Blood Tests, Marriage Certificates

Sam and I are off to have blood tests. I guess that signals marriage, hey? Today. I went this morning, he's going at 4pm. It just seemed like too much for me for us to go together. Shaking my head, just too cute.

Sam called his non-gay medical centre at QV, last week, who said they only do blood tests with letters from a doctor. WTF? What does that even mean? What kind of medical centre... oh, never mind. I forget sometimes that I live in gay world and that things operate quite differently beyond its boundaries.

As Tom used to say, not every one lives in the ghetto and takes drugs and dances the weekend away, Christian. I've since stopped taking drugs, but I'm sure you still get my point.

Sam called my gay doctor, who said just come in you don't even need an appointment. Of course, that was wrong too. You may not need an appointment for a blood test, but you firstly need the paperwork which you can only get from seeing the doctor.

I rolled my eyes and strummed my fingers on the counter.

Of course, I got there first thing. "Let's get this over and done with." So, I had to hang around for an appointment. I bumped into Mark W. and two other friends R & Z, it was like old home week. Mark was getting his nerve pills, R was getting his monthly medication and Z was having his cock swabbed, as something was dribbling out of it. We all raised out eye brows at Z's story, but we're all old friends, we've all been there. We laughed about it. Z said something about the cause being a bad tackle on too much meth. R asked him if it smelt and we all recoiled.

"No," said Z. He grimaced. "It sticks my foreskin to my boxers, though." He tried to smile. We all recoiled again.

I went in first. When I came out, I said, "Good luck." Mark looked nervous, R said, "yeah thanks for that." Z did a boy scout salute.

The Best Culinary Decisions

I forgot to get sushi. It was raining, I got on a tram instead of walking home. I was going to eat healthy all week, I promised myself. Oh well.

I was crossing the road heading off to get my fish & chips for dinner, when a jogger came prancing towards me in little shorts and a white singlet, tall and lean, as if the universe was emphasising my food choices. As I looked as his lithe limbs and small black shorts hugging his athletic arse, I rubbed my pudding-bowl of a belly and wondered if I was, actually, making the right culinary decisions?

 

Risk Aversion

Apparently, the 21st Century fear, that makes parents fret about their kids, turning them into scared spoilt brats, despite the fact that crime is generally down on what it was twenty years ago, is called risk aversion.

Translation - living your life in fear. 

Cosmo Jarvis - Gay Pirates

Ooooo!

 Oh, I'm feeling a little bonged-over, I can tell you. After a week of not smoking, I let loose last night. Oh my head? Well, it was my birthday. I'm feeling plain, the pain, oh the pain.

I might go back to bed.

Coffee.

Sunday nights, when they are special we put a table cloth on the table and set the silvery cutlery and we call them our white cloth dinners. Barmitzphers, engagements, birthdays. Happy birthday to me.

Soup, asparagus souffle, roast pork, chocolate mousse and apple and rhubarb crumble.

Sebastian cooked the mains and Luke cooked the deserts.

My favourite was the beetroot salad. (Even if I can easily mistake the effects for bowel cancer the next day)

But, back to this morning. Cough, cough! My muesli went down the wrong way, and now I can't stop spluttering. My head booms with every hack. My nose seems to have let loose with all of the activity and now it feels like I'm in the midst of a cold. My eyes are watering from all the hooking while my nose drips.

Shower.

Anything Is Possible

Ah, Saturday morning; the gentle hush, no need to rush.  Don't you just love that lazy feeling of the first morning of the weekend? Coffee, computer, anything is possible.

What am I gonna do?

Before I have time to think, Sam texts, he's just up the road, he'd just had brunch with friends, do I want him to drop in?

Yes, I say. I feel excited at the thought. It's nice? That warm feeling, like a sunrise inside. I haven't had a shower. I'm still in my pyjamas. I guess, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Big smile. 

He doesn't care.

David tells me I'm married, Shane calls him my boyfriend, so does Mark and yet I resist. I don't know why?

I don't have to call it anything. It's funny how people rush to label it. It has to be something, it has to mean this, it has to be going there, we have to be doing that. Why can't it just be? I'm enjoying the moments; a string of lovely moments.

