Sunday Morning

Tim's birthday lunch. Date with Mitchell. Both Saturday. Birthday barbie starts at 3pm, easily can excuse myself by 7, pushing 8pm.

Nicholas looked handsome in dark tracky pants. He fills them out good, especially from the side profile. I think he know it, though. I've caught him with a coy, blushing look... as he declared his meat "cooked" from the bbq.

Tim had knock off Prada sunglasses he was very proud of.

"Oh spoil me," I said to myself, as I washed hands. "Great barbie!" I thought of texting it to Mitchell, but thought the explanation was beyond me on a phone keyboard. Laughed at myself for retreating to the toilet." I laughed, almost ashamedly, at myself in the bathroom mirror.

"One of your best friend's mother has an epileptic fit in the middle of a birthday lunch, Christian and you think the equivalent of, Oh there's a thing, I need to go to the toilet.

Judi had been picked up off the floor and removed, when I returned, may have been the best move of the afternoon.

Didn't stop her having another bong, mind you.

That and deciding to stick to my original plan, when I got cold sitting in the court yard and leave at 7pm. It was 7.30, but half an hour in Christian time, let's face it, is on time. I was staggering off up Napier by 7.36, in the cool wind and the dying afternoon sun.

Mitchell was over by 9.30. We watched a movie, Trust that Man. Mitchell picked it out from all the Asian knock offs David brings back from his travels.

Mitchell finally christened my sheets. Made his claim. Left his mark. He is the same size as me, I like that. He feels good in my arms. He feels comfy snuggling on the lounge. He looked cute asleep next to me on the pillow, this morning.

We drank coffee and ate muesli and smoked cigarettes sitting on the back veranda in the morning sun.

I'm not used to having someone around Sunday mornings, so to speak. Out of practice. It was easy. It was nice. He left right on queue.

I was impressed.

I had the day to myself.

I wrote.

Long Weekend

Ah, home alone. David and Shane are interstate until Monday night. Shane went Thursday, David went Friday. I've got the house to myself.

Matt took advantage of Shane being away and came around yesterday morning and he and I had breakfast. Matt's just got back from L.A. While he was there, he got 2 bags of coke, one for him and one for the guy he was staying with. They put them in the side pocket of Matt's backpack. Well, the dance party, whatever it was, came around and Matt took full advantage of his and, he assumed, so did the guy he was staying with. They had a good time. Great party. Best Matt had been to.

It wasn't until 3 days after Matt got home that he reached into the side pocket of his back pack, looking for something, or other, that he discovered that the guy he was staying with never took his bag out of Matt's back pack, it was still in there. Matt had carried it out of the US and into Australia.

Do you believe that? Big grimace. Head shake. Oops! Matt's customary cheeky laugh. Shrug.

Jees Matt, I guess I could have baked you a cake with a file in it.

Tell me about it, he replied. Fuck me!

Matt has the most beautiful brown eyes, just by the way.

Suffice to say that Matt has had a fairly "busy" week, shall we say, since he has been back.

Anyway, gotta go see my mum, I have ignored her for two days.

Gotta go to a bbq for at Tim and Nicholas' for Tim's birthday. I don't have to take anything.

I stayed up until 3am writing Tropical Fever, got 10 pages done. Now for the first sex scene.

Must go and have a shower. Mustn't fart around on my computer until the morning has drained away like so much sand in an hour glass.

Mitchell has gone AWOL?

 

L's Picks for 2008

L's top 5 for 2008 -

1 - Labelle - Back To Now
2 - Grace Jones - Hurricane
3 - Hercules and Love Affair - S/T
4 - Duffy - Rockferry
5 - Friendly Fires - S/T

Stars Are Good Today....Especially After Your Revelations Last Night

I thought I might have a go at writing erotic romance novels for girls. I would have to write under a chicks name, or course, but that's okay. A friend of mine is a connoisseur. Apparently, there's a lot of two boys, one girl, as these are girls fantasies, of course. There is even gay sex between the boys, as straight girls fantasise about 2 boys together, apparently, as much as straight boys fantasise about 2 girls together, even if girls don't publicly admit it quite as much.

I could write that. How hard can it be?

Pulp fiction is the place to make money. Literary novels never paid the bills, except for a small few.

I told Shane last night. He sent me my stars - he and I are the same star sign - thinking they were good, as far as my idea was concerned.

