Happy New Year

My Xmas List

The things, I realised later, that I may have wanted for 2010 Xmas. Not that anyone asked me, it was food and clothing all the way.

A Parkinson DVD
A Jay-K DVD
The new Doctor Who series on DVD
A hose roller thing
A new, or sharpened, pair of hedge shears
A new coffee bean grinder
A new USB stick
A Lovely mug, for Sam
Exile on Main Street remixed

Doesn’t My Cat Have Cute Ears

Hands In The Air, Shrug

Oh, what's the deal with the AFL naked photo story? Why didn't the AFL simply say, yes all of our players are men and yes they all have penis'. They are all athletic and probably most of them would look good naked. End of story. No more comments. They just fuel the sensationalism by making endless comments. And, of course, the lawyers are there sucking on the vein of hype.

Who cares?

Everybody is naked under all of it.

Why are we so American about nudity? You know, screwy. Why aren't we more European? You know, blase.

(In a French accent) "Oo cares." (Hands in the air, shrug)

Having said that, I did google the photo, but of course.

Nice wanger, Nicko. Grow some pubes you moron.

I'd post it here, if I cared any more than to take a quick glance at it. There are sexier photos of naked men, believe me.

What Friends Are

I made a promise to be more, to all of my friends. But life got in the way, as life has a habit of doing. We all haven't talked in so long, you know together, around the same table so to speak, but it doesn’t seem to matter, it’s as though no time has passed when we do get together. That’s what friends are.

I feel like we are always working now a days, it seems to be a given, a sign of being productive. I found a local news article that describes ways we can fill our lives with work rather than love. It's easier than it sounds, ha, ha. But then, we all look like we have already found the secret.

Work to live, that’s my motto, it was Australia’s motto once. Not live to work. We need to rediscover the dinner table laden with food and wine, surrounded by friends and long evenings to consume all of it. Forget the board table Australia and go home to your loved ones. The corporate world eats it’s young and leaves the carcass bleeding in its wake, don’t forget that.

Happy holidays.

Cancel The Day

I’m texting Sam in bed at 9am. He tells me to get a plan, cross things off my list. Work, achieve. I tell him it’s just nice lying here. He says he has work to do.

I wander down to find Shane on the couch, looking quite bright-eyed. He’s been in his room all weekend with the meth pipe, although he’s not admitting to anything, but I can tell. He leaves for work around 10am.

I make coffee and look out the window. And back to winter? I think. Cancel the day, is my second thought. I’m not going anywhere and I’m not going to care. And today’s the 20th, and not the 21st, so I don’t even have to head out to pay my phone bill, as I thought I had to.

It’s 13 degrees. I’m almost feeling like I could put the central heating on.

later...

I suddenly decide I had to do something for the day, one thing, do just one thing, have a haircut. Before the Xmas rush. So I look nice for the New Years Eve festivities. I head off in what I’m wearing, really bad tracksuit pants and the oldest hoodie in creation. I’m just wandering along Smith Street when I hear a voice yell my name.

It’s David. He’s off to the pharmacy for the “Heath Ledger” mix of sedatives for his upcoming trip to India.

It takes him as long to get his scripts filled as it does for me to get my haircut, WTF? So it would seem. We meet up again in the bakery and buy rolls – he buys a salad roll, I buy pork rolls.

We chat out the front. Somehow I seem to dob Shane in again for a drug fuelled weekend. Actually, it was in the telling of Sam wanting to try it, that I inadvertently tell on Shane. I tell David he doesn’t have to say anything to Shane. David says that I know he is going to be straight onto the phone as soon as he leaves me.

I try to get him to promise not to.

He says no chance.

I plead.

He laughs.

Lunch in Carlton

We head off on a bike ride, but the rain beats us back. Sam is a chicken, the first spot of rain and he wants to turn back. I don’t mind risking it, it makes it more exciting. I have places all along my route where I know I can shelter, bridges and the underneath of freeways and the like. We would have been fine, as it turns out. We shelter under a tree in the Fitzroy Gardens when the rain first starts before we slip off on home, Sam saying something about me not listening to him, until I put my hand over his mouth. He laughs.

So, if exercise is out, then it is food.
Sex and food – I know exercise isn’t quite sex, but it is a preparation, you know – the two great powers in life, the only forces in life.

We head off to Carlton to eat Japanese for lunch, at our favourite place to eat. We had to eat outside, despite the cold, as whoever was on was playing Celine Dion, ug! Hideous. When will that bitch die? Good thing I bought us jumpers, but I love the fresh air, none the less. It's like nectar to me.
Then we head to Lygon Street as Sam thinks he is coming down with a cold and he wants to replenish his apple cider vinegar stocks. There is no health food shop in Carlton, do you believe that?
We head to Soul Food, in Fitzroy, to get the apple cider vinegar. We are only in the shop for 5 minutes, but as we go to leave the heavens have opened up and the rain and the hail is coming down. It deluges with rain in Smith Street for about fifteen minutes, or so. It's wild, good to see and exciting. I love that feeling of looking out at the rain.
You know, I don’t know much about carbon in the atmosphere, but I can tell you that the weather is becoming a might unpredictable.Yet again, I am left looking at the wild weather wondering how people can doubt global warming.

We head over to Sam’s place. Sam goes in first and checks for Anthony and Charlie, I wait in the car. I think, much later, that that is pathetic of me and I’m not going to allow that to happen again. I’ve got nothing to be afraid of, I’m not normally afraid, well, not of that.

Oh, maybe I am? Hm? There’s something to think about.

Anthony is the ex who Sam still lives with. It's true, I didn't want to meet him up until this point, but going in and checking, I don't know, later it just felt stupid.
Have I told you about Charlie? He's a mutual friend of Sam's and mine, who doesn't even know that Sam and I know each other. He's staying with Sam until he finds a new place to live. He's gonna be really surprised. Sam and I have been having fun with that one - let's see how far we can get away with this?

We watch pink flamingos on Sam’s TV before I head to my ex-boyfriend, Lauri’s for dinner. He's in town until tomorrow. The flamingos are amazing in a flock of 1000, or so, all synchronising into a mating dance. Sebastian and Crystal are at Lauri’s, as well as the whole Garcia clan. I feel sad about my family disappearing when I look at all of them sitting around the table. My father’s gone and now my mother nearly is too... and then it’s all over, no more Xmas as I know it.

Today, I'm putting my feet up

I went to see Tron. It was visually exciting, gorgeous to look at, with amazing effects, but, the story was confused. I wasn't sure what was happening, and why, some of the time... a lot of the time... most of the time. Although, the son, Sam Flynn, Garrett Hedlund, is damn sexy and worth watching.

I didn't get the whole old Tron thing. I didn't realise Jeff Bridges was in the original. I didn't recognise Bruce Boxleitner. I might have to go watch the first one now.

Someone told me that if you have a better knowledge of the first movie you will understand the new one better.

