The work shag
I expect that you will be anticipating a big instalment here about what a huge mistake this whole thing was – you would be wrong. The sex was great and at times it was the best thing for me at the time, but I am happy to confirm that there are elements of this whole saga that I will say were a mistake, predominantly the drinking and texting, even worse the drinking and erotic texting….shame shame shame…..
So after the first post-break-up sex which I will write about some other Friday afternoon, it would be fair to say that there was a bit of time between drinks, well, too much drinking and not so much picking up and shagging, and I became a little, well, hung-over and strung out.
Work for me at this time was beyond bad. It was shocking. I had a great manager and the place was brimming with friends, most of whom had also broken up from marriages and long term relationships around the safe time as me so we were all able to go to the pub every night (and I mean EVERY night) and watch each other smoke ourselves into early emphysema and cry into our gin or beers. But during the day it was just bad at work.
In short I had worked my arse off for the few years before this time getting a bunch of really ace projects and programs going around the state but was battling a very serious personality clash with my Director at the time, and what I mean by that is that I have a great personality and his is pure evil shit – therefore there was a clash.
So I was basically instructed to “cool my heals” for about six months after causing a few political issues – which essentially meant, warm a seat until your contract is over or we can figure out where to put you where you will be a bit more…..well quiet!
So whilst having a conversation with my manager one day after once again turning the regular staff meeting into somewhat of a circus he pointed out ever so kindly that my attitude may be a little “off” at the moment and could he possibly suggest that I make myself feel better with a new pair of shoes or perhaps some earrings….I explained that I had done little else but shop for weeks now and that the ability for “things” to fill the emotional crater which had taken residence in my soul was starting to dwindle, to which he responded that I really did need to have sex, and if it needed to be put in my Performance Development Plan then he would do so, but that I really good night of fucking as according to him this was what I was needing. I think he may have been right.
I need to point out at this time that he was in no was in no way offering himself for the role of “pleasure king” as he is not into women, in fact I think I recall on evening when he said he would rather fuck a dog than have sex with a woman – and I believe him.
So he asked me what the level of interest and what my situation had been like, to which I tried to explain that I had not been nourished by much else except for wine, gin, menthol ciggies and the occasional sushi roll for many months and could be regularly spotted crying in pub places, vomiting on myself from time to time and being tossed out of some of Melbourne’s dodgiest establishments, including Hosies one night the bloke on the door suggested it was time for me to go home – hell, that joint is a strip club! They don’t have a pricing arrangement for women there because I am probably the only chick in Melbourne who has been there! I think it would be fair to say that I was not really looking like a very attractive option for even the most desperate and sexually depraved men of this fine town.
So my caring and considerate manager suggested that he might try to set me up, and asked me had I seen anyone around the traps that I liked and this was he could establish what I “liked”. I mentioned that I have been perving on and lusting after the bloke he was talking to in the lift this morning, I have no idea what his name is, where he works, who he is or what his relationship status is but I liked everything I saw.
My manager thought this was quite funny and said that he could have that sorted in NO TIME! He is single, very single I was told, he works in Regional Development. He ran happily down the stairs to level 33 and came back soon after with a smile from ear to ear announcing that he was also extremely interested in me, thought I was married, is happy to hear that stint in my life is over and that he would be joining us for morning tea, and gave very clear instructions that I was to ‘go and do something with that hair and put on some bloody lipstick!’.
The “meeting” was very uncomfortable and weird but he was hot. More than 6 feet tall, Italian and dressed to kill. I followed up with an email saying that I was very sorry that my manager had put him in this situation and that there were certainly no hard feelings if he was not interested. He replied that it was quite the opposite and within a few emails exchange I had half of my office crowding around helping my exchange some of the most sexually explicit literature I have ever read, of course he probably just thought I was sitting on my own typing out lines about things I have only ever heard of much less partaken in, but little did he know I worked with some of the dirtiest minds alive at that time and had their knowledge at my disposal.
The follow Friday night we met for a drink, although, he didn’t drink……I should have listened to my sister and friends when they all proclaimed that the relationship was doomed if I was going to drink and he was going to sit there sober, but I went along after squeezing in about 8 wines and a pack of fags.
I got to the venue and slammed down a gin and snuck into the loo and enjoyed a smoke. Chatted to some chicks who said they could tell I was on a date but observed that he was actually more nervous than me. This was comforting to hear!
It would be fair to say that it was a very ordinary date. He was hard to speak to and although we got along really really well we were both kind of aggressive and defensive and there was no flow at all of conversation, it was actually more like taking pot shots at each other and trying to be the biggest smart arse. I kind of respected this because without blowing my own horn, most men that I meet are not very smart and I liked that he was smart, almost as smart as me, and witty – almost as witty as me! Ha! But I said I was over it after a while, hoping once again to shatter a bit more of his male ego and said I was off, he said he would walk me home. On the way we passed another pub and he suggested that perhaps he might like to have a gin and menthol with me by the open fire in the pub and see if we could at least salvage what was left of the evening. I agreed. Within an hour we were fucking like mad and we did that until the next morning when my dad knocked on the front door for our regular Saturday brunch.
It was the best sex of my life there is absolutely no denying that, and I was concerned that I might be addicted. I was smiling and nothing could stop me!
Monday morning I skipped into work past my managers desk who advised me that he had seen my partner in crime earlier for a coffee and he seemed to be in a similar state and that he was glad that his theory that “cock solves all problems” was able to remain intact.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
My say on Ute-gate
Sometimes I actually think I am psychic, but then I realise that I am actually just a cynical public servant who has lost all faith in the political system and basically all politicians. Even the good ones are shit and the bad ones are well, Theo Theophanous – need I say more…..but I tell you I could see as soon as this story broke that a public servant was going to cop the blame for this Ute-gate business at some point, I mean, it just had to happen.
Now before I get started on my rant about politicians, I might just say a few words about public servants.
I need to start by saying that realistically when I was at school and at Uni studying I always knew I would be a public servant, I am not really sure why. I was always interested in politics, had a huge obsession with Paul Keating and would write fan mail to Joan Kirner rather than BROS, so it’s fair to say that the interest was always there.
I think what attracted me to be interested in being a public servant rather than actually being involved in politics was really just that I was under the crazy misapprehension that I has the capacity to contribute to the development and delivery of social policy in a completely bipartisan capacity.
I never actually really pursued a “career” in the public service, but it did just kind of happen after I finished Uni and it made sense, I never really had any experience in the private sector of any significance and in the early days I guess I actually felt like I was doing some good in the time when education and skills reform was flavour of the month. Then of course it became less palatable and I learned some very hard lessons about how social policy IS actually made – but that’s for another instalment.
What I will say is that generally speaking the role of the public servant is extremely misunderstood. People get it if you sell something, make something or have a job that has a television series based on it, I mean, we all know that CSI is exactly like it the real thing……but there are no shows about the public service except for things like Yes Minister and more recently and probably more accurately The Hollowmen.
If you have not seen The Hollowmen, I encourage you to watch it. The script is literally spot on. It shows a bunch of people who are working on behalf of the politicians who are largely stupid, indecisive and easily manipulated (according to public opinion as opposed to maintaining a sense of morality or attempting to maintain a stance on an issues which is well understood), but these people work hard and are under pressure to satisfy the political and personal needs of the politicians under extremely difficult circumstances.
