Goodness me, girls can turn like bitches! I was going out to dinner, last night, with my two best girlfriends, until that spat and clawed each other over the venue. One minute, we were going out to eat, no problems, the very next minute they argued over the venue and it was all off. Just like that! One minute it was all gung-ho out we go, the next Rrrroowww! Scratch, bite, all over.
My head spun!
At the function, Saturday night, there was this big, strapping guy named Rob. He was a real Aussie bloke, all right, big and muscular. Round, handsome face with beautiful blue eyes - almond shaped, come to bed eyes. His black hair did a point to his forehead, cut short. Olive skin, stubble. The type who'd greet you with, "G'day."
He held my gaze steady as he waited for a drink. He held my gaze still, as I served him. He'd had a few beers, but he held my gaze too long. The eyes tell the story when I try to explain gaydar to my girlfriends. Then he went back to his wife and danced real close with her and wouldn't look at me. Later, he was sitting on the edge of the dance floor, with his arm around his wife, who was chatting to somebody else and he was staring over, as soon as I took his gaze, he looked away.
Then at brunch, as I was walking through, he held my gaze again, with intent said those beautiful eyes, so much so I got a chill. I hurriedly offered to clear tables, but he wouldn't look at me again when I asked him if he'd finished, as I took his plate, he pretended not to hear me.
He and his pretty wife left not long after that. His wife said a lot of good byes, which meant he spent a good five minutes standing around, looking over. That gave me some moments to enjoy his, truly, bulging jeans. One time he caught me looking, which prompted him to slide his hand in his pocket and adjust himself, but then he was back to not looking at me again, even when his wife thanked me.
Luke said Rob did the same thing to him, when I told Luke about him. Luke said he made some chummy homophobic remark, but when Luke asked him to repeat it he wouldn't and then he wouldn't look Luke in the eye after that.
Luke & I reckon he is a secret homo. Such a pretty wife too. He lives up around Seymour. Luke and I thought we may take a trip up to Seymour and hang around the bogs, we reckon we might just see him.
I noticed, when he left, he drove a Hyundai Getz, hardly a masculine car. So, straight'ish boys are still, potentially, ruining girl's lives. I wondered if, one day, he would leave her and she would be left wondering why, as I watched the small silver hatchback disappear up the drive way through the trees?
I pretty much just wear 501s. Camo pants, black jeans, when I'm not. I used to own numerous pairs of 501's, once, when I was more interested and went out more. But, now I own one tatty pair. Both the backs of the legs have blown out, torn. And my first time out with Mitchell, at Charlie's farewell, they tore in the arse. I took it as a sign, the universe switched both our minds to sex, my arse, at that very moment. We're both tops, so there will be a lot of wrestling each other to the mat. (big smile) My jeans split even further last Saturday afternoon, down at the beach. Only with Mitchell. He slid his fingers across the crutch in my jocks, from behind. He tilted his head and we were both silent and still. "Nice," he said. Then he took his fingers away. He smiled coyly.
Anyway, my point is that I have to buy a new pair of jeans. I've always shopped in Myer. Myer for Levis. I feel kind of sad, as new jeans are stiff and hard - a bit like a new boyfriend - and I'm going to have to break in a new pair.
I shagged Manny in my old pair. Perhaps, I should keep them for sniffing?
I should go this morning... shopping in the city on Saturday morning? Who needs it. I can go any time. It seems stupid.
I'm off to the country to do a function, so another time.
Overcast. Drops of rain. Still quite warm.
Dropped the car off to be serviced. My mechanic doesn't open until 9am, so quite civilised.
A little breakfast in Bourke Street around 9.30 – poached eggs and bacon and 2 long macs, under the expansive shade of the great Plane Trees.
"It's nice to see someone who’s not in a rush," said the waitress, with distinctly, defective sounding vowels. Smile.
Optometrist at 10.30, cunningly avoiding Krispy Kreme, over the road. I didn't even look. Just once, furtively. Apparently, I now have blocked glands in my eyelid, which is why I am beginning to resemble the Elephant Man, but still no trace of infection. My peripheral vision test came out fine.
I went to JB Hi Fi to buy the new Bozz Scaggs cd and came out with a copy of Deliverance, which I've never seen. Now, I'm going to smoke a joint and sit down and watch it.
Maybe, afterwards, I'll go take a nap.
Got love having time off work.
Oh yes? Note to self, write something.
The rain falls gently outside. [2008]
David called to see if I was all right. I told him I was, as I am, perfectly fine.
SMS. 13.05. I’ll be hanging from a noose when u get home – Christian
SMS. 13.08. Remember to crayon the red smile on the sides of your mouth x – David
My bit for Movember is not shaving, I think, as I look in the mirror, at dusk, "Oooooo." I guess that would mean I'd have to give money to someone. May be I'll shave tomorrow?
"Squeal like a pig!" I wanted to see Burt Reynolds squeal like a pig. Deliverance was nicely shot, great cinematography, good colour. Was it me, or did the Jon Voit character have a "thing" for the Burt Reynolds character?
Then I pumped up the open fire with wood and watched Iron Man, with Shane. Great cars. Hot Audi. Great toys. Amazing house. Purely escapist.
