The Council and Buddy

My neighbour - I'm not sure if I want to use neurotic, or toxic - over the back has complained to the council about Buddy barking. 

So, I met with the nice man from the council. He said he'd come in the morning. He arrived at 9am. My mate Anthony and I laughed about it later, 
"Who arrives at 9am," said Anthony. "It is inhuman, for god's sake."

Buddy ran to the door before I could stop him. I mean, not that I really wanted to stop him exactly, but the doorbell rang and he was gone and I was left running after him. He can be a bit of an excitable puppy with new people at the door and I wanted him to be on his best behaviour, of course.

He was at the door wiggling with his little tail wagging, when I got there. I opened the door, thinking hear we go, and Buddy stepped out on to the front veranda and greeted the nice man from the council, with his cutest bulldog face.

"Hello, you're beautiful," the man said. He looked at me and said, "He didn't bark then."

"No," I said. "He doesn't bark alot."

I gave the council guy my story. He was just following procedure, as they have to. We sat in the lounge and the Buddy won the council man over with his adorable bulldoggy ways.

He showed me her log. I showed him my log. My log contradicted her log on several days. She'd put down that Buddy had barked for minutes on some days when I knew he'd barked 6, maybe 8 times. He was asleep on my bed in my room on one occasion that miss neurotic said he barked. I disputed the five minute sessions she claimed he barked for.

"I don't think bulldogs can breath well enough to bark for 5 minutes straight."

We both laughed.

"Essentially, we are only interested in dogs that bark incessantly, or continuously. We are not interested in dogs just being dogs, we understand that dogs do bark. Her log itself shows us that he didn't bark for 4 days at all. We are not interested in pursuing this case. We sometimes have to speak to people about the reality of living in the inner suburbs and we think this may be one of those cases."

Dream boat Anthony Nelson

I Can't Breathe

LouLou came over for a sleep over, arriving some time around 7pm. She bought the pot and we rolled joints furiously, as we seem to do when LouLou is around.

Sam cooked rice noodles. We were watching the TV and I’m not really sure exactly what happened, I laughed and coughed at the same time with a mouthful of food. A noodle when down the wrong way and I gagged on it. It seemed to stick in my throat. I choked, I coughed and the noodle blocked my air passages completely and for a split second I couldn’t breathe, I could get any air at all. Nothing.

I’m sure that the picture of the lounge room that was in my field of vision began to fade. I seem to remember it going an unusual shade of green, just slightly, as if a filter had been put over it.

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered.

I still couldn’t get breath, a second later, nothing, breathing in and there was just nothing.

I think it dislodged enough for me to get breath as I stood up. LouLou was good and told me to breathe through my nose and I could get breath and the panic subsided, despite it still feeling like the food was lodged in my throat.

It seemed to take quite a while for the food to clear, even though I could breathe okay. There was a small worry that the food might shift again and block my air passage again. I wondered if I should go to hospital? I coughed and spluttered and tried to make myself vomit up the food, something I have never been able to do, not even with my fingers down my throat.

I guess it was frightening, I'm not sure now, it all happened so quickly.

Sam, of course, blamed it on the mega amount of pot that we had smoked. He said next time that we shouldn’t smoke the huge amount of pot that we had smoked. Mari, as he puts it, is always to blame according to him.

What a Mess!

I had to work, euw! Three days, Friday, Monday, Tuesday. Well, I guess I didn't have to work, the truth is I chose to. And all the way there - a fifteen minute car ride - I said to myself, Why? Why? Why?

I was sent out to another not for profit organisation. What a mess! What is it with not for profit organisations? What a mother fucking mess! I love it (that is sarcasm) when they just quickly discuss what it is they want me to do, when in that brief discussion, followed by a sincere smile, the true magnitude of what it is they want me to do becomes clear. I usually clear my throat - read check the exits for an escape route - and say, Can we just run through that again?

Ahh! You want me to do that in 3 days? And there was some sort of problem with the computers and they weren't operational until lunchtime. Ahh! So, Monday and Tuesday should be fun. Not!

And all the time I just think I am just becoming a winy pants, as Sam would say.

Good thing my buddy LouLou came for a sleepover and we smoked pot until the wee small hours just to forget what mess is waiting for me on Monday.

That Great Aussie Tradition of Taking a Sickie

Sam took a sickie today, (look of surprise) he is lying on the couch behind me on his iPad, with the baby bulldog resting his fat face on Sam's arm. 

