Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Story of the Frog

A little frog lived in a well.

The little frog was born in the well and had never ventured from it, so the little frog naturally thought that the universe was his well. One day the little frog heard a voice coming from above. The little frog thought that the voice must be God calling! What else could it be, but some greater being speaking down from above?

The voice was the little frog’s wake-up call and he jumped and jumped and jumped up the side of the well to the ledge near the top. When he reached the ledge all he could see was another frog sitting upon the top of the well.

“Are you God?” the little frog asked.

“No, not at all," said the other frog. "I am a traveller seeking truth.”

“Where are you traveling to?"  asked the little frog. "And what are you seeking?”

“I am traveling to the coast to see the ocean.”

The little frog was bewildered by the visitor’s answer. “What do you mean by ocean?”

“The ocean is a huge expanse of water.”

The little frog thought for a while. “Ah, the ocean is like a big well.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say the ocean is like that, but the ocean is, of course, very much larger.”

“I see," said the little frog. "The ocean is much larger than my well. Is it ten times bigger than my well?”

“No, it is much bigger.”

“Is it a hundred times bigger?”

“No, it is much larger than a hundred times bigger than your well.”

“This is all beyond my understanding." The little frog was now even more bewildered. "What you are saying is that this ocean you talk of, is maybe, even a thousand times bigger than my well, possibly even ten thousand times. I don’t think I want to hear anymore. I could get lost in such a big well.”

“Well, I’ll be on my way," said the other frog. "I have a long and tiring journey ahead of me. Good day to you.”

“Good bye,” said the little frog. And he scrambled back down to the safety of his own well, of his own world.

I’ve been blessed to meet an enlightened Master, thought the little frog, who has explained to me that the place beyond my well is a large place the size of which I can't even imagine. My mind cannot cope with such immensity, it's not something I can make any sense of. He has to be divine, and it has to be heaven that he speaks of.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Zen'ish Teachings



01. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me for the path is narrow. Walk your own path and be ordinary.

02. Sex is like air, it's not that important unless you aren't getting any.

03. No one is listening until you make a mistake.

04. Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.

05. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

06. If you think nobody cares whether you're alive or dead, you are probably right.

07. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

08. If at first you don't succeed, base jumping is probably not for you.

09. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will probably sit in a boat and drink beer.

10. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably money well spent.

11. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

12. Some days you are the dog, some days you are the tree.

13. Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time.

14. Good judgment comes from bad experience...and most of that comes from bad judgment.

15. A closed mouth gathers no enemies, but a closed mouth gathers no friends either.

16. Do not speak - unless it improves on silence.

17. Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.

18. Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.

19. We are born naked, wet and hungry, and that's essentially how we stay.

20. The world is like a mirror, smile and your friends smile back.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Michael's Pink Shirt Matched the Natural Rosey blush of His Cheeks






How the Beautiful Get Away With It

The Cyborg Queen came rushing through the doors to the lift today, just after I’d got back down from reception, where I’d heard some suit ask for her by name. She rushed on passed me straight to the closing lift doors, with barely a hello for me. If I’d been a gentleman, I’d have held them open for her, but I didn't. Oh well. Of course, gentlemen ceased to exist when the sexes became equal.

Anyway, once, she used to smile and give the impression of a warm greeting, even if it was just what she learned in “how to deal with people” at her remedial human classes when she was a partner for a well known accounting firm, when they were trying to find the human inside her. Maybe that’s why she jumped ship to law firms, no human required.

There used to be an almost girlish blush when she said hello to me, when I was an employee in favour, but not now. No longer. The Anorexic Bitch and Fat Boy have seen to that. The Cyborg Queen only listens to her immediate drones. You see, she has no idea how to manage people, she only understands balance sheets and profit statements, so she is completely reliant on her subordinate managers when it comes to anything, even vaguely, related to human beings. She has no choice, that part of her soul is missing, there is a great gaping black hole right where her heart should be. Some say, it is how she got to the top.

Of course, being gay myself, I can see the great big lez inside her, so it is no mystery to me how she got to ride the corporate world bareback with stirrups, using the profit and loss statement tightly rolled into a dildo for that extra gratification.

It’s funny between her and The Celebrity Head, who runs the company beside her, what she makes up in balls, he “brings” in femininity in equal parts per operating committee. She’s the quiet masculine type and he’s the fussy, self aggrandising type who sucks more oxygen out of a room than he puts in.

Yin and yang.

So, that puts me on the outer on two fronts. Firstly, from the muck raking and face saving of her lesser minions who she trusts implicitly... well, that’s the main reason, let's face it. They fucked up the department and now I'm the scapegoat to take the heat. God damn I was factoring in a major organ malfunction for the Anorexic Bitch by about now. You should see her, she looks like something out of Michael Jackson’s thriller video clip... the walking dead. I could theoretically pull this back from disaster if she'd just lie down for the count. It must be soon, has to be. When they announce the bad news, I’m going to laugh, I promise you. And do a little dance.

But, I digress...

My new boss, let’s call her the Brunette Blonde is beautiful. She’s also pretty clueless and well, let’s face it, on the dumb side. No, really, she is a true blonde, except with dark brown hair. Of course, she’s got the manager’s job and I’m being pushed out, so who exactly is the dumb one, I ask you? However, I’m getting a firsthand account of what the beautiful can get away with. Pretty much everything, it would seem. She doesn't know what she is doing, but they all make huge allowances for her. The boy’s fall over themselves, one after the other. It's a slobberfest, I tell you. Her fat real-blond friend, who works in the next office idolises her, and lives vicariously in the Brunette Blonde's nutmeggy light. And the Cyborg Queen, when she comes in, it’s reminiscent of Homer Simpson drooling... except, in an Armani suit. It’s no secret to me that the Cyborg Queen likes to lick a bit of snatch the way she strips the Brunette Blond naked in one glance.

