The Mention of Jesus

"Why does the mention of Jesus drive that woman so crazy?"

"That's because she has to drink until he returns."

"Drink?"

"Yes, drink daily, until he returns?"

"Why does she have to drink?"

"To calm her nerves."

"To calm her nerves?"

"To calm her nerves," he said. 

"To calm her nerves?"

"Do you know how hard it is on your nerves waiting for your chosen god, who is never going to return, to return?"

"No."

"And to forget, of course."

"To forget?"

"To forget that he hasn't returned?'

"Drink?"

"A lot of drink."

"But no dancing..."

"No. Are you kidding? Dancing is ungodly."

"But waiting for a god, that is never going to return, to return is not ungodly?"

"Of course not, how do you think the Christians have got through the last 2000 years?"

Trash Current Affairs

Has anyone else noticed that on the promos for A Current Affair Tracey Grimshaw looks like a blow up doll?

Not Funny Kitty

Am I the only person who doesn't think Kitty Flanagan is all that funny?

We Need A New Australia Day

Australia Day. Most people don't even know what the date represents, so just change it.

An Abomination

I thought brown shoes worn with a blue suit was an abomination, (there is a whole rash of that going on) but today I saw a blue suit, brown shoes and pale green argyle socks. 

Dear god man, don’t you dress in front of a mirror?

Burt and Ernie are gay

Self Fat-Shaming, I Guess?

Apparently, if you call yourself fat it can be offensive to others? Who knew?

Well, buckle up snowflakes, last time I got on the scales I was pushing 90 kilos, which in my mind makes me

Fat

Fat

Fat

Fat

Fat

Scott Morrison is an Idiot

This is what our ignoramus of a Prime minister, Scott Morison, said, (you really can't write this stuff)

“Angus (Taylor, Energy Minister) is bringing back a package of things right now to see how we can get greater investment in what I call fair dinkum power, that’s the stuff that works when the sun doesn’t shine and wind doesn’t blow.”

Fair dinkum power, really? Idiot.

Mean While

In America, Author of How to Murder Your Husband charged with murdering her husband

Six Months

9.30am. I am at the dentist, 6 monthly clean, first time for a long time with the lady dentist. I work now, I can no longer go Wednesdays. Not so long ago, I could go to the dentist any day, I miss those days. I had to give the old man dentist up. I never knew his name.

The water pick is hideous, all those sensitive spots, she is headed right for them, on to them, over them. The zing only lasts milliseconds, though. The anticipation is worse than the actual. Relax. Try not to tense up, that makes it worse. My fingers twitch. You think you are going to go through the roof, but you don’t. None of it is pleasant, but you get through it, with only a crick neck and twitching toes, in the end.

“No holes, they look good, except for that one tooth.”

“Yes, I know.”

I've got one dodgy tooth, that the dentists have been saying for 10 years that it will need to come out one day.

Smith Street Fitzroy, lovely blue sky

Declan

The twenty year old accounts boy, at work, he's really cute, as a button. His dad is Vietnamese, his mum, Italian. Nuggety. He comes in in his motorbike gear, looking like a porn star.

He wears those tight blue suit pants, I can't help but notice when we are at the photocopier together. That hot arse. 

I've pictured him in his undies. Twice I've headed off to the toilet, after that thought.

I've imagine licking him out, looking out of the corner of my eyes, as the machine whirls masks any intensions I might have. 

I really would like to put a finger inside him, listen to him groan, as I feel him all wet around my longer finger.

Feel the hairs in his crack, as he pushes back.

"I like it," he says, in that husky voice of his, as he pushes his back into my chest.

I'd do him on all fours, blue slacks around his ankles, his business shirt push into his arm pits, as I kissed his neck. He gets the back of his head shaved.

I'd cum inside him, I'd have to, he's is just that size.

Cute as a fucken button. Soccer playing thighs, slender back. It is known, in the office, he lift weights.

