My Day Off

Sam's not working today. He's got a mental health day because they have all been working especially hard on a new project. They all got the day off.

Yeah, yay, good for him, there should be more mental health days for everyone. It's nice that successful companies give a bit to their employees.

Having said that, Sam hasn't stopped yapping on all morning. He got a tax bill he's unhappy with and now he has been talking about that endlessly, when I say endlessly, I'm not sure I am conveying the real meaning of it.

Down with the govt, down with the system, how could this happen? Woe is me!

I joked, you sound like you'll be voting for Pauline Hanson next.

He smiled cheekily, and replied it will be One Nation all the way at the next election.

The party that has no answers.

They couldn't do any worse. (that is so often the political intellect of Pauline Hanson voters)

We both laugh.

He's funny. 

Voting for Pauline Hanson? It's a baffling development. Pauline Hanson is ugly Australia. Why would anyone want to vote for the ugliest aspects of Australia by voting for her. She has never done one thing for Australia, other than whinge and complain to bring the attention back to her.

You know all parties get paid per vote received once they get over a certain threshold, I still reckon that is the reason she does it.

Anyway, now Sam is trying to organise me into doing something for the day. He's talking about grocery shopping. Oh, yes, spoil me, let's do that.

I shiver with anticipation.

Back At The Gym

I got myself off the couch at 10.30am and got to the gym.

I thought about the cute guy in the tiny shorts and the colourful tattoos with the big, thick dick, I can't lie, but nothing that interesting happened.

There is an older chick with a young blond trainer. He has terrible over-sized black shorts on that make him look like he has a big girl’s arse. They are not doing him any favours. The older chick has big tits and every time she finishes a rep her t-shirt has kind of bunch at the top of her tits, kind of making them look bigger every time. All I can think is, just imagine lugging those puppies around. No thanks.

There is a bald guy, with an boyish adorable face, dressed all in black also exercising the gym he has a nice tight little arse on him by the look of it.

There is also a tall guy with earmuff headphones on, I think he is one of the trainers.

10:45am. The cute, muscly accountant with the square, black metal glasses who always wears a muscle top arrives. He reminds me of the first guy who had the hots for me when I first came out, so it’s always good to see him.

I start my 20 minutes on the bike. I’m getting back into it quickly. The burn on my legs is bearable already.

The bald guy leaves.

The tall trainer in large, big-girls-arse, shorts and his middle aged female client leaves.

The muscled accountant with the square, black rimmed glasses leaves. Bye honey.

I finish on the bike.

So then, I was working out with one of the big tall trainer, I call Lurch. Just at the same time, you understand, not being trained by. There are a few trainers who work at my gym and they are all really tall.

I listened to the Rolling Stones and did my workout.

So, that's pretty good, I've been four times in the last week, or so, since I got myself back to going.

Good for me.

11:06am. I leave the gym. The muscled accountant, with the square, black rimmed glasses, leaves at the same time. He’d been in the downstairs gym all along doing free weights.

I gaze at his arse in black shorts as I walk down the street behind him.

I re-write my old blogs for the rest of the day.

Late in the afternoon, we take the dogs for a walk.

There is an adorable English boy sitting outside at the Townhall Pub looking at his phone. He says something about Brun as we walk past. Did I bring Brun back because of how cute he was. Yeah, sure I did. (But I would do the same for other people, yes, I would)

“This is Brun,” I say to the cute English boy.

He pats Brun telling Brun how gorgeous he is. You too buddy, I think as I watch on. He says I made his day because he’s obsessed with bulldogs. He smiles at me. Adorable, with an adorable English accent. Takes me back to my days overseas when guys were attracted to me because of my accent.

“Just keep talking,” they would say. Truthfully, that was the American boys, more so than the English lads.

Sticky Fingers

I forget how great Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers really is.

Another good reason for working from home, I get to listen to the music I want and not on headphones.

It's an easy day, and my last for the week, thank you Mick.

Otto is lying at my feet like a big pair of red slippers.

The Guy At The Gym

Sam went to the office 8:30am. It was one of his rare days in the office.

I worked from home getting all my work done. I kind of had everything done by about 1pm.

