Did you have a nice time at your sisters last night, asks Mark
Yes, a nice time was had by all, I say.
Glad to hear that. Was Granto home? asks Mark. My brother inlaw, Grant, fell off his bike just before Xmas. There was a group of them going bike riding. A boy's trip. Grant's back tyre was clipped by another rider’s front tyre going down a hill and he came off his bike at speed. He was in hospital for 5 days.
Yes, his arm in a sling and only very careful movements, I say. 6 broken ribs
Ooohhh ahhhh...that would hurt, says Mark
5 golden rings, I say.
4 calling birds, says Mark.
3 French hens, I say.
2 turtle doves, says Mark
And a bulldog at the back door, I say.
Lol, says Mark. That doesn’t rhyme
We have no New Year’s plans. “A nightcap at 11pm and asleep before the clock strikes twelve?" said Mark. "That is what I am hearing.”
“Oh, there will probably be some fireworks somewhere to watch when the time comes." Oh? What is the big deal? Sam doesn't care, I don't really care, so it is a quiet night. Quiet nights are good.
Mark and Luke will be dancing the night away at the Lismore Show grounds.
Adriana and Dean are in Lismore too. Not together, separately. As Mark said, Adrian is with her Greek faggotary. A gaggle of Greek guys, what is there not to like? Imagine all that arse hair? And all the foreskin?
Dean will probably have somebody in tow, I guess, usually some twink, but he didn’t say.
I spoke to Dean just the other day, he’s been working at Alec Devine’s house in Park Street Brunswick. My one time straight boyfriend, back in the dance party days. Ecstasy Alec, all I’d have to do is give him an ecstasy and his pants came off really easily. (Actually, I never gave him anything, he always came fully loaded) Swapping clothes in that dance party toilet, rubbing bums starting us off. I saw Alec's dick for the first time. On somebody's couch early one Sunday morning after dancing all night, after everyone else had passed out, those hot jocks he was wearing, and how hard he was when he came out of them. That unexpected night in my spa, licking his arse. Too much? That unexpected night on my bed, when we f@#$%! for the first time.
Alec was not shy on ecstasy.
Dean asked me if I wanted him to say hello to Alec for me. I declined the offer. Nah. It was a long time ago now. (Different life time)
Should we have New Year’s Eve plans? It is just like it is another day. Another summer’s day in a gorgeous sunny summer.
Milo sleeps on the carpet next to me, Sam lies on the couch behind me, this morning.
“Should we have New Year’s Eve plans?” I ask Sam.
“Yes,” he says. “Grocery shopping in Victoria Street.”
The sun is shining.
I'm guessing Sam doesn't care about our New Year's Eve plans, or lack there of. Duty calls, instead. Sam is all about a plan, a plan to get things done.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Friday, December 30, 2016
Xmas Dinner
We left our place around 4.30pm. It was a gorgeous day, as it turned out, just the ticket for driving to the country.
We got to Kyneton just after 6pm. The Kelpies, Pumpkin and Rocky were very excited to see Buddy. They ran around in their dog pack until the arse sniffing was complete.
All of my family gathered together, what is left of it, in one room. (Oh, I guess there is the mad lot from my mum’s side, but as I haven’t even met some of them, I feel justified not having counted them as family… well, I never counted them)
We ate BBQ lobster and prawns in a butter sauce as entre. (The prawns, essentially, were soaking in butter) We all talked about our high cholesterol later as though it was a mystery.
Actually, we were down a couple of dogs this year on other years, as my niece’s dogs are now in New Zealand. We sat outside on the big table, the dogs sitting next to us gazing up. Buddy took full advantage for a dog who never gets fed at the table.
There was roast dinner, turkey, chicken, pork, ham, and plum pudding and raspberry pavlova. No bon-bon party hats this year, though.
I got a big tub of M&Ms. Like I need that.
The nieces chatted enthusiastically all night.
My sister got drunk.
We left at 10.30pm. I’d only had two glasses of wine.
Buddy was funny at the end when he realised we were going, he hightailed it to the car. “Take me home to my lounge room, I’m sick of sitting on the back veranda looking in through the window.” Dogs aren’t allowed inside at my sister’s place.
It was plain sailing home. It had been a gorgeous day, one in which you were confident to go out just in shorts and t-shirt and crocs, (yes, crocs at Xmas, head hanging in shame… but, it was the country) it has been my holiday outfit. The night sparkled as we shot through it, down the Caulder, on a big strip of winding liquorice, it’s like driving home from Bolago.
We got to Kyneton just after 6pm. The Kelpies, Pumpkin and Rocky were very excited to see Buddy. They ran around in their dog pack until the arse sniffing was complete.
All of my family gathered together, what is left of it, in one room. (Oh, I guess there is the mad lot from my mum’s side, but as I haven’t even met some of them, I feel justified not having counted them as family… well, I never counted them)
We ate BBQ lobster and prawns in a butter sauce as entre. (The prawns, essentially, were soaking in butter) We all talked about our high cholesterol later as though it was a mystery.
Actually, we were down a couple of dogs this year on other years, as my niece’s dogs are now in New Zealand. We sat outside on the big table, the dogs sitting next to us gazing up. Buddy took full advantage for a dog who never gets fed at the table.
There was roast dinner, turkey, chicken, pork, ham, and plum pudding and raspberry pavlova. No bon-bon party hats this year, though.
I got a big tub of M&Ms. Like I need that.
The nieces chatted enthusiastically all night.
My sister got drunk.
We left at 10.30pm. I’d only had two glasses of wine.
Buddy was funny at the end when he realised we were going, he hightailed it to the car. “Take me home to my lounge room, I’m sick of sitting on the back veranda looking in through the window.” Dogs aren’t allowed inside at my sister’s place.
It was plain sailing home. It had been a gorgeous day, one in which you were confident to go out just in shorts and t-shirt and crocs, (yes, crocs at Xmas, head hanging in shame… but, it was the country) it has been my holiday outfit. The night sparkled as we shot through it, down the Caulder, on a big strip of winding liquorice, it’s like driving home from Bolago.
And Just Like That It Changes
By 4pm we were hot and desperate. Then there is a thunder storm and pouring rain. The temperature dropped by a comfortable degree, 10 degrees. That’s more like it, that’s how Melburnian’s like it. Some of the most changeable weather in the world, where I live, some people say. I like it, there is always cool following the heat.
Big thunderstorms, much rain, parts of Melbourne flooded. The temperature drop was very nice. Our atrium leaked, first time in years, bloody yucca plant next door and it damn fronds blocking the gutter. I'd only just checked it a few days ago. Clearly, I am going to have to resume my poisoning raids on the yucca in the new year. The rain fills the pond.
We walked to Coles. Sam bought mince pies and biscuits and ice creams and ice cream, I was sure I was witnessing Sam’s first stoner munchie raid on Coles. He didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. I don't think he realised, it was a proud moment.
We walked passed a blocked street drain on the way back from Coles, I immediately started looking around for a stick. Sam said, "Keep walking."
Big thunderstorms, much rain, parts of Melbourne flooded. The temperature drop was very nice. Our atrium leaked, first time in years, bloody yucca plant next door and it damn fronds blocking the gutter. I'd only just checked it a few days ago. Clearly, I am going to have to resume my poisoning raids on the yucca in the new year. The rain fills the pond.
We walked to Coles. Sam bought mince pies and biscuits and ice creams and ice cream, I was sure I was witnessing Sam’s first stoner munchie raid on Coles. He didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. I don't think he realised, it was a proud moment.
We walked passed a blocked street drain on the way back from Coles, I immediately started looking around for a stick. Sam said, "Keep walking."
