Obsessed With Trump

Long weekend, you know what that means? Four days off, we deserve it. In fact, because we give so many free hours to our companies, a public holiday isn't a privilege, it is a right. We earn it. Well not me exactly, as I don't work Thursdays and Fridays, it is hardly an "anything" weekend for me, except Sam's here. I still use it as an excuse, the reason it has for existing, let the standards drop, let it all hang out. 

"But Sam, it is a long weekend," I say. "We're on holidays." 

Holidays means smoke, everybody knows that. Sam acquiesces easily. Surprisingly, he was even prepared to go and get it. How's that for a journey, from a guy who was dead against it seven years ago. Yes, we've been together for seven years this year.

Then I get to test out my ongoing theory, that no matter how much gunger I pump into Sam, he never really gets stoned. He gets mellow, sure, and he gets the bleary red eyes, which look really cute on him. Is it sick I am attracted to that look? I just think it is what I am used to, I laugh nervously to myself. Ha ha. But he doesn't get the giggly, fun laughing kind of stoned. It is as if he mutated into a seasoned pot smoker from the time that I met him. He really needed to, that's been said before. But, he keeps up with me, always, never says no, never spins out. Never chucks... such I yardstick, I saw that as soon as I wrote it. Sam's an old soul, clearly. Smoked the peace pipe with Sitting Big Cloud, and all that.

All of my friends are obsessed with Trump. Trump. Trump. Trump. Trump. Captain Small Hands himself. Everyone seems to following his every move. It is as if they are heralding in Armageddon. 

"Now look what he's done. Now look what he's done. Now look what he's done." 

Yes, they elected a narcissist, and not a particularly bright one at that. That's democracy. What is it they say, Democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried. But, even a judge can overrule a jury in exceptional circumstances, where is that safety net? Why can't a judge just stop this? Trump must have broken laws in the past, how hard can it be to put him in jail. Take a leaf out of Abbott's book in how he, allegedly, dealt with Hanson the first time around. (Now they are buddies? Strange) How hard can it be? Desperate times call for desperate measures. Where is America's Governor General? 

Sometimes I get the chills when I listen to him justify his existence yet again for the umpteenth time, like a 10 year old. "Mine was bigger! It was! No, it was! It was!" What president sends his press secretary out to tell the world he, in fact, has a bigger dick than the last guy, the biggest dick, it is a beautiful dick, despite the small hands. Sometimes I watch his lips move and think I am looking right into the heart of insanity. 

However, I have to put the same amount of store in their system getting rid of him, if he truely becomes a danger, as the Austrian parliamentary system has got rid of our two psychopaths.

We've had houseguests, it has been a gorgeous weekend, Melbourne turned on its perfect summer weather. The last of them have just left, Mark and Luke, they stayed Friday/Saturday. LouLou stayed Wednesday/Thursday. It is cream cake weather. Weather that is as perfect as a cream cake.

Trump. Euw! I tell you life is too short. I had dinner with an American, however much she claimed not to be. She held the floor, Saturday over a BBQ, and she smoked all my cigarettes as she did it, how American is that? She says that America is screwed for 4 years, because if you get rid of Trump, Pense is even worse. And the one after Pence is worse than him. She lives in Europe and she shrugged her shoulders and said. "Hey, it is what it is." (Who knows who Beau is from Absolutely Fabulous?)

I'm just going to sit back and enjoy the laughs. I particularly want to see what 4 years of unmerciful comedic satire is going to do for the famously thin-skinned, narcissistic president. It will be comedy gold. SNL this week, Alec Baldwin is doing the whole show as Trump. Apparently, Trump hates Alec Baldwin. I can't wait.

Every body is talking about Trump, though. It is like some strange virus, it makes the afflicted constantly checking their portal of choice to the world psycho drama. 

I'm listening to Tracy Chapman as I enjoy the honey-soaked afternoon rays eating pistachios. I think the pistachio nut is my colour pallet.

