Is This Going To Keep Happening?

I told Sam over lunch that I am going down to Phillip Island with Tim and Nicholas at the weekend and that I would probably smoke some pot.

I kind of felt guilty that I wasn't inviting him. But, you know, all in good time.

He emailed me in the afternoon and said he couldn't continue having a relationship with a smoker.

He emailed me later in the afternoon and asked me to tell him that he'd made the right decision. I told him to look deep inside himself and he would find the answer.

So, I bought a packet of cigarettes on my way home and sat on a seat on the footpath, in the cold, at the top of Bourke Street and smoked one,  feeling what it was like to be dumped... again.

My first cigarette in how long? Is that irony?

I laughed at myself when I thought, I'm giving up on men. Then I stood up, took hold of my brief case firmly by the handle and headed home.

Last night, I tossed the cigarettes in the fire when he text me later, asking if I was stoned, or smoking? The cigarettes went in the fire just before I answered no.

He text me quite a few times wanting to know if I understood his decision?

 
If you don't want to, you don't want to, for whatever reason, I'm cool with that, I said. I feet sad about it, to be truthful, but I can't make you feel in a certain way.

I thought, for a boy who wants to dump me, has dumped me, you seem to be keeping up contact. Under other circumstances, I would have found it adorable.

The Many Faces of Christian

I laughed at Mark for sending emails to The Circle, yesterday morning, but then I spent the whole day watching What's My Line on YouTube. I never claimed that hypocrisy was beyond me.

Oh yes, busy days all around, as they say.

I started out with a cup of coffee and the on-line news around 10am, you know, easing into the day. There was an article about 93 year old Zsa Zsa Gabour falling out of bed and breaking her hip, as she answered the phone. This, naturally, led onto... link... link... click... click... 1950's game show... about the blindfolded panel guessing the mystery celebrity of the day. I watched 40 year old Zsa, then her sister Eva, and her sister Magda, you know, as you do. Then Joan Crawford. Natalie Wood, Dustin Hoffman, Mickey Rooney, Ava Gardiner, Sammy Davis Jnr, Jerry Lewis, Doris Day, Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Jack Lemmon and the rest. I can't get enough of it. I love it!

Suddenly, it was 3.30pm, the day had slipped away and I had to go do things. You know, as it can.

Oh, I love YouTube! It brings every thing back to the present, where, before, essentially, all those things were somewhat lost to us. I love it, I think it's grand. I can lose days on YouTube.

And Was It?

30-year-old US man Matthew M. exposed himself several times telling those he flashed they would see the "biggest penis in the world".

Okay, let's see it. He should head down Commercial Road on a Saturday night and try that same trick.

Police arrested him at his apartment, where he was allegedly surrounded by bags of cocaine. Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. Matt?

He was charged with two counts of exposure of sexual organs, and possession of cocaine and drug paraphernalia.

He is being held on $26,000 bail. For flashing your willy?

But, more importantly, was it? Hands raised in the air, questioning look. He's pretty cute we all want to see it. Was it worth looking at? Was it big? Was it filling up with blood, Matt? Would you let us touch it? Enquiring minds want to know? Why don't they confirm the most interesting parts (ha, ha) of the story.

Rainy, Rainy Day

Rainy, rainy day.

It was shining as I kissed Sam good bye this morning and headed out into the day. The sun was warm, sparkling, even, as I left the house. But then, sprinkle, sprinkle, followed by kerthunk, kerthunk of the windscreen wipers and it had turned grey even before I'd go to meeting my sister at lunch. I wanted to say, as I gazed skywards, Okay, as they used to say, enough already, Hughie. But, grimace, drought and all, dare I speak those words? You know, the farmers need it. The farmers? THE farmers? Why are we so concerned about the farmers? I ask you? I should be more concerned about my garden? But, I'm more concerned about the once green vista of the Garden State, which seems to have vanished, pretty much, in the more recent years. Remember when all of Melbourne's plentiful parks (you know, the ones that are left which haven't had yet another sports arena built on them) used to radiate with verdant hues? You know, if it looks pretty, that's what we're all concerned about, isn't it? That's why I'm not saying, enough already. So, yay for rain! Yay! Yay! Where's my Vuvuzela? Gritted teeth. Fists ready to roll into balls and shake sky-wards, as I run for the car.