I Don't Usually Like Them Blond Haired And Blue Eyed, But For Alex S. I'd Make An Exception

Christmas drinks: the office party... How Much Fun Can You Have

Moderation is smart

Don't drink away your nerves or feel you need to guzzle alcohol just because it's an open bar. Moderation is smart... but makes for not much fun and poor office gossip the next day.

Don't stick to the same old crowd

Use the opportunity to circulate the room and begin conversations with people you rarely see. Be friendly and keep your drink in your left hand, no-one likes a wet hand shake... soon to discover there is a reason why there are people in the office you rarely communicate with.

Don't be a bore

Instead of talking about yourself take the opportunity to thank colleagues for their help and hard work during the past year and keep positive by asking colleagues what they hope to achieve in the coming year. Be gracious... and try to look interested when they are banging on about themselves.

Dress like a pro

Don't interpret the party theme to mean lingerie or any other kinky attire: it's a dangerous place to be getting that out... although, here's hoping that hot Luke comes dressed as a life saver.

Be polite

Don't abuse or make out with workmates - definitely not their spouses... My mate Tom famously got it on with a work colleagues husband at a boozy work picnic... who was last seen having a folding chair thrown at him in the car park as his wife demanded to know why.

Careful how you move it

Don't dance on anything but the floor - never lie on it. Also, careful how you shake it... but that just obliterated all of my best dance moves... be careful how you shake it? How sad and conservative are we going to get, I ask you?

Know when to say goodnight

Don't stay on after you start to slur. If you feel like getting merry head to a nearby bar where you can carry on unobserved. Don't ask your boss to come along... but, that's when the party truly gets interesting. My old boss, two jobs ago, had the best cocaine.

Remember your manners

Don't forget to thank the person responsible for coordinating the party and do consider sending a thank-you note to top management. Companies can invest a lot of effort in a Christmas party and everyone likes a thank you... is this Xmas party circa 1952?

Don't get home and drunken dial anyone - ever... or text, I learnt that one the hard way. Oh boy! 

Drink More Alcohol!

I started drinking red wine at lunch. I never drink alcohol in the middle of the day, I don't know why? Woo! Hoo! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is greeeeaaaattttt! We should all drink red wine at lunch. I'm sure the world would be a nicer place.

Except, of course, horny straight boys, they tend to get a bit fisty, but everyone else should join in, make the world a nicer place.

(What exactly would be the test for a horny straight boy, do you think?)

Weeee! Wooosh! Woo! Hoo! I say again! This alcohol sure is funny stuff! He, he, he, he, he!

Is it the direct relationship with the day light that makes it funny? Or is that an inverse relationship - the darker the day the darker I feel. The lighter the hour, the lighter the mood? Actually, that would be a direct, yes.

Oh, who cares! Now, where did I leave that bottle?

Imagine...

I bet Oprah never has to cut around the brown bits in an avocado as she makes her lunch... he thinks, as he tries to scrape as much healthy green as he can from between the lines of brown marbling through the fruit's flesh.

Why aren't things how they are supposed to be? Imagine if things were always as they should be? How much simpler life would be? How different?

My phone packed it in, it's two years old. Shouldn't things las longer than 3 years? I went to charge it up as normal, but now it just wont switch on any more. It nearly switches on and then it crashes. You know who has put a curse on it. In the past, whenever I have asked him something about it, he answers, throw it away and get a new one. That is the answer.

Some friends got terribly nervous when I said that maybe I wouldn't get a new phone. (Of course I would, but the idea is strangely appealing) They looked at me like I was insane. Actually, they shook as they pulled faces, as if one of their own was threatening to rock their very existence.

And, you know, it is good to have a geek boy boyfriend. I told him that I didn't want to pay any more than I am now as I only really text people, I am a mad texter... and you know what, he's found me a new phone within 24 hours of the old one packing it in, to his liking and to my requirements.

A HTC Legend.

It looks kind of cool. I like the big clock and the silver case. I am so no a gadget queen, I seem to have missed that particular gene. I don't care, as long as I can text and call occasionally, that's all I do with a phone.

I bet Oprah has a cool phone?

5am With Cranberry Cereal

I'm a worrier, is there such a word? It's a curse, not unlike back hair (no, I don't have any of that) or renal failure or being ugly or, of course, stupid. I worry about everything. The state of the world? The state of urban planning in Melbourne? What I'm going to do with my life? What I'm going to do for a job? (No, I still have one, but that doesn't stop me) Not being able to write any more. Leaving my JK Rollings shot at literary (I use literary and JK Rollings in the same sentence with a sort of poetic licence) fame too late. (How about my Sam Sheppard shot at literary fame)What the hell am I going to buy Sam for Xmas? I don't reckon my standard issue family present of chocolate will quite cut it. I'm worrying about my cat not wanting to sleep with me any more. Bitch! Bad timing you fat slapper, as the cat food bag is empty. Ha, ha.

I never used to be a worrier, I'm sure? It's too time consuming. Who could be bothered, I ask you? It is a thankless task. But then, I had a peaches and cream kind of childhood, you know, where nothing ever went wrong. I never worried about the future, bring it on. I couldn't wait to grow up, it seemed fascinating. I never used to be scared of heights, either.

It's just when you get to be an adult, you realise how badly you were sucked in by it all. You know, the standard stock issue lies that parents tell. It must be straight out of the parent's parenting book. Santa and the Easter Bunny was just the tip of that putrid iceberg. You realise how quickly it all whizzes by - there really is no time for getting anything wrong.

So here I am sitting up in bed at 5am with cranberry cereal and my laptop, worry about being able to stay awake tomorrow, um, er, today.

 

Oh, I am so horny right now

Came Home, Feeling Blue

The miserable bastard made an appearance again tonight. You know, I used to criticise David and his 28 day cycle where his oestrogen levels rose to such a level that he'd spend a day in bed crying like a girl... but, you know, I don't think I'm that much different... just quietly. Less tears.

So, I came home, feeling blue – my knuckles get hairier, my arms extend, I start to limp and shade my eyes from the light until I'm dragging my foot up to my front door, which I open a crack, checking behind me as I post myself through the small gap I allow myself. 

Did I tell you that I got passed over for a promotion? Apparently, I'm not quite corporate enough, too opinionated. Not P.C. enough with my fellow work colleagues. Actually, they didn't tell me that, they didn't tell me anything, but I can guess. My phone has packed it in, fuck it. Sam will be on to me about getting an iPhone, again. Hid in my room. Ate Vegemite toast, toyed with the idea of going for a bike ride. Sat on my balcony and smoke cigarettes instead, even after the dentist made me promise not to. 

I asked the universe for a sign for things to come. You know, just a gesture, I must have been feeling depressed, hey. Yes, barf, pathetic, I know. How 15 years old am I trying to get? Immediately, the hot wog boy from over the road came out to his car, stripped off his shirt and began looking for another inside his vehicle. My, my, my! Black jeans, hot arse, red jocks elastic curving over his ripe, muscular buns, olive skin, black hairy stomach and chest, a thoroughbreds torso, broad shoulders, wiggling as he bent inside the driver's door.

