgot or, at least, his birthday on a Sunday threw me.

I guess that means I won't get a card. Let's see.

Boo hoo.

Shrug. Smirk.

But, I have been thinking about him all day. It is a personality flaw, in me. I guess, I should have called. 

It's every man for himself

So we now have a deceitful, misogynist, bullyboy, conservative, christian, climate change skeptic, mouth breathing, gaffe prone, sexist, idiot in charge of the country.

I see he has been compared to George W. Bush, arguably, America's worst president. Yay.

His first job is to get rid of the carbon tax/emissions trading scheme... yes, we are going backwards. What can we conclude, that Australians care more about their new cars and McMansions than they do about their kids future, clearly.

Please, rest of the world, don't laugh at us too much.

Saturday, September 07, 2013

The mouth breather is now in charge

Captain Crud, “Here I am with my two greatest assets, my not bad looking daughters. Aaaa aaaa aaaa. Don’t they have nice tits? Aaaa aaaa aaaa. I look forward to forming government… Aaaa aaaa aaaa…”

Cure for insomnia

If you could bottle Julie Bishop and sell her in pill form, you could solve the worlds insomnia problem.

The worst has happened

Santo and I have commandeered an old Williamstown Ferry and we’re heading off to Indonesia for three years. Who wants to come?

Gotta Getup

I changed my vote as I stood in the line to vote, is that a politician’s worst nightmare?

I didn’t want to hand the Liberal party a win by one seat, by voting for the Greens, giving the Greens the seat of Melbourne and denying the Labor Party the chance to form government. However, a man from Getup handed me a pamphlet, telling me how the parties stacked up on the major issues, as I walked into the polling booth.


I know that I say that I don’t care so much about the environment, as I don’t have kids and I figure the planet will last to, at least, the end of my lifetime. But, apparently, that may not be true, according the the environment guy handing out pamphlets in the line. Getup's pamphlet compared the polices of the major parties according to 10 main issues. 
When I saw how the issues stacked up, and most of them, but not all of them, were environmental issues, I had to rethink my idea. I do care about the Great Barrier Reef. I do care about renewable, preferably solar, energy. I do object to coal seam mining messing up our country, especially when it is to send the gas overseas. I do care about a fair and equitable tax system. I do care about people on welfare. I do care about pensioners.

If the Labor isn’t the party I want it to be any longer, the only way I can indicate to them that I don’t like their asylum seeker policies, I don’t like their environmental issues, I don’t like their tax issues, is not to vote for them. Short term fear of an Abbott gain, isn’t worth long term prevention of the Labor party swinging back to the left.

So I changed and voted for the Greens.

Sorry Cath (Botwell), so close again.

I numbered below the line in the Senate. I got to the end of the senate paper and I only had 96. Dam! So, I got another white paper and started again, thinking all the time, Why didn't I just put a 1 above the line like any normal person. I wanted to put the drug reform parties first in the senate and I hadn’t read up on how they were directing their preferences.

I found my mistake on the first white paper, which took some time. The cardboard polling booth isn’t, actually, wide enough to spread the metre wide senate paper out flat so it took an inordinate amount of time. I renumbered the second paper and came to 96. AH!!!! I scoured my numbers and found my mistake, two 49's and two 50's. My first correction was wrong, I corrected in the wrong direction. Bugger! So, I got a third white paper. I'm sure the rat-faced polling booth boy rolled his eyes and thought, this guy thinks his vote is special. I numbered out the third white paper and came to 97 finally. Thank the fucken universe! It took me an hour and a quarter to vote. I even had to get the fat chick attendant with the bad hairdo to sharpen my pencil.


Friday, September 06, 2013

We are heading for a catastrophe? You still have time to change the course of history, to stop the country going down the toilet by stopping Tony Abbott winning

Let's not forget, the last time Abbott was in power his government taxed everything, in the form of the GST. That is a tax on every single thing, on services that had never been taxed before. His govt gave massive tax cuts to the rich. He introduced work choices, that slashed the pay rates of the lowest paid employees in the country. So, in all good conscious can you vote for a political party that has a track record of discriminatory policies, of widening the gap between rich and poor? I thought Australians pride themselves on a fair go. A govt that governs for the rich and penalises the poor is not giving all Australians a fair go in life.

Add to that, the Liberal Party is, allegedly, giving Australia a second rate broadband network, because Rupert Murdoch doesn't want a fast broadband network to compete with his Foxtell network. If this is true, and quite frankly there is no better explanation for the Model T Ford broadband network that the Liberal party is proposing, that is the kind of contempt that the Liberal party, actually, has for the Australian public. Abbott is prepared to penalise every single Australian to pay back a very rich benefactor.

I see the choice as pretty clear this Saturday.

I'm not sure that there is any point voting for the minor parties this election, particularly in marginal seats such as Melbourne. Get off the fence and vote Labor, now is not the time to be sending protests in the ballot box.