Followed by The Shining, which has held up okay, for a horror movie, even if its special effects are dated. It's a great piece of design.
"Here's Johnny!"
I think I'm going to find myself a copy of Midnight Cowboy.
I told Mitchell that I had given up smoking on Tuesday, as I said I was going to give up this week. Today, I had to tell him that I lied to him.
He said he was going to slap my bare arse.
I told him, That will be the day.
A few hours later...
Okay, I'm sick of this. Operation, Get Mitchell in the Sack, is now officially on.
Nothing to do. It's a great life. Relax.
I spent the day at my computer writing. It doesn't matter what you do to start off with, as long as I'm not still saying that come April next year.
I'm always going back and re-writing my blog. I go back and re-write great swags of it. I've added some even, at the beginning. Pretty stupid as blogs are so in the present, nobody reads backlog. I go back and read mine sometimes and it is such crap that I just have to give it it's second re-write.
David and I watched Oprah.
I don't feel like I'm on holidays yet, it'll come. It's only the second day. I've done nothing for four days.
My eye is still sore. Claggy. I remembered the ointment the doctor gave me weeks ago, which I forgot about and I applied it. My eye seems a little better.
Shane went back to work drinks. National Conference.
David was teaching.
I tried to entice Mitchell over with filthy texts. He's been going for job interviews and psych tests all week. I thought it would do him some good. More good than harm, but he didn't bite.
I was home alone. My toes felt cold, so I lit a fire. It was over flowing with junk mail, bills with our identities which shouldn't be thrown in the rubbish. Suddenly the room was a million degrees and I was opening the windows. If I'd just put a jumper on, maybe.
Missy purred. Just lamps on, the flicker of the TV and the open fire.
Can someone just not work for five months?
Rush was on. Hot blokes. Hot story lines. Hot chicks.
Matt came over, it was the first time I'd seen him - quietly and not at a club - since he and Shane broke up. He makes me laugh. David came home, after teaching, shrieking Matt's name when he saw Matt. Shane came home not nearly as pissed as we'd expected, had experienced previous years.
So we got stoned.
Watched David Letterman.
Wrote till 3am.
Text me if you want your cock sucked. He put up his mobile number.
Presumably, he'd just head off to the address given. Oo!
That's how it worked, pretty soon he have part of another man, he doesn't know and has only just met, inside him. He might even get to know this guys penis before he knew his name. He may never get to know the other guy's name. It wasn't important.
It was a beautiful afternoon. Mitchell came over about 4pm, I was reading the newspaper in the lounge room. The afternoon sun seeped in, in golden light and long shadows. Mitchell hugged a cushion and said he was going to have a nap. "Keep reading."
I thought it was adorable. I kept looking over at him sleeping.
Then we went for our planned drive. To the beach, we'd decided, because I already went to the country on the weekends.
"Are you going to let me drive?"
He claimed not to have driven a manual since his driving lessons, as an eighteen year old. "But, you know, it's like riding a bike," he'd say dead pan. And my car parks out the back and backs out onto a lane way.
I said I'd back it out, he said it would be fine.
"Are you nervous?" he asked, as he started the engine. He flashed that smile.
He drives a manual car just fine, he was stirring me up. I kind of liked him more for it, it was funny. I'm keen on my car, he wanted to see if I trusted him.
We drove to Brighton and walked along the sand, by the multi-coloured bathing boxes, as the sun set. It was still warm, but the wind was cool. Mitchell wore a hoodie, he looked cute in it. I wore a lambswool lined coat. I sneaked looks at him. I caught him sneaking looks at me.
Some guy was taking photos directly out to sea. An old woman walked a Westie. A husband and wife sat in their car with their baby, in its car seat with every window covered in a shade device, and ate fish & chips.
We came home and ate half of Shane and David's pizza. They went to Sircuit and got their cocks sucked. Well David did, he had three guys sharing his cock, all on their knees. Shane isn't home yet.
Mitchell and I watched Blues Brothers. He had to go, just as we got all, well, you know. He was staying with some friends, it was a part of the deal. They were having some one over who they thought Mitchell knew.
That was okay, I don't mind that. I don't mind the anticipation. (if I knew we were sexual compatible already, I wouldn't mind the anticipation) Besides, it's nice to see he keeps his word, you know?
I like him. He's smart. He's funny. He's got a nice smile. My top three.
He wanted to stay. "You should have told me sooner." That smile. "Or, something?"
But this not doing sex straight up, it's wrong. It should be the first thing, before names, if you like. Although, I've always been kind of old fashioned, certainly amongst my mates and I always like to, at least, speak to them first. You got to know the sex is good, then you can build any where from there.
We should have had sex already, but we haven't - because we met through friends and not at a bar or sex venue.
I have sexual deal breakers. Bad kisser. Bad sex. Small penis. I'll dump him... and all this will have been for nothing. His cock doesn't have to be huge, but it has to be, at least, average. It has to be enthusiastic sex, a star fish is out and won't keep my interest. He has to be a good kisser. A bad kisser is a definite deal breaker - although, I'd be willing to put in a little on the job training, to see if there was any improvement.