I asked the universe and it gives me beauty? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Yes, well, thanks universe for that? That's the one department I'm really quite happy with.

Ate more Vegemite toast. Read blogs. Watched porn. Fell asleep.

Up The Country

I took Sam to the country for the weekend, well, the night. That is a weekend in the country though, isn't it, city style? We're so time poor now we call a night away from home a weekend. Ha, ha.

Saturday morning. What are we going to do? What is the plan? Come on, let's make a schedule, says Sam.

Oh, do we have to? Another plan.

We can go out to breakfast. We can go for a bike ride. We can go out to lunch?

We can go up up the country, I said.

So, which one. Come on, let's decide.

Which one? I questioned. All of them. We can do all of them.

He raised his eye brows, his brown eyes glistened. He smiled that cheeky smile, the one where his eyes go just ever so slightly pointy. Adorable.

Yes. He was clearly pleased. Good plan.

I cooked him scrambled eggs and tomatoes and bacon and toast. I poured him a huge glass of orange juice and brewed him fresh coffee.

We rode around the Yarra.

We ate Japanese at our favourite Japanese eatery in Carlton on the way to Bolato.

Friend Jeff was down too. He and Raymond are considering a move back to Melbourne, I don't believe it. How many times up and down the East Coast is that? Oh my god, I have lost count. I don't know how he can, actually, tell people and keep a straight face. Good thing he earns a squillion dollars. But, you know, he works in Melbourne, Ray works in Brisbane and they live in country NSW.

Luke cooked a huge pumpkin and chicken curry, it was delicious. I forgot his birthday present. Dah! One of the, albeit minor, reasons for heading up there in the first place. Sam rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air in mock disbelief when I told him. I, suspect, he got that, particular, gesture from me.

I got horribly pissed and stoned and snored, apparently. Sam snores like a machine, so I don't think he is exactly in a position... good thing I sleep like the dead. Funny, I can drift off to sleep to the dulcet tones of his nasal rasp. It's as though everything is right with him.

We washed my car this morning, no water restrictions in the country. Ha, ha. Sam is always commenting on my filthy car, even if that didn't translate into him, actually, helping me wash it. Apparently, his idea of a day in the country doesn't, actually, include washing my car. People are funny, I don't think I will ever work them out.

We did do all the other day in the country kind of things too.

Came home today in that lovely dusky long sun shinny sunshine sparkling across the road in front of us. Or was that the clean bonnet of my car?

I love the way he just, naturally, reaches across and rests his hand on my leg when we are driving some where. You know, generally I'm not into such gestures, not sure why, but I'm not - I like being my own person, too, too cutesy, it's just not me, hand holding like you never want to let the fucker go. It sometimes makes me think of holding on too tight. But, blush, I like it when he does it.

My Poor Tooth

"Can you feel the pressure?" asked Martin.

"Yes." Of course, by then it was hard to speak. I always feel a bit like the Luna Park face at this point.

"Is the area numb?"

"Yes." I couldn't, in fact, feel the entire right side of my face. It was even a little numb down the right hand side of my throat, which was a little disconcerting.

"No pain?"

"No, no pain." I could feel the pliers (I couldn't see them, of course, so this is an assumption) gripping and ungripping on my tooth as he got the best grip, but I couldn't feel it as pain. There was a sensation of something hard and metallic on my hard tooth. Hard and cold on hard and cold.

"Good," said Martin.

There was no pain, it is true, but the feeling of something moving in my gum was weird, as Martin took hold of the tooth. 

Then, I could feel the sensation of tearing and ripping, the tearing of tissue, the pulling of my jaw, my flesh and the breaking root... was apparent, even if I couldn't feel it as pain, as such. That's the creepy bit, it made me squirm in the chair.

Martin pulled his hand away and I knew it was done. My tooth and I had been parted, for the first time in...

"You made the right decision," he said. "There's the abscess... right under the roots."

He was putting things in my mouth, but that was apparent more by sensing it than feeling it. I could vaguely taste the acid flavour of blood on my tongue, before Martin pushed a wad of gauze into my mouth and the acidic taste was gone.

All done. No pain. I guessed it would probably hurt when the anaesthetic wore off. It doesn't hurt yet, although the area is coming into focus more and more.

I so wanted coffee when I got home, but the instructions said it was best to avoid hot food, initially. So, I'm eating bananas. I bought a coffee scroll, but it just wasn't the same thing, not even a good substitute, actually.

Sam comes over after work and even though Martin said none of this, making gestures of pushing and pulling his hand in and out of his mouth, we do. Big smile.

Every Bike Rider Must Dismount

There is a detour on the bike track, where it is being repaired, and it is redirected up through Burnley. There are, what must be 8 "cyclist must dismount" signs, as the rider approaches the detour and along the redirected route.

Every time I ride the track not one cyclist dismounts, not one rider gets off and walks, not one person obeys the ridiculous number of signs telling them to do so. Me included.

And sometimes, would you believe it, there are multiple bikes and pedestrians all negotiating their path through quite successfully.

It's good, I like it. Individual rules, not lawyers and politicians. So no to over regulation, trust in the individuals to negotiate such things. For goodness sakes, people are smarter than they are given credit for.

On tonight's ride, there was the first guy to stop his bike and got off. I have to admit, I thought looser as I approached him.

As we rode out the other dies of the pedestrian tunnel, through which the detour goes, he said how nice it was riding in the late afternoon sun. The loser was one of the few people ever to speak to me on the bike track. Conclusion, he must have been a complete weirdo.

The sun shone and the rain fell in a fine mist and the world was glorious.

I've been riding six days now, since Saturday. My arse is toughening up, yay! It only takes a short time. My new bike is great, it makes me want to ride. I love riding down by the river, it's way cool.

I like to day dream the best

Farts are Funny

Farts are funny, they make us laugh. Collectively, or singularly, they still have that effect.

I went to the kitchen I normally head to, one of two we have on our floor. When I got there, there were people all crowded around the bench, as if there was something going on. I held my hands in the air as if to say, what goes on?

One of my favourite girls in the office, unbeknownst to me, was walking up behind me. Suddenly her voice was in my ear saying, Well, use the other kitchen.
Oh no, I don't use that one, as all the farty execs use that one and I may have to talk to one of them.
She laughed and said, Do the execs smell?
Ha, ha, indeed they do, I said, as I headed to the kitchen in question.

As I headed back to my office, I lent in behind Liz and said, Can't you imagine Christina (our CEO) letting one rip?
Stop it! Stop it! she said. You've now given me a visual that I had never thought about before.
Then I started to make farty noises, like I imagine Christina would sound, lifting her Armani clad leg and screwing up her face with a little pushing effort.
Liz put her hands to her ears, as her shoulders bounced up and down with laughter.