Apparently So

The seasons come and the seasons go, as do droughts, apparently so. Water falls from the clouds, pitter pat, our most precious commodity, please more of that. More precious every year with the growing world population it is becoming more clear, that if we don’t act soon, we could be going down.

... and the climate is going to crap, crap, crap! The climate is going to whack, whack, whack.

The climate is going to crap...

It’s not like the scientists haven’t told us every year.

Yeessssss. Yes! Yes!

All the conservatives can do is sneer.

I’m sure the right wingers love their children too,

you’d reckon, you’d say so, you’d hope it was true.

But with all their climate denying, lies and untruths,

How can we conclude anything but not enough.

I find it quite fascinating, to think about what something was like when it was new, and what all the hypes around it sounded like, when you stand and look at the final resting place of, in this case, the product in question.

All that promise and look at it now. If it could speak, imagine the stories it could tell. The excited new owners, the adventures they all went on. Then, perhaps, the almost as excited second owners, and the lovely life they had together. Then, perhaps, the used car lots, and the tyre kickers, and the less than well to do 3rd owners, who perhaps kept it as a second car. Then the less wealthy owners, who didn’t look after it quite so much. Then the terrifying, 18 year old son of the final owners who drove it so it nuts and bolt rattle. And finally, what could almost be called the postmortem, where some crusty old mechanic gave the not-economically-viable appraisal, and its plates were remove and it was relegated to some back lot where the guys didn’t even bother to wind up all the windows and over successive winters rain got in and destroyed its last hope of being saved by the classic car owner.

Post script

Oh yes, post script, I won him back over the following day. He came for dinner to return my jacket, which I'd left at his place the Saturday night after the green curry. You know, my boyish charm worked it's magic. Ha, ha.

I lit an open fire and sat him in front of it, a few comfy cushions and the lights down low. I listened to him telling me it wasn't going to work and how I was going to drive him mad with my pot smoking and my recalcitrant ways. I decided a gentle form of attack was my best approach. So, I might drive you mad occasionally, well, at least you know you alive, if I do. But it will never be deliberate. Puppy dog smile. Lean in, big hug, big kiss (Apparently, I'm a great kisser, {not my words} it's not only he who has said so) and I felt him melt into my embrace and from there, I'd pretty much won him back. Ha, ha. Boy's aren't that complicated.

Oh, Now Where Was I?

Oh, now where was I? Write something, yes. I was going to find that letter to my younger self. Good idea, especially since I've already written it. But, I didn't find it, I'll get to it, but you know, back through the archives, what a head ache. Er! 

It's been an interesting week. End of the financial year and all. Jees, all that work, I had to get done, that I have got done now. Whew! Yay! Pat on the back. Now, you see, it all started last Friday, when I was really putting the old nose to the grindstone and getting stuck in. I'd forgotten how much hard work those not-quite-the-B/Fword can be. I mean to say.

Well, Sam had gone shopping waiting for me to finish working. He was texting me from David Jones telling me that it would be all my fault if he spends his entire year's pay entertaining himself waiting for me to be done. So, in the spirit of the occasion I was making certain promises that I wouldn't, eventually, be able to keep.

Yes, yes, I'll be finished soon. Yes, yes, not long now. Okay, fifteen minutes. Yadda, yadda, yadda, until I finally had to stop and say, you know what, I really need to get this done.

Okay, I'm going home now.

Okay, sorry.

So, I finished what I had to do and headed home an hour, or so, later. All sweet... so I thought.