My gaydar tunes into her gaydar and I can hear her silent plea, Come to me my pretty.


Wednesday, February 16, 2011






We Sailed Down To Ground

Tonight, the lift doors opened to reveal Champagne Sally, the head of HR, or should I say the Director of People & Development, standing inside, with her menopausal henna dye job and her brown smock dress valiantly trying to cover her expanding arse, chatting to who, I can only assume, was a senior lawyer, as Champagne Sally wouldn't be talking to any lesser mortal.

Damn! I thought. I hadn't seen the old political dinosaur since that meeting with the Anorexic Bitch at the end of last year, where she babbled her double talk with ease, no logic or reason to interrupt her. I didn't particularly want to talk to her as I headed home.

I made an open mouth at her, and she did the same to me – fake fake, fake fake – and then I turned my back on her and let her get on with her politics… talking with someone, thankfully, more important than me.

Now, my favourite co-worker just happened to get into the lift too. Funny Beth. She's whack and I love her for it.

I pushed the doors closed button and we sailed off to ground. At that time of night, it is a small miracle that it wasn't stopping all stops.

"You have the magic touch," said Beth.

I gazed at her. She smiled. Oh, please don't make me talk with Cruella Slagfest behind me. I glanced up at the floor indicator impatiently, some may say desperately, but it still wasn't saying "ground." We were still in the "express zone."

"So they say," I replied.

I heard Champagne Sally make a reproachful "oh" behind me, not unlike a Dame Edna accusatory throat clear. She sounds like a drag queen at the best of times, let me tell you. "Oh Christian...” Too many fags. Nasty laugh. Too much time spent on the yacht, drunk. “One person said that!" Laugh.

I assume she meant Beth?

I wanted to say, Why don’t you shut your nasty mouth! Could you imagine? Where would my job be after that? (Dame Edna type laugh) It would, almost, be worth it just to see that momentary look on her over made up gob. But, the lift doors opened and off I sailed, out first ahead of the women – well, we’re all equals now a days, aren’t we? – without a glance back, or a further remark.

Cow! She's looking very Bris-Vegas now a days.

What exactly did she mean? I hit the front doors. I could see them all reflected in various bits of chrome building trim trailing behind me - Picasso'esque nightmare. Was that a professional dig at me? Corporately, I don't have the magic touch? I think that's exactly what she meant.

It was a warm night, I slipped out into it and all of "that" floated from my back.


Tuesday, February 15, 2011






I Pulled her Pointy Ear

Missy came mooching around the base of the bed as I lay on it trying to type leaning on one shoulder, which is kind of hard as your arms gets really stiff and sore.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

I got a book, Edmund White when he was young and trying to be famous doing shit with famous people, which I read as I walked home from work. It's not as hard as it sounds and it makes the walk home seem so much shorter.

Which I should be reading. I haven't been reading much lately.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

Then Missy jumped up on my bed and it's been hot and humid and sweaty and she cuddled up to me, fur side against my bare skin and I felt fur-slimed. You know, stuck to me, instantly. Ew!

Purr. Purr. Purr.

She looked furious as I slid her off the bed again, on to the floorboards. Cats have a fury all of their own. Nobody does a cross and angry face quite as well as a cat does. She glared at me from the floor. She held it for quite a time, I have to give her credit for how long she could hold "pissed off."

Silence. Death stare.

Then my arm was too sore and my mind foggy and too tired to read, so I turned the light off and pulled the sheet over me and all I felt was a "purdum" and then pad, pad, pad, pad. Then I felt a very still kind of rocking, just momentarily. Something warm and solid lay gently against me.

Cats are smart, she was quiet. But, they are really self-focused and she could help but...

Purr. Purr. Purr.

I slid my hand across the doona stealthily and pulled her pointy ear as if to say I'm on to you, I know you are there and you haven't got away with anything and she jerked her head away, pulling her ear from between my fingers, with a low rumble growl and a pad from her paw, claws retracted.

I knew I was living dangerously.

Silence. 


Monday, February 14, 2011

Buddy Liked To Be Shirtless All The Time, Good Thing He Lived Somewhere Warm





Buddy

Buddy looked good in his running shorts. He had thick thighs and calves and a solid arse from all his training.  The red shorts had a split up each side of each leg allowing the material to flap open and his toned hips to be seen. He was always running, he had an inexhaustible amount of energy to burn.


Buddy's mum, Ange, could see her boy was all grown up. She wondered if the shorts were a little small for him and wondered about the politics of buying your 18 year old son new clothes? She was proud of her strapping boy and she knew he had got to that age when others would be finding him attractive.

So, she wanted him to look good.


They already did, of course. Zeak, Buddy's training partner, was always joining Buddy in the showers after cross country running; talking, assessing, horsing around, skylarking, washing Buddy's back, as Buddy claimed.


"Is that all that Zeak's wanting to do?" Ange asked.

"Oh mum!" Buddy blushed furiously and Ange knew that Zeak was probably not only wanting to do, but was probably actually doing more than washing Buddy's back, by the intense glow of colour in her son's cheeks.

"I mean," Ange started to retracted, she knew it, she could hear it in her own voice. "It's good to have a mate, a friend... um... er, someone like Zeak in your life."

"I know mum, he's my best friend."

"It's good to have a best friend."

"He's good with a loofha." Buddy smiled.


"I thought you were going with Rachel? I think that's what she thinks, anyway."