Guido came over with a joint. Can you tell? 

Here's a Bag On Your Foot

There’s not much room between the seats on those new trams, that is for sure. A woman got on with a carry bag – the type of carry bag you might get from a high end shop – sitting down facing me, sitting the bag down on my foot. I looked at her, she didn’t react. I moved my foot, and her carry bag moved, kind of wobbled. So, she took hold of the handle to make sure the bag was secure, moving it back onto my foot. 

I looked at her, she didn’t react. So, I moved my foot and, again, her bag moved. She reached down to secure her bag and, again, moved it back onto my foot. 

I moved my foot from under the bag, for a third time, it wobbled, and she moved it back onto my foot yet again. (We could do this all day, I thought) 

I looked at her, she was completely oblivious. Not a clue. The bag wasn’t heavy, so I just sat there with the bag on my foot, until she got off the tram, a stop before me.

Chivalry

Chivalry existed because women were considered the weaker sex.

Woman are no longer believed to be the weaker sex.

Chivalry no longer makes sense.

Dishonest Corporate Culture, or Just Something Different For Brekky

I went to Coles and to get muffin ingredients and cereal for the week, as I was out of muesli, but I felt like something different to muesli just for a change. How many years have I eaten homemade muesli and finally I am sick of it? I just couldn’t face it. You know when you think of something and your stomach just says no to you. That is what happened, I was somewhat surprised. It has been my staple breakfast for longer than I can remember.

I stood in the cereal aisle and looked at the cereals intending to choose something nice and sweet and sugary. White chocolate blocks with cranberries. Mixed fruit sugar puffs with freeze dried strawberry essence. Pistachio praline fingers with woven wheat pillows and honey. You know the kind of thing? However, while I was standing there, at least, five people walked up, pretty girls, not that that counted for too much with me, and they all got a box of Weetabix. One, two, three, four, five. One after the other. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me something, I thought, and I got Weetabix too. 

I’ve been eating them all week with honey, and they are lovely. 

Real honey, well as far as you can tell what is real honey. I mean, you can’t trust any big corporations claims now a days, especially food companies. They all lie. The whole honey scandal is outrageous. We think we are buying pure honey and most of it turns out not to be. But, the label says it is pure honey.

We need legislated food labelling, that is now clear. Self regulation simply doesn't work.

Of course, then the labelling lobby groups will pay off the politicians and we probably won’t be any better off. But, you know, you have got to try, now don’t you.

Meeting Up With An Old School Mate

I stumbled across the email address of my best mate from school, Andrew, and in a moment of 'think it, do it' madness, I sent him an email. 

A number of years ago, my school boyfriend, from years 11 and 12, and a year after we left school, Alex, died and I have never known how he died. (I have written about him previously) I asked Andrew that question, the subtext for which he is unaware of, at present. 

Andrew and Alex both remained involved in the school over the years since we left, on committees and what have you. Alex got married and had sons, Andrew has sons, they sent them to the school, so I knew Andrew would know the details of Alex's death.

Andrew was blown away, said he had never wanted to lose touch with me. He said he knew the answer to the question but he would only answer the question once I was sitting in front of him drinking coffee with him. He gave me all his numbers to contact him. 

But now I seem to have lost my nerve, stupidly.

I haven't seen Andrew since we left school.

Despite the fact that I live a completely out life in everything that I do, meeting up with my old school buddy seems like coming out all over again. Not to mention telling him about Alex and me.

Yesterday and today were my days off and I was supposed to phone Andrew to meet up, but I wimped it. Stupid me. So stupid really, Andrew is a lovely guy and he will only react in a positive way, I would think. It is just an energy drain, I feel exhausted by it before I have even tried.

Not to worry, I'll get my mojo together about it shortly. I want to see the look on his face. Actually, I only really wanted the answer to the question. But, if I have to find out the difficult way, by exposing myself, so to speak, I guess I can do that too.

