Of Love and Strippers

I've two Bestest Oldest friends. Whilst we all probably sport a few, these friendships don't have anything to do with wrinkles or decrepitude, for these are friendships that have survived over time.

Of the older of the friendships, we met at good ol' kindy. He'd scare the shit out of me in full Batman regalia, a truer actor never seen, now with series, shows, movies and a production company under his belt. Who woulda thunk?

To the best of my knowledge his love didn't come from watching strippers, which is why this tale concerns the other. Whilst Dr Who, Sven Hassell and airfix glue had brought us together (war models of course), we'd moved on to food and wine, preferably both. I'm still not sure whether or not you need to be an alcoholic to be a surgeon. Regardless, Surgeons seem happy when they're not actually working and they do know how to eat and drink well. Senor Surgeon and I crisscrossed the n our early twenties, breaking hearts here, exploring that then, yet always in touch. Twas a guarantee that whoever called first would receive a 'mate, I was just thinking of you'.

Years later we ended up sharing a house and its here that the strippers carried in their special kind of love. It wasn't with latex or lube, no outfits of which I'm aware, but with schnitzel.

Thursdays at one of the locals had 'entertainment'. Still having a few standards left, we weren’t quite enthralled by the tattooed pappery of that week's topless bar maid. Believe it or not the food was actually the focus, with a kitchen run by the team of an award winning restaurant.

As always, the place was packed. Elderly Jewish couples here, boys on the make there, girls dipping their toe in public titification and a few dregs from the local housing commission, most of whom could walk unassisted. Sometimes.

With the only two spare seats in the house at our table, the couple who arrived late had no choice but to sit with us at the head of the room. Strippers stripped. Drinks we're drunk. Two of our team departed, leaving the female half of the couple, Senor Surgeon and I. Knowing we'd be walking home through a wintry Melbourne night, more wine was a necessity. Two hours of necessitude later, we walked the leftover female half to her house, blocks from our own. She then came to ours, where I left them and bedded my head.

Six years later they've fought, lied to their parents about how and where they met, split up, recombined, done it all over again and then finally moved back into her house, the one we walked her to that night. This time it's with the two children they've had along the way I'm in complete awe to have been there at the start of it all. Congratulations guys.

Another night at home

As you might have gathered, I have some interesting friends. People ever so left of centre.

So it seems do my flatmates, one of whom announced she was off to pose for Penthouse. I can't say I've ever bought an issue, nor would with her within but it's an interesting idea.

More real perhaps when she brings home her girl-on-girl photoshoot companion, their female friend, and their photographer.

If I was typing no handed this would currently have the feel of a Penthouse Forum letter, Instead, it's two handed with The Saints and I'm Stranded - which some of us might just be, stuck within our comfort zones.

Ignoring my near naked flatmate, twould seem many are more exposed than her, irretrievably. So, as I await the police, here's my story:

Three 20 something girls, posing on a balcony, sea silhouetted before them. One overly enthusiastic photographer, aiming for his money shot. Is he legit, about to break them into the magazines or is he living up to his stereotype and they theirs? They'd be able to confirm it as much as they could their rights, still they gave everything, though now to everyone: Bi-23 year old curvaceous blonde, free to good home. Slightly soiled.

Vaguely bi 26 year old brunette in better shape? Here, but not quite as free - it will depend on the questioning.

Wish the fuckers would hurry up though, this bottle is almost empty.

So, three girls, one photographer, and an impartial observer. These girls aren't my type and didn't seem to need a fluffer or a nipple icer. Dweeb the photographer is getting in real close - apparently the light's not the best and his flash isn't really doing the job. He could of course be a shit photographer living out his fantasies, but who am I to judge. He's in close. 26 year old is arched over the balustrade, one knee bent. Hair flung out, she's a Ralph readers wet dream, elusive but attainable. Really. You too could find your own if you got out of the bedroom.