I am aware that there are obviously plenty of public service jobs where the old notion of the brown cardigan clad, odd socked wearing balding man stamping bits of paper in a slow and drawn out manner and attempting to seem important or to be a decision maker in some capacity, very much still exists and they are out there, I have met them, sat next to them and occasionally tried to explain to them that they bring the rest of us into disrepute, but by and large this person is an endangered species.
The reality is that public servants come under a great deal of pressure in the process of serving the public, because the reality is that we are expected to serve the Ministers, and if anyone is stupid enough to think that we receive emails from Ministers (including the Prime Minister or Premier) which directly state that we should do X in order to assist them they would have to be barking mad.
The influence they have is far more subtle that that and takes many forms which can not be traced and is all just he said she said stuff which is never able to be proved and will always be denied. It is more about a culture that exists which makes it impossible for someone to refuse a request from a senior officer.
But because politicians are never responsible and completely above reproach when something like the Ute-gate thing comes up or ends up looking more like egg on the face of an MP from either side of politic you can bet your bottom dollar that a public servant will be blamed for the fuck up.
Tony Abbot has now blamed a federal treasury official for “making up” the story and handing it to the opposition who have now ended up looking like a bunch of clowns. Give me a break.
The senior public servant who is said to have let the leak out was a bloke who was previously on the staff Malcolm Turnbull and they appear to have some level of connection still, however this is being denied by both parties.
So here is what I reckon happened – the senior public servant got pissed with Malcolm or one of his staffers and they chatted about the fact that this finance scheme which was being administered by Treasury was attracting a bit of attention from various pollies who where trying to help their mates out who have suffered financial loss as a result of the Global Financial Crisis…..which is fairly standard fare really, but what I never bought was the fact that there was an email instructing Treasury staff to “help out” K Rudd’s mate who owned a car dealership and needed assistance under the GFC assistance package.
The reason I never bought this was that going back to my earlier point – you would NEVER write that sort of shit down. But the Treasury person was probably pissed and mouthing off and then had to create an email after the story got out. So at the end of the day there are a number of people to blame, Malcolm and his idiot staffers for not getting their facts right and having some concrete evidence before they went public, the public servant for mouthing off without having evidence that was actually able to nail K Rudd and then of course there is the culture that exists within the public service where Ministers and their staff do lean on bureaucrats who are supposed to be politically impartial.
Furthermore the stupidity of the people who have been writing into idiot TV “Sunrise” asking why “Average Joe” should care about this, you must be fucking kidding me??!!
At the core of our political process there are the government departments who administer money, policies and other government business and this process should be completely independent and transparent and should not be subject to political influence or corruption and nobody, not even the Prime Minister should have the power to use public money to “help out a mate” – but guess what its isn’t and it does happen this way and THAT’S what we should all be getting loud about!!!
Melissa Doyle is a complete fuckwit and an insult to woman and especially those of us who continue fight the stereotypes associated with being a female, you and blonde and having boobs but waking up to the sound of her dumb voice trying to ask a “sensible” and “intellectual” question of that moron David Koch, who I might add was unable to answer, he in fact said that “Average Joe” should be concerned because this proves that pollies lie – what the fuck??!! Are you kidding me?? As if we didn’t already know THAT!
This angered me, but was followed by a clip of Tony Abbot blaming a public servant for the fuck up and that just tipped me over the edge. I came close to putting the TV outside on the street and letting a homeless person come and take it but changed my mind on account of the fact that its footy season and I would miss too many games if I had no TV and I would have to go to the pub and watch footy, where I would just drink and that would be all bad for everyone, so I thought I would keep the idiot box, but I must remember not to leave it on.
As for being a public servant and the shit that goes along with that, well there are a few issues……do I like my job? Yeah, its ok….is it everything I though it would be working in the public service? No, nothing could have prepared me for this, and mainly nothing could have prepared me for the disappointment that often sets in when I feel compromised or unhappy about issues or activities I observe or am part of….would I leave and go and work in the private sector? No, I tried for a few months a couple of years ago and I missed it here, I missed the process of government and laughing at the many ironies and similarities between my every day working life and the script from The Hollowmen……so why complain? I’m not, I often get frustrated, annoyed etc with certain things in the workplace that go on, no more than other people in any workplace really – what I am complain about on this occasion is the fact that people who seem to feel that they have something to say about the issue and contribute to the discussion seem to be so ill-informed and the politicians treat those of us who do know what’s going on with contempt by darting and dodging ultimate responsibility for a culture that they have ultimately been apart of creating.
It doesn’t matter what your political beliefs are, if you think for one minute that one side of politics is not capable of behaving in a certain way, you are fucking kidding yourself……so where does that leave us? Needing to understand our system better, rejecting shit media coverage of political issues and stop eating the political rhetoric like blocks of Cadburys chocolate. The only way to stop what goes on is to firstly understand it, but people don’t and as a consequence I drink and try to forget that I live in a country of ignorant stupid people who watch Melissa Doyle and David Koch in the mornings and pump their kids full of sugar filled cereal instead of meaningful and intelligent conversation.
Right – wine time.
Sometimes I actually think I am psychic, but then I realise that I am actually just a cynical public servant who has lost all faith in the political system and basically all politicians. Even the good ones are shit and the bad ones are well, Theo Theophanous – need I say more…..but I tell you I could see as soon as this story broke that a public servant was going to cop the blame for this Ute-gate business at some point, I mean, it just had to happen.
Now before I get started on my rant about politicians, I might just say a few words about public servants.
I need to start by saying that realistically when I was at school and at Uni studying I always knew I would be a public servant, I am not really sure why. I was always interested in politics, had a huge obsession with Paul Keating and would write fan mail to Joan Kirner rather than BROS, so it’s fair to say that the interest was always there.
I think what attracted me to be interested in being a public servant rather than actually being involved in politics was really just that I was under the crazy misapprehension that I has the capacity to contribute to the development and delivery of social policy in a completely bipartisan capacity.
I never actually really pursued a “career” in the public service, but it did just kind of happen after I finished Uni and it made sense, I never really had any experience in the private sector of any significance and in the early days I guess I actually felt like I was doing some good in the time when education and skills reform was flavour of the month. Then of course it became less palatable and I learned some very hard lessons about how social policy IS actually made – but that’s for another instalment.
What I will say is that generally speaking the role of the public servant is extremely misunderstood. People get it if you sell something, make something or have a job that has a television series based on it, I mean, we all know that CSI is exactly like it the real thing……but there are no shows about the public service except for things like Yes Minister and more recently and probably more accurately The Hollowmen.
If you have not seen The Hollowmen, I encourage you to watch it. The script is literally spot on. It shows a bunch of people who are working on behalf of the politicians who are largely stupid, indecisive and easily manipulated (according to public opinion as opposed to maintaining a sense of morality or attempting to maintain a stance on an issues which is well understood), but these people work hard and are under pressure to satisfy the political and personal needs of the politicians under extremely difficult circumstances.
I am aware that there are obviously plenty of public service jobs where the old notion of the brown cardigan clad, odd socked wearing balding man stamping bits of paper in a slow and drawn out manner and attempting to seem important or to be a decision maker in some capacity, very much still exists and they are out there, I have met them, sat next to them and occasionally tried to explain to them that they bring the rest of us into disrepute, but by and large this person is an endangered species.