We watched TV. The days between Xmas and New Year are a wasteland, unless you go away. You need to go away, we should have gone away. We have been lying around doing absolutely nothing. Buddy hasn't been for a walk for days.
Today, it is overcast, but warm. The rain has freshened the air we breath, it feels like all the pollution just got washed away and we are left with nothing but a sweet floral scent. It is the bouquet of Fresh.
The family Xmas lunch got changed to today, from all the heat of yesterday, so we still have to go and do that. I don't really see the point of Xmas lunch, unless you do it on Xmas day, or Xmas Eve, otherwise, you've missed it, it should be next year now. In a world I ran, quite possibly. Still, Buddy will get to run around with the farm dogs. The kelpies seem to want to round him up to start off with until Buddy bounds around very unsheeplike. Then they just seem to circle him, as if one is saying to the other, "He's not from around here." Then they sniff his arse and, of course, they are buds after that.
"No, hang on he's one of us. He's one of us."
"He's one of us, yes he is."
"What happened to your face, mate?"
I'm sure Buddy would have a very smart, inner urban retort to that. He's mixed with the hip inner city dogs and commission kids. Still, you can't really use ant-eater as an insult, not easily. Maybe that is it, he just calls them ant eaters. I guess I shouldn't judge the dog world, by my own cynical world view.
Sam gets up, 8.30am. We have to take Buddy for a walk. I reckon it is going to rain. I should tell Sam that, he hates walking in the rain.
"No, hang on he's one of us. He's one of us."
"He's one of us, yes he is."
"What happened to your face, mate?"
I'm sure Buddy would have a very smart, inner urban retort to that. He's mixed with the hip inner city dogs and commission kids. Still, you can't really use ant-eater as an insult, not easily. Maybe that is it, he just calls them ant eaters. I guess I shouldn't judge the dog world, by my own cynical world view.
Sam gets up, 8.30am. We have to take Buddy for a walk. I reckon it is going to rain. I should tell Sam that, he hates walking in the rain.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
It's Hot
It's been hot for two day. 38 degrees. It is too hot to do anything, say anything, write anything. It is just too dam hot. We are lying in front of a fan on cushions, all the doors and window are closed, in that eerie shut-in kind of vibe. The hot north wind blows outside, the window panes seem to rattle ominously, as the hot air gushes and swirls outside. The sun burns brightly.
Melbourne used to be dry blazing heat, the kind mirages formed in in the distance, but now we are getting more and more humid.
Wet, sticky heat is no fun. Ug! Exhausting. Suddenly, we have more mosquitos, just this year. They are every where. And I don't reckon the bees are acting normal, taking shelter under our pond geranium leaves, on mass.
The pond is low on water, even the fish are gasping for oxygen.
Melbourne used to be dry blazing heat, the kind mirages formed in in the distance, but now we are getting more and more humid.
Wet, sticky heat is no fun. Ug! Exhausting. Suddenly, we have more mosquitos, just this year. They are every where. And I don't reckon the bees are acting normal, taking shelter under our pond geranium leaves, on mass.
The pond is low on water, even the fish are gasping for oxygen.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
That Was Family, We Did The Xmas Thing Already
We had a family Xmas morning tea, with my lovely Auntie and my cousins.
I looked around Marie’s house, it has the look of the elderly about it, the décor looks elderly. It all looks old and dated, the same furniture Marie had in their first house, recovered in a regrettable fabric in the eighties. First year without Uncle Al. I guess that is what we all become in the end, the first Xmas since [fill in the name] died and who we all remember for that Xmas, we say nice things, then we talk about other things.
We still have our family Xmas dinner tomorrow night. I don't see the point really, as we all just got together, but my brother and sister still seem keen.
It means we have to drive to the country. "Do we really need to come," I say to my sister as we leave my Auntie's house.
"Yes, you do," my sister says.
My niece from NZ will be there. And my brother in law will be out of hospital. Oh, yes, my sister's husband fell off his bike. Yes, good timing, right on Xmas.
I hope none of them expect presents, I haven't bought one present this year. I haven't made one Xmas move, no tinsel, no Xmas wishes. Oh, one. Two. And the bulldog. (see below) He looks like Buddy. The girl I took over from, who is going in for cancer therapy, left it for me, as a Xmas wish. A girl I knew for two days, made more of a Xmas effort towards me, than I have towards my entire family. It is true. So, I can't even really claim the bulldog.
I looked around Marie’s house, it has the look of the elderly about it, the décor looks elderly. It all looks old and dated, the same furniture Marie had in their first house, recovered in a regrettable fabric in the eighties. First year without Uncle Al. I guess that is what we all become in the end, the first Xmas since [fill in the name] died and who we all remember for that Xmas, we say nice things, then we talk about other things.
We still have our family Xmas dinner tomorrow night. I don't see the point really, as we all just got together, but my brother and sister still seem keen.
It means we have to drive to the country. "Do we really need to come," I say to my sister as we leave my Auntie's house.
"Yes, you do," my sister says.
My niece from NZ will be there. And my brother in law will be out of hospital. Oh, yes, my sister's husband fell off his bike. Yes, good timing, right on Xmas.
I hope none of them expect presents, I haven't bought one present this year. I haven't made one Xmas move, no tinsel, no Xmas wishes. Oh, one. Two. And the bulldog. (see below) He looks like Buddy. The girl I took over from, who is going in for cancer therapy, left it for me, as a Xmas wish. A girl I knew for two days, made more of a Xmas effort towards me, than I have towards my entire family. It is true. So, I can't even really claim the bulldog.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Friday, December 23, 2016
Mischief With My Boyfriend
And four days work is over, I finished yesterday. And now it is done. Nothing to do for the rest of the year but get up to mischief with my boyfriend. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. I don't go back until 9th January.
The sun is shining. It is a gorgeous day.
Bear came to stay, we are dog sitting her over Xmas. Having a long-nosed dog to stay is like having an ant eater in the house. We have no where to go, or no people to see. I didn't have to buy any Xmas presents this year. I'm still not entirely sure if that is a good thing, or a bad thing.
The sun is shining. It is a gorgeous day.
Bear came to stay, we are dog sitting her over Xmas. Having a long-nosed dog to stay is like having an ant eater in the house. We have no where to go, or no people to see. I didn't have to buy any Xmas presents this year. I'm still not entirely sure if that is a good thing, or a bad thing.
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Me and My Socialist Views
I always find it hard when somebody starts making right-winged political statements to me in conversation. Even alluding to those sorts of beliefs, I don't give them the benefit of the doubt. Really? Step away.
Invariably, they say they want to cut the dole and disability pensions, like that is always the answer, I struggle with that. I don't accept any changes to Medicare, or education, either. Free universal health care, education for all, nothing less. And I can't keep my mouth shut, although I have got much better with age, me and my socialist views. I don't care how much tax you pay, everyone needs to be kept at an adequate level of income, even if that is the dole, or a pension. That is what civilised society does, it looks after everyone.
Like the guys down the dog part, they start talking dole bludgers and disability pension frauds, I always feel myself starting to back away. Oh? And I liked you up until this point.
The sun sparkled brightly, it was a warm day, we were all in shorts.
Invariably, they say they want to cut the dole and disability pensions, like that is always the answer, I struggle with that. I don't accept any changes to Medicare, or education, either. Free universal health care, education for all, nothing less. And I can't keep my mouth shut, although I have got much better with age, me and my socialist views. I don't care how much tax you pay, everyone needs to be kept at an adequate level of income, even if that is the dole, or a pension. That is what civilised society does, it looks after everyone.
Like the guys down the dog part, they start talking dole bludgers and disability pension frauds, I always feel myself starting to back away. Oh? And I liked you up until this point.