We've hardly fooled around at all, essentially, we haven't. We've just been getting to know each other, if you like.
Tonight, he said he had spots on his tongue, which were hurting. He thought he'd had an allergic reaction, which may have been a plausible reason... but, I suspect he, grimace, could be a bad kisser... maybe? Eyebrow raise. Head tilt.
I think he has a touch of the hypochondria, which is why we didn't kiss much. His tongue hurt. But, to tell you the truth, to me, that says he is, probably, meant for me, rather than the opposite. Every one of my boyfriends have had it. They've all had the hypochondria gene, to a greater or lesser extent. In a strange kind of way, I find it endearing.
You know, with all this talk about the environment, I've never really been convinced why the environment needs to be saved. We've polluted just about everything there is to pollute and you know what they say about birds who shit in their own nest, they don't survive.
Half the world is starving and the other half of the world is eating itself to death. A huge per centage of the poor half are that way deliberately so the other half can live well. And the wealthy half, essentially, don't care.
And now, the clever wealth creation of the Western World has failed. Greed has destroyed it.
Half the world hates the other half. Religion is running rampant in the hate stakes, ironically.
Why not just give it up and let the giant cockroaches or eels or crocodiles take over and see how they run the planet.
We haven't done a really great job, let's face it.
The bottom line is, call it what you want, food shortage, water shortage, shortage of land, there are just too many of us on this planet. We need a good nuclear war, or asteroid accident to clear out the superfluous human beings.
Actually, too messy, too much collateral damage. We need a good pandemic to even the balance.
How hot was it? Ah!
I woke at 9am, with the beginnings of a migraine, got to work at 9.30, where every thing promptly fell apart. I had to pull down all the work I'd been doing and recalculate it, with new parameters, thanks to HR, yet again, not communicating with me properly. I got it all done by 2.30pm, when my migraine had kicked in big time. It was my second last day, I can't go home sick, I thought. But, then I did. Fuck 'em, I thought. I'm heading to a dark room and my doona.
I smoked a joint and was heading to bed, when Mark, Luke and Julien arrived. Jules is in transit from Darwin to Auckland to start a new life with some bloke named Jason. Good for him, even if he does have a habit of traipsing across the country after a bit of cock. Now he's gone international.
It was amazing how a little distraction, something to take my mind of my, um, er, mind made me forget altogether that my head was aching. Of course, I'd taken drugs for it, they just took that long to kick in.
We ate Vietnamese in the balmy night air.
Mitchell and I are going to do boy's things and play cars on the weekend. I'm going to teach him how to handle a gear stick, as the big girl has just bought himself an automatic car and he wants to keep up his manual car skills. I think we are finally going other boy's things too. (Big smile) Let's see how good he is at handling that gear stick. It's time to put him through his paces. I mean, how seriously can you take a prospective boyfriend, if you haven't... you know. It's a big part of liking someone. All my boyfriends I've started out knowing them from having sex as a way of introduction. If I don't like him physically, it's all over. What's the point?
I miss having a boyfriend... even if I am getting a little ahead of myself.
22.45
It's funny when some likes you and you like them, you can't help but walk taller. It gives me energy and gives me a certain joy with the world.
Shane and David have headed out to Sircuit, they are both single.
I'm rolling a joint and heading to bed.
It is sweltering here, 35 degrees today. It still feels like it is 35 degrees now.
What a beautiful morning. The sky is blue, there is a gentle breeze, the birds are twittering in the trees. (When will that fucking gum tree ever stop seeding)
4 days of work to go!
Remembrance Day.
My only question is why? So we don't forget the horror of war so we won't make the mistake of having another one? Yeah, like that's working.
I say forget the past and look towards the future.
Leah's father died on this day. Once, I used to ring, every year, for the first few years, just to say I was thinking about her. Now, I don't mention it, even though I speak to her often.
Dirty texts from Mitchell, again. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Texting. Texting. Where is this leading to? I told him it's about time he used his dick as much as he uses his fingers. That got him really horny... but still by text... I guess if we had smell-o-vision (hair scent) or taste-o-vision (wet lips) mobile phones, it would be okay.
I told him I'm not taking him seriously until I have pulled his jocks down.
He's nice. He's just come back from living in London, so his accent has a slight lilt to it. He's smart and funny and really very chilled. He's solid and handsome, with a buzz cut.
He wears a good pair of jeans.
In an on-line poll, the question was, Should the Bali bombers be allowed to see their families?
Two thirds of Australians said no.
What sort of sad, hard-arsed, nasty, conservative country is Australia turning into?
A married guy, at the function I was barman at last night, said to me, when we were conducting the auction to raise money, "There's a couple of blokes in there who'd have my babies if I took them beer?"
I looked up and said, without thinking, "But, do you really want that?"
"Um... er... no," he said. He was really focused on me giving him the beers that any thing I said, I thought.
Late in the night, when every thing was winding up, he asked me, "Any chance of one last beer?"
"Sure," I said.
He looked me directly in the eye - he'd had many beers by this stage - and said, "I love you."
Ah, straight boys, you gotta luv 'em.
I don't get Mitchell at all. After a flurry of dirty to explicit texts, Friday night, now nothing. Not a peep? I don't get him. He was at work, after all, when he first text me Friday, so there was no chance of drunken bravado.