The reality is that public servants come under a great deal of pressure in the process of serving the public, because the reality is that we are expected to serve the Ministers, and if anyone is stupid enough to think that we receive emails from Ministers (including the Prime Minister or Premier) which directly state that we should do X in order to assist them they would have to be barking mad.
The influence they have is far more subtle that that and takes many forms which can not be traced and is all just he said she said stuff which is never able to be proved and will always be denied. It is more about a culture that exists which makes it impossible for someone to refuse a request from a senior officer.
But because politicians are never responsible and completely above reproach when something like the Ute-gate thing comes up or ends up looking more like egg on the face of an MP from either side of politic you can bet your bottom dollar that a public servant will be blamed for the fuck up.
Tony Abbot has now blamed a federal treasury official for “making up” the story and handing it to the opposition who have now ended up looking like a bunch of clowns. Give me a break.
The senior public servant who is said to have let the leak out was a bloke who was previously on the staff Malcolm Turnbull and they appear to have some level of connection still, however this is being denied by both parties.
So here is what I reckon happened – the senior public servant got pissed with Malcolm or one of his staffers and they chatted about the fact that this finance scheme which was being administered by Treasury was attracting a bit of attention from various pollies who where trying to help their mates out who have suffered financial loss as a result of the Global Financial Crisis…..which is fairly standard fare really, but what I never bought was the fact that there was an email instructing Treasury staff to “help out” K Rudd’s mate who owned a car dealership and needed assistance under the GFC assistance package.
The reason I never bought this was that going back to my earlier point – you would NEVER write that sort of shit down. But the Treasury person was probably pissed and mouthing off and then had to create an email after the story got out. So at the end of the day there are a number of people to blame, Malcolm and his idiot staffers for not getting their facts right and having some concrete evidence before they went public, the public servant for mouthing off without having evidence that was actually able to nail K Rudd and then of course there is the culture that exists within the public service where Ministers and their staff do lean on bureaucrats who are supposed to be politically impartial.
Furthermore the stupidity of the people who have been writing into idiot TV “Sunrise” asking why “Average Joe” should care about this, you must be fucking kidding me??!!
At the core of our political process there are the government departments who administer money, policies and other government business and this process should be completely independent and transparent and should not be subject to political influence or corruption and nobody, not even the Prime Minister should have the power to use public money to “help out a mate” – but guess what its isn’t and it does happen this way and THAT’S what we should all be getting loud about!!!
Melissa Doyle is a complete fuckwit and an insult to woman and especially those of us who continue fight the stereotypes associated with being a female, you and blonde and having boobs but waking up to the sound of her dumb voice trying to ask a “sensible” and “intellectual” question of that moron David Koch, who I might add was unable to answer, he in fact said that “Average Joe” should be concerned because this proves that pollies lie – what the fuck??!! Are you kidding me?? As if we didn’t already know THAT!
This angered me, but was followed by a clip of Tony Abbot blaming a public servant for the fuck up and that just tipped me over the edge. I came close to putting the TV outside on the street and letting a homeless person come and take it but changed my mind on account of the fact that its footy season and I would miss too many games if I had no TV and I would have to go to the pub and watch footy, where I would just drink and that would be all bad for everyone, so I thought I would keep the idiot box, but I must remember not to leave it on.
As for being a public servant and the shit that goes along with that, well there are a few issues……do I like my job? Yeah, its ok….is it everything I though it would be working in the public service? No, nothing could have prepared me for this, and mainly nothing could have prepared me for the disappointment that often sets in when I feel compromised or unhappy about issues or activities I observe or am part of….would I leave and go and work in the private sector? No, I tried for a few months a couple of years ago and I missed it here, I missed the process of government and laughing at the many ironies and similarities between my every day working life and the script from The Hollowmen……so why complain? I’m not, I often get frustrated, annoyed etc with certain things in the workplace that go on, no more than other people in any workplace really – what I am complain about on this occasion is the fact that people who seem to feel that they have something to say about the issue and contribute to the discussion seem to be so ill-informed and the politicians treat those of us who do know what’s going on with contempt by darting and dodging ultimate responsibility for a culture that they have ultimately been apart of creating.
It doesn’t matter what your political beliefs are, if you think for one minute that one side of politics is not capable of behaving in a certain way, you are fucking kidding yourself……so where does that leave us? Needing to understand our system better, rejecting shit media coverage of political issues and stop eating the political rhetoric like blocks of Cadburys chocolate. The only way to stop what goes on is to firstly understand it, but people don’t and as a consequence I drink and try to forget that I live in a country of ignorant stupid people who watch Melissa Doyle and David Koch in the mornings and pump their kids full of sugar filled cereal instead of meaningful and intelligent conversation.
Right – wine time.
The difference between being straight, a gay man or a lesbian….
Discussions over the Sunday afternoon roast:
So yesterday I was having lunch with a bunch of gay friends I know through The Hot Man. We quite often have a home cooked meal on a Sunday, it’s a great way to end the unhealthy weekend of too much booze, too little sleep and not enough vegetables. It must be said though that these events normally kick off with a couple of joints and end with too many bottles of champagne and too many cigarettes, especially given that Sunday is actually a school night.
So yesterdays event started early, which is a great thing, although it did force The Hot Man to have justification for waking me up at 6.30am whilst drinking coffee in bed and generally being noisy and hyperactive – something I am not inclined to be EVER at 6.30am, much less on a SUNDAY MORNING…..but he was right, there was plenty to be done, so reluctantly I got out of bed, had a shower and was at Coles at 9am, to my surprise they are actually open at this time and actually its quite a hive of activity, it would seem that not everyone holds the same Sunday morning rest as near and dear to them as me.
Despite the elusive dream of a short nana nap, it never arrived, there was simply too much to be done before a 1pm lunch. There were house renovations to be done, shopping to be bought, dogs to be walked and fed and of course an impressive desert to be baked. I am truly becoming a one woman domestic goddess.
Lunch kicked off with a few wines while a group of 7 assembled for the delicious meal. This is a fairly out there group, they are most certainly people I feel completely comfortable with as I have always felt very much like a square peg in a round hole in the company of most people anyway and generally when I say things like ‘oh my god I have started to have multiple orgasms, and they are fantastic, I had a total of 6 in one session last night’ over a meal I get some strange looks and many requests to leave my sex life in the bedroom and move onto other more civilised topics of conversation.
Most certainly not with this group; a statement of this kind would be nothing if not mild compared to some of the stories and adventures this lot have to share over digestion, and discussing incidents such as getting stuck in the kneeling position post-blowjob in a public place one evening are really just standard fair; but it did make me think……
These stories of public hook-ups and encounters purely of a sexual nature where there has been no discussion between the parties, the mere fact that you have shown up at a location and look at someone in a certain way is as effective a form of communication as if you where carrying your own sign saying “I am here for sex and will give or receive oral or anal sex” made me realise that other than “The Dirty Swan Hotel” in Richmond there really is no equivalent for straight people or gay women who desire a quick physical release without the bullshit that normally follows – hence the reason I went for so long without sex last year, the thought of having to kick another beer soaked man out of my bed before dawn who delivered nothing but bad conversation and some very ordinary sex was simply more than I could bear, I became much more satisfied with a night out with friends, decent stock of batteries, a guaranteed orgasm and no necessity to change the sheets in the morning.