Just as an aside, does anybody else think "sex offenders register" when Tony Abbott laughs, or is that just something I do?

And if the worst happens, I like the idea of drinking a shit load of vodka and throwing the empty bottles at the TV tomorrow night.

Thursday, September 05, 2013

Depressed I eat Twisties

The kitchen bench was littered with dirty dishes, I didn’t do my job last night. Bad me. Santo tut tuts.

Santo made porridge, or oats, as he calls them. With banana, the bananas I bought at Woolies on Sunday night when I made the banana cake. I make the coffee.

Santo leaves before me, as he always does. It takes me fifteen minutes to get to work, door to door. Driving. I still want to walk.

I’m not waiting for the cars coming along my street any more as I back out, it is my new resolution, unless it is absolutely necessary, you know to avoid an accident. Otherwise, I just sit and wait for the “rat racers” to rat race through my suburb, good for them, and then I have to sit behind them while they turn right into Gertrude Street anyway. I’m taking a stand. They’d be the first to complain if we raced through their suburbs. Shitervoir or Crap Park. It takes me ten minutes, sometimes more, to drive a few metres and to get out of my street, while the tourists take a short cut. That hardly seems fare? Or am I just grumpy?

The rubbish trucks seemed to be gathering around Smith Street, at the end of my street and at the end of Little Oxford, like a fleet having just been sent out, blocking traffic. I don't know why, rubbish day is Wednesday. What would the collective noun be for rubbish trucks? A compact?

I watched the ugly girl, with her beehive hair, in a bottle green velvet smock, drink her coffee in Mollison Street, with a life time of weight anguish etched across her fat cheeks. She looked like Kelly Osbourne before her make over, as our eyes met momentarily.

I heard the magpies sing in Murray Street, it reminded me of mornings up the farm as a child with my horrible auntie. I gave her her allocation of thought for the decade wondering if she was dead, it brought a smile to my face, at least. If she was dead, I hoped it was painful. It is the only time I think of those days, when the magpies sing.

I watched the sexy boy walk in Victoria Street eating a roll, strolling down the footpath away from me in his black trousers. His cake hole bit at the bread the same way as his arse hole chewed of the black wool mix.

I drove passed the old Vauxhall Hydromatic in McKay Street. Lovely she is too, despite her new number plate, with her faded black paint. I wondered who drove her? I wondered where she’d been in the last fifty years?

I waved to Shirl, if only figuratively, in Buckingham Street, at her post, in her too-big be-seen-be-safe jacket and her lollipop stop sign in her hand. There she was at the edge of the road as she was every morning.

I turned right instead of left in Burnley Street, it is my new strategy, still in development, still being tested. Turning right cuts out four back streets with their respective turns. I’m thinking it must be faster, it has to be, surely. (don’t call me Shirley)

I watched the olive skinned boy ride his bike with his bike helmet hanging over the handlebars. I wanted to yell out, “put your helmet on you idiot,” but then I decided I didn’t care if his head squashed on the road like a ripe melon. It is the survival of the fittest, after all. It is the problem with the world, the further we get away from the survival of the fittest, the less likely we are to survive as a species. We should let the dumb perish, it is evolution, after all.


I park with a view of the river on the east side of the building, every morning. The sun melts over me like a warm honey blanket, as I head to the door with my satchel in my hand. I go through the sales room, I’m still not sure if I am allowed. Some mornings one, or other, of the sales people can give me an inquisitive look as though they are surveying a stranger new to them, which doesn’t put me at ease about permission. I should ask, but quite frankly, really don’t care that much. Someone will eventually tell me off, someone with an authority complex who’s penis is too small, or who’s vagina is too shallow. The fat girl with the dark hair, who always seems to be there, who always seems to look up, I expet one day 
it will be her, but thus far she has remained mute, nothing more than the evil eye. 

I cast a quick eye around to see if cute Will, or cute Dashal are in? Will is earnest and intense, Dashal is handsome and funny. I’d like to marry Dashal. I’d like to lick Will’s arse.


Then there I am, fully fitted back into my pod, in the office with the others in their pods. Dutifully. At 8.30am. Like the good boy am I. And the good girl’s are they.

I opened up the sultana container and ate one at a time, all morning. One by one. What else is there to do? The constant flow of sweetness is a comfort.

How did I settle for this? I think as I gazed out over the grey laminex and the blue carpet, the grey office machinery and the potted plants and the strip of windows across the wall. It is good, at least, that we have nice big windows.

It is balancing day, so there is a lot of checking to be done. Then when it is finished it is suggested that I put my HR hat back on. I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing next.

I had my lunch box that Santo prepared for me, chicken curry and braised cabbage and vegetables. How did I end up in this work? I think. The lemon lunchroom walls close in around me. Then it is after lunch and time to go back. Depressed I eat Twisties.