So, I went to the gym. I wanna get into a routine and try and keep going, I think it’s easier that way if you get a routine happening, in fact, you kind of begin to like it if it becomes a part of your week. That’s what I think.

You know, if you go kind of automatically. It's just a part of what you do.

I like going during the day because either there is not very many people in the gym, or you get the gym to yourself, anyway it’s never really busy with people in your way, so I like it.

I get on the bike for 20 minutes at the beginning of my workout, which is what I always do.

A really cute guy comes and gets on whatever the leg machine is next to the exercise bikes. He’s got muscle and tatts and he's got a shaved head. He had on the smallest pair of black shorts you’ve ever seen on a guy in the gym. He had great legs coming out of those shorts too.

So, he was doing leg crunches, I guess they were. He spent a lot of time with his legs wide upon you know with his tight shorts and his bulge in those shorts. It was hard not to look, he was a good look.

But, I kind of got the vibe from him that he wasn’t keen on me looking at him. And I didn’t really need to anyway, I was there exercise, I’m not there to look at guys.

But I looked a couple of times. I’m only a human. Those legs, those shorts.

We’ve both finished together and he got a wet wipe to clean his machine and I got a wet wipe to clean my machine. We made eye contact and he held the eye contact longer than expected, and I smiled just because I was trying to be friendly.

Then he’s walking away and I’m cleaning the bike and he looks at me and he pulls the leg of his shorts to the side and flops his big cock out. Nice it was too.

So, I guessed at this point that he wasn’t giving me don't-look-at-me vibes, earlier, I guessed at this point he was, perhaps, giving me look-at-me vibes. I’m not very good at differentiating those things.

Anyway, he left the gym and I continued with my workout. It made me smile though. Nice dick, buddy, I thought. More guys should flash their cocks.

I don't know if he wanted me to follow him, but I didn't want to follow him. I wanted to workout and get some kind of routine happening.

It rained on and off for most of the day.

Monday In The Office

In the office, what can I say? Nothing. You have heard me say it is a complete waste of time many times, and I am sure you don't want to hear me say it again.

Kill me now, was my first thought as my laptop fired up at 6.30am.

I left early. I knew Boris wouldn't question it. And she didn't.

Rainy Sunday

The rain came. It rained all day.

It is Sunday, so of course, it is cleaning day. Sam cleaned. I vacuumed. I watered my plants. Indoors, and the garden plants, the ones that don't get directly rained on.

We ordered in, noodles for lunch. Thank you Hungry Panda.

We sat around and listened to the rain on the roof. It continued to fall all day.

The two dogs lay together, like they have a habit of doing, a couple of bookends.

I caught up on all my car restoration shows on YouTube, that was cool.

Of course, sitting around and doing nothing is my forte. I guess I should have gone to the gym, but who wants to go outside when it is raining. Besides, do gym on the weekend, when all those people are potentially there too?

Late in the afternoon, the rain did. actually, stop and we walked the dogs, there was the lightest sprinkling of rain for some of the time while we walked. Really gentle. Kind of nice, really.

We ended up at the supermarket for food, when it was getting grey and greyer outside.

We got home before the rain started to fall again, but when it did it continued to fall for the rest of the evening. 

We chose the right window period in which to go out, as it turned out. What do you call that? Intuition? Do you think as a species we can smell the rain coming, it's just that we have become desensitised to our power?

Ha, ha. Maybe? I don't know, I'm just practising talking shit now. We seem to have a knack for it, down't you think? Shrug. Maybe.

Sam gets out his floor cleaning machine and cleans the tiled floor, kitchen, walk way, laundry. Sam is a sucker for a floor cleaning machine. 

How clean does the floor need to be, I ask him? As that machine whirrs on and on. I'm not really one for housework

The rain continues to fall outside.

Brun lays snuggled up to my left leg on the couch gently snoring.

I look up and think yum when I see a big bottle of apple juice on the kitchen bench, which turns out to be sunflower oil, which was really disappointing, as you can imagine.

I take my Explorer socks off so I can walk across the wet tiled floor to the fridge to get a glass of blackcurrent juice.

Otto pushes his ball to my feet, and looks up at me with big puppy dog eyes that say, throw it for me will you.

And the nightly relentless ball throwing begins.

Sam prepares my lunch for tomorrow in the office.