He's in close, down low, playing the light along her back and seeing how much detail he can find in an otherwise uninspiring black gstring. Boy leg lace would have at least been contemporary. Fucken Queenslanders. Out goes a hand, whether to brush or tease or spread we'll never know: in spite of the giggles and laughter she's had enough, kicking back with another tasteless stiletto, slipping perfectly betwixt his ribs and stopping his hand altogether as the stiletto pierces his heart.

Which is why I'm whiling away time typing as a surprisingly small pool of blood cools around a guy I'd barely met.


Note: some of this might actually have happened but the rest of it I made up. Probably. Happy weekend kids.

Two for the price of one

Whatever.

I do stuff, rather than worrying about what everyone else is up to. Now that would be luxury.

Today you get two posts for the price of one. Similarly shitty themes, but vastly different inspirations.

Numero Uno - My worst first date

Twas a friend’s party, about five years back. She’d been wanting to set me up with a friend of hers, a friend I’d met socially once or twice.

I was late, with everyone well into it by the time I arrived. Great apartment on the beach, decent tunes and inneressin’ people.

Now I honestly can’t remember her name, which you’ll understand might be deliberate once you read of the horrors to come.

We talked. Flirted. Flirted. Talked, drinking much wine and vodka in the process.

I’d noticed she was matching me drink for drink, despite disappearing to dance, see other friends, and talk to others. I didn’t think anything of it.

With the party winding down around midnight a few of us decided to wander on to a club. Nameless and I left together, possibly snogging on the short walk to a taxi. Here the weirding begins.

Our driver was your average middle European of course I no do the ESL– I speak it very well. Yeah.

We head off. At that hour on a wintry Melbourne night it’s barely a five minute trip to the club in particular. Just prior to the turnoff we needed, Nameless decided to lay her head down and said “Just take me home”. And proceeded to pass out.

The second her head hit my lap, and every intersection thereafter, the cab driver turned to me in the mirror and said “No womit. You no womit in car, no womit”. The fourth time he handed out such illuminating advice I suggested he shut up before she did.

Last words and fame, in fucking legwarmers, for it was then I realised I didn’t even know her address, merely her suburb. Her wallet? Different suburb entirely on her licence, where she grew up. I roused her.

I roused her too much.

She womited. Everywhere. Womit. Everywhere. Floor. Seats. Her. Me. Thank fuck for leather jackets is all I can say.

Cue cabby losing the plot, pulling over, her falling into gutter and he and I spending 20 minutes sorting her out and cleaning up.

Finally, we had her back in the cab and relatively clean. She was even vaguely coherent. I strapped her in and ran up the street to get her some water for the trip. Between the run, the junkies inside and the run back I was probably away all of three minutes. Three good minutes as it meant this was closer to being over.

So, now that everything’s good, imagine my horror upon approaching the cab to see the cabbie outside the cab, berating something slumped in the gutter. He’s ranting and raving in the exact opposite degree of impact it’s having on the lump on the ground.

Except it’s not a lump.

It’s my new, nameless girlfriend, who, in that fateful 3 minutes has vomited again and lost control of her bowels in the process. All of her bowels. Now we’ve all seen those adult incontinence pad ads: they don’t use mini skirt clad, fishnet and gstring wearing models for a fuck of a good reason. Putting it simply – none of these items have any hope of keeping something inside the body. My girl was slumped there, covered in her own vomit, piss and shit. As was the cab.

And I didn’t even know her name.

Now this is the point that a lot of guys I know say they would have left. Call me stupid, chivalrous or a glutton for punishment but I would not leave anyone unconscious by the side of the road.

Senor Womit had had enough by now, took all the cash I had and drove off, leaving me with a bottle of Mt Franklin, some tissues and Ms Smelly.

The next hour was not the best of my life as I attempted to sober and clean her up enough to tell me where she lived whilst trying to hail a cab and keep her tits in and her arse covered. Did I mention the cold?

An hour and a half later she could talk, although the cabbie I hailed couldn’t work out why I wound down my window given the temperature. Then the smell hit him. We got her home.

By now I’d realised she probably wouldn’t remember what had happened, except perhaps leaving the party, with me, which her friends would verify. Undone by chivalry, she wouldn’t even be able to tell if she was raped, assaulted or abducted by aliens. I decided to get her safely inside, write a note with contacts and get the fuck out of there, fast.

