Too Rich?

The electrician turned up and even he was supposed to be here on Tuesday.

So that's the heating man hasn't come after two calls. The plumber promised, admittedly the agreement was no hurry, but he's never been seen again. The possum man came and said get some one else. The mechanic said he'd send a quote for car repairs and two weeks later it still hasn't turned up. And I've called him three times thus far.

I find it hard enough to organise these things and tee up times in the first place. But then, when they don't come? Grrrr!

What do you have to do to get a tradesman?

I love this picture, it makes me laugh

Modern Day Politics

We've got the Labour party moving further to the right, with Kevin Rudd and we have the Liberal party saying, Oops, we went too far right, let’s crank it back a touch.

And we end up with Laberal.

And why are they all Christians? Surely, being a Christian isn't good marketing, with what religion is doing to the world? So why? Shouldn't that exclude them automatically. Isn't it a conflict of interests when members of the lobby groups gain company positions?

I love this too

My Motto for the 21st Century

Just care less.

Otherwise, before you know it, what with the world media and all, you are sucked into the world's psycho drama, where, not unlike a casino, it is all geared for you to spend to cheer yourself up.

Get involved in your local community, if you need to position yourself on the planet.

The Ego Has Left The Building

You know, it was just fucking Howard. Ego gone mad. His own particular brand of personal mania, spread thickly over all of Australia.

Nelson and Turnbull are both left Liberals, or what they call small L Liberal. So even the Liberals are saying, Too far right.

Perhaps, we should call Howard Margaret from now on. Margaret Howard, it has a certain ring to it.

An Exhibition?

Christopher saw Anna, in Gertrude Street. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. Bikes flashed by. People drank coffee and beer, in seats under the trees. She's back from Europe, apparently? He knew that she was going. It seemed to have gone really fast.

"I've been travelling and painting. Drawing. Looking for good light and experimenting with photography." She looked hot. Wild hair. Mini skirt. "What have you been doing?"

"You know, the usual."

"No, I don't, actually." Anna laughed, like chiming bells. He'd never seen her so relaxed. "What is the usual? I don't know."

"You look great." She did.

"Thanks." she said.

"How's Ethan?"

"He's good, on a very short leash, at the moment." She laughed, as if recalling some distant memory. "He's been busking with his sax. You know how he looks?"

Indeed, Christopher did.

"They love him. The girls, go nuts for him." Anna laughed. "I got him to wear less and his takings went up." She looked away. "I mean, I was just amazed I got him working. But then I discovered so was something else... um, working." She looked away. She looked back.

What could Christopher say? He raised his eye brows, instead.

"I found him in a jacuzzi with a cocktail waitress. He freaked out when I got my camera out and started taking photos." She laughed. "They were great shots." She laughed again. "The cocktail waitress went spare.

Suitably horrified look on his face. "Is he with you?" Trying not to laugh, but then laughing anyway.

"No, fuck him." She looked away. "I left him in Europe." She looked back, her eyes flashed. "That wasn't to say I wasn't cross." She grabbed Christopher by the shirt front and whispered, broken hearted. She pulled away. "So, Sorry!" Big eyes, shallow breaths. "Would be a good word to describe Ethan's current state of health." She fanned her face with her fingers

"You all right?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "I'm fine, really."

"That's good to hear," Christopher said.

"You promised to marry me, if he ever dumped me?"

"Sure," said Christopher, more quickly than he cared to, really. She did still remember it was a joke?

"You and me?" She stopped fanning. "Don't make me laugh."

He'd never seen her look more beautiful.

"So, what have you been doing?"

She's been doing a series of paintings called, Bob's Your Uncle.

"I saw him, Uncle Bob, at my grandma's funeral. He looked nervous when he saw me." She smiled. "That's what prompted me to exorcise my Bob demons through paint. Oils. Thick. Just like him." She laughed nervously. "So I did. I've got an exhibition in Berlin. It's rabid revenge. All dark and full of murder. Lot's of blood and figures with big hands." She laughed. "There's a drowning."

Apparently, that's what he used to do, take her out into really deep water where she'd have to cling onto him. Her mother would be waving from the beach, marveling at how good her unmarried brother was with her little girl.

Anna took a cigarette out of her bag and lit it, blowing smoke luxuriously into the air.

