Winter of Our Dreams

Politicians lie

as the planet dies.

We are in the winter of our dreams.

New Car

I've got to catch the train to Ringwood today to pick up the car. Wish me luck... on all counts.

10 1/2 hours later...

She flies! He flies! It flies! Goes well. Cool, huh? 18 trouble free kilometres, thus far. Got to love the French. I've had all the French brand name cars, I was thinking today, on the train to Ringwood - Renault (gold), Citroen (Green) and Peugeot x 2 (both white).

I was going to take it for a spin up the highway to show it to Mark and Luke, but they are at the movies, which might mean they are headed here. Hope so.

Manny had two tickets to Little Britain, which he called me about as I was heading out to the burbs to get the car. I don't think he was very impressed when I said I just couldn't go. Oh well. Dear Manny. 

Sex on Tap

I went jogging with G, or do I call him Big Boy? Perhaps, it can be Big Boy G. He's my Greek mate, we've been friends for years.

As we jogged down by the Yarra - the times, in between, I wasn't getting called piss-weak for walking - he was telling me about his new girlfriend, Valentina - lawyer, power suit brigade.

She can't keep her hands off it, mate, said G. I've never known a bitch like her. She's amazing. Two girls jogged towards us dressed in black body suits. They looked like power-dykes to me. I wondered if I was too ghettoised?

G started to smile.

What?

I shouldn't have been thinking about Valentina and shit, in jogging shorts.

What?

He slid his hands in front of his shorts.

I looked down.

He slid his hands away. Pretty good, huh?

Jesus, G! I looked away.

Valentina chokes on it.

Bigger hands than mouth, then, huh?

Way bigger!

I looked back at him. Put it away.

I don't care. She's addicted to the peen - as G calls it - maaatttee, taking off all the wog boys he's ever known. She can't keep her hands off it.

It's okay for you to take off the wogs, I said. But it's not okay for me?

He grabbed my head and staged a mock pulling of my face into his groin.

Well, I wouldn't say derogatory things about your lot, he said. But you can. It's the same thing.

Our feet went thud, thud on the grass, together.

That's all you guys ever think about, I said. Ya Peen!

G sort of snorted a laugh. And like you guys fucken don't?

I don't know, it always seems to be more of a mutual thing with guys, I said. You boys just have this self-obsessed desperation that just seems to be about you, because you get turned down so much.

Get fucked! said G. You are so full of shit!

So full of shit that it is getting you hot under the collar.

This is - he emphasised the 'is', as if to confirm rather than tell - why most straight guys hate you guys, you know, said G. Because you can get sex whenever you want and then you just can't help but brag about it.

He increased his speed. But you sure can't fucken run.

I caught up to him, determinedly, it nearly killed me, but I wasn't going to show it. Unfortunately, my voice went up an octave. Can too!

Get fucked fag boy, said G, laughing between his gasps.

Don't call me fag boy. Big breathe! You wog cunt! I said, breathing hard. Same principle applies.

Come on. G slapped me playfully on the arse, with a full hand. We hoofed it up the Punt Road hill, in sink.

I could still feel his hand on my arse.

G got married when he was thirty and divorced when he was thirty five. For months, he walked around saying, Hi I'm G and I'm divorced. Hi I'm G and I'm divorced. I don't want to say that, he'd almost whine.

You've got to snap out of this, buddy.

You know Christian, he'd say. It was the one thing I never - emphasis on never - wanted to have to say. It was always something that was going to happen to someone else.

May be?

Mate, I'm the only divorced member of my whole family. The only one!

Then he went into a decline for the rest of the year. He shut himself away, cut himself off, completely. My mate Silvia pulled him out of it, with some old fashioned loving. She said he was hot sex; could go twice, very confidently. Always made her cum. They are not together now, the split was mutual, but it seems to have bought him back to normal.

"Nick (G's real name. Don't ask me why I call him G) has the most perfect penis," enthused Silvia, one night when she'd had too many chardies. 