But after all of that it is really very very clear that the really significant cultural differences that exist between the gay and lesbian and straight communities is the way we hook up, have sex and form relationships (or not in many cases).
From what I can work out, gay men have all these options depending on what they want, parks and other known locations for random anonymous and presumably not very fussy participants who just need a quick fix and who require no level of verbal interaction. Then there are bars and clubs where the sexual activity is on a scale from rapidly out there to much more social and “civilised”.
Lesbians (and I am happy to be corrected) seem to have more networking and social activities which provide the opportunity for woman interested in woman to be provided with a supportive and friendly environment in which to meet new people, sure, there are bars and clubs, but the sexual behaviour is far less ….well literally “in your face” and the focus is morning on socialising and meeting new people rather that instant sexual gratification. Its does seem to be an unusual phenomenon though that when a couple of chicks sleep together, well they seem to just stay together and start a relationship without the kind of rubbish that we straight people endure.
That’s certainly not to say however that we are hard done by, those of us seeking sex with the opposite sex, it’s just that I think we have many more options, and with options there come a plethora of confusing and confronting situations which quite frankly give me the shits.
If you do want fast uncomplicated sexual gratification, well there is always The Dirty Swan, but I have to say the last time I went in there I had a very very strong urge to start checking ID’s and asking what time these children needed to be home, and if they had a safe mode of transportation to take them there. I am not sure when I got old, but I can tell you that I did, but old people need sex too!
So then you have the old faithful – Transport. But seriously, the place is spilling over with bogans, bogan music, cheep aftershave and chicks who are risking their health wearing as little as they do and shoes that even I think are not only questionable for ones health but actually quite dangerous. Plus it’s loud and frankly who can be bothered paying for a glass of wine, what the whole case probably cost them to buy and basically getting a “fuck you, you are interrupting my evening” attitude from the bar staff. Not me.
So the other alternatives are basically bars which are all very much the same generally loud music, and one night stands or “hook-ups” from my experience normally occur when there has been some sort of introduction by a third party, I have certainly never been approached by anyone in one of these venues in a capacity where I believed that they were interested in anything, be it quick shag or the opportunity to see me again, except for that drunk bloke who grabbed my fanny at Trunk that time a few months back – he doesn’t count because if that’s the best he can do to try to sweep a girl off her feet then the single woman of Melbourne are completely fucked, should buy as many vibrators as possible and just stay the fuck at home.
I realise that I am no oil painting, but I am not hideous either so I would have to say that my experience would probably be fairly representative. Men just really don’t approach you, it just isn’t like it is in the movies, a smile over the bar and some sex or a phone number exchanged at the end of the night – if I am wrong them why are RSVP and all the other dating alternative absolutely booming with business???
Then there are pubs, my personal favourite. Far less pretentious than bars, better music, you get to watch the football and at the end of the night if you are feeling horny you really only need to go and say g’day to some bloke with his beer goggles on and ask him how he would feel about coming back to your place, if you add that its walking distance I find they dump their mates even earlier – that’s a tip for the ladies out there. But this practice has been successful enough to get me laid, but has done little for my desire for sexual gratification, and frankly provides a disruption to my sleep in plan, gets the dogs pissed off with me and forces me to think about how the fuck I am going to get rid of this bloke without having that weird and uncomfortable conversation about breakfast and exchanging phone numbers.
I can simply not tell you how many times I have tried to explain to someone that ‘no, I do not want to eat a meal with you, I got drunk with my friends whilst watching the football, I don’t even want to speak to you, but I was horny and you are hot, you have a hot body and now that you have successfully reminded me why I hate taking strangers home please fuck off and die’……….which normally goes more along the lines of ‘do you see the dark out that window? Good, you need to be gone before its light – clear?’ generally this is enough for them not to bother with requests for future activities.
So you can see my point…..despite being a minority who have a shocking and shameful history of enduring persecution, violence and discrimination, when it comes to sex, gay men have it all! The community have clearly defined rules and venues for the desired activity, I mean they would have more trouble picking from the various condom types than deciding where they want to go for an evening, the process is that simple. What would you like ‘sex please’ and how much effort would you like to have to put in on a scale of 0 – 10 and the venue is chosen with sex guaranteed.
Anyway, my roast was great, the banana cake was amazing as usual and I had a very nice afternoon with the queens and The Hot Man. I did however wake up this morning with a bit of a hangover and my undies on back to front – not completely sure what the go was there, but am hoping I have started having sleep sex – I reckon that could make for some interesting blogging!
Discussions over the Sunday afternoon roast:
So yesterday I was having lunch with a bunch of gay friends I know through The Hot Man. We quite often have a home cooked meal on a Sunday, it’s a great way to end the unhealthy weekend of too much booze, too little sleep and not enough vegetables. It must be said though that these events normally kick off with a couple of joints and end with too many bottles of champagne and too many cigarettes, especially given that Sunday is actually a school night.
So yesterdays event started early, which is a great thing, although it did force The Hot Man to have justification for waking me up at 6.30am whilst drinking coffee in bed and generally being noisy and hyperactive – something I am not inclined to be EVER at 6.30am, much less on a SUNDAY MORNING…..but he was right, there was plenty to be done, so reluctantly I got out of bed, had a shower and was at Coles at 9am, to my surprise they are actually open at this time and actually its quite a hive of activity, it would seem that not everyone holds the same Sunday morning rest as near and dear to them as me.
Despite the elusive dream of a short nana nap, it never arrived, there was simply too much to be done before a 1pm lunch. There were house renovations to be done, shopping to be bought, dogs to be walked and fed and of course an impressive desert to be baked. I am truly becoming a one woman domestic goddess.
Lunch kicked off with a few wines while a group of 7 assembled for the delicious meal. This is a fairly out there group, they are most certainly people I feel completely comfortable with as I have always felt very much like a square peg in a round hole in the company of most people anyway and generally when I say things like ‘oh my god I have started to have multiple orgasms, and they are fantastic, I had a total of 6 in one session last night’ over a meal I get some strange looks and many requests to leave my sex life in the bedroom and move onto other more civilised topics of conversation.
Most certainly not with this group; a statement of this kind would be nothing if not mild compared to some of the stories and adventures this lot have to share over digestion, and discussing incidents such as getting stuck in the kneeling position post-blowjob in a public place one evening are really just standard fair; but it did make me think……
These stories of public hook-ups and encounters purely of a sexual nature where there has been no discussion between the parties, the mere fact that you have shown up at a location and look at someone in a certain way is as effective a form of communication as if you where carrying your own sign saying “I am here for sex and will give or receive oral or anal sex” made me realise that other than “The Dirty Swan Hotel” in Richmond there really is no equivalent for straight people or gay women who desire a quick physical release without the bullshit that normally follows – hence the reason I went for so long without sex last year, the thought of having to kick another beer soaked man out of my bed before dawn who delivered nothing but bad conversation and some very ordinary sex was simply more than I could bear, I became much more satisfied with a night out with friends, decent stock of batteries, a guaranteed orgasm and no necessity to change the sheets in the morning.
But after all of that it is really very very clear that the really significant cultural differences that exist between the gay and lesbian and straight communities is the way we hook up, have sex and form relationships (or not in many cases).