Stars Of Their Own Reality

You know, Kim Kardashian will be the first female president of the United States, now that the reality stars are using their audience to obtain office. She's seen one outsider's shot make it to the top, why wouldn't she? She is as full of her own publicity as the other one, it would seem. The shameless self promotion, all she has to sell is herself. Her trillion Instagram followers will put her there in 2020. 

The general public are just as likely to do it too, don't you think? If they can put the Orange One there. It is who they know and who they probably trust more than politicians.

"Look at the success she has made of herself, she can now do that for the country."

Don't worry, when the Orange One makes a hash of it, Kim will make America great again. Can you imagine first Lady Kanye? I want to see him do the Jackie O inauguration outfit, which of course Melania copied, (was it a copy, or a tribute? In someone we thought of as stylish, it would be considered a nod to) but in yellow. Perhaps, something short to show his arse in his knickers. Kris Jenner would, of course, be Vice President.

Magnificent bee motif booty

Chasing Pavements

It was a lovely day walking into town listening to Adele. I turned back as I headed up the main street and waved to Sam, as he headed in the other direction to work, not caring a bit about the guy walking up behind me watching me. We turn back and wave in the mornings until we both disappear out of sight.

I walked to the free tram stop, well, actually the stop before the free section, as I am too lazy to cross the Collins Street Spring Street intersection. I am listening to Adele. One of the new Bombadier trams came shushing down McArthur Street. I had to leg it the last few metres to get on. It was hot inside. I went and sat down in a corner seat in the quaddy (four, not crippled) seating arrangement, with all the other seats taken. I wrote a small poem about the incident last Friday, but then felt the sweat dripping down the sides of my face, so I pulled my headphones off, they make me sweat, but it was no good. Did they have the heating on? So I struggled back through the sea of knees and went and stood where there was more air around me. I was going to get off at the next stop and walk, but the tram in the morning seems to stop at every possible reason to stop, so it was a while before it even looked as though I was going to be able to get off. I managed to find the aircon sweet spot, such as it was. The air was seeping in weakly, but it was enough to cool me, just. What is it with the air system on modern trams?

Oh, I am turning into such a grump. There was a really annoying, hot woman chatting to an attractive man. She just kept laugh/talking. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Everything she said was a barely hidden desirous giggle. Oh stop it, I thought, but she persisted. Just offer to suck his cock and shut up. Er! I thought. She was clearly taken with him. He seemed to laugh too, he was clearly up for it. No, he was. The two of them ha ha ha ha, he he he he. Then he’d find whatever she had said just adorable and he’d laugh. Ho ho ho ho. Oh for goodness sake, get a room!

The mornings should be quiet, it is not time for chatting. It is time for quiet contemplation for the day ahead.

The cool air blew gently and cooled my mood.

Then I remembered my headphones in my hand, I’d cooled down enough to put them back on. so I hit the on switch and slid them back on my head. Adele started singing, Chasing Pavements. I love headphones so. All the talkers, all the gigglers, all the whiners (I'm not missing the irony) are suddenly blocked out. I should wear head phones all the time.

Some People Are Bonkers

I was looking at novels at the book grocer in Bourke Street, on the weekend, as Sam got his hair cut. It is kind of nice, some uninterrupted time to check out some new fiction. I love the feel of books, I love the smell of them, I love reading the back and the opening paragraph/s, you know, that moment when you decide if you are attracted to the writing. You just keep reading, you forget to stop.

There were plenty of people in the shop, they were on sale, why wouldn't there be?

There was a young, blond guy on his phone walking aimlessly around the shop talking loudly to somebody, I was just about to ask him to take it outside when he hung up. He was kind of cute, which was beside the point, and he had a deep voice, which was kind of the point.

I had picked out two novels, from the piles of novels that were set out on tables. Two novels the first pages of which spoke to me. I noticed a woman wandering around collecting an armful of books. Every time she chose a book, she would move the book at the top of the pile, essentially, to the top of another pile and then she would take the second book in the pile. She never returned the first book to the pile where it belonged. She did this five, or six times, around the shop, leaving books messed up all over the place. She continually moved the top book from the top of the pile and took the second copy? Why? Wince? Some people are really weird, now aren't they? What psychological disease did she suffer from, I wondered? I wanted to tell her to put the books back where they belonged but, of course, I didn't.

