The Aboundment

Thank fuck we don't have middens*

2006-09-26T16:42:00.000+10:00

Yep. Thank fuck.

Cos my midden would confuse the fuck out of latter year archaeologists:

Latter Year Archaeologist 1 Ooh. Look at this. He was a vegetarian.

Latter Year Archaeologist 2 No he wasn't - I've got the entire skeletons of three completely different animals here and the formation suggests that they were disposed of in a 6.75 hour period.

LYA1: No way.

LYA2: Yes way. It looks like he was a great hunter too - some of these things come from all over the world. Didn't drink that much though, judging by the 16 cases of this wine staff that seem to be around

LYA1: But the formation suggests...

LYA2: Ah yes. 6.75 hours.

Yeah. Me. Busy as fuck. Given that I lose weight when I work like this and I exercise to balance out the stress, I can EAT WHATEVER I WANT.

ALL.

THE.

TIME.

This is a massive change in comparison to normal as I can also DRINK WHATEVER I WANT ALL THE TIME and not get hangovers. Someone has to soak up the wine glut and keep all those French vignerons in business.

Unfortunately I'm also knackered. As La Pirata suggested I may be intermittently dead. Cereally. It could well be true: I slept through a fire alarm and a building evacuation last night. Wasn't the vino either. None left there.

Fun. Fun. Fun. Funnity fun.

Backdoor listings are fun. Bookshops putting Douglas Coupland in the self help section as he's used 'Nostradamus' in the title is fun.

Diving into a swarm of cuntingly devious irukandji camouflaged by wave froth is not fun.

Feeding the water dragon’s fresh from their wintry nap is fun.

So, all in all it's work now, fun soon. Suggestions possibly accepted.

* For the nuff-nuffs with no vocab.

Once was written

2006-09-06T09:29:00.000+10:00

Steve I gotta say Thank You,
For all you've done for me.
The nights are dark and lonley,
When you're not on TV.

Except that was written about a real TV show with helicopters and guns and lots and lots of lei action and I'm referring to

So, everyone praying for the apparently annointed Steve Irwin, fuck off, leave his family alone and go back to thinking he's a twat as you did on Sunday.

Yeah. I'm well alive.

Working

2006-08-14T15:11:00.000+10:00

So tell me what you're doin.

Another parallel

2006-07-17T08:27:00.000+10:00

I walked through the streets full of fiveoclock Madrid seething with twilight in shivered cubes of aguardiente redwine gaslamp-green sunset pink tileochre eyes lips red cheeks brown pillar of the throat climbed on the night train at the Norte station without knowing why

I’m so tired of violets
Take them all away

the shattered iridescent bellglass the carefully copied busts the architectural details of the grammar of styles

Now this is a weird one.

I’ve been well aware of an author for a while, but haven’t felt ready.

Queue weeks of madness driving weekends of exhaustion and suddenly the time was right.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Dos Passos.

Apart from that, I’ve been roped into having input on cultural policy. Sure, I know my yakult from my tzatziki, but what the fuck do I know about creativity. Ten or more years in commercially creative environments (read as: dealing with complete fuckwits with absolutely no clue who feel their best input can be given via negating the majority of proposals in front of them) has jaded me, for I can’t see the point in dolling out funding to potential artists.

Infrastructure, to support and encourage development, of anything - winner.

Funding that reinvents existing wheels and supports services available more cost effectively, efficiently and with better return to the wider community - Fuck. Off.

Protectionist policy has never worked outside a vacuum - so why on earth would it work for potential artists. Why would it work for potential businesses. Get out there. Create your thing. Make your piece. Fuck it up entirely but learn as you’re doing any of them.

But that’s me. What’s yours though - can creativity be created?

I'm worth a million in prizes

2006-06-30T07:56:00.000+10:00

Fact.

Fun has been had, worlds conquered, sods turned, pages flipped, books closed, milk spilt, views espoused, calculation, miscalculation and recalcumalations made. Flutters are paying off.

I’m off to gets me a GTO.

Reasons even I think I'm crazy

2006-06-23T11:56:00.000+10:00

also entitled Sit back and enjoy the soothing strains of TISM.

1 I enjoyed my annual review
3 Visibility dropped to 50m today, cars stopped to wait out the deluge, runoff was all over the place AND STILL I CACKLED GLEEFULLY AS I SLID AROUND ON THE WAY TO WORK, arriving 137.4% soaked.
4 The next three months are going to be hell and I can.not.wait.
1 I got everything I requested.

Talk amongst yerselves for a bit, I'll be back.

What I did with my time away

2006-06-12T12:44:00.000+10:00

So, the gangrene set in after another sub 26 degree day, inching its way along first one then another finger, gouging life from thumb and toe alike. Nothing worked: single malt, salt water - those wigglies were gone.

After weeks of physiotherapy I'm now able type two letters a minute thanks to one of those suction cup darts stuck to my forehead. I could type faster but it builds up a bit of a sweat and the dart falls off.

This apology for my silence has taken three hours and fifty one minutes but I did it all myself.

Freezered

2006-05-25T08:30:00.000+10:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, I doubt my sanity.

Achieving an ice-cream headache at around 83km at 7am was one of those times, as, despite being Queensland, IT'S FUCKING COLD.

So was Melbourne according to the three frostbitten toes I left behind. Food rocked however and it's always a pleasure to see fashion go behind metallic Havianas.

Thought wise I'm still noodling around with Happiness though overall it comes down to quail. I. Really. Want. Some.

For brekky.

Theeeeeeeeeerkklunk.Owwwwwwwwww.

2006-05-17T15:18:00.000+10:00

What the fuck.

What. Who. Who put this here?

Ouch.

Ah.

I did. Then snuffed the lights, thus tripping over this misshapen thing.

No exhaustive self analysis or misadventures from me, and I haven't even fucked any goats of late. I have however been flat fucking chat: Brisbane yesterday, Adelaide last week, Melbourne & Sydney next. When the hosties let go of me I even got the time for some of THE BEST COOKING AND EATING EVAAAAH but I can't be fucked telling you about it and I've no dreams I'm allowed to report.

Of questions though, I've a few, this is first: what triggers those moments for you in which you realise you're happy?

Barely enough space in which to squeeze a post

2006-05-08T18:01:00.000+10:00

as too much already in my head.

What do you want?

Umm, yeah

2006-04-26T09:57:00.000+10:00

It's all about work, which I'm not going to tell you about and food, which I will.

Anzac Day holiday of course, with Rosmarinus officinalis being the herb of rememberance (note to slatterns: and fidelity between lovers too) I realised it would be unozshtrayan/irish/english/scottish/welsh to not roast some baby sheep and taters.

So, after smothering it in Rosemary, garlic and salt, I roasted a leg of lamb. Then everyone piked it and two of us scofffed the lot.

Otherwise, I've been thinking a lot about words and the power thereof.

Discussion of the same over the weekend made me wonder if Teh Big Ugly Tobacco companies haven't been deliberately funding some lexigraphical injections: we get fit if unfit, we regain our health after an illness - all positive transitions. Yet, when desisting from summin as incomprehensible as smoking, we give it up. Giving up in every sense I can think of is a negative transition, as is quit. You don't give up smack, you get off it. You don't give up fat if you're a hefty bugger, you get fit. Thoughts welcome.

Otherwise, tis all about movies a. Of late: Lost in La Mancha, Blowup, Stone and The Dark Crystal. La Mancha was the only first but well worth it if you're a) into teh movies, b) like Terry Gilliam, c) like Johnny Depp and/or d) like to wax quixotic or e) like all of the above and want to see chaos emerge from an English/Spanish/French/Italian crew shooting next to a Nato bombing range.

Tha's all folks.

Bhwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

2006-04-20T12:21:00.000+10:00

Russian scientists solve mystery of crop circles

My weekend as food

2006-04-18T14:27:00.000+10:00

Chicken, prawn and pork spring rolls with iceberg and nuoc maam, salt and pepper roasted quail, tamarind prawns, lemongrass chicken, 2004 Catalina Sounds Sauvingon blanc, 2004 Rochford Pinot Noir, Coconut icecream, spinach and fetta omelette, whiting fillets in tempura batter with sebago chips and dill tartare and a pint of Heineken followed by a couple of glasses of 2004 Tieffenbruner Pinot Grigio, some apple pie with macadamia crust and kingaroy double cream and a glass of 2003 Noble One.

That’s me from last night to 4.35pm Good Friday. So much for Lent, Christianity and Judaism.

Although I wouldnae have had the fish onwards if it wasn’t for the bottleshops being shut: 20% of the population attend a religious service, for many their only one of the year and I can’t have a drink for love or money unless I eat.

What is this, transubfuckinstansiation by proxy?

No idea myself, but I’d kill for another glass of Catalina.

Addendumdum
Also: Yum Cha Sunday morning, slow cooked Cacciatore Sunday night then, finally, on Monday eve, salt crusted red wine beef on parmesan roesti with mountains of honey roasted garlic pumpkin.

Yeah.

I hate food, as you can see.

What the fuck?

2006-04-13T12:11:00.000+10:00

Right, so I'm in my bed and apparently asleep when all of a sudden I'm back where I grew up and the world is about to end and there's chunks of fire falling from the sky and I and an old friend realise the fabric of society is beyond frayed and we must head north. To do so in a car would be madmaxedness as the freaks that are slightly ahead of us in realisations have already taken over the highways so we must commandeer a container ship and sail it North.

Do we choose to get to the docks in some safe, fireproof kind of way? No.

We get a tram.

Random protective violence and Melbournian landmarks throughout.

Then, much later in the evening and earlier in the morn, it's a way different kind of dream except for the ship. This time it's some biiiiiiiiiiiig cruiser and George Bush Jnr is on the boat except he looks like George Bush Snr. He falls off the boat whilst looking at the water and I save him, afterwards berating the members of the Australia swim team who didnt lift a finger to. The hotties they had been distracted chatting up leave them.

What. The. Fuck. Is going on in my head?

I think I had a fever.

The gold isn't in them hills

2006-04-10T09:46:00.000+10:00

Wasn’t hard for me to imagine making my fortune growing up. You could trace it back to a Biggles/Tintin/Tom Baker as the Docto crossover: Sunken Treasure – 20,000 Leagues, Red Rackhams Treasure; Rubber Baron/Ivory Hunter, – The Flight of the Condor; hot chicks – Leila. Friendship was K9/Snowy.

But fuck me if I wasn’t wrong for once – I should have been devouring cooking books.

The gold isn’t in the hills or the trees or the ground or those lurking ruins out the back, it’s in the fruit-shop: I bought a handful of Kafir lime leaves this morn’: $125 per kilo.

Leaves.

The fuck?

They’re freakin leaves. From a plant. They make peasanty soup things like Tom Yum taste good. I hadn’t taken out a loan, wasn’t dressed right and almost didn’t wear shoes and here I am buying something for private consumption that is so light that it doesn’t even register on the scales and it’s legal? There’s black truffles in the shop next door, nestled happily in little baths of oil cheaper than this shit..

What did I do?

I went home, made stock and cooked Tom Yum from scratch, even if I was tempted to see what racking up a big fat line of crushed Kafirs would feel like.

Busted

2006-04-05T17:25:00.000+10:00

As I've nothing you can have, you can tell me: what was your worst bust?

Was it the AFP on your way back from Bolivia? Your partners parents? Your new girlfriends menagerie bursting into the room at that critical moment? Cheating with a ruler so engraved that monks claimed it as incanabulae after the exam or just your hand stuck in the Quick tin and a chocolate stained mouth?

Spill. I'm busy.

Hear ye, hear ye, sign up one and all.

2006-03-24T11:39:00.000+10:00

Feeling wronged, vengeful, angered and bilious?

Well sign the fuck up.

Vengeance Inc is accepting submissions from interested parties. Board and Operations positions are available.

The Board will sanction actions, as required, to be carried out on an as needs basis.

These actions will remove the wrongdoers, vengeworthy, angerous speciae that make me wish we still had a feudal society. Though you can keep yer buboes.

To signup we need your (top secret) superhero name, your key talent and your initial target. Don't delay.

Trust me on this

2006-03-22T06:20:00.000+10:00

You would not believe it.

I know I don't.

You just wouldn't.

That's why you're gonna have to to trust me. It's been pretty weird and hopefully there's only about 30 hours left. As they say, you really don't know what kind of tea-bag you are until you're in hot water.

No perves, that was not a teabagging reference. Not unless teabagging involves psychoses, violence and togas.

The benfits of being antisocial

2006-03-17T18:08:00.000+10:00

8 million of em.

Roughly.

7.68 to be precise. Dollars. Annually.

As might have been deduced, I've been busy.

Over everyone except me, I gave m'self a leave pass last weekend, doing pretty much sweet fuck all. In my time. At my leisure.

Friday.

Saturday.

Sunday.

Monday morn was fresh and begging for it as I had TEH FEELIN the week was going to rock.

The Feeling was more accurate than Ron Jeremy and the results aren't even hairy!

Ilandedmorethaneightmillionbucksworthofbusinessinthreedays,
onetheaforementionedsevenpointsixeight.

Milky bars are on me.

You should be a copywriter

2006-03-15T07:57:00.000+10:00

"She was just a nice girl who fell off a cliff."

I think there's a little something in there for all of us, hmm?

Don't picnic on cliffs in wheelchairs

bloody hell - when are you going to put another post up ??

2006-03-14T19:45:00.000+10:00

When I've got something I want to post.

Sorry kiddoes, but I aint into circlejerks of appreciation - I write for me, when I feel like it.

Being all busy n shit means there's plenty of time for me, just not much for writing anything up to my standard level of drivel.

You'd shoot me if I ended up posting fillers all the time and I'm feeling a bit to energetic for a bullet, so fuck off and do something productive.

Unless you want another Spa party.

NB - points to Giggle for subtlety, thereby inspiring the title.

Book time 820.1

2006-03-12T10:59:00.000+10:00

But don't lie down on your rugs; this is one is about what not to read.

Books with '101 ways' & 'Dummies' in their title
Whether you're fat, unable to use a computer, can file fuck all under the Dewey system, are stony broke, really think understanding real-estate is going to help you, need to quit smoking, can't excite your lover, aren't a special dad, haven't had a lively transformation yet, can't hook up yer DVD, play a par 47 on the par 3, can't tell yer hyper from yer text markup, mix Mahler with Mozart, don't know how you got pregnant, still need to know how to use Windows 95, you're fucked. Especially if you read a book with Dummies in the title.

Luckily, down in the cavernous reaches of Dollop, IncTM we've been slaving away on a little tome that will be of service to those reading and not reading. It's very simple, easy to understand and only $39.95 plus P&H. Each volume has exactly 220 pages, each page lovingly inscribed with a single word. Page 1 begins with DIE, succeeded on Page 2 by NOW. Page 3 repeats this delicate balance, for emphasis, as does pages 4 through 412 (bit o marbling in the endpapers and hand a cut colophon makes up the rest).

Buy now, make me richer and fuckoff. Take your lapdog with you.

Anyone else you want me to target?

Seen any innocence lying around?

2006-03-09T08:00:00.000+10:00

It all feels normal, those nasty dreams just something that happened one night whilst you weren't awake, until you read the bumper sticker on the 4WD you're overtaking and it says:

FISTING COMES FIRST.

And it makes sense, not bothering you in the slightest.

NB - The sticker said Fishing. My feelthy noggin did the rest.

Well I never

2006-03-07T08:53:00.000+10:00

Ever read Frankenstein?

Story goes that it was a dream induced by the deliberate intake of cheese and wine, to upset the sleep and inspire morbid dreams.

Dunno about this, especially as living over a winebar gave me ample chance to experiment, but whatever the fuck I ingested last night, keep me away.