"And as far as Mr Ethan is concerned, we left it that if he met up with me in Berlin, then fine, but it is by my rules." She held his gaze and kind of clicked her jaw and blew a smoke ring. "If he doesn't show, I'll understand why." She looked away.

Silence.

Then she smiled and did that little head wiggle that always meant every thing will work out fine. "So, I'll catch up with him there," said Anna. "I'm heading back via Russia."

A Visual Representation of John Howard’s Political Career Right About Now

Welcome to the Revolution

We're eating Krispy Kreme donuts, to celebrate the fabulous win by Labour, @ our breakfast of champions.

Labelle sing - The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.

All Over Now...

I voted. It was a glorious day. You can feel the migration of people in Fitzroy on polling day, all walking in the same direction.

There was a hot wog boy, electoral official inside St Mark's Church Hall. Grey t-shirt, black, faded jeans. What did he have down those pants? I could see his shaft pointing down, slightly curved, dressed to the right. I, of course, had partaken of a little voting day herb, so I couldn't help but look. It moved around as he took steps. Big. Gorgeous. Banana. Some how, waiting in line didn't seem quite so hard, after that.

I hope his name is Nick.

Now I'm off to Tim and Nicholas' for Tim's birthday.

many hours later...

I got shit-faced on vodka & Agrum and pot. Trish was mixing, she and I, drinks, all afternoon. Eventually, she admitted that she'd been mixing the drinks with a 50/50 ratio (in tall glasses) and that she and I had polished off the whole bottle of vodka.

It was glorious sitting in Tim and Nicholas' palm filled court yard chatting, but eventually, I started to get itchy to know what had happened in the election, not to mention my advanced state of inebriation. None of them cared, (about the election and not me being drunk) two of them voted Liberal, for fucks sake! (The only people I know, a part from my mother, who voted Liberal) They know not what they do, I comforted myself. Glorious democracy, I thought, with a shudder.

I had to stagger home late in the afternoon, with a platter of food that Tim gave me. "Don't ditch that on the way," were Tim's last words, which kept ringing in my ears, as my arms got tired and I really wanted to ditch it, but I didn't, dutifully. I don't think it would have occurred to me to ditch a plate of food in the street, if Tim hadn't mentioned it, so it was just cruel.

It's a long walk up George Street when you are staggering.

I made it to Howard's defeat speech, before I had to drag my sorry arse off to bed, to rest my aching head. Alcohol is bad!

Yay, for Australia, I thought, as I stumbled off up stairs. Finally seen fit to throw that racist, elitist poison, that was the Howard Government, out of office. My head pounded, I just couldn't get too excited, I was having trouble walking. I did my happy dance on the inside.

Today's the Day

So today is the day that Howard loses the election and his seat. I can hardly wait. Keep your fingers crossed!

An oldy but a goldie
Howard didn't care what it cost the tax payer for him to live @ Kirribilli
How much of a spineless mediocrity has Peter Costello proved himself to be? Howard knifed him better than any other person, or group, but Pete has stuck by the little worms side steadfastly.
I think Mal might be poised to take over the whole Liberal box and dice.
Has there ever been a dumber, fatter, more revolting Queensland Senator? I know, a big call.

Oh! No!

I broke three finger nails, today. Three? Unheard of!

One of them, I was in a meeting and I could feel it was split. So, I slid my hand out of sight and ripped it off. Unfortunately, it ripped down too low and hurt like hell and I had to just keep a calm face and continue listening pretending nothing had happened, when I really wanted to cry out in pain.

Morning Fun

I love it when the lift doors close on people. I love it more so that they didn't get in and hold everyone up, rather than any damage they may sustain. Of course, if they are stupid enough to get hurt by a lift door, well, then, boo hoo!

I was @ the back of the lift and quietly cursing the plebeians, in front of me, for not hitting the door closed button. It can seem like an age until those doors finally slide shut, when nobody is hitting the close button.