The sun sparkled brightly, it was a warm day, we were all in shorts.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
One of Those Perfect Melbourne Days
I caught up with Julien, he says it has been 12 years since he has been to my place, twelve years since he's been in Melbourne. The day sparkled, one of those perfect Melbourne days.
I think that means that is only the second time I have seen Julien in 12 years? I think. It was nice to catch up with him. It was nice to talk to someone who knew my stories.
I think that means that is only the second time I have seen Julien in 12 years? I think. It was nice to catch up with him. It was nice to talk to someone who knew my stories.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Buy The Good Stuff, Don't Buy All The Shit
As Sam and I walked into town in the sun, under the blue sky, yesterday, I turned to him and said, "Do you realise that we don't have to buy any Xmas presents for anyone."
"I know," he said. He smiled.
Is that the ultimate post modern, ecologically sound, anti establishment stance on what amounts to the biggest waste of time and money the retail year knows?
Or are we just a couple of Xmas sadoes?
Sam and I don't buy each other Xmas presents. (We don't buy each other birthday presents) I don't bother even making a passing attempt to get the Xmas decos out of the attic any more. Sam's family all live OS and this year I'm not speaking to mine. Oh, long story I can't be bothered recounting here. Suffice to say that my family has a long history of fallings out - is that the plural of falling out? - historically, with generations past, and this year it is my turn, first time for this generation, first time for my immediate family. My sister is really upset, blah, blah, blah, yap, yap, yap. Whatever? (I do have a touch of the psychopaths about me, with the ability to have zero empathy for a particular situation really easily, I have always know that.)
We have everything we need, Sam and I. If we really want something we go and buy it. There isn't really anything we want for. I've stopped Sam's mindless replacement spending, which he thanked me for, as we stood at the intersection of Russell and Bourke Streets, as we headed to the dumpling shop for lunch. He had the buy-something-new throw-out-the-old-perfectly-good-thing spending mentality when I met him that so many people have today. The very reason why the human race doesn't have a hope in hell of surviving. Nah, it is not going to happen people. Fasten your seat belts the next 50 years, 34 years, 10 years are going to be a bumpy ride, fade to black, over.
Buy it, if you really want it. Buy the good stuff, but stop buying shit on a whim. Stop mindlessly spending money just to fill in an afternoon because you are bored, or because your life doesn't feel fulfilling enough.
I bought new runners, my old ones really were fucked, with holes around each little toe area. Sam returned a work Xmas function outfit that he didn't wear, as he didn't go to his work Xmas function. (The big company one, he went to his team lunch) They were all dressing up as something, soccer players, or something? Sam and I are equal on the antisocial ratings, a perfect fit some might say.
I didn't notice that the city was any busier than normal. Xmas time, really? What I did notice was all the homeless people, that is new, which is an absolute disgrace in a rich country such as ours. The Liberal Party, conservative policies must really be working.
Liberal Party policy is screw over the poor, as being poor is their own fault, and give to the rich, as they are the "lifters" in our society. The evidence of these policies is now clearly apparent.
Why does a wealthy country like Australia have a revenue problem, culminating in deficit budgets? Because taxes have been cut to make the rich richer. And who has ultimately paid for that? Well, the people who ultimately paid for that are now sleeping in doorways all around Melbourne. Well done Australia.
"I know," he said. He smiled.
Is that the ultimate post modern, ecologically sound, anti establishment stance on what amounts to the biggest waste of time and money the retail year knows?
Or are we just a couple of Xmas sadoes?
Sam and I don't buy each other Xmas presents. (We don't buy each other birthday presents) I don't bother even making a passing attempt to get the Xmas decos out of the attic any more. Sam's family all live OS and this year I'm not speaking to mine. Oh, long story I can't be bothered recounting here. Suffice to say that my family has a long history of fallings out - is that the plural of falling out? - historically, with generations past, and this year it is my turn, first time for this generation, first time for my immediate family. My sister is really upset, blah, blah, blah, yap, yap, yap. Whatever? (I do have a touch of the psychopaths about me, with the ability to have zero empathy for a particular situation really easily, I have always know that.)
We have everything we need, Sam and I. If we really want something we go and buy it. There isn't really anything we want for. I've stopped Sam's mindless replacement spending, which he thanked me for, as we stood at the intersection of Russell and Bourke Streets, as we headed to the dumpling shop for lunch. He had the buy-something-new throw-out-the-old-perfectly-good-thing spending mentality when I met him that so many people have today. The very reason why the human race doesn't have a hope in hell of surviving. Nah, it is not going to happen people. Fasten your seat belts the next 50 years, 34 years, 10 years are going to be a bumpy ride, fade to black, over.
Buy it, if you really want it. Buy the good stuff, but stop buying shit on a whim. Stop mindlessly spending money just to fill in an afternoon because you are bored, or because your life doesn't feel fulfilling enough.
I bought new runners, my old ones really were fucked, with holes around each little toe area. Sam returned a work Xmas function outfit that he didn't wear, as he didn't go to his work Xmas function. (The big company one, he went to his team lunch) They were all dressing up as something, soccer players, or something? Sam and I are equal on the antisocial ratings, a perfect fit some might say.
I didn't notice that the city was any busier than normal. Xmas time, really? What I did notice was all the homeless people, that is new, which is an absolute disgrace in a rich country such as ours. The Liberal Party, conservative policies must really be working.
Liberal Party policy is screw over the poor, as being poor is their own fault, and give to the rich, as they are the "lifters" in our society. The evidence of these policies is now clearly apparent.
Why does a wealthy country like Australia have a revenue problem, culminating in deficit budgets? Because taxes have been cut to make the rich richer. And who has ultimately paid for that? Well, the people who ultimately paid for that are now sleeping in doorways all around Melbourne. Well done Australia.
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Bad Back
I've hurt my back. I did it a few days ago, I don't know how I did it? It just started hurting. I've tried Panadol, I have tried Nuromol, I have tried Deep Heat, Tiger Balm, all of those stinky creams I usually so despise. I even bought my beloved Mersyndol, which worked the best, but didn't take the pain away completely. I say beloved, as I like them a lot, they make me feel really nice, giddy and lushy, when I used to take them. I used to take them for migraines, they'd take that head ache pain right away. That was until I realised that the more Mersyndol I took, the more migraines I got. I stopped taking the pills, worked my way through some of migraines without any drugs, not so easy, let me tell you, and the migraines started to subside. Although, to be fair, the doctor did say we tend to grow out of migraines as we get older. I don't get them any more. I haven't taken Mersyndol for 5 years. But I digress...
Sam has been great and has been massaging my back and that has helped. He even cupped me with jars, which felt really great. I don't really know why, it just did.
I sent Mark a message, he has always had back trouble, "I feel as thought my body is riddled with cancer and I am going to be dead soon. Do you think I am feeling sorry for myself?"
"Ha ha, welcome to my world," Mark replied. "Yes, you are feeling sorry for yourself."
I tell you what, after just a few days of back pain, if I had incurable, chronic pain that was never going to get better, I'd be scoffing down that Nebutol in a flash, no one would tell me otherwise. I'd be out of here, no doubt about it. Three days and I haven't stopped whinging. "When is this ever going to stop?" I haven't felt like doing anything. Pain is debilitating. Writing seemed almost impossible when I couldn't sit for any length of time.
How dare anybody say that we can't have euthanasia laws. How dare anybody, religious types making themselves feel better about their own beliefs, whoever, say they know better than somebody going through constant pain. How dare they? What arrogance?
It is great that Daniel Andrew's has changed his mind, due to his father's own battle with cancer, good for him, about time. No disrespect meant, Dan the Man, but don't we deserve more intelligent, more wide thinking politicians than that? What? Until it effects them personally, it isn't real? Is that what politics is all about now a days?