From what I can work out, gay men have all these options depending on what they want, parks and other known locations for random anonymous and presumably not very fussy participants who just need a quick fix and who require no level of verbal interaction. Then there are bars and clubs where the sexual activity is on a scale from rapidly out there to much more social and “civilised”.
Lesbians (and I am happy to be corrected) seem to have more networking and social activities which provide the opportunity for woman interested in woman to be provided with a supportive and friendly environment in which to meet new people, sure, there are bars and clubs, but the sexual behaviour is far less ….well literally “in your face” and the focus is morning on socialising and meeting new people rather that instant sexual gratification. Its does seem to be an unusual phenomenon though that when a couple of chicks sleep together, well they seem to just stay together and start a relationship without the kind of rubbish that we straight people endure.
That’s certainly not to say however that we are hard done by, those of us seeking sex with the opposite sex, it’s just that I think we have many more options, and with options there come a plethora of confusing and confronting situations which quite frankly give me the shits.
If you do want fast uncomplicated sexual gratification, well there is always The Dirty Swan, but I have to say the last time I went in there I had a very very strong urge to start checking ID’s and asking what time these children needed to be home, and if they had a safe mode of transportation to take them there. I am not sure when I got old, but I can tell you that I did, but old people need sex too!
So then you have the old faithful – Transport. But seriously, the place is spilling over with bogans, bogan music, cheep aftershave and chicks who are risking their health wearing as little as they do and shoes that even I think are not only questionable for ones health but actually quite dangerous. Plus it’s loud and frankly who can be bothered paying for a glass of wine, what the whole case probably cost them to buy and basically getting a “fuck you, you are interrupting my evening” attitude from the bar staff. Not me.
So the other alternatives are basically bars which are all very much the same generally loud music, and one night stands or “hook-ups” from my experience normally occur when there has been some sort of introduction by a third party, I have certainly never been approached by anyone in one of these venues in a capacity where I believed that they were interested in anything, be it quick shag or the opportunity to see me again, except for that drunk bloke who grabbed my fanny at Trunk that time a few months back – he doesn’t count because if that’s the best he can do to try to sweep a girl off her feet then the single woman of Melbourne are completely fucked, should buy as many vibrators as possible and just stay the fuck at home.
I realise that I am no oil painting, but I am not hideous either so I would have to say that my experience would probably be fairly representative. Men just really don’t approach you, it just isn’t like it is in the movies, a smile over the bar and some sex or a phone number exchanged at the end of the night – if I am wrong them why are RSVP and all the other dating alternative absolutely booming with business???
Then there are pubs, my personal favourite. Far less pretentious than bars, better music, you get to watch the football and at the end of the night if you are feeling horny you really only need to go and say g’day to some bloke with his beer goggles on and ask him how he would feel about coming back to your place, if you add that its walking distance I find they dump their mates even earlier – that’s a tip for the ladies out there. But this practice has been successful enough to get me laid, but has done little for my desire for sexual gratification, and frankly provides a disruption to my sleep in plan, gets the dogs pissed off with me and forces me to think about how the fuck I am going to get rid of this bloke without having that weird and uncomfortable conversation about breakfast and exchanging phone numbers.
I can simply not tell you how many times I have tried to explain to someone that ‘no, I do not want to eat a meal with you, I got drunk with my friends whilst watching the football, I don’t even want to speak to you, but I was horny and you are hot, you have a hot body and now that you have successfully reminded me why I hate taking strangers home please fuck off and die’……….which normally goes more along the lines of ‘do you see the dark out that window? Good, you need to be gone before its light – clear?’ generally this is enough for them not to bother with requests for future activities.
So you can see my point…..despite being a minority who have a shocking and shameful history of enduring persecution, violence and discrimination, when it comes to sex, gay men have it all! The community have clearly defined rules and venues for the desired activity, I mean they would have more trouble picking from the various condom types than deciding where they want to go for an evening, the process is that simple. What would you like ‘sex please’ and how much effort would you like to have to put in on a scale of 0 – 10 and the venue is chosen with sex guaranteed.
Anyway, my roast was great, the banana cake was amazing as usual and I had a very nice afternoon with the queens and The Hot Man. I did however wake up this morning with a bit of a hangover and my undies on back to front – not completely sure what the go was there, but am hoping I have started having sleep sex – I reckon that could make for some interesting blogging!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Divorce
I guess we should start with the marriage. It was far from perfect. In fact it should really never have happened.
The husband and I met at Uni. He was hot and had a cool car. He was also smart and came from the Northern Suburbs, I had never been there before but it all seemed very scary and quite exciting.
We got together after I left a note on his car advising him of a location where a night out was to be had with some mutual friends, and my number, he called, said he would love to come and the rest is history as they say.
We studied together for years, and I thought he was smart, which I still believe, he is very smart. He is also a lovely person and I was lucky to have him in my life, but I met him when things in my family and home life situation were really ordinary and we stayed together mainly due to circumstance and the fact that I think we truly loved each other, but just not in the way that you should when you are married to someone.
There were many ups and downs. We worked hard together and saved hard and got ahead financially early on and we were pleased with that. Our wedding was lovely, small, we had dinner at an Indian restaurant after a chapel service and it was a whole bunch of fun.
I am not entirely sure what happened after we got married but I can quite honestly say that we were never quite the same again and I also think that we never talked about what we both wanted from our lives and when we did we didn’t want the same thing at all. It was just crazy, it was like the only thing that we both wanted was just to stay together, almost because it was easier I guess and we did work well together, but the spark, if there ever was any, was gone.
I knew he was going to leave me when I went on a few days break in QLD with my sister who was up there for work. The whole time I was away I could feel in the pit of my stomach that when I got back he would have decided to end it.
I had found a text message on his phone (no, I was not checking, mine had gone flat and we were ringing my dad about some house stuff) and it was from a chick called “Cindy” and it said ‘Had a great night last night, can’t wait to see you again’…….
I trusted him implicitly. I always said that he was like a Labrador he was so faithful to me, but I guess Labs do have that reputation for sniffing out food when its on offer elsewhere…..which he seemed to have done.
His reaction was weird, and so was mine. I didn’t say anything and was not angry or anything, I was just numb. I asked him about it very calmly and he just kept crying. It was very odd. We never discussed it again but I knew when I was in QLD that he would make his decision and he did. He was not at the airport to pick me up when I got back and that was again most unusual.
He did finally arrive and claimed that the traffic was so horrific that he was delayed – it was a 6pm pick up on a Sunday night, the easiest airport pick up known to man. When we arrived home the house was turned upside down and in a complete state, again, I just said nothing. But the next night when he arrived home he made the earth shattering announcement and that was when the nightmare begun.
He said he was moving out and that was going to happen as soon as he found somewhere to live, he slept on the couch and I drank and smoked like a chimney outside. I wanted him gone, if he was going to leave anyway then I just wanted it to happen, it was like pealing off a bandaid slowly, it was horrible. Within days he said he was moving the following week and then he went off on a ski trip. At least he was gone.
But he was not gone completely; you see he needed to move his stuff out when he got back from the ski trip he had intended to go to his parents place, for the fathers birthday and then come home and continue to waltz in and out until it was convenient for him to move. I was not so happy with this and even more so when I had been drinking massive amounts of casked wine.
