The Colourful Hive

The Hive shopping whatsit (mall, centre, place) has been transformed with the fresh fruit and veg market that has opened recently. Where it was just a lost, dark corner down the back, awkwardly sitting in front of Chemist Warehouse and next to Aldi, (Is it just me, or do other people feel that shopping in Aldi is like visiting on Mars?) it now vibrates with people and colour and movement… and that all important air con. I know, I know, we’re not usually such pussies, but it was hot today. 

"Oh baby, I'm sweating."

"I'm dying, how much further is it?"

We had to go to the butcher and the other Asian grocer, but we soon scurried back to the cool of The Hive. "Phew!"

I bought apples for 90c a kilo, I bought granny smith and pink lady to stew for my morning muesli. That's very nana, now isn't it? Who else stews apples?

Sam tried on his usual con regarding the distribution of the bags to carry on the walk home. Claims of unfairness, and “I’m dying back here!”

He tries out all the carry bags and quite unashamedly gives me the heavy bags to carry home... if I let him. The trouble starts when I push back and refuse to play the "harmonising" of the bag weight. Then Sam's whining about the bag situation doesn’t stop for the whole walk home.

Today, I out smarted him "ha ha" and swapped heavy items for light ones, as he would do to me if I allowed him too, when he wasn't looking. He soon caught on and he kept up the complaining all the way from Victoria Street to home.

I stewed the apples. I made doubledecker two colour jelly with lychees, earlier this morning. I just needed vanilla ice cream now and I have the perfect English pudding.

It was hot, the sun blazed, the heat beat down. Spring is change, one week hot, one week cold. I like it, I like the change. Actually, I don't much like the heat and find the cool that follows such a relief.

No Queues in Fitzroy to Vote.

We decided not to go early to vote, last year when we did that it seemed like all of Fitzroy thought they'd go early too.

We ate lunch sitting out in the sun on the footpath in Smith Street. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue, the breeze blew. A good day to change government. I ate Nasi Lemak. Sam ate that Asian version of gnocchi, I have no idea what it is called.

No queues in Fitzroy to vote, just a handful of people, we had to wait a few minutes. I had to go to the local table, Sam had to go to the aliens voting in an electorate that isn’t their own table, as we usually do, so we always vote alone. We even got hedgehog on the way out. 

Fat?

No.

Money for charity sweetie, money for charity.

No sausage sizzle, I was disappointed. Not that I wanted one, of course, we'd just eaten lunch, but it is always nice to smell the sausages sizzling in the breeze. 

There is something forever connected with elections and sausage sizzles. Perhaps, it is metaphoric, Who comes before us daring to say they know how to run the country, risking having their sausage cooked on the metre of public opinion. You know, something like that.

I So Wanted To Push Her

The first side of Victoria Parade was clear, so I zipped across. With its white concrete surface, I always feel as though I am tippy-toeing across a Pavlova case whenever I cross it. 

I tip-toed across the tram tracks, the gravel between the lines is lethal. The other side, the inbound lane, was full of cars. I walked along the inside row of parked cars, waiting for the traffic to break. 

A woman opened the door to her silver Ford Falcon right into my path. She then did that bend at the knees manoeuvre into the driver’s seat of the car, which only managed to turn her into a great big arse right in my way, and not much else. 

I could see the black tights struggling with the backs of her thighs. I so wanted to push her face first into her car, but I settled for a clear of the throat and a side step around her, as she did tiny little staccato steps towards the steering wheel as if she’d never seen the inside of a car before in her life. 

People shit me, I thought.

This is What I Imagined

Do you think Tony Abbott masturbates?

I thought about it in the shower this morning. I reckon Tony would be a quick downward pull under the running shower kind of guy. Quick. Efficient.

That's what I imagined, as the shower water ran down over me this morning. You know, when the warm water first hits the top of your head and you let go of your thoughts (dreams, hopes) and they swirl around in your skull all soft and squishy. I'd been thinking something about federal politics as I headed to the bathroom. Hot water massaging the top of my skull... Abbott, one term loser, destroying Australia, 50's neanderthal, try-hard in lycra, when will he stop doing those speed shots, I wonder if he masturbates. Can you see the train of thought?

I think I washed all over with soap again after that. Sam gets right down and washes his toes with soap individually. I don't do that. Does that make me unclean? I did this morning. Shiver all over. Abbott masturbating. Did I get a mental picture? Shiver all over again.