I do my bit for a little levity in the office... otherwise, everyone is very seriously beige.

Calling You

I answered my mobile phone, while I was in the middle of something. I'd been waiting for a call from the insurance company about my mother's kitchen.

"Hello, is this Christian?"

"Who is this?"

"Am I speaking to Christian?"

"What is this about?"

"I'm calling today to offer you some information about investments..."

I pushed 'end' on my phone. I got up to put paper in the printer for some writing I was doing.

My phone rang again. The voice on the other end said,

"Don't you think there would be a more appropriate way to respond to a call than the way you just did?"

My head spun, what? You have to be kidding me? Surely, just hanging up IS the politest way to deal with a call I'm not interested in?

"Your call was uninvited, your call was unwanted, now get lost! How's that for an appropriate response?"

I pushed 'End.'

What a fucken cheek. Aggressive sales calls, what's next?

 

I Never Think I'm Sexy

I never think I'm sexy, unless I'm actually having sex. I think other people are sexy, but never myself.

I can never do it in front of a mirror, though oh no, I can't do that. When I look in the mirror, at other times, I am always amazed how anyone finds me sexy at all?

Is that common?

I kind of think it's healthy, if I had to think about it at all, you know, stops the ego from taking over and thinking things that aren't true.

Hideous, I think, when I look in a mirror, usually.

I hate photos too. Funny though, I now look at photos from years ago, which I remember I hated and I think I look pretty good.

Last Day Ever... Salt Mines Ahoy

I was awake at 7am, tossing and turning, so comfortable, luxuriously, lovingly, rolling around in the joys of another day off. But, I couldn’t get back to sleep... last day of holidays. Grimace.

The sun was hot on the wall of my bedroom, radiating in with a wake up, wake up, wake up siren's call.

So, I got up, got dressed and headed straight to the supermarket and bought all the essentials I was out of, including a new breakfast cereal for Sam. He can't believe how I eat muesli every morning.

"How original," he calls my "repeat" choices.

Then, I headed outside and drank coffee and fruit juice and finished the mari. Smiley face... so I told Sam.

He says he's jealous. Can't quite understand why I didn't go back to work on Wednesday, you know, first day back.
Lovely, he replies to all of my taunting emails.

Missy is following me around the house. She keeps positioning herself to get pats. Who says cats don't miss you?

This weather is amazing. Melbourne is more tropical than Queensland, I think, as the skies grey over and the rain falls in big drops.

It Happens

I took Nicholas back to pick up his car, after it had it's steering alignment fixed. Nicolas cut off a taxi, two and a half months in to having his licence, it happens. The car had to be panel beaten, it was something they'd missed.

I taught him to drive, and it was always been his weak spot.

We picked up Nicholas' mum and stepfather on the way back and took them out to lunch. I had a sensational B.L.T., Nicholas had beacon and eggs and ma and step pa had toasted tomato sandwiches.

Judi kind of laughs uncontrollably when the waiter came around, it was odd. Nicholas said it was because she get’s embarrassed as Rob never takes her out to eat.

Judi rubbished Tim throughout lunch, she’s not stupid, she’s got Tim’s number. He doesn't like her so much and he can barely hide it when he's around her. I like her, she makes me laugh, and she's go a heart of gold underneath all of that... now what would you call it?

She talked about proving her aboriginality, to get her scripts for free. Her mother was aboriginal, her brother has just proved his.

“I don’t look look eet, do I?”

“No.”

“But I fucken am.”

"I'm going to prove mine too, to get my drugs free," said Nicholas.

"What drugs do you take?"

Nicholas laughed, his amazing blue eyes sprkling more than usual, if that was possible. "Well, none."

Judi was really chuffed about her really good deal on an ounce of pot, from someone just up the road from her and wanted to take me home to have a chuff, see how it smokes.

Nicholas mentioned that I might have other things to do.

“Nah, you’ll come home for a bong, wontcha Christian,” says Judi. “I like Christian.”

Judi wants me to write her story, you know, I should take her up on it. I reckon it would be something.

I wondered if Nicholas didn’t want me to be smoking his mum’s pot, you know, when she needs all the support she can get. I couldn't read his looks – were they now his I-want-to-get-away-from-my-mum eyes? Or was I getting paranoid?

We took the two of them to pick up Xmas hampers from the church in Napier Street, they had been packed up for the day, come back tomorrow, they said.

“Come back fucken tomorra,” says Judi as she heads back to me. “Fuck ‘em.”

“I’ll come back tomorra, I slip up her, I’ll just need to bring a bag, it’ll be no problem. They had lots a food, but we don’t need food, the cupboards are full of tins, can’t fit any more in. I’ve baked beans falling from the shelf.”

Judi said again, “Come home for a choof, mate.”

Nicholas looked at me and I wondered again if he didn’t want me to be smoking his mum’s pot, you know. I felt again that he might want me to go home. But, you know, I wanted a smoke. But then I realised he can’t smoke and drive so he couldn’t smoke himself.

We got back to Nicholas' mum to smoke a bong with her, but when she tossed us a bag of gunger as soon as we walked in, Nicholas thought quick and pulled the I-can't-smoke-and-drive routine and we went home and smoked our own.

Eight bongs later, I was maggotted. There seemed to be endless Stargate on, I was losing my grip with reality.

Then I got sooo ripped I started fancying Nicholas. The beautiful Nicholas - black hair, parted down the centre, just starting to curl on the ends now it's got longer. He hasn't had it this long for a long time, it looks good on him. Olive skin, now honey tanned. Electric blue eyes. Faithful to Tim for six years, thus far and not so happy now. He's been winging about Tim for the last few days. Aren't I the stereotype to suck Nicholas' (Ed note - god's cock to the planet, allegedly) cock. The best friend? (Ed note - isn't that classic?) I'd be the one and we'd swear to never to talk about it again.

At which point, I decided I'd sobered up enough to, actually, drive and I should take myself home, only two blocks away, after all. I know when it is time to leave. Thank god for 40 kilometre speed limits.

I'm binge eating - making myself toast and raspberry jam, because it's going to be over an hour before Shane comes home with the Nandos.

Back From Up North

Well, Queensland was a great break from it all. We had a really nice spot, just across the water, on Chevron Island, from the heart of everything. We had a deck which went from our back door to the water's edge. At night, the lights of the tall high rise buildings were like being in the heart of a big city. I love the lights of a big city at night, they have a magic all of their own.

Seven out of the eight people there were smoking, but only two of them claimed to be full time smokers. I was the non-smoker. Everyone else was smoking just because they were on holidays. What, I think? How can this be? As David would say, what is this supposed to be telling me? Why is the universe presenting this to me? I guess, you can guess what happened next, huh? I was a gonna. I made it to the second night.

Now I have to stop smoking again. Grrr!