I looked at her, we locked eyes momentarily, I am sure she knew why I was looking at her, but she looked away quickly and she didn't look back at me again.

Bonkers, I thought.

Sexy boy in his Active Wear

The Orange One

The Orange One and the third wife... fourth wife? Ivanka? Ivana? Did he marry his daughter? Which one is which? Do his children have small hands too? (his son's share a chin, by the look of them)... Oh, who can keep track. Actually, considering the old lying reprobate is 72 and he has 4 years to put in as grand poo-bah, (assassination, impeachment, humiliation on the world stage withstanding) he's not going to get a replacement trophy wife any time soon, one would think... but I digress... danced to "My Way" (yes, the song most likely to get you murdered at a karaoke bar) at his colourless, devoid of celebrity, (Kanye West turned it down and he'd perform at the opening of a wound) Irish Hoe down, from all accounts (not that there is anything wrong with that) and while Nancy Sinatra pointed out that her dear old dad would never approve of someone of the Orange One's ilk using his song, she did laugh and say, "It is quite funny, if you think of the first few lines of the song." We are all now hoping that, if anything, it is prophetic for Tiny Hands (as he wipes conservative politics off the political map like a dirty arse) and not prophetic for the world.

Me Watching The Next Four Years of the American Presidency (You can't write this stuff)

You know if you can ignore the discrimination of minorities, the sexual assault of women, the corruption, and the neglect of the environment and, oh, the possible war with China, and all the lies, then it'll be hysterical, lots of laughs

Did David Leyonhjelm Just Acknowledge Guns Kill People?

This is David Leyonhejelm's tweet about the incident in the Bourke Street Mall yesterday, when a man with psychological issues killed four people with his car.


So, did David Leyonhjelm finally admit the truth that if James Gargasoulas didn’t have access to a car he couldn’t run people over, in much the same way that if people don’t have access to semi-automatic assault rifles they can’t shoot people.

Christian Fundamentalists

Christian fundamentalists are funny… like, just create your own little community and be yourselves with like-minded people. Easy. Home school your little sprogs, if that is what you want, so they can grow up to share in your own particular brand of... um... er... delusion. Be all Jesus-y in your own life, but please enjoy your beliefs as they are your beliefs, they should direct you in your life. Stop trying to affect other people's lives with your ideas on how to live.

Religion served it's purpose, it got the ignorant out of the dark ages, but it is not needed any more. The light shines for everyone, and we now know it comes from the sun. We're smart enough not to need it. In fact, it is holding some sections of the population back.

Religion

Religion is like the difficulty of riding backwards on a train, your parents tell you about it when you are a child and you accept it unquestioningly for the rest of your life.

Black birds in the park, they really are beautiful birds.

Jogging on The Boulevard, today was a gorgeous day

I went for a bike ride in the afternoon, yesterday. I know, I know, I should have gone earlier, but I didn't. It was hot. The sun felt like it was burning my skin when I was in its full rays for any length of time. Zzzzzzzz, like pins into my skin, a pin blanket, a needle wrap. Zzzzzzzz. All of my exposed skin felt prickly.

So today, I went at 8.30am and it was nice, early morning. It was due to hit 38 degrees today, so I had to go first thing before it got too hot. Sore arse though, for my second day of riding, but I am working tomorrow and possibly Thursday, so I had to go today to get my three days of riding in, the third day being on Friday, hopefully, when my arse won't be feeling quite so tender. Cross fingers.

Breakfast. I'm now making my own muesli again, as shop-bought muesli has a lot of added sugar and that and my banana addiction are suspected of putting on the kilos. So, I now have home made muesli and I have kicked the banana habit. And my daily walking exercise, apparently, isn't high enough intensity to lose weight, (sad face) and I enjoyed walking so, it was kind of meditative, so I am getting back on my trusty bike for the rest of the summer. Back out in the traffic, concentration turned back to high.

