Pinch Punch First of the Month!

 

After they did their first of the month routine, Mitch and Caleb wrestled, good heartedly, laughing most with the struggle, until Caleb was pinned down on his front and his light blue shorts and black jocks were down around his ankles, and Mitch was all over him.

Marvellous Melbourne

I love Melbourne, I guess because it is my home town. It is a shame that property developers have been allowed to destroy it. It's a shame that property developers are continuing to destroy it. I can't imagine what tourists would come here to see.

I love that it is multicultural.

I love it being a tram city.

I love its eclectic lane ways, it's avant-garde pretensions. I've really been loving the food lane way next to the GPO. Sam and I have been heading their for Japanese at lunch time. The overhead heaters are toasty.

I love that the people unabashedly wear black to make it a very black city. It's so noticeable in the winter with everyone in their black woollen coats.

Pity, I'm finding city living less and less appealing. Maybe I might just surprise every one and go and live... oh, I don't know... somewhere else.

Oh, maybe I just like to fucken whinge. I'm not sure which, any more. It's no longer the meek who shall inherit the earth, it is the whiners.

Did I tell you about Sunday?

I went to visit my mum nice and early, you know, get it over and done with. Is that terrible? I slipped in next to her and sat with her as she watched the soccer on the giant TV. She looks so excited whenever she sees me now. It's sad and joyous all at the same time.

I forgot her mints, so we drove up to the shop to buy some. She loves going out for drives now. Small things... I guess we've all got it to look forward to. She looks so cute, when she buttons her jacket up to her neck and puts on her hat.

I went straight to Nicholas and Tim’s after mum. Nicolas has just picked up his new car and, of course, Tim doesn’t drive, doesn’t have a licence, so, Nicholas asked me to take him driving. He was good too, considering he doesn’t have many people in his life who drive. He’s done it all on his own, good for him. Tim hasn’t been very encouraging, it’s just not his thing, driving. He's not so good beyond his own interests. I think he holds Nicholas back sometimes, but, who am I to judge other people's relationships.

We dropped into see our friend Sara, who turned down our lunch offer. How's that? What is she like! She was the first to crunch Nicholas' door on the blue stone gutter. Scraunch!!!!!!! He looked distressed, I told him he just had to expect it. We had lunch in St Kilda, which Nicholas said was a perv-fest. Tim keeps the beautiful Nicholas on a short leash. He’s so funny when Tim isn’t around, much more relaxed. I ate chicken parmigiana, Nicholas had a BLT. Pineapple juice and coke. It was a lovely day sitting out in the sun watching the world go by.
We picked Tim up from our other friend Helen’s, later in the afternoon. They’d been to Chadstone shopping. Tim bought a new dinner set - he seemed more interested in that than the progress Nicholas was making with his driving.
We got back to their place around 6pm.

Shane sms’d me not long after, if you are home can you stir the soup. I was really ready to leave Tim and Nicholas’s, but I was watching a doco on deep sea fishing and had been just too lazy, up until that point, to get off my fat arse, despite the fact that their heating had been broken for a week and it was cold. Tim had wrapped himself up in a blanket by this stage, with a chardonnay. Natch! I took Shane’s sms as a sign and said I had to go.

I came home to the house full of smoke! The soup had, practically, turned black on the top of the stove, probably ready to burst into flames. It stank, with acrid smoke. It even stank up stairs. A thick plume hung over the lounge, once I switched the light on, a dark cloud hugging the ceiling. All that was missing was a few burly firemen appearing out of the haze.
Shane and Sebastian had left the soup on while they went shopping, but they'd hit a bar in Smith Street on the way back, getting rotten drunk on Montenegro (Vodka with Cacao) and, presumably, had lost track of time.

I thought, after what happened in the last few weeks, one would understand if I was a little sensitive about such things, as I threw the windows and doors open. I lit a fire, so then at least there was some heat being generated to counteract the cold gushing in.

Shane and Sebastian arrived home not long after, laughing and too drunk to care really, falling about in the kitchen, thinking it was a huge joke.
“Oh Jesus!”
“Jesus fuck!”
Ha, ha, ha, snigger, snigger, snigger.

Ms Hepburn

It's funny, when I talk to one of my mother's friends on the phone, I could be talking to Katherine Hepburn.