We began drinking from midday every day. As one of the girls said as she was leaving, "Well, we didn't get much sightseeing done, but we saw the inside of most of the bars in a square radius of here."

The Gold Coast itself was foul, really. It was development on top of development, nothing nice about any of it. Oh, it wasn't so much that there was anything wrong with any of the new building, but you could see them all in any modern city you cared to visit. There was nothing unique to the area. It was all brand new buildings, or buildings that were built in the last few decades which were dating badly and, probably, in need of redevelopment themselves.

Cavill Avenue, blur – one big tacky shopping mall. The beach front itself was mostly fenced off for work that was being done, or schoolies.

Yes, schoolies was on, not that they really bothered us, we could watch at a distance and remain relatively unaffected.

As Nicholas said, "I've never seen so many ripped little boys with their perfect abs and their arses hanging out."

As Tim said, "Young and dumb and full of cum... and that's the girls."

They were pissed and aggro and all testosterone'd up by around by midnight, so we didn't venture across the bridge at that time much, once or twice just to watch the circus.

We went deep see fishing where half of us were sick, including Nicholas who was the reason we, actually, went. He was the first to turn green and spew, poor baby. I, actually, loved it and when I got bored of fishing, I went up and stood on the bow and gazed out across the water. Spectacular. The waves rocked the boat and they refracted with the sun all the way back to the horizon, sparkling like a billion facets of a diamond.

I rolled with the waves losing myself in them.

The others did a lot of shopping, but not what you are thinking. The others made several trips to the supermarket every day. Now, I'm not the one to be rushing off to the supermarket with a spring in my step and a whistle on my lips, even at the best of times, you know. Halfway through the week this put me into a strange head space. Suddenly, I got paranoid about not paying my fair share. It was something Tim said, not that it matters what it was. (Ed note – truthfully, I can't remember the exact words) And then they were gone to the supermarket before I got up. I don't know why, but that did my head in, in a minor way, but still.

Then I tried to compensate by paying for lots of things, but somehow that just seemed to make it worse.

Funny, huh? I'm not like that normally, so I don't know what electrons were pulsing through my brain? I reckon it's because Sam has called me a tight arse a couple of times lately.

Anyway, we all had a good time and vowed we would all have to do it again next year.

It's nice to be home.

Hey, we like the same things

Gay Marriage

"There's a lot of promiscuity in the gay community. I don't understand why they take that civil union. How low is their self-esteem?

One's on Hampstead Heath meeting men, the other one's hiring rent boys. Surely marriage is throwing anchor and saying, 'This is where I'm staying, I've made my choice and this is all I want because I've been on the up and down escalator, through the revolving door and I want to stand still.' That's what I expected."

Pete Burns

You know, the only thing I think gay marriage is effectively going to give us is gay divorce. Let's work on equality, not some tired old paradigm that has been proven not to work for all of those who have been, lucky, enough to enjoy its benefits.

Personally, I think we'd be better off if we took all of that energy and put it into safe schools and gay teenager suicide, then the world would, probably, be a better place. I think that would make a difference.

Not that I've heard any credible argument against gay marriage, you know, if that's what someone wants to do, of course. Don't get me wrong. Get married, if that's what your heart tells you. Why not?

Look at those eyes

Feeling Blue?

When I feel down...

... I...

... think about the happiest, funniest, stupidest times I ever had...

and I can't help but laugh.

I know it's a cliche, but tomorrow might be your best day ever...

... you never know.

The minimum requirement is that you have to stick around to find out.

Doesn't sound so hard... you babies!

Actually, I shouldn't say that, as the main reason... hand across my mouth... gaze left... gaze right... gaze left again...

... why I could never do myself in, is that I'm not brave enough to carry out any of the alternatives, they are all hard-core. Nasty!

But, then again, if any of the alternatives were appealing, I guess everybody would be doing it, huh?

And, I've always had a fail-safe, like a release valve, my cracked sense of humour. In the end, I always end up laughing... always my last stop before cracked town. In a good way though, not a sick creepy way, not the laughing clown running the knife along a vein when nobody is looking. No. Tears in my eyes laughing, usually. Laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, laughing.

... so, laugh everybody...

 

Nice hairy chest

Junk?

Don't you hate the term junk? I know I do. It's stupid? Call it what it is... don't beige it to a new level. It's like we've reverted back to children and have become even more squeamish about sex than we were before. Is that possible? The new conservatism... don't mention sex.

I just did kaka in my pants and my wobby needs a wipe.

Jesus Xist, spare me!

Just a boy, looking for another boy, to pass the time

Up, up and away

Off to sun and sea for a week. I've never been to the Gold Coast before, so there is a certain part of me that is, well, scared. You know Queensland? Ah! The only problem with Queensland are Queenslanders. They are a different race.

What's the difference between Queensland and a tub of yogurt? A tub of yogurt has an active culture.

Quick explanation for those who don't live in Australia, I come from Victoria the most culturally alive and progressive part of Australia. Queensland is where all the rednecks who marry their cousins live.

We are staying in a house on a canal... whatever that means? The only thing I know about it is that you can't swim in the canals because they are full of sharks and, sharks withstanding, you wouldn't want to swim in the canals anyway because of the pollution, from all the "wannabies" and their boats. The true miracle is that the pollution doesn't kill the sharks, apparently.

The other thing I know is that when I asked Tim what we were going to do for seven days, he looked at me like he didn't understand the question and then offered the answer in a rather bewildered tone, "Drink?"

I'm flying Jetstar for the first time,  - again for our over seas readers, our budget priced airline - which seems wholly appropriate when flying to Queensland.

So, wish me luck.

The only thing I need to find out is whether our house has WiFi?
Actually, with my computer addiction, such as it is, I have decided to leave my lap-top at home, it's a good chance to have a break from it. It's been, oh, ah, how many years since I haven't had my computer for five days? So, that should be interesting, hey?

Just Look At Those Eyes

underwear Calvin Klein Kellan Lutz

I Voted

I've voted already, by postal vote. Quite apart from going to Queensland tomorrow, it just seemed like a good thing to do, to avoid the crowds, to keep out of the usual queues. I'll miss the sausage sizzle, though. It just seemed so civilised, voting around your own coffee table.

I voted Australian Sex Party then Socialist. I put Labor and Liberal last, the tired old tarts. I think The Greens are already too mainstream and will start making allowances to sure up their power... no doubt. And we need lots of voices in parliament, not just a few.

I have voted Australian Sex Party not as a protest vote against the major parties, I have voted Australian Sex Party because I agree with their policies. Go read them.

Let's vote for a free society so we can have a democratic society.

Now, I just have to pack my bags for the Gold Coast. Don't you just hate packing to go away? Actually, I know the truth is that if I just get on and do it, I will have it done in thirty minutes. But, as Sam likes to say, you just like to talk about it all first, now don't you?

nice...