(I stopped smoking again. Two days, one packet, not so hard to stop, of course, I mustn't let myself be lulled into a false sense of security regarding being able to stop whenever I want, but so far so good.)

Mid Summer Carnival

The sun was shining, early. It, of course, was cleaning day being Sunday and Sam was giving orders early. Sam cleaned up the front yard making it spotless, naturally. vacuumed the atrium of all of the dropped leaves from all of my indoor plants, which really needs to be done constantly such are the many and varied leaves that fall to the ground. I vacuumed the bottom floor of the house. Sam seemed to be happy with the results, as he rubbed his white glove across the surfaces, nodding pleasingly. I, of course, am not allowed to leave my cleaning station until Sam gives the okay.

Ha ha. It is funny because it is true. I play along because it is easier.

I found another of those awful introduced Black Bird’s nests in the creeper on my side brick wall and destroyed it. The two Black Birds were very unhappy about it. They suddenly flew in and chirp, chirp, chirped at me. Fuck them! I don’t want any more of them scratching the mulch out of my garden onto the paving in the back yard. They chirp, chirp, chirped, in fact, they were still chirping when we left the house. Too bad! So sad! Don’t mess with an Apex Predator, I thought.

I laughed at the thought. It is funny because it is true.

We headed out to Carnival, after David called saying he’d be there in 20 minutes. We ate burritos in Gertrude Street first up, as we hadn’t eaten lunch. I was happy to eat at the carnival, but Sam insisted we ate first. So, we ate at the skate park café in Gertrude Street.

We were meant to meet David, you know, 20 minutes, or so, after we left the house, but in usual David style he was late. He called just after we got to the carnival and, apparently, they were in Domain Road parking the car, which, apparently, took 2 hours.

We saw (my ex) Lauri and his new boyfriend, Leroy, first up. Lauri looked fine, but he said he has new lumps on his neck, which are freaking him out. (He has been battling lymphoma for 5 years) I could see the lumps after he’d mentioned them. There is no surprise they are freaking him out, as this is the final treatment he can have, if this doesn’t work there is nothing else, the cancer wins and he dies.

Sam told me off for smoking in front of Lauri, as we walked away.

Oh yes, smoking. We went to Rachel’s last night and there were smokers, so I went to the shop and bought a packet. Weak as piss? Only if I continue smoking after I have finished this packet.

The carnival was really crowded, the footpaths were full. There were people with their dogs, (We took Buddy a few years ago, but he freaked out with all of the people) I wondered about the safety of a couple of small dachshunds as they weaved between people’s feet. We wandered around. People smiled, people laughed, people met up with friends. There were a few hotties, but not so many, not really. There was the big muscular wog boy dressed in just black undies, but he was verging on fat, sexy fat to be sure. There were a couple of guys in very little, but for the most part they looked like try-hards, not that I want to pass judgement on anyone, wear what you like, that is what it is all about after all. A few of the shirtless boys dressed just in jeans were sexy, but that is my favourite look on a guy, jeans and a bare torso. And, of course, a few handsome faces, completely clothed, the bodies, not the faces. Cute couples holding hands, cute couples dressed alike, gay and straight. People in costumes. People smiling. A good time being had by all.

We wandered around. We battled the crowds. We filled in a sex survey. We ate chuppa chups, which were the reward for doing the sex survey. We ate free ice creams we got from the Coles stand. We saw (Sam’s ex) Brian and his new boyfriend, Mark. Mark has something to do with Coles and he prattled on about the free ice creams, none of which I really followed, I have to admit. Blah, blah, blah.

We looked at the stalls, they seemed the same as all the previous years. Same, same, but still interesting. That is what you do, after all, that is all a part of it.

We sat on the edge of the path just away from the main “goings on” on the grass in the shade when our backs got tired, and watched the people go buy. Still no sign of David and Torben. I can watch the passing parade for hours quite happily.