Arguing with her about taking her clothes off outside, trying for half an hour to get her into the shower, her rolling still filth-covered on her pristine linen then spending a further fifteen attempting to get said filthy clothes off her were in comparison very, very slow.

Whilst it was flattering to have her attempt to pull me into bed, sex was the last thing on my mind. No sex on my mind. Nada.


In consolation, I reasoned that no matter how bad I was feeling, she was going to feel much, much worse upon awakening.

There ends my Worst First Date. What's yours?


Numero due

Religion = Blinkers.

Feel free if you want to ascribe to beliefs set down hundreds to thousands to tens of years ago, by individuals just like you and I but I am going to think you scared of coming to your own conclusions, or stupid. Or both.

Religion is, has and will be, about power. It’s been the justification for more death, destruction and sorrow than any other one purpose.

Tabi, you’re welcome to stay and play, just thought you should know my beliefs since I know yours.

Rules

Umm, does anyone have a need for rules or are we all comfy about saying and doing as we want around here. Never really saw the need but apparently I can be a li'l harsh at times.

OMGOMG, word from the top end of town is we're having an orgy!!!
Caz gets pride of place between Imelda and Steph, so everyone else, choose your positions. Carefully.

Whatever Day

Apologies y'all, I forget this is a dating site.

For the record, I do presents, sensational sex, flowers and awesome dates on ANY other day of the year than tomorrow.

Go eat some chocolate.

Shuddup.

Twists in the road

The coast is a weird place.

Jokes aside, it draws a lot of people in who want to get back on their feet. I was, in a way, as was a great friend of mine. She's also my oldest friendship up here, not to mention my Monster.

Yes, she's my fault. Clean living, single mother of two, she started spending hours with me and mine a few years ago. These aren't the seedy underbelly of the Gold Coast in any way - but they are the not-so-vanilla upper echelons: they own everything. They know everyone. Fly up to Noosa for lunch - when? Rooftop nude karaoke in the spa as the sunrises after another allnighter - of course. This is my adopted world.

She bloomed. More life. More love. We'd finish work of a Friday and hit the beach, content to drift for an hour and catch up. Many a time we were out on the Monday morning thereafter, sand & salt still in our hair.

We sat at her farewell tonight and looked around: her whole present and future were through me. Tis a weird, weird feeling to know you've had that much of an impact on someone with whom you're not in a couply relationship.

I nearly lost her a couple of times. First, by sleeping with her daughter. Second by allowing a then girlfriend to dictate which friends it was appropriate for a non-single guy to have and thirdly to that ever-present fucker, the good ol' reaper himself. We won, but it came too close.

Despite this, she was still there for me and I her, to the point where now she's off. Now, two years after we first thought we were back on our feet, we are.

Best of luck Monster.

Quickiecosihavnaegotmuchtime

Somuchtosay,toolittletimetopunctuateandspace.

Almost.

Yeah, things are stupid, proven by 422 emails to read and 8 hours sleep in 2 days. I do love winning work though and we're absolutely kicking it. Having the talent around to make weird projects come alive - I love even more. Viva la fucking weirdness.

So, things you need to know:

Read Haruki Murakami. All of them.
Be as honest as you possibly can, always: you never have to defend it.
Do not regret anything, ever, unless it was really wrong and cats can't walk with only two legs.
Read Camilo Jose Cela. He didnt win the Nobel Prize for Lit for nuthin.
I see religion as an abrogation of self belief.
Pinot Noir is supposedly the best wine for the body. Whatever excuse you need, drink it. Unchilled. Sideways is crap though, except for the Merlot comment. Merlot = Stupid.
I am alive and I have been living and I have been partying and I was awoken by random blondes jumping me in the early hours of saturday morning and my flatmates friend is the dumbest blonde ever and will even admit the fact and sometimes, just sometimes, things happen in really weird ways. But by fuck do they feel great.