I Know It's a Bad Thing

I wish Shane would break up with his new boyfriend. Quite apart from the fact that I find Leon to be quite a humourless individual, Shane becomes a different person when he's got someone in his life. I kind of lose my friend, stupid me, I know. Or is it just Leon? Because, I haven't thought that with Shane's previous boyfriends.

When he's single, he's open and friendly and fun. When he's with someone he becomes clingy and closed and distracted.

I know it's a bad thing to wish your housemate to break up, but there it is.

Mangos and Milk

Everything hurt this morning. I think it was all that bloody bike riding. Teach me for getting cocky with Mr S.

Or is it my lousy mattress? I must think about buying a new one. I always wanted a futon, but the osteopath said they weren't that good.

"No, they aren't especially," said Bruiser. "You know the Japanese don't put them on slatted bases."

Yes, I did know that.

I walked to the super market and bought mangoes and milk. A lovely meander on a sunny morning to cure what ails you. Track suit pants and a t-shirt, my pj's but nobody in the supermarket needed to know that.

I should have worn my dressing gown over the top, I though, as the "enter gate" opened for me.

I wanted to prepare breakfast for Sam, instead of always heading out to a cafe on Sunday morning. Muesli and orange juice and coffee and then freshly cut up mango. Lovely. And a lap-top each for the news. 

Make Me Smile

I made my appointment with the osteopath at midday so I would have no trouble getting to it on time. Day off and all. Of course, I struggled, getting there at five minutes passed. Isn’t that always the way, no matter how much time you have? I don't really care so much with medical professionals, though, as they always keep me waiting. I mean I try, best intentions, and all.

I’ve got an out of line rib, or something, too much time spent sitting at my computer. Apparently? Who’d have thought?

I don’t like massage, as a rule, but the osteopath’s warm hands felt good, nurturing, healing. I guess it’s the promise of something medical and something that is curing that makes it feel more acceptable. I don’t know, it just felt good and not stressful.

I bought avocados at Piedes, the North Fitzroy supermarket, on my way home, when I stopped to buy pies. I got out of the car with both shoe laces undone and flopping around, everyone at the tram stopped watched me as if worried for my safety, or was I imagining it? I can’t help but think of the old days, having lived just around the corner when I first moved to Fitzroy. It’s an appealing, old fashioned supermarket, you know, the type with lots of wood instead of lots of white laminex, normal light globes instead of floods. 

I followed a hot-arse, dark curly-haired tradie into the shop. Nice chunky-arse rocking backward and forward with every step he took. Hot. I was mesmerized, my attention captured completely, practically drooling. Ha, ha. What did I come in here for?

The woman in front of me at the checkout was having a discussion about the $5 price difference between the white lilies and the pink lilies and how it wasn’t made clear that there was a price difference between the two different colours. She wanted them for the cheaper price, trying to sound reasonable instead of cheap. Just pay the extra $5 you cheap bitch, is all I could think.

Funny how I stop for junk food, but the conscience kicks and I end up going for the healthy option, before I walk out the door.

I went riding in the afternoon. The sun was shining down gloriously, the sky was a teal blue. There was a bit of wind, which was cold to start off with, but as I got going I forgot all about that. It felt good, stretching the legs, stretching the lungs. I'd promised myself I'd go riding every second day and I hadn't been since Monday.

Sam messaged me just as I got back and said he was coming over after work. I told him I’d been riding and he was mock horrified that I hadn’t asked him, waited for him. Very disappointed, he said.

He arrived just after 5.30, saying that I just had to go riding again. So, I did a second circuit around the bike track around the Yarra. Another hour long ride. I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me?

Halfway around he complained about it being far. Three quarters of the way around, he accused me of trying to kill him. 

That made me smile.

Pull The Blankets Up

It was dark and the blankets were pulled right up to my face, up under my nose, where the woollen fibres tickled my nostrils and made me want to sneeze, if I'd been conscious enough to do anything more than attempt to wave it away unconsciously.

I was dozing in and out of sleep, that early morning float from 4am onwards, when time stretches out to twice as long, 120 minutes to the hour, or so it would seem. That lovely lazy flop; limbs asleep, mind adrift.

The door opened, I could just make out its click on its latch and the vacuum seal of the air in the room vaguely relax and then retention. Heals clip clopped on the floor boards towards me... I was riding a horse across a cobble stone road.

I was in my friend's kitchen with a titled floor. I was in that boutique on the high street with polished concrete. I was in a long corridor which stretched far away in both directions, some one was walking but no matter which way I looked the corridor was empty.

The footsteps stopped, I could sense breathing. I was behind a door, somebody was looking for me. The world was dark, but I wasn't alone. I was hiding, someone had sneaked up behind me without me seeing.

I was being touched, thick, stumps of fat were sliding under my shirt. My friend was trying to get my attention. Finger tips were crawling like spiders up my chest. The shop keeper was flirting with me. They slid into my armpits. Someone was behind me in that long, empty corridor. I raised my hand to the back of my neck, my arm rubbed across the side of my face. I started to laugh, it tickled. It was funny.

The sound of my own voice woke me up. The stranger was looking down at me, his jowls hanging low as he lent down towards me. I recoiled. He grabbed each side of my head with each hand and pushed me into the mattress. He smiled broadly and whispered in a low, gravely tone, close to my left ear.

"You have very soft skin... I've been waiting for you to open your eyes." His breath was hot and wet, it smelt like fish, or rotting teeth.

I woke with a start. The room was empty and the dark, evening light was breaking into the first blush of morning. My bedroom door was open, where it had been closed. I pulled the blankets up to my neck and a chill ran up my spine. My skin crawled on my flesh, like it had turned into roaches.

New Conservatism Hits Uni

The dean of a New York law school says he is "mortified" after fashion brand Diesel used their library for a risqué photo shoot.

The school rented out their library to the label in March last year, expecting they would be making an ad for jeans — not underwear.

Instead the photographs that surfaced this week show men and women in skimpy lingerie in racy poses alongside books and computers.

Models in underwear, that's all it was. Why mortified?

The new conservatism continues to leak into our psyche further like the BP oil spill off Louisiana. OMG! Isn't that what university is for? Experimenting with drugs and taking your clothes off, having illicit sex, all of the above. Let’s stop running universities as business’ and start running them as universities again. These shots are pretty tame to boot.

Comfortably Numb

Gotta do some thing?

Today? That would be too immediate, no thinking time. But, gotta do something none the less.

Tomorrow? Absolutely, cause it never comes. Ha, ha! Self defeating.

Gotta do something.

With my life? This far? Thus far? Make it count? Like we all want it to. Like we are all told to. Do something? Anything? And, what you love, of course. Naturally. Have it all.

Gotta do something.

You know, as soon as I work that out, I'll be on it. Be amazing? Do amazing things. Be some thing.

Have a plan. Do any of us?