Now blind Joan – macular degeneration, who still manages to live at home, on her own – talking about Lottie going into care.

"She's better off, Christian," she boomed down the phone. "Better off. You have done all you can do."

I don't get the association in person, but on the phone, it is uncanny.

I feel like I want to call her up some days and ask her to talk about Spencer for a bit.

Sparkling bright.

Beauty, the pool where radiance

lives momentarily.

Nick walking the catwalk

No Training Required?

You know what this idiot state govt has gone and done now? They've given Vic Roads men the same authority to fine motorists as the police. Clearly, no police training is actually required, one would assume?

Or is this a militia? The first sign of privatisation?

Surely the state can't be that hard up? I thought the economy was strong? Don't we have enough coppers? Is this a part of the continual droning on about law and order?

If we need more police, why don't we employ more police?

People are funny

Beck said to me last week that she wanted to take Monday off instead of today, as it’s her mother’s birthday on the weekend and she asked me if I could work. Sure, I said. Then today we were talking about stuff for next week that we’d get done on Tuesday.

“Am I working Tuesday?”

“Aren’t you going to be here?” She had that look on her face.

I just thought since I was working Monday that I’d take Tuesday off. Silly me. “Oh... I can be.”

“It’s the end of the financial year, you know, I’ll need you to work as much as you can.” Still that look and that tone Beck gets when she is stressed.

“Sure, okay.” I tried not to feel pissed off, but, you know, I was. So you're having your day off, but some how, I'm not. Beck has been complaining about people who only think of themselves all week. It was the end of the day and I left as soon as I could.

Never ceases to amaze me how funny... odd, people can be.

Then I walked out of the front door, putting a cigarette in my mouth as I exited, still fighting feeling pissed off. It was raining quite heavily, bouncing in big drops on the bitumen of Bourke Street. There was a heavily pregnant woman who jumped at the sight of my cigarette.

“Disgusting,” she said at me.

It’s just rude, really. The licence some people think they have. The fresh wind was blowing all around us, what did she think was going to happen? A birth defect because of my cigarette, quite possibly?

You know the type, thinks she is making a grand sacrifice to the world by reproducing, acts like she is the only woman who has ever been pregnant. Me, me, me, me, as pregnant woman so want to do now a days.

Oh, settle down, I thought. I walked passed her and lit it. I waited for her to complain, as I watched the rain fall. I was ready to laugh at her, if she did. But she didn’t and I didn’t look back.

Oh, maybe I was just tired, you know, end of the week and all. But...

My Cute Man

Sam stayed last night, for only the second time. He came over after work and hung out for the night. We watched teev and ate Vietnamese and cuddled on the couch. Shane got more and more pissed, Sam thinks he's funny.

Shane likes Sam, I can tell. When I asked late if Sam wanted to go home, (the driver to the non-driver) Shane said, before Sam could answer, “You should stay, it’s too late to go now. Stay. Stay.” Or should that be, Shane slurred?

I don’t usually like sleeping with anyone... actually, that’s not exactly true. I don’t like sleeping with just anyone, but with Sam, it’s kind of nice. We fell asleep our heads touching on the same pillow. That must be saying something, huh?

He kissed me bleary-eyed this morning. "See ya, gotta get to work."

I rolled over and looked at the clock one-eyed, it was 8am. My day off.

It felt good, you know. Nice.

"See ya handsome."

He smiled his sweet smile. I pulled the doona up to my neck and could feel sleep coming for me again. Sam waved from the door.

Sexting – Why Do We Lie To Our Kids?

Teenagers have been charged over "sexting" offences where explicit photos of students are sent around.
Police say charges are laid in only the most extreme cases while the majority were referred to the appropriate govt department.

The police minister said kids did not understand the seriousness of sexting.
"Children don't see it as a crime and fail to grasp the consequences of their actions," said the police minister. "They may think they are only sending an image to their boyfriend or girlfriend, but they could be sending that image to the world, ."
He said parents need to be more aware of how their children use mobile phones and other technology.

But the truth is that they are most likely not sending their image to the world, that they most likely are only sending the image to their boyfriend or girlfriend and there probably will be no long term effects, psychological, or otherwise.
Do we tell our children these lies because it is the cheapest method of dealing with adults hang up about sex? What does a bit of nudity really matter anyway? It is scandalous that teenagers would be charged with child pornography offences for this.
When did we become so, so ridiculous about sex? This is not a serious issue. Do the police and govt departments not have better things to do with their time. Here's a tip guys, go look for some real criminals. Here's another tip, stop making cheap political miles out of non-issues.

