Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Just Smoking

We sat up watching The Avengers. It’s crap. Searching for bad television. Well, actually, we were searching for good TV, but we knew we weren’t going to find it. So, we were looking for bad TV to watch.


This is a rather tragic story , tonight , by now last night ,i went to club80 , i wish i had not , i would prefer the memories thanks . I came home just after midnight and burst into tears , it's all too tragic .Sad worn out faces and only 10 of them , on a tuesday , i perhaps was one of them . There was only one cutie a muscle mary ,who cruised me constantly , I thought of saying for fuck sake just talk to me, a few words . But no , a clone from 1970. I wont be going back. They dont even sell Satire Red Amyl any more. I ran for my life eventually an thought thank god i have some wine at home . I have stopped weeping . A(nthony)x

That sounds too tragic for words, luv. Christian

Some time later, I was awoken by Mark, who was standing next to me. I looked up. The TV was off, the main light was on and the fire looked as though it had given up too. It is amazing how such changes can suck the comfy feeling right from the room. I felt a chill. Then Mark was gone and I was alone in the silence of the well lit room. I wish there was a little more camaraderie at that time of night, the other person could wait, instead of just leaving the-until-recently-asleep person alone in the silence. Of course, that is easy for me to say, I am always the person who falls asleep on the couch.
I don’t know what time it was. No work tomorrow, a bag of pot, not a care. I’m guessing it was pushing 2am.

I was awake at 7am with Santo’s face looking down at me in the gloom of the still-curtains-drawn morning. (I’m not sure why I make that differentiation, as I never open my bedroom curtains)

“Are you awake?”

“I’m awake.” I pretty much wake straight up. I can’t lie in when I am awake. If I am awake, it is time to get up.

Even if I was, actually, only getting out of bed as Santo was leaving the house and not when he was getting out of bed. Still, I was up at 8am.

I kissed Santo good bye through the open front door, until he was out of sight, which at home, is just a slight crane of the neck. We still do that when we part company at work, keep doing little waves until the other one is out of sight.

I roll a j and brew coffee.

Now that I have a bigger hard drive, I can copy over those cds that I must have over to my laptop. Adding the soundtrack of my life, I guess. It all started when I caught myself being in total disbelief that Marcia Hines wasn’t on the list of fifty top Australian singers. Maybe be it is as simple as she doesn’t have a record label at the moment to put her forward, whatever, it is outrageous, no matter what the reason. But, it made me realise I hadn’t copied any of her music over onto my laptop.

So I have added David Bowie, Nina Simone, John Lennon, The Bee Gees, Elton John, Peter Allen and Etta James. So fuck the fifty top Australian singers, that is the company that I put Marcia Hines in. I re-listened to her Live Across Australia, that girl can sing with the best of them, she has the chops. Luke asked at one stage, “Is this Patti (Labelle)?" At the beginning of Once We Get Started.

It is a bit cold this morning, my toes feel frosty. I contemplate lighting a fire. I decide that I could just go and find some socks instead. I must remember, now that I have a new supply of firewood, it doesn't mean I have to burn it. But, sitting in front of the fire during a day with a chill in it... it's nice. The fire burns, the music plays, and the world does whatever it does out there somewhere, some place... and my world is peaceful, no psycho drama going on here with me and red dog.

Santo left a bunch of albums just dated and labelled 'various', in my itunes (remember, I took over the laptop when Santo bought himself a new one) which I have never really looked at. 
Well, no art work, just while boxes with black writing, and unless you are in Paris in the 50’s, it is never going to spark anyone’s interest. There was some good music in amongst those white, uninteresting, boxes.  There are good singers in there who I should be listening to on the radio, but I don’t. I never listen to the radio, it's a fault, I know.
I found the song that most interested me and did art work from that artist as the cover art. Lady Gaga, Adelle, Bruno Mars, Usher, Pink, Justin Timberlake, Rihanna, Ce-Lo Green, Chris Brown. Now I will listen to them, picture recognition, you've got to love it. It’s cool, I’m such a lazy arse, new music. "I'll have mine without the annoying DJ's and adds, thanks."

I’m liking Katy Perry’s Firework. Kill me now.

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the bulldog snored from his mat. Mark and I were in the lounge room on our devices, Luke was still asleep.  I was beginning to restore the old scanned, bent and broken image of Mark's grandma that he gave me this morning.