Then Sam wanted a massage, as his back was hurting him.

“Why can’t you have a massage another day? Why today?” I asked.

He said it was difficult now as he doesn’t work in the CBD any longer.

“What do you want to do?” Sam said.

“I thought you wanted to have a massage?” I said.

“I do,” said Sam.

“Okay then,” I said.

“I have to call and book.” Which he did, for 5pm.

We were standing by the portable loos, which were lined up like pale blue Daleks. Sentries around the edge of the gardens. Still. Silent. Except for the one in the middle, which was rocking backwards and forwards. Ah, the old days, I thought. It reminded me of going to dance parties in the 90’s.

We headed off towards the city around 4.15pm, after much humming and ha’ing. Just as we were leaving the park, David called, at 4.22pm (I checked my phone) to say he was finally at the bar at the carnival, but we’d made up our minds to leave by then. I told David we were heading into the city to get something to eat, which we were, that and the massage, which I didn’t mention.

“Come and eat here, at the bar,” said David. “There is food here.”

“Oh, Sam wants something more substantial, you know what he is like,” I said.

David agreed.

Then Sam was being indecisive, wanting me to make the decision to leave, but it was hot and I wasn’t so inclined to take charge. I just wanted to chill, let somebody else “steer the boat.”

We got to Bourke Street a bit early so we sat on a seat and waited for 5pm. Sam was in ask-a-million-questions-mode. I could walk back to the carnival and he’d meet me there. I could go to the book shop. I could go to JB HiFi. I could go to STA travel and enquire about our overseas air tickets for May. I could… I could… I could… “Go and have your massage,” I said. “You are doing my head in.”

I waited for Sam on that seat. I wanted to just feel the day and the afternoon and watch the people walk by and, perhaps, feel a little boredom, you know, give the brain a rest from all the electronic distractions of the modern world. Just be. Sit on a seat for an hour and just chill. So, that is what I did. It is nice sometimes, just to go blank, no need to be entertained, or distracted, or engaged.

I imagined it was going to be like meditation.

An Indian guy came and sat next to me, speaking into his phone in the monotonous accent. I didn’t care, let the man make his phone call, I thought. Whatever. The problem was that his phone call was never ending, it was a continual “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, eerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, eerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” in my left ear. It just never stopped. Who could he be talking to? I wondered in the end if he was dictating into his hand-held device, as perhaps it didn’t look like a phone, when I glanced over at it. He sat in the one position and didn’t move, not a muscle.

A couple of people, who I assumed, were homeless, asked me for cigarettes, but, actually, I had finished my packet from last night, so I told them that I didn’t smoke. It is just easier to say you don’t smoke, it ends the request stone dead. One guy appeared to have all of his worldly possessions in a supermarket trolley he was pushing. He had an iPhone on a tiny tripod, which he put on the ground pointing at whoever he wanted to speak to, before he spoke to them, as though he was recording everything. He set up his camera and then said quietly, “Excuse me sir, you wouldn’t happen to smoke, would you?”

“No,” I said.

He picked up his camera and shuffled off to the guy on the next seat, who had sat down with his cigarettes while the homeless guy was asking me. He set up his camera on the ground pointing towards the next guy, and then he asked that guy for a smoke, which the guy gave him.

The other guy asking for cigarettes was kind of yelling at people. He was suddenly next to me, “DO YOU HAVE A SMOKE, MATE?” I jumped.

“No sorry,” I said.

Then he pulled a paper shopping bag up to his face and screamed something unintelligible into it. You know, like somebody might use a paper bag to regulate their breathing if they were having a panic attack, except he screamed into it, kind of angry. Then he moved onto the next person he was going to ask for a cigarette. Oddly, nobody wanted to communicate with him. Everybody acted like he was invading their space.

