I got to work at 7.30am. Yeah, I know, stupid time. But, you know, the ‘boss’ insists we’re staffed correctly. Not really sure why she sticks to that so doggedly.
It was Kerin’s birthday today. She said jokingly, “So aren’t you going to sing happy birthday.” I sang her happy birthday without hesitating. They both said that I could sing. She was 28.
Kirin bought in chocolate cakes for us to eat for morning tea.
We went to the finance picnic at lunch time in The Fitzroy Gardens. Kirin tried to get out of it, we are flat out, and it didn’t go down well with the new bosses.
I’m sure, I know the new finance boss, Remy. I’m sure I know his face from somewhere and as my recent past, or not so resent past, has been, pretty much, all gay, where do I know him from? He’s a semi-handsome darker-skinned guy who, when I gaze at him and cast my mind back, I get snippets of shirtless and drug fucked. I can’t get any firm picture of him in my head though.
Face down, arse up in a sex club? Oh, yeah, I guess I wouldn’t recognise him then.
Oh? Er? Have I fucked him? I kind of felt kind of uneasy about that thought? There have been many a cute, brown skinned guy face first up against the black walls of a sex club cubicle, pushing back enthusiastically on my hard cock right up inside them, at 3am. I love those cute little Sri Lankan types, with their bright eyes, and white teeth and enthusiasm for dick, you can just fold them over and screw them. Yeah, but not for 5 years, or so, not since I met Sam. Still, I kind of felt kind of uneasy about that thought with Remy, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of acknowledgment from him, so I think we are good.
We ate lunch in the Fitzroy Gardens rotunda. The food was bought in tubs. The Kris Kringle presents were bought in boxes. I’m sure I got to see all the cute finance guy’s jocks, by the time they’d finished lifting and carrying and moving and placing. They were being a bunch of helpful lads.
We only stayed an hour, or so, then headed back to work.
Kirin was really tired, really over it all, she’s hanging out for a break. At 4pm she said, “pack up let’s go home.”
I had Guido dropping off some time after 4pm. I didn’t think I’d be leaving at 4.30pm, so he was dropping it off behind a pot plant, or something. There was nothing, however, when I got home.
I finally got to pay my credit card, three days late. So much for Mr Finance extraordinaire, hey?
As I closed the front door and undeadlock it, but I deadlocked it instead, the door was already undeadlocked, but nobody was supposed to be home, a split second of confusion and – you know when you expect something to be one way, but for no apparent reason it is the other way – I undeadlocked it again. Er? Um? I turned to head into the rest of the house with a suddenly changed perspective, as Sam appeared around the laundry door with a, “ta da!”
“Oh?”
The traffic was madness and Guido didn’t drop off, saying he’d come by some time around 7pm.
I drove to Northcote and got supplies. Driving home, as I came down Brunswick Street, there was a guy on a bike in front of me who’s jeans had ridden right down exposing his white cotton jocks, which were stretched just tight enough to pull the soft material tight and I could literally see the hairy crack up his are. As it turned out he too the streets I was taking, so I got to gaze on his sexy arse and very nice arse crack for some time. I just sat behind, I didn’t over take.
I think I am going to make a raspberry trifle for Xmas lunch.
We took all the bags of clothes to the brotherhood. Sam is always wanting to throw stuff out.
Mark called.
I called Antony for his birthday.
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