Saturday, I headed off to see my mum. Apparently, she was dark on me for leaving her in the home, so said my brother and sister-in-law. It didn’t show when I saw her. We got money from the bank and bought a TattsLotto ticket and petrol. We went for a drive in the country to Warrandyte, then we ate pancakes at the pancake parlour.

I looked at her across the wooden table and felt sad. It is sad, watching your mother decline.

I feel kind of let down when I came home. Bored, well? I felt ordinary, everything felt ordinary. Call it staring my own mortality right in the face. 

I should call Sam, I thought. Maybe, I wouldn't be such good company. Shane was away. I might just build a fire and lie on the couch and watch teev mindlessly. That's what I felt like doing, you know, get my centre back, if you like. The V8 super cars were on, I hadn't watched them since I was a kid. It felt comforting, you know, like a glass of warm milk as a little tacker.

Sam text. He was in the city, did I want to catch up? Yes, it felt good, I should have text him, after all.

From the moment he arrived, I could see he was, well, at that stage, troubled.

You see, what I didn't really get was that he didn't head home, the previous night, because of my I-have-to-get-this-finished text, in fact, he misunderstood that text altogether. No, it was becoming apparent twenty four hours later, he went home because he was, well, really pissed off.

I was oblivious.

I could see his point, when it was pointed out to me. Grimace. I put up my case, tried to jolly him out of it. Laughed at the most inappropriate moments, oops. He wasn't buying it. You made me wait around for all that time and then you didn't turn up when you finally said you would.

But, but, but...

I'm going home.

Okay, I thought. Go home. But, actually, I stayed silent, by that stage. I was still taken aback.

And, surprise, surprise, he left.

I lay by the soft glow of the open fire, with the V8's going zoom, zoom and thought, what just happened?

So, I text him, Hey cranky pants?

Again, not one of my finest texts. He text back with anger. Grr! Gritted teeth. I asked him what he wanted me to do. His response was, you had better get your arse over here.

Okay, on my way. I picked up my keys and left for his place, with my tail firmly between my legs. I unreservedly apologised for everything and fell asleep in his arms. Oh, there was some of the other thing in between, smile, but I'm sure you don't want those details. And he cooked me a green curry, more than I deserved, so he said. At midnight I got up and left, as I had to be at Nicholas' early to take him driving.

Nicholas, Tim, Wendy, their next door neighbour and dog lover, and I went driving. Nicholas was to have two instructors, me and Wendy. Probably not ideal.

First stop the market at Fed Square, held in the multi level car park, all grey and concrete without an aspect. Apparently, it is supposed to be something of an upmarket affair, designer and the like. But really, it’s the same kind of tat as you’d find in any market. It was busy. There seemed to be a disproportionate number of people to what was on offer. Primarily, we went to see Tim and Nicholas’s friend’s dog stall, even that only seemed to consist of a few designer dog collars and leads.

I like the green and yellow ceramic jars and the small hands under a glass dome, which turned out to be hand soaps. I thought they were cute. Tim said they were creepy and bordered on paedophilia.

Then we went to Elwood for breakfast/lunch. We all had the big breakfast special of scrambled eggs, except for Tim who had Thai fish cakes. We all said afterwards we wished we’d chosen something different. Although, Elwood was gorgeous.

“Can we pat your Pug?” Nicholas asked a nice lady walking her Pug named Ming. Nicholas smiled broadly as he looked at me. I’d told Nicholas, not so long ago, that of all the small dogs, I quite liked Pugs. Ming was gorgeous, a little character. His little fat head rubbing in the palm of my hand with his snuffly noises was adorable. His owner said he loves attention.

Then we drove down the beach road to the Nepean Hwy, with Wendy and I both telling Nicholas what to do. We drove all the way down to Frankston, It was sunny and warm. There was a mother on the sand at the beginning of the Frankston jetty with two carrot topped kids. A couple of baby rangas, I said. I got chastised as Tim thought the mother would have been able to hear me.