There was a young, fat, barefoot, paste-skinned chick in tiny denim shorts that barely covered her modesty, as the top button was missing and she had to keep hitching them up. She wore a white singlet, with no bra, and she was far too big to be going commando, over which she wore a huge synthetic, mustard cardigan that sparkled with its man-made fibres in the sun. She had a huge nose ring, which I wondered if she’d just had it done as her nose seemed to be bruised. She kept wandering all about the place with a huge iced coffee in her hand, smoking incessantly. She had an oversized white handbag, with a chunky gold chain handle, into which, and out of which, she kept getting plastic bags, dress shop plastic bags, which she would fill, or empty. Then she’d march off into Target, or up the arcade, or down Bourke Street. Then moments later she be sitting down at Swanston Street in a huge cloud of cigarette smoke. Then she’d be on a seat next to me, sucking on her ice coffee straw furiously, before she’d rearrange her bags again and then march off in another direction.

Then suddenly, a pigeon came flapping down to the ground, closely followed by a second pigeon. The first pigeon was flapping about wildly, as though it was taking its last breath, which it was. Then the second pigeon jumped on top of it and seemed to be mating with it, kind of violently, as though it was a rape situation. After much flapping about on top of the first pigeon, the second pigeon flew off, and the first pigeon lay dead on the footpath. Still. Silent. No moving again. It was kind of shocking, in a way.

Many, many people stopped to look at the dead pigeon.

Eventually, David called. He asked if we had eaten. I told him that Sam’s back was sore and he wanted a massage. I’m sure I gave him the impression that I was angry. I wondered why afterwards, I think I was just being dramatic. Shrug.

By 6pm, Sam appeared refreshed. We were going to go and buy some Cups, so I can learn how to Cup Sam’s back, but he couldn’t remember in what shop he’d seen them. We walked home in the gorgeous afternoon sun. The day sparkled, the afternoon was shinny and warm.

Making Cakes

I was up at 7am.

I was at Coles by 8am, getting ingredients for a cake, as we are going to Rachel’s for dinner. “What can I bring?” I asked.

“Bring a cake,” Rachel replied.

"Oh yes, sure." That’s what happens now a days when we are invited out, since I am the cake baker. But that is okay, as I love to bake and it is nice to have a reason to try out a new cake recipe. I’m making a Raspberry, Blueberry and Sour Cream Crumble cake.

Buddy got an invite on the quiet. You see Jill is going too and clearly Bear, Jill's dog, didn't get invited. Sam said that was mean. I'm sure Jill will prickle when she realises.

"Oh well, life isn't always fair," I said to Sam.

The cake is cooked. It smells great. Cool in the tin. It is a big cake, I hope there are a few of us for dinner.

Now we are off to Preston Market to do grocery shopping, that always thrills Sam, he loves a good weekly shop.

I Guess It Was Kind Of Sweet

I headed down to the Post Office to pay the gas bill. Mark always laughs when I tell him that.

"Did you buy a stamp, too, nan?" he'll often quip.

Then I headed to Cash Converters to look at the cds. I buy lots of cds from cash converters for $1. Load them into my iTunes, so the cd only has to work once and then I can toss it. I don't, but I could. They go in a box in the attic, just in case somebody else wants it, and I no longer have to worry about lending them out to people. This way, I don't really care if they come back. 

Usually, I get to spend sometime going through the cd rack on my own, it is kind of meditative. Today, however, as I was standing there flicking through, somebody was suddenly standing next to me.

“Oh maaateee,” she said to her, um, “better half,” right into my right ear. “Cds for a dollar, maaate, for a dollar. I have to get me some cds, they are just a dollar.” She had on one of those twisted tops that unnaturally separated her breasts pushing each of them out to an extraordinary point. Her skirt was just a little too short and her hair just a little too thick. She had a mouth like a muppet.

“Rightio,” said her partner, with his mullet hair style and his sagging track pants. He looked a little hen-pecked, the type that might just snap one day and kill the bitch. And everyone who knew them would shake their heads and say it was totally out of character. But, maybe that was just me projecting. He wandered off to look at the game consoles, or to stare mindlessly at the cricket on the TVs.