Come on, come on, lets go, I nervously said to myself. Before they all pile in like Lemmings, holding us up. (There are 6 lifts, there is always another lift)

Then they started to slide, just as a woman with folders in her arms appeared, trying to barge through with her shoulder. Now, if you are going to try to catch a lift @ the last minute, you need a body part that protrudes out, an arm or a leg, something that can slide right in there perpendicularly to the doors. A shoulder is a rather blunt object. You are going to have to tackle the lift like a Rugby player, if you are going to pull it up with a shoulder. So, the lift doors slammed shut in her face, as she recoiled @ the very last minute, like a girl, folders threatening to topple, startled look on her face. I stifled a laugh and did my little, inner happy dance and we were off.

It always brightens up my morning, a near lift miss.

Ben's Stash Tin

Never mind. Forget it.

"Hey," said Rob, as he entered the kitchen bleary-eyed. He rubbed his face and scratched his arse, through the back of his Y-fronts.

"Hey," said Andre, drinking coffee. There was the smell of coffee in the air.

Rob breathed the aroma in. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um? Er? I guess, I did. You?" said Andre, hesitantly.

"Sure," said Rob. "Like the dead."

"That's great, just great," said Andre, staring into his coffee cup, which he held under his chin.

"You okay?" asked Rob. "Is something wrong?" He touched Andre on the shoulder, reassuringly. Andre pulled away.

"Okay?" said Andre. "Me? Something wrong?"

"You just seem a bit stressed," said Rob. He flicked on the kettle and reached out for the cupboard for a cup.

"About last night?" said Andre, more as a question than a statement, his voice raising in pitch.

Rob turned around. "Something happened last night?"

"Don’t you remember?"

"I’m a bit hazy, really," said Rob. He grimaced. "I remember everything until we left the restaurant." He smiled broadly. Cheekily. "I must have had a shit load to drink. How many shots did we have? "

"I don’t know what we did last night… " Andre was shaking his head.

"Ah, fuck, we didn't get caught doing something… "

"No," said Andre. "Not caught… "

Rob shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in front of him, as if as a question mark. He grimaced and shook his head, questioningly.

"You don’t remember anything?" said Andre.

"Why? Rob scratched his head. He suddenly itched down the back of his neck.

"You and me."

"What?"

Andre stopped talking. He looked at Rob quizzically. A smile peeled across his lips. "We had a shit load to drink, mate." He punch Rob on the arm. "Just checking to see if you remembered any more than me."

The kettle boiled. "I just want coffee," said Rob.

I Need to Get Some Loving

There was a Lebanese boy on the tram this morning in skin tight work trousers that just fitted him like skin. He had a green and white checked shirt open to his cleavage. Hairy chest. Stubble. Buzz cut. Sunglasses.

The chunky arse on him had to be seen to be appreciated. Two melons slashed down the middle, quivering to get out.

There is something so hot about tight clothes on a toned body. It has energy even standing still; every curve in the right place, vibrating in harmony.

I think I'm turning into a perve.

I need to get out for some loving.

Global Warming, No Shit!

Hot! Fuck me! What month is it? No global warming? I'd like to see that. I wanted to put my arm over my face, as soon as I left the house, shielding my eyes from the burning morning sun, until I got under the verandas of Gertrude Street.

I always was a little precious with the heat. I mean, I'm fine if I'm in a singlet and shorts and have a beach in front of me. No problem, it can be as hot as it likes.

I caught a tram, I'm not walking in that heat.

There was a mighty fine stock broker jogging to work this morning, in short black running shorts. Great legs. He hardly broke a sweat.

A stocky Jewish Lawyer, with a black skull cap, hair-pinned into place, from one of the law firms below us, got in the lift and said, "Ah, I see you are very wise and have dressed appropriately for this kind of day."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant, as I was dressed in the same way I dressed every day.

He must have read my reaction across my face.

"It is too hot for a tie on a day like this."

But I never wear a tie to work. It's medieval. The company has got me shackled without, actually, putting a noose around my neck. It's always been my attitude to office wear. Suit, crisp shirt, good shoes. But nothing around my neck to prove it.

I don't know how they do it on a thirty eight degree day?

bolago

Stinky Old City

As I was leaving the country, on dusk, I felt cold and put a shirt on over the singlet I had been wearing all day. It was glorious up there; sunny all day, hot actually, cooling just as it blushed into dusk. Lovely. Always cool enough at night to sleep under the doona.

I had the air conditioning going all the way home, as Chaka Khan entertained me with her new cd, Funk This. I pulled into my car space, at the rear of the house and swung the door open to be met by a close, sweaty, sticky, hot old city. I wondered why I even come back.