9ish Bed, to read.
10ish Lights out, sleepy bye byes.
1.40 Awake, having just had the weirdest sequence of dreams ever, replete with hallucinations, voices and all manner of freakiness.
1-4am Read.
4am Sleepy bye byes. Again. Recommence ultravivid hallucinations, including composing a reply to another blogger. My first blog dream. Worthy target at least.
5am Queue alarm. Feel like absolute shit, reset alarm for 6am.
6am Wake up surprisingly refreshed, finish book.

What the fuck? Who did this to me? I want answers.

Storms

2006-03-02T07:54:00.000+10:00

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!

I smell an Equinox.

Of Love and Strippers

2006-02-28T08:32:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-27T07:14:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-21T15:15:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-15T07:58:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-13T07:12:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-13T06:29:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-08T20:10:00.000+10:00

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!!!

2006-02-06T18:18:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-06T07:23:00.000+10:00

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.

2006-02-05T17:23:00.000+10:00

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

2006-02-01T08:36:00.000+10:00

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.

I may be strange, but

2006-01-31T17:33:00.000+10:00

I've not written of people who killed unwanted babies by pushing needles inside their heads but I know I'll never search for them.

Husker Du, Hells Angels and Sleazy Motels though - come right in. Put your feet up.

Freakin' google.

Necronomica

2006-01-31T07:38:00.000+10:00

I've had a thing for ghost stories since I was a little one, with a few ingrained that raise goosebumps to this day.

So you can imagine the horror on my solo ride home last night as an unexpected arm wrapped itself around my left shoulder and an unknown head came into view.

Nah. Made it up. Sure did look like it though.

I do heart ghost stories though.

Weekend Shagananings & Fish

2006-01-30T07:43:00.000+10:00

I left work early. I left work early. I left work early. You're
unlikely to see those words for a while, for the promotion I was given
Friday afternoon comes with a doubling of workload. Mmm. Work, sweet
work. More travel too, so look out Sydneysiders, I'll be seeing you
far more often. Canberrans too.

The departure wasn't restful though, as there was packing to be done
and fish to be transported. There was also K478. She and I have ended
up naked in all sorts of places but rarely a bed. Knowing we were
shifting back to the apartment had her almost as excited as us. Did I
move the fish? No. I got through enough boxes to make the bed and we
bedded. She's a funny little one K478 (though not a midget per se,
that term being reserved for those 19) I am of course now being banned
from girls 19 and younger. Thanks. Rigo. Still, fun was had in
inverse proportions to sleep and we woke tired.

Saturday was fish & food & swimming and building a book sculpture.
There's nary a bookshelf in Queensland, something to do with the
view? Stupid - look at the view. Don't understand the TV show - look
at the view. Ah well. Rockstar apartments have never been thought of
as libraries, so I built a book sculpture then cannibalised the
bedside lights. Result: softly glowing books. The fishies are the
prizes from my trip: Coral Trout, Red Emperor, Red Throated Emperor,
Hussar & Bream. Fuckers though, as the wounds from the trip had
finally healed - until I sliced myself open on one of the trout. Evil
slicey fish. Die. Die a death of poaching in lemon & pesto, die I tell
you.

He's dieing as I write.

This is roughly where the weekend got surprising.

Ever known someone for a while only to have your understanding of them
thrown when they turn out to be a completely filthy little minx? Meet
K3000. With wind rattling the shutters we strangely enough managed to
rattle every bone in our body and then some. So. Tired. Today. I've
had three naps and feel like a fourth.

Don't mind my new flatmate at all by the way, what with her
complimentary antipasto fetish (she buys everything I don't) and her
candour. She's decided this is going to be a great year, like I have, better
than last in terms of sex too - sex twice, one male, one female. This
year - twice , gender unknown. I think we'll get along jus' fine.
Gutsy thing too, referring to overhearing Ms K3000 and I - "have fun
this morning - cos it sounded pretty good from what I could hear".
Twas not Ms Ks fault, as we weren't being particularly vocal or
inconsiderate. What's a girl to do when she has a really long
oooooorrrrrrgasm instead of yer average workaday orgasm.

So that's my weekend: reacquiring the rockstar apartment, a friend
with benefits, fish, a friend with unexpected benefits and a hot new
bi flatmate. How was your weekend kiddies?

Go read a book. Better yet, write me a story.

2006-01-27T07:59:00.000+10:00

Much to say but 290 emails after one day off. Stupid Holidays.

Talk amongst yourselves or summin.

Righting the wrongs

2006-01-25T07:26:00.000+10:00

Meme's never ask anything two idiots wouldn't cover in a bar. Here's some missing bits.

This might be updated on ad-hoc basis, so here's a helper:
Last Updated - 26 Jan, 4.30ish

Which books rocked your world and why?

Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

Oh wow. Another book about a guy and drugs and violence and philosophy and love. Shantaram is an amazing read and so worth the slog that you should head out right now and buy a copy. There are some truly beautiful passages on love & evil set against a backdrop of anything from Mumbai shantytowns to Afghani gunrunning. One of the finest autobiographies I've ever read. Melbourne boy too.

The Bible, Old and New Testament, Anon

Because you allowed me to begin arguing against you from the age of five when I was told God made the sand during my parents misguided attempt to send me to Sunday School, culminating in my expulsion from RE four years later. Four years I'll never get back, you blinkered fuckers. Fuck off.

Work & Property, Eric Gill

Yeah, I'm a reformed book collector, but what can't you love about a Christian Master Artist Dog Fucker. If I'm going to have heroes they're going to be interesting. W&P was intersection of interests (no, not the dogs) for me, as the guy was an amazing typographer, incredible sculptor and engraver and a printer, so this particular edition was written, designed and printed by him. They just dont make men the same these days, but I'm tryin'.

Scission, Tim Winton

First 'adult' book I ever bought with my own money. Age: 12. Possibly the first time I realised Australian's could write too.

Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

Took far longer to get around to reading this than I should have, and this is not the large print, Ride of the Valkyries soundtracked, hearing impaired version. Apocolapsye Now rocks but it was inspired by this kiddies, not based on it. Conrad sweats madness from the page in this riverine trek for Ivory.

Blood Meridien or The evening redness that sets in the West, Cormac McCarthy

Cormac wrote for the first 20 odd years of his writing career without any recognition. Stupid, stupid people. By the time he achieved a bit of notice (All the Pretty Horses) he'd built up a phenomenal back catalogue, of which BM is one. Notable too is the Orchard Keeper, perhaps one of the only novels to feature a necrophiliac as it's main character. Fucking riveting.

Blood is an epic from the 1850s, set way down the bottom of Texas. It focuses on a crew of bounty hunters and their polemnic, venomous leader, The Judge. Cormac is fascinating in his language, one of the very few whose wordage strays into the fabricated yet makes complete sense.

Hells Angels, Hunter S. Thompson

Though not the first of his I'd read, HA was Hunter's first full length publication and it fucking rocks. It isn't hard to see why the Gonzo style arrived soon after. If you can't read the final paragraph about hitting the Pacific Highway late on a Californian even without feeling it, you're dead.

Junky, William Burroughs, 1949/51

Dirty Realism in the 90s. Meh. Forty years earlier and Burroughs was there, publishing under a nom de plume thanks to the moires of an era where you couldn't mention masturbation, let alone sex, drugs or homosexuality. The 1951 edition had a new preface which stands as one of the best pieces of writing on narcotics and their use by us humans.

Reading this as a late teen was my introduction to the Beats. Kerouac et al came later, as I devoured Burroughs fast. This was writing as a liquid, fluid, ever mobile. Even if you don't like his work, it is worth respecting someone who was known as the world's oldest living junky, especially if they have an extensive weapon collection.

Incidentally, this book dominated the conversation when I met Howard Marks.