To continue with the dog theme for the day, there was a Shar Pei in front of us, walking up the jetty with his two female owners. I was just about to say to Nicholas that you don’t see a Shar Pei very often when it leans forward and vomited everywhere. There was white frothy foam all over its mouth. I said to the owners, who were grabbing tissues from the baby bag, maybe he’s sea sick. They laughed.

We ate chocolate mousse cake, in the barn-like cafe, that was the size of someone’s head. We needed four spoons to get through it.

We came home and Nicholas suggested we go get pot. I agreed. Seriously, I thought he was kidding – Nicholas had quite for most of this year. The next thing he is on the phone organising it. But we needed something to smoke it out of, so we went to Nicholas’ mums for her spare bong – Nicholas had ditched his. His mum was smoking a bong when we got there. She packed me a pipe, while Nicholas was upstairs.

I ate dinner at Tim and Nicholas’. And my eyes half-closed in that familiar feeling and the couch became more comfortable than normal, the 3 bongs were hitting.

Shane called to ask if I was coming home to cook desert and while I pretended to be stone cold sober, I couldn't quite pull it off. He picked it straight off, actually.

Anyway, I decided not so long after that I should head home and make an appearance and quite possibly whip up that chocolate cake and surprise everyone.

My phone had been in my jacket and I hadn’t heard it ring. So, I wasn’t answering it, naturally. I didn’t check it until I’d got home, when I casually pulled it from my jacket pocket as I headed into the house. Sam had called 4 times and sent 3 messages... something about telling him I was okay. But, I hadn’t organised to see him, I hadn’t not turned up when I should have. I was a bit surprised, actually. So, I tried to make light of it and responded with the fact I’d been smoking pot and I was considering making a chocolate cake for our normal Sunday night dinner. Sam responded with he was dumping me. Oh yes, quite cross

I went to answer his text, but stopped and decided to think about it. What was the correct response? What would I say to him? I guessed, if that’s how I made him feel, maybe he was right, maybe I should be dumped.

I came home to the tail end of Sebastian’s dinner.

Mark L and I went and got more pot and the Kenwood from the M. Street kitchen to make the chocolate cake. I was very stoned by this stage and couldn’t help playing with the moles on Mark L’s back as he was bent over head first in the cupboard having trouble locating all the bits. Every time I tweeked them he'd bang his head on the cupboard, making cross comments about me stopping it. It was funny. Oh, I was just stupid really, I don’t know why... because they were there and I was feeling silly. I soon pushed him out of the way when he was being a "boy" about the utensil cupboard and found the missing bits which he couldn't.

I was thinking about Sam and his message the whole time.

Suffice to say we smoked the rest of the pot and the chocolate cake didn't get made.

1955 Fiat 1100

We had, what I would call, a permanent substitute teacher when I was in prep school. I’m not exactly sure what year? Year 1, or 2. She was young and pretty and she drove one of these, a 1955 Fiat 1100. So, of course, it would have been old back then when I was in prep. I have no idea if she was into old cars, but I can only presume now that she was, because it isn’t really you every day run of the mill old car.

I remember being fascinated with how the front doors opened backwards, but I have always been a car nerd, ever since I was young.

If I remember rightly, I think she used to wear, what I reckon you’d call, retro cloths. Stretch pants and tight, horizontally stripped tops, which I can only really picture now as retro. Otherwise, she was young, and attractive, with long silky brown hair. I’m guessing in the class that we were in, the boys were too young to really notice any of that, as they did in later years at my boy’s school.

What We Really Think Of The Police

I wrote this on my Facebook page, completely forgetting one of my friend’s sons – later, his mum turned out to be quite a loop, vaccine conspiracy theorist – had just become a policeman – big, strapping, red haired Lachlan – and it was fair to say he took offence at what I’d written about being a policeman.