So after an argument via phone, which turned into a physical altercation outside his parents place he agreed to stay there and move the following day, out, completely – all his stuff would be gone. Thank god I though, and really couldn’t wait for the following day to come – literally.
I thought I should start doing things on my own again. I got myself all frocked up in my best track suite and I headed on down Victoria Street and thought I might see a movie. However, whilst passing a bottle shop I caught out of the corner of my eye a cask of wine on the shelf and it just looked so good. I went in, made my purchase and walked home with my wine and bogged in. It was a four litre and I did my best to make sure there was no left overs.
At some point, it is unclear when exactly, I decided that I would provide some assistance to my beloved husband, soon to be ex-husband by getting his stuff ready for the truck by throwing it all into the street.
I started with the laundry at the rear of the house and worked my way through. I threw out everything. I should point out at this point that the ex-husband liked to spend money on toys, and always had a new interest, so there was plenty of stuff to get rid of.
There were surfboards, wetsuits and all the surfing accessories, there was a scuba tank, all the scuba gear, boxing gear, wrestling gear, random gym stuff and all the personal possessions.
I threw out all the Hugo Boss shirts, suits and cufflinks. I pissed on the shirts.
I emptied every draw onto the street, I removed all household items he had purchased or that I knew he would want more than me. This included a leather arm chair and ottoman he had recently purchased with some money he was left by his grandmother. I am not entirely sure how I got that out of the house, it was huge and we struggled to get it in, but the power of the casked wine kept me powering on.
I then started smashing wedding photos and making quite a racket. It was possibly about 4am at this stage. Soon after a police car entered the street with its spot light on my house. The police pulled up outside my house and there was stuff EVERYWHERE in the street and the porch area.
I was blind drunk and trying to get the ottoman through the doorway. I asked them ‘yes, is there anything I can help you with?’ to which a very friendly policeman said ‘we have had a report of a break in at this address….’ I replied with ‘no break in, husband a cunt and sleeping with Cindy, so he is moving out….now if you don’t mind I have quite a lot of work to get through tonight so if there is nothing more I can help you with…..’ they smirked, told me to continue and I am sure went back to the police station and had a great laugh.
The ex-husband was not laughing a few hours later when he turned up, expecting to get changed and go to work, but I announced that it was moving day today and that I had provided some assistance. Thankfully for him, and most surprisingly nothing was actually taken, I really only finished just before he got there because I was working hard all night.
I even sorted papers, I came across his passport and I defecated in it and returned it to the plastic sleeve. It was not found for several months and was discovered when ex-husband and Cindy were preparing for an exotic overseas holiday – mission accomplished I would say!
So instead of going to work that day he had to hire a truck and move all of his things into his new abode and I, once again got drunk. Then I cried, and then I got more drunk. And that’s basically what I did for many of the following months.
Since this time………….
Ex-husband has managed to stay single for about 3 days I think. It never worked out with Cindy, she was a nut (how surprising…) and she left him, at which time he became a blithering mess and spent too much time talking to me about how broken hearted he was.
One conversation I had with him at this time was to try and explain that I might be a little bit upset about hearing the details of his new relationship, even if it was not all beer and skittles and his reply was ‘but she’s hot, she has a great body, not an ounce of fat on her and a really tight pussy’ and the thing that was most surprising about this was that he actually said this to me with the expectation that I would congratulate him on his successful find…..what I did respond with was ‘get the fuck out of my house and get those divorce papers organised….’.
But he was recently married again to someone I am assured is really quite lovely. He came to my house to see myself and Ardie who was our dog as he was moving overseas and we had some final matters to sort out and he wanted to see the dog off. It did come as a bit of a shock when he said he was going to be married in a few days, but I could see that he was extremely happy and that was pleasing to me, because he deserves it
I guess we should start with the marriage. It was far from perfect. In fact it should really never have happened.
The husband and I met at Uni. He was hot and had a cool car. He was also smart and came from the Northern Suburbs, I had never been there before but it all seemed very scary and quite exciting.
We got together after I left a note on his car advising him of a location where a night out was to be had with some mutual friends, and my number, he called, said he would love to come and the rest is history as they say.
We studied together for years, and I thought he was smart, which I still believe, he is very smart. He is also a lovely person and I was lucky to have him in my life, but I met him when things in my family and home life situation were really ordinary and we stayed together mainly due to circumstance and the fact that I think we truly loved each other, but just not in the way that you should when you are married to someone.
There were many ups and downs. We worked hard together and saved hard and got ahead financially early on and we were pleased with that. Our wedding was lovely, small, we had dinner at an Indian restaurant after a chapel service and it was a whole bunch of fun.
I am not entirely sure what happened after we got married but I can quite honestly say that we were never quite the same again and I also think that we never talked about what we both wanted from our lives and when we did we didn’t want the same thing at all. It was just crazy, it was like the only thing that we both wanted was just to stay together, almost because it was easier I guess and we did work well together, but the spark, if there ever was any, was gone.
I knew he was going to leave me when I went on a few days break in QLD with my sister who was up there for work. The whole time I was away I could feel in the pit of my stomach that when I got back he would have decided to end it.
I had found a text message on his phone (no, I was not checking, mine had gone flat and we were ringing my dad about some house stuff) and it was from a chick called “Cindy” and it said ‘Had a great night last night, can’t wait to see you again’…….
I trusted him implicitly. I always said that he was like a Labrador he was so faithful to me, but I guess Labs do have that reputation for sniffing out food when its on offer elsewhere…..which he seemed to have done.
His reaction was weird, and so was mine. I didn’t say anything and was not angry or anything, I was just numb. I asked him about it very calmly and he just kept crying. It was very odd. We never discussed it again but I knew when I was in QLD that he would make his decision and he did. He was not at the airport to pick me up when I got back and that was again most unusual.
He did finally arrive and claimed that the traffic was so horrific that he was delayed – it was a 6pm pick up on a Sunday night, the easiest airport pick up known to man. When we arrived home the house was turned upside down and in a complete state, again, I just said nothing. But the next night when he arrived home he made the earth shattering announcement and that was when the nightmare begun.
He said he was moving out and that was going to happen as soon as he found somewhere to live, he slept on the couch and I drank and smoked like a chimney outside. I wanted him gone, if he was going to leave anyway then I just wanted it to happen, it was like pealing off a bandaid slowly, it was horrible. Within days he said he was moving the following week and then he went off on a ski trip. At least he was gone.
But he was not gone completely; you see he needed to move his stuff out when he got back from the ski trip he had intended to go to his parents place, for the fathers birthday and then come home and continue to waltz in and out until it was convenient for him to move. I was not so happy with this and even more so when I had been drinking massive amounts of casked wine.
So after an argument via phone, which turned into a physical altercation outside his parents place he agreed to stay there and move the following day, out, completely – all his stuff would be gone. Thank god I though, and really couldn’t wait for the following day to come – literally.
I thought I should start doing things on my own again. I got myself all frocked up in my best track suite and I headed on down Victoria Street and thought I might see a movie. However, whilst passing a bottle shop I caught out of the corner of my eye a cask of wine on the shelf and it just looked so good. I went in, made my purchase and walked home with my wine and bogged in. It was a four litre and I did my best to make sure there was no left overs.