A bit like Saturday morning, enjoy the moment, and the rest of the weekend will follow naturally.

I just like being with him, I don't try to make it any more complicated than that.

I Wish Fev Would Flash His Willy At Me

There was no talk of Fev being threatening, or aggressive, or predatory because, don't you worry, it would have been headlines if he had. It just seems like he was drunk and dopey. So, why didn't the woman just laugh it off? You know, the famous, she'll be right attitude that Aussie's once had. Put it away before you embarrass yourself. Is that as big as it gets?

Is it because every incident like this is now a potential suing opportunity. Every mistake made by the famous and wealthy, or whoever, is a chance for the nobodies to drain them of some easy money?

I think it is.

I reckon he'd have a nice one, too. Italian sausage and all. He's a big boy. (Raised eyebrows) Should we look at his feet. Thumb to pointer finger tip measurement? Direct correlation to his height? Divide by his weight and multiple by 100?

What do you reckon he did? Grabbed the waist band of his pants and just pulled down? "Here, look at this."

Or, do you think it was more casual, you know, like a wardrobe malfunction? Oops! Although, I'm not sure how you'd just casually drop it out? You know, like some people may not even notice.

I reckon it would have been boning up... although, pissed as a maggot... well, that's how I picture it, anyway. Big smile.

Come flash it at me Fev, I won't complain like a little girl.

Ice Cream Truck

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam has sent me the latest picture in his car collection. How cute is that, he may turn out to be perfect, yet.

I'm always banging on about cars, taking him to see them, stopping him in the street to look at them. Explaining their history. You know, getting him to admire them. Teaching him the language. Broadening his horizons.

After he took a photo of a car in the street, a 1950's Wolseley 1500 to be exact, to impress me with his observational skills, I suggested to him, somewhat tongue in cheek, that he should take more and I could start a collection of his cars photos. He is now up to number 4. He has a good eye too – the Wolseley, a VW Beetle, a Citroen 2CV and a beautiful powder blue Mini 850. Gorgeous.

Beautiful, I say.

Old, he says.

Suck On That Faggots!

Oh, who cares what Stephanie Rice said on her tweet. "Suck on that faggots!" Really, how shameful. She should be put to death, immediately.

Come on guys, surely we're not that precious. Who cares? It must be obvious to all she didn't say it with hatred and spite. Technically, a faggot is a bundle of sticks, after all. She didn't say, Filthy cock suckers should die!

What a precious little bitch Ian Roberts has turned out to be. "She is an idiot ... and anyone who continues to endorse her as an athlete is an idiot as well," Roberts told the media.

What? She now deserves to have her life ruined? That's what he's saying, isn't it?

There are more important things. Stop rushing to be outraged.

Oh, stop elevating the banal to something is just isn't. Lighten up. There are people in this world who don't have access to fresh drinking water.

2026 - I don't think I agree with what I have written here any longer.

The Light Is Fading To Black Beyond The Windows

I should have stayed and helped Mark. He said he wasn't sure if he was going to get it all done on his own.

You know, Marks still the one who I think of when I think of getting old with someone. He's the one I think of being in my life forever. He's the one who I wonder how I'll go on living if ever he were not here any more.

You know, Sam just understood that, naturally. Not that there isn’t room for him. The fluidity of relationships, we can make, we do make, have made, them up as we go along. It’s another reason why I don’t care about gay marriage. There’s nothing wrong with love, I just think it draws the model too narrow.

I should be helping Mark when he needs help.

I have got a lot on my plate, though, you know. I'm not exactly slacking off. And he's got Luke.

But, they had guests staying, and I sometimes get antsy when there are guests staying, I'm never sure what I can do, what I want to do. It is hard to relax, despite them getting in the car and going out for the day.

Besides, Mark had got an ounce of pot for his best friend's best friend. Guido supplied it, agreed to do it in future. Mark didn't ask me, he just said he'd put it in my car and his friend Mark's friend (are you keeping up?) would call me.

Okay? Cool. Why not.