Be glad of any errors of judgement that you have ever made. Celebrate your dodgiest decisions. These, it now turns out, are coins with which you can afford to buy yourself a safer future. The more you can lay claim to, the better the purchase you can make. There is no upper limit. Don't be ashamed of what has happened. Just be glad of what's suddenly starting to become possible. By drawing on what has gone wrong so far, you can now summon the strength and wisdom to make something come wonderfully right.

My friend Jill, who is the devote, is also a marketing guru, as it turns out. Hello! Got to use what you've got. There is a good chance that if I finished the book, she would do every thing she had to sell it, which, after all, is her field of expertise and romance novels are her passion.

Jill lent me four books to read, to get acquainted.

I sat up in bed and read one of the book.

Oh my! Goodness me. It is such crap! The writing is so bad, it's unbelievable. Just crap. No character analysis. Such scant setting it's almost laughable. I'm up to chapter 10 and the only descriptive detail of the three main characters has been the mention of their hair colour.

No subtext, no discriminable theme, pretty much straight into the sex. It's really just porn described in words. That's what a good number of chicks want.

I smoked a j and got turned on, once I'd got use to the abysmal writing, which is what this stuff is designed for.

So, let's take all of the above and use it as a positive; I should be able to bang one of these books out in no time. Even if I dumb my writing down, it will still be far superior to what I'm reading, even if I do say so myself.

I've got a plot line worked out already. Remember, it never has to be rewritten passed the cliché stage.

Wealthy heiress, whose family paid her money rather than showed her love all her life, attends a country soiree at a fabulous country estate. Another fabulous weekend in her thoroughly empty life.

She meets a high class male prostitute, lets call him Zac and a Hollywood leading man, lets call him Alex, who are both holidaying at the hotel. The two men are old school buddies. The Hollywood actor is a method actor and he is about to make a movie about a bisexual man. The prostitute has made a shit load of money and is now contemplating changing his life, the problem is prostitution is all he's done, since he was seventeen, when that high powered, career-focused female colleague of his father's paid him for a weekend away. He doesn't know how to do any thing else.

A steamy manois de tois ensues.

The male prostitute becomes the eventual hero, the heiress the heroine. 

Firemen

The firemen finally get a huge house fire under control and Chief Brown has all of his men accounted for except Olson and Rossetti.
After a few minutes' search, the chief looks down an alley, and there's Rossetti, leaning over a trash can. His pants are down to his ankles and Olson is fucking him from behind.
Rossetti was moaning from Olson's size.
"What the hell is going on?" says Chief Brown.
Olson says, "Rossetti passed out from smoke inhalation."
"Smoke inhalation? says the chief. "You're supposed to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!"
Olson says, "I did, Chief, but then one thing led to another..."

The Boy Next Door

Sex Talk With Mum

Mum and I were having a chat about sex, yesterday, over lunch. I was explaining, or attempting, to explain to her that sex and love for her generation were the same thing, but for newer generations it wasn't necessarily the same thing.

"Christian, we (her and her girlfriends) only ever had sex with one man, our husbands."

"Yes, mum, that's what I'm saying. It's still probably the best way, sex with love, but, we can also have sex without love."

"I never really understood why you would want to have sex with someone you weren't in love with..."

"Because, it's a good way to get to know someone. It's a good way to make friends. It's a good way to finish a night out. It's fun. It's enjoyable."

"I didn't loose my virginity until I was 29," she said. "But, once I started, I really liked it and just couldn't get enough..."

I could see on her face that she really did like it, as her eyes went glassy and her mind drifted back to an earlier time. I've seen that look on people's faces many times. It was a look I knew well. Associated with... transmission malfunction, reality does not match!

Woa! Okay, TMI! Change the subject. I didn't, perhaps unfairly, really want to discuss it any longer after that revelation.

Girls Can Turn Just Like That!

 Goodness me, girls can turn like bitches! I was going out to dinner, last night, with my two best girlfriends, until that spat and clawed each other over the venue. One minute, we were going out to eat, no problems, the very next minute they argued over the venue and it was all off. Just like that! One minute it was all gung-ho out we go, the next Rrrroowww! Scratch, bite, all over.

My head spun!

The Boy Next Door's Brother

Secret Homos

At the function, Saturday night, there was this big, strapping guy named Rob. He was a real Aussie bloke, all right, big and muscular. Round, handsome face with beautiful blue eyes - almond shaped, come to bed eyes. His black hair did a point to his forehead, cut short. Olive skin, stubble. The type who'd greet you with, "G'day."