At some point, it is unclear when exactly, I decided that I would provide some assistance to my beloved husband, soon to be ex-husband by getting his stuff ready for the truck by throwing it all into the street.
I started with the laundry at the rear of the house and worked my way through. I threw out everything. I should point out at this point that the ex-husband liked to spend money on toys, and always had a new interest, so there was plenty of stuff to get rid of.
There were surfboards, wetsuits and all the surfing accessories, there was a scuba tank, all the scuba gear, boxing gear, wrestling gear, random gym stuff and all the personal possessions.
I threw out all the Hugo Boss shirts, suits and cufflinks. I pissed on the shirts.
I emptied every draw onto the street, I removed all household items he had purchased or that I knew he would want more than me. This included a leather arm chair and ottoman he had recently purchased with some money he was left by his grandmother. I am not entirely sure how I got that out of the house, it was huge and we struggled to get it in, but the power of the casked wine kept me powering on.
I then started smashing wedding photos and making quite a racket. It was possibly about 4am at this stage. Soon after a police car entered the street with its spot light on my house. The police pulled up outside my house and there was stuff EVERYWHERE in the street and the porch area.
I was blind drunk and trying to get the ottoman through the doorway. I asked them ‘yes, is there anything I can help you with?’ to which a very friendly policeman said ‘we have had a report of a break in at this address….’ I replied with ‘no break in, husband a cunt and sleeping with Cindy, so he is moving out….now if you don’t mind I have quite a lot of work to get through tonight so if there is nothing more I can help you with…..’ they smirked, told me to continue and I am sure went back to the police station and had a great laugh.
The ex-husband was not laughing a few hours later when he turned up, expecting to get changed and go to work, but I announced that it was moving day today and that I had provided some assistance. Thankfully for him, and most surprisingly nothing was actually taken, I really only finished just before he got there because I was working hard all night.
I even sorted papers, I came across his passport and I defecated in it and returned it to the plastic sleeve. It was not found for several months and was discovered when ex-husband and Cindy were preparing for an exotic overseas holiday – mission accomplished I would say!
So instead of going to work that day he had to hire a truck and move all of his things into his new abode and I, once again got drunk. Then I cried, and then I got more drunk. And that’s basically what I did for many of the following months.
Since this time………….
Ex-husband has managed to stay single for about 3 days I think. It never worked out with Cindy, she was a nut (how surprising…) and she left him, at which time he became a blithering mess and spent too much time talking to me about how broken hearted he was.
One conversation I had with him at this time was to try and explain that I might be a little bit upset about hearing the details of his new relationship, even if it was not all beer and skittles and his reply was ‘but she’s hot, she has a great body, not an ounce of fat on her and a really tight pussy’ and the thing that was most surprising about this was that he actually said this to me with the expectation that I would congratulate him on his successful find…..what I did respond with was ‘get the fuck out of my house and get those divorce papers organised….’.
But he was recently married again to someone I am assured is really quite lovely. He came to my house to see myself and Ardie who was our dog as he was moving overseas and we had some final matters to sort out and he wanted to see the dog off. It did come as a bit of a shock when he said he was going to be married in a few days, but I could see that he was extremely happy and that was pleasing to me, because he deserves it
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Movie Date
So last night my thing….whatever he is…..I am not sure actually…..he is the person I hang out with, watch sports with, watch TV with, get drunk with and like to see nude allot and have been shagging now for a while…..I have been contemplating a name for this person, I mean he has one of those but it would not be fair to use it in this forum…..I don’t like to use the term “boyfriend” it seems weird after I had a “husband” and now that I’m old, plus it implies certain things about our relationship which I am not sure are true…..so I like the term “lover” it seems exotic and a little bit sexy, but then he is also my mate, and has been for many many years so it kind of sounds wrong.
I think I will call him The Hot Man. He is hot, I think so anyway and he is a man, and this statement is non-committal (which I like) makes not statement of possession or expectation (again, tick, tick) and, I hope, would be interpreted by him as a complement, which it is.
So The Hot Man and I decided on an early film last night, we had been up late the night before and I had some movie passes that needed to be used before they expired so thought we would go to the Jam Factory and see State of Play . If you are reading this and you thought you might go and see it, it’s the new Russel Crow/Ben Affleck film and its pure shit, we both hated it.
We got to the cinema nice and early, movie started at 6pm and there was nobody there to take our tickets. On leaving the cinema there were still no staff to be seen but by this stage a very sizable crowd had gathered on the lower level as they lined up for their tickets for the later timeslot.
The Hot Man was walking down the stairs just in front of me and banging on about how I take so long in the bathroom, which is a little odd really, it’s a public bathroom so its not like I took War & Peace in for a session, a quick twinkle and I was out of there. But as we stepped down my newly healed shoe caught on the metal stripping on one of the stairs and I took the tumble of a lifetime.
Of course this was I am sure very amusing to those who were lining up to get their tickets for the late movie session however it was excruciatingly painful for me. The Hot Man was wonderful and caring and tried to get me to sit on the step (no way- germs) and was holding me and extremely concerned about what injuries I had sustained. The blood started and the jeans were torn and the panic set in. he was helping me down the stairs and trying desperately to get a napkin from a café. He patched me up, took me to the fish n chip shop, got me some salmon and we went home.
That was basically where the sympathy ended, because you see the TV went on and the fish and chips came out and so did a beer. So I hobbled around and got myself a salad and ate my salmon and tried in vain to stop the bleeding.
I certainly don’t want it to sound like I am making The Hot Man out to be uncaring and unsympathetic; it’s not that, I think he just loses interest to be honest. In immediate crisis he is gold, but then the shine fades from that crisis and it’s not longer interesting for him.
So after a bike fall a few weeks back where I fractured my knee I now have a massive bruise on the knee that is fractures and have sliced my other knee open on the metal bit on the step. It fucking hurts and I want to stop falling over like an old woman. Especially when I am actually completely and utterly sober!
So last night my thing….whatever he is…..I am not sure actually…..he is the person I hang out with, watch sports with, watch TV with, get drunk with and like to see nude allot and have been shagging now for a while…..I have been contemplating a name for this person, I mean he has one of those but it would not be fair to use it in this forum…..I don’t like to use the term “boyfriend” it seems weird after I had a “husband” and now that I’m old, plus it implies certain things about our relationship which I am not sure are true…..so I like the term “lover” it seems exotic and a little bit sexy, but then he is also my mate, and has been for many many years so it kind of sounds wrong.
I think I will call him The Hot Man. He is hot, I think so anyway and he is a man, and this statement is non-committal (which I like) makes not statement of possession or expectation (again, tick, tick) and, I hope, would be interpreted by him as a complement, which it is.
So The Hot Man and I decided on an early film last night, we had been up late the night before and I had some movie passes that needed to be used before they expired so thought we would go to the Jam Factory and see State of Play . If you are reading this and you thought you might go and see it, it’s the new Russel Crow/Ben Affleck film and its pure shit, we both hated it.
We got to the cinema nice and early, movie started at 6pm and there was nobody there to take our tickets. On leaving the cinema there were still no staff to be seen but by this stage a very sizable crowd had gathered on the lower level as they lined up for their tickets for the later timeslot.