The Federal, Turnbull Government is riddled with right wing Christians, so that is their excuse. The religious views of a few people are affecting the rights of the majority. That is why we don't have the decent euthanasia laws that the majority of Australian's want.
Sam has been great and has been massaging my back and that has helped. He even cupped me with jars, which felt really great. I don't really know why, it just did.
I sent Mark a message, he has always had back trouble, "I feel as thought my body is riddled with cancer and I am going to be dead soon. Do you think I am feeling sorry for myself?"
"Ha ha, welcome to my world," Mark replied. "Yes, you are feeling sorry for yourself."
I tell you what, after just a few days of back pain, if I had incurable, chronic pain that was never going to get better, I'd be scoffing down that Nebutol in a flash, no one would tell me otherwise. I'd be out of here, no doubt about it. Three days and I haven't stopped whinging. "When is this ever going to stop?" I haven't felt like doing anything. Pain is debilitating. Writing seemed almost impossible when I couldn't sit for any length of time.
How dare anybody say that we can't have euthanasia laws. How dare anybody, religious types making themselves feel better about their own beliefs, whoever, say they know better than somebody going through constant pain. How dare they? What arrogance?
It is great that Daniel Andrew's has changed his mind, due to his father's own battle with cancer, good for him, about time. No disrespect meant, Dan the Man, but don't we deserve more intelligent, more wide thinking politicians than that? What? Until it effects them personally, it isn't real? Is that what politics is all about now a days?
The Federal, Turnbull Government is riddled with right wing Christians, so that is their excuse. The religious views of a few people are affecting the rights of the majority. That is why we don't have the decent euthanasia laws that the majority of Australian's want.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Friday, December 16, 2016
Let's Get Real, the Great Sky Fairy is Dead, Let's Burry Him Finally
The rich, white and entitled think they are being discriminated against if things change, if everyone don't believe what they believe it would seem, it is an odd phenomenon.
My friend Jill started prattling on about political correctness, and how she is now afraid to say what she thinks because of the politically correct thought police.
Oh really? (I won’t even state the fact that Jill has never been afraid to give her point of view)
I have to say, she has always voted Liberal (grimace) and it seems she is falling hook, line and sinker for the latest conservative babble. You know, when the conservatives are pulled up for saying something bigoted, or stopped from saying their usual crap, they say it is political correctness gone made.
Jill then went on about how parts of society are too scared to celebrate Xmas because of it offending people, which is just bullshit. It is like the white majority trying to claim they are discriminated against. I really couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth.
It is just conservative political indoctrination.
Some idiot priest in the US, apparently, recently took great delight in telling children at some mall that Santa was dead, I am assuming because he wanted to push the Christian message. Actually, priest you are completely wrong, deluded I say, Santa is going strong, it is Jesus who is dead.
Jesus is dead, stop trying to resurrect him.
I said to Jill that not only should we stop celebrating Christmas, we should get rid of Christmas altogether. The vast majority of people couldn’t care about Christians and Jesus and the appropriated date of Christmas from the Pagans, we are now all only interested in present giving, it is a spending frenzy like no other at any other time of year. And we should therefore finally ditch the Christian message altogether and call it what it has been for many years.
It makes sense to celebrate the New Year, as that is something that has relevance to all people. We could have New Year’s Eve, New Year’s day and Boxing Day could be the 2nd of January. We could even sing carols to the new year, if you like that part of the tradition, celebratory songs for the coming year, which would give the opportunity to the musicians to write some new ones. Ditch the Christion songs, and sing the plethora of carols we already sing that have no Christian message at all. It is time to stop commemorating the Christian meaning as it means nothing to the vast majority of all of us. The minority Christians could keep celebrating whatever they like, naturally. The Great Sky Fairy, the Big Turkey, whatever they want, whatever their deluded brains compel them too, up to them, they are free to do what makes them feel good, naturally, while the rest of us get on with connecting with reality.
We could have Festivus of the New Year, a celebration of the coming year. It has been described as "the perfect secular theme for an all-inclusive December gathering." It could be the perfect secular gathering for the end of December.
Of course, the date will probably never change, we are stuck with 25th December and that has nothing to do with Jesus, or god, or religion, that is because it makes too much money on the date it is now celebrated, which is further evidence that Christmas no longer has anything to do with Christ.
My friend Jill started prattling on about political correctness, and how she is now afraid to say what she thinks because of the politically correct thought police.
Oh really? (I won’t even state the fact that Jill has never been afraid to give her point of view)
I have to say, she has always voted Liberal (grimace) and it seems she is falling hook, line and sinker for the latest conservative babble. You know, when the conservatives are pulled up for saying something bigoted, or stopped from saying their usual crap, they say it is political correctness gone made.
Jill then went on about how parts of society are too scared to celebrate Xmas because of it offending people, which is just bullshit. It is like the white majority trying to claim they are discriminated against. I really couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth.
It is just conservative political indoctrination.
Some idiot priest in the US, apparently, recently took great delight in telling children at some mall that Santa was dead, I am assuming because he wanted to push the Christian message. Actually, priest you are completely wrong, deluded I say, Santa is going strong, it is Jesus who is dead.
Jesus is dead, stop trying to resurrect him.
I said to Jill that not only should we stop celebrating Christmas, we should get rid of Christmas altogether. The vast majority of people couldn’t care about Christians and Jesus and the appropriated date of Christmas from the Pagans, we are now all only interested in present giving, it is a spending frenzy like no other at any other time of year. And we should therefore finally ditch the Christian message altogether and call it what it has been for many years.
It makes sense to celebrate the New Year, as that is something that has relevance to all people. We could have New Year’s Eve, New Year’s day and Boxing Day could be the 2nd of January. We could even sing carols to the new year, if you like that part of the tradition, celebratory songs for the coming year, which would give the opportunity to the musicians to write some new ones. Ditch the Christion songs, and sing the plethora of carols we already sing that have no Christian message at all. It is time to stop commemorating the Christian meaning as it means nothing to the vast majority of all of us. The minority Christians could keep celebrating whatever they like, naturally. The Great Sky Fairy, the Big Turkey, whatever they want, whatever their deluded brains compel them too, up to them, they are free to do what makes them feel good, naturally, while the rest of us get on with connecting with reality.
We could have Festivus of the New Year, a celebration of the coming year. It has been described as "the perfect secular theme for an all-inclusive December gathering." It could be the perfect secular gathering for the end of December.
Of course, the date will probably never change, we are stuck with 25th December and that has nothing to do with Jesus, or god, or religion, that is because it makes too much money on the date it is now celebrated, which is further evidence that Christmas no longer has anything to do with Christ.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Post Truth
We are drowning in information, but if the data on any current news service is any indication, we’re not even remotely thirsty for knowledge. (just drama) This is why the boom industry in 2016 is bullshit. This is why Oxford Dictionaries named ‘post-truth’ as word of the year.
So often when I watch the news, I feel like crying. (Of course that is the alternative, lefty news that tells it like it is and not your Rupert Murdoch bullshit news that is only in existence to further whatever pet subject old Rupert has on his mind, you understand)
So often when I watch the news, I feel like crying. (Of course that is the alternative, lefty news that tells it like it is and not your Rupert Murdoch bullshit news that is only in existence to further whatever pet subject old Rupert has on his mind, you understand)
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Back To Work
So, everything is "go" for the new job. My p0licecheck came back clear, no dibber dobbing by the system of past transgressions. Sam was right, I was over-thinking it.