"Sure mum, I'm going with Rachel." Buddy tried to smile but it didn't materialise. "But mama, ah, mama, Zeako's bigger and stronger and he's got a much much more stamina." Buddy shrugged. "He can last the distance way better than a girl... with my needs."


"Well, don't you go breaking that girl's heart. If you'd rather play quoits with Zeak, that's okay, but you go tellin' Rachel first."

"Yes mama, I'll tell her the first thing I do."

"You make sure ya do!"

"I'll tell her that I'd prefer Zeak's quoit to hers."

"That's my boy."


Sunday, February 13, 2011

Big Bum For a Boy





"Jees, you've got a big bum for a boy!"

Mike did that swivel at the hips, trying to look at his own arse, look around. He did it to the left and then he did it to the right, as if to the right may be more successful than to the left. Then he did it to the left again.

He looked back and shrugged. “Well, I can’t see it anyway.”

“No! But everyone else can.”

“How big?”

Chris held his hands out in front of him about 40 centimetres apart.

Mike’s eyes widened considerably as he gazed at Chris’ hands. “What?”

Chris thought for a second and then moved his hands further apart again. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

Mike looked up from Chris’ hands. “Come on!”

Mike grabbed his arse with both his hands and swivelled his head around attempting to look at it again.

Chris laughed.


Saturday, February 12, 2011

From Ravi

We Indians have been around for thousands of years, watching empires rise, fall, clash, die change. Through it all, we have kept adapting to new realities, dramatically different circumstances, craziness of every shape, size, colour, density. We have chewed the cud for aeon's on millions of ideas and ideologies, indigenous, imported and imposed and survived, often thrived. And now we seem poised to take a giant step forward to a place in the world that we perhaps never inhabited before, or vacated many centuries ago. And clearly, it's because of the way we are.

First, Indians are patient, infinitely patient. We can out wait any other race on the planet, with the possible exception of the Chinese. We seem to be genetically programmed with an alarming amount of patience. From the hermits of legend whose tapasya (meditation) went on for so long that ants made built hills over them, to hundreds making themselves at home on a railway platform with improvised mats, snacks and cards as they wait for the train to arrive eight hours behind schedule, it's almost as we can calmly outlast time itself. It is impossible to decide whether this is good or bad, but in the world as we know it , it's perhaps a useful trait .it has helped us outlast foreign invasion, pogroms, hundreds of varied and strange regimes and every sort of catastrophe. We have defeated them with patience and equanimity.

And since we have lived every day of our history with so many different ideas and opinions swirling around us, we can deal with and accept contradictions and fuzziness better than any other people on this planet. We are a collection of such varied ethnic and social groups that if we didn't develop this ability, we all would have certainly gone barking mad (a billion barking mad people!). Some of us find it sacrilege to eat anything extradite from animal, the rest of us eat anything that moves, swim or flies. Some of us go completely naked, some of us cover ourselves from head to toe with only our eyes n hands visible to the world. Religious fundamentalism, secularism (of which, again, there are many varieties) and atheism live side by side. Naturally, then, we understand that there can be infinite number of belief systems, of different levels of validity and truth, and we can understand those belief systems better than most people. This is surely one if the key reasons why, after globalization was thrust on to us, we have been able to navigate the new world with confidence, and with success.

Which, of course, doesn't mean we don't argue. We are one of the most argumentative nations of the world, from street corners to corporate boardrooms and the corridors of the highest political power. But this argumentativeness also co-exists-at worst, in uneasy peace – with our acceptance of the innumerably of ideologies. No wonder currently India is destined to have coalition governments at the centre for more than a foreseeable future.

Add to that our natural ingenuity, the ability to find nifty solution or a short cut through everything in life. The common man uses it every day to make life easier, get things done. Businessmen have used and still do to cut deals, give their way, whether it was license raj that ruled, or blow hot blow cold liberalization. And our politicians can't do without it.

This natural ingenuity, combined with innate cunning (remember, Chanakya was around 1800 years before Machiavelli) is perhaps westerners often seem naive to us. They appear to take too many things at face value, they think that when we say "Yes," it means yes, and not the beginning of CONVOLUTED NEGOTIATIONS:" Yes, perhaps we can consider that, but we think we deserve to get a better price." Our minds have been born complex and devious. We think simultaneously at several levels, and we can hold several thoughts in our mind at the same time – thought streams that can be parallel, converging or even clashing. We can shift between Uriah Heep, Micawber and David Copperfield without missing a beat.

All of this doesn't mean we are BAD people; we are just, well, COMPLICATED, and possibly think more than most other people do. Which could be a competitive edge. Since independence we have steadily gained what we had lost: confidence. Indeed as seeing ourselves as inferiors too much of the rest if the world, we have progressed in much of the last 15 years, to gain enormous self-confidence, perhaps even overconfidence. We are ambitious without the baggage of the past.

But surely this overconfidence can be forgiven. India and Indians have come an enormous distance since dawn of time, without forsaking democracy or secularism, despite unfortunate deviations. We will surely be able to figure out whether it is overconfidence or not. We may be complicated, contrary, argumentative, infuriating, but we are also hard-nosed and realistic people. As a race, WE ARE EXPERIENCED !!!


Thursday, February 10, 2011

Say Onion

"Say Onion."

"Ornion."

He, he, he, I love the way Sam says it.

"What month is between yours and mine?

"Ourgust."

I love the way he says that too. Gorgeous. It warms my heart. It makes me adore him just a little bit more every time he speaks.


I made him say onion every day last week, surreptitiously, he didn't catch on. It was my own, private joy. It was only when we were waiting for Mark and Luke outside the Grill'd healthy burger bar in Lygon Street on Saturday night, before heading in to see Catfish, that I fessed up to my little ruse.