He held my gaze steady as he waited for a drink. He held my gaze still, as I served him. He'd had a few beers, but he held my gaze too long. The eyes tell the story when I try to explain gaydar to my girlfriends. Then he went back to his wife and danced real close with her and wouldn't look at me. Later, he was sitting on the edge of the dance floor, with his arm around his wife, who was chatting to somebody else and he was staring over, as soon as I took his gaze, he looked away.

Then at brunch, as I was walking through, he held my gaze again, with intent said those beautiful eyes, so much so I got a chill. I hurriedly offered to clear tables, but he wouldn't look at me again when I asked him if he'd finished, as I took his plate, he pretended not to hear me.

He and his pretty wife left not long after that. His wife said a lot of good byes, which meant he spent a good five minutes standing around, looking over. That gave me some moments to enjoy his, truly, bulging jeans. One time he caught me looking, which prompted him to slide his hand in his pocket and adjust himself, but then he was back to not looking at me again, even when his wife thanked me.

Luke said Rob did the same thing to him, when I told Luke about him. Luke said he made some chummy homophobic remark, but when Luke asked him to repeat it he wouldn't and then he wouldn't look Luke in the eye after that.

Luke & I reckon he is a secret homo. Such a pretty wife too. He lives up around Seymour. Luke and I thought we may take a trip up to Seymour and hang around the bogs, we reckon we might just see him.

I noticed, when he left, he drove a Hyundai Getz, hardly a masculine car. So, straight'ish boys are still, potentially, ruining girl's lives. I wondered if, one day, he would leave her and she would be left wondering why, as I watched the small silver hatchback disappear up the drive way through the trees?

 

Muscles, Nipples, Men

YES: great Smile, nice teeth, sparkling eyes
NO: over tanned, over stylised, scented.

YES: intelligent, good looking men
NO: vacuous pretty boys

YES: nature
NO: religion

YES: glasses
NO: coloured contacts

YES: wog boys!
NO: red heads

YES: honest, intelligible conversation
NO: games and bullshit

YES: ideas & places to go
NO: boring and clueless

YES: chest Hair
NO: back Hair

YES: being a man
NO: being a girl

YES: hot, enthusiastic sex with the lights on
NO: boring, silent sex in the dark

YES: self-appreciation
NO: arrogance

YES: Melbourne
NO: Sydney

YES: honesty
NO: political correctness

YES: shy
NO: unapproachable and aloof

YES: Rush
NO: The Strip

YES: G'day?
NO: How do you do?

Yes: Simpsons
No: South Park

YES: working out and keeping fit
NO: over eaters in trackie pants

Yes : foreskin
No: cut (although, it's not a deal breaker)

Yes: sensitive nipples
No: twisting my nipples off my chest

YES: Project Runway
NO: Make me a supermodel

YES: walking
NO: driving

YES: self-esteem
NO: self-adulation

YES: a night in at home
NO: every weekend at club

YES: kissing
NO: fisting on crack

YES: masculine
NO: feminine

YES: witty
NO: bitch

End of an Era

I pretty much just wear 501s. Camo pants, black jeans, when I'm not. I used to own numerous pairs of 501's, once, when I was more interested and went out more. But, now I own one tatty pair. Both the backs of the legs have blown out, torn. And my first time out with Mitchell, at Charlie's farewell, they tore in the arse. I took it as a sign, the universe switched both our minds to sex, my arse, at that very moment. We're both tops, so there will be a lot of wrestling each other to the mat. (big smile) My jeans split even further last Saturday afternoon, down at the beach. Only with Mitchell. He slid his fingers across the crutch in my jocks, from behind. He tilted his head and we were both silent and still. "Nice," he said. Then he took his fingers away. He smiled coyly.

Anyway, my point is that I have to buy a new pair of jeans. I've always shopped in Myer. Myer for Levis. I feel kind of sad, as new jeans are stiff and hard - a bit like a new boyfriend - and I'm going to have to break in a new pair.

I shagged Manny in my old pair. Perhaps, I should keep them for sniffing?

I should go this morning... shopping in the city on Saturday morning? Who needs it. I can go any time. It seems stupid.

I'm off to the country to do a function, so another time.