He liked these jocks the best. His boyfriend agreed

You Don't Have A Care In The World

I looked at my cat, Missy, just as I was heading out the back door with a million things to do, with her one paw out stretched, over the blanket she was snuggled up to, the winter sun shining in through the window forming the proverbial pool in which she was lying, as if in her very own spot light, one eye closed, one lazily half-open and I thought, you don't have a care in the world.

I wanted to be her.

I did spend morning tea in Brunettis drinking coffee and eating crème brûlée and afternoon tea in another establishment drinking tea and eating chocolate chip biscuits.

Sam text me eating brûlée or chocolate biscuits and said he was jealous. He came over last night and shared in our Sunday night dinner – I made a flourless French chocolate cake, because some of the gang have decided recently that they are gluten intolerant, as is half the world, so it would seem, now a days. I made it up to him for neglecting him last week, you know, with pats and licks. The way to a boy's heart, food and sex. I said I was sorry, as I gazed into his eyes and he said he was sorry too.

Truthfully, I didn't really think I had any thing to apologise for, it was extraordinary circumstances, last week. But, I was sorry that his feelings had been hurt. And, hey, an apology doesn't cost anything.

And he's got beautiful brown eyes.

The winter sun shone down all day and it was all quite lovely. Sunny winter days in Melbourne are really gorgeous like warm honey trickled over you, or fur lined slippers around your toes.

Missy was quickly wrapped around my ankles, when I got home late, meowing, meowing, meowing. Oh yes, I thought, now you've got a care, hey?

White linen was hiding his perfect delights

Go On Ruin The Environment You Wanker

I went out to chop some wood for the open fire. The axe hit the first piece and that 'thwunk" sounded through the earth underneath me and I heard someone say, "Go on ruin the environment."

The voice was kind of at a distance, somewhere over the fence and far off, so it seemed. I didn't think much about it. Oh, that old peanut, I thought, if I thought anything at all.

I chopped some more. It was followed by, "Keep going you idiot, polluting the atmosphere."

I wondered where it was coming from.

I chopped the last pieces and the voice said, "You're a wanker, you are destroying the world."

I wondered who he was talking to? I picked up my wood and realised, he must have been talking about me.

He sounded angry, possible deranged. I thought it was some nutter. But who?

I laughed to myself, as I headed inside, imagine if he confronted me. I felt a chill up my spine, I have to admit, as I got closer to my back door, as whatever if was behind me got bigger and darker.

"Mate, I don't have any kids to leave anything to, let alone the world. I don't care about the environment, because nobody else does. Did you see what happened in Copenhagen?"

I wondered if he was unhinged enough to punch me for that comment? You know, the argument you shouldn't have. I wondered if he was one of those toothless types, who didn't understand any of it, but believed it all wholeheartedly?

"Yeah, but what about me fucken kids!!!!" (I kind of picture being held up against a wall with his spindly hands around my neck, spitting small droplets of spittle on my face as he shook)

I wondered if he'd buy,

the wood lets off just as much carbon if you burn it or if you let it rot on the ground. Which is true, I believe.

Or,

Australia's carbon emissions are negligible, so my open fire isn't effecting anyone.

It's the kind of confrontation where the dumb commit murder because they are passionate about something because the world has told them they should be. Understanding not required.

He sounded dumb.

I went inside and used two fire lighters to get my fire going. No, I didn't.

I thought that the deal was, that as long as we generate power from burning brown coal, burning wood actually pollutes less, or the same, or something?

Whichever, it's not so bad.

I Don't Think He Is Really Buying It

Sam is pissed off with me. It is to be expected. Well, I did, pretty much, ignored him all week. It's true. I looked after my mum, but ignored him. Oh, I didn't mean to. I didn't do it on purpose. I had lots of things to think about and lots of things going on. I had to make all of the decisions, which is fine, but it left me with little energy afterwards. It was all swirling there for a few days and I had to snatch at the information and make decisions fast. I was exhausted at the end of each day and just wanted to shut down, afterwards.