Bigger, Faster, Stronger

Steve, Gavin and Carla. R&B played. The three of them circled the two chairs, each keeping a corner of their eye on the other, with the other eye firmly fixed on the prize.

"Omenta! Omenta! We all fall down," whispered Carla.

They prowled like wild cats, ready to pounce.

The music stopped. Both boys instantly sprang sideways, with athletic precision and claimed a chair each. Carla was left standing, ready to make her move.

The smile disappeared from her face. "Oh, that's not fair," Carla whined. "You two are bigger and stronger... you've got an unfair advantage."

"You wanted to play, sis," said Gavin. He shrugged.

He turned his head sideways to a smiling Steven and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Long weekend

I didn't get home until just now. I thought I could smell something dead as soon as I walked in the front door. I've got a very sensitive sense of smell. But I decided that I was still being paranoid about the last massacre and the fact I have never found that particular carcass. I sometimes wonder if it is some where, just out of sight, going green. Missy was bleating from the back yard. She hadn't been fed since Friday.

I did arrange for someone to feed her, don't get me wrong, but it was only for Friday. But she said, don't worry if you can't get back, I'm just around the corner. When I called her to ask her to do cat duty on Saturday - she was house sitting for Tim and Nicholas just around the corner - she said, she had given Missy a whole can, on Friday, but had locked the key inside the house. Stupid people? You've got to wonder. How do they cope with the real difficult decisions in life?

You gave her a whole can of cat food? I thought. Fat girl will love you.

I felt bad, but what could I do. It wasn't like she'd starve.

She hasn't left my side, rubbing against my legs continuously. I don't think it is the food that she minds as much as the company.

I went to check my washing in the front room and found the source of the dead smell. A (may be) Pigeon tucked into the corner of one of the rooms, closest to the front door. I can assure you, I didn't want to look that closely.

Missy looked away - she even looked guilty - as if she hadn't notice and wandered away up the hallway... leaving me for the first time.

It would make a great short film, I thought, as I rolled the carcass into the plastic bag. Of course, we'd need smell-a-vision. I winced. Bad Boy Bubby'esque. I laughed. Hidden camera, to catch all the bird on cat action. Wild safari. Then the body lying there. Life is cheap, may be short. Finite. Night, day, night. Me cleaning it up. Missy in her Mrs Hyde outfit, dancing off. Time lapse photography. Life and death.

Well, maybe not a great short film. I'd had a joint by then, I could see it all.

Missy kept clear the whole time I was clearing up the carcass. She is, of course, now asleep on my foot.

Mark's just found out that his blood pressure is extremely high, after a spider bite he got on is foot. High blood pressure is a hereditary thing for him, his whole family has it. I told him he was my reason for living and he burst into tears. And he is my reason for living, my forever after; someone I have known for seventeen years, someone I will know forever.

I am Mark's rock. As corny as it sounds, we have unconditional love. We're soul mates.

I adore Luke and he adores me.

Life is good.

Manny called and bored me so badly, with his petty worries, I fobbed him off.

I smoked cigarettes all weekend, the function wasn't good. Bunch of piss pots. Jasus!

I didn't pick up my car, it wasn't good, either. It was actually about a clutch peddle problem, which I was slow in telling them about, to tell you the truth. They could fix it Monday, no problem.

I do hope they aren't the dodgy brothers? To tell you the truth, I have been so ineffectual during this whole car sale, my level of disinterest means they could have pulled anything over me. I just wanted to wiggle my nose and have a car. The rest of it is bullshit.

The RACV gave it the green light; suspected worn clutch, maybe some engine work. All termed regular service items, adjustment items, at this stage. This is an eight year old GTI, you have to expect a bit of wear, it's that kind of proposition. This one comes with a three year warranty, (it's not a factory warranty, it's a dodgy brother's used car salesmen warranty, but a warranty, none the less) and is still $4000 cheaper than the competing cars for sale.

And it was the only car with a sunroof, which is the actual reason I picked this particular car.