Make me a Super Model

Australia

Parts of George Street blocked off for the Australia premier. It's just got rubbish written all over it - with Nicole's frozen face and acting style to match and Hugh's gay sensibility - the only thing I see when I look at Hugh is John Travolta's dick in his mouth.
I saw a couple of seconds of shorts, Nicole had her standard, monosyllabic acting style happening... and the accent, oh, the accent, I couldn't stop laughing.
I'm sure the cinematography will be fantastic, but really, all Baz had to do was turn the camera on for that.
I'm sure I'd rather have my fingernails pulled out with pliers than sit and watch Australia.
I guess that means I need to see it to be truly critical. Oh the pain!

Here's what an English critic wrote...
Baz Luhrmann's choice of Nicole Kidman to star in his latest epic movie Australia has been savaged by a British newspaper columnist.

Melanie Reid, writing in Rupert Murdoch's Times newspaper, describes as a "big, big mistake" Luhrmann's decision to select Kidman for the role of Lady Sarah Ashley, who inherits a remote cattle station shortly before World War II.

Reid says Kidman is an immediate turn-off for female cinemagoers who feel she is "one of the most overrated actors" in the world and who has "been the kiss of death in practically every movie she has starred in".

The newspaper critic also slams Kidman's acting ability based on her previous starring roles in films including Cold Mountain and Eyes Wide Shut.

"Kidman is exquisitely accomplished at being awful," Reid writes.

"She can't act.

"Instead she drifts around films like a lost porcelain doll, looking frozen, brittle and vapid, staring at the camera with her oh-golly-look-how-I'm-looking-interesting blue eyes.

"Australia the country deserves redder blood than this."

Australia is due to open in Britain on Boxing Day.

Lazy Thursday

Overcast. Drops of rain. Still quite warm.

Dropped the car off to be serviced. My mechanic doesn't open until 9am, so quite civilised.

A little breakfast in Bourke Street around 9.30 - poached eggs and bacon and 2 long macs, under the expansive shade of the great Plane Trees.

"It's nice to see someone whose not in a rush," said the waitress, with distinctly, defective sounding vowels. Smile.

Optometrist at 10.30, cunningly avoiding Krispy Kreme, over the road. I didn't even look. Just once, furtively. Apparently, I now have blocked glands in my eyelid, which is why I am beginning to resemble the Elephant Man, but still no trace of infection. My peripheral vision test came out fine.

I went to JB Hi Fi to buy the new Bozz Scaggs cd and came out with a copy of Deliverance, which I've never seen. Now, I'm going to smoke a joint and sit down and watch it.

Maybe, afterwards, I'll go take a nap.

Got love having time off work.

Oh yes? Note to self, write something.

The rain falls gently outside.

minute to midnight...

My bit for Movember is not shaving, I think, as I look in the mirror, at dusk, "Oooooo." I guess that would mean I'd have to give money to someone. May be I'll shave tomorrow?

"Squeal like a pig!" I wanted to see Burt Reynolds squeal like a pig. Deliverance was nicely shot, great cinematography, good colour. Was it me, or did the Jon Voit character have a "thing" for the Burt Reynolds character?

Then I pumped up the open fire with wood and watched Iron Man. Great cars. Hot Audi. Great toys. Amazing house. Purely escapist.

Followed by The Shining, which has held up okay, for a horror movie, even if its special effects are dated. It's a great piece of design.

"Here's Johnny!"

I think I'm going to find myself a copy of Midnight Cowboy.

Giving Up Giving Up, Or What?

I told Mitchell that I had given up smoking on Tuesday, as I said I was going to give up this week. Today, I had to tell him that I lied to him.

He said he was going to slap my bare arse.

I told him, That will be the day.

A few hours later...

Okay, I'm sick of this. Operation, Get Mitchell in the Sack, is now officially on. 

Am I Delusional?

Nothing to do. It's a great life. Relax.

I spent the day at my computer writing. It doesn't matter what you do to start off with, as long as I'm not still saying that come April next year.

I'm always going back and re-writing my blog. I go back and re-write great swags of it. I've added some even, at the beginning. Pretty stupid as blogs are so in the present, nobody reads backlog. I go back and read mine sometimes and it is such crap that I just have to give it it's second re-write.

David and I watched Oprah.

I don't feel like I'm on holidays yet, it'll come. It's only the second day. I've done nothing for four days.