As I accelerated onto the highway at 120 k's, I wondered if  I'd feel like Shapelle Corby, if the cops pulled me over, and I dropped back to the legal limit.

Don't smoke any of it, said Mark.

What? I thought. That's like giving an alcoholic booze to deliver. I knew I could get two joints out of it, probably a bit more without causing any alarm. You know, some anal retentive withstanding. Most pot heads are just grateful to have supply returned, they don't notice.

Antsy over gusts, my arse. Who was I kidding. I wanted to leave so I could lay on my couch and get stoned by myself. Sad but true.

I got in the car and left.

Cyndi Lauper sang the blues.

Besides, I'd give someone a bud for reconnecting me to a source, I thought, as I removed a bud from bag one. He'll never notice. It looks no different. I've been stealing dope from dope bags for many years, they never notice, pot heads don't. Automatically, my self-editor kicked into action... ed note - now there's a claim to fucken fame, if ever there is one.

I built an open fire and got ripped.

I think that smoking is bad for me, as I look up bleary-eyed into the darkened room, the open fire's shadows flickering in the room, I snigger, it makes me steal and lie and become reclusive. The light is fading to black beyond the windows.

We've been smoking dope since the election. There is no correlation, it just happens to be the night we broke the drought. I bought some, then Shane bought some. And Sam has smoked quite a lot, despite declaring that he hates it at every opportunity. He still reaches out for it and he still gets a great big hard-on from the effects.

I'm just saying that's too long. I'm not complaining about the outcomes, you understand. Time to give it a break. It's hardly just the occasional one, anyway you read, you know, after two weeks. That much I know.

I eat mandarins and kiwi fruit and bananas. I haven't had a banana in how long? Oh, blush, except for Sam's. I eat yogurt with passionfruit, raspberry jam toast, cumquat jam directly from the jar. I eat honey and yogurt toast, it's like ice cream and maple syrup. Honey and yogurt is a symphony.

Gold Kiwi Fruit Rock

It was wet, it rained all the way to the country. Heading out of Melbourne was quite beautiful though, with a huge sun in the sky and the rain falling like crystals through the bright light. I had a problem seeing, though, a minor hazard, I grant you. With my sunglasses on, everything blacked out except for the bright rays glowing on the silvery bitumen in front of me. But, the inside of the car was black, I couldn't see the dashboard. Ah, but who cares how fast you are driving anyway. Speed limits are for pussies. Fortunately for me, I can just naturally drive at 100 ks by feel and instinct. I settled back in the seat and enjoyed the magical view along the silver brick road.

It was wet though, there was pools of water all along the side of the road. There was even water over the Calder Highway itself, at one point. My tyres lost grip; they both spun, the engine revved, then they bit back, the car did a small wobble, like a body flex and then were back on track.

The rain pummelled the road, turning the first six feet off the ground into a swirl of water and spray and steam, as we belted across it's surface like sure-footed athletes. There was a fershhhhhhh sound as the road slipped away underneath. I love that kind of driving, it's exciting. It feels like we are all driving really fast, except that we were all doing the speed limit, in this age where we're all ruled by legislation more and more, where we dutifully drive at the speed limit, even I sit on 100 ks now a days, 110 on the Calder.

I turned off on to the country road and instantly had to decide whether or not to drive through the half-flooded road, from a bank-broken dam, before me. Yes? No? Think of Xmas time? Oh, no, I'm going through, don't close your eyes and hope. And I made it, I'm through, such a panic over nothing. Accelerate, into 6th.

All the gullies coming down the sides of the dirt side roads were surging with water, gushing towards the intersections. Some diverted around corners, some were spreading across the road in front of me. None had spilled onto my side yet. Whoosh when the trees.

It's still good to see the rain, as I slipped gold kiwi fruit, after gold kiwi fruit, into my mouth. I took my mum shopping before I left, she wanted bananas. We bought a tattslotto ticket in my name, bought me grocery’s at Coles and bought me lunch. She was happy to go back to the home after that. I didn't go see her last Thursday, I just couldn't face it. I told her I had to work, you know, with Beck leaving and all. She bought that no problem. I think it was the first Thursday since she's been in there that I've missed, though. I'm allowed a day off, I reckon.