Oh yes, it is my influence, bad me. He doesn't want to work any more. He wants to retire, like he says I have. Even if I'm going to work tomorrow, Jack finally caught up with me. I'm working 3 days, how will I cope? I ignored his calls for 2 days, but he called yesterday when I was feeling more like talking.

Sam now says he hates the salt mines, and that work is pointless and they are all cunts! Oh, cringe, who does that sound like?
But, you know, it must be hard going to work when your boyfriend sits at home on his fat arse, his most taxing responsibility taking the dog to the doggy park, I understand that.

Anyway, enough of that, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. Apparently, we are heading to the phone shop to buy me a new phone. I see it as tightening the ties that bind me to 3. I really wouldn't be dashing to the phone shop to get a new phone that I really don't need just because my contract is up, but the camera on my phone is shit, really shit, and I do like taking photos... so a new phone it is.

Yay!

The Beautiful, Talented People

I just love this

Buddy asleep under the coffee table

All better

He's a much happier bulldog today, just in case you were wondering. He bounced in the door this morning all customary wriggles and snuffling, giddy with excitement, bending his face around to his arse, like a banana, and then back again. 

He's straight up onto the couch. He likes his comforts.
"Get off!"
Then he is back up onto the couch, as I am telling him off for the first time.
"No, get off."
But, he looks me in the eye and he heads straight back up onto the couch again, as I am telling him off for the second time.
"No."
Then it is a paw up on the couch, as we eyeball each other.

So, pretty much, back to normal.

We're off to the dog park, the sun is shining, the sky is blue.

Sick Puppy

I've got a very low energy bulldog today. He's looking very droopy about the mouth... ha, ha. He's different, changed, something seems wrong with him. 

We still head down the dog park and he does spark up and run around, but not for long, not like usual.

If I was paranoid, I'd think someone might have given him something, some woman who thinks he barks too much, for instance.

I got movies and watched them all afternoon. Oh yeah, I still don't know what I'm going to do with my life, I still haven't figured that out, so I figured a little celluloid relief couldn't go a stray.

I watched Animal Kingdom about the underworld. It's the movie that got Jackie Weaver noticed in Hollywood And Ice Men about a group of hot straight mates who go away for the weekend, which was very homoerotic.

At 18.30, when I am heading upstairs for something, I could see something was on the front doorstep. There was a bag and a note.

"Thank you for keeping the dog inside, I really appreciate it. I baked you something as a thank you."

I immediately thought, you poisoned my dog and now you are taunting me.

Buddy lay quietly all night, very quiet. He was very sleepy, he hardly moved. And at one stage he stood up and vomited.

The thing is that I haven't kept him inside at night not at all, not for one night. I tried to tell her that bulldogs are low bark dogs, however... Oh well, it is good, I have her notes for if it was ever escalated to some authority.

Stressing. Perhaps "They" Were Right? Perhaps I Am No Good With Conflict

Oh I'm stressed out about the [problem] neighbour, not that I have heard from her in the last few days.

I've put the dog outside and sat in the lounge room for hours watching TV and not a sound from him.

I've typed on my laptop until the wee small hours and nothing, not even a yip.

I've come down in the middle of the night, 3am, on several occasions, and sat in the dark for a few hours determined to hear him bark, if he barks, and not a sound.

All I've heard him do is a very characteristic bulldog snore from his kennel.

I spoke to my neighbour directly next door and while I didn't ask about his barking specifically, she asked about him in such glowing terms she clearly isn't a neighbour who is kept awake by a dog barking.

I spoke to Jackson, my other neighbour and he replied, "I didn't even realise you had got a dog, mate."

I'm nervous when I put him outside at night. When I am in bed I think every noise is a dog barking.

Whiny Pants

The neurotic chic next door and over the back is apparently hysterical and completely strung out. Her housemate came to speak to me. According to her housemate, she is highly strung and overwrought, at the best of times, but with the bulldog barking for 30 seconds in the night, she is about to lose her shit. Apparently, she is in tears and can't work. The inference is that the housemate can't live with her in this state, so she has come to plead the neurotic's case.

"Can't he sleep in side?"
"No, he can't sleep inside," I said. "He has his kennel and a part of his job, be it a small part, is to guard the house."

And tonight, I get a note that he barked at 4am and please can't I keep him inside over the weekend, as there will be lots of street noise which he will probably bark at.

Neither of them are listening. No he can't sleep inside, I have told both of them that... just because he might bark, literally, once, by their own admission, woof woof, in the night.

It is funny how it is only behaviour modification for our house which is suggested. According to both of them, Miss Neurotic has trouble sleeping at the best of times and yet, it would seem, never has she considered behaviour modification on her part.