So, even if I have to spend $4000, touch wood that I don't - please universe no, you should see my finances - I'd still have a GTI with a sunroof... with a new clutch, or rebuilt engine, whatever (and may be the warranty on this car will actually pay some of/all of the cost... and maybe it's a con, who knows); none of the more expensive cars had warranties, may be one, they were all private sales and none were claiming any brand new parts, no recent rebuilds or new clutches, so I'm no worse off?

That's my reasoning, any way.

But what will the Peugeot specialist say, when I take it to him? Cross your fingers.

I can't quite believe I have to go to work tomorrow. Rachel will be shitty with me taking a morning off to pick up my car, Tuesday, after I have just had a week off. But, she'll be cool with it, in the end. I'll work back, if need be, no sweat. And quite frankly, and I mean this with love, who really cares if she's not.

I'm getting a new car!

 

How Many Times Have I Been in Love?

Cupid does not so much shoot a well aimed arrow, as fire a scatter gun.

How many times have I been in love?

Three, may be four.

Then there are those in between ones, I could very well have, but... May be two. (Manny would fit into this category, sad but true)

Perhaps there are still a few more flying my way? (Even though I have found my soul mate, in Mark) In love? It would be nice to fall in love.

How many times is normal?

One for ever? There you are standing in front of me, the embodiment of my future. You are mine, I am yours.

Or should we love many? Taste the fruit, it is there to be eaten, after all. Hey Adam, do you want an apple?

An Australia Day tribute to some of our migrants, who came to this country without being able to speak English, in many cases, who made this country great... Mr Howard

Gotta Love a Wedding.

I went over to Tim and Nicholas', Mary was there. I thought they were pissed off with me, can't remember why? I think fancing the cousin, Craig, made me feel guilty of something. Not sure what? Just generally guilty for my thoughts, I guess. I want to make it with a straight man? Who has a wife and kids? But, Nicholas hugged me warmly and said he'd missed me. Tim laughed about them going away also, but Mary was house sitting for them, so she could feed Missy for me. No problem. Pop over.

I think Tom has made me feel a bit paraniod about friendship. But Tim said he and Nicholas were looking for some where cheaper to live. Nicholas said he'd decided he wanted to move back to my place. We all had fun together. Then they were both smiling at me and offering me wine.

I'm off to Bolago for a wedding; more than 200 guests. Our biggest wedding. Although we've done quite a few at 180, without a hickup.

You know, you just gotta love straight boys, they just don't engage. It's just not in their repertoire. You can say something camp like, Did you here about the new Dream girls movie.

No mate.

They've been brought up that we're all normal, so they treat us as such. Some of them get real cute about it, you know, kind of flattered. But some just don't seem to notice.

We have a young bloke who works for us at the functions. He's cute, seventeen. The funny thing is that he doesn't get my attention nearly as much as his cute thirty-five year old dad, who is handsome with a cheeky smile.

Twice he's been around at the end of functions and I've wondered who he was? At the same time noticing his good looks. Gushing professionally more than I might in normal circumstances.

I'm fine mate, he'd say. A big, open smile. Just here for Jason.

Oops, I'd think, that's his dad again. We've met before. Doh!

I'd be ordering the staff around and they'd be listening and taking notice, the only place that happens, now, let me tell you. I sometimes forget that I have that power, until they are heading away saying, yes sir. I kind of like it.

Can I help you?

Is Jason ready? he'd say. He said to drop by around midnight. Big (gorgeous) smile. Am I too early?

No, not at all.

Jason's dad again... stop smiling, you idiot.

I'll wait in the car, he'd say. If you can tell him I'm here. Sweet smile. Genuinely not wanting to get in the way.

I must commit him to memory, I think. Jason your dad is here.

Anyway, gotta keep moving. Bank, cheque for the car, the 11am train.

big boy 3

Call Boy

I took a train over to Manny's. The boy called me up and said how about it... in his sexiest, huskiest voice. I'd settled on the couch with Josh. We'd smoked a couple of pipes. I wasn't sure if I was going, or not. I sat back on the couch and thought about catching PT. I'd always expect him to come by PT because he hasn't got a car, but I hadn't done it once in the time I've not had a car.

