Lunch and the Beach

We had lunch in Carlton, Japanese, with Buddy sitting out on the footpath in the sun. It was a lovely sunny day for a little alfresco dining. Buddy's so cute, I put a white styro cup on the ground and he drinks from it with his fat, pink tongue.

Then it was off to the Brighton Beach doggy beach. He's gets so excited down the beach and he just runs and runs and runs with Sam and I running and running and running after him. It was all going well until I pulled a muscle in my calf running across the sand trying to stop Buddy pissing on some woman's bag – he has a habit of pissing on bags left on the ground. I could see him sidling up to it and I took off across the sand to stop him. And now I am in pain and can't walk very well. I wish I'd let him piss all over it now.

The woman didn't deserve to have her bag pissed on, of course, but she, actually, said she wouldn't have cared, she wouldn't have left it on a dog beach if she had, as I tried to walk away without showing her I'd injured myself.

I feel like an old man. And I walk to work. 

I have rubbed in the Tiger Balm cream and then to head off my complaining - Sam's words, not mine. I still insist that I never complain about anything - he got me Tiger Balm heat patches to put on. He's lovely, really. They are easing the pain.

Saturday Night

We ate lunch in Victoria Street, Vietnames. Pancakes, with salad, fresh, it's papaya, and bean shoots and fish sauce.... something like that. Yum. Then we went shopping, for pork belly and a bone for the dog. And some sort of cabbage. Sam was cooking.

I went to the doctor and got a flu shot. There is now the old fashioned on, with the long needle for $12, or the short, hardly feel a think, needle for $15. All my friends called me tight with my money, and not a hero as I expected, if I expected anything at all, when I chose the $12 option. Well, I have never had a problem with a flu shot before, in the ten, or so years that I have been having them.

We hired 10 dvds and watched them all night, cuddled up on the couch, under a blanket. The bulldog lying at our feet. I can't wait for winter, then there will be an open fire too.

City out my office window

Back at the Salt Mines

It was so weird, I felt so nervous for the last few days, strange really. I start new jobs continuously, that is just the nature of temporary assignments. I've taken periods of time off too, of course, and started back at work without too much trepidation. But these last two days of working, I have felt so anxious. Well, not exactly anxious as just nervousness in the pit of my stomach, which I wasn't able to shake. And tired too. I've felt exhausted when I've got home.

But, it has been nice walking into work again with Sam... and meeting him after work for the return journey, like when we first met when I worked for the black law firm. My boss even managed to locate us in the same part of the CBD.

Lucky me though, this first assignment is only for three days a week, so I have the next two days off. Lovely.

Anyway, it's cold tonight and getting late and I must go and crawl into bed next to Sam, he'll be nice and warm.

Orchids. People keep buying them for me. I'm not really a fan, as such

Early Monday Morning

Here it is after midnight on... what day is it? I have to think. It has been a good Easter, and it has just slipped away. Just like that.

Sam and Buddy have gone to bed. There is nobody warm to cuddle up to. I can hear Buddy snoring in his kennel. Sam will be snoring the same way. They both sound the same when they are asleep. No, they really do.

It is funny, the snoring thing. Sam snores like some sort of machine. I watched a doco on snoring, how it ruined the partners of snorers sleep/lives. I have to add, that I sleep like the dead, nothing wakes me up, but I can fall asleep listening to Sam snore.

Anyway...

I have accepted a job for 6 months in the city. Yes, I am going back to work. It doesn't seem very joyous, the thought of work. It just seems to be a waste of time. Oh yes, I know, the economy, social outlet, fulfilment, blah, blah, blah. I wish I'd done more interesting work. Why wasn't I a stand up comedian? Why wasn't I a digital animator? Why wasn't I a trust fund kid? I've never really cared for it, I've always been happier amusing myself. But, there you go, come Tuesday I am to front up...

... at some standard issue office, no doubt, with standard issue employees, oh what fun. "Here is your spot, here is the work you have to do, get to it."

I only have myself to blame, after all of this time off that I have had, I have done very little. Not a lot, to be truthful.

Bugger!

Back to work after 3 months off. Will I remember what I have to do, after all this time trying to forget what I do?

And at this time of night, it is, actually, tomorrow. Still 2 sleeps though.

GAY 101

If religion apologises for the rest of time, it will never make up for the gay lives it ruined.

Brownies

I made chocolate brownies. Sam says I have ruined them for him forever. He can't get it into his brain that they are only chocolate and nothing else. He has never just had the chocolate variety before.