He asked what the time was?

“It is 11.11,” I say. I laugh waiting for Mark’s usual response. 11.11.

“What!” he shrieks.

“Why?” I jump.

“Our plane leaves at 12.20.”

My head spins.

Then it was screaming all the way out to the car and halfway to the airport, when Luke shook his head and said good morning, groggily, from the back seat.

They had to pay $110 to catch the next flight, bags were fine.

So Captain Vague and Junior Vague made their, shall we say, usual departure from Melbourne. Pretty much right on point. I am just waiting for the telephone requests for whatever it is they have left behind that I now have to send to them.

Stupid Bitches , they have no idea ! and everybody else has to nurse them through it , outrageous behaviour , Let me guess green was involved especially in Lukes case.I hope there was nothing in his case . very funny. A(nthony)

Oh, you are a wise old thing, Antoinette. Christian

I got the pot, luv. Christian 

All is well then. A(nthony) 

David’s and my song comes on, No Air, Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown. I text David, “No Air.”

I spoke to Jack about my job next week. I started telling him some story, some rambling story where I had to look up emails, and I felt like I was losing it in the middle, and I knew I just had to finish it, it was beyond my control 

You know, I couldn't just giggle, like I do with friends. 
OMG! I got to the end of it, but only just, with damage, I’m sure. I’m sure I didn’t just get away with that? Or, maybe I did, maybe I am just being paranoid? Ha, ha. Chicken, or the egg? 

And then, apparently, I was off to the supermarket to get potatoes, pumpkin and cook-in-the-bag chook. 

”Follow my orders. Off you go.”

Stealth phone call, unscheduled in the middle of the afternoon.

"What else have you got to do, spend time with your BFF?" asks Santo down the phone.

Oh, really, the supermarket? I could think of nothing. Damn! Big breath.

Don’t you just hate that, all settled in for the afternoon. I’m sure Santo would say he hates boy friends who stay home and do nothing, more.

I steal apple cakes from Woolies. Well, I have never been trained how to check out a bakery item, so I believe it is negligence on behalf of Woolies, so until they do, the apple cake is compensation. (Upon reading this back and doing a little editing, I contemplated deleting this last paragraph) Truthfully, even the saintly Santo now puts red inions through as brown. That poor boy, since he has met me he has learned to take drugs, gamble and steal. It is the slippery slope, hey? 

There was a major problem with cook in bag chook, much swearing from Santo. At the end of his tether, cursing. That’s not usual, I thought. But, as I'd done my part of the chore, I didn't ask what the problem was. Is that bad boyfriend? I'm not sure, the jury is out. I was comfortable, I can assure you. Big smile. Truthfully, that would be the wonky-eyed icon. Later, I learn that the bag broke before it went into the oven. Yikes!

We have roast chicken and vegetables for dinner. And they were yum.

I finish restoring Mark’s bent and broken image of his grandmother. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting such a deconstructed finished image, but I kind of like it. I haven’t blended in any of the restored areas, so its modern-day intervention is clear across the image’s surface, out of which she glows, I think.

Of course, it could all be blended in seamlessly, but I kind of like it the way it is. I wonder if he will? I've sent her back as a Picasso. Snigger. No. I like it, I do. His MeMar.

I get all of my blog days caught up

“Boondi, boondi, boondi! No Air!!!” David.

I go to bed at 2am. I was catching up my blog.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Ex'es in your life

I am up at 7am. I make coffee, at Santo’s behest. 
“Are you awake to go to the toilet, or are you awake?” 
“What’s the difference? Never mind. I think I am awake.” 
“Go and make coffee.” 

I put the heating on. Good host 101, I tell myself. I have to consciously run through it, otherwise I just forget. It has always been a bit of a mystery to me. Towels. Clean sheets. Keep them warm. Feed them. Continue to be nice, those sorts of things. It doesn’t come naturally. 

It is kind of dark at 7am. The house is dark, the night is just turning to day, there is a glimpse of dark house, lighting up world. 

Santo comes down stairs and almost immediately goes back upstairs to have a shower. I brew coffee and smoke the joint. He doesn’t smell it when he comes back down. He proves the point by telling me to go and get the bills I had forgotten to pay, before I get stoned. 

“Yes, yes,” I say. “Of course.” Too late, I think. 

Santo let’s Buddy in, keen for Buddy to continue his training. Santo heads off to work. 

I clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, make more coffee. 

I put on Chaka Khan. Too up. 

I put on Dionne Warwick. The second joint is kicking, the one I had while I washed the dishes. I laughed. If you time it just right, which I had, it doesn’t hit you until the chores are finished and you are sitting down again. Dionne Warwick made me feel I had been left in a lift someplace. 

I put on Bettye Lavette. Ah Bettye. When she sang “Thru the Winter”, I noticed that the sun had come out for the first time. 

Buddy lies down on his mat with his paws over his head. I chuckle. Too gay. 

It is Leah’s (Ex-girlfriend) birthday. She will be turning 48. She was 14 when I met her. I’ve known her for 34 years. Wow. That is a long time. I wonder when we will meet and talk for the first time since our falling out? It really started at Jill’s 50th, not that I told Leah that straight away, I just walked away, or, drove away, as it was. I suddenly had the feeling that I had had enough of her, as the next round of her verbal assault commenced in the street as we waited for taxi’s. “No, really, what goals do you have?” I simply turned around, got in my car, which was right behind me, and drove away from that pub in South Melbourne. So that was December 21st 2010. Leah acknowledged it in my birthday car last year, September 14th 2012. That took a while? A comment on our friendship, perhaps? A year and a half, you know, that isn’t so long for friends who live in different cities. So, when are we going to meet up? Of course, I have to stop backing out of the-dinner-of-friends for that to happen? I’m not worried about it now, I was for some time, but I am not now. I’m just worried of walking into the next dinner and bursting out laughing, because of how childish it all just seems.

We’d lock eyes, as I walked in. She would be straight over, “me” people are always like that.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Because you are a fucking nag, that’s why.”

Serious face. “I’m what?”

Everybody would clap. I envisage a slow clap that builds momentum.

Friends again.

Anthony is being very quiet.



Well, what else have you got to say for yourself?

The sun is shining here. Is it Monday already? Yes, Santo headed off to work. Monday? It doesn't feel like Monday?

I have bad flatulence.


I think about all the sheets I have to wash and beds I have to make. They all have to be done now, so many guests, so much work to do. I must get Santo onto it next weekend. He and I, not just him, don’t get me wrong. If we both do it, I am sure it won’t take long. Of course, all the doonas have been swapped around, of course. Too heavy, too light. Too cold, too hot. People, I know. You’d think sleeping was a very simple, straight forward, thing to do, I know I find it so.

I have been turned down by the Xdresser from Ballarat ,gold digging bitch , how is my self esteem now? Anthony

fucking bitch! christian

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Luke makes yummy bolognaise

I was bing, awake at 7am. I think I had stolen the doona, as Santo muttered an old Chinese curse, I am sure, as I pulled the doona back over him and he only felt truly warm again at that moment.

I came downstairs and brewed coffee and rolled 3 joints and smoked them all. Lovely. 

We are not on speaking terms now. It's my stomach that is fat darling not my arse ,and i still fit into size 34 jeans ,i doubt YOU can say that , Too hell with you .By the way if you wait long enough the Exeloos are self cleaning. A(nthony) 

I can assure you that wiping your arse with a Coles bag is far ,far to tragic , there were cherry and sliced almond Danish in those bags .A(nthony)

Oh, could you imagine? There would be shit covered plastic going in all directions.
And I am still a size 32 in jeans. Christian. 

I have no idea what an Exeloo really is, but I can imagine. One of those new fangled public toilets, I guess.

I put on Guy Sebastian’s Memphis record, it’s very cool. I’m in a male artist phase. It is time to give the divas a rest and play the blokes. They were just as good, after all.

I’m sure Otis Redding will be next.

I so need a hair cut. It so feels like girl’s hair at the back when I run my hand through it.

I light a cigarette in the lounge room and almost immediately get caught by Santo, I bet. He hasn’t appeared yet, but I bet he does before I finish it. He always does. I might be up early, it doesn’t matter.

Groan. He leans back against the couch and thinks, I am really stoned. He has the ticklish cough in his throat to prove it. 

Santo and I drove to Santo’s place to pick up mail and to leave some GST con-refund before Brian’s trip to New Zealand on Monday. We bought baked potatoes on the way home. 

Mark and Luke go over to Jeff and Raymond’s. I thought they must have been going for lunch, but no. Time had scheduled them to help with the lifting of some heavy furniture to complete the move, I assume.