Forgot

2006-01-24T19:51:00.000+10:00

Some movies:
Mad Max 1
Stone
Dazed & Confused
Clerks
Chopper
Dark Crystal
Meet the Feebles
Nightwatch

Looking to Imelda for the gravy

2006-01-24T15:39:00.000+10:00

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Working 80+ hours a week running a Studio in Melbourne

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Running a retail chain

Snacks you enjoy:
Sirena Tuna with Lemon
Arnotts Cheddar Shapes
Lindt 80% cocoa dark chocolate
Batard toasted with marinated danish fetta and handground pesto topped with marinated capsicum.
Those Spanish, ring pull anchovie stuffed olives
Vino

Songs to which you know all the lyrics:
Wide Open Road - Triffids
Fools Gold - Stone Roses
Suspicious Minds - Elvis
Aloha Steve n Danno - Radio Birdman
Shivers - Boys Next Door
Cannonball - Breeders
Under the Milky Way - The Church
Girlfriend - Mathew Sweet
God Save the Queen - Sex Pistols
Take a walk on the wild side - Lou Reed
American Music - Violent Femmes
Hazy Shade of Winter - Bangles version
Superstition - Stevie
Loaded - Primal Scream
Been Caught Stealing - Janes Addiction
Jane Says - Janes Addiction
Kool Thing - Sonic Youth
Love will Tear us apart - Joy Division
Ship Song - Nick Cave
Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
That's Entertainment - The Jam
Birdhouse in your soul - TMBG
Sympathy for the devil - Stones
Reptile - The Church
Bottle of fur - Urge Overkill
Lock it - Falling Joys
Special K - Placebo
Teenage Riot -Sonic Youth
Green Eyes - Husker Du
NWA - Fuck the Police
Metropolis - The Church
Bug Powder Dust - Bomb the Bass
She Bangs the Drums - Stone Roses
Love Story - Tim Deluxe
Stone Cold Crazy - Queen
In the Ghetto - Nick Cave version
Hide U - Kosheen
Missing - Everything But The Girl
Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Don't want to know if you are lonely - Husker Du
Ever fallen in love - Buzzcocks
Stranded - The Saints
and that's enough for the moment

Things you would do if you were a millionaire:
Rarely deal with people I don't like by:
Ordering my entire dream library all at once
Building the cellar from hell and stocking it
Only supplying key friends and family the details of my highly inaccessible coastal hideout

Bad habits:
Mess through which only I can navigate
Intolerance

Things you like doing:
Motorbiking
Cooking
Eating the cooking
Drinking
Learning new stories
Reading
Pushing the occasional boundary

Things you would never wear, buy or get new again:
Doesnt apply if you've taste

Parts of your heritage:
Scottish
English
Irish
Welsh
Something olivey

Things that scare you:
Lack of oxygen

Fears you overcame:
Horses
Heights
Failure

Your everyday essentials:
Coffee
Books
White shirts

Things you are wearing right now:
Croc/snakeskin loafers
Jeans
White shirt
Boxer briefy things. For once.

Things you wore too much last year:
My dearly departed bottle green Dupe thongs. So soft. So comfy. So dead.

This year's favourite bands or musical artists:
Same as last year plus Velure.

Things you want most in a relationship:
Respect
Lust
Occasional silence

Your favourite movies of the year:
Nothing yet.

Best movies of all time:
Das Boot, My Life as Dog, City of Lost Children, Reservoir Dogs, Ran (as in Kurosawa), Human Traffic, Dr Strangelove, Donnie Darko, Jamon Jamon, The Red Balloon

Best TV shows of all time:
Any Dr Who with Tom Baker, The Goodies, Ab Fab, Fawlty Towers, Carnivale, South Park, Blakes Seven, A Team, The late 90s BBC Forsythe Saga

Things you hate:
Fucktards.
Stupidity.
Non acceptance of responsibility for self

Your favourite hobbies:
Motorbiking
Cooking
Eating the cooking
Drinking
Learning new stories
Reading
Pushing the occasional boundary. Der.

Things you learned last year:
We always know the answers even if we don't like them.
Peoples will extend their own private fears when they worry for you. It's easy not to take these fears on board when you're aware of this.

Accomplishments you are proud of (from last year):
I figured myself out,

Things you want really badly:
Great sex, better wine, BMW 1200GS HP, Michael Houllebecq's new one, Canon EOS 300D

Things that many people do and you don't:
Sleep badly
Read magazines
Read Tabloid news
Drive cars
Smoke

Interesting places that you’ve been to:
Thousands of places, mosaic style. It's a big mural.

Places you want to go on vacation:
Vietnam
South America

Things you want to do before you die:
Compete in the Paris/Dakar rally
Ride Vietnam
Ride South America
Finish Don Quixote

Ways that you are a stereotypical example of your gender:
I can fish, hunt, change a tyre, reinsulate the electricals, drink beer be and be comfortably incommuncative.
Mess

Things that make you stand out (from your gender):
I. Hate. Sport. Fours wheels good, two wheels better.

Strengths you’re particularly proud of:
Focus during crises.
Quest for knowledge & information

Strengths that are also weaknesses:
Quest for knowledge & information. Stoopid interweb.

Things you normally wouldn't admit:
I can be a very good liar

Goals for the New Year:
Simple - exceed the potential I'm apparently never lving up to. Garguantuan memes aren't helping this.

I tag li'l bear, Ms Rigo.

I almost forgot

2006-01-23T08:35:00.000+10:00

Inspired by Ms Steph's smiling bus stranger I decided to find out which smile works best in terms of getting a smile back from the opposite sex. Self interestedly, I decided to be fair and only experiment on people I though were attractive.

So we're clear, I never think I look like the person I see in the mirror of a morn. Every aged female relative ever will assure you I have "gorgeous rosy cheeks" and somehow there's some olivey skin in the mix and a tan. The only, and I do mean only, celeb I'm ever told I look like is Billy Zane. Charmed or Zoolander Billy though, not Titanic. Shaved head thing.

The winner is: A Knowing Smile, head slightly cocked with lips barely open. Floored patrons, had waitresses glancing questioningly at my dinner dates and got a return smile every time.

Got any social experiments you want me to do?

No one got hurt during the conduct of this experiment.

Lots of pleasure and lump of horror

2006-01-22T12:04:00.000+10:00

I love dining with beautiful women. Throw in half decent conversation and I'm in heaven, especially at the end of a crazy week.

But two dinners, in two nights - there might be a god.

Last night was Crabwars II with the resurgent Rigo. In the interests of gastronomic reportage, I'll keep it short: I think Shuck wins over Il Centro. Crab Lasagne is the only time it's OK to have more crabs and we think Shuck's had Swimmer and Blue. No idea what it is with her and I but as always we attracted The Breasts. Boobage left, right and centre. We weren't complaining. And, just becuase I rarely do compliments, she was looking beautiful. Get sick more often kiddo.

Friday was ineressin'. One of my superpowers is to have remarkably good radar for women that will play a part in my life. Not sure when, not sure how. Unfortunately, I can't control it or refine it: I'm walking along or lying in a park and BLEEEP.

I've known The Fashionista for about two years. Mutual friends. Whenever we'd run into each other talk would flow without end, until her boyfriend lost the plot. Every. Single. Time. I never knew her name. I never got her number. Via the Random Blonde Messageway (highly efficient gossip network based on the Gold Coast, outposts in fluffy places worldwide) it was learnt and noted that they'd broken up.

Cue last weekend. She'd ditched her friends and wandered off in search of less polo shirts per square metre. Hard in a ~~city~~ village like Surfers, but possible if you know where to look. Independence is good and in this case gave us card swapping time. Tis nice being all growed up and professional-like.

Thankfully, she eats. Lots. I've never understood how you could accept a dinner date and come out with I'll watch/I've eaten/I'm not feeling well. Laughing, eating & drinking are primal, sexy and great to do in tandem. Unfortunately, NumberOne Bartender was not in attendance that eve. That guy is amazing, the only barman I've ever seen around the world who stacks the icecubes before pouring. Individually.

In his stead was trusty NumberTwo. OMFG. Two words: Margarita. King.

So, stormy night, gallons of 'ritas and new company. Bueno. Five courses later and we were drunken little piglets.

Having a drink afterwards was when IT occured.