The thought of going into my law office again tomorrow makes walking out into the traffic look attractive. You know, not really, I'm kidding. It's not the job itself, it's just the repetitive nature of the beast.  The same thing every week. We all get our very own version of groundhog day.

And they are all so earnest, so serious, so full of their own importance, so believing in what they are doing, my corporate colleagues. You know, like what they are doing is important? A lawyer does something important? Now you really are shitting the world. It's just the capitalist system making a few very rich. They are not solving world hunger, or pollution, or the health of humanity. Well, maybe the health of rich white folk, I guess it's helping them.

The young pretty males in their, shall we say, well fitting suit pants are, perhaps, arguably doing the most worthwhile service. Perfect male specimen Patrick, sexy-arsed Hugh, beautiful-penis Andrew (yes, I looked. Well, what's a gay boy to do when he stands next to you at the urinal flopping out in full view?) are all doing their bit towards the ascetics of the place. The world.

Masculinity. Handsome young men in suits can never be a bad thing. That's the best I can say for corporate life.

You know there is nothing wrong with law, per se, (that expression is so lame and so naff that I knew I just had to use it in this post some where) but how did I get caught up in it, I think as I look at my million dollar view over Port Phillip Bay, like that makes up for it.

Yeah, the view is great, there is no denying it.

I'm only the finance guy, you all know that. So, I'm practically a fake amongst this lot. I don't even fit into the world I'm slotted into. The law only looks after lawyers, you have to be making money for the firm for it to give a shit about you. If you are not a fee earner you are rubbish.

So, me? What am I doing here? How did I get stuck in an office on the 42nd floor at the risk of repetitive brain injury? You know, it fucken beats me.

I was supposed to be a writer, an artist, a free thinker, but I settled. Well, I didn't actually settle and this is where the hard bit to understand comes in, it was just that nobody told me it was an option. Law, medicine, business, arts, sure, no probs, like the world is prepackaging itself into beige, beige and beiger. The things you don't know that you don't know. The things that you wish you'd known.

Look to the stars young man, let your imagination run wild. Who was saying that to me?

"You didn't do as well as expected, this is the course you got into."

I drew. I wrote poems. I wrote great dialogue. I wrote stories and plays.

I wrote my first picture book when I was in grade 3. It was read to the grades 1 and 2s.

What happened to all of that? I was thinking as I walked home.

I left work at 5pm, instead of 6pm, which I never do. There were people every where all scrambling to get home, I must miss this at 6pm? WTF? The surfs, the minions, the fodder of the capitalist system, all scratching and biting for their place.

I went and saw Perry and we went to the movies and saw Social Network and we both got stoned and I stopped thinking about all of that.

Something beautiful

Come Ride With Me

We get Sam a bike. Well, I guess, he gets himself a bike, I just happen to be standing next to him when he gets it. Although, naturally, he wouldn’t have been getting one at all, if I hadn’t bought myself a new one last Friday, if I hadn't been the one encouraging him to ride.

He hasn't ridden since he was a kid and he is nervous and when the bike shop man gives it to him with a helmet and says, Go over the road to that side street and ride it around for a while, Sam looks really nervous and, he might deny it, really excited, all at the same time, which looks really cute. And we go over the road to the side street on the other side and he has non-stop questions until I say, Just get on and ride the fucking thing and stop thinking about it.

And he does just that. And he does just fine, even if stopping isn't a strong point. “Come on,” he says, when he gets too far ahead and me, his training wheels, gets too far behind.

He kind of falls inelegantly forward off the seat onto his feet to stop, which doesn't really matter until he is riding up behind some pedestrians on the footpath and I worry for their safety. I give him a demonstration of how to stand on his pedal with one foot while he gently places his other foot down on the bitumen to stop. And I tell him he must avoid hitting pedestrians, as that would be very bad, with much damage and probably lots of yabber.

Although, if he wants to use a small child as a front wheel chock, if the alternative is freewheeling out into oncoming traffic, I don't think that would be so bad. I mean, what else are small children good for?

We get back to the shop and Sam says, “Do we take it now, or do they have to assemble one, or get one in?”

And I look at the rows and rows of bikes and think, Surely, we’ll be able to take it now.

Then, all of a sudden, I’m thinking that I’m talking him into it, just because I like riding and I start saying things like, “You know, we can leave and think about it.” and “We don’t have to get it today.” and “You know, you should only buy this if you really think you are going to use it, I don’t want to be blamed for talking you into it.”

And he smiles and says, “But you did and you will be, but that’s okay because I am a big boy who can make his own decisions too, you know.”

Then he’s telling the shop guy that he’ll take it and the shop guy says he’ll have it ready for Sam to take it in no time.

And I say, “We can go riding all afternoon, if you like, that way you’ll build your confidence.”

The shop guys says he’s just going out the back to get the colour helmet Sam wants.

Sam turns to me and says, “We could go riding all afternoon, if you want. Or, we could go home and have sex.”

Seriously, I was thinking helmets and leg clips and bike paths under the sun. I was thinking riding for a few hours. My mind was totally on that.

Is this a retail therapy woody? I think.

Then we are out on the street and Sam is all excited with his new purchase and says, “Let’s go get your bike and go riding.”

But, I’m thinking I like the other idea better, now. I raise my eyebrows and say, “Okay.” I shrug. "Let's go."

And he knows exactly what I am thinking. He gets that adorable smile on his face, as he looks at me through the tops of his eyes.

"Let's go home then," he says.

 

Remember God Is At Work Orchestrating The Divine Porpoise

Who's ever done the "next blog" thing at the top of your page? I was waiting for inspiration to hit me this morning, as the rain fell outside and the carpenter continued with his circular saw on the house across the road... cute wog boy who looks very hot bent over his make shift work bench in his dark blue, double white stripe, track suit pants... 

... but, I digress... so I thought I'd hit the "next blog" button a few times. OMG! It's truly amazing when you do? How many American Christianity blogs are there? It's truly frightening?

"I'm walkin my life with Jesus." (I can hear the southern accent twang)

"I'm hading my life over to the Lord."

"Remember, God is at work orchestrating the divine purpose."

I wish I knew how to hack, I'd go in and change that to, "Remember God is at work orchestrating the divine porpoise."

One after the other. It appears to be America's number one mental disease... did I say that out loud?

It was the first ten blogs, I'm amazed.

Anyway, I don't want to talk about that, everyone is free to choose to believe in whatever they like, hey?

I'm just waiting for the rain to stop, so I can go riding on my new bike. Yes, I bought a new bike, finally. I did the smart thing, I shopped around, checked out the prices and what was available and narrowed it down over the last two months, or so, and now I have it. Shiny and silver and really nice to ride. Yay! Of course, my old one really is worn out, so just about anything would be nice to ride in comparison.

I'd be orchestrating my own divine porpoise, if the rain would only stop. All weekend, says the weather report. Saturday and Sunday. Oh well, sigh. I guess it means I'll have to stay in doors glued to the Internet. I so want to go speeding along with the wind in my, um, er, helmet. The whir of the wheels beneath me. The whoosh of the bitumen below me.