If she is so highly strung and so easily strung out by any noise in the night, why doesn't she consider ear plugs (or therapy, or pills) (or... a... long dive off a short cliff, no, I don't mean that). Several of my housemates have used earplugs in the past. It is called inner city living. She works from home and presumably, she doesn't have to get up at a specific time to go to work. And I believe the problem she has is her problem of an inability to sleep, which is the main problem, sure Buddy isn't helping, but I don't really think he is the main problem.

I think maybe I might buy some earplugs and put them in her letterbox.

I have spoken to my other neighbours today, without specifically mentioning if the dog barks or not, and they have all asked after him, telling me how lovely they think he is.

Floating

I like walking down my quiet street and closing my eyes as I head along the footpath. It gives me a sense of space and weightlessness... defying gravity, kind of thing. There is a certain recklessness to it, safe recklessness, pussy recklessness, sure and a certain trust in the unknown, in my remaining senses, all at the same time. I can almost feel them pulse the moment my eyelids slide shut. It feels cool, kind of like floating, or drifting in time and space. There is that sense of gliding, skimming through the air.

Floating. Close your eyes and jump. Take the leap. Let go.

Most People Just Hope It Stops The Child Abuse

George Pell welcomes the enquiry into child abuse in the Catholic Church, as he hopes this will stop the media smear campaign of his church.

That must be one of the greatest pieces of spin I have ever read.


I thought the Catholic Church was here to minister to the faithful, and to tend to the poor and to guide the disadvantaged and to give… oh, ah, no, apparently, I was wrong.

 

I Don't Know... If There Really Is An Answer To This

The doorbell rang early this morning, first thing. There was a blond chick standing there looking at me when the door swung open. She looked a bit nervous, or needy, or something. She was the neighbour from over the back come to complain about Buddy barking at night.

“I have trouble sleeping.” She looked nervous... or was that uptight? I'm not sure. "He barks and wakes me up and I can't go back to sleep."

"Oh, really?" Oh, that is terrible, I thought. I'd hate to be "that" neighbour. “So how much does he bark?” I asked. I was grimacing on the inside waiting for the answer.

“Oh once or twice.”

Oh, that's not to bad. "Per night?"

"Yes."

“And how long does he bark for?” Grimace. Please don't say hours.

“Maybe, up to a minute.”

What? "Up to a minute?" It was just sinking in.

"Yes."

“So you are saying that he barks for 1 to 2 minutes, per night?”

“Yes.”

Oh come on? “So you are not saying that he barks all night.”

“No, but it is enough to wake me up.”

She had lost me, I knew it, she knew it. “Well, he is a dog, he will bark. I don’t think there is much I can do about him barking once, or twice a night.”

"So that is it then, is it?"

I wanted to say yes, but I don't want her to be upset by my dog, even if I don't think she is being particularly reasonable.

That is what dogs do, they bark. “I’ll see what I can do?” It was a little disingenuous because I didn’t really intend to do anything.

"I was hoping he could sleep inside," she said.

I smiled. And closed the door.

Having thought about it, however, I actually want him to bark that much. We have lane ways all around us, being the inner suburbs, and lately there has been a dramatic increase in graffiti and, apparently, robberies so I want him to deter the graffiti artists and the thieves that may be in the lane way.

And just following her logic, the one time that my dog barks it is too many times for her. That is what she is, essentially, saying. There is no answer to this really. I’m sorry that the one time he barks it wakes her up, but you can’t really complain about a dog that barks once a day, surely, even if it is at night.

Three Days In

Then it was getting light outside and I looked at the clock and, I think, it was 5.50am. Where on earth had the previous 2 days disappeared?

It was our long weekend binge. Sam is an enthusiast. Keen, is the word. Ha, ha, that is an understatement, I think I created a monster.

I hadn’t eaten anything since Friday. Oh, Up & Go and juice and water. It went so quick, where did the time go? How much porn had we watched? How much dirty talk had there been?

I came down stairs to get orange juice, this morning. I placed the glass on the bench. I got the container out of the fridge. I filled the glass. I put the container back in the fridge. I closed the fridge and turned back to the bench.

I looked at the glass and there was a glass full of milk. I stared at it. "That's not right." I was confused.

What did I want? All I knew was that I didn’t want that? Milk? Curdle my stomach? Euw!

I was sure the fluid was orange as I poured it. Oh well.