Do you think Margie would catch him? Do you think they'd even share a bathroom?

Putin vs Abbott? Top? Bottom? Putin is your great mountain man, Abbott is your great triathlete, or so both men would have you believe. Once the image of them meeting up at the G20 both in blue suits, awkwardly next to each other, morphs into them kissing and pulling the blue suits off each other, I turn off the water and got out of the shower. 

Putin is on his stomach on the pillow top mattress, his trousers and jocks around his ankles Tony is on top of him... well? Did you think I'd be, um, er, rooting for the enemy?

barberini faun, I think everybody should have one

Casual Friday

The boys at work, you can't help but imagine on casual clothes Friday, how will they look. They look so different, not so buttoned up. Some of them look quite different. Of course, casual clothes Friday only applies to the guys, girls have casual clothes Friday ever day. Girls at this work wear thongs to work. What would happen if a man wore thongs? (As petty as that, actually, sounds)

Chris Carter had on those jeans that made him look like a thoroughbred horse. Slender, but muscular. Pert, sexy. Even Kirin has commented on it, something about following him down the street and not being able to concentrate.

Alex Clover's bum in jeans looks a little chunky, he needs the thinner and tighter cotton of his work pants to capture all of his magnificent contours.

Chris sure is cute. The boy would have a great cock, I am sure, as everything else about him is perfect.

Alex is sexy.

The cute Asian guy told me in the kitchen that his name was Peter. I didn't ask, but I'm glad he did. I think I am quite circumspect at work, continually being the new boy and all. He just told me, then he held out his hand. I never know how tight you have to grip to confirm that you are a guy, so I am sure my handshakes always come off as odd, always testing the water, actually feeling their skin against mine. I guess that is the gay bit.

One Term Tony

Now the world is telling Tony Abbott that he has done the wrong thing on climate change. China and America and now Germany. I believe that is three of the biggest economies in the world.

I only mention it on the off chance that someone amongst you may be influenced not to vote for the Liberal party in the next election. Federal, state if you like. Come on, Tony Abbott deserves to be a one term prime minister. Surely, just in principle, everybody should be against our prime minister looking us in the eye and lying, 

"There will be no cuts to health, no cuts to education, no change to pensions  no cuts to ABC or SBS."

Surely everybody wants to know that the person for who they are voting is telling truth about?

There should be an integrity commission after every election, looking into the conduct of politicians.

Sad old Vladimir

Oh that sad criminal, megalomaniac, narcissist who now runs poor old backward Russia, Vladimir Putin, has his ships arrive at all the conferences he attends. He sent them to the APEC conference in Singapore, he sent them to San Francisco to accompany a visit there. 

It is his compensation for the small penis Putin clearly has. What a sad sad little man, who will be forever remembered for sending Russia back to the 80's, corrupting the Russian political system in the process to stay in power.

How small must Vlad's penis really be? I'd say a button, for him to have to have war ships follow him around the world. What a big dope, so unsuitable for running an ageing super power.

The press is loving it, attempting to connect it to the shirt fronting episode, to sell newspapers, or whatever it is news agencies sell now a days. The Australian public is loving it, because most of them are bored, or stupid, or both and need drama in their lives. The big old boggy man Russia! Sure they are idiots, they are all idiots. Little boys playing tough guys.

It is supposed to make him look in control, apparently, but in these days of carbon footprints it just makes him look like a man of the past from a backward country.


Does it make Vladimir Putin look tough, or does it make him look like a GI Joe doll, all smooth down there?

Six Foot, Eyes of Blue

It was a nice morning, sunny and fine, walking to work this morning. My front door faces east, so I am kissed by the morning every time I leave for work.

Two chicks in short black skirts were walking in front of me up Gertrude Street. Coming the other way towards us was a very handsome council worker, close shave, brown hair, blue eyes, six foot, overalls, with a leaf blower in his hand. His mate was driving the little car-thing picking up the leaves he was blowing onto the road. The trimmed-bearded handsome guy noticed the girls checking him out, as he blushed and smiled and did that awkward straight boy thing of looking kind of coy and turned-on all at the same time, as he gazed after the girls, smiling.

The girls sashayed away. Heads forward. High heals clacking on the bitumen footpath. Ponytails swinging in the breeze.