Every night after work during daylight savings, and I'll get my fat arse into shape, not to mention get my ugly moods under control. My passive aggressive streak is taking over lately and it could just be my lack of exercise that is to blame.

However, today it is time to finish that novel, I guess. Late in the Season, Felice Picano, one of my favourite writers. I mean, what else are rainy Saturdays for, you know?

Whacko The Did

Whacko The Did

he pulled a knife

then he hid.

As the blood pumped

from her crib

he sang shimmy me pig.

He did high kicks

and Goosesteps

and an elaborate jig.

He spun around in circles

and sniffed at the blade

as the blood dripped.

As her life ebbed and was gone

he pleasured himself some more

with her red treacle

splashed all over on his bone. 

Every day at the gym, what else can we say

Digger Franco Polestar

Good morning my new friend.

What is your mood?

Today I decided to register for a dating site, to help pay the bills and to meet the man of my future life together.

When I read your profile on dating site I decided that u are brave, nice male who can take care of me and be a great friend to the beginning of our acquaintance.

If u are interested in my profile and my photos, please write info in my email, I will wait

Good luck

Yours

Franco Polestar

It was accompanied by a photo of a handsome young Italian man with long black hair, shirtless with a nice chest, dressed in briefs with one arm around a dancing pole, smiling. He was masculine and muscular, with his arse pushed out as if on a promise and his finger up to his lip, as if he could really be a naughty boy. An army uniform lay at his feet, his foot still in one trouser leg, commemorating the day, as if he'd just taken it off. He had a slouch hat in his other hand.

Yeah... nice try.

The Well Is Clearly Dry

Hey hey it's Saturday being back on is pretty much proof that the television stations have pretty much run out of ideas.

Human Nature 02

When we are alone we want to be with others, and when we are with others we want to be alone. We humans are just like that.

Contradictory, and irrational.

Not all the time, of course, but we can give it a good crack.

Human Nature 01

Human beings never judge themselves as harshly as they judge others.

Oh yes, undisputed.

We can criticise someone for something, while we are doing the very same thing, without hesitation.

I've said it before, and I will say it again, sometimes you just need a nice piece of arse

Jamie bought himself a new pair of speedos for the summer that was approaching, quite fast if the weather report was anything to go by. Here it was November and the forecast for the following week was nudging into the 30's.

He slipped the bathers on as soon as he got home. They still looked good in his full length mirror in his bedroom, so it wasn't a trick of the retail lighting. He was pleased, they made him feel sexy, a thrill ran up his spine as he gazed at himself. He hadn't really been looking for new swimming trunks, he hadn't really been looking for anything in particular, he was just wandering the shops trying to fill in an empty afternoon. It was unusual for him to have a nondescript day to fill in, just as unusual that he would choose to fill it in with shopping.

He didn't really like shopping and he didn't go in for musicals, as he didn't much care for singing divas. He liked football and rock bands, cars and the gym.

It was the three strips of colour, which made up the briefs, which caught his eye, initially, as he'd never seen a pair quite like it before. He ran his hands down his hips, he liked how they felt. He liked the way they sat at the tops of his thighs, although that may have had as much to do with the hours he'd been putting in at the gym as it did the cut of the material. He liked the way they hugged his hips, squarely and snugly, and the way they held him at the front. He slid his hand down and adjusted himself, enjoying the feel and the look as he did.

He wanted to call up Matt and tell him of his great purchase, but he wondered if he was being altogether too excited. They were only speedos, after all. He wanted to show Matt and have him admire them too, but he thought there would probably be time for that, when he and Matt were together on the weekend. The thought gave him a thrill all over again. He ran his hands over the material again and looked out the window and wondered if it was hot enough to head out to the pool?

Sunny Beach Afternoon

Sam and I ate fish and chips on Albert Park beach until late, on a park bench on the board walk. The late afternoon sun was glorious, shining down golden on our faces, warming our souls, well, our smiles and our laughs.

It was one of my list of things to do when he asked me what we were going to do for the day. It was quite lovely too.

The sea sparkled, the sand glistened, giving hints of summer ready to shine.

Saturday Morning

It’s a beautiful sunny morning, so much so that I have already been out into my garden with my secateurs to chop back on the creeper which is growing through the fence from the other side, smothering my lavender. Ah the fragrant scent of the mauve herb wafting into my nostrils as I chop is just lovely. I’m sure, if money was no problem, I’d be surrounded by lavender, as far as the eye can see.

The air is glorious, thick with the hints of summer, imbued with the tantalising warmth of the golden sun. 

When I retreat from my twenty year sojourn in the heart of Fitzroy, my main criteria for a new house will be sunshine and light.

Ah, the lovely summery morning… and buzzing with flies, so soon. Already? Where do they come from? Do they lay low in a state of hibernation until the first hint of sun touches them, causing them to break free of their slime, or eggs, or mucous? Actually, from my very limited biology, I think that is exactly what they do.

All the while, Sam is glued to his iPhone, his eyes seldom waiver from the small screen streaming “nerd boy” news. He’s my very own geek boy and I love him anyway. So, when I am done, I go and fetch my lap-top and bring it down to the coffee table to read the news. You know, if you can’t beat them join them. It has the effect of making him laughed at my old silver machine. He approaches it as if it is some rare thing that he hasn’t encountered before, much like I may have approached my father’s gramophone. He touches at it with outstretched fingers tentatively, as if he is really not quite sure what the effect of contact will really have. He tilts his head and looks at the side features with that highly self amused grin plastered right across his face. He mumbles something about many features and I’m not quite sure if he is being sarcastic or not.

Then he pulls out his sleek Apple lap-top and sets up next to me. I make some comment about them being the same silvery colour and he replies that that is where the similarities start and finish.

“Yours is plastic,” he says with mock disgust, as he reaches out and touches it again with his tentacle-like fingers. There is repulsion dripping from his spidery touch, I can see it clearly. “So different, fake aluminium.”

I kind of like sitting together behind our respective lap-tops doing our thing, as the sun shines in the window and the birds tweet in the garden. I guess it makes a change from the hours I spend at my computer alone. It’s a kind of 21st century boyish togetherness.

The clock strikes midday and he asks again, what are we going to do for the day? He likes to head out and do stuff and I kind of like doing exactly what we are doing now. We’ll see who is triumphant in the fill-in-the-day stakes.

I’m kind of enjoying sneaking in an entry into my blog as he is completely oblivious. Although, I did kind of just give it away when he asked again what are we going to do for the day, replying to his own question. “You are too busy with ninemsn.”

“No,” I said. “I’m too busy writing about you.” Then I waited for his reaction.

He looked up and smiled. “Really?” he said. Then his eyes were straight back to his screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Buying software,” he replied. “Have you made up your mind what you want to do today?”

“Have you?”