My eye is still sore. Claggy. I remembered the ointment the doctor gave me weeks ago, which I forgot about and I applied it. My eye seems a little better.

Shane went back to work drinks. National Conference.

David was teaching.

I tried to entice Mitchell over with filthy texts. He's been going for job interviews and psych tests all week. I thought it would do him some good. More good than harm, but he didn't bite.

I was home alone. My toes felt cold, so I lit a fire. It was over flowing with junk mail, bills with our identities which shouldn't be thrown in the rubbish. Suddenly the room was a million degrees and I was opening the windows. If I'd just put a jumper on, maybe.

Missy purred. Just lamps on, the flicker of the TV and the open fire.

Can someone just not work for five months?

Rush was on. Hot blokes. Hot story lines. Hot chicks.

Matt came over, it was the first time I'd seen him - quietly and not at a club - since he and Shane broke up. He makes me laugh. David came home, after teaching, shrieking Matt's name when he saw Matt. Shane came home not nearly as pissed as we'd expected, had experienced previous years.

So we got stoned.

Watched David Letterman.

Wrote till 3am.

Bye Mark... we all would have had your babies

Text Me If You Want Your Cock Sucked

Text me if you want your cock sucked. He put up his mobile number.

Presumably, he'd just head off to the address given. Oo!

That's how it worked, pretty soon he have part of another man, he doesn't know and has only just met, inside him. He might even get to know this guys penis before he knew his name. He may never get to know the other guy's name. It wasn't important.

Beach Boxes

Living

It was a beautiful afternoon. Mitchell came over about 4pm, I was reading the newspaper in the lounge room. The afternoon sun seeped in, in golden light and long shadows. Mitchell hugged a cushion and said he was going to have a nap. "Keep reading."

I thought it was adorable. I kept looking over at him sleeping.

Then we went for our planned drive. To the beach, we'd decided, because I already went to the country on the weekends.

"Are you going to let me drive?"

He claimed not to have driven a manual since his driving lessons, as an eighteen year old. "But, you know, it's like riding a bike," he'd say dead pan. And my car parks out the back and backs out onto a lane way.

I said I'd back it out, he said it would be fine.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, as he started the engine. He flashed that smile.

He drives a manual car just fine, he was stirring me up. I kind of liked him more for it, it was funny. I'm keen on my car, he wanted to see if I trusted him.

We drove to Brighton and walked along the sand, by the multi-coloured bathing boxes, as the sun set. It was still warm, but the wind was cool. Mitchell wore a hoodie, he looked cute in it. I wore a lambswool lined coat. I sneaked looks at him. I caught him sneaking looks at me.

Some guy was taking photos directly out to sea. An old woman walked a Westie. A husband and wife sat in their car with their baby, in its car seat with every window covered in a shade device, and ate fish & chips.

We came home and ate half of Shane and David's pizza. They went to Sircuit and got their cocks sucked. Well David did, he had three guys sharing his cock, all on their knees. Shane isn't home yet.

Mitchell and I watched Blues Brothers. He had to go, just as we got all, well, you know. He was staying with some friends, it was a part of the deal. They were having some one over who they thought Mitchell knew.

That was okay, I don't mind that. I don't mind the anticipation. (if I knew we were sexual compatible already, I wouldn't mind the anticipation) Besides, it's nice to see he keeps his word, you know?

I like him. He's smart. He's funny. He's got a nice smile. My top three.

He wanted to stay. "You should have told me sooner." That smile. "Or, something?"

But this not doing sex straight up, it's wrong. It should be the first thing, before names, if you like. Although, I've always been kind of old fashioned, certainly amongst my mates and I always like to, at least, speak to them first. You got to know the sex is good, then you can build any where from there.

We should have had sex already, but we haven't - because we met through friends and not at a bar or sex venue.

I have sexual deal breakers. Bad kisser. Bad sex. Small penis. I'll dump him... and all this will have been for nothing. His cock doesn't have to be huge, but it has to be, at least, average. It has to be enthusiastic sex, a star fish is out and won't keep my interest. He has to be a good kisser. A bad kisser is a definite deal breaker - although, I'd be willing to put in a little on the job training, to see if there was any improvement.

We've hardly fooled around at all, essentially, we haven't. We've just been getting to know each other, if you like.

