Later

I went for that bike ride, it was mad dogs and English men out there. It was supposed to be 37 degrees and it may well have been. Wow! It's been a while since I was riding into any shade I could find, as I was at the end there. I only wore a singlet, well, it didn’t feel that hot when I left home. I can feel that my shoulders are pink, tingling, stinging. Sharp when I move as my shirt slides across my skin.

When I got back and I was standing in my kitchen red-faced and sweating and gasping for breath and shaking, my phone beeped and it was Ravi saying that he wanted to catch up.

Do you think he's psychic?

Of course, it was the same story.

"When will you be home?"

"I'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

"What time?"

"Around 2pm."

"How about the morning?"

"I see my mum in the mornings."

He knows that... but he lives on the fringe of the suburbs, out where you need a bus connection with the train to get home. And he doesn't drive, he's failed his test four times. It's a sore point now, he get's sniffy if I mention it.

Why does he do it, I thought? I guess, he's just answering the call and hoping for the best. I guess, I could be a little more accommodating? I don't know why I'm not? I could ditch my sick mother, after all, so he wouldn't have to miss the last bus.

"When will you be home in the morning?" he asks.

I kinda lose interest. I guess, I shouldn't be like that.

A Movie and a Glass of Vino

I just thought, no date for a Saturday night? Not so long ago, I had three of them on the go, but they seem to have drifted off. I guess, I didn't like any of them quite enough. They were all really nice, they all had nice things about them. Ravi smart and funny, Alex sensitive and funny, Ben boisterous, but none of them made me go wow! Turned my head. Made me follow sniffing the air. Ravi could have, but he always seemed to be unavailable.

You can't make it something that it isn't, that it ain't. I learned that long ago. And you know, I want more than just the sex thing, more than, Stick it in here!... and then listening to a baby seal barking until you've thoroughly clubbed it to death.

I want to talk and inspire and be made to think and be taken to, and get to take to, places we'd never go to otherwise.

Until then...

No date. Sad face. Besides, I was too drunk. Ha, ha.

David and I watched Frost/Nixon. I saw it as a play at the MTC. I thought the play was fantastic. The movie was pretty much the same, but didn't quite hold the dramatic suspense the way the play did. It was good though.

Now, I'm going to ride my bike. Gotta build up those thighs for when Mr. Right strolls on in. You know, be ready. Ha, ha. I'd better go see how hot it is outside.

More Wine

I had my first wine at 16.15, is that bad? Oh, I thought, toss it, it's a Saturday, after all, the weekend, for god’s sake. I didn't have to drive any where, all my chores were done, so to speak.

But, I was tonguing for it, I guess I should add that. Since I've quit smoking... I can taste the taste of it just when I think of it. I'm sure that's not good?

I wasn't leaving the house, it didn't matter if I fell over, not that I was planning to.

Now the newspapers and the politicians would have you believe that such a thing is a kin to binge drinking, or something, like no Aussie has ever drunk alcohol, or a problem, four o'clock in the afternoon, after all, but what do they know, they want to sell newspapers, or win votes.

Headlines read - Booze nation Aussies 'rather give up sex than grog'

I say we should all drink just a little more, relax, don't be so uptight. We're all so uptight.

As my favourite expresion goes, relax, it may never fucken happen!

Now, I've drunk half a bottle and I'm feeling no pain. I have to admit, I'm beginning to like the feeling, you know, slightly woozy. Is that bad?

Maybe, I'll fall down, kick my legs in the air and dribble, you know, giggling. That’s fun, just thinking about it makes me laugh.

I think I'll stop short of pissing myself, though, think of the laundry. Think of your jeans once they go cold... and are stuck to you. Oo! I had a friend who used to piss himself when he was drunk. Yeah, choice.

And, you know, paralytic vomiting isn't much fun. All that retching. Er! Sore stomach muscles, sore stomach muscles. And saliva for days.

Lick

He tastes like cum and good intensions

No photos

Please, please, no photos today

Nice mouth

Can we just talk

Dead Heiress

 So beautiful, Robin Whitehead

Sunset - One of My Own

I'm sure sunsets are good for the heart

Oh Madge, too much surgery

Why do these beautiful young men want to be with her and her hacked up face. I'm sorry, I really aren't trying to be mean, but imagine turning over and looking at that surgically altered face in bed.