I decided just in the last day, or so, after ignoring the election pretending it had nothing to do with me, that I should say my piece, do my bit. Abbott is an embarrassment and a fool. So I wrote on Facebook… as well as here,

Apparently, the seat of Melbourne, now being a marginal seat, is crucial to Labour winning office. We have a chance to send the major parties a message by voting Green again. We should give them another hung parliament to tell them we don't like any of them.

Having said that, I am going to vote for The Australian Labor Party for the following reasons.

Although, having said that, I am voting for the Labor Party, because they are going to give me the NBN. The economy is doing well, I believe in the carbon tax, or ETS. We are least likely to have racist policies when it comes to refugees, probably only just I grant you, with the Labor Party. I don't believe giving wealthy women money for nannies is in the best interest of all Australians. I think the likes of Gina Reinhart and her mining buddies should be taxed with a wealth tax for the benefit of all Australians - I think the banks should be next. I don't want the ABC to be destroyed. I don't want medicare dismantled. I believe that high earners should be taxed more before the GST is increased. I believe welfare should be increased. I believe that the party that is most likely to decrease the gap between the rich and the poor should be in power.



We had spaghetti carbonara for dinner. Santo suggested that I help him with the cooking. I reminded him of the conversation we had last night, after he refused to wash any dishes.

“You made it very clear last night that you cook and I clean,” I said. “So I am not helping with the cooking.”

“Really!” he protested.

“I always help you with the cooking,” I return protested. “And you never help with the cleaning…”

“Really! Is that what you think?”

“Yes, that is what I think…”

“I think about it, I plan it, more often than not I buy it and I cook it,” he said. “And you think I should help clean up as well.”

I’m not sure if that is strictly true but, you know, it is true enough that I know when to shut my mouth. I’m not stupid.


I mix the sour cream, the eggs and the rest of that party of the recipe. I pour it over the spaghetti that Santo has added to the bacon in the frying pan.

He smiles at me.

I smile at him.

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Australian's are racist

We started talking about politics in the office, me and the girls. Silly, I know. I should have leant by now.

Alice asked me to explain the voting paperwork to her, which I did. How the Senate voting paper works. How the House of Reps works too.

“Oh, it is so confusing,” she said.

Not so much, I thought.

Alice, I think, is actually the smart one amongst them all. But, she is quite fragile, brittle even, like she has been beaten down in her life. She is the least liked person in the office, and I reckon I might get to like her the most, if I got to know her better. She seems to be the odd one out. I think she is the odd one out in a good sense. 
She is different good, but she keeps to herself.

“How can I vote for Kevin Rudd when his own party didn’t even want him?” asked Cathy.

Oh really, people are really hanging onto that, and here we have one.

“I’m voting for the party that gives me the best broadband network,” I replied. “Easy.”

Cathy said she was worried about the boats. I was taken aback.  She said she’d vote for the party that solved the boat people problem. I tried to say that the boat people were really a small number of people and not really a problem. But, to tell you the truth, the whole idea that people were really falling for the boat people rhetoric, started by the Liberal Party, was quite astounding. I think my explanation was faltering because my mind was spinning at the thought. I was trying to remember Julian Burnside’s name, to tell Cathy to read up on what he has said on the topic.

She believes the asylum seekers bullshit… appealing to her latent racist fears. Who am I working with?

Cathy said she’d voted for The Greens for a few years… when Pauline Hanson was around…

“She spoke her mind, she wasn’t intimidated by anyone, she was good.”

Gulp! What??? ... Oh, er, um, I thought. (I guess I can auto correct the mistake of the name of Pauline Hanson’s party. Or did she just run two voting strategies together? She voted for one and then she voted for the other? Um?) Really? But what Pauline Hanson spoke was hatred and bigotry. Is that really who I am amongst?

I am considering taking this job on a permanent basis? Really? Maybe I do want to walk into the CBD after all?

Cathy talked about the chronically unemployed, quoting information from lectures she had been to. The implication was that she would vote for the party who got rid of welfare. My mind shuddered about what lectures she may have been to. I didn’t ask, I wish I had, but the moment passed by.

Christine said if you come to this country you should learn the language and you should assimilate.

Oh, that old chestnut? People really believe this stuff? They seem to have little understanding of the history of immigration in Australia over the last 50 years, or so.

Christine was worried about immigrants forming ghettos and not assimilating.

I said to Christine, “Has that happened in Melbourne, no go zones with immigrants, has it?”

“Where my sister lives, the Somalians in Hoppers Crossing form groups and are rude to people and abuse people…”

“Somalians don’t come here by boat,” I said. “They come by aeroplane.”

She laughed and agreed. (Shows how much she knows)

I googled it when I got home and apparently Somalians do come here by boat from Indonesia. But I am not sure if that is the majority of the Somalians, or the stragglers. I need to do more research on it.

Do I really want to work with these people? Or should I just learn not to discuss politics.