He blew the leaves after that enthusiastically, adjusting his crotch.

Cute boy with machinery in hand blows hard all over footpath. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see drips on his shoes.


His mate in the small orange car – which I have such a desire to drive one day, the car, not the mate – looked like a giant squashed into a small box. His cheeks were pushed up against both side windows. His knees were around his ears. His hands were between his legs, pulling the lever. The circular brooms whirred on the front of the truck, swirling in opposite directions, brushing, sweeping all the debris, that Six-foot-and-eyes-of-blue had blown at him, into the catcher at the front.

It was a lovely morning, warm like honey and blue like hi-def newness. The girls walked away, ahead of me. The council boys flirted, behind me. I crossed the road and headed to my office. The sun sparkled, morning sun, I love it, it is so full of promise, so full of possibility, so full of hope. So full of handsome men and pretty girls. Anything is possible when the morning sun shines.

I'm sure the birds sang.

Half naked, just how we like them

A sexy look on a man, just a pair of jeans

Male Super Model

Vodafone, Always Great

Sam and I walked into the city to eat Ramen in Lonsdale Street for lunch. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone, the sky was blue. The Ramen was great, we were full afterwards.

After lunch, we headed to Vodafone to enquire as to when my current phone contract expires. I keep trying to get away from Vodafone and I keep getting dragged back. Each provider I have gone with has ended up being bought by Vodafone. And Vodafone deals are more expensive and the last time I was with them, when 3 changed to Vodafone they suddenly tried to charge me huge roaming fees, when my usage had clearly never changed. Vodafone also tried to charge me an exit fee when clearly I had paid my twenty four payments and my contract was up. I have several providers with better deals lined up to join, I just need to find out when my Vodafone contract ends. You'd think that would be simple.

The first Vodafone office said I was no longer under contract to Vodafone, I was no longer under contract when I came back to Vodafone. I knew this wasn't right, I knew that when I transferred over from Crazy Johns, which was mid September, my contact had until, something like, mid November to run.

The second Vodafone office told me that my contract expires November 29th, and that I couldn't renew my plan, with anybody, Vodafone included,  until after this date. This didn’t seem correct either.

The third Vodafone office told me that my contract expired today, as it turned out.

Three different Vodafone offices, three different answers. Yeah, good on ya Vodafone, is it any wonder I am trying to get away from you yet again.

Still, it was a lovely day to be walking around our gorgeous CBD. The boys were all out in their in shorts, with their boyfriends and their girlfriends on their arms. It is clearly time for me to invest in a new pair of summer sunglasses for 2014. I only ever have a pair for one summer, I don't know why, but I always manage to mangle them or lose them by the end of every summer. When it is time to buy sunglasses, I know that summer has begun.

Cakes for Afternoon Tea

It was a lovely afternoon to take Buddy for a walk, that was once the cool change had come, it transformed the day from hot with a north wind to something quite delightful. 

We strolled down Brunswick Street and bought cakes from the French Bakery for afternoon tea on our way. I wanted to sit on the seats out the front and drink coffee and watch the world pass by as we ate them, but Sam wanted to keep walking. So, small white box in hand on we went.

I bought two U2 cds, two James Blunt cds, Ike and Tina Turner, Miss Higgins and Jeff Buckley's Grace for $18 from the Op shop. I was pretty pleased with that.

I thought Jeff Buckley's Grace was an iconic album, but now I have listened to it, I'm not so sure.

And who doesn't like cutey-pants James Blunt. He has such an interesting voice.

Tina Turner is the most electric person I have ever seen in concert. All she had to do was shimmy from the back of the stage to the front and the sparks exploded off her.

And U2, well they are U2.

Missy Higgins will be good for a quiet afternoon lying on the couch.

Gentle Person

I don’t understand this continuing idea of “gentlemen” as men and woman are equal, the concept of the “gentlemen” is, surely, redundant. Perhaps, there should be a new term “gentleperson” where girls can open doors and pay for dinner and buy flowers for boys, 50% of the time.

But there is such strength in the sisterhood now a days, so much more than the brotherhood, that that would never happen. Girl's would expect equality and for men to be gentlemen as well, with no sense of contradiction.

And, you know, I get it. I understand. That is what happens when the power shifts, when the less powerful become more powerful. That is human nature.