Inspiration

• æ: Post a picture of yourself. 
• ✌: Share a childhood memory. 
• ♡: Make a confession. 
• ❁: Share one of your insecurities. 
• ✓: Share something about yourself others might think is weird. 
• ☹: Share a turn off. 
• ☀: Share a turn on. 
• ♬: Share a song that takes you to a certain memory in the past. 
• ♧: Share the story of something that makes you smile. 
• ☆: Share one thing you think about before you go to bed at night. 
☮: Share a relationship story.`

My First Real Day Off

I’ve got a cough, one of those smoked-too-much hacking coughs that you have trouble controlling. Sam just looks at me with disappointment every time I hook, hook, hook.

My first day off after how long? I should look it up, but I’m fairly sure it was halfway through July. Yesterday doesn’t count as LouLou was here and I was still entertaining from the weekend.

I switched the morning TV off fairly smartly. Goodness me. Although, that Karl Stefonovic gets me going, he's cute, I'd like to lick his face. I got pretty stoned pretty quickly. Ah, you know, what does a boy do to entertain himself? What to do in your down time? I started to watch porn on my laptop, Buddy was by my side. I decided that all boys whack off in front of their dogs, it is just that sort of relationship. The dog doesn’t care, he either watches benignly, or falls asleep.

Well, I was trying to... with my hand down my... um... track suit pants, but Buddy got very interested in what I was doing. It is very hard to... um,... er, shall we say, keep tugging away when you have a 25 kilo bulldog digging at your crotch panting. It made me wonder what Jason used to get up to? Of course, maybe that is just my fantasy, watching Jason wank and all. Ha ha. But, I have to tell you, the determination he... oh, he's a bulldog what am I talking about.

A string of steady “No’s!” "No!" "NO, don't be creepy!" "No!" "NO!" "NO!!!!!!" And a couple of light taps to his fat face and he lost interest and “harrumphed” and lay down face first on the carpet next to me. Then he rolled over and snored with his little pink tongue hanging out.

I messed around on my PC after that. I never really use it any more. I’ve got to run it occasionally, otherwise the updates back up... 

... and the day slipped away.


I was unshowered and stoned on the couch when Sam arrived. Sam bought me cough mixture. Isn’t he sweet. The one thing he is not so sweet about is me lounging around the house doing nothing, even if it is, effectively, my first day off. Oh no, no, no. He wanted to know how I’d got on with my list of things to do.

"Um? Er?"

He gave me “that look” when I told him, "not so well."

We went to Woolies, of course. The dreaded Woolies. "AH!" Dinner. Yay. I don’t know what I did, um ate, before Sam came along, but I know one thing I have never visited the supermarket quite so often.

Sam cooked noodles.

Lovely.

Back At It

Ah, lovely, mid morning, one pot of coffee down, life is good. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. (the ambulance siren wails some where far off in the distance) My dog at my feet. How life should be.

I haven't thought about work once. I haven't felt like I should be doing "something else" not at all. I slipped right back into it, up just after 8am (that will improve, once I am fully back into delusional retirement mode) Coffee on. Laptop on. Muesli. Orange juice, freshly squeezed. Freshly squeezed out of a bottle, not like my mother did every morning for us kids, hand squeezed from a bag of large string bag of oranges for 20 years.

Suddenly, Buddy is chewing on my foot, then ankle when I protest, leg. Ouch! Stop it! No! My protests fall on deaf ears, as he decides 'no, this is a fun game." A louder, leader of the pack rebuke is what is required. "NO, I am deadly serious." A bulldog face appears in my lap, looking up for approval.

Oh lovely, life is back to normal. My one thing to do today is make a list of all the things I have to do. I don't know how we all worked full time, you can never get anything done. I have a huge number of things I have to get done. So it is a list, and then nothing else to do all day.

Sam asked me if I was going to ring Jack today, to see if I can get a new work assignment before Xmas. I said,

"No, probably Tuesday. I'm having at least one day off."

I didn't, actually, specify what Tuesday. I thought realistically it would be closer to today fortnight, before I think about that. I still haven’t quite decided what I am going to do if he calls? I think I will ignore his calls for a week. Hopefully he won’t call. Hopefully there is no work.


My pact with Jack about work – my private pact, the pact that Jack doesn’t, actually, know anything about – is that I will accept all the work he gives me. Don’t turn anything down. The down time just naturally occurs in the timing of assignments, in the nature of my work. However, after my second last assignment, which was to be in the outer suburbs, which I only just got out of because my last assignment, which started just before it, got extended, I now have one condition, I’m saying no to any that are too far away. I’m not going to zone three, fuck it, I’d rather be on the dole, if it came to that. Not that I have ever been on the dole, but I’m sure you get what I mean.