Tonight, he said he had spots on his tongue, which were hurting. He thought he'd had an allergic reaction, which may have been a plausible reason... but, I suspect he, grimace, could be a bad kisser... maybe? Eyebrow raise. Head tilt.

I think he has a touch of the hypochondria, which is why we didn't kiss much. His tongue hurt. But, to tell you the truth, to me, that says he is, probably, meant for me, rather than the opposite. Every one of my boyfriends have had it. They've all had the hypochondria gene, to a greater or lesser extent. In a strange kind of way, I find it endearing.

 

Why?

You know, with all this talk about the environment, I've never really been convinced why the environment needs to be saved. We've polluted just about everything there is to pollute and you know what they say about birds who shit in their own nest, they don't survive.

Half the world is starving and the other half of the world is eating itself to death. A huge per centage of the poor half are that way deliberately so the other half can live well. And the wealthy half, essentially, don't care.

And now, the clever wealth creation of the Western World has failed. Greed has destroyed it.

Half the world hates the other half. Religion is running rampant in the hate stakes, ironically.

Why not just give it up and let the giant cockroaches or eels or crocodiles take over and see how they run the planet.

We haven't done a really great job, let's face it.

The bottom line is, call it what you want, food shortage, water shortage, shortage of land, there are just too many of us on this planet. We need a good nuclear war, or asteroid accident to clear out the superfluous human beings.

Actually, too messy, too much collateral damage. We need a good pandemic to even the balance.

Heat and Distraction

How hot was it? Ah!

I woke at 9am, with the beginnings of a migraine, got to work at 9.30, where every thing promptly fell apart. I had to pull down all the work I'd been doing and recalculate it, with new parameters, thanks to HR, yet again, not communicating with me properly. I got it all done by 2.30pm, when my migraine had kicked in big time. It was my second last day, I can't go home sick, I thought. But, then I did. Fuck 'em, I thought. I'm heading to a dark room and my doona.

I smoked a joint and was heading to bed, when Mark, Luke and Julien arrived. Jules is in transit from Darwin to Auckland to start a new life with some bloke named Jason. Good for him, even if he does have a habit of traipsing across the country after a bit of cock. Now he's gone international.

It was amazing how a little distraction, something to take my mind of my, um, er, mind made me forget altogether that my head was aching. Of course, I'd taken drugs for it, they just took that long to kick in.

We ate Vietnamese in the balmy night air.

 

Come Saturday

Mitchell and I are going to do boy's things and play cars on the weekend. I'm going to teach him how to handle a gear stick, as the big girl has just bought himself an automatic car and he wants to keep up his manual car skills. I think we are finally going other boy's things too. (Big smile) Let's see how good he is at handling that gear stick. It's time to put him through his paces. I mean, how seriously can you take a prospective boyfriend, if you haven't... you know. It's a big part of liking someone. All my boyfriends I've started out knowing them from having sex as a way of introduction. If I don't like him physically, it's all over. What's the point?

I miss having a boyfriend... even if I am getting a little ahead of myself.

22.45

It's funny when some likes you and you like them, you can't help but walk taller. It gives me energy and gives me a certain joy with the world.

Shane and David have headed out to Sircuit, they are both single.

I'm rolling a joint and heading to bed.

It is sweltering here, 35 degrees today. It still feels like it is 35 degrees now.

What a Beautiful Morning

What a beautiful morning. The sky is blue, there is a gentle breeze, the birds are twittering in the trees. (When will that fucking gum tree ever stop seeding)

4 days of work to go!

Remembrance Day.

My only question is why? So we don't forget the horror of war so we won't make the mistake of having another one? Yeah, like that's working.

I say forget the past and look towards the future.

Leah's father died on this day. Once, I used to ring, every year, for the first few years, just to say I was thinking about her. Now, I don't mention it, even though I speak to her often.

Young and fun and full of...

That Boy

Dirty texts from Mitchell, again. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Texting. Texting. Where is this leading to? I told him it's about time he used his dick as much as he uses his fingers. That got him really horny... but still by text... I guess if we had smell-o-vision (hair scent) or taste-o-vision (wet lips) mobile phones, it would be okay.

I told him I'm not taking him seriously until I have pulled his jocks down.

He's nice. He's just come back from living in London, so his accent has a slight lilt to it. He's smart and funny and really very chilled. He's solid and handsome, with a buzz cut.

He wears a good pair of jeans.

 

Random Sunday

In an on-line poll, the question was, Should the Bali bombers be allowed to see their families?