Iced Water

My new favourite drink is iced water, lovely. It is the nicest drink, so simple, so refreshing.

Last night, Sam and I went out to eat. It was too hot at home and we wanted to get out of the house. We settled on our favourite Asian restaurant in Smith Street, which was very busy. We ordered and then I got us a bottle of water and 2 glasses. The water was hot, literally. I asked the waitress if she had some ice for the water, as it was practically undrinkable the temperature it was. She said she did. It is amazing how a few cubes of ice transformed the water.

I had to ask for ice 3 times. I felt a little guilty as they were busy and she looked exasperated each time that I did. But fuck it, I thought. The water needed ice and it was such an easy request to fill.

Moomba

Oh, the Moomba Parade... what an embarrassment for all Melbournians. A Girl Guide and a hula hoop and a length of ribbon, how do the commentators keep a straight face when they are reporting the um... er... spectacle?

A New Pair of Red Shoes

So the Pope is retiring, the first in 700 years, or thereabouts. So what does that mean? Like the yellow ducks in the old fashioned carnival shooting gallery, another one will pop up to take his place.

Hopefully, they will go for a progressive guy who will, at the very least, allow Catholic Priests to get married and have normal relationships, therefore putting all the little boys and little girls somewhat out of harms way.

Asian Boys

Asian boys are hot. They are sexy and good at sex. They like it a lot.

Black Boys

I reckon if I'd grown up in America, I could have had a thing for  African American boys.

I remember the first time I went to America as a gay man, one of the things I wanted to do was sleep with a black guy. And I did. He was lovely. His name was Anton. I took him back to my hotel room and we spent the night together. We had a lovely time.

Choofa's Delight

I was a just bit stoned as I drove down the Gertrude Street hill in the sunshine, on the way to the dog park (Before you get stuck into me, or tut tut to enthusiastically, I'd still say that I was under .05, if we had reasonable laws and had the same margin for smoking dope and driving, just the same as alcohol) I’d smoked all the joints that I’d rolled this morning. (But, it was a few hours later, by this stage) Okay focus. The sun shone through my sun roof and warmed my face.

Leave the house, get some exercise, before sitting down on my arse for the rest of the day.

A police car came the other way. The 2 coppers looked tucked away in the dark interior, the driver staring straight ahead, the side kick gazing out the side window. Then another police car came the other way, a divy van, with coppers who looked like they wore bullet proof vests inside, but that was probably just me imagining it. When I turned into Church Street, there had been an incident, of some sort, and there were a number of police cars, and a fire engine, lining the sides of Church Street. 

Of special note were a couple of hunky fireman with their hoses in their hands... or was that my day dream? And one copper in very tight blue pants, which showed off his thighs and arse in a very nice light. Were they standard issue trousers, I thought? The young copper waved me on and winked when we made eye contact, so, naturally, I winked back. 

I never see police cars usually. If I was one of those air-head types who needs to believe in something bigger than all of us, I might have thought something, or somebody, was trying to tell me something. God, some idiot called Allah, the rainbow serpent. You know, what is popular now a days. Whichever? Good thing I don't.

We got to the park, and Buddy ran off around the perimeter. I walked to the centre of the lush, green oval and blew another j. There was one chick there with a jet black Labrador, who, naturally, came walking towards me as soon as I got the bloody thing lit. I walked in the other direction, of course. She followed, of course, actually, her dog followed and she followed her dog.

The black Lab and Buddy ran around together, sniffing the same grass spot, pissing on the same fence post. Friends instantly. The Lab's owner and I kept our distance from each other, eyeing each suspiciously, the way strangers eye each other, keeping their distance. She looked at her phone, as people do now a days. I felt the serenity and the cool breeze on my face.

I am very happy with 40 kph speed limits, for my short drive home. Sometimes, I think that getting outside and breathing in the fresh air, makes your dope come on more strongly, or makes one feel the full effects more so than when you are sitting at home in a controlled environment, pissing the day away. Forty kilometre an hour speed limits are the choofa’s life saver, just chug along nothing can go wrong at all. 

No really, nothing.

The problem here, of course, is that those of you who like to get their knickers knotted over such claims have probably never been stoned, and are probably trying to equate it to being pissed, and it just isn't the same thing. Not even close.

There were still police cars in Church Street as I chugged home, with Buddy panting away from the back seat. I'm still not at all sure what the palaver was all about, but the strapping men of the various services, the strong and the brave, were standing on the edge of the road as if it was another good job done.