He sees it as me making fun of him... which I'm not. Not at all! I adore his accent.

He sees it as being made fun of because he pronounces things differently to others, to Aussies.


Now, of course, he says onion and August and bewdy mate, thumb in the air, like anyone else.

I only had to point it out to him once and he's Aussied up.

And I'm horrified. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? What was I thinking?

 

Tuesday, February 08, 2011





I Can't Work On My Days Off

I'm expecting grief from the control freak, anorexic, bitch department manager today, because I told my manager I can't, actually, work on my days off. Fancy that, I can't work on my days off. Who'd have thought?

But the anorexic bitch department manager is going to shit! She's told me I have to be available. 

"You know, your flexible work hours." She swung her rat face around fully in my direction for full effect.

It took my breath away - skeletal comes to mind.

The trouble is, my contract doesn't, actually, say that. First thing you do, go back and check the contract. Hands in the air. What the anorexic bitch thinks is written there and what is, actually, written there are two different things.

Does anyone else see the problem here? Her biggest gripe with me is about days I don't actually work.

So, I decided to bring it to ahead and I told my manager last week that I can't work Mondays or Fridays because of my sick mother. I'm involved in her therapy and her care. I don't know how long she will know me. It is very sad, quite heart breaking really.

"So, are you saying that you can never work Mondays or Fridays?" says my manager. No commiserations, no wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, no reaching out to pat my hand. That was the only response I got. That was the empathy. The full sick mother story and all.

It's awful, really... working under these circumstances. But not long now, I'm resigning May 30th. Count them down.


Monday, February 07, 2011

Performance Review





I made a list, yesterday, of what I should do today. You know, get organised, have a schedule. There's only one way not to piss away the day... make a list. Have a plan. Set your course.

I'd crossed everything off that list before my first coffee was brewed, this morning. Funny, hey. I was so earnest about it last night. Get organised. Ha, ha!

Everything but my performance review, I have to complete that, I've just got to, as my name is pretty much mudola around the office, round about now. All day today, that's what I'm going to be doin... oh, I so hate it.

I know they are not used in our gradings and pay rises. There has to be a certain number, or percentage, along the J curve... that's how it works. This just keeps HR in work and gives the company the appearance of doing something for the staff. So, it's hard completing this nonsense, when I know that's exactly what it is.

Still... I made notes on Friday, so it shouldn't be too hard. Bang it out, get it done, don't think any more about it. I know how to talk the talk and walk the walk. Let's face it, that's what it's about.

If only I could stop procrastinating?

Oh look, the kitchen floor really does look a fright, I should just give it a quick once over.


Sunday, February 06, 2011

Eat, Eat, Eat

We get up late, 11am and are both hungry, so we head to Victoria Street to eat my favourite Thai pink soup at I Spicy for brunch.

We come home and finish the trimming of the creeper growing on the side wall of the house. That's excellent, the creeper is a monster. I'm up the ladder hanging on for grim death, but I'm going to get it done.

We go and eat crepes at Breizoz, the French Crepe house in Gertrude Street. I love them, it's Sam's first time. One with the lot, egg, ham, cheese, tomato and banana & chocolate, both to share.

We buy a savoury muffin at Arcadia on the way back, Sam suggests. Then he buys egg tarts and a passion fruit yoyo, he’s like a man possessed, pointing at every thing.

"I'll have that and that and that!"

We go bike riding. The tennis is over, yay, so we can head around our full route. The Yarra looks full, more so than I feel that I have ever seen it before. Further down the bike path, there is a small section under water from all the rain. Then, nearly to the end, there is a large section completely submerged. It’s amazing.

We come home and lay on the couch entwined in each other’s arms.

We eat pork spare ribs in Victoria Street. The serve is huge, but, of course, like all spare ribs there is a lot of bone.

I drive Sam home are 21.30. It's a lovely night.


Saturday, February 05, 2011






Catfish

I went to see Catfish, I liked it. I thought it was interesting and sensitively done.



Friday, February 04, 2011

Yesterday, I Bought Betadine





Yesterday, I bought Betadine on a whim just because I saw it out of the corner of my eye in the supermarket as I was looking for something else. My last bottle ran out eons ago.

Today, I sliced my finger open cutting up an avocado. I love avocados, it's my staple lunch, I've cut open hundreds of them.

You should never make a will, it's just tempting fate. Same principle?
Ha, ha.

Funny how things like that happen. Coincidences, they are what make life go around, so often. If you think about all the coincidences that happen in life, there are lots of them. It makes you realise what the great plan really is, random events, nothing else. As they say, such things would never be believed in stories, novels or movies, not really. And yet they happen in life all the time.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

Tap washers








I went to buy tap washers at Thrifty link in Bourke Street, so I could fix my friend Jill's dripping taps. Now, maybe I haven't bought tap washers for a while but, you know, I think I have. $5.95 for two tap washers. Two tap washers? Nice and neatly packed into their own cryogenically sealed packet, with all the colour and movement you'd expect from such 21st Century packaging. But? 

Tap washers used to be 30 cents? Didn't they? Not so long ago.

So, either I'm losing my memory (mind) (interesting life, if this is what I've got to write about) or Thrifty Link ain't living up to its name.

I guess, I should check my facts before I pass judgement?

How cheap am I? Monetarily and good dead wise?


Wednesday, February 02, 2011





Poolside Motel

It was hot, blisteringly. The unrelenting beat of the burning sun was tiring. There was a haze that seemed to be burning off just above the ground, shimmering skywards. The concrete, the buildings, the potted plants, the earth seemed to be melting.