Two thirds of Australians said no.

What sort of sad, hard-arsed, nasty, conservative country is Australia turning into?

A married guy, at the function I was barman at last night, said to me, when we were conducting the auction to raise money, "There's a couple of blokes in there who'd have my babies if I took them beer?"

I looked up and said, without thinking, "But, do you really want that?"

"Um... er... no," he said. He was really focused on me giving him the beers that any thing I said, I thought.

Late in the night, when every thing was winding up, he asked me, "Any chance of one last beer?"

"Sure," I said.

He looked me directly in the eye - he'd had many beers by this stage - and said, "I love you."

Ah, straight boys, you gotta luv 'em.

I don't get Mitchell at all. After a flurry of dirty to explicit texts, Friday night, now nothing. Not a peep? I don't get him. He was at work, after all, when he first text me Friday, so there was no chance of drunken bravado.

It leave me thinking, Who needs it? Who needs him? I'm not up for games, like, maybe once, I was. Life's too short.

Of course, he may be waiting for me to text him... 

End of the Week

Well, one week to go... then I'm back to my 9.30 coffee and the choice of what to do with my morning.

I've bluffed my way through everything, at work, gave everybody what they wanted. Set up some new company initiatives. Fixed problems - had them coming at me from all directions, at one stage. Wrote a piece every morning from 9 to 9.30, something about the day. Even had time to remedy a few staffing issues. Still didn't work late. Still didn't have to kick it above 80%. Piece of piss, really.

Beck always says how busy she is! What does she do? I think it's the catch cry of the 00's - Oh, so busy. No time! Too busy! I think a lot of people get by doing much less by using that guaranteed out... sorry, TOO busy! (exasperated look)

However... I'm sailing along, 5 days to go. Easy! It's funny, when I start to think I can do anything, but I can, nothing is too hard. It's the enthusiasm factor that's always let me down. A cynical existentialist. What's the point?

I'm off to the country.

Oh... and Mitchell didn't turn up. Grrr!

The First Time?

I got sick of the texting relationship I seemed to be having with Mitchell, so I hadn't text him all week. Then this afternoon, about 3, he started texting me filthy messages. The problem was that I was in the middle of training. It's hard to concentrate on training, with a girl, when you have a hard-on. It's just weird. The boy's getting horny, I could read between the lines.

Now, he's off visiting some ex, (one of his ex's is born on the same day as me) who's staying at some ex's, (Too many ex's) then he's gonna call. Come over.

You know, it's funny that usually I'd have ditched a guy I'd known for this long, with who I hadn't had sex with. You know, if it hasn't happened in the first few weeks, let alone the first few days, it probably, just, wasn't going to happen.

We'll see? He's got a few hours left in which to redeem himself.

I hope he's good. Put him through his paces.

Woo-Hoo!... was it as good for you?

Hump Day

Middle of the week. Not much to say. Not much to do.

I've got used to the fact that I am working 5 weeks instead of 4. This was going to be my last week. I was free. Done and dusted. But not to be.

I'm finally going to the optometrist tomorrow, my recurring eye problem is, well, um, still recurring. I'm so sick of having this watering eye.

The Big Day

I had to sit like a girl to piss this morning. Oh, my aching back. Oh, my aching head. OMG! I thought, as I rest my head in my hands as my urine tinkled on the water surface. That Nicholas and his orange juice container fashioned into a bong. "Oh yes, classy," he says in a voice not unreminiscent of Kathleen Turner. (circa 2005) Oh, I don't feel good.

"Do you want a bong before you go?" were Nicholas' parting words.

Just say no Christian. Just say no.

Of course, I did. And the long walk up George Street, practically crossing Fitzroy, seemed longer than ever.

My eyes look water, as I gaze at myself in the mirror. Hideous! I think.

I feel like crap. Actually, I feel like less than crap. I feel like that turd that has gone white and flaky on the nature strip. That's how much beyond crap I feel.

If I dare cough, both lungs will be on my desk flapping like a fish just out of water.

Got to Luv a Day Off

A day off tomorrow, yay, yippee. Good old stupid horse race. Stops the nation! They should race those nags to death for another public holiday.

Too harsh?

We should all be granted another day off for the continuing good health of the world.

Because of the leave I approved, my whole team, I had to work today. Doh! Who's the slow one?