I started walking again and I found out why the traffic has been bananas in Fitzroy lately, Nicholson Street is shut down for tram track replacement.

I be lying if meeting up with an old school mate wasn't the inspiration for getting out there and exercising my fat arse.

The blue sky was gorgeous. Working again threw my exercise routine. I've been thinking about it for weeks, just getting back into it.

Orange Triumph motor bike, cool isn't it.

Sometimes When I Wee

Sometimes when I wee, at the very moment the wee is about to leave me, I can be transported back to the very moment I was woken as a child as I wet the bed in the night. It is like a momentary black out, a transportation, or a dream, it is really weird. I come to and it is me as an adult standing there having to justify to myself that it is okay to piss.

It happened today at work. It is really off-putting. A momentary lapse. A waking hallucination. A break in the time line continuum. I am back there in bed as a child unable to stop myself from wetting the bed, momentarily. Shake of the head.

I don't know what demons are at work there. Some, I presume.

Sense8

I'm liking Sense8. It's a bit slow but, thinking about that, it is a good thing. I felt hooked from the beginning.

They played the song What's Up by 4 Non Blondes. I love that song, I played it as I stepped out the front gate on Monday morning, it put a spring in my step. Try it.
I listened to the rest of the 4 Non Blondes music.

We've seen the cute German guy's cock, he with his blond hair and blue eyes and cute smile. And the cute Spanish guy in his undies, a bit to neat in his undies though. You need to be a bit dirt in your undies. We've just got to see the cute American guy and the cute African guy undressed.

I'm liking Netflix.

Trump's America

Getting Wood

I was up at 7.30am. 

I am totally and utterly addicted to my laptop. When I write stuff about people being obsessed with their phones, remember that. Every move I make, practically, involves my laptop. The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is switch it on, the first thing I do when I come home in the afternoon is switch it on, the last thing I do in the day is switch it off. I hardly have an hour at home unless it involves my laptop. I don’t remember a time when my laptop wasn’t the focus of my life. (Well, I do, that is why I am writing this, I guess) I don’t really remember that other life. What did I do with my time? My laptop is my sole focus.

Of course, I do switch it off from time to time. I do leave it occasionally.

We took Buddy to the dog park. I think there was a Keeshond there. We thought it was a cream coloured Chow, (from a distance) to add to the other, lovely, chows that come to the dog park, but no blue tongue, when we got closer. It was very excitable and playful.

We walked out the back of the dog park with Buddy cooperating somewhat, translation he only rolled onto his side and stuck his legs in the air and refused to go once, after that he was good. Once he gets used to a new way, he is fine, but to start with a new route is not to his liking. Oh no. We walked around Brunswick Street, Johnson Streets and back up our street, so we all get some exercise instead of standing in the middle of the reserve.

The sun shone. It was a nice morning.

So, I’d organised from where to get the some more wood, but we had to go and pick it up ourselves. In all the ringing around, I realised the big, wog guy is not over charging for his wood. Good to know. Well, you can never be too sure now a days.

We got to Keon Park just after midday. It looked like the place you’d go to buy your meth, or get your grandma's car re-birthed, after you’d removed it from the garage in her first year of her dementia without telling the rest of the family, to pay for your meth. GTI hatchbacks are meant to be doing 200ks on an autobahn, not used as mules to cart wood, but we loaded it up with wood none the less.  It is the only car we have. Jill suggested hiring a ute from Bunnings, but Jill would suggest that.

When we were done the guy running to place asked, “So how much do you think you got?”

I said, "Dunno."

He said, “Make it $80 then.”

I should have said, “$50 worth.” He may have just come at it, who knows? I never think fast enough to do such things. We are all too self-conscious. What is it they say, fortune favours the bold. But I didn’t think of that until we were half way to Preston.