Jane leaves for home. All colour and movement. With Jay performing special handshakes.

Luke makes yummy bolognaise. It is one thing I never know how to make, which, I guess, proves the limits of my cooking skills. Me, cook? I just wing it. I think bolognaise is a basic, proves your basic cooking skills.

I fall asleep on the couch. I remember trying to keep it together through Graham Norton, but I kept going down. You know, the moment you stretch and open your eyes wide and insist that you are awake? The very next moment, you can feel yourself falling strait back to sleep. Mark insists I go to bed because I am snoring too much. I manage to rewake myself, propped up in a sitting position to start with.

Luke rolls 2 more joints, as we watch a doco on something, it is very interesting, I remember that much. What was it about?

I have no idea what time I go to bed. 1am?

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Avoiding the family

I was up at 8am, Buddy was in, I don’t know why. I rolled a joint and smoked it as the coffee brewed, towelling Buddy’s ear while it boiled. Jay came out a little later, and we both sat around the coffee table with our laptops. Jane went to the toilet and then came into the kitchen to wash her hands.

“Look at you two nerds.”

She went back to sleep.

People move about the house. People appear. People go. Many people, so it would seem.

We all sit in the lounge room, not long after, glued to our individual flat screens. Conservative party politics is winning, one has to think. Ultimate conservative political power is mind control, after all. No doubt we’ll be messaging each other in the same room instead of speaking, pretty soon.

The economy is doing well, it is the envy of the rest of the world, an yet Julia isn’t liked. She should be riding a wave of success, practically. And everyone hates her. Well, good luck to them. And good luck to Australia.

Santo and I walk down to Victoria Street, so Santo can have his foot looked at again – I guess, I should say treated – by the bulk billing doctor. At least this time he asked the doc what he thought the problem with the foot, in fact, was, a wart.

I ate pink soup.

Well , disaster . I had to rush to the loo in Mitcham tday , fortunately one Exeloo was available, Dont city councils realise that ther are good homosexual ratepayers in the community! Why there Exeloos .! However i in the nik of time made it ,but , the fucking button which releases the toilet tissue would not work no matter what i did . So , i thought now what the fuck do i do. So i had my coles bags with me and i thought a Coles receipt would do . The first one was just not enough , so i tore thtough my other bag and found another one which was more substantial ,so all turned out rather well . A(nthony)x.

Oh dear. And with your fat arse too. Christian.

What I meant to say, was surely you mean you used the two supermarket bags and not just the receipts? christian

Buddy got training, Well, quite frankly he has been a bit of a disaster. He needed a pack placement adjustment, clearly he was displaying leader of the pack mentality, at times. Mark started to put Buddy in his place, and he started to respond well. Putting him on his mat and making him stay there. Despite all his bulldoggyness, he picked it up quickly. It was just the reminder I needed to pick up his training again and turn him into the dog everybody loves, and not the dog they all feel a little bored with as soon as they walk in the door. I kind of trained him to a point, he knew to get on his mat. But he just continually turned it into a game and it got tiring night after night, and I unthinkly stopped doing it. He’s quiet when it is just me and Santo. But when guests come…

Santo picked up the training quickly too. Quietly indicating that Buddy isn’t leader of the pack, that we are. He will take his place on his mat, when told… in fact, he is at the bottom of the pack.

We all practised Cesar Milan’s technique, calm and submissive. (I don’t know? We’ve watched it all on Youtube) We did it all, practically, without saying a word. A direction. A command. Then just insisting that he stayed on his mat, moving back. Mark and Santo used a fffftttt sound. I steered him back, he got it quickly, soon you just had to indicate and he would go back on his own.

It suddenly dawned on me, or was made clear to me, me yelling at Buddy just puts him in a heightened agitated state.

Calm submissive, is what is needed here. He doesn’t try to play. Well, he does, he tires all the tricks, but as long as you keep calm, he stops.

We had him staying on his mat until asked to come off by the end of the afternoon.

Santo has to work this weekend, Saturday night and Sunday night for about an hour. He will have to do it again next weekend. He said he couldn’t go because he had to work. He thought it was rude to take his work with him to Emily’s, even though I assured them they would have internet.

No, it was rude.