Now, I'm not a fan of the mohawk/feauxhak/mullet/I-shagged-a-mop/I'm-Emo-but-haven't-sliced
-my-wrists-as-i-don't-shave-yet haircuts for guys, but I can deal with them, usually by laughing. Throw the offender in a pair of tightleg girls Tsubis or Sass and Bide and I'll kill them.

So, imagine my bile at overhearing the following:

Fucktard 1 to Fucktard 2: Yeah man, that looks hot, it's soo just right
Fucktard 1: You sure? I don't know if it was quite the look I was going for
Fucktard 2: Nah man, it's hot. The chicks will love it.

This was in the Mens bathroom. I'd nearly knocked these lightweights over heading in, only to catch this dribble AS THEY WERE DOING UP THEIR HEADBANDS. HEADBANDS. Karate Kid style. Fer fucks sake. Forgive them for they know not what they do? Never.

You've K478 to thank for stopping this rant as she's just messaged to say she's slathered in coconut cream. Must. Run.

That song should have been called

2006-01-19T06:30:00.000+10:00

You are the wind between my toes, it feels so goddam good to have slipstream sluicing your feet.

That slight alteration would have saved thousands of ears from bleeding at weddings & funerals.

Queensland might be a moral and cultural backwater but it sure is the promised land for motorbike riders wearing thongs. I would have shot me for that in Melbourne.

Likes, dislikes and middle ground

2006-01-18T06:45:00.000+10:00

I like consistency and burnt orange Gaffer tape.

Gaffer tape is consistent.

People however are not, yet having an opinion and sticking to it or a 'voice' and repeatedly speaking with it is the fastest way to communicate what, who and where you are.

I don't gets it.

Oh, Occy straps. I like Occy straps. So functional.

Coffee hasn't worked yet has it?

Feeding Frenzies - expanded

2006-01-17T00:21:00.000+10:00

The sugo’s cooking so now I can talk.
I had no Sugo. I like Sugo. It’s easy to make. I made some

Ok. I'd blame the moon if I hadn't always had a soft spot for her.
Her as in ‘Lady Moon shine down, a little people magic if you will’.

A fair while back, way, way waaaay pre-blog, I realised there probably wasn't anyone for me up here on the Gold Coast. Call it too much vapidity, large print self-help books and sunshine. Arriving at this conclusion was sensational as it allowed an ongoing urge to 'ind someone to dissipate. Basically, I didn't have to worry.
The usual single angsty stuff. In this case it was a fair while after the clouds had lifted from the end of a relationship, in this case with WriterLawyer. Happy to be proven wrong but there seems to be a dearth of gorgeously smart single women.

From then on, I've done what I want. There've been dates, there's been sex, there has been neither and there’s been weeks and months of varying levels of flirtation. No one I slept with was particularly engaging though there were a few with the potential for at least fun and a few less for fun an more. C’est la vie.
A short bout of celibacy did ensue, once, twice and even thrice, mainly from choice. There were various flingy things last year but unless you’re a complete prick its hard to take someone seriously when they keep throwing themselves at you and all you ever give them is sex. Sure, it’s orgasmic, but there is more to life.

I don’t have any trouble meeting people but somewhere in the past few years I decided to trust my head in terms of understanding where someone else is at, resultantly spending far more time ‘learning’ someone. Suspense can be the new seduction.

Regardless, there wasn’t really anyone to chase as they’ve all been either in the wrong space for me or too boring. Boring sucks.

Then I went away.
Twas only three weeks but I wasn’t here.

So is it only absence that swells a harem upon your return? Why isn’t it wrong to tell one the most stunning women you’ve ever met that her Sass and Bide looks like it’s made from a pile of doilies stolen from her grandmother? When the hell did 17 years olds start having that much confidence, style and wit? How come everyone you’ve had a craving for pops up all in one night? Why is this night also the one when you’re supposed to be up the coast in a spa overlooking the ocean. Why didn’t it feel weird to congratulate your ex-lover on her pregnancy whilst her mother and one of your closest friends is looking hotter than ever whilst having resolved some of the issues that kept you apart in the first place (from the mother that is, not the daughter. I never said this was simple). Why, when finally you can start culling the K names* from your phone do some old ones appear from nowhere in new, improved versions and proceed to completely blow your mind with extra-sleazy dive motel sex?
Harem - I’ve been accused of having one on many occasion. It's not untrue as I do have a whole bundle of female friends that wander along the hot and smart spectrum. You have friends you don’t like? Congratulations. Have another cupcake. Have 14.
Sass & Bide Doilie - It was and she looked great. As if ‘you look beautiful’ would have got as much of her time.

17 year olds - Umm. Yes. She was, as I found out after asking what she had been studying: school. As in High School.

How come everyone you’ve had a craving for pops up all in one night?
Think someone gorgeous and interesting you’ve met a half dozen times in a year with a jealous partner they’ve recently broken up with PLUS a complete and utter minx who pushes the boundaries well past the safety zone despite her often present (and supposedly straight) fiance. Pushing engaged minx away with “break up and sort yourself out, then we’ll talk about it” elicited “OMG, that just made you so much hotter. Uggh. Women.

Why is this night also the one when you’re supposed to be up the coast in a spa overlooking the ocean?
Have I ever mentioned older women? Call me crack for MILFs, or was. This was another one. Passing up a dirty weekend is fair indication of my feelings on this one. This age thing is waning.

Why didn’t it feel weird to congratulate your ex-lover on her pregnancy whilst her mother and one of your closest friends is looking hotter than ever whilst having resolved some of the issues that kept you apart in the first place (from the mother that is, not the daughter. I never said this was simple).
Speaking of older women, K475 is one of the millions of K names in my phone. She wears hott shoes, which I noticed and we started hanging out a while back, more and more frequently. K475 has two daughters, one of whom is K476. Whilst out one night, K476 became one the four 19 year olds to hit on me in my thirties with the entirely clueless and classless “look, I love sex and I’m single and I don’t want anything else, so how about it”. Seriously. Since I’m not always smart, I blew the potential relationship with K475 and slept with K476 for a while. Luckily, the me & K475 friendship blossomed and she’s just recently got over a heap of the baggage she’s had floating around. Sure, it’s highly unlikely but weirder things have happend. Told you this was complicated. K476 has a new boyfriend to whom she's with child.

Why, when finally you can start culling the K names* from your phone do some old ones appear from nowhere in new, improved versions and proceed to completely blow your mind with extra-sleazy dive motel sex?
Strictly speaking this was the night before but it seemed to flow nicely. K478 is unrelated to any of the previous K Names despite sharing a creatively spelt christian name. She’d disappeared for a while, changing numbers etc. We’d had a few sporadic flings in the past. She reappeared out of the blue in a rather new and improved streamlined version with neverending cleavage. Neverending cleavage+peaches & cream skin+devilishly quick brain=me being a sucker. Mmm. Sucking. Thanks to alcomohol, we found the only motel in the history of motels not to even bother to ask for ID. Cash really is king.

Anyways.

I went away quietly.

I came back the flavour of the month. Numbers. Cards. Divey Motels.

Give thanks to Chicky for the expanded version.

As you can see, all sorts of things happen when you ask nicely.

Feeding frenzies

2006-01-15T16:28:00.000+10:00

The sugo’s cooking so now I can talk.

Ok. I'd blame the moon if I hadn't always had a soft spot for her.

A fair while back, way, way waaaay pre-blog, I realised there probably wasn't anyone for me up here on the Gold Coast. Call it too much vapidity, large print self-help books and sunshine. Arriving at this conclusion was sensational as it allowed an ongoing urge to 'ind someone to dissipate. Basically, I didn't have to worry.

From then on, I've done what I want. There've been dates, there's been sex, there has been neither and there’s been weeks and months of varying levels of flirtation. No one I slept with was particularly engaging though there were a few with the potential for at least fun and a few less for fun an more. C’est la vie.

Then I went away.