We ate dumplings in High Street Preston. Sam went in to order and the food usually takes some time. There was a chemist Warehouse across the road, which I saw from the restaurant door, and I needed a script filled, which I had with me but had left in the car. We parked a fair way up a side street and I went back to the car to get my script. It started raining as soon as I got to the car and I had to run all the way back to High Street in the rain. It was that kind of rain that just got harder and harder the more I ran in it and there was not shelter to be had from it. It felt like I was never going to get out of it. (Still, the rest of the country is in drought so can't complain too much)

Chemist Warehouse was soooo slow. The customers just seemed to be pushing in all the while, despite having beepers. I wasn't sure if it was because of the slow service, or the state of mind of the customers? I’ve never waited so long for a script to be filled.

The dumplings were heading towards cold by the time I got back to Sam sitting at a table full of food. Lovely though none the less.

I looked in Cash Converters for CDS, speaking of addictions. They had none I wanted. Sam shopped for food in the Preston Market while I looked. Then we rendezvoused back at one of the Chinese shop in High Street where Sam bought roast pork for dinner.

We got cat food at the pet shop in High Street. The cute son was there. The father had to get us the large bag of cat food out the back. Several times the cute son asked, “Is he still getting it out for you.” I couldn’t help but think, I wish you’d get it out for me.

We parked in front of a white 205 GTI. I told Sam I wanted to buy one. He said it was awful. No accounting for taste.

The traffic on High Street was bad, what a surprise. Saturday is peak hour now a days, no fucker stays home any more. The traffic everywhere in Melbourne's inner suburbs is bad. (Thank you Matthew Guy for ruining the city) I can already hear the politicians in a few years, when the inner suburbs of Melbourne are in gridlock on the weekends and we don’t even crack it for the last place on the world’s most liveable city. “Oh yeah, we got the planning wrong in the early 2000s, didn’t we?” They’ll say sipping cocktails from their property developers resorts. “We could have done that better.”

So, we sneaked around the back way. Stott Street, Herbert Street, Westbourne Grove, Park Street, (I think you could also go Dalziel Lane. I’m looking at google maps now, normally I am just speeding along not at all concerned what the street is called, just as long as we keep moving forward) Charles Street, momentarily and then back onto Park Street, (Oh, it looks like South Park Street. Who wouldn’t want to live in South Park Street) Left onto Westgarth Street. (This is where you can encounter some traffic, but don’t worry you are not on Westgarth Street for long) Right onto Rucker Street, (left onto Cunningham, right onto McLachlan Street) if the traffic on Westgarth is bad, otherwise keep going to McLachlan Street, down to Walker Street (don’t go up Cunningham Street, it will take you no where you want to go) Walker Street will take you a round about way back to High Street, and then you turn right. (It looks like Phillips Court turning into Hales Court will also get you to High Street, but I haven’t gone that way) And then there is usually no traffic after from there. Traffic avoided. It is the intersection of Westgarth and High Street that causes all the traffic. What they have done to the street there at the shops is ludicrous. It is the problem that really needs to be fixed. 

So, that is the way you can speed through the back streets of Thornbury/Northcote to avoid the shitty traffic problems on High Street.

Sam asked me why he always felt exhausted driving with me.

“Because there are so many fools to straighten out on the road,” I reply. Every second driver seems to be an idiot. I blame the 50 kph, 40 kph, speed limits. Drivers are now so confused they default to 40 kph. It is really annoying.

It was raining on and off.

Home by 3pm. We lit a fire, naturally. What else do you do when you have new wood?

We started watching An Awfully Big Adventure, a Hugh Grant film I bought in St Marks op-shop on Thursday, but it was dreadful and I fell asleep and Sam turned it off.

We ate roast port and Bok Choi for dinner.

Sam watch something dreadful on the development of batteries for the new world energy requirements. (I should be interested in this, it is the future, after all)

We watched Sense8. There are cute boys in Sense8. Sam was glued to his iPad and he told me to choose. Buff American boy, German boy, Spanish boy, and African boy, what is there not to like.