But then Josh convinced me when he said, Aren't you going over to your boyfriend's place, with a kind of a snarl. He spat the words out in frustration, as the guy he's been (trying to) seeing had cancelled, yet again and Josh was, shall we say, really up for it. It looked to him like I was just taking my guy for granted.

Now I wouldn't exactly say that it was spite that got me off my arse, but it wouldn't be far wrong.

Yeah I am, I said, as I got to my feet.

You are? said Josh.

I'd never caught a train over to Manny's place before and since I get the car on Saturday - yay - I kind of thought I should, at least once. You know, so it looks good... better. Besides, if I stayed home it would only be Josh moaning about Paul the Slav.

Yes, I said... because I, um, er, can. Big smile. Ha, ha. See you. Another big smile.

The trains were late at Parliament and everybody looked cross and frustrated; tired, sweaty faces staring at the television screen - well, at least they are used to that - in vain. People were on their mobile phones telling loved ones how late they were going to be, or just whining down the phone at them. Some one to talk to. never be alone. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, who cares, I thought. May be it is a conspiracy between the train companies and the phone companies to bolster profit.

How cute are the train stations on the Broadmeadows line; Kennsington, New Market, Ascot Vale. Just adorable, picture book style.

Manny was gabbering on about the beautiful Stuart when I got there. Stuart had given Manny all his old videos, as he's replaced them all on DVD. There were boxes of them.

How does he afford to, well, live? I asked.

He'd kill me for telling you, said Manny. But...

So, the beautiful Stuart is a male prostitute. I should have thought of that (not sure why, actually?); nice car, nice apartment, no visible means of support.

He paid me cash for my Mk2? Was that a give away?

Hot arse. Gymed body. Alleged, big, thick cock. Handsome face.

Manny said it would cost $400 to watch him and Stuart make out. I laughed.

Blue eyes. Cropped hair. What else is a boy to do with all of those natural advantages?

Stuart is studying nursing at uni, I guess the two could be compatible occupations - both looking after the well-being of others.

I thought Stuart was like Manny and lived on welfare, study grants, hand outs. Manny is Greek, so of course he lives on a pension, but Stuart has money and nice things, and isn't perpetually broke, which tends to point to either hooker or drug dealer. Apparently, the former, a high class call boy, at 30. I'm sure his mother is proud. He used to work at the casino, it's where he first started getting offers. He is a very good looking, sexy boy, I'm not surprised. He just oozes sexiness, naturally. Before that he was a chauffeur for a prostitute. I've never made the connection, before. I just thought he went to uni.

Manny reasoned that he'd only have to do two clients per week, which would only be two hours in the whole week...

What else am I going to use my gym-toned body for? said Manny. Four hundred dollars and I've doubled my pension.

Of course, Man.

Stuart says he could set me up with two clients.

Yes, Man.

I slid my hands up his T-shirt and twisted his nipples. His eyes glazed over. He kissed me passionately. 

Kid Peugeot

It will be like dating the hot little brother, all of a sudden. You know, going for the younger sibling. The second youngest brother, in the family. He’s white and he has a sunroof, and from front-on, he looks the same. He has exactly the same sized donk, literally – like brothers do – but with a body half the size. He’s pretty with a cute arse. I felt like I wanted to brush the fringe out of his eyes, when I test drove him today. He purred, as I manhandled him.

This one has only two doors and is a hot hatchback, with the same 16 valve 2 litre engine, my sports sedan had in it. I’m sure he will be lots of fun.

Kid Peugeot, is what He-who-shall-remain-nameless, said of him. He’s like the cheeky kid brother.

I don’t know when I get him, mechanical checks withstanding. Cross your fingers.