Problem being, I don't think he is really buying it. Oh well, best I make it up to him today. Or smack him one? Now which? I suggested that I might slap his arse, which he didn't respond to, which he normally would. That was an easy one to pick.

I've been very gentle so far, but he just wasn't sounding like he was in a forgiving mood, not entirely. I mean, he said that he understood, but his tone, kinda, said something else.

Grrr!

He wants me to stop smoking pot, too, which is probably a good call. And, you know, I don't mind boyfriends telling me what to do, it is a part of their charm, the tussle between their wants and my wants, but they have to make it to boyfriend status first. Don't you think?

The Novas are Good, I Can Recommend Them

I do like a good mandarin selection in the supermarket. Yesterday there were Imperial, Clementine and Nova. I was very happy.

I got Imperial, because I'm a bit of an Imperial boy and Novas, as I'd never had them before. I used to have this conversation with Tom. He was strictly an Imperial boy. Sigh.

The Novas are good, I can recommend them.

Although, not much goodness in a mandarin, apparently, they taste so good, but are inferior fruit to Oranges, which have lots of antioxidants that mandarins don't have. How could this be?

They taste pretty good, but with no depth. A bit like a blond.

Maybe, they are good to juggle with? Maybe?

I'm sure they'd be good to throw at cockheads, you know, people who drive everywhere at 40k's, or talk loudly on their phone, but, why, when you can have mandarin juice running down your chin instead.

Oranges are great, don’t get me wrong, I am just exaggerating for dramatic effect. We’re lucky, we can have both, everyone would have to agree.

No Consequence

How sad it is when you get to the end of your life, it’s of no consequence. There is no great fanfare, no great party, just the possible end of somebody else’s burden.

That’s what it becomes and it’s not right. A comment on the current population is how they treat the elderly.

And she lived in the golden age of the planet. No one to step forward even with a cursory congratulations.

Just a declaration of confusion and I’ll send you the literature on the different places.

In the end, I could no longer make it right for her. Sorry mum. At least I still make you laugh.

I went to mum’s assessment. She didn’t go so well, pretty much solitary confinement, not too much doubt there. It's bread and water from here on out. Funny, no matter the education, no matter the wealth, we all end up the same... needing someone to wipe our arses.

I can’t stay here, said mum.

Why not, asked the assessment lady.

I might, I might, I might get to like it.

I, not only got the neighbour to feed the cat indefinitely, she's even going to go in and change the lights around. Whoo hoo! I just straight out and asked her. Although, apparently, I do have certain allure over middle aged women. I find I can charm, even just on half strength charm, not even the full throttle. They give me that look

... it's to do with the fluttering of the eyes, be it briefly and a certain smile...

and more often, than not, they respond to my requests. It's a recent power, I've noticed over the last number of years.

Life's like the TV series Heroes, more powers just seem to keep coming. (I'm sure, said by Forest Gump, on my sound track, anyway. I thought that was such a woefully bad movie, that it would, actually, keep me on my toes, you know.)

OMG! Life is precious. Don't get me wrong, foetuses aren't precious, there is a never ending supply of those. I mean real, place to be, a home where I belong, with family and friends who adore me, kind of life. People with lives. Because once it's gone, it never comes back.

I cried on my way home in the car. Is that what boys do?

Actually, I cried when I took my brother's call. I didn't think I was going to, but I did. No getting around it, couldn't hide it, sob, sob. Not exactly what a straight brother wants to hear when his gay brother answers the phone, probably worst nightmare stuff. He was cool, I called him back.

My dad and mum have now done their bit; the rest is, now, really up to me. Yikes! 

Onward!

I took a big breath and thought, so far, so good. Not bad. I backed the car out and headed into the day. I had to get out, as the cleaner had arrived. Eek! I hate that. Those sorts of things should just happen, I don't have to see it. Good thing I wasn't... hand movement waist height. I was off day.

I'm sure she changes the positions of the cat's bowls around when she comes. She does it on purpose, she knows I don't like her. Every time I got on the phone, she seemed to get on the vacuum. Well, not her exactly, she's very nice, it's just the idea that creeps me out. I'm cleaner phobic, but it could be construed otherwise. David says I'm incorrigible. Anyway, I've just realised after she's gone, I'm always dumping Madam's chow in her water bowl. Right, left?

I hooked back into my sound track with Patti Austen and The Ability to Swing, in the car in Victoria Street. Every thing felt better after that song.