Back to work, yay. Back to work, hip, hip, hip hooray. Back to work, I am gagging on my excitement, like a toddler overcome by his very own birthday party, or a bulimic gacking up her breakfast.
I'm sitting here eating my muesli, trying to remember that I can't just sit here for a few hours reading the news, pissing about on social media, writing a blog post, cuddling up to Buddy, like mornings recently. Everything has changed, sad face. Oh really, I have to get up and get in the shower and find an ironed shirt and get dressed and find my satchel, and get my shoes on, and get myself out the door, and do all of that, making my way to the salt mines, which are a beckoning… what is the reckoning, they’ve all been decorating, they all need sectioning… three French men, two turtle heads, and a penis in a pair of briefs… but, I digress.
You have to be nice to people, Christian, I tell myself, no matter how stupid and how annoying that really are. (That is worth repeating) No, really, you do.
Oh, back amongst the great unwashed. Back to all that. I'm going to be lovely, sickeningly so. Beige, they all like it beige, like painting all of your walls in your house cream, or family friendly TV, people don't like to be challenged, they just like elevator music and traditional holidays, and sales twice a year. Boringly predictable that is what they like, they don't want to be scared by anything. Nobody wants their feathers ruffled in this day and age. (Oh, other that the outrage they feel safely tucked away at home behind their computer screens, on a daily basis)
That's going to be me, steady as you go, Christian. Nothing is too much trouble, Christian, sweetness and light, Christian.
But, having said that, I'm usually loved by my fellow employees because I do think and say things outside of the normal, suburban box. I'm not always loved by the execs because, execs like religion, don't tend to like being questioned. And I also don't go in for the modern phenomena of respect, I still believe respect is earned and not allocated just because you know how to breath, which, again, execs don't tend to like. And most managers, executive managers, I have found, are full of shit. Trumped up little Napoleons more interested in guarding their own empire than doing anything really constructive for the company, or the employees.
Oh, I shiver in anticipation. All of that and more. I remember. No, I do, I do remember, I remember it all. It is coming back to me like a black, mongrel dog. Shudder! What the hell was I thinking?
Back to work, yay. Back to work, hip, hip, hip hooray. Back to work, I am gagging on my excitement, like a toddler overcome by his very own birthday party, or a bulimic gacking up her breakfast.
I'm sitting here eating my muesli, trying to remember that I can't just sit here for a few hours reading the news, pissing about on social media, writing a blog post, cuddling up to Buddy, like mornings recently. Everything has changed, sad face. Oh really, I have to get up and get in the shower and find an ironed shirt and get dressed and find my satchel, and get my shoes on, and get myself out the door, and do all of that, making my way to the salt mines, which are a beckoning… what is the reckoning, they’ve all been decorating, they all need sectioning… three French men, two turtle heads, and a penis in a pair of briefs… but, I digress.
You have to be nice to people, Christian, I tell myself, no matter how stupid and how annoying that really are. (That is worth repeating) No, really, you do.
Oh, back amongst the great unwashed. Back to all that. I'm going to be lovely, sickeningly so. Beige, they all like it beige, like painting all of your walls in your house cream, or family friendly TV, people don't like to be challenged, they just like elevator music and traditional holidays, and sales twice a year. Boringly predictable that is what they like, they don't want to be scared by anything. Nobody wants their feathers ruffled in this day and age. (Oh, other that the outrage they feel safely tucked away at home behind their computer screens, on a daily basis)
That's going to be me, steady as you go, Christian. Nothing is too much trouble, Christian, sweetness and light, Christian.
But, having said that, I'm usually loved by my fellow employees because I do think and say things outside of the normal, suburban box. I'm not always loved by the execs because, execs like religion, don't tend to like being questioned. And I also don't go in for the modern phenomena of respect, I still believe respect is earned and not allocated just because you know how to breath, which, again, execs don't tend to like. And most managers, executive managers, I have found, are full of shit. Trumped up little Napoleons more interested in guarding their own empire than doing anything really constructive for the company, or the employees.
Oh, I shiver in anticipation. All of that and more. I remember. No, I do, I do remember, I remember it all. It is coming back to me like a black, mongrel dog. Shudder! What the hell was I thinking?
Monday, December 12, 2016
Lawyer Jokes
What do lawyers and sperm have in common?
One in 50 million have the opportunity to become a human.
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Road Rules 101
I was driving west up the main road about to turn right into my street. Up the hill, away from the main intersection. The traffic was heavy, yes it was. As I headed up the hill approaching my street, I looked up and saw a black Mazda 2, which was going to cross the main road from right to left, in front of me. It lurched out from the right, blocking the lane of on-coming traffic, one of my pet hates, I have to admit. As the law states, do not enter an intersection, if you can't clear it. There was a car in front of me, which the Mazda 2 had to wait for, and then there was me, coming up the hill. And just as the Mazda 2 blocked the on-coming cars, and the car in front passed by, I pulled up in front of her, blocking her way.
So there we were, I was blocking the Mazda 2 and she was blocking the silver 4WD coming down the road towards me and the silver 4WD was blocking me from turning and she had a car right behind her, so she couldn't back up, as did I. None of us could move, except for the Mazda 2. Stuck in a three way gridlock.
The millennial driving the Mazda 2 looked aghast. She put her hands in the air as if to say to me, What are you doing? I stared her down, as I had the right of way. She just sat there pointing across the top of her steering wheel, repeatedly, with both hands saying she wanted to go straight across, gesticulating that I was in her way.
She didn't attempt to back up, she just sat there, presumably, trying to will me out of the way, looking outraged.
Funny how people with car licences so often don't know the basic road rules.
I looked at her, she looked at me defiantly.
I waited patiently for her to give in and back up, but she clearly wasn't going to. I knew damn well that I wasn't moving. The traffic was now banking up behind me and the traffic was banking up behind the silver 4WD in long lines.
I waited and waited, but she wasn't moving. Some thing had to be said. My window was open so I said, loudly, “Back up!”
She pointed across her steering wheel again with both hands, with that amazed look of the young, perhaps 21, and the stupid which said, I don’t know why you are doing this to me.
I'd given her a pointer and she chose to ignore me, clearly subtleties weren't going to work with her, so I said loudly, “Get out off the way.”
She pointed across her steering wheel again, aghast that she wasn’t being allowed to do what she wanted.
“Get off the road, you idiot!”
Finally it sank in that I wasn’t moving and that she would, in fact, have to move. She looked like she was holding her breath, I waited for her head to explode. I was hoping her head would explode, like the scene out of Pulp Fiction. Bang! All over the inside of the windscreen like a red sun set. The ensuing chaos would have been worth it. And finally, she started looking in her rear vision mirror, looking some what harassed, put out, you may even say. And she backed up.
The silver 4WD waved me around, but I waved her through as it was her right of way... and I didn't want the long line of cars behind me to clear quite so quickly. Our open windows aligned and she said, “Unbelievable.” And then she was gone. But she bore such a striking resemblance to a friend of mine that I was momentarily bamboozled, left wondering if, in fact, it was my friend Amy.
I waited for the long line of on-coming traffic to clear before I could make my turn, by which time the was an enormous amount of traffic behind me. Miss Mazda 2 wouldn't look at me as we sat waiting to make our moves. I gazed at her, but her eyes were fixed on the traffic behind me, the expression on her face was sour. I'm guessing she was there for quite some time while the traffic jam she had caused cleared.
I'm guessing she learnt nothing. I'm guessing she blamed it all on me. I could just see she was the type, you know, no life experience, deluded with entitlement. But, you know what, I didn't care, that fact that she was going to be there for quite some time was satisfying enough.