Old Jim fanned himself, on his hot pink plastic lounge, with a dog-eared magazine. The sweat beaded on his lined, leathery, forehead and then rolled all the way down his pointed nose.

The neon sign over head flashed vacancy, languorously.

Brad pulled himself out of the crisp, cold water, with a hand on each of the chrome uprights of the pool ladder. One tug from his broad shoulders and he’d pulled his torso and hips out of the lapping, chlorinated water, which dripped from his tanned skin. His trunks slid from his curved buttocks as he heaved himself up, exposing the colour difference between his skin for public and private viewing.

Old Jim sat upright on his iridescent banana lounge, trying not to miss any part of the show. He looked like he hoped for more.

Brad didn’t care, he hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. He caught the glint in Jim’s eye and knew instantly what he’d be doing so as to avoid having to do a runner. Just close your eyes.

All he felt was relief, from an impossible position. Jim was nice enough, even if he did smell kind of odd.

Brad ran his hand over his curved arse and stared hard at Jim. Jim licked his lips slowly as he adjusted his seating position.


Tuesday, February 01, 2011

Collin Thought He Was In Doctor Who, He’d Spend Hours Floating Around In Space Waiting For The Doctor To Arrive






Oh Really?

I don't know if I'm liking this 30 degrees at 8am! Jesus, fuck! The sun's rays nearly bowled me over as I staggered to my open balcony doors in my jocks, scratching my arse and my eye at the same time, to close the double doors.

The sun was sharp and bright shining across the floorboards, long and stretched out... they were warm underneath my feet, like flesh.

"Bloody hell, that fucken sun's got some 'eat init!" One hand on each of the three-paned glass doors. "We're all gunna melt before this day is over, Missy. Mark me words."

The air is already hot, like warming the oven for baking.

I swung the doors in on each other and slid the latches closed, at the top and at the bottom. Click, click.

Missy glanced at me from the bed, licked at one of her out-stretched paws and then her eyes slid gently shut.

I gaze at her... envy would be too stronger word. Briefly, I contemplate a sick day, like for a millisecond. The bitches at the salt mines could do without me. It amuses me for the minutes it takes me to head to the shower.


Monday, January 31, 2011

Iprimus is Getting the Flick





AHHHHH!!!!!!!! I've had it with my Internet, it is SHIT!!!!!. Shit, I tell you. Iprimus is getting the flick. It continually drops in and out. I've had it! I tell you I've had it.

When you are trying to look at porn on the net, it just makes you want to throw the PC against the wall!

Time to find a new provider.

I guess I should call the idiots one more time.

I waited around for Mark to come and pick me up and I went with him to visit his parents.

I can't believe how fantastic the streets are to drive around on. It's like living in a liveable city once more. It should be Xmas holidays all year round.

I went bike riding for the afternoon. It was glorious by 4pm. Lovely. As were the rowers on the river. Woof! As are the streets of Melbourne while everyone is still away on holidays.

Down through the Fitzroy Gardens. No riding they say. No bikes they say. It makes very little sense I say > Wellington Parade South > Jolimont Terrace > over the bridge > over Brunton Avenue > around the tennis centre > along the bike path > around the Boulevarde > passed St Kevin’s > perving on the Xavier Boy’s rowing teams > all the way around to Gipps Street > Wellington Street > Peel Street > Smith Street. 

I cooked tomato and chilli and olive and tuna pasta for dinner. 


Sunday, January 30, 2011

A Wilting Petal





Wasn't it hot! 40 degrees. I'm a lame duck in the heat. A wilting petal, for sure. A red rose in full bloom drooping downwards. Give me a beach, or some country hectares, and I'm fine, but confine me in the city and I head in doors and close the blinds. Ah!

Make it stop. (I'd rather be cold than very hot. That's not very Australian, I hear you say, sun bronzed Aussie and all that? Not some little queer in a fur lined hat? Well, I'm sorry about that, shattering all you dreams, I know, is whack. Haha.)

Having said that, I did manage to head out to Lygon Street for a double serving of passion fruit and pistachio ice cream. Yum

And I wonder why I'm getting fat? (not a clue, it must be some kind of allergy?)

I'm sure it's probably the hormones... or some such thing.


Saturday, January 29, 2011

Everybody Gets Off





Grandpa fingering pinkie’s college twat

Busty mom sucking on a fat black cock

Brazilian she-male gets her arse rocked

Spicy dong broadcaster freely flashes his schlong

Alex jigging her wet pussy for long

Big-ass ebony-slut gets doggie-fucked slop

Tart screwed-sideways bya big I-talian cock

Indian chick riding the bullet in her slot

Old mistress flash ‘er tits and demos jerking to tease

Pussy talent never dies when it is free

BusntyBlondTeeenFlashingHerTitsInthebackseat

Brunette slut-has her legpushed_way back-forsoemthing-deep

bigtitblonde wife licksup a mouthfulofjizz after suckingastranger

hot_pig-tailed-babewith pierced nips testher-new dildo range, er

She likes hard and deep yo ho waft

blond bitchtake turns-sucking boys who’s eyes cross

everyone’s done when everybody has got off


Friday, January 28, 2011

I Decided to Absent Myself





I'm home today, couldn't be fagged. I never take sick days, unless I'm sick, so this is unusual for me.


Have I told you about my job? My boss Beck left because she was treated like shit for far too long.

Law firms, they are poisonous places to work. Everybody is building their own little empire from which to look down on the minions, passing the buck, pushing the knife, finding a scapegoat, when it suits their particular career path.

The modern day corporate law firm mantra, There must be someone to blame.