And, I guess, you have to psyche yourself up into work mode, which is hard to do at a party. And I am the worst one when it comes to multi tasking, what is that? If I had to work, tune into work even for an hour, I reckon I’d rather be home when I did it.

I didn’t want to go without Santo, sure, I like having my co-conspirator with me at parties, someone to talk to, chat with, laugh at, hang with. But, if that had been the only reason for not going, I probably would have gone, sans San, it would have been too rude not to, after telling Emily I was coming, in person, just a couple of days ago. I didn’t get to see Lissa, with the baby with the cute round face, as Santo says. I was looking forward to the food. Except for the shadow of the show down between Mark and Rob over money. I could just see a tedious three hour fight, cry, sing, fest, discussion stretching into the wee small hours of the morning.

One Waterdale party a week was, after all, was all my duty should have to stretch to these days, after all, exboyfriend. Big smile. No, but… smooth sailing and I would have gone. Stretched out fingers.

So I stayed home too.

We took Buddy for a walk to the supermarket and bought sausages and salad.

Mark and Luke and Jay were home about 10.30pm, as it turned out. They were all clutching McDonald’s bags, complaining that the food was light on. Both Captain Vague and Junior Vague winced when I asked about my glasses, (They were supposed to collect… after much reminding) almost in exactly the same way.

Nothing was said about Rob.

Friday, April 26, 2013

What happened to Anthony?

When big boys laugh at little boys, it is invariably, when the big boy get’s glimpses of himself in the little boy, and the little boy asks why the big boy laughed, inevitably the big boy’s answer will be, “Nothing, mate. Nothing.”

There is no explaining that.

So inherently, boy’s will be kinder to boys than girls will ever be to them.

Jay and I are sitting side by side on the couch, he on his play station, me restoring images. He just makes me laugh, with his energy, as he bounces around, as he takes a corner, or wins a race. I remember what he seemed to be feeling. It’s infectious. It makes you laugh.

“Why did you laugh?” Jay asks.

“Nothing, mate. Nothing.”

We all questioned what happened to Anthony? 

Loli came over, it was nice to see her. She wasn’t here really very long when her phone rang and she had to organise for Carlo to be picked up from school as he had a head ached and possibly and broken nose. How you can have one and then possibly the other, I’m not sure? It would seem to me that the broken nose would be the presenting problem, not the head ache with a broken nose chaser.

“I swear, it’s like I still have an umbilical cord attached and I am only able to go this far.” She drew a circle on the coffee table with her manicured finger nail. “Before they rein me in.” She laughed. Both hands pulling out in front of her, like she was in a tug of war.

Loli asked what happened to Anthony.

Jane went shopping. We seemed to just sit around all day and do very little. Mark and Luke were meant to be taking Jay someplace but they never seemed to go and do it. I took Buddy for a walk at 3.30. Santo came home and we ordered pizza for dinner.

Anthony finally rang. He slept until 4am. Fell asleep on the couch until 6am and then drove home. Shrug.

Sister Chris called and said that she had found my glasses.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Rich's 90th

We attended Rich’s 90th birthday, on the entertainment terrace on the top floor of the posh twilight home. It’s nice compared to where my mum is, poor Lottie got death by cattle class. Of course, all of the Waterdale clan gathered for the event. The patriarch 90 years old, of course they gathered. Rich’s sisters, amazingly, although the youngest sister is much younger, a change of life baby, as they would have said. The children, and from all accounts everyone of them is talking, well, at least at the beginning of the show, that was. And the grand children, there is a clutch of them now. The cute cousins, cute Max he never changes. Handsome Brett. Santo likes them blond and blue eyed, and was somewhat taken with him. We purposely tried to engage him in conversation, just to see what colour of his eyes were, for quite a considerable part of the party. It was he wanted to talk, but was shy, which was endearing in itself. 

And there was Rich, wheeled out in his wheelchair and nose drip. His nose dribbling uncontrollably into tissues in his hands. It was like a viewing, I swear. Wheeled out after everyone had gathered. His last big entrance, I’d guess. 

I had to make myself walk over there and sit in that chair next to him. I had now known him for years, I had to. Besides, I like Rich, he’s always been nothing but charming with me, despite is fearsome reputation. He kind of looked up, tilted his neck, like he couldn’t move his head very far. “Christian… my boy.” He reached out for my hand, but it was as though his arms no longer really worked. 

I asked him how he was feeling. 