So there we were, I was blocking the Mazda 2 and she was blocking the silver 4WD coming down the road towards me and the silver 4WD was blocking me from turning and she had a car right behind her, so she couldn't back up, as did I. None of us could move, except for the Mazda 2. Stuck in a three way gridlock.
The millennial driving the Mazda 2 looked aghast. She put her hands in the air as if to say to me, What are you doing? I stared her down, as I had the right of way. She just sat there pointing across the top of her steering wheel, repeatedly, with both hands saying she wanted to go straight across, gesticulating that I was in her way.
She didn't attempt to back up, she just sat there, presumably, trying to will me out of the way, looking outraged.
Funny how people with car licences so often don't know the basic road rules.
I looked at her, she looked at me defiantly.
I waited patiently for her to give in and back up, but she clearly wasn't going to. I knew damn well that I wasn't moving. The traffic was now banking up behind me and the traffic was banking up behind the silver 4WD in long lines.
I waited and waited, but she wasn't moving. Some thing had to be said. My window was open so I said, loudly, “Back up!”
She pointed across her steering wheel again with both hands, with that amazed look of the young, perhaps 21, and the stupid which said, I don’t know why you are doing this to me.
I'd given her a pointer and she chose to ignore me, clearly subtleties weren't going to work with her, so I said loudly, “Get out off the way.”
She pointed across her steering wheel again, aghast that she wasn’t being allowed to do what she wanted.
“Get off the road, you idiot!”
Finally it sank in that I wasn’t moving and that she would, in fact, have to move. She looked like she was holding her breath, I waited for her head to explode. I was hoping her head would explode, like the scene out of Pulp Fiction. Bang! All over the inside of the windscreen like a red sun set. The ensuing chaos would have been worth it. And finally, she started looking in her rear vision mirror, looking some what harassed, put out, you may even say. And she backed up.
The silver 4WD waved me around, but I waved her through as it was her right of way... and I didn't want the long line of cars behind me to clear quite so quickly. Our open windows aligned and she said, “Unbelievable.” And then she was gone. But she bore such a striking resemblance to a friend of mine that I was momentarily bamboozled, left wondering if, in fact, it was my friend Amy.
I waited for the long line of on-coming traffic to clear before I could make my turn, by which time the was an enormous amount of traffic behind me. Miss Mazda 2 wouldn't look at me as we sat waiting to make our moves. I gazed at her, but her eyes were fixed on the traffic behind me, the expression on her face was sour. I'm guessing she was there for quite some time while the traffic jam she had caused cleared.
I'm guessing she learnt nothing. I'm guessing she blamed it all on me. I could just see she was the type, you know, no life experience, deluded with entitlement. But, you know what, I didn't care, that fact that she was going to be there for quite some time was satisfying enough.
Saturday, December 10, 2016
The Frenchie, the Pitbull and the Gorgeous Asian Chick
We took Buddy to the park Friday arvo. The aggressive Frenchie was there, which is kind of weird, I have never encountered an aggressive Frenchie before. I let Buddy off his lead, fully prepared to have a word with the Frenchie’s owner about his dog’s aggression, if his dog, yet again, went for Buddy. And he kind of did, but Buddy quickly ran off, Buddy is pretty laid back with such things.
However, not long after that the guy with the unsocialised pit bull arrived. There is a "type" who own a pitbulls. Grimace. Turning hands over in mid air. It is not the breed, it is the owners of these dogs. To be fair to him, he did say he didn’t know he had to socialise a dog. (roll of the eyes) He realises he has made a mistake and he is trying to rectify the problem. So he has explained to us on a previous occasion.
We left instead of having a word to anyone. We headed to Coles. I waited out the front with Buddy as Sam shops.
An Asian lady appears next to me with two bags of groceries, she falls to her knees asking if she can pat Buddy. I say he loves the attention, she says she can tell by his kind face. Then she is kneeing next to me allowing Buddy to lick her fully made up face freely. Her mouth, her lips. I didn’t expect that, I thought. Asian people are, generally, (wait for the generalisation) more concerned by cleanliness, than (oh, how do you put it?) Aussies of Anglo back ground, I find. She says that Buddy is lovely and clearly he loves being loved, which he does. It made me smile. It was lovely to see. She let him slobber all over her in her black suit with her makeup. I guess work had finished and she was on her way home to change into her track pants, anyway.
It was more than I'd do. I do kiss Buddy on the mouth - although, with a bulldog it could be argued that it is hard to work out where his mouth starts and finishes, it could be argued that I kiss him on his face, on his big, squishy face. But, I don't let him tongue kiss me, I do draw the line at that, although, I don't care if other people let dogs lick their mouths, I kind of admire the freedom they allow themselves. Maybe, I just got too many hangups as a kid.
However, not long after that the guy with the unsocialised pit bull arrived. There is a "type" who own a pitbulls. Grimace. Turning hands over in mid air. It is not the breed, it is the owners of these dogs. To be fair to him, he did say he didn’t know he had to socialise a dog. (roll of the eyes) He realises he has made a mistake and he is trying to rectify the problem. So he has explained to us on a previous occasion.
We left instead of having a word to anyone. We headed to Coles. I waited out the front with Buddy as Sam shops.
An Asian lady appears next to me with two bags of groceries, she falls to her knees asking if she can pat Buddy. I say he loves the attention, she says she can tell by his kind face. Then she is kneeing next to me allowing Buddy to lick her fully made up face freely. Her mouth, her lips. I didn’t expect that, I thought. Asian people are, generally, (wait for the generalisation) more concerned by cleanliness, than (oh, how do you put it?) Aussies of Anglo back ground, I find. She says that Buddy is lovely and clearly he loves being loved, which he does. It made me smile. It was lovely to see. She let him slobber all over her in her black suit with her makeup. I guess work had finished and she was on her way home to change into her track pants, anyway.
It was more than I'd do. I do kiss Buddy on the mouth - although, with a bulldog it could be argued that it is hard to work out where his mouth starts and finishes, it could be argued that I kiss him on his face, on his big, squishy face. But, I don't let him tongue kiss me, I do draw the line at that, although, I don't care if other people let dogs lick their mouths, I kind of admire the freedom they allow themselves. Maybe, I just got too many hangups as a kid.
Friday, December 09, 2016
Eating Cake and Drinking Tea... Second Last Day of Freedom
It was grey and overcast morning, such a contrast to yesterday. The rain came down in waves, stop start from early in the day. Staying indoors is too easy, it is my default position. I had to buy milk and butter at the supermarket to make cake, as my bananas had turned black. (It sounds like an episode of Embarrassing Bodies. "Can I show you, Dr Christian?") I headed down the street in between showers, but it was raining again when I emerged from the super market. What to do? If I have a few moments to waste, I like to go to Cash Converters to peruse the $1 cds. I often pick up those albums I have missed along the way, or those cds I once had that have ended up in the same place with all the odd socks, glasses, pens, remote control, or which I leant to friends who said they would return them, which I, and they, forgot about eventually. I got the last two Pink Floyd cds, one Cold Play and a couple by Clare Bowditch, who’s voice I have always liked. 5 bucks, not bad.
The rain fell steadily, like a constantly falling veil over the world in front of me, as I thanked the universe for shop verandas, feeling that chill, of being safe and dry while the rest of the world walked zig zig in a vain attempt to dodge water drops, run up my spine. All the shop keepers said it was a shame about the weather. Their mouths fell open when I told them I preferred it. “I’m going to retire to some place cold,” I told them. “Maybe Hobart.”
“Oh,” said the sweet lady in the tattsLotto shop, looking at me as if I was just a little bit mad.
“Don’t get me wrong, if Phuket, or Super Paradise are in front of me, I’m fine with the heat,” I said. “But failing that, it’s Tasmania for me.”