It leave me thinking, Who needs it? Who needs him? I'm not up for games, like, maybe once, I was. Life's too short.
Of course, he may be waiting for me to text him...
Well, one week to go... then I'm back to my 9.30 coffee and the choice of what to do with my morning.
I've bluffed my way through everything, at work, gave everybody what they wanted. Set up some new company initiatives. Fixed problems - had them coming at me from all directions, at one stage. Wrote a piece every morning from 9 to 9.30, something about the day. Even had time to remedy a few staffing issues. Still didn't work late. Still didn't have to kick it above 80%. Piece of piss, really.
Beck always says how busy she is! What does she do? I think it's the catch cry of the 00's - Oh, so busy. No time! Too busy! I think a lot of people get by doing much less by using that guaranteed out... sorry, TOO busy! (exasperated look)
However... I'm sailing along, 5 days to go. Easy! It's funny, when I start to think I can do anything, but I can, nothing is too hard. It's the enthusiasm factor that's always let me down. A cynical existentialist. What's the point?
I'm off to the country.
Oh... and Mitchell didn't turn up. Grrr!
I got sick of the texting relationship I seemed to be having with Mitchell, so I hadn't text him all week. Then this afternoon, about 3, he started texting me filthy messages. The problem was that I was in the middle of training. It's hard to concentrate on training, with a girl, when you have a hard-on. It's just weird. The boy's getting horny, I could read between the lines.
Now, he's off visiting some ex, (one of his ex's is born on the same day as me) who's staying at some ex's, (Too many ex's) then he's gonna call. Come over.
You know, it's funny that usually I'd have ditched a guy I'd known for this long, with who I hadn't had sex with. You know, if it hasn't happened in the first few weeks, let alone the first few days, it probably, just, wasn't going to happen.
We'll see? He's got a few hours left in which to redeem himself.
I hope he's good. Put him through his paces.
Middle of the week. Not much to say. Not much to do.
I've got used to the fact that I am working 5 weeks instead of 4. This was going to be my last week. I was free. Done and dusted. But not to be.
I'm finally going to the optometrist tomorrow, my recurring eye problem is, well, um, still recurring. I'm so sick of having this watering eye.
I had to sit like a girl to piss this morning. Oh, my aching back. Oh, my aching head. OMG! I thought, as I rest my head in my hands as my urine tinkled on the water surface. That Nicholas and his orange juice container fashioned into a bong. "Oh yes, classy," he says in a voice not unreminiscent of Kathleen Turner. (circa 2005) Oh, I don't feel good.
"Do you want a bong before you go?" were Nicholas' parting words.
Just say no Christian. Just say no.
Of course, I did. And the long walk up George Street, practically crossing Fitzroy, seemed longer than ever.
My eyes look watery, as I gaze at myself in the mirror. Hideous! I think.
I feel like crap. Actually, I feel like less than crap. I feel like that turd that has gone white and flaky on the nature strip. That's how much beyond crap I feel.
If I dare cough, both lungs will be on my desk flapping like a fish just out of water.
A day off tomorrow, yay, yippee. Good old stupid horse race. Stops the nation! They should race those nags to death for another public holiday.
Too harsh?
We should all be granted another day off for the continuing good health of the world.
Because of the leave I approved, my whole team, I had to work today. Doh! Who's the slow one?
Do you like that? Tracey being my only staff member, by definition she is my whole team.
Beck's overseas.
The streets were quiet. Public transport empty, well, seats could be procured. There was a certain hush over the CBD, like a cloud overhead on a sunny day. A gentleness. An easy. Like that was how it should be every day.
I have an IQ of 140, (whatever that means, is what I have always thought) which used to cause great joy and great consternation at the private grammar school that I attended, as I, more often than not, chose to smoke cigarettes down the back of the oval and side with the troublesome boys in class, giving as much class disturbing cheek as any of them.
Tom said that he used to watch me use my intellect as a weapon, when the need arose. Funny Tom. I went on to fail year 12 at that particular school, which always seemed to cement the prediction they held for me.
"Christian is a smart boy, it is just one of the great tragedies that he chooses, so often, not to use it constructively" – I think that was an actual report, in its entirety, I got from one of my year 12 teachers.
It would be fair to say that I was a disappointment to my exclusive private boy's school.
I don't usually mention this to anyone, as so many people love to challenge me on it, so I learnt early it was not something that would bring me joy, if I mentioned it. You mean 104. You can't have. You'd be in some special program it that was true. (that one always sounded the most appealing, don't you think?) You are wrong! No, you don't! You couldn't have. That would put you in the top whatever percentage of the population. Blah... dy blah, blah.
The only time it, actually, bought me joy was a number of years after I left school, when I had one of those hate/love friendships with an opinionated, arrogant, know all, who was married to a friend of mine, at the time. Let's call him Boring. Truthfully, he's a very smart individual. He was in Mya Briggs or some such area and he challenged me by saying prove it. He could test me. So, nervously, I sat down and did all of his tests, kind of nervous that perhaps I had got it wrong all these years. He just looked at me, in the end, dropping the scoring notes, whatever he had in his hand, onto the table.