Let’s face it, you have to be bordering on mental deficiency to want to do that job in the first place

Oh, I thought? Truthfully, I thought, just because you are now a policeman, Lachlan, it doesn’t make it any less true and, really, just recasts you in a somewhat suspect light.

But what I wrote was, obviously there are exceptions to anything, Lach.

Lachlan and I have never spoken again.

Coward

I suspect I might be a coward.

Do we all think that when we feel our fear? Oh yes, I feel cowardly, so I must be a coward?

Is that a standard response? Is it an excuse, or an explanation? I'm a coward so I don't have to look inside at myself. I am a coward and I accept this? Or os it an excuse for bad behaviour? I am a coward so I don't have to question my actions? It is an excuse for not doing any work on myself? I'm this way and that is that?

I'm a coward.

What you are saying is that you are lazy. You are so lazy that you won't even lift a finger to stop people calling you bad names.

It's Nothing You Haven’t Seen Before

I watched Avatar with Shane last night, only on dvd, admittedly. Hmm? Yeah. James Cameron mixed Bambi with the Empire Strikes Back. What was the big deal? It was nothing we’d not seen before. Tell people something is new and they are sucked in oh so easily. There has even been a movie with set in trees just like that, what was that called?

Jill was right when she said, It's nothing you haven’t seen before. I expected her to enthuse, being the si-fi buff, but she didn't. It kind of put me off seeing it until now.

I’m Sorry To Disturb You On Your Days Off, He Says

Sam wakes me sometime after 8am and says I have to get up. His face gazing down at me is a nice way to wake up. 

I’m sorry to disturb you on your day off, he says. Then he laughs... so I don’t believe him. 

It crosses my mind to comment on the sweet smelling stuff he has on, but I think better of it. I like boys to smell natural, I have to say. 

Note to self, work on Sam’s after shave habit.

He misses his train; it crosses the crossing, just up the road, as we step out onto the street. It’s 8.30. 

I say good bye.

He looks at me with wide eyes.

I can drive you, I offer almost as a defence mechanism.

Sydney Road is a remarkably easy drive. I wonder if it is because of school holidays. I drive him to my turn off on Royal Parade – Cemetery Road West – and he catches a tram to work.

I'm thinking breakfast.

I head to the supermarket to buy milk, on Jackson’s recommendation. I don’t know how, but Jackson and I get to talking about the price of milk at Coles, last Sunday over lunch. 

Funny the things you talk about when you aren’t stoned off ya bonce.

You can get 3 litres of no-name brand milk for $3 something, said Jackson. 

I pay $5 at the milk bar for 2 litres of Rev. I never think about such things. I guess that is what they count on.

Jackson’s right, 3 litres for $3.50. I’m surprised. I remind myself that the supermarket and the milk bar are not that much different in distance, from my front door, certainly no difference especially if you consider the large price difference. And now that they have those self service checkouts, the supermarket seems much more appealing that it did once when the thought about standing in the queues drove me to the milk bar. I tell myself not to be so slack.

I’m home by 9am with milk and a newspaper and a blueberry bagel, which turns out not to be so good.

I Didn’t See Her, He Said

Sam and I walk to work together, from my place.

On the corner of Bourke and Exhibition, there was a woman, clearly drunk, obviously homeless, dirty and unkempt, hanging from a pole outside Elephant & Wheelbarrow. I looked at her closely, as we walked passed. She probably wasn’t that old, maybe forty, probably not even. Her gaze was blank and staring off into nowhere. She was quite good looking, or at least, she would have been if not for the grime and the degradation and it struck me, how does that happen? A life of abuse, from family and/or addictions? A life of hardship? A few bad choices? How? 

A flash of her pretty face, together and loved, flashed in my mind, as I looked away. I could see her in another role, competent and succeeding in life, just momentarily. I could see her living another life...