We Went to Altona Beach

 

It was nice down there. What would you call it, the beach side suburbs? The western suburbs beach side suburbs. It was easy and relaxed and not crowded with people. It just seemed like a nice, relaxing place to be.

2nd Day At The Gym

Is there something wrong with the way I tie bows, in shoes, and track pants and the like? I've got to wonder? 

So often when I undo the bows they go into fucking knots. I'm left struggling to get out of my shoes, or my track pants. It drives me nuts.

It is even worse when I am dying to piss and the bow knots. Grrr! I am left struggling with my pants while bouncing from one foot to the other.

It just happened now when I was changing for the gym.

Yes, I am going to the gym, now I have my pants unknotted. Two days in a row,

It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining.

Back To The Gym

I continue generating images for my 2013 blog posts. I’ve completed a lot of them. Is this, as they say, the waste of time olympics? Maybe? But, I continue. It feels like I am changing it to how it should have been in the first place, even if noone goes back there to look.

Mid morning, the morning is half gone, just like that. Slipped away. Where, as they say, did the time go?

I think about the gym. It’s true I’ve gotta go to the gym. I can’t go on like this. I’ve gotta go, or stop paying for it. I never thought I'd be one of those people who continues to pay his gym membership when he isn't going? But I am, there you go. It's been since new year.

I have to make myself go. Going is the correct option.

I look at my gym app to see if that gets me in the mood.

My gym app stopped working. I think, if I get my gym app working, I’ll go. 

It says I need to input my code. I have a code? I don’t have a code. Did I ever have a code? I guess, I did. 

There is an option that says, if you don’t have a code, so I hit that and it asks if you forgot your code, or you never had a code? I push I’ve forgotten my code. They email me a code, straight away. Instantly. How easy was that?

I punch the code in and my gym app starts working, just like that.

So, that means I have to go.

I go get changed. I find my water bottle. I get my headphones. A towel. And I head out the door.

Then I was on the exercise bike with my head phones on with Guy Sebastian singing. There I was like 3 months hadn't past at all. Easy. What had I been thinking these last few months? 

It was good. I liked it instantly. The music played. 

There was a buzz-cut blonde guy exercising in front of me, so I could watch him. He had great legs. When I was on the rowing machine he came and exercise over me, and his t-shirt road up, putting his undies elastic on display, I couldn't help but look.

A middle aged woman in grey gym clothes parks herself on the chest press and doesn't move the whole time I am working out. It crossed my mind to ask her if she was okay? But people do that, sit on a machine for an inordinate amount of time, usually looking at their phones. Although, she wasn't looking at her phone.

There is also a troll, short, fat, ugly, middle aged, no neck, face just joins to his chest, probably doing gym on doctor's advice.

Half way through my workout, a very neat, I'd guess uptight, 30 something chick arrives perfectly decked out in activewear, with a neat ponytail. She'd have a professional husband named Brett who'd give it to her missionary style on a Friday once the week is done. The thought made me chuckle to myself.

The hour was up quickly, my routines was done, it was so easy, it was good.

I headed out into the street all sweaty where the sun was warm and it felt good.

I got back to the couch and my laptop.

I guess, I'd better go again tomorrow.

Finished His Shift

The circus finishes at midnight. He's stuffed when he gets home. All that clowning around is exhausting. He occasionally gets off with one of the other guy clowns, but not tonight.

Trans Charming

Brun stops to say hello to someone sitting outside at Kent Street. That person was trans. You know, I don’t get the problem with trans people, I always find there is something kind of charming about trans people, maybe it is the struggle to know yourself that they’ve had to deal with, and coming out the other side, perhaps, knowing themselves better than most people know themselves. 

Is it that fully-known-about-themselves quality that is kind of charming?

I’ll call that trans charming.

Monday In The Office

I go to work early, so I can leave early, that is the only reason I go in early. There is no dedication to the job involved here. I go to work early because I just naturally get up early now. There is no need to set an alarm. 

I go to work early, for the lesser reason, of getting quite a few hours on my own to work alone without all the other annoying yappy people. Leaving early also gives me many hours where I don't have to deal with the other people too.

Win, win.

It was still dark when I left home.

There was a woman on the tram who had her scarf hanging over the top of her head covering her face completely.