Onward!

I haven't felt like thinking about Sam, not since all the drama unfolded. I've kind of shut him out. That's hardly fair, huh? I guess I should text him?

Just one problem at a time, I just haven't had the energy to deal with something extraneous. Grimace. I mean that in the nicest way. Just getting through.

I go to the nursing home, there's Lottie taken up with a blind and deaf woman, she said she was telling her what was going on, on television. She said it was very nice there, despite the fact she was still going home after a week. Even if it was more of an enquiry than a demand, almost fading in it's intensity. Perhaps, it was my imagination, wishful thinking. But, she's already not quite sure how long she has been there. I guess it was all a very big drama for her, too.

She let go in the hospital, when she realised that the decision had been taken away from her. I saw a part of her fail as she gave in. My feisty, beautiful mother chose the better option meekly, she did not want to stay in that hospital. And I felt sad.

Now, there is a certain resignation. A definite bunnies-in-the-head-lights look about her.

Makes me sad.

I looked back at mum's cat gazing down at me from her back porch, like how many cats had done before her? I can count five, a tabby and a lot of black and whites, always black and white. 

I thought, as we locked eye balls, Well, I guess your tenancy is up too, little Squirt?

I’ve got all my friends worded up, if they think of my mum’s cat, they should text me and remind me, you know, just in case. You just can't forget those things, you know.

The house stinks, Shane will be impressed.

One problem at a time

 7am. Alarm. Up, coffee on, muesli in bowl. Next problem ticked off, the nurses.

I called my sister at 7.30. She was driving to work. We briefly spoke finances. She wished me luck.

The hospital called, just as I was finishing my muesli. Good thing they did, I never know the etiqutte of these things. I’m just about to leave. Could I bring clothes. Yes, I could.

Detour to mums.

Lottie’s very agitated when I get to the hospital, but I get her laughing. The age care professional comes and has a word with me, tells me the process. Lottie can’t go home. We hear that mum is getting dressed and leaving. One thinks she has caught on.

She’s getting dressed and leaving, she was determined.

We sat her down and had a discussion about why she couldn’t go home. She protested a lot. So when it was eventually decided that she had to stay in the hospital, she finally piped up, in the silence of her stubbornness, okay, I’ll go to the other place to be assessed, but just for a week. But it wasn’t ego, it was defeat. She said she would do it for me.

We were in, she had agreed. The assessments would be less rushed in respite than what necessitates assessment combined with the running of a busy hotel. It made sense. She got that, she agreed.

I guess Lottie’s worst nightmare came true at around midday today, as I lead the poor little lamb in by the hand to a pale pink, with dark pink high lights, old age care facility.

The very nice lady running the place, said, you are cold. (not me, mum, you understand?) You should have a nice cup of tea and some lunch, to warm you up. And she took her away. I heard mum being introduced to the other inmates, as I stood at reception filling out the paperwork.

And there was my mother, sitting up drinking tea and eating lunch, chatting away. There she was, playing lady, the same eye flicks, the same round mouth when she was asked if she liked sausages. Oh no. The same finger twitches. The napkin was tucked in to her oldest gardening jumper.

She didn’t see me watching her.

She was off and chatting, as the sun shone in through the tulle’d windows.

She then just kissed me good bye, no tears, no glance back. Distracted with new things, so quickly. She thinks she is staying a week. Five days, as she counted out.

And I got a park right outside my hairdresser early afternoon and I had a haircut. I bought two pork salad rolls. I came home wrote blogs and smoked pot in between fielding calls from an assortment of health care professionals. I was beginning to fade by 18.30, I could hear it in my voice.

I called work. Poor Beck is hating to hearing her say she is going to resign for the very first time. So, with that on the cards, I gave her my sob story and asked for the rest of the week off. She agreed but I could hear it was what she didn’t want to hear. She hesitated before she said it was alright.

I don’t know if I’m terrible, but I got home and thought, Well, that wasn’t so hard, quite relaxed, really. Of course, it’s not done yet – raised open hands – not by a long shot, but so far so good.

And I rolled myself a great, fat j. And lit a fire and wondered what Shane was going to provide for dinner.

Next step meet the insurance assessor.

Actually, the next step is, put wood on the fire and then food. Safely home again.

Shane bought home healthy, organic take away. And wine. And we got shitfaced.