He said he’d felt better. 

I said that he attracted quite a crowd, motioning to those gathered all around us. 

He nodded. 

I said that I had trouble remembering all of their names, even after all of these years. 

He laughed through hid breathing tube, and said, he had trouble too. 

It felt a bit sad, that that was probably the last time I would see old Rich. He was always kind to me, nothing but sweet. 

Remembering that for 5 years of the time I have known him, I was in a threeway relationship with his son and another man. 

He only cares about his success and the empty feeling that he has that he never achieved it. Stupid, I know. What else do you want man? 

The food was good, we tried nearly everything. Well, I did. Club sandwiches for days, mini quiches. Santo had never has asparagus rolls before. He forced a smile and said they were okay... looking over at me with a questioning look. Seriously? He clearly hated it. There was lemon slice, caramel slice, mini fruit flans, which were extremely sweet, and chocolate cake. Let’s get real. 

The youngest generation had a big, noisy play time with balloons, being warned not to let them off over the lower roves of the floors below. As soon as the parent’s backs were turned, they waved their hands in the air, screamed, and let the balloons off excitedly into the sky and over the surrounding neighbourhood. 

Jane came out and told them all to cut it out. Then she looked and Santo and I sitting back on the deck chairs. "Surely you are the adults out here," she said. I had a balloon in my mouth. 

Kids are great. They are just full of such fun, just naturally. 

Brother Rob had a go at Mark about money, like a stealth bomber from left field. He mumbled hello and then that he wanted money. Except Mark and Rob have never discussed why? Just gruff Rob making some demand, usually after he has had a few sherries, so it must have been fore front in his mind today. Sister Chris seemed to fill in the details for Mark on the terrace, like mother Marge would have once. Good on Chris for putting in her interpretation. 

Rob and Chris were in control of the family business at the end. 

Apparently, it is about money that Rich gave to Mark, Rob now considers it a loan and wants it paid back. I remember on one occasion that Chris said Mark should just take the money from Rich and not feel guilty about it. 

“He (Rich) has millions,” Chris said. 

But, that was before Rob’s money seemed to disappear. He and Marge should have had plenty of money from the sale of the family business to pay for their care now. They owned half of the business, after all. Rob seems to be living very well, for someone who only owned a quarter of the business, very well indeed. In fact, so does Chris, living very well on her 5% ownership. 

Mark has never asked questions about the, I would say, but then I am a bitter exwife, obvious disproportionate spread of wealth. Rob’s never hidden his 200K Range Rover, his 2 multimillion dollar properties, or his 400K boat, which he traded for a 900K boat. Chris has never hidden the fact that she never has to work again, with a large superannuation fund and investment properties providing her with an income. Not bad for just a few years work. Mark has never wanted to question this, the very integrity of his brother and sister. Mark didn’t care, he responded by building a bigger empire with new businesses. 

It didn’t seem to matter, as Rob has the same success issues as his father - daddy never told son that he was any good, presumably because father Rich was never told by his father that he was any good. In a backward kind of way, Rich was looking after the family now, he was finally the man of the family, as he didn't mind picking up the shortfall in the bill for the care of their parents. 

Mark always said, good for Rob I hope it brings him happiness, I’m going back to my forest. Or, I’m going home to my newly adopted country. 

Except now Rob is going through a costly divorce and he no longer wants to pick up the tab for the extras for the 2 parents. His super has shrunk. Chris’ next egg has shrunk too and she isn’t giving an inch either. The thing is though, the parents should have twice as much money as Rob, so this shouldn’t be coming up at all. 

Are you following? It’s very Dynasty, you know… minus the big hats and the shoulder pads, you understand. 

Families and money, it never ends. On, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on… 

We took photos of the spectacular sunset, from the terrace looking west. Just spectacular. 

Rob wheeled Rich's cadaver like husk back downstairs stoically. Rich was still dribbling into his tissues, one in each hand. Marge seemed to be having a great time, but she seemed completely lost, happy, but lost. Vacant, in a nice, smart suit. So it was over early. Lovely.

The worst thing was that I had dropped my glasses some where, (the worst thing was that I heard my mother’s voice in my head, as I said it) just as I was ready at the lights on Dandenong road, with cars behind us ready to leave the party too. There were no car parks handy, just a sea of head lights as I looked in the rear vision mirror… as I selected gear and waved my glasses good bye.