Do you like that? Tracey being my only staff member, by definition she is my whole team.

Beck's overseas.

The streets were quiet. Public transport empty, well, seats could be procured. There was a certain hush over the CBD, like a cloud overhead on a sunny day. A gentleness. An easy. Like that was how it should be every day.

IQ

I have an IQ of 140, (whatever that means, is what I have always thought) which used to cause great joy and great consternation at the private grammar school that I attended, as I, more often than not, chose to smoke cigarettes down the back of the oval and side with the troublesome boys in class, giving as much class disturbing cheek as any of them. Tom said that he used to watch me use my intellect as a weapon, when the need arose. Funny Tom. I went on to fail year 12 at that particular school, which always seemed to cement the prediction they held for me.

"Christian is a smart boy, it is just one of the great tragedies that he chooses, so often, not to use it constructively" - I think that was an actual report, in it's entirety, I got from one of my year 12 teachers.

I don't usually mention this to anyone, as so many people love to challenge me on it, so I learnt early it was not something that would bring me joy, if I mentioned it. You mean 104. You can't have. You'd be in some special program it that was true. (that one always sounded the most appealing, don't you think?) You are wrong! No you don't! You couldn't have. That would put you in the top whatever percentage of the population. Blah... dy blah, blah.

The only time it, actually, bought me joy was a number of years after I left school, when I had one of those hate/love friendships with an opinionated, arrogant, know all, who was married to a friend of mine, at the time. Let's call him Boring. Truthfully, he's a very smart individual. He was in Mya Briggs or some such area and he challenged me by saying prove it. He could test me. So, nervously, I sat down and did all of his tests. He just looked at me, in the end, dropping the scoring notes, whatever he had in his hand, onto the table.

"Well?" I said.

He just stared at me like he didn't want to say. And then he said, "One hundred and forty."

The only reason that I think of this today, is that I've been doing Beck's job for five weeks, a job I've never done before, a job I got 5 minutes handover on, as we both had to concentrate on Tracey, who, I have since found out, knows nothing of my job. Beck was too pissed off and too tired and too cranky to tell me anything, other than what Tracey doesn't know. So, I've been doing Beck's, often being asked for things I did even know what they were when asked, and I've been training Tracey in my job. Clearly Beck has just been doing it while I've been away. It's been easy. I haven't broken a sweat. I don't feel like I have worked any harder than usual. Where usually, even Beck works back late, complains she has no time, says she is snowed under. I don't get it. What does she do normally?
Both our jobs, Beck and I have done, but in our present company, that job is split in two. So, strictly speaking, I have done Beck's job before, but not for seven years, the time I've been working with Beck. The company gets the advantage of having two experienced managers, while I chose to work in the lesser position, wanting to do other things - write and not deal with the excs with their endless wants, which Beck does. But the thing is, that I've always suspected that I could do both roles and now that I've done them, I know I can. Beck gets paid 40K more than me, even if I do get paid pretty well, but 40K is 40K.

But, I'm not going back anyway, now am I? No I'm not!

Is it just that I am smarter? That's what Tom used to say whenever I looked blankly at him, not understanding people.

I guess my point here is I should stop settling for less when the truth is I can easily demand more. Maybe, that's a theme to write a story on?

My mother always said to me, "The only problem you have Christian is that you are naturally inclined to take a step back when in doubt. All you've got to learn is to try and take the step forward. Step towards your problems, meet the challenge, don't step away because that so often leads me to procrastination..." my worst of all trait... which, apparently, lead to boredom and little Christian coming home with bad reports cards as a child... and has often led to perceptions of indifference in work situations. Bluntness viewed as rudeness...

... oh, I think I am just talking shit now. The truth is that I don't want to work anyway.

Away for the Weekend

Heading to the country for the weekend, to put my feet up and do nothing, amongst the gum trees. Pat the kangas. Play with the Rainbow Lorikeets. Gaze at my reflection in the lake. Watch the swans perform their mating ballet. Fall asleep on the couch.

A new niece was born. Half the family turned up, all the cousins from interstate. The pizza oven was fired up. Pretty soon Luke was throwing pizza dough in the air. Red wine was poured for all, but me, as I had to drive home. They were all staying. It was a beautiful night, everyone were sitting outside drinking into the dusk. It was nice to see them all.

Mark, Luke and I slipped inside for Idol. Go Teal!

I left as soon as it finished.