Then she was in front of the cd racks with me, pushing me out of the way. Well, not really, but as I moved along, she moved right in next to me. Grrrrr, I thought. Then she was picking up the cds and telling me which ones she thought were good. Then she was recommending which ones she thought I should buy.

Really, I thought. I smiled, I hope it was sweetly. Oh, I shouldn’t be mean, it was kind of sweet. Kind of.

Waking Milo to take a photo

Collins Street this afternoon as I walked home from work. Yes, I did a 3rd day this week. Lovely.

Trump Can Say What He likes, but Meryl Streep Has One Thing He Will Never Have, Respect

Tuesday

These pictures were from Saturday and not today. I worked today and I am working tomorrow, probably just for half a day. I'll most likely be home at lunch time. Home for lunch. Lovely.

Sweet Potatoes, sweetie

The Fish Shop

Prawns

Back To Work

First day back at work after the Xmas break. Lovely. Two days this week, tomorrow I should be done. Come Wednesday morning and I'll be off again. Time then for my morning coffee on my back veranda, not a care. Got to love that.

Sad Face

28 degrees minimum over night. 30 degrees at 7am. All my chores have been completed by 10am. I tried to tell Sam that Chores Sunday should be suspended due to OH&S rules about chores and heat rules, but he was having none of it. Sad Face.

House vacuumed and dusted, kitchen cleaned, back yard swept, and Buddy has been washed.

Too Hot To Write

I guess I should write something, the new year is well and truly here. 6 days in and summer is definitely burning bright. It's been hot all week and my mind has been blank. What to write? (can you tell I am struggling?) Every day I have sat down to write, but I have ended up watching YouTube instead.

Pretty In Pink

My pretty in pink garden suddenly stood out to me, today, when I was heading down to Coles, so I stopped to take a photo. An old woman came walking around the corner, as I stood there lining up the shot. She had on a floral house dress, over which she wore a beige cardigan, she had on socks and an old pair of men’s loafers. I thought she looked like Catherine Tate’s nan. I thought to myself, there’s an old Fitzroy girl if ever I saw one. I wondered if she resembled Elsie the old girl who owned my house before me, whom I never met. She stopped for me to finish taking my photos and naturally we made eye contact.

“You never know, luv,” she said. “One day you might own a house just like it.”

I looked at the house and then looked back at her. “It would be a dream,” I replied, without thinking too much. My answer amused me.

“That’s the ticket, duck,” she said. And she kept walking.

I chuckled to myself. “Happy New Year,” I said.

“To you to, hon,” she said. “Dreams don’t cost you anything.”

Happy New Year

We came home and smoked pot and ate mince pies and drank tea.

Charlie text in the afternoon, joking about needing somebody to take care of Pebbles... poor Fluff, all those explosions going off.

We watched TV in the afternoon and evening.

We ate rice paper rolls for dinner.

We ate sweet tofu with a ginger/sugar sauce.

Leonard came downstairs and said happy new year. He was probably going to work, he does all the double pay kinds of shifts, it allows him to live.

Andy was going to a dinner with Luciano in Carlton.

Mitch had two days off so, no doubt, he was going to get drunk so, no doubt, he was going to pick up boys.

The last thing I remember was a doco on… um… oh... something.

Sam woke me from sleep on the couch and, momentarily, I had no idea what he was doing. Where am I?

“Come on, wake up.”

“Why are you waking me up?”

“It’s time,” said Sam.

“Time for what,” I said, as I struggled to get up. “I need a piss.”

“Oh come on,” said Sam. “3, 2, 1, Happy New Year.”

“Oh… yes… happy new year,” I said, still somewhat dazed.

We kissed.

The fireworks exploded like warfare around me.

Sam took my hand. “Here, cover Buddy’s other ear.”

We covered Buddy’s ears. He barked, once, or twice, like he didn’t know what was going on, but mostly he just sat quietly as the world exploded outside.

The house smelt of gun powder once it had all stopped.