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.