So is it only absence that swells a harem upon your return? Why isn’t it wrong to tell one the most stunning women you’ve ever met that her Sass and Bide looks like it’s made from a pile of doilies stolen from her grandmother? When the hell did 17 years olds start having that much confidence, style and wit? How come everyone you’ve had a craving for pops up all in one night? Why is this night also the one when you’re supposed to be up the coast in a spa overlooking the ocean. Why didn’t it feel weird to congratulate your ex-lover on her pregnancy whilst her mother and one of your closest friends is looking hotter than ever whilst having resolved some of the issues that kept you apart in the first place (from the mother that is, not the daughter. I never said this was simple). Why, when finally you can start culling the K names* from your phone do some old ones appear from nowhere in new, improved versions and proceed to completely blow your mind with extra-sleazy dive motel sex?

Anyways.

I went away quietly.

I came back the flavour of the month. Numbers. Cards. Divey Motels. Weekends away. There’s even some interesting ones.

*K names. A SEQ peculiarity. Until landing here I had probably only ever known two or three girls whose name began with a K at the same time.

Enter South East Queensland and seventeen of them. To make matters worse many are the same.

I doth returneth

2006-01-14T11:59:00.000+10:00

There was fun.

There weren't many games.

There was gaffer tape, acts of strength and imagination and tortoises.

Pretty soon I'll write about it.

The old man of the sea with a heart of darkness

2006-01-06T22:35:00.000+10:00

Gentle readers, fuck off for a week. Rest thy souls. Sup. Recline. Build.

I'm taking the other half of my break.

So, it's time for some Hemingway, Irwin and Conrad.

No, Steve Irwin hasn't written any great novels but he does feed crocodiles which is what I'll be doing before a spot of deep sea fishing and heading upriver. Seriously.

I'll best Kurtz as I'm faster but the real question is who wants the swordfish steaks and Ivory.

Back in a week.

Inaugural 05-06 Eastern states road trip Awards

2006-01-04T12:47:00.000+10:00

I'd like to thank me for choosing me as today’s winner, for even I am impressed with the distance, hardship and effort that I put in to achieve this award. Whole species of insects and entire herds of rubber and petrol animals were slaughtered in the process.

As winner, I do of course have those I'd like to thank - I couldn't have done it without you.

Firstly, to fat bastards Australia wide. You were there for me everytime the heat became too much, pointing out without fail that it must be hot on the road. What is it, an extra 20+ kilos and airconditioning is the new Mozart and you get smarter the more time you spend in your car? Not one normal/skinny person felt the need to point this out. Have a pulmonary infarction already.

Secondly but no less importantly, I'd like to thank the Sun. Where else but other ends of the earth could you achieve 50 fucking degrees? Thankyou for the heatstroke (you're next), thank you for rubber coated grips too hot too touch with gloves ON, thankyou for forcing me to not wear leathers, (hot, hott leathers in this case) and thank you for burning through 30+ suncream and two layers of clothing.

Aah yes. Heatstroke. Holes in your skull. Falling stars. Rainshowers from clear skies. Still don't know where the last one came from, but it got me through to Narrandera, where from nothing I created the patented Dollop's Heatstroke Miracle cure: take one iced lemon squash for sugars, one chilled pot of beer for more liquids and salt (not a Glass you QLD idiots, a pot. It's before a Schooner and after a Pony. Glass is what it's made of, not a size), one glass of ice and one glass of white water . Find an air-conditioned space, oft known as a country pub. Clear a space amongst what will be known as the local characters and drink. Body temperature will stabilise within 10, drop by 20 and back to normal within 30. Repeat if necessary but not to the point of drunkeness.

Thankyou too to whoever named Australian towns - where else could I pass through Texas and Manilla in the same day.

A final thanks goes to roadside crapvertising: Do you really want to know how fast I'm going NSW Roads? I shouldn't 'Kill myself for a deadline', nor should I 'Sleep and drive'. No shit. You kept me talking to myself, swearing at your inanity. Wanna change the road toll - spend on more police, less on billboards. While you're at it, don't make roads so goddam boring - has anyone fallen asleep on the Great Ocean Road? No. Fuckwits.

Last but not least, there is my accessories to thank: 11 year old Atelier double breasted leather pea coat, white on white linen shirt, Marshall artist heavy gauge denim, patent black Brando’s, Stone Island ocean racing jacket, matt black Nitro helmet with tinted visor and of course BMW F650. You'se all rock.

Suggestions for next year welcome. Award for best roadtrip compilation ever will be in a separate post.

Thankyou for coming.

Eves of Newness

2005-12-31T21:07:00.000+10:00

I said no to bunnies, harbour cruises, midgets & nightmares tonight.

They’re all real, the drugs, the pretty young things draped in familial riches and those wanting both.

Couldn't be fucked.

Twasn’t to keep my nasal passages virginal for New Years day or the year - but today became a day of senses regardless: land so dry the grass crumbles betwixt toes, roasting by a sun that heats terracotta brings to blister point, stained and seduced by a tree near one hundred years my senior (Mulberries. Mind out of the gutter), smoked salmon, aged riesling, full moon only double cream goats cheese and most of all saying sorry.

Not sure what sense sorrow is but basically I can be a cunt of a son.

Happy New Years, Mum. Love.

Time for a fictional interlude.

2005-12-28T21:51:00.000+10:00

Sometimes I write. Other times I polish earlier writing. Have a taster.

Oops

9th floor.
It had seemed like a good idea. Actually, as he fell John thought it had been an excellent idea: grab a bit of sun whilst working out on the balcony.

8th floor
In fact, with that brunette in the next building grabbing a few rays it seemed almost too good to be true, there he was working up a sweat and firming up the exactly the way Katrina was always nagging him to and not only could he keep a close eye on Ms Apartment 204 but for once he had an excuse for his loitering.

7th floor
What else could he have done: taught lycra, glistening thighs, tousled locks - of course he was looking. Sun fresh from her glinting off her tanning oil gave him the idea to oil up in the first place, cos it was what you did, wasn’t it. Speed up the tan.

6th floor
Wait a minute though - those balcony railings - they were new, barely a year old. Steel, glass and aluminium powdercoated into protection, keeping us on there and all this out here. Sure, it’s a beachfront apartment (why else would you move here) but even in this environment railings shouldn’t just corrode through. There’s no way they could.

5th floor
Anyway, why was it his railing? He hadn’t done anything anyone else hadn’t done. She was...there. Katrina was out. Shopping, being a Saturday and all. Some peace and quiet, no nagging and the replay from last nights game as made his way through the sports section she’d thoughtfully left out.

4th floor
She’d looked good too, leg cocked, eyes hidden. So rarely on her balcony too since that shift change. It wasn’t that he was prying, really, he’d bought the binoculars for her mum to watch the whales with. Ok, so he’d checked out the other apartments surrounding them - who wouldn’t - out of curiosity. There were so many possibilities with all those lives squared away atop each other.

3rd floor
How was he to know that out of them all she’d be the only one that wasn’t boring. All the others seemed to do was watch TV or eat. Or watch TV and eat. They closed blinds, wrapped their rooms in curtains and never, ever, walked between rooms in knickers like she did. Nor did they wear a uniform the way she did, sexy little flygirl. Perhaps he should get stronger binoculars, read the logo on that jacket and make sure he booked the next trip down on her airline. Wouldn’t be hard, especially with that new roster being so consistent.

2nd floor
Hmm. There was that trip next week but Katrina was supposed to come. Wouldn’t be too bad though, especially as he could easily just ‘recognise’ her walking down the aisle. Better yet, she’d have a nametag on. Mmm. A quick hello, a suggestion of drinks or even a promise to go for a walk sometime.

1st floor
Woah. Wait a second: shouldn’t his life be flashing before his eyes? It hadn’t, at least so far. Although he did seem to be screaming, gauging from the figures on the balcony next door. Ooh. It was her, the brunette, upright now. God she looked good in the sun. Company too. Familiar company. But Katrina had gone shopping - and they hadn’t even met so how was Katrina clinking champagne glasses with the brunette?

Ground floor.
Oops.