"Well?" I said.
He just stared at me like he didn't want to say. And then he said, "One hundred and forty."
Booya! I didn't usually care, I never really thought it meant anything any way, but I did on that occasion.
The only reason that I think of this today, is that I've been doing Beck's job for five weeks, a job I've never done before, a job I got 5 minutes handover on, as we both had to concentrate on Tracey, who, I have since found out, knows nothing of my job. Beck was too pissed off and too tired and too cranky to tell me anything, other than what Tracey doesn't know. So, I've been doing Beck's role, often being asked for things I did even know what they were when asked, and I've been training Tracey in my job. Clearly Beck has just been doing it while I've been away. It's been easy. I haven't broken a sweat. I don't feel like I have worked any harder than usual. Where usually, even Beck works back late, complains she has no time, says she is snowed under. I don't get it. What does she do normally?
Anyway…
Both our jobs, Beck and I have done, but in our present company, that job is split in two. So, strictly speaking, I have done Beck's job before, but not for seven years, the time I've been working with Beck. The company gets the advantage of having two experienced managers, while I chose to work in the lesser position, wanting to do other things – write and not deal with the excs with their endless wants, which Beck does. But the thing is, that I've always suspected that I could do both roles and now that I've done them, I know I can. Beck gets paid 40K more than me, even if I do get paid pretty well, but 40K is 40K.
But, I'm not going back anyway, now am I? No, I'm not!
Is it just that I am smarter? That's what Tom used to say whenever I looked blankly at him, not understanding people.
I guess my point here is I should stop settling for less when the truth is I can easily demand more. Maybe, that's a theme to write a story on?
My mother always said to me, "The only problem you have Christian is that you are naturally inclined to take a step back when in doubt. All you've got to learn is to try and take the step forward. Step towards your problems, meet the challenge, don't step away because that so often leads me/you to procrastination..." my worst of all trait... which, apparently, lead to boredom and little Christian coming home with bad reports cards as a child... and has often led to perceptions of indifference in work situations. Bluntness viewed as rudeness...
... oh, I think I am just talking shit now. The truth is that I don't want to work anyway.
Heading to the country for the weekend, to put my feet up and do nothing, amongst the gum trees. Pat the kangas. Play with the Rainbow Lorikeets. Gaze at my reflection in the lake. Watch the swans perform their mating ballet. Fall asleep on the couch.
A new niece was born. Half the family turned up, all the cousins from interstate. The pizza oven was fired up. Pretty soon Luke was throwing pizza dough in the air. Red wine was poured for all, but me, as I had to drive home. They were all staying. It was a beautiful night, everyone were sitting outside drinking into the dusk. It was nice to see them all.
Mark, Luke and I slipped inside for Idol. Go Teal!
I left as soon as it finished.
It was hot, muggy, not a morning to walk with your jacket on, so I was carrying it, almost from home. What was I thinking?
I walked to Spring Street, when a near-empty 86 turned the corner into Bourke Street. Wha, wha, wha sound the wheels on the turning track. In the interest of personal hygiene, I decided to catch the tram the rest of the way, up and down the Bourke Street hill. To avoid sweating, what did you think I meant?
There was an idiot old ethnic man standing against the ticket machine, when there were many vacant seats, playing with his rosary beads. He looked at me, as if I was an inconvenience, as I said excuse me. I fought the urge to shove him physically out of the way.
Move it old man, I wanted to say. You, your bad attitude and your stupid beads, shove off. He stepped away as little a distance as he could to allow me to use the machine, then he settled back to where he had been. I got my seat, near the door for the fresh that entered, every time it opened.
Work consisted of people asking me for reports and figures, the meaning of which were a secret each time somebody asked. I spent the day tracking down the information and supplying it to the requesters, every last one.
I rinsed my mouth with a salt water mouth wash after doing any thing, every thing, even scratching my arse.
SMS. 17.57. How’s your day little squid? I had another interview but I am not going tomorrow. Just focus on the other one job offer or my current job, if I don't get my dream job – Mitchell
I meant to text Mitchell back, but I was running late and went to dinner with Tim and Nicholas without texting at all. I had to drive my lamington of a car, the gum tree is in full seed shed mode and I haven’t driven it for over a week and you’re not allowed to wash them, of course. I left late, so I, basically, drove to the next street.
We went to The Rose. I had chicken Kiev, as I thought it would be easy to chew, you know, soft food. Talk about the crumbing from hell – like rock. I had to cut it up into smaller and smaller pieces, chewing on one side of my mouth. Tim laughed. I drank lemon squash because I was driving.
Nicholas got pot, afterwards. We smoked bongs and watched Heroes. I grimaced when I thought of my dentist, Martin. I was home by eleven.
SMS. 23.10. U alright there? – Mitchell
SMS. 23.17. I just got home from dinner with mates. Just got into bed this minute with my phone in my hand just about to text you. I'm good. How are you? :) :) – Christian
SMS. 23.39. Why, were you worried about me, sausage? :) – Christian
I was impressed by Mitchell's concern, the first display of which, I might add. I lay back in bed and watched, Boy Culture, on DVD. Tim had lent it to me.