The shirt, I had put on before I left, stuck to my skin.

We've got it all wrong in the city - all that concrete that takes forever to cool down. The country is always glorious at night, no matter how hot it has been during the day.

By the way, whose giving up their air conditioner because of global warming?

 

The New Guy

There is a cute, new, guy at work, Charlie, who I reckon is gay. He's an analyst in our department. He has a pert little arse that looks like a gay arse. It's been a while since I've, um, heard a bottom boy really enjoying it. Too much information? I love that look in a boy's eyes when he really wants it.

Neither, Manny or I were naturally inclined and we used to jostled for position; even if Manny used to offer up his Greek arse, once in a while, after being wrestled to the mat. That was hot. Sometimes he does, sometimes.

Do two tops ever really make a good couple? I say they do. Shane says it is a waste of a good top. He says a good one is hard enough to find (excuse the pun) @ the best of times, without them paring up.

I'm guessing he is gay. It is nice to have another gay guy in the office. 

Stupid World

You know, I used to think that political correctness was a good idea. If people couldn't work out on their own (read, too stupid) that they shouldn't call a black guy a dirty nigger, or a gay guy a filthy faggot, or a woman a 2nd class bitch, then there was a set of rules for the idiots to go by. A lowest common denominator benchmark, if you like.

But what it has done in reality, is stop people talking their mind in case they might offend someone. The prudes can use it to stop anything that is not to their taste.

On Letterman the other night, they had a dog who barked when his owner stuck his middle finger up in the air at him. But you know what they did? They pixelated out the "bird," as the dog barked. Have we really got to that level? Have the, ever more present, conservative forces really taken us back that far? People are stupid.

Here Are Some Great Ways of Dealing with the Burdens of Life

* Nobody cares if you can't dance well, just get up and dance

* Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.

* The second mouse gets the cheese.

* When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

* Birthdays are good for you - the more you have, the longer you live.

* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.

* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.

I Couldn't Have Imagined How Bad

My house mate, David, came home with a record shop bag in his hand, saying, "Look what I've bought."

"What?" I asked suspiciously. David has the second worst taste in music of all my housemates. Only Tim's taste in music is worse. Bubblegum pop. Spare us! David is not far behind.

"The new Celine Dion cd."

I reeled in horror. "You know you can't play it." I had only informed David last night that Celine Dion is the only banned artist in the house.

"I can play it in my car," said David. "And look what I bought you?"

"What?" I asked in fear.

"Can you guess?"

"No."

"Guess!"

"Oh, Kelly Clarkson?" Going on David's usual taste.

"No. Open it."

I pulled the paper bag apart and was stunned. "The Spice Girls Greatest hits?" I said incredulously.

He didn't know what party the Prime Minister belonged to. Or, which party was, at present, running the country. But I guess I'm just being a bitch, now. Or am I jealous? Sounds like bliss, now I come to think of it.

His two, very left leaning, house mates have instructed him how to vote in the next election, don't you worry about that. Not that it really matters in Fitzroy, lets be real.

Mr Sheen has to Go

I can't talk about the election. I don't want to have to go and live in New Zealand, if that revolting little man gets back in, as I said I would.

Not only do I want Howard to lose the election, it would be poetic justice if he lost his seat too.

But, I'm not saying a word, I'm too nervous.

But remember, not only did Howard give big business the power to cut to lowest paid workers pay, at the same time he gave the bosses, who would be razoring the lowest paid workers hourly rate, a tax break, by moving the top most tax threshold from ninety thousand to one hundred and fifty thousand.

I always thought that one of the main functions of government was to promote the narrowing of the wealth gap, not to actively encourage it. Even if you are one of the highest paid workers, you must be able to see that what has happened is inequitable and will lead to disharmony in the population. On that fact alone, and there are many more to draw a kick-John-Howard-out-of-office sentiment, I say kick the fifties throw back out on his fat little arse.

But what do I care, I bought new porn.