Now, in relation to any get togetherers that might be going on this Saturday night in this fucked up land of the long white sock, no. I can't make it. Radio Birdman are playing and I never thought I'd get to see them play in my life. There is no argument.

Bear Hibernates!!!

Chilled by the aching wastes of stalking and a bunch of other crap, Rigo has gone into hibernation. Her site is now off, nada, dead, deceased and not living. It might be long, it might be short, it may be metamorphic, cathartic and perhaps even prophetic.

Stay tuned.

Stupid Queensland

Ever had acupuncture?

Riding a motorbike at speed in a tropical rainstorm is about a 1000 times worse. Each droplet pricks before being mashed into you by the droplet behind them.

I'm now sitting at my desk in my pants, shirt dripping behid me and shoes glistening dully. Crocodile should be fucking waterproof. Was looking hot too.

Morning all.

Thanks, I’ve been busy.

You look great, really.

I love the dress.

Your hair looks fucking amazing.

I didn't think I’d ever see those colours again.

Wow, you did come out.

OMG how, did you get that pregnant in only a month? You're not?

You two never appear together.


Yeah. I’ve been busy, but it’s nice of you to all to come here today to the Yes I do fucking Rock awards, by me, for me. Makes it easy as there’s a couple of changes I wanted to tell y'all about.

Firstly, it’s been brought to my attention that this isn’t a blog and you aren’t interested readers with pithy views who shine light on my glowing repartee.

No, this is in fact a dating site and all of my female readers are actually, and I quote, gaping sluts. It’s funny I hadn’t noticed this a while back as I’m rather partial to that particular part of the female anatomy.

Anyway, you can start by buying a subscription. There’s no set price - just send me your bank account details and logins. Secondly, feel free to just lurk and read if you havent quite worked up the guts to post. Thirdly, whether we’re actually flirting or fucking our respective brains out, rest assured that I worked through my anger issues way, way back. They were just the usual divorced parents/teen crap. Since those rocky days I’m only tempted to put a hole in something when my friends or family are threatened — and OM!FGLOLZAFUCKINGPALOOZA!!!1! I’ve found ways of making holes that don’t even need a wall. Do not fuck with people close to me.



Um. Mmm. Most of that was crap, except for the anger and the holes and messing with mine.

A friend of mine has a stalker. He seems to have decided that the best way of winning back an acquaintance is to threaten her safety and peace of mind. I haven’t tried this method but a quick survey of the bibles Cleo, Cosmo and Mills & Boon suggests that not since the days of Vlad the Impaler have such methods done much for one’s chances with womenfolk.

It happens all the time though, someone’s frustration and annoyance taking them to the point of ludicrous action. Seeing it happen to anyone close to me is the one and only time I want to get physically violent. Yeah, it’s a shame that I feel like resorting to their level, but fuckem. Do. Not.

Especially when the individual concerned is pretty fucking amazing. No, I’m not going out with her, I haven’t fucked her nor have we kissed. She’s pretty much the opposite of manipulative, tends to be very direct in what she wants and has one of the most incredible balances between smarts and naiveté that I’ve ever seen. Many think she’s got balls so big she carries them in handbags yet at times she’s so unsure of herself that your heart is in your mouth in wonder at her next move.

I’m a selective fucker these days, letting close only those that have something to add to me. Selifsh? Yep. Not needing any more friends and being able to provide enough company is sensational in that respect but when there’s someone that can charm with a question and surprise with a response, you can’t let them pass on by.

This is however on the proviso that they want you in their life. As hard as it is to do without someone that we think we need, it does happen. Get the fuck over it.

So, Pool Cue Boy, stay the fuck away from Rigo. It’s easy to track all sorts of movements online, and just as easy to provide that information to the relevant authorities. ISPs are remarkably responsive when there’s been illegal activity and Queensland does have the most refined definitions of stalking in Australia.

I’ll be back to cutesy soon.

Pace. If you think I’m saying get up to my speed, go the fuck home and learn some latin .

Morning

Come play with me.

C'mon, wakeup.

The sun's been up an hour, the surf's light and the beach is empty.

We'll be kids, fighting the waters 'til our arms ache.