Tripping on the road fantastic

2005-12-28T16:28:00.000+10:00

Assorted notes filed randomly within my head:

1 Tis very, very hard to hear the first three quarters of the London Philharmonic's version of Bolero when doing anything above 120km. Strangely, your brain seems to pick up on it despite no discernible melody. I think it's an aural magic puzzle.

2 Deep into a sweeping right-hander is a very strange place for 120mg of pseudoephedrine to kick in. Throw in in Shuffle segueing into Shonen Knife's On Top of the World as the corner tightens whilst all there is to do is to push it that little bit harder then see if every hair on your body doesn't tingle.

3 What would happen if we inverted the wages system, rewarding experience with less money & less work, inexperience the opposite.

4 Sometimes I'm crap at saying sorry and thankyou.

5 If you ever want to see me smile, look in the leftmost rear vision mirror in the midst of corner - if the lanes merging into the distance are as clear as the ones emerging from the haze afront, I'll be asmile with eyes alight.

6 I'm starting a new exercise fad, Motorlates. You take a 44 degree day then follow it with gale force winds. Combine with leathers at high speed for a full body workout. Result: 5kg down in two days. Perfect for turkey time.

Enough for now, I've lamb, lemon and rosemary to work on. Some organic zucchinis, feta and kalamatas should do it, fresh Halva for dessert. Yep. Sometimes I pretend to be a wog.

It's snowing in Helsinki

2005-12-28T01:48:00.000+10:00

Ever felt you were missing out on a chance with someone, that everything was against you, despite your efforts?

Well, that's me and the Eskimo. We met a year back, randomly.

Months of writing opened worlds of experience, gifts travelled across an entire continent, as it's hard to get more distance between you in Australia than the Queensland and Western Australia.

And she's gone.

Plans to meet before she left were thwarted by work commitments whilst social ones and time differentials kept our calls out of synch.

Still, tis always a pleasure meeting someone with whom you click.

Some are mediocre, others have it thrust unexpectedly upon them

2005-12-21T12:17:00.000+10:00

Having never having held a desire to feel like some middle-aged public servant stretching out the last moments of my youth I've always ridden either fast bikes. Or noisy bikes. Or my favourite, noisy fast bikes.

Deciding a service was in order before heading out into this wide brown land, I was SORELY FUCKING DISAPPOINTED when my loan vehicle turned out to be poorly made chinese copy of the japanese homage to an american piece of shit.

Ugh.

I've run out of words now.

Numbers - The good

2005-12-20T18:07:00.000+10:00

I wish I'd started here, for this part is simple - don't answer.

Apart from health considerations, the answer should be no one's issue but your own. If safe sex was a requirement then there's no reason this question should even come up.

But first, to recap. It's a new relationship, regardless of type. You'd conceivably like it to continue and regardles of scope you'd prefer not to hurt your partner - so I don't think you should answer if they ask how many people you've slept with.

They're asking becuase they think you're more experienced. In thinking so they're either correct, insecure or both. Spell that vulnerable.

At stake is whatever potential might lie between you, no matter your thoughts, for this is their opinion. Speaking immediately, directly, is likely to trounce them. An off the cuff, seemingly-white lie, no matter how well meant, will fester.

The result: truth hurts now, lies will hurt later.

Me, I'd go the third way: tell them to shut up and kiss you, but only if you if you care.

I told you this would be random.

Different Numbers - none of that l337 shit, just alphanumerics.

2005-12-19T16:26:00.000+10:00

Today's the 19th of the month. I've been 32 for 14 days yet barely feel 22.

In the past fortnight one of my younger sisters has had a baby and the
other has bought a house. Me? I've helped birth another website.
Another half million pages online. Sure, it's hott and has taken a
lot of people much effort - but you can hold a baby and touch a
house.

Yet I'm rating by tangibility whilst choosing to listen to a song I didn't know
existed until a month ago and yet it gives me chills from it's intro on
through closing refrain, which brings me to what matters to me: choice.

We choose. We choose to do bad. We choose to do good. We choose to
ignore the consequences. We choose hope over despair, we choose
nefarity over benevolence, we choose Hargreaves over Potter and
obscurity over prominence or vice versa - but it's choice - we so
often have the strength to face the commitment without the ability to
follow through with the consequences. Well fuck you buddyboy, cos
there's two sides to every coin.

I've managed to change numerous lives because of my decisions, for
better and worse. Whether I like it or not, I've created.

What I don't yet understand is making choices and stepping or turning
away. How do you ignore what you've wrought?

The song is Monday Morning Gunk, Radio Birdman. It fucken rocks.

An expansion of sorts

2005-12-15T06:55:00.000+10:00

I was right and asleep. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Right about Photographer Two - who was first date of the week. More on her later but double thanks for latte skin.

Asleep was Sunday night. Not particularly surprising considering it was my first day off in three weeks. However, being a licensed venue I shouldn't have let myself nod off. Nor should one of the lovely bouncers decided to avenge his 'roid shrinkiness with a quick left hook as a wake up. He possibly shouldn’t have frogmarched me out or ignored me either and I don't think he should have tried putting me through the wall - that's what doors are for. Food for thought as he mulls over his new found unemployment whilst I gimp around and nurse a knee that has forgotten what it's for, hence the stiffness and swollenness, at least in an ambulatory sense.

On more Date Week news, Superior Smile cancelled with good reason, so we'll see about her and Ms Options has been placed on hold. Too erratic. I hate erratic.

The Numbers Part Two is brewing and next week I start my christmas road trip. Mmm. Thousands and thousands of kilometres of asphalt leading to hazy horizons. Question is New Years on the Harbour in Sydney or Byron Bay?

More Birthdayness

2005-12-13T17:51:00.000+10:00

Thank fuck that's over.

Positive: Crab Lasagne wars have begun, Rigo and I like the same dancers, I have oodles of great wine leftover, The Mod Couple have a beautiful baby.

Negative: I now have only one knee and we smashed four glasses.

Oh, and it seems to be date week. We'll see which category that falls in later.

Birthdayness

2005-12-10T16:36:00.000+10:00

It's all about me this weekend and whilst it's only Saturday with the main event to come, a weekend that's already included glassings, strippers, three requests for private spa sessions (no, not the same person and not one of the strippers), old grumpy bastards and a rockstar apartment mk II seems all good. More after the minions have cleared away the debris.

Requests for inclusion in the spa antics may be emailed.

The Bad, Ugly & Good of The Numbers - Part 1

2005-12-07T11:41:00.000+10:00

The Rules, revised, repeatedly, 2005 edition.

First in a random series of unknown length, this is an attempt to update some social moirés. In every case I sure as fuck got them wrong on a number of occasions. Each is taken from the perspective of protecting oneself and not hurting others. Written from the perspective of a 32 year male who a) learnt this shit the hard way b) stupidly thought it might be interesting to share some of the love.

It assumes a positive, powerful position is desirable for all of us, so fuck off all of you masochistic fuckswallow in your misery somewhere else.

Comment, agree, disagree and suggest or just lurk away if you've nothing decent to say - I couldnae care less.

Uno, Une, One - The Bad, Ugly & Good:
Numbers - Part 1

Firstly, don't ask how many people your partner has slept with. Secondly, don't ask how many people your partner has slept with.

The answer is guaranteed to displease at least one of you.

The Bad
Think about it: a new partner, maybe you've dated, maybe you've run from a party, maybe it's the stationery cupboard. There's enough evidence to suggest that you're about fuck or have fucked or will likely fuck in the very near future. There could even be non-sexual activities depending on the connection, but we'll keep it focussed for the moment.

Bad luck, for whosoever has asked the question has just intimated that the answerer is a) a slut and b) probably more experienced than them. Strangely enough neither of these appear to be turn-ons anywhere in the known world (no, this is not a version of Who's your daddy/call me a whore/fuck me harder-that's later) in terms of a mutually positive relationship.

The answerer might respond, with a total astronomically larger than your own, which is bad because you’re likely to feel inexperienced, out of your depth and potentially lacking in measuring up to their worldly expectations.

They might recognise your fear from their own inexperienced past, and lie - also bad.

So far we've very little joy: an insult, a learner, a bad result or a bad result.