I flung the banana peel out the window on the wet highway, thank the universe for electric windows and automatically wondered what I was thinking? It's organic, it'll feed the birds, or some animal, and what's left will turn back into soil, it's nutrients for the land. I laughed. I'm sure we're all too uptight as a society for that kind of carry on and I decided not to throw the next one out. I tossed it into the compost bin in the kitchen when I got there. I wondered how the two actions were dissimilar? The open fire roared, golden shadows licked inside the room. The cold and the rain was a distant pat pat pat on the tin roof. I shrugged and headed for the mull bowl and didn't both with an answer.

 

Off to the Country

Off to the country, it's been a while. Wish me luck with all of the inclement weather that is covering much of country Victoria. Up Woodend way, where I'm off to, they have had masses of amounts of rain in the last 24 hours. Apparently, our little cottage, which is on lower ground, has had water rushing through it.

Time to get out of the city and to feel the freshness of an unspoilt landscape.

This rain is like Victoria of old, rather than having those heavy down pours as we've been having lately, it is raining more constantly over a longer period of time. It's nice, rain to enjoy. The gentle sprinkling of rain to watch and listen to. I think the drought may well be over. Yay, for the garden state.

Happy Ever After

Boyfriends, they are like people, you know, they have feelings you have to take account of. Not thinking for one, now, hey? It's an adjustment, I'd forgotten. I guess Manny wasn't very demanding, in a lot of ways. Some may say, a joyous adjustment and I might agree in my lighter moments. Other times, I'm left thinking, do I really want this? But, I think that's healthy... let's leave "taking for granted" for a long way down the track.

Once you are thinking about them, when they are not around, you know you are a gonna.

Sam's funny. I'm not really the type who believes in happy ever after. I suspect he might be? He just looks at me sometimes with some of the things I think. Like Shane's recent birthday when we halves in a present (my friends just buy small gifts, a token. Sebastian gave Shane a potato masher) and I decided that we should both buy a card. Two cards, one present.

It's why I don't believe in gay marriage, because I don't believe in marriage at all. Nothing lasts forever, happily ever after doesn't exist, for the vast majority. It's a virtual myth enjoyed by a very few.

So, if you like, there are no rules. You can do what you like, make them up. That's what I think is real.

That's not to say that I don't believe in love. I do. The rest is just filler.

But, it is nice thinking about someone else, I had forgotten in three years. How quickly... hey? Someone who  who fits in your arms, snugly, who smells nice and tastes good, who makes you think, who makes you laugh, and, I guess, ultimately (following the logic) who makes you cry. It's all a part of the same experience. But, that rush, that giddiness, that inner glow, that smile, nothing quite takes its place.

Not that Sam and I call each other boyfriends, we don't. But, the possibility is nice. The possibility, that's what we all dream off, it doesn't matter who you are.

It's the Monkey...

Two of my friend's have said recently they would take a drug to stop them from getting horny all the time, if such a drug existed. (funny, aren't the pharmaceutical companies trying to do the opposite?) They say it's annoying, a need, a want, an urge they could do without, each morning, or late at night.

"Hell, lunch time in the toilets," said G. "It's the monkey..."
"Every day," said S. "I get it over and done with when I first wake up. I have to."
S said he sometimes finds it a crushing urge.
G said he does it morning, noon and night. He once did it at the day time wedding of his best friend.

I remember when I was sixteen, it was every spare moment I got. Not a problem.

I was surprised when the two of them said it, within a couple of days each other. They were both serious.
G said it used to get in the way of other things he wanted to do. "Eye on the prize, buddy, that's how it was." He smiled. "But, you know, sometimes now I get sick of my dick making all the decisions."

I laughed, I thought it sounded weird. But, deep down, I knew it was true. I'd just never heard anyone say it quite like that before, not out loud. And then both of them had said it, just like that.

All that energy pulsing, isn't that what we're attracted to? What makes men men?

It's tough being a guy.