There were two Asian ladies sitting behind me, neither of whom took a breath as they both talked at once and at the same time, continuously.

I had to move seats, I felt like I’d got on a twilight tram to hell.

It was so nice and peaceful walking down Collins Street in the dark and cool of the morning after that.

Big Ange was in first and we got to talking about how appliances don’t last how they used to, after I told her I got my fourth kitchen tap in four years. Big Ange moves a bit like a truckie, but she’s nice, I like her.

After that, I put Chaka Khan on and ignored everyone, until the Big Poo came in at 8am. He was surprisingly not chatty. He’s usually rah, rah, rah first thing in the morning.

Don’t know why. Perhaps, fingers crossed, he has my redundancy ready to go, and he felt guilty. Couldn’t face me, you know how it goes. That thought made me smile for a while.

Boris wasn’t in until after 9am, she is never in until after 9am.

The Midget cancelled our catch up, the reason I am in the office, in the first place. I was shocked. Not! Haha! (I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely shocked?) That’s how it goes, hey? Do as I say, not as I do.

The rest of the morning has gone smoothly behind my force field of music.

How long until 3pm?

Strumming my fingers on my desk.

Nyr! I don’t think I am going to do anything else today.

2pm. Boris goes into the exec meeting, which usually lasts an hour, so 2.15pm. I decide to go home. Fuck it. I don't want to be here anyway.

You think you are witnessing my slow, corporate demise? No such luck, Chico. It's very unlikely anyone will say anything. 

It's true my deteriorating attitude has cost me a bonus this year (even if I got an apology and the promise of a bonus next year... yeah, whatever) but who cares, life is short.

2.35pm. I am home.

Otto barks from the inside of the door like a big, bad guard dog. I bark back at him from the outside, while I search for my wallet in my satchel, which has my key in it. Otto barks some more. Sam opens the front door before I find my key with a 'look' on his face. 

"Honey."

Now there is a great work day.

Sunday

What should we do today? It’s not like we can spend our whole life sitting around on the couches staring at our screens, now is it? Or is it? no, no, no.

So what to do? Charlie is at work, he’s working quite a lot at the restaurant, so Sam doesn’t have to get lunch for him. So yes, let’s go out.

We’ll walk to our kitchen on Lyon Street and have lunch there. Of course, when in doubt head to the kitchen in Carlton. It has become our default setting.

So we head upstairs to get ready. I look in the mirror and my hair is all over the place. 

Sam says, "Unless you wanna have a haircut?"

I look back in the mirror. I put water on my hands and try to sort my hair disaster.

"Yes, yes, I could have a haircut," I say.

 "Okay then let’s walk into the city."

 "Let’s walk into the city."

We saddle up the beasts and we walk into the city.

Sam and I have got out of sync with our haircuts. Last time ugly cute hairdresser cut my hair really short, so I didn’t need a haircut when Sam had one. So it’ll just be me having a haircut.

It’s grey and cold outside. Not cold enough that you can’t go into the city and have a haircut and then eat outside of the table with your favourite bulldogs, it's not that cold, but nearly, it’s nearly that cold.

The sky is grey, the day is grey, no sunshine, no sunshine for you today

We get to the hair salon and one of the hairdressers is waiting so I’m straight in the chair @12.10pm starts. 12.15pm he finishes, and I’m done, good, love a quick haircut like that. I'm not one for wanting to sit in the chair for too long staring at myself in the mirror. Nah. It's a horror show.

Then it is off to David’s soup kitchen.

There is a loon in Bourke . A drunk old man. Maybe homeless. Screaming out.

There is a loon in Russell Street, a middle aged woman in a huge white dressing gown, who does a sort of crouch down and squat then what kind resembles a Haka. The she walks off swearing like a sailor.

I have tomato based soups. Sam has the signature soup, he gets cranky when I ask him what that is.

12:35pm. Our soup is ready.

The dogs are restless all through lunch and won't settle, I don't know why.

An older woman with Menopausal red henna hair stops and pats the dogs. She says that are magnificent.

"I bet they get lots of pats?" she says smiling.

The way she is bending over to the dogs, I can see right down her top to her pendulous breasts hanging down in some sort of grey foundation garment. It is off putting.