Personally, I'd prefer none, so here's my suggestion in case it hasn't sunk in: don't ask.

Now, since it's unlikely that everyone in the world will read this as quickly as they should, you are likely to be asked, and in which case it's a simple answer: don't. It's also a question that seems to occur around about the same time potential relationships are budding which is more the reason for addressing it - this one question is a killer.

The Ugly
You cannot answer this question and achieve a positive result for either you or the fuckwit that asked. Lie, most likely rounding down, and you end up with the weight of the lie on your back. It will gloat and seep and squat. Lie too heavily and they'll smell it, slumped across your shoulders, guilt dribbling down your back.

Weirdly, four seems to be the favourite number for 30 something women to produce. Four. When the average age that virginity disappears is 17 in Australia. I'm no statistician but even factoring long term relationships, an average 0.26 partners per year seems really unlikely in contemporary society. Three or so key relationships, a fling or two; perhaps a holiday romance and already you've got 6 or 7 in the bag before you even start on one nighters. No, 4 is not the answer. But it occurs more than any other. These days, I assume it's a lie.

Tell the truth if you think The Questioner is tough enough but I say they're not purely by nature of their asking. By telling the truth they might actually figure out how dumb they are and toughen up. Eventually. Thus the slow coach that is nature plays its hand.

They might also decide you're a complete slut.

Next: The Good - How to answer

Where's the love?

2005-12-06T11:04:00.000+10:00

The Spin has gone nuts, luvved up and high on life. Unfortunately, this guy doesn't feel the same way. After complaining of headaches, an xray shows not one but three needles embedded in in his noggin.

According to Moscow News, "people killed unwanted babies by pushing needles inside their heads — without an autopsy it was very hard to prove that the baby was murdered.
However, Varlamov claims that he was raised in a loving family and this could not be the case."

So, how was your upbringing? Ever get headaches or migraines?

Poor bastard. Imagine the conversation. Imagine the metal detectors.

Loife but not necessarily as we know it

2005-12-05T14:05:00.000+10:00

Life's a weird one, generally changed not by our plans or hopes but by random happenstance.

Take Friday night, f'rinstance. Friday for me was just another day. Sometime during the day I'd clocked over my 80th hour for the week and whilst the weekend held the prospect of sleeping in as late as 8am, there more work to come. I'd cancelled the party, I'd cancelled my birthday and was all ready to get through it. What most interested me was that I was happy.

Anyways.

Friday night had me, tight, by the throat. I didn't need to get drunk, I didn't the company, nor did I need to get laid with Miss Going through the Motions in the wings. All I really needed was something else. An escape. A break - a rest. With a call already from the Mostess, purely social, a couple of quiet Coopers seemed perfection itself.

Coopers were had, fresh, crisp and goldeny, all the way down.

But not before Ms Motions had appeared. Now she's far from ugly or stupid but often presents herself as both, more so with alcohol. Strangely enough she was called away to attend to official matters soon after finishing her first glass. More for me. Twas a pity she left me with Ms Leftover too, for she and I always dance without establishing any clear pattern.

At that point, The Elf knocked off for a break. Now the Elf is miniaturised heaven, five foot of sinew, sharp features, dark hair, all peaches and cream. She was involved with an acquaintance at one point, an acquaintance of which I hear nothing but weirdness. Strangely enough, she stressed, emphasised and re-emphasized this when I said hello. All over, red rover. Don't know too many other girls that climb up and over a bar for a hello kiss, not to mention her lips getting closer. Fun/games. Love/War. We'll see. Every time we meet the conversations are increasingly suggestive.

Tonight wasn't any different, except that I didn't care where the girls took the talk. With both The Elf and I single it took about 3 minutes before dating came up. With Leftover's input we were well into the pros and cons of oral sex by the fourth. These girls are both younger than me but it appears I have a lot to be thankful for. So Thankyou. Thankyou to all the older women I dated in my teens and twenties, thankyou for teaching me what to pay attention to and thankyou for teaching me the pleasure of pleasuring. Things got steamier before Elf had to get back to work and Leftovers had to run of home to ~~rack a few~~ watch videos with her flatmate. Made sure I got Elf's number. You never know.

Nine of the clock had struck by now and I was comfy. Interesting conversation, attractive individuals and I'd only bought a single drink so far. Twas however hometime as storms were brewing and there was quiet to be had.

Rousing myself from a ridiculously comfortable fuck-you-this-is-my-loungeroom feet up position I was surprised to see Photographer Two. She and I flirt well together but it's often been a bit weird as I used to date her married boss. Meh. Things we do. We chatted and teased as she used to hermit all too often. Whatever she's done, she was looking amazing. Numbers were had.

Anyway, Mostess had called again and was actually coming. She and I have a strange relationship, bonding quickly and strongly about a year ago. Haven't seen her much as she found herself a possessive boyfriend, Mr Football. Having only just departed, she sounded in need of quiet catching up too. Now Mostess is Mostess because she makes the stereotypical air hostess look dowdy, flat chested and stupid. Mostess is the mostess - 10kg lighter than last I saw here and six months of RnR and travel with Mr Football. She was looking rather delicious. However, as a dedicated practitioner of using my head (since Writer
Lawyer) I decided a while back that Mostess and I would do better waiting, whatever happened.

Home. She hadn't seen the RockstarApartmentTM until then and like everyone else, was stunned. Pouring a digestif for the two of us I explained I didn't want to venture out but was more than happy to stay in, to which she replied "Good. So you'll be wanting some of this then."

Now, drugs and I have a great relationship. Apart from caffeine and motorbikes I've never been addicted to anything. I don't get comedowns and I don't get cravings, nor do I decide I want them and go searching or find them and stock up. If they're around great. If not, meh. All in all we get along well.

So there's the Mostess with a cheeky grin and a cheekier bag of K. Now K is an acquired taste, one many of my friends who party harder and more often steer away from. Mainstream press of course never refer to it as any more than horse tranquilliser, conveniently forgetting it's the number one anaesthetic of choice in cases where the patients heart rate cannot be suppressed. I digress. Ketamine is a dissociative. You're there but you're not. Knowing female flatmate would like the chemistry and the company I tried to call her, only to find my head couldn't get my hand to pick up the phone. Mmm. This stuff doesn't last long and I soon managed to co-ordinate those fingers into beginning what was to be a dirtily succinct invitation to Elf to join us after she knocked off. What came out was 'Morning'. Ah well, best laid plans, etc. She'll keep.

Mostess and I proceeded to sit back, catch up and watch storms, the entire place open to elements. Twas loverly.

Departing at about half one, the walk to her car took us into the storming streets, drenching me in seconds. I crawled between the sheets a freshly dried, tired & still happy boy.

Despite the noisy return of boisterous flatmates, morning was great. After shaking my head at their antics [more later] I took myself off for papers and brekky.

It was on my way that these thoughts on randomness struck me: all I'm doing, all I'm focussing on is work yet everything is falling in behind. Also bouncing round was an answer to a question I'd been bouncing around with Ms Rigo - why do drugs. In my case the answer is simple: a change is as good as a holiday and last night my brain received an unexpected holiday.

This was written Listening to: The Triffids, Radio Birdman, The Clash
Reading: Granta - Australia; Conrad - The Nigger and the Narcissus; Lawrence - The Rainbow.

Bedtime now.

I hate waiting

2005-12-04T14:24:00.000+10:00

But don't even get me started about being another defective MTV generation, ADD suffering drop out - I'm not. We never even had mfuckingtv.

I hate waiting for peoples reactions: drink more coffee, have a shower before leaving home but wake the fuck up.

I hate waiting for reports to publish.

I hate waiting for time to talk to the people that are important to me.

I hate waiting for Australia to get the books & films that we review months before their arrival.

I hate waiting for waitstaff that have walked past five times with nary a thought for a glass of water or some bread.

I hate waiting for sleep when you know you have to awaken far too early.

I hate waiting for people that have made a commitment to a time and place.

That's enough hate for the moment.

Hi y'all, I'm new around here.