I Wanted to a) Marry him b) Lick him

8.30am. 86 tram. I buy a ticket and sit straight down. I'm puffed because I had to run to get on. I looked diagonally down the middle of the car. Dark, curly hair, still wet from the shower. 5 o'clock shadow @ 9am, dark against his olive skin. Big dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. White shirt checked with fine black lines. Brown tie, Windsor knot, not quite pushed to his whiskery throat. Brown waist coat, three buttons. V shaped shoulders, strong chest, chunky arms. Solid, strong, gazing down reading a novel. Gorgeous.

He looks up, in my direction, probably @ me gazing @ him. Nice square jaw.

I look away, gaze out the window.

Beautiful Day

It is a beautiful day, in the country, just gorgeous. It’s a day to be out in the garden. The yellow irises have formed a yellow raft right next to the lake. The blue pacific and some bright mauve bush next to it, reflect as a ball of colour on the other side.

Mark is out in the veggie patch, his white t-shirt splattered with mud. Sebastian is weeding, shirtless in a big straw hat. Luke is in the kitchen cooking.

I sit on the front steps and smoke a cigarette. Yes, yes, I don't want to talk about it.

Sebastian is wearing long shorts which have slid down his hips to such an extent I can see the tops of his pubes and, practically, down the crack in his arse.

I decide that I want to head home do washing and smoke pot. Some days Bolago just seems too idyllic and I get restless. Everybody floating about doing their jobs, sometimes makes me feel like I don’t have a job up there and I’m just biding my time.

So, I headed down the Caulder around 1pm, under the clear blue sky and the bright sun, which washes the country side into a strong sense of security. You know, beauty for as far as the eye can see, bathed in gold.

Bolago

Saturday Night Out in the Country

Got to mums about 3pm to have a cup of tea with her, on my way to Bolago, after spending the morning, well, in bed smoking pot, watching porn and masturbating.

I got to Bolago around 6pm, to see Sebastian. He’s still adorable. We went out for dinner. We sat outside in the main street of Woodend, as the sun faded and set. There really is such a gentle ambiance in a country town on a warm summer night that you just don't get in the city any more. I guess it's reminiscent of long evenings as a kid. We were graced with the presence of the beautiful John, one of our waiters, who is handsome, with dark curly hair and dimples and cheeky and so clued up for a nineteen year old. He came out for cigarettes, he was eating inside.

The still very beautiful Sebastian is funny. He said he is most upset that none of us find him sexually attractive any more. "Nah," we all said at once. We explained to him that we think of him as a friend - we've known him for five years now - and we don't usually fancy our friends, gay or straight. He said he was disappointed, in his thick Italian accent, as he looked dejected into his pie. He made us laugh.

Sebastian has to be back in Italy in five years time. Plenty of time to find an Australian wife, he says.

I felt a bit spaced because of all the dope I’d smoked. I don’t know if I’m changing but the effect of the dope is different. It makes me a bit dizzy, I guess is the best way to describe it. I wonder if it has anything to do with abstaining for weeks and then hitting it as hard again?

We smoked pot and watched Weeds on DVD. I fell asleep and ended up sleeping in my clothes, as I couldn't be woken. But I sleep in the bed in front of the open fire, so it made no difference.

Plan A

The sun is shinning, the sky is blue. Go get your bike, pump up the tyres, ride over to your mums. Go to Bolago. See Sebastian.

Don't smoke any more dope. Don't watch any more porn.

Buy coffee beans.

Do not buy Italian donuts.

70's porn

I tried watching some old porn, recently. I kind of liked the idea of all those guys bare backing with impunity. Like it was a right. A political statement - we practice sodomy and we're proud of it. They suck each other off to songs by the Stones.

Now, a part from the poor quality of old videos - quite frankly, who'd be bothered just on that level - I can't get used to all the hair the blokes had back then. And I like hairy boys; stomach, chest, arse, give it to me baby! But these guys seem to have it in plague proportions. Just every where and long. Masses of it. Yuk! I had to stop watching.

Whinge Whinge

I've got to get to being good. Get my act together; quit smoking, quit dope, quit cakes @ lunch time, do more exercise, get writing, maintain my friendships more actively. Why is it that other people achieve so much and I seem to consistently achieve so little?