Jane and Jay were staying after the party and Anthony was coming over to see everyone when we got home. We had to call him when we were on our way home.

Anthony arrived smelling like a brewery, he drove. Don’t question me. Hands in the air. Then he proceeded to chain smoke, alternating between sitting outside on the chairs and returning inside to collect his next cigarette from his packet on the lounge room coffee table, then it was back outside. He repeated this ten times, maybe.

He headed around to the milk bar and bought 6 Crownies, which he poured into a glass on the back bench of the kitchen drinking them with his back turned to us. He was intending to drive home but Rebecah talked him out of it.

After 6 crownies, Anthony was the life of the party. We all laughed until late.

He disappeared off up the princess tower in the wee small hours and wasn’t seen again. Literally.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

That's not Bulgarian Feta

Santo, and I, ate Malaysian in Elizabeth Street for lunch, where fat boy used to work. There is no leftover dinner lunchbox, from last night, which I always carry into the city. Tell me why I do that again?

“My bag is heavier, your bag is lighter, don’t be a baby.”

It is my last day at (name of company), another job over. The job I felt the most nervous at the beginning of which. I'm not sure why? See, it just goes to show you should never take the summer off. Or something. 

Oh well, next!

Mark and Luke arrived this afternoon. Mark's dad made it to 90 before death, they are down for the big party. Santo and I strolled home down La Trobe Street, through the gardens, to home. It is such a joy not to have to battle the peak hour traffic. Mark and Luke
 got home just before we did, despite having a midday flight. Who has ever left Sydney on time? Oh, except they didn't come from Sydney, of course. Has anyone ever had a Jetstar plane leave on time. I have, myself, but be that as it may, it isn't the story of my friends.

We ate chicken schnitzel, Luke ate chicken breast. I swear that boy never eats fat. We had to go to the supermarket anyway, to get the other schnitzel, of course, we had just the two. Buddy get's a walk. You can almost see the grin on his face as he bulldozers his way along the footpath.

I was going to make dinner, just to set good-host-101 in motion from the outset. I'm notoriously crap at having gusts to stay, I just wanted some brownie points straight up.  

Luke takes over the cooking, silently, without uttering a word.  The advantage of a chef… ex-boyfriend… good friend. I’m not sure exactly what his title is? All round nice boy. He questions the validity of the Bulgarian Feta?

“That is low fat Australian feta,” Luke says.

"But, I bought Bulgarian." If it is on the note, then that is what I buy. I never via from shopping instructions. Oh no, that would lead to all sorts of problems.

Luke looks at me as though I have been cheap again and he has caught me out.

I wanted to wail, but I did! Suddenly, I felt like a 5 year old.

He held his gaze on me, with the suspect feta in his hand, chewing something distasteful.

Luke makes a sumptuous dinner, just with the ingredients I had bought and with some from the cupboard. It is a skill, I would have never presented so nicely. Luke is almost contemptuous when I even suggest that I cook. Generally, he looks at me and laughs, out loud.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Always the last to know

Santo and I ate spaghetti from our lunchboxes sitting on a seat in the Flagstaff Gardens. After we have eaten, we stroll around the gardens promenading. In the sun.

You get to see all the cute office boys in shorts bedding over and doing the squats.

We head to the QV Woolies after work and buy schnitzels and salad. Oh what to have for dinner every night, it is a chore. QV Woollies is a special chore all of its own. The Tuesday special is back on at KFC. I don’t know who mentioned it first, but we had both seemed to have mentioned it. If we had KFC tonight, we could have the schnitzels and salad tomorrow night. It wasn’t so much that I wanted KFC, but it pleased me to know we had two nights dinners taken care of. The dreaded supermarket run.

Anthony calls me to ask me if all the preparations had been taken care of.

“For your guests.”

“What guests?

“Your guests over the long weekend.”

“What long weekend?”

“Oh, get with it.”

“Really? Guests? Mark and Luke?”

“Jane and Jay are coming to stay for 2 days. And so am I.”

“When did that happen?”

“I knew it, you never keep up.”

I’m not sure how I got out of that particular loop, I suspect it had something to do with Mark, and Anthony was just reporting in maliciously, knowing how slow on the detail is Captain Vague.

“Don’t get me wrong, that sounds lovely, I just didn’t know.”

“Always the last to know,” Anthony scalded down the phone.