She seemed to like that, well, her face broke into a smile and she nodded as though I had just uttered some kind of wisdom.
Friday is generally Cryday for David, he works hard, long hours, puts in 100%, is at all of his sycophant’s beck and call and it is, generally, his only day off, where he takes to his bed in tears with a tub of ice cream, but not today, he came over and we drank tea and ate the banana cake I had made (he has a sixth sense, read she’s a pig) and watched YouTube clips about how the bible is a work of fiction. He’s spiritual, I’m an atheist.
We spoke of objects of masturbatory fantasy and if anything is off limits. I say nothing is off limits, (I think in this day and age, I need to specify that I mean adult human beings in consensual acts, just so we are clear) with two provisos. Firstly, as long as you don’t suffer self-loathing, or want to cut yourself after you have cum due to the nature of your thoughts. Secondly, you know that it is just fantasy and that that has little, or no relationship, to reality, then everything is on the table, nothing is off limits. David’s fantasy was mild, in my opinion, he had some client who told him what she fantasized about and David got off on it. He suspected it was unprofessional. Nyr. Shrug. I told him that if Sam was still with me, and could still look me in the eye, brush my fringe out of my eyes, and gaze at me lovingly, after some of the fantasies I had told him about when we were both high on drugs... big eyes, nervous smile.
“More tea?”
After that, David went home for an afternoon nap to sleep off the banana cake he’d eaten.
I was advised that my p0licecheck has gone into review and now it is going to take approx. ten days. Yay. That makes me nervous.
You see, there is that time I was caught shop lifting when I was 18. Oh, yes, too stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking? What was I thinking? Oh, roll of the eyes, not a lot. It was dumb. I think I was bored, and wanted to test myself. It was a challenge, not stealing, I know that doesn’t make sense. I wanted to see if I could get away with it, never really thinking it through to what might, actually, happen if I didn’t. Naturally, I just thought I would. I didn’t. The store security woman was right onto me.
Or, there was that time 5 years after the unfortunate shop lifting incident when I was, apparently, a suspect in a major bank robbery. That is too stupid for completely different reasons. The p0lice thought it was an inside job, apparently, there was an unusually large amount of money in the bank. There were four of us who worked for the corporate bank after we’d finished uni, the four of us were friends. Two of us left just before the robbery and two of us left after the robbery. And as it just so happened, the four of us flew to London not all that long after, three of us on extended, year away, type vacations, and one of us on his annual 4 weeks holiday. Apparently, the p0lice thought he was the mastermind, which was just laughable. He’s a lovely guy but, how do I put this nicely, not a mastermind of anything. No.
The p0lice followed us overseas, do you believe it. The amount of time they, apparently, wasted investigating the four of us, it is no surprise to me that they never, actually, caught the real robbers.
So, if my p0licecheck has gone into review because of either of these reasons, which it probably hasn’t, apparently, 25% of applications go into review, I hope it is the 350K bank robbery as I am, obviously, innocent of that, and not the $1.50 shop lifting thing, as I’m not innocent of that. But I got a good behaviour bond, and I thought that meant it never showed up on things like p0licechecks. The stupid things you do when you are young. I’m not proud of it, but, fuck it, I’m not really so ashamed of it either. It happened so long ago now it feels like a different life time. I have never nicked anything else ever in my life. Just that one time. How many of you can say that? I never have. Well, if you don’t count Shane’s pot, but even that, I’m totally confident that Shane wouldn’t care, if I told him.
Sam says I am over thinking it, as in my line of work I have had a number of p0licechecks in the past. I have never had to apply for my own before, however, that is a new thing. I can be a little bit worst-case-scenario-Christian, I know that.
I took my antique satchel to the lovely lady at the shoe repair shop to have it sewn up in time for my new job. The leather is still great, but all the stitching has disintegrated. I could buy a new one, certainly, but it belonged to my uncle, who died one year before I was born, the husband of my beloved aunt, it has his initials in gold on the outside, and I have a certain attachment to it. It’ll be ready Monday.
And a bag for work, in my opinion, is a must. Phone, wallet, headphones, laptop (once there would have been cigarettes) lunchbox, the Adventures of Peter Rabbit, plant clippings, sunglasses, headache pills, change of shoes, Superman outfit, fresh undies, whatever I want to carry to work is all so easy to carry to the office with a leather satchel. No bulging pockets, and hands free for whatever you want to do with free hands… touch that accounting grads arse in the lift, whatever.
The sun came out in the afternoon and I went for a walk listening to Marcia Hines, Time Of Our Lives. She’s a goddess.
The rain fell steadily, like a constantly falling veil over the world in front of me, as I thanked the universe for shop verandas, feeling that chill, of being safe and dry while the rest of the world walked zig zig in a vain attempt to dodge water drops, run up my spine. All the shop keepers said it was a shame about the weather. Their mouths fell open when I told them I preferred it. “I’m going to retire to some place cold,” I told them. “Maybe Hobart.”
“Oh,” said the sweet lady in the tattsLotto shop, looking at me as if I was just a little bit mad.
“Don’t get me wrong, if Phuket, or Super Paradise are in front of me, I’m fine with the heat,” I said. “But failing that, it’s Tasmania for me.”
She seemed to like that, well, her face broke into a smile and she nodded as though I had just uttered some kind of wisdom.
Friday is generally Cryday for David, he works hard, long hours, puts in 100%, is at all of his sycophant’s beck and call and it is, generally, his only day off, where he takes to his bed in tears with a tub of ice cream, but not today, he came over and we drank tea and ate the banana cake I had made (he has a sixth sense, read she’s a pig) and watched YouTube clips about how the bible is a work of fiction. He’s spiritual, I’m an atheist.
We spoke of objects of masturbatory fantasy and if anything is off limits. I say nothing is off limits, (I think in this day and age, I need to specify that I mean adult human beings in consensual acts, just so we are clear) with two provisos. Firstly, as long as you don’t suffer self-loathing, or want to cut yourself after you have cum due to the nature of your thoughts. Secondly, you know that it is just fantasy and that that has little, or no relationship, to reality, then everything is on the table, nothing is off limits. David’s fantasy was mild, in my opinion, he had some client who told him what she fantasized about and David got off on it. He suspected it was unprofessional. Nyr. Shrug. I told him that if Sam was still with me, and could still look me in the eye, brush my fringe out of my eyes, and gaze at me lovingly, after some of the fantasies I had told him about when we were both high on drugs... big eyes, nervous smile.
“More tea?”
After that, David went home for an afternoon nap to sleep off the banana cake he’d eaten.
I was advised that my p0licecheck has gone into review and now it is going to take approx. ten days. Yay. That makes me nervous.
You see, there is that time I was caught shop lifting when I was 18. Oh, yes, too stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking? What was I thinking? Oh, roll of the eyes, not a lot. It was dumb. I think I was bored, and wanted to test myself. It was a challenge, not stealing, I know that doesn’t make sense. I wanted to see if I could get away with it, never really thinking it through to what might, actually, happen if I didn’t. Naturally, I just thought I would. I didn’t. The store security woman was right onto me.
Or, there was that time 5 years after the unfortunate shop lifting incident when I was, apparently, a suspect in a major bank robbery. That is too stupid for completely different reasons. The p0lice thought it was an inside job, apparently, there was an unusually large amount of money in the bank. There were four of us who worked for the corporate bank after we’d finished uni, the four of us were friends. Two of us left just before the robbery and two of us left after the robbery. And as it just so happened, the four of us flew to London not all that long after, three of us on extended, year away, type vacations, and one of us on his annual 4 weeks holiday. Apparently, the p0lice thought he was the mastermind, which was just laughable. He’s a lovely guy but, how do I put this nicely, not a mastermind of anything. No.