(I do work full time. I do help run a retreat on the weekends. I am spending more time looking after my mother, since my father died. I do do those things)

Speaking of writing, how long ago did I finish my writing degree? 2004. (Oh yes, I did do a degree at night, up until recently) Not that that is a benchmark, but it is a guide to how many years it's been since I've produced a finished piece. (I've got many things 1/2 done)

I danced with my shirt off at Woof Club, and while there was every size and shape there, I'm not used to seeing myself, in the mirror, with a flabby stomach. And yet, I had another slice of Rocky Road with my coffee at lunch again today.

I do walk a kilometre, or so, to and back from work every day. Who am I kidding, I rarely make the walk into work, now a days. I do always walk home, though. But, clearly, it is not enough. I wish I could get inspired to go back to the gym?

I want to be a non-smoking, fit, writer. I wonder how I go about that? I'm hopeless.

I decided that, during my exercise non-decision, I could go walking. It's a no brainer. Easy to do. Don't have to think about it. I went and bought a new pair of runners to inspire me. An hour a night, three times a week. How hard can it be? Do you think I've been. About 3 times. Hopeless!

How do I get inspired to do more exercise? 

Tramspotting

What do you think of a handsome boy in a brown suit reading printed material on the tram? He had rich, chestnut hair and small, oval shaped glasses (funny, Tom always used to say that boys don't passes @ boys in glasses) a round, handsome face and an earnest expression. He was sitting sideways, with his legs open, with the printed material resting on one, firm thigh.

He kept glancing over at me.

I kept glancing at his lollies, resting against his leg - round and lumpy.

He seemed to be looking at me whenever I looked up at him. He had that curious expression on his face, as if to be accepting his inspection. This won't hurt and it will be over before you know it. You know, like when the pedigree dogs get their completeness checked out by the judges @ Crufts.

It looked like our boy kept his lollies in a big bag. I wanted to play with the wrapper.

Don't you just love a man in his underpants?

Sebastian Returns

The beautiful Sebastian, one of the two Italian Sebastians, is back tomorrow. He just wants to come and live in Australia, up at Bolago. The quintessential good looking Italian boy and such a nice guy. Funny. Gorgeous. Cheeky. Naughty.

When I asked him what he's been doing in Ireland. "Drinking and fucking." He laughed. "Fucking and drinking." He laughed again.

He's staying indefinitely. The only thing he has to do is take over his Father's restaurant in Positano, when his father retires, which isn't immanent. Hard life, huh?

He lands tomorrow. Mark and Luke are picking him up. It'll be good to see him.

Spiegeltent

We went to the Spiegeltent, to see the Wah Wah Sisters. They were great. They said they were an acroband, a band that does acrobatics. They sang, swore and drank through the 80's, 90's, present day. They did this whole drunken, good time girl banter. They were good, funny.

They did some amazing acrobatics together.

I went with Mark and Luke, Adam and Raymond.

It realy is a beautiful tent, from another time, quite another world, once you are inside. It's all stained glass windows and polished wood work.

Mark was pulled up on stage when he was the only person in the place to put his hand up for having had a threesome. A little too keen was our Mark. He said after it never ocurred to him he would be the only one. He was called up to help with one routine, which involved one sister sitting on the shoulders of the other sister, as they both played their guitars. Then Mark was asked if there was any one he'd like to call up on stage with him. Luke turned to me and said, "Oh no," as Mark called his name.

They were dressed up in pink, frilly panties, full red skirt, blond wigs and cowboy hats. My guys.

The Next Day

I smoked so much dope that, some time after it got dark, and I'd done the universe-only-knows-what all day, I got the munchies really bad. Suddenly, I was really hungry. I was in the kitchen in no time, my bare feet appreciating the heated floor, at the same time knowing that if the floor was noticeably hot, the heating had been on for days.

I ate fish fingers, drenched in lemon. I just tipped what was left in the box onto the tray. I didn't count them, couldn't count them. There was lots of yellow and silver. Then I had two yogurts. Followed by four slices of toast and jam.

I lay on my bed and felt like I wanted to be sick, a short time later, some what surprised at my behaviour - not so much at being hungry, as I hadn't eaten for twenty four hours, but my complete and gluttonous surrender to it.

I should do some thing today. Get out of the house. Breath in some fresh air. Step back into life.

I'm a bit dazed. I'll thank me tomorrow. Big smile.

Feel the Wind

Mark called and said come to Bolago. "Why aren't you here?" I couldn't drive. Shouldn't drive. I wish I was Samantha Stevens. Wiggle my nose.