I’m back on the road. Finally. I kind of liked life without him, though. I don’t need the angst, in fact, I prefer the simpler life with no wheels. It is more peaceful. It is calmer, travels at a much more even pace; trains, trams, bikes and feet. Life’s more relaxed, without having to venture out on to the road with all those other idiots.

But there’s nothing that turns me on more than his sweet exhaust pipe and sexy rear and that grunt when he really gets going. He goes off. Whoosh! Woof! Nobody gets me as hard, as he does; that push in the back, that display of raw power.

I called Manny and left a dirty message on his answering machine.

“Boy are you going to get it more often.” 

What Day Is It?

Day seven. That's 210 cigarettes I haven't smoked - and $100 worth of pot. Who am I kidding, $150 worth.

The terrible depression of day 4 and 5 has stopped. That was hard to deal with, even if I have dealt with before, when I have given up smoking, previously. But, the intensity was much stronger this time, I’m sure. Or, it might just have been that I had Josh around to reflect my mood, rather than simply hiding away in my room unreflected, on my own. Whichever? I seem to be over it now. Yah!

Exercise has helped.

I rode over to Lottie's on Saturday and got another flat tyre, the back tyre, would you believe. I got a flat tyre on the front last weekend when I rode over to her place. Fuck, I was annoyed. I could barely hide it from her. She's been calling me ever since to see if I'm okay.

I so wanted to get into an exercise routine to coincide with quitting. I wanted to ride my bike every - second, to be realistic - day. But how can I when the universe is against me, so?

Lottie and I ate lunch together and then I chopped down some branches that were coming over into her place from the neighbours. She has such a thing about over-hanging branches now a days. I think she thinks they are going to slither threw her window, like snakes and get her in the night, if she doesn't keep on top of them.

It had rained a lot and my clothes were still damp when I caught the tram to come home. The aircon on the tram was freezing, so I got off at Barkers Road and just started walking. Fuck it, I need the exercise, I thought. When the rain started again, I thought, Great, you picked the only road around, to walk down, which has no public transport. So, I walked in the rain from Burke Road to the Kew tram terminus, on Church Street. It was fantastic, the day was warm, humid and it washed away all of my worries. A tram took me the short distance from the terminus to Victoria Gardens, where the driver declared that the tram was broken and that if we all got off and waited he’d go back to the terminus and get a replacement. So, I ended up walking home from Ikea. The beautiful Stuart drove past me in my old Mk2, but he didn't see me, thank goodness... the state I was in, it was preferable. I was soaked through by the time I got home, but it felt glorious. Freeing. Liberating. I think I exercised all my smoking demons… on that walk in the rain. So yesterday, I thought fuck it! Who needs a damn bike? I pulled on my running shoes and went jogging for an hour - which turned out to be forty minutes, but hey, who's counting. I can build up to it.

I met up with my mate G, I'll call him Big Boy, just by chance, who was jogging around East Melbourne, heading to the Yarra. He's big and solid and hairy and flirty with a great smile. He was just wearing green running shorts and nothing else; hairy chest, hairy stomach, hairy legs, in true Greek boy style. (What is it with me and Greek boys?)

"Hey Christian, you still want to look down my pants?" He pulled the front of his shorts out and flashed his killer smile.

"Just run, you dumb fuck," I said. "And stop making promises you are not going to keep."

"If you can catch me... you can... you can," running backwards, big smile. "You can suck it," he said. And then he flipped around and his big, thick, hairy, thighs took him sprinting away from me.

I ran hard, but had no chance of catching him.

big boy 2

Washington Post Neologisms

Once again, The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. The winners are as follows:

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), (back by popular demand): The belief that, when you die, your soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.
    
    

The Washington Post's Style Invitational also asked readers to take any word from the Dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:

1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the
   near future.
   
2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
   
3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
   
4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
   
5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
   
6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
   
7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.
   
8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease.
   (This one got extra credit.)
   
9. Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody Is sending off all these really bad vibes,
   Right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
   
10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of Getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
    
11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
    
12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly
13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
    
14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
    
15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
    
16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole

Big Boy