SMS. 00.10. Just thinking of this little squid :) good nite – Mitchell
SMS. 00.13. I was thinking about you too. Sweet dreams – Christian
"You're having a tooth extracted today," said Martin, as cheerily as if he was telling me what a gorgeous morning it was in St Kilda, which it was. Acland Street was bathed in glorious sunshine. I could so live in St Kilda, it would be my second choice to Fitzroy.
"Am I?" I asked.
"We discussed this on your last visit," said Martin - who was looking quite sparkly and handsome today. He's either been exercising, or he's given up the wine. I always thought he looked a bit puffy like a drinker, but not today. He looked quite fine.
"Okay," I said. I wasn't nervous, never have been with dentists. Sure, take it out. I've always been like that, since I was a kid. No stress. I've never really ever been hurt by a dentist, the worse is some needles and I've had plenty of dental work done.
"You sit yourself down and settle yourself," said Martin. "Some one nicked the latest copy of DNA, so I can't offer you that while you wait."
So my last wisdom tooth came out. Martin said I should go home and rest for the afternoon. Actually, that's what his dialogue had morphed into by the time I got back to work, let me tell you. Well, my tram went right past the front door, so I dropped in.
"Must go home and rest, doctor's orders."
"Yes, yes, you take yourself home," said the powers that be at work. Tracey later said my face was quite swollen. Lucky break.
So, I was in and out - like a boy prossy down Shakespeare Grove - in ten minutes. And here I am. I don't need to be told twice to go home from work, I can tell you.
I bought smoked oysters and muscles to eat, nice soft food for lunch. Of course, I have just realised, I can't have the crackers. Sad face. Where's my fork?
I did smoke, but I rinsed with salt water after everything, picking my nose, farting, I was fanatical! Well, I figured I'd have to be, if I smoked. Grimace.
I watched Capote and ate yoghurt and tinned apricots.
(Ed note - There were quite a few hours between the oysters and apricots, let me assure you. There was sleep.)
Grrr! 7am and I feel like a cigarette. Twitch. Strum fingers on the desk. Am I going to have one? Am I not? Look to the skies with with fists in the air. Curse the idiot who invented smoking!
"God, you're a cunt for tobacco!" Shake head. "It was a dog act."
Never the less... Big smile. It's a nice feeling to wake up and not have to go to work, there should be more of it.
Anyway, I'm off to the dentist - Big Gay Martin. You know, I'm not one for the gay ghetto, but it is kind of nice going to gay service providers (for want of a better expression). He's getting a little plump, turning milky white, not such a good look for a blond. Like I can talk, as Mark would point out, as I suck my stomach in, hoping no one is looking. I look in the mirror and think hideous, now a days. But I digress...
Martin is warm and generous and funny, if in an old school kind of way. He's got interesting art.
His big blue eyes sparkle. He's funny, he makes me laugh... if I could, with his fingers in my mouth.
I like him. He's nice. It's cool having a man filling my cavities for a change... instead of grumpy Stella. She was always seemingly cross with me. So, Martin is a ray of sunshine. And he mostly seems to be pleased.
No doubt he'll exclaim, "Oh Christian!" as I open wide for him in the chair. "Still smoking!"
Gotta give up smoking, too. Hey? I've just got to tell myself I can do it. I don't even like it. It is so stupid.
Anyway, gotta go. Gotta catch the 96 to St Kilda.
Oh yes, I've been telling everyone that come Monday week, I'll be back on my back veranda at 9.30am with sleepy eyes, drinking coffee. One of the lovely dinosaur P.A.'s at work said I should be having a gin and tonic come Monday week to celebrate my time off.
"9.30 is a little early for a gin and tonic, isn't it?" I asked.
She shrugged and smiled.
"I'd be asleep by midday," I said, "if I started that sort of carry on."
She laughed and touched my arm. "To hell with it, you're only young once."
My point is, that I checked the calendar and I have two and a half weeks to go, not one and a half. Kill me now!
Anyway, I'm off to the dentist - Big Gay Martin. You know, I'm not one for the gay ghetto, but it is kind of nice going to gay service providers (for want of a better expression). He's getting a little plump, turning milky white, not such a good look for a blond. Like I can talk, as Mark would point out, as I suck my stomach in, hoping no one sees. I look in the mirror and think hideous, now a days. But I digress...
Martin is warm and generous and funny, if in an old school gay kind of way. He's got interesting art.
His big blue eyes sparkle. He's funny, he makes me laugh... if I could, with his fingers in my mouth.
I like him. He's nice. It's cool having a man filling my cavities for a change... instead of grumpy Stella. She was always seemingly cross with me. So, Martin is a ray of sunshine. And he mostly seems to be pleased.
No doubt he'll exclaim, "Oh Christian!" as I open wide for him in the chair. "Still smoking!"
Gotta give up smoking, too. Hey? I've just got to tell myself I can do it. I don't even like it. It is so stupid.
Anyway, gotta go. Gotta catch the 96 tram.
I had it today. I had clicked into no smoking mode, I could feel it, that centred, calm place. Quite relaxed about it, I was - warm and even.