Or, as our National HR director, Champagne Sally, says, Why wasn't I told, even if there is written evidence against her, to everything, automatically, deflectively. We should call her teflon Sal. She doesn't care, she is an old war horse from years prior. Her favourite expression when she thinks nobody else can hear, Don't fucken tell me that!

Or, as the Finance Director, Fat Boy, says, What do you want me to do about it?

Or as the IT director, Jolly Jack, says... well, actually, he is so full of wind he just never stops talking. He's like a slightly demented child.
He got drunk recently and admitted to our old IT director that the award he won recently for IT director of the year was all based on lies. Kel surprise!
"All that stuff it was based on that they said I'd done, I haven't done half of that stuff."
He's so arrogant, as the rest of them, that he doesn't even realise he is talking to an original member of the "We hate (insert name of law firm) Club."

Or, as the head of marketing says, down his nose, Are you still here?

Or as one of the old executive directors used to say - actually that is more do than say - whatever lie it takes to win industry awards. What he used to do boarded on the criminal. Actually, it didn't border on it. We won female employer of choice, despite nothing, actually, changing in the great big boy's club. It was just a matter of interpretation. You know, take the first six months of 2005 and the second six months of 2007 and then swap whatever pesky months that don't fit your criteria and hey presto, your law firm qualifies for the award. It's like magic.

We had a couple of very competent, yet completely alarmed analysts who left because of the, shall we say, fraud they were forced to commit. Of course, the exec doesn't commit the fraud, oh no, corporate law firm 101, there must be somebody to blame if it all goes pear-shaped.

The funny thing was, that the best analyst, who I got on with really well, kept all of the original data, unbeknownst to the boss. My insurance policy, he used to say.

Anyway, our finance manager clearly has anorexia and his mood swings are enormous. I mean, he always had it in him, way back before he started a diet of gruel and guilt, but now, the potential first class shit has fulfill his destiny, so much so, that the now haggard-faced rat even looks like a bitch.

Our director of finance is a child who has been elevated way above his capabilities. His modes de operandi is to simply stop talking to any pesky employees who are making his life difficult. Now that is total blank out, like that employee ceases to exist, even in meetings he has with them. Gone, over with.

And our CEO just doesn't get it. Personalities aren't, shall we say, a strong suit. Oh no, everything is the bottom line. The only understanding the CEO has is the profit and loss and the next 200K bonus.

And, of course, nobody is, really, willing to do anything unless it actually builds their standing and prestige. So, when Beck tried to get new systems in place, which were vital to our processes, the before mention managers above us pissed around and wouldn't sign them off. They weren't interested, it didn't benefit them. So, for six months the documentation was send back with requests for revision. Stupid requests, meaningless changes, idiotic concerns, so much so that the system providers were flabbergasted at the on-going delays.

Have you done this? Have you got that? Has this been provided? Have were checked the potential problem? Have we got assurances for x y and z?

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

I don't seem to have it says both managers, do it again.

Of course, they are both frightened of the CEO and have no idea what they are doing without his say so.

This went on. The providers said they had never seen anything like it. Stalemate. The fiance director's answer was always, What do you want me to do about it?

Then when it got to a critical juncture, where our work practices were on the line and in threat of crumbling, the managers above still wouldn't act. Beck's job was slowly grinding to a halt.

Beck went to HR, who are always as useful as tits on a bull, which only caused our our managers to be pissed off and evasive.

The final straw came when the control freak anorexic finance manager accused Beck of getting all of the paperwork wrong, blaming it as the reason for the delay, saying that he'd have to do it all again himself. Beck looked at me dumbfounded and said, That paper work was all the contacts at the firm who were going to be using the software. How exactly do you think I could have got that wrong?

Beck confronted the skinny shit, who, essentially, accused Beck of being unstable and Beck resigned.

So, getting back to me. On top of all of this, of course, there are very much favourites in the department - child accountants who will do as they are told. Anyone with, shall we say, a personality and/or an opinion is being weeded out as they prove too, shall we say, challenging for the managers above. One of those favourites, with no experience what so ever, has been installed in Beck's job. So, I now have a boss who I have to train, lovely. He still has one foot in his last department and, thus far, he has taken no interest in any of the workings of our department. He, is of course, being talked up by the managers above because, of course, they installed him in the job.

So, today, when we have critical deadlines, all of which I have met, I might just add, I decided to absent myself, so that my new fresh-faced boss can go meet with the executive board and explain all the stuff that needs explaining, none of which he knows anything about.

Childish? Oh yes, quite possibly.

Will it come back to bite me on the arse? Oh, probably. I'll be the bad guy. "Of course, Christian let us down." Pat, pat, pat to my new manager. "You were great, under the circumstances."

And yes, I know, I should resign. I'm working up to it. This all has only just happened. But, I'm a lazy cow, I admit it.

As Shane says, "Nobody now even knows what you do. (sad but true) Just go in there, keep you head down and do your work and look for a new job."

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Bitches of Eastwick







I had computer problems all morning, talk about boring. So, I didn’t get much done.

So, I had time to observe Fat, plain Liz who seemed to be helping Awful Rachel surreptitiously, don’t know what that is about. She’s like the fat friend – actually, not like, she is the fat friend – helping and supporting her ‘crush’. She’d give Rachel’s verjayjay a lick, you can see it in her totally empty eyes, just searching for the good thing to latch onto, so her life isn’t completely empty.

You know, Truly Awful Rachel was actually a decent sort, until she lost her looks and her husband Rob cheated on her. Oh, no, that is to come, we have that to look forward to.