The Hot Man was walking down the stairs just in front of me and banging on about how I take so long in the bathroom, which is a little odd really, it’s a public bathroom so its not like I took War & Peace in for a session, a quick twinkle and I was out of there. But as we stepped down my newly healed shoe caught on the metal stripping on one of the stairs and I took the tumble of a lifetime.
Of course this was I am sure very amusing to those who were lining up to get their tickets for the late movie session however it was excruciatingly painful for me. The Hot Man was wonderful and caring and tried to get me to sit on the step (no way- germs) and was holding me and extremely concerned about what injuries I had sustained. The blood started and the jeans were torn and the panic set in. he was helping me down the stairs and trying desperately to get a napkin from a café. He patched me up, took me to the fish n chip shop, got me some salmon and we went home.
That was basically where the sympathy ended, because you see the TV went on and the fish and chips came out and so did a beer. So I hobbled around and got myself a salad and ate my salmon and tried in vain to stop the bleeding.
I certainly don’t want it to sound like I am making The Hot Man out to be uncaring and unsympathetic; it’s not that, I think he just loses interest to be honest. In immediate crisis he is gold, but then the shine fades from that crisis and it’s not longer interesting for him.
So after a bike fall a few weeks back where I fractured my knee I now have a massive bruise on the knee that is fractures and have sliced my other knee open on the metal bit on the step. It fucking hurts and I want to stop falling over like an old woman. Especially when I am actually completely and utterly sober!
Manners required – Incidents
At one time I needed to catch the train to travel to work, those days are behind me now and I will never allow myself to return to that hideous style of transportation - I have a bike now and love riding, well I don’t love it at such, but compared to the other alternatives, well it rocks. I now arrive at my destination not covered in someone else’s germs, their spit, cough extract, hair or stench and I am generally far more tolerable on arrival than I once was.
I have had many incidents on the train but a couple that spring to mind:
Picture this, hot day, fucking hot, get on train which was late (yes, I know you will find that hard to believe) its Parliament Station about 5.20pm and a million people try to get on the train due to it being late and it being an express.
I get on the train and my face is literally pressed against the scummy glass and I can taste the lack of hygiene and am trying to forget all I know about bacteria breeding.
During the short ride to Richmond Station, the first stop and not the stop I plan to get off at I try to work at peeling myself off the glass and the door and by the time the train stopped and the doors opened I had moved to one side of the path of exit and was working at trying to remain on the train whilst these hot sweaty rude animals pushed and poked each other in an attempt to save 3 seconds of their day and move that bit faster!
I was trying to stay on the train because if one gets off the train it is likely to take off before you have time to board again and that would not impress me.
So it was at about this time that one of these animals, who happened to be disguised as a tall middle-aged man with a very limited amount of hair remaining on his head and way too much growing from his nose and ears pipped up and said ‘do you mind moving, people are trying to get off the train’…..this was a mistake.
I turned and looked up at this creature who was trying to intimidate me with his height and some misapprehension that he was under that he had “power”, at this stage my eyes had become daggers and I was snarling and I responded with ‘listen fucker, its hot, we are all hot, its been a long day for everyone, we are all doing the best we can on this cattle train so I suggest you settle the fuck down leave me to do the same’.
It seemed to work, he looked shocked that something so small had the power to be so evil – but he left me alone.
Another incident on the train was one Friday evening (of which there were MANY) when I had been having a few wines with the girls at the London in Richmond. I jumped on the train after watching my beloved Pies cop another thrashing and it was packed, full of families who had just left the footy at the MCG – this I like, this is good that people don’t drive to the MCG, the whole concept defies any kind of logic, I don’t want to get sidetracked but do people actually know that the train literally drops you at the MCG, like RIGHT THERE, punt road is a cunt at the best of times let alone when the football is on and it doesn’t matter how early you get there to get a good spot closer to the door, everyone will be leaving at the same fucking time! The closer you are to the ground the LONGER IT TAKES TO GET OUT!
So I was on the train, not pissed, but you know, its Friday, few wines, few cigs few laughs with the girls, things are moving along ok in my world at this time, I am quite pleased with things in general.
That is until this fuckstick who decided that he was going to travel home that evening in the middle of the carriages, yes, this was considerate of him actually because he was chain smoking and I was pleased not to have that going on inside the train. I was however conflicted, on the one hand I really do want him to fall and be crushed to death by the train, this would eliminate one more dickshit from the world, but I just kept thinking about how this was going to cause disruption, they won’t just keep driving the train I’m sure they will stop and want to call the police and the ambos and this is likely to delay my trip home…..you can understand my dilemma.
So all is going along fine until at regular intervals this idiot started opening the door and screaming the lyrics of one of these ridiculous songs he was listening to on his oversized headphones. The lyrics where filthy, involving many many words that are not suitable for the sensitive ears of children and the sort of shit families just shouldn’t have to put up with.
I was not very impressed with him and showed my distain for this behaviour by casting a few nasty looks over my spectacles at him whilst trying to read about Kylie and her breast cancer.
Finally this creature decided to joint the party inside the carriage and sat, wait for it….opposite me. I knew there would be trouble.
When the behaviour continued I got his attention and he removed his noise from his ears and I requested ‘do you mind pulling your head in, there are kids here and families who have tried to have a nice night out at the footy together, try and behave yourself mate?’ a simple request one would have thought……apparently not.
At this point this idiot decided to unleash a great deal of abuse on me about my judging him because of the way he looks and various other insults, trying to explain to this numbnut that I was judging him because of the way he was behaving and thought it was appalling was apparently getting me nowhere so as he screamed at me that I was a “spoiled stuck up rich bitch” at which point I tried to point out that may in fact be quite incorrect about that and was being quite hypocritical in fact as it was actually HE who was judging ME on the way I looked……we didn’t reach agreement.
It was quite clear that other than all the other things this bloke was he was also intellectually superior to this clown which made him angry and when idiots get angry they resort to violence. He started to threaten me and described some rather unsavoury things he planned to do to me. It was about this time that two gentleman who had been observing this few minutes of exchange got up and came over and stood over this loon and told him in no uncertain terms that this needs to stop and that he was to apologise to me and to the rest of the carriage for his poor form.
I should explain something here….when I say “gentlemen” this is perhaps describing more what their personalities were like, not their physical appearance. They both looked like they had seen a bit of action over the years, and possibly done some serious jail time. When the clown refused to make his apologies he was advised by the two “gentlemen” that his stop had in fact come and when he tried to dispute this they picked him up, opened the door, punched and kicked him a bit whilst he struggled and tore some of his clothing, but he was not much of a problem to them and the passengers on the train cheered as the train pulled away leaving this idiot almost in tears. I thanked the kindly gentlemen for their assistance.
So the lesson here is that these idiots will not be stopped until someone says something! Someone threw rubbish on the ground a couple of weeks ago as I was walking along the busy city street, when I told the man to pick it up, he was firstly surprised that a stranger would speak to him and secondly was shocked that someone had told him off – I reminded him that I was not joking and that I didn’t want to have to get nasty and he picked it up – simple.
I always tell people off for spitting in public, it’s a disgrace, what the fuck is wrong with you or makes you so special that you produce SO MUCH saliva that you need to spit all the time?? Do you have a medical condition which forces you to do this?? Then go and see a fucking doctor about it!
Men should open doors, idiots should stop trying