But, then someone in the office suggested going out for a cigarette and I felt myself make the decision to smoke. Against what I was feeling. I decided to smoke.
Smack to the forehead! (big eyes)
Look of bewilderment! (I'm off for a puff)
Working has got me beat. People coming at me from all directions, I forgot just how. One and half weeks to go. It's a mad house. Leaves me with very little left to write, at night, as I collapse into the couch, fuzzy brain, sore eyes.
Retrenchment must have been too expensive, the company seems to have taken a different tack. All my calculations were a waste of time, those that were, of course, needed urgently, yesterday. Suddenly, we're doing something else, a whole new set of calculations are needed. Tail. Dog. Round and a round. The exec's are trying to turn it into an opportunity for themselves. You know, they were the one who slashed 20% off the fallout, shoring up their bonus come June 30th, as they take the knife to as many employees as it takes for that to happen. Ah, who needs it.
Now! Now! Me! Me! My figures. My answer! I'm the saviour! Look at me!
I'm counting the days.
Big breath. My credits have begun to roll, I can feel them way off in the distance, cranking up. The first few haunting notes of the final music... Monday week, I will be back on my back veranda, drinking coffee at 9.30, sleep in my eyes. I can hardly wait.
A man claims police penetrated him with a radio antenna... straight boys are such sooks.
I was supposed to go out drinking with Mitchell, last night, but he got too drunk over dinner with friends and had to cancel. Shame. He said he was really sorry, couldn't believe he'd done it. We haven't shagged yet... last night was going to be the night. I'd even washed behind my ears.
How do I know if I really like him, if we haven't had sex?
I watched Sex in the City with David and Shane, instead. Smoked pot, drank vodka, took valium. Woke up on the couch at 4am. Just a usual Saturday night in.
Up at 8am. There was a message and a missed call from Mitchel. Decided to slow the whole Mitchel thing down considerably. I feel like I have said too much too soon... stupid, really. I found it was doing my head, a little. So, I’m now slowing it down to a friendship pace... it can develop from there into anything. But let’s walk before we run.
Came down and switch my computer on, you can be sure. Not smoking cigarettes, I have to stop. I can feel that cigarettes are killing me. And you just got to stop, once that realisation is made.
I cleaned up the back bench in the kitchen. Suddenly, it just looked like a tip.
Smoked the mull from the mull bowl.
When back to bed for a pull. Amateur Straight Boys, got to luv ‘em. (I don't think I am the only gay boy who fantasises about straight boys fucking each other)
SMS. 10.06. Go for the job you really wanted... you’ll be working for a long time yet – christian
Decided to answer Mitchel around 10am. As soon as I’d done it, I wished I’d waited till 12. It is Saturday, after all.
Was smoking my ill gotten pot, on my balcony, when I thought, I should go finish cleaning the kitchen, I’ve already done half of it, after all. Maximum house points would be too easy.
I cleaned everything, once I got going.
Shane said, He’d never seen me like this – which I strenuously refute – just before he ate cereal and went for a massage.
SMS. 11.00. Did u wake up in someone else’s bed, ha, ha lol. It took you all nite to reply. Hmmmm naughty – Mitchel
Does the use of “naughty” by Mitchel in his email confirm my feelings of too fast, too soon? I decided to wait for an hour before I reply. I wrote my reply straight away and saved it as a draft. I’ve been back and edited it twice, so far. It takes a lot of rewrites to be spontaneous and clever.
It’s kind of endearing, really. What I’m looking for.
Such is the dichotomy.
I’ve got to type up all my sms’ before I run out of memory at an inconvenient time. I smoke another joint on my balcony, the last of the small bud I pinched off Shane at 8am. Bad Christian, I know! But that was it and now I’m never going to smoke anything ever again!
Back down to type my sms. It’s 11.30.
Spoke to David he was heading off to meditation. I asked him how it went with the girlie one. His reply was, ‘how dare you’.
SMS. 12.05. I went to bed early with a migraine (which was the only thumping I got 😀) and slept for 12 hours. And now I’m back in bed. Gotta luv Saturdays – christian
Went back to bed and watched Sex in the City. Decided it was time I went and had a haircut. Grrr! Midday Saturday. I’ll probably have to sit and wait for ages. So, I bought a pork roll on the way. Luke called as I was marching down Smith Street munching on the pork roll. I was chatting to Luke as I entered an empty hair dressers, not even the cutter himself.
SMS. 12.48. Rest well. U be fine. Don’t worry about meeting tonight if u unwell although would like to cu – Mitchel
Sam appeared shortly and as I was straight up, I had to say goodbye to Luke.
SMS. 13.58. I just love Helen Terry – Julien
SMS. 14.22. I’m fine. I quit smoking, although don’t hold me to it Cleaned the house. Had a haircut. Now I’m watching Sex in the City. Some buddies are dropping in soon, for a few hours. I’m still up to go drinking – christian
Went back to Sex in the City. Got bored with that before the end. Mark and Luke arrived. We headed down Smith Street for lunch. Got silicone so Mark could fix the bathroom sink and then went to Cocos. I smoked some of Mark and Luke’s cigarettes.
Mark came back and fixed the sink. Luke and I chatted downstairs.