I decided that I’d better offer to help Truly Awful Rachel before it becomes a black mark against my name, and the next time I look around, truly awful Rachel will be in Heart Palpitation Rachel’s office reporting in. (you can’t underestimate these horrible bitches) 

So, there I was in the afternoon stuffing letters into envelopes. (This is what I went to uni for, stuffing envelopes and going into daily battle with the Bitches of Eastwick)

I just keep reminding myself of my exit plan. May 31st, I get 7 years LSL June 01st, I resign.


The day was long, but eventually all bad things come to an end. You know the old saying, this too shall pass.

I was home alone, ah the peace, ah, the quiet. I headed to the sushi shop to buy sushi, but it was closed. So, I bought two buns from Breadtop and a meat samosa.

I came home and created more cartoons about our schizophrenic anorexic bitch boss, Belinda. Her and her conscious, I figure there would be voices in that head

I went to bed late, 2am. I was home on my own, so I had the house to myself. I was working on Belinda cartoons and photos of myself. The photos of me weren’t so good, so I got to them with my photo editing software and I got rid of all of the defects, as best I could.

But the cartoons made me smile.


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Change the Aussie Flag



Kangaroo Flag

Australia Day

Australia Day, hey? Blue skies, open faces, long white beaches, big urban cities, wide open spaces, magnificent deserts more beautiful than can really be imagined. The beating, red heart of all of us.

The rest of the world says friendly people, oh so often.

What’s it good for, other than a day off from the salt mines for me? Not sure?

Mateship and oi, oi oi?

Shouldn't every day be Australia Day? Don't we all have it in us, that feeling of belonging, that knowing that we are the luckiest country in the world?

Because, all that misguided patriotism that tends to lead to anyone not being “the same” being viewed as an outcast. Oh yes, the honours, the Australia Day honours, I guess, I should go and read if I have won one. Ha, ha. Lot’s of do-gooders licking arse, that’s how I see it.

The jets are now flying overhead, I guess, that must mean something? Yes, global warming, you idiots, that’s what I think. How much burnt fuel is being let loose into the atmosphere?

Let's do something useful and change the flag.

Happy Australia Day.


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

How Petty Am I?





Mark W. came over with dinner for Shane. He made a great show of preparing the meal, even pouring drinks. All the time I was doing my thing, around and about and not once did he offer me any. Not that he had to, of course, but it would have been nice to have offered.

Then Mark W. and Shane had talks about the fines Mark W. continues to get in Shane's old car, which is still in Shane's name. They'd done this all before, but Captain Vague had somehow managed to screw it all up and not fix any of it and now it is heading to debt collectors, or court, or some such thing. 

Once they were done, Shane came out to me and asked me if I had a couple of stamps. 

“Sure,” I said. I picked up my wallet and started to look for them.

And, you know, just as I was about to pull them out, I thought, fuck off, you are rude enough with the dinner and then you want something from me, come on. 

“Oh, sorry, I must have run out.”

I’m not like that, I’m really not. Most of my friends say I’m one of the most generous people they know, but there is something about Mark’s self centred arrogance that just rubs me up the wrong way, sometimes.

Mark W. didn't say goodbye, as he left. I know he can be vague, but please.

Sometimes I wonder if it is me? Am I the problem? Perhaps, it is me?


Monday, January 24, 2011

Marco, The Underwear Model, Likes To Be Admired, As You Would Expect From A Man Who Spends Most Of His Time In His Underpants




Black trunks


Lovely!

We headed to Victoria Street for American style pork ribs cooked in a Vietnamese way, Sunday night. Sam is a foodie and I’m not, as much. He so often says to me, 

“As long as you are not hungry, huh?”

“Of course.”

“What about the joy of food?”

“Joy, smoy.”

He throws his hands in the air. But, I do eat great food with him.

 Only to discover the Chinese New Year Festival in full swing. I suggested we leave because we’d never be able to find a car park. All the streets were cut off there were cars all over the place, heading in every direction.

“Chinese New Year,” said Sam.

The next moment, I decided I shouldn’t give in so easily, I shouldn’t be such a terrible quitter, and the very next thing, a young, valley girl as it turned out, who was walking next to the car, who heard me talking about finding a car park through the open window said,

“You can follow me, if you like. I’m parked just along here somewhere, if I could only remember where I parked it.” Girlish smile. “It’s just here somewhere.”

Wouldn’t David cream his fisherman’s pants over that one? They ask the universe kind of thing, not the girl.


We ate everything we liked the look of, at the side of the road stalls, as we headed east down Victoria Street. There were people everywhere, in some places too, too many to get through comfortably, but only a few.

Fried coconut pancakes, chilli and honey dried pork, sweet pancakes with shrimp, corn with butter, cane sugar juice, fried taro cake and finally the illusive curly Korean potato, hot and spicy – which wasn’t, really, worth the wait.

There were carnival rides and live music.

We bought hot pork rolls home for dinner.


We watched “Australia” when we got back, I’d never seen it. Nicole, Nicole, Nicole! We smoked pot, it helped. Sam didn’t, he wanted to be clear-headed tomorrow, he’s got a presentation to give which is streamed back live to his head office in Shanghai. So, of course, you can’t smoke pot the night before.

I sat up and wrote my journal, Sam went to bed... like an old married couple.

Lovely!

 

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Back to Happy





I did the painting, all day yesterday; windows, doors, garden gates. So, I've got a happy boyfriend again.

So, I guess, I’m not terrible Christian any longer. Big fat Christian liar, is something else I was too. I guess I’m not that either.

You know, terms I'm really happy with.

But, I guess he doesn't get drama queen, or little bitch any longer either. So, yo know, it all works out.


And we fooled around in the middle of it, with paint all over us. Not sure if the neighbours could see, I thought, afterwards. Sam has a high fence out the front, but the neighbours have a double story house across the road.