Classic Alfa

Such a cool car

Sometimes I Have the Technical Capability of a Gnat

My computer speakers haven't been working for months now. I'd checked all the wires, connections, plugs, blue, green, white, check, check, check, but nothing seemed out of order. (Missy is sitting under my chair licking my feet as I type, I love it when she does that, that sand papery tongue on my skin, sends a chill up my spine.) But, I'm sure I heard them go zap, or bang, or pop, or criccckkk, or shhhhhhh, or something, (the speakers, not the cat) so I figured they were cactus and needed to be replaced. I've just been slack about getting around to doing it. I've been swapping to my lap-top if I wanted sound. But today, after taking my mum out to lunch, taking her shopping and then weeding her garden for a couple of hours, until my hands hurt and I couldn't pull the god damn weeds any longer, (pussy, no I wouldn't say I was a pussy) I decided I could go and do just that.

And I did.

I got home, ripped out the old speakers, installed the new ones and whacked on a favourite website to listen to its glorious dulcet tones and nothing.

Crap!

Grrr! What could it be? Don't tell me I'm going to have to take the whole thing into the shop, being the techno dunce that I am. In desperation, I checked the volume of my computer to find that it was set on mute.

Mute!

Double crap!

Click the box and la, la, la... sound.

Does that mean? I slid under the desk and pulled out the new speaker cable, pushed the old speakers across with my foot and plugged in their cable and la, la, la, they work just fine.

All this time, when I thought my speakers were rat shit, my computer was on mute.

Idiot!

 

He's with me, okay

I Would Have...

When you stopped that taxi for me on the street, it was very nice, did I thank you? You held the door open, you smiled, waved your hand through the air pointing inside the car. You were adorable, I so loved you at that moment.

But you did not want to see me again? You didn't say it, but you just walked away, with a slap of the car roof, you didn't look back. I knew then that I would never see you again. No kiss, no hug, no lingering look. Gone. Just like that. After all that time? That was it, that day. Who'd have known? You and me. I caught your eyes at the last minute, before you turned and headed up that street opposite. I should have known, I could see your departure, there in your blue, blue eyes. A last look, as though you were checking, the final scene. Curtain down, as you turned.

The last thing you said was my name, Marcus, as an indication that the taxi was there ready for me, by the side of the road. To gather my things, to get in, so I could leave. So you could leave, more importantly. I just didn’t hear it that way. I should have heard it as good bye, Marcus. I didn’t not then, not there. But, I have in the many times I have replayed it in my head, since. Marcus. An end. A coda. A completion. Good bye.

I just didn’t know it at the time. If I had, I would have paid more attention, noticed how the sun and the clouds were positioned. I would have taken more notice, of the day, of the time, of the people all around. I would have... felt the breeze, sniffed the air, taken a longer, last look of you. How your hair fell about your face. How your clothes hung from your body. How quickly you stepped as you walked away. How quickly you turned and left.

 

Wilmer Valderrama, allegedly, the girls like him because he's got a dick like a horse, allegedly the biggest one in Hollywood

Australia Day... or is that, "Wake up Australia!"

I slid through the day moving from one distraction to the next, oh so easily, twiddling my thumbs, scratching my arse, it was a public holiday, after all. Doing everything else but the job at hand, I have a talent for it.

Shane is in Perth. David is in New Zealand. Just me and Missy and she seemed cranky all day, after I pushed her fat arse off the pile of clean towels, first thing. Slit eyes, head spin, dirty look. If she'd had green vomit... In her defence, someone had stored the clean towels on the floor. WTF? (I'm sure it wasn't me) So, what’s a cat to think?

I had the house to myself. Ah, the solitude. I started out writing, but I quickly got to reading blogs, messing around with pictures, designing new banner headings, pasting letters, ransom note'esque, watching dvds, watching porn.

It's funny how it's 9am and then it's 2pm, just like fucken that.

I headed back to bed with my lap-top, hid in my room, upstairs, out of sight. I took myself away from all distractions to write... like they were rampant in an otherwise empty house.

The curtains were drawn - when aren't they in my bed room - and the balcony doors were open, a cool breeze blew. Safe in the shadows, like a cave, my cave.

I gave in and watched Walk the Line on dvd. I liked it, it was kind of authentic to the period, but an Academy Award win, you've got to be kidding me? I guess now that Hollywood only makes turkeys the benchmark for Oscar has dropped considerably.

But, Joaquin Phoenix that lips is as sexy as hell.

I must go see Avatar so I can hang shit on it.

The day slipped away, as days do, especially days off.

I had chicken risotto delivered to my eerie. Igor thanked sir for the 50 cent tip, he seemed pleased as he limped away. I felt cheap. I ate it with my hands, chicken stock dripped from my chin.