SMS. 16.13. Havin dinner at fren’s place. Will check wit them where2 for drinks. Let us know when venue is finalised. 😀 have a rest 😀😀😀😀 more smiles for u – Mitchel
Shane came down from his bedroom, telling us that he got so relaxed at his massage, his masseur ended up fisting him. David is, apparently, not to be told. (not completely sure why?) My lips are sealed.
We smoked pot.
Mark and Luke headed off to babysit Jay.
Shane went back to bed.
Shane, & I smoked pot, David & Shane drank vodka, we all took valium and ate all the leftovers.
We watched Sex in the City. We watched all the disks.
SMS. 22.10. Hey sweetie. I got quite tipsy don’t think I can come out for further drinks. I am bad drinker. I just had a few glasses over dinner 😀 so sorry about this – Mitchel
SMS. 22.14. You cheap drunk. Sweet dreams sloshed sausage – christian
Then we watched the Gruen Transfer. We smoked more pot, and drank more vodka.
At one stage there was talk of going to The Laird.
Is it right to execute the Bali bombers? Frighteningly, the majority of Australians answered yes to this question, recently.
I am ashamed to call myself Australian when I read stuff like this.
We are a country that says NO to the death penalty, we were once proud of that fact. What has happened to Australians to change them from the forgiving people they once were?
Did John Howard turn Australia into the country of bigots it now is, by using race as a political weapon.
Was it Pauline Hanson, with her small ideas and 50 point IQ?
Was it the media orgasming at every terrorist plot as a means to increase it's publication?
Is it because society is now only made up of working families, politicly speaking, and anyone who doesn't fit this stereotype is a nigger, gook, spick, alien? Disposable?
Is it because we all have been promised so much, you can have everything, and have been delivered so little? Now that the promise of so much under capitalism has evaporated.
They create ugliness, through their own greed... and then they groan about it.
Is that the most perfect description on conservatives that you have ever read?
Ah god, it's great to be employed, back in the thick of things...
My law firm hit a new low for me today. They are taking the opportunity to retrench staff because of the global financial crisis, across the board, thirty so far, more to come - my own department tomorrow. After I had completed the calculations, the director of HR sent me a new redundancy policy to replace the company policy which has been in force for the five years that I have been with them. A new policy that slashes employees redundancy payouts significantly. Not only are they terminating long time employees, some in the age bracket where they will find it hard to obtain another job, they are repaying their loyal service by paying them as little as possible, in direct contradiction to the retrenchment policy under which all of the said employees would have been employed.
As far as I'm concerned, it is a despicable act.
Whoever said that law firms were the scum of the world?
Well, things can change just like that, now can't they. Not that I am getting too far ahead of myself, not just yet, but...
I digress...
I went to Charlie's farewell Saturday night. David came with me, for support, to keep me company, as, really, the only person I knew at the farewell was Charlie himself. Besides, David was working just around the corner and was finishing when I had to be at the Lucky Coq. David had a friend's fortieth to go to, (the beautiful Stuart's ex, Tom, who I also know, vaguely) which I could go to also, if I needed an escape, if the farewell was dire.
David and I ate dinner together, at Lucky Coq, before I text Charlie, who was just down stairs. Then Charlie was standing next to me, telling me to get moving down stairs to join everyone else.
Everybody was there, all on a big table, or standing around. Charlie introduced me and David to a friend of his who had just returned from London, Mitchell. David Chatted to Mitchell, as I chatted to Charlie and a few other people.
Then it was time for David to go, his parting words were, Mitchell is hot, get me his phone number.
I chatted to a few people before Mitchell and I gravitated together. We chatted about London, Melbourne, what I'd done, what he'd done, university - both finance majors - life, the world.
Then I told him I was an evil smoker and that I was going to the court yard for a cigarette. He joined me, as he is an evil smoker too. We chatted out there for ages, before Charlie found us and asked us what we were doing. Charlie kind of eyed us suspiciously, like guys do when they suspect something is going on between their friends. Charlie smacked us both and told us to come back to the group.
Mitchell suggested that we exchange phone numbers, as he was starting a new job in the CBD, so we could have lunch. At that stage, I secretly thought I'd been very clever in getting his phone number for David... even if I thought he was very nice.
Eventually, everyone else wanted to head off to Love Machine, or The Market, but I didn't really feel like going, nor did Mitchell, as it turned out. So, we shared a taxi home, as he was heading to a friends place in Brunswick. I kissed him good night, when we got to my place and headed inside.
David had headed down to Bear Nation, so I settled my drunk arse on the couch. Oh, it was bliss.
Then Mitchell text me to say that his friend lived in Fitzroy and not Brunswick and wasn't he silly.
We've been texting since. He's sweet. Really sweet.
I must admit, I'm a little taken with him. Not that I'm getting too teenage school girl about it... but I am a bit. I know, two days of texting doesn't mean anything and it could all end as soon as it started, naturally.
But, it has put a smile on my face, that's for sure.
David said, jokingly, half jokingly, that I pinched Mitchell off him (speaking of teenage school girls) to which I apologised, saying that I truly thought I'd been terribly clever, that when David asked me if I had got his phone number I was going to say voilà , here it is.
However...