My balcony doors are open, fresh wind gusts in, it feels good. The light is brittle. Nobody is home. The party is over. The house is silent, just the noises of the day. Gusts of leaves, the sounds of the wind. A car door. A bird cheeps. A tram slides along the tracks.

 

What Day Is It?

Oh my head. Danced at Woofa Club until... um, er... the end. It should have been 6am, but these day parties, topsee-turvee, don't know where you are going to come out. When Mark, Luke and I wandered off to get the car, (bright red traffic lights. bright blue neon lights) it was all go, people every where, in the middle of the city, 10pm. No sun just coming up and the sounds of the silent morning, ready to be slipped into and gotten away in, unscathed. I'm glad Luke could drive, don't know how he did it.

We got there late, which was interesting because with no cigarette smoke the place just reeked of BO. Unbelievably so. I wondered if I was going to cope with it? It was good to see the sea of disarray, sober at the beginning, how out of it did everyone look? Slobbering and sweating. Lying about, red faces, teeth chattering, holding on to each other. But, I did acid & e, at the door and soon forgot about all of that, once I'd melted to the groove of the beat. The boys danced energetically around me. A sea of dark bodies, grinding to the night. Sexy chests coming to the light. A smile. A nod. A coy look, caught perving. Spin and gone. We danced for hours, Mark, Luke and me. The visuals were great; hot and wet. We throbbed as one, slippery to the beat. Lazers pieced everyone; the dark of the night; as dark as our souls.

Windy, Wet Morning

Or we could lay on our respective couches and watch the box set of Heroes, as Matt is busy all around us. He is in and out all day, as the afternoon slips away.

Mark calls to see if I'm going up to Bolago.

Matt brings us dinner, in between clients and DJ'ing.

The rain falls, mother nature is hysterical. The trees flap around like sticks the lightening lights up the night. The large drops of rain fall heavily on the roof.

I don't know how many episodes of Heros we watch? Shane picks up Matt between disk 5 & 6.

I woke up on the couch at 3 am, with some Christian dim whit banging on about alcohol and what the bible says about temperance. I particularly enjoy the whistle and the clunk the TV makes as it switches off via remote control. It's like the ultimate stun gun, Take this evil from my screen!

Today, it's Adam's birthday in St Kilda. My head is thick, I'll need a few coffees before I'm thinking straight. How much pot did Shane and I smoke? Fuck me, I'm going to be great at this birthday.

"Yeah, yeah, good." Eyes like slits. "No, I've not been up to much." Cough. Cough. "You know, the same old same old." Who is this, I think? "Good to see you, though."

May be a nice long shower?

What time is it?

Maybe some sugar?

I ate donughts for breakfast, yesterday. Do you think I'm taking this lose 5 kilos seriously? I never eat donuts for breakfast, only when I know I'm not supposed to.

Black coffee. Museli. Get with the program!

Shine a light

Friday Night Down

Oh my head! Friday night drinks. Er!

Of course, I came home and smoked pot with Shane and Matt. I stumbled off to bed before midnight, bumping into walls. So much for The Laird and a few quiet drinks to end the week. I was just plastered, in the end.

And now I have four days off. Yipee! I should go out and dance. Tonight, I guess? Get maggotted and groove until the day break hours. Float home on a wave of tired muscles.

6am. Smith Street, Sunday morning, is always very cool, chilled and laid back. Bodies drifting to and fro. Feet like polystyrene, not a care.

8 Australian Men I'd do it With

Josh Lawson - cute and blonde

Ben Cousins - he'd be fun to party with

Ryan Shelton - Sunday in bed

Hamish Blake - I met him once, with Buddy, he was tall and athletic

Shane Crawford - In those shorts

Daniel McPherson - that dazzling smile

Jess Spencer - serious good looks

James Mathison - oh, he'd be fun

8 Things You Didn't Know About Me

I have a scar on my foot.

I was a Cathedral choir boy.

I played the viola and many years after I left the choir, I play a Beethoven quarter in the cathedral.

I grew up with a tennis court in the back yard.

My dad was a Mason.

I don't care how many abortions there are each year in Australia.

I can be passive aggressive, it is my worst character trait.

I'm not ashamed of any thing I've done.