"Yes, lots of pats," I say.

It is busy in the city. Sam says it is because its Mother's Day. I guess that is about the only benefit of having a dead mother, you don't have to observe Mother's day.

We finish our lunch and walk home.

Then it is screens on the couches for the rest of the afternoon.

Lovely.

David Attenborough

Happy 100th birthday to David Attenborough, a great man, who I wish has a lovely day.

Cold Snap

My day off. I was cold, despite having a bulldog on either side of me on the couch.

There has been a cold change in Melbourne with lots of rain, after a month of unseasonably warm, climate change induced, hotter weather.

Mid morning, I thought, this is ridiculous, I don't have to be cold, suspecting the cold adversely affects my sore shoulder, which seems to have inexplicably flared up again, so I lit only our second open fire for the year.

As I said, it had been raining for the previous 24 hours so, naturally, the wood was wet.

The fire failed spectacularly, managing only to belch smoke out into the lounge room at an alarming rate while it spluttered and nearly died, after which I had to open all the doors and windows to let the great plumes of smoke escape, as the air purifier started to scream hysterically, and the now freaked out Otto escaped outside to his kennel.

I chucked some paper in next to the dying coals and lit it and thought I'd cleared the chimney of cold air, which was stopping the warm air from drawing.

So, I coaxed Otto back inside. I threw another fire lighter at the fire, and more twigs and small pieces of wood, and it kind of spluttered back to life in a very poor way. And when it tentatively caught for a second time, that only seemed to cause another room filling belch of acrid smoke to escape out into the room, filling it again, which necessitated me opening all the windows and doors, yet again.

Someone call the fire brigade. No, don't. You know you have to pay for that.

So, after about half an hour of this fucking about, I was standing in a room open to the poor weather outside, colder than I was when I started out to light a fire, with some blackened sticks and kindling smouldering rather than burning in the fire place.

Good job, Christian. I don't think I have ever had a fire that has been so reluctant to burn. Wet wood? I swear I am usually a really good fire lighter, in fact, it has been said I'd make a great arsonist the way I can get a fire burning. Usually.

I was just waiting for Sam to come down from upstairs to ask me what the fuck I am doing?

Over an hour later, I was probably marginally warmed than I was when I started. And my shoulder still had low level aches.

Sam didn't appear.

I lay on the couch for the rest of the day after our near choking incident with two bulldog hot water bottles.

I re-wrote my blog entries in the morning. I watched YouTube in the afternoon.

The weather was pretty wet and lousy all day.

The World Today

 

I think Baffling is one of my favourite words. I like the way it rolls off the tongue. I always think of Stephen Fry when I think of favourite words. He's a favourite word kind of guy.

Monday In The Office

I was in the office today. Sad Face. 

I woke up late, 6.15am, unusual for me. I never set alarms now, I just wake up.

I had to jump out of bed and get ready, there was nothing else for it.

I was ready in five minutes. I left the house in ten minutes.

I ran for a tram that I nearly caught, but didn't. I ran after it until I was out of breath. I caught the next tram to come along.

I was in the office 6.45am.

Not bad, half an hour from waking up to me sitting at my desk turning my laptop on. Pretty good, I thought.

I still beat Big Ange in, who is normally in after me.

AtAboyMuscles was in after Big Ange.

No one knew I cheated the company out of half an hour, today, when I still left at 3pm. Shhh. Don't tell anyone.

Deep Heat

We ran out of Voltaren cream, so Sam went and bought Deep Heat.

Sam is fine, no permanent damage. There is just some moaning and groaning and swearing to a god neither of us believe in, when he gets up, straightens up, or stands up, but it seems to be getting better each time. So, we're not claiming disability, or destined to live on a widow's pension, just yet.

But Deep Heat? I hate Deep Heat. I hate the smell of it on my hands when I have to rub it on his back. You just can't get that smell off your skin with one wash. I hate the smell of it lingering in the air making the whole place smell like a sports change room.

Funny, because it takes me back to my time as a kid when I used to go with my dad to cricket on Saturdays. I used to sit on the sidelines and score in the big green book.

I used to go back with him to the club rooms afterwards when all the players from the three Bentleigh teams used to meet back at home base to celebrate, or commiserate, and drink beer and shower and get changed before the women came to the club rooms, usually with food to feed their men.