The guilt slipped up and tapped my shoulder, no matter how much I pushed it away.

I'd ridden my bike for two days, but not y'day. I couldn't face it, what kind of fitness shmuck does that make me? Spent on the third day. I guess, I should just embrace 100 kilos for what it will be... better than lung cancer, let’s face it. Although, coughing up blood to the surprise of the general public, I'm sure, would not be without its charms. Could you imagine Mr and Mrs Beige's look of horror... mucous and cherry red spittle, could just be worth it.

Somewhere around 8.30, I decided I just couldn't be so lame... guilt stabbed my heart... daylight savings is a godsend, now ain't it? I gotta have "stickability" with this fitness carry on, my mum's favourite word for us kids when we were growing up, not to give up on stuff... when my mum could remember words that is.

I decided last Friday that I had turned over a new cliché, cliché, cliché... really going to move my fat arse, actually stomach, until it is no longer there to move. No excuses you lazy sack of shit!

I pulled on my brown shorts and slipped on black socks and slid my feet into my runners - Christian Louboutin eat your fucken heart out - and pushed myself out the door with untied laces flapping around my thin ankles, like snakes. Okay, jelly snakes. Yep, still got thin ankles, I guess I should be proud.

Just go walking, remember you did have those two Drumsticks the night before last. (Ed note - the calorie laden ice creams and not the chooks leg, Boysenberry artery clogger and Caramel stroke inducer) Don't even think about the bottle of red Friday night and Saturday night. That's a bottle each night, not one spread over two nights. I don't even get pissed any longer. Binge drinking my fat cunt! How hard can a walk be?

I started walking, but it seemed too slow, so I got to jogging. It was cool. My shins burned a bit, but otherwise I did well. My preference in more recent years has been bike riding. I used to jog a lot, but dodgy knees, you know the tear. But, jogging is calming, it has a certain freedom, a certain headway, definite forward motion. It's good to feel your lungs gasp, sometimes. I managed to jog all the way up Elgin to Swanston. Okay, I did it in two, walking in the middle around Brunswick. Oh, all right, and around Lygon, but I jogged the rest. I ran away from that guilt, hovering around me all day like a fart.

It Is Time We Changed Our Flag

It is so time we changed our flag. You know, I couldn't care less about the republic, I can't see what difference that is going to make to any of us. And if you are talking about direct election a la American style Presidential type shenanigans, then suddenly I come over all monarchist and my feelings for old Lis increase exponentially. More politics for the very wealthy the world does not need. (Yes, yes, the queen is very wealthy, I know) We need less government not more.
However, the flag is different. We need a flag that says Australia, like Canada has a flag that so unmistakably says Canada.
We don't need a flag that says, Oh what country is that?
I guarentee you that a huge number of Australians would have trouble telling the New Zealand flag from the Australian flag. (Of course, I realise, we don't have to dumb down the argument, but I'm sure you understand my point)
And what are we best known for? What is the greatest iconic Australian image?

Change the Aussie Flag

Change the Aussie Flag

Fat Bottomed Boys

I've just been for another bike ride around the Yarra. Day 2. I'm going again tomorrow, if my arse can stand it, sitting down on the seat. It can be a bit sensative when you first go into training. Ha, ha, listen to me, training. No, it is, gotta think positively. I'm going to get fit again. What did my exgirlfriend used to say, You are all sinewy. I was never really sure what that meant, but it sounded lean. Let's see if I can get her to repeat that, especially now her husband Steve is going to fat. Ha, ha, the best man wins... will win.

The bike path was full of fat arsed boys in checked shorts, today. Don't know why?

Oh won't you take me home tonight?

Oh down beside your red firelight,

Oh and you give it all you got

Fat bottomed boys you make the rockin' world go round

Fat bottomed boys you make the rockin' world go round

Just wandering along... no hurry, looking for the next buffet, no doubt... no surprise to me how they ended up beefy butted boys.

You know there is a point when they begin to look like they have girl's bums, when the waistband gets real tight and the hips spread outwards and they get that Jupiter 2 shaped look.

My mate Fergus used to love them with big bums. "Something to hang onto," Fergus used to say. "All that flesh."

Another mate of mine used to say straight boys had fat bums. I was never too sure about that one. I guessed it was because they didn't exercise them quite like gay boys do.

Tom used to say that Melbourne boys had chunky arses. I was never convinced about that one either. Tom said that Sydney boys generally had smaller arses. Maybe it's the cooler climate?

I'm lucky, my arse doesn't get fat. I put all my weight on in the stomach. Ah, er, um, I guess that's lucky.