We ate noodles for lunch and not just our own, in Preston, just near the market.

It dawned on me over lunch, that to enjoy the multiculturalism that I move to Fitzroy in the first place to live amongst, I’d have to move further out. The yuppies have turned Fitzroy in Balwyn, except with more interesting architecture.


Saturday, January 22, 2011

Bats





I've got bats flying around in the back yard, they roost in the big gum tree out the back in next door's yard. They look really cool and sleek flying against the grey night sky. I like them.

I always think of chamois leather when I think of bats.

Or, I think of the bat in captivity on the Gold Coast from a few years back which they fed mango, which seemed to shit mango, exactly the same.


Friday, January 21, 2011

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Correct Answer

I was having lunch with Sam today – yes, all (almost) happy again – and he was giving me stick, in a light-hearted kind of way, about being lay Christian Fat Arse.

I replied, “What's with the attitude, don't you want me to come over and paint this weekend? Is that what you are saying?”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widened and his mouth curled into a devious grin and he said, in a spider to the fly kind of way, "I dare you." Holding his gaze burning into me.

I felt a chill up my spine, a vibration right through my body. I nodded and winked. "I'll be there."

He pursed his mouth and nodded his head. "Correct answer."

I was charmed by it, to tell you the truth. I was so attracted to him at that moment. I'm not, really, sure what that says? He was back to his old self, I guess.

Shitty for a week, though. Boyfriends? Fuck!


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

What Good Are Tuesdays?

What good are Tuesdays?

Monday gets all the attention with being the first day of the week. It even has its very own condition named after it. You know, one of the itis'

Wednesdays get the middle and because of that they have a speciality all of their own. They are even singled out with their own nick name, which bears a striking resemblance to sex, so they get lots of attention.

Everybody loves Friday, it seems to be their very own favourite.

Thursday scapes it in with the one-day-to-go mantra. Nearly there, nearly done, aren’t we pleased it is Thursday, some people might say, granted not the majority, but some. They’d never say that about a Tuesday, never.


Monday, January 17, 2011

It's Been A Pretty Full On Eight Months





Sam is still not talking to me. No good morning message to wake up to, no chatty emails when I turn on my computer, no instant messaging.

Silence.

I guess, about now, I should be sending flowers, or chocolates, or even a funny message... but I'm not.

I'm just going to sit back and feel the change, feel what it is like to be without him. It's been a pretty full on eight months.

Of course, this could be exactly the wrong thing to do, I realise that. I've never been very good at conflict resolution in matters of the heart.

But, you know, I come back to... (to put it one way), I did one thing wrong and it's all over. I really need my relationships to be built on stronger ground than that.


Later...

I was going to send him roses to work; no card, just the flowers. But, by the time it occurred to me, it was too late in the day. So, I sent him a photo, that I took, of my red roses.

I should have sent the real thing, I know.

But, at least he has been talking to me since I did.


Later again...

Oh, of course, it's all because I smoked pot with Shane Friday night, the night before. But so did Sam. Give me strength! Now, apparently, I am lazy Christian fat arse.

No, it's because you were at me the moment we got up about the windows. And just because I didn't look like I wanted to do it, it didn't mean I wasn't going to. You cracked the shits and fled the house.


Sunday, January 16, 2011

Leon





Shane’s guy has said he doesn’t want to continue with the "two of them." Just like that. He was the one who wanted monogamy. Shane was trying it for the first time. Leon was the one who couldn't keep his hands off his ex as soon as he got back interstate for Xmas.

He is a twelve year old trapezes act, so I mean, what do you expect? Well, twenty two, really, but a circus act, none the less. Do twenty two year old's know their dick from their cunt? So, I mean to say? Even Shane is a little old for a twenty two year old. He turns forty this year.

He’d kill me for saying that and I’m kidding, of course. Leon seemed nice, lovely, gorgeous. Shane is, well, a thirty nine years old with miles on him.

So what, we'll both be having baked beans on toast for dinner in silence, dim lighting, that will be the two of us? Long faces? Grunts. Nothing much to say.


Sam's Painting





I saw a friend recently, who I haven't seen for a while, not for any reason just busy lives and together we lamented the lack of maintenance we have exercised over our houses of late. We shared leaking roof stories. So, in all of this torrential rain, in the last few days, my friend’s words have come into my head, as I hurriedly emptied the back gutters to cope with the down pour, and I joyously watched as the lounge room roof didn’t drip, as it had. I thanked the universe for Mark, who cleaned my back yard from top to bottom, just last New Year’s day. He unblocked the now tested drain that takes the water away from the back yard.

I’ve got to say, I’ve enjoyed all the rain, in the middle of the otherwise thirty five degree days, though.

How things change in short span of time. Right at this present moment, Shane and I have both been dumped. Mine is only an argument, a spat, but it makes you think, think about one rather than two.

Sam wanted me to paint his newly installed windows, he’s had all the rotten ones replaced. I have to admit, I had my I-don’t-want-to-do-it face on, as the number of windows went from four to ten, in a matter moments. I know that. But, just because I didn’t look happy about it, didn’t mean I was going to do it. I only suggested he got a painter, who'd do it in half the time it would take us.

He said he was going. I didn’t stop him.

I’ve never been really good with boyfriends who are obviously cross and who they say they are leaving. My natural thought, has always been, Well, if you are going to get in a shitty mood, you might as well go and do it away from me, somewhere else.

That’s always how I’ve always felt.


I know, I know, suck up to them, pat them, make them feel good, tell them you are sorry. I know what I should be doing.

I’m sure it is something lacking in me.