I looked back, she hung from the pole. She didn’t look at me, or see me looking. What will happen to her, I thought? We all walked passed her, seemingly, not caring. Me too. 

I felt sad for her... but, that is not enough.

Sam asked what I was looking at.

That woman.

What woman?

Back there, holding on to the pole, homeless.

He shrugged. I didn’t see her, he said.

That’s kind of the problem, I said.

Booking Tickets Late

I go on line to book the tickets to the Gold Coast for Tim’s birthday, late. I'm just off to bed, I'm shutting down my computer, I look at the wall paper I created, BOOK YOUR TICKETS TO QUEENSLAND!

I hate booking tickets on line, I don’t know why... flying by the seat of my pants, ha, ha, not really knowing what I am doing, a-ha, I guess, is the reason.

The first thing I do is tip my glass of water into my keyboard. Doh! Water goes every where. This is not starting out well. I think about giving up once I have the water mopped off my desk finally, but I don't. You can do this, YOU CAN DO THIS NOW!

I get the tickets booked by midnight.

So, no more of Tim and Nicholas asking, Have you booked those tickets. And me squirming with my admission that I still haven't. Them looking at each other as though they are convinced I don't want to go.

Last Sunday they both asked me. Then, when I said I hadn't, they both handed me copies of their itineraries, both saying that it might help.

Okay, okay, I thought.

So, Gold Coast here we come!

Would you believe me if I told you I'd never been to the Gold Coast before?

What?

Sam keeps commenting on my writer's mind and his computer mind. He says my fictional brain screws with the meaning of things far too much for his analytical brain. 

We have to continually be careful not to miss each other's meaning. Actually, that translates as I can screw with his thought processes so that he misses my meaning.

He's gorgeous though. He just gives me that look, that half smile, those eyes and I say, "What?" Mock-grimace, hands in the air. And then his face breaks into a full smile and he shakes his head.

"I can re-phrase?" I offer.

"No. You don't need to. You are funny."

“One day you’ll learn that life isn’t all iphones and ipads, you know.”

“And one day you’ll learn that it is.”

Then we both laugh.

It's funny the things people think about you, hey? I mean, I work with figures all day, so, I mean, how esoteric can I really be? Huh? I mean to say?

I mean, one of the most "Ah!" moments of my life came only a few years ago when I met a new guy. I was talking about how I like to write, but when he found out what I did for a living he declared, laughing, I might add shrilly, You're not a writer, you are an accountant. Ah! Suffice to say, he didn't make it passed the second date.

I didn't like to be rude and say to Sam, No buddy, it's your computer nerd brain that you are highlighting here, not my avantgarde way of expressing myself. Maybe, I should start using parchment and blood ink, delivering messages by pigeon, rather than texting? Or maybe, I should talk in Elizabethan English?

He wraps those perfect legs of his around you and holds you tight, as he stares into your eyes making you feel like the only person in the world. 

I Shook My Head

Shane complained that David had eaten all of his Nutella. David complained that he was being unfairly accused. But, David has an incredible appetite and was always to blame for food when it went missing. He's a pig, there, I've said it. He can eat his own body weight without breaking a sweat. Not to mention the nights he got on the Stillnox and raided the fridge in a coma. We used to call it his Heath Ledger mix. What was it he used to take, Trammil, Mobic, Stillnox and Valium.

Oh yes, a very Zen Yogi... nothing but the "moves" (should that read positions?) and the "good word", you know how it is.

The truth of the matter is that it was me who ate the Nuttella. You know, a late night snack on toast, a boy gets hungry. I never meant to hide it, I didn't need to. I was going to own up, but when it turned out that David got the blame, well, what the hell. I've made sure that I haven't eaten any of it since David moved out.

Shane said to me today, "See..." holding up the half empty Nutella bottle... "Nothing gone since David left, I knew he was lying."

I smiled. "You know what he's like."

"The fact that he could look me right in the eye and tell lies like that."

I shook my head. "Some people."