There was me, young, gay, son sitting in the middle of it all those men in those club rooms smelling of Deep Heat and liniment and sweat,  drinking beer and showering and walking around in the nude, uninhibited, dressed only in their undies, laughing and pissing about. It used to cause a bit of deep heat in me, let me tell you, when I got home that night. The Love brothers. Jimmy Glass. Pete Robby. Jeremy Laird.

You'd think I'd like the smell of Deep Heat, because of that. Transported back there into that world of men once again on the memory of a scent. An olfactory turn on. In the budding-gay Tardis of smells.

You'd think? But I don't. I hate it. The stuff stinks.

Sam Crashes To The Ground

We were taking the dogs for a walk, in the afternoon, I guess it was around 4pm, that sort of thing. I was faffing about being the last person to leave the house, as is my want. Oh, I don't know why? I guess I am just the more relaxed one of us two.

To be fair, Sam usually just announces its time for a walk and then he puts his shoes on and heads straight out the front door to wait. Strait to it. Usually, Brun, and possibly Otto, will wait out the front with him, although Otto, more often than not, will wait inside the house in the hallway as he has a want to be the last to leave the house.

So, I headed out the front last thing and Sam is sitting on the ground.

“Why are you sitting on the path?”

“Help me up will you?”

“But why are you down there?”

“Just help me up.”

“Help you up, old man, what are you talking about?”

“Give me your hand.”

“Okay. What’s going on?”

“Oh, ah, shit.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Otto knocked me over.”

“Otto did what? How?”

“Otto was in the hallway, he saw a dog walk past the gate, he ran to the gate knocking me off my feet as he went.”

“Otto did?”

“Oh, my back. Oh. Ah!” Sam got to his feet. He looked at me.

“What happened?”

“I was standing on the front step looking at my phone one minute, the next minute I crashed down on the step, my back hit on the step.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is your back okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

He had the shell-shocked look on his face of someone who has gone through something they haven’t quite worked out.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Sam shuffled off inside without looking back.

“I bought those anti-inflammatories this morning, take two.”

“Okay.”

“You have to take them with food, apparently.”

“Okay.”

I picked up the dog leads and took them for a walk.

As I walked the dogs, I wondered if I should have stayed with Sam longer. You know, was he okay? Was he damaged worse than we thought? Was he damaged worse than he thought? What if he had broken vertebrae? Cracked one? Chipped one? Imaging if he was permanently damaged? Those things happen to people all the time. People get permanent injuries from the simplest of mishaps. It happens every day.

I text him. You oaky?

Annoyingly, I got back, I don’t know, again.

I kept walking with the dogs.

I text him again. Do you need to go to hospital? If you do, we can go when I get back? Or I can come back now?

I don’t know, he replied.

Thinking about it later, he was a bit in shock, I guess. I started to hurry the dogs along so we could get him again. If anyone knows anything about bulldogs, you can't hurry them along.

I got back and Sam was on the couch with a blanket over him. He was asleep. (not so unusual for Sam, he has the ability to just drop off to sleep in an instant) I stood there and watched his chest go up and down just to check he was still breathing. Okay, I can be dramatic too.

He eventually woke up. He wanted me to put cream on his back. He said he couldn’t roll over. I helped him as best I could. He called out in pain as I rolled him. I rubbed Voltaren cream into his back.

He wanted his track pants. I had to pull his jeans off and dress him in his track pants. None of this alleviated my concern about him.

Luckily, we had leftover pasta in the fridge, which I could just microwave for dinner.

Sam said he fell onto the front step backwards, but he fell kind of on his back, but more on his side, and not flat on his spine, which I am thinking is lucky.

We called David who was medically trained at uni in his previous life, and asked questions, he said as long as his not getting sharp stabbing pain, he should be okay. 

“Keep taking anti-inflammatories. Tell me the name of what you have?”

We told him what we had.

“Take a couple of Panadol’s as well for the pain.”

"Okay," said Sam.

"You have to treat the inflammation straight way," said David.

Sam complained every time he had to move after that, but he said he could move fine, and it felt like everything was working properly, just painfully. 

I think he's okay.

He started bossing me around, which I take as a good sign, back to normal.