The p0lice followed us overseas, do you believe it. The amount of time they, apparently, wasted investigating the four of us, it is no surprise to me that they never, actually, caught the real robbers.
So, if my p0licecheck has gone into review because of either of these reasons, which it probably hasn’t, apparently, 25% of applications go into review, I hope it is the 350K bank robbery as I am, obviously, innocent of that, and not the $1.50 shop lifting thing, as I’m not innocent of that. But I got a good behaviour bond, and I thought that meant it never showed up on things like p0licechecks. The stupid things you do when you are young. I’m not proud of it, but, fuck it, I’m not really so ashamed of it either. It happened so long ago now it feels like a different life time. I have never nicked anything else ever in my life. Just that one time. How many of you can say that? I never have. Well, if you don’t count Shane’s pot, but even that, I’m totally confident that Shane wouldn’t care, if I told him.
Sam says I am over thinking it, as in my line of work I have had a number of p0licechecks in the past. I have never had to apply for my own before, however, that is a new thing. I can be a little bit worst-case-scenario-Christian, I know that.
I took my antique satchel to the lovely lady at the shoe repair shop to have it sewn up in time for my new job. The leather is still great, but all the stitching has disintegrated. I could buy a new one, certainly, but it belonged to my uncle, who died one year before I was born, the husband of my beloved aunt, it has his initials in gold on the outside, and I have a certain attachment to it. It’ll be ready Monday.
And a bag for work, in my opinion, is a must. Phone, wallet, headphones, laptop (once there would have been cigarettes) lunchbox, the Adventures of Peter Rabbit, plant clippings, sunglasses, headache pills, change of shoes, Superman outfit, fresh undies, whatever I want to carry to work is all so easy to carry to the office with a leather satchel. No bulging pockets, and hands free for whatever you want to do with free hands… touch that accounting grads arse in the lift, whatever.
The sun came out in the afternoon and I went for a walk listening to Marcia Hines, Time Of Our Lives. She’s a goddess.
Thursday, December 08, 2016
I'm Heading Back To The Salt Mines Come Tuesday
9am, Tuesday, that is when I start work, again. Bright and early. I'm pleased it is Tuesday, as Monday morning at 9am would have been a mental mind fuck. I'm back down the dark end of the city, the Spencer Street end, the grungy end, the part of the city where the sun doesn't shine so much. Not the Spring Street end, where the sun always shines down bright and blue.
Yes, I got the job. I did an interview, my first in years, (that's not exactly true, but true enough) not something I am ever really that great at. I don't think I ever take them really seriously, enough, for some reason I just can't. Never been able to. The desk, the sides each of us have to take, the deserted room, the hollow sound of emptiness, the unnatural paradigm, the questions, the seriousness, often with two interviewers making the whole process seem remarkably unfair and out of balance, just to justify their existence.
No, I'm good at interviews, if the interviewer is good at interviewing. You know, with a certain natural charm and some sanity in the questions being asked. I can charm them right back, generally. If there haven't been any stupid questions, if there hasn't been any corporate psycho babble, which just loses me and I end up wondering how stupid the interviewer really is to think stupid questions are acceptable. I can glaze over really easily, which does none of us any favours.
It also helps if I want the job, that is a huge edge to have. I've been to job interviews where, I may have been iffy beforehand, and where I decide in the first 5 minutes that I really didn't want the job anyway, that the interviewers appear stupid and I decide that I don't want to be working for them anyway, and that life is too short and I'd rather be home smoking pot, or watching porn, or, just staring out into space, you know, you get it don't you? The walls then start closing in and the air gets thin and I end up thinking more about suffocation than the questions at hand. And I start to imagine the interviewer in her bra and undies pissed off her brain at the Xmas Party being all flirty, trashing HR101 to pieces, as she goes after the hot young uni grads. Or him in his jocks with a bona doing creepy things in the office toilet, the seat covered in toilet paper and he with a whistle in his mouth and saliva dripping down his hairy chest. And it is only ever down hill from there. Trust me.
I had one interview like that, which just ended in an awkward silence, pretty much. And it was a position for which a sister of a friend asked me to apply. Was that the Melbourne Council? It could have been. The friend's sister was there, but she didn't run the show, some other dweeb, public servant did. Ten minutes in, I decided the interviewer was a halfwit, that they were all halfwits and I started writing their death scenarios in my head. Too much fiction, to be sure, swirling around in my head. And I got to a moment where the room went silent and while I was giving the universe thanks for the stupidity reprieve I realised they had paused for my answer, the question for which I'd completely missed. Suffice to say I didn't get that job.
Anyway, this job I've got. Jack and Fatty Cake Snoop Lady gave me references and I have applied for my own p0licecheck, which I should get today. That was something the company once did, but not anymore, apparently.
So, there you go, my lady of leisure routine has come to a premature end. Back to the salt mines.
I had a twinge of failure as I started thinking about work again. My writing stops yet again, as I scamper back to the safety of a meaningless office job. I guess, I just have to get used to being a failure. Grrrr! I should have been...
Yes, I got the job. I did an interview, my first in years, (that's not exactly true, but true enough) not something I am ever really that great at. I don't think I ever take them really seriously, enough, for some reason I just can't. Never been able to. The desk, the sides each of us have to take, the deserted room, the hollow sound of emptiness, the unnatural paradigm, the questions, the seriousness, often with two interviewers making the whole process seem remarkably unfair and out of balance, just to justify their existence.
No, I'm good at interviews, if the interviewer is good at interviewing. You know, with a certain natural charm and some sanity in the questions being asked. I can charm them right back, generally. If there haven't been any stupid questions, if there hasn't been any corporate psycho babble, which just loses me and I end up wondering how stupid the interviewer really is to think stupid questions are acceptable. I can glaze over really easily, which does none of us any favours.
It also helps if I want the job, that is a huge edge to have. I've been to job interviews where, I may have been iffy beforehand, and where I decide in the first 5 minutes that I really didn't want the job anyway, that the interviewers appear stupid and I decide that I don't want to be working for them anyway, and that life is too short and I'd rather be home smoking pot, or watching porn, or, just staring out into space, you know, you get it don't you? The walls then start closing in and the air gets thin and I end up thinking more about suffocation than the questions at hand. And I start to imagine the interviewer in her bra and undies pissed off her brain at the Xmas Party being all flirty, trashing HR101 to pieces, as she goes after the hot young uni grads. Or him in his jocks with a bona doing creepy things in the office toilet, the seat covered in toilet paper and he with a whistle in his mouth and saliva dripping down his hairy chest. And it is only ever down hill from there. Trust me.
I had one interview like that, which just ended in an awkward silence, pretty much. And it was a position for which a sister of a friend asked me to apply. Was that the Melbourne Council? It could have been. The friend's sister was there, but she didn't run the show, some other dweeb, public servant did. Ten minutes in, I decided the interviewer was a halfwit, that they were all halfwits and I started writing their death scenarios in my head. Too much fiction, to be sure, swirling around in my head. And I got to a moment where the room went silent and while I was giving the universe thanks for the stupidity reprieve I realised they had paused for my answer, the question for which I'd completely missed. Suffice to say I didn't get that job.
Anyway, this job I've got. Jack and Fatty Cake Snoop Lady gave me references and I have applied for my own p0licecheck, which I should get today. That was something the company once did, but not anymore, apparently.
So, there you go, my lady of leisure routine has come to a premature end. Back to the salt mines.
I had a twinge of failure as I started thinking about work again. My writing stops yet again, as I scamper back to the safety of a meaningless office job. I guess, I just have to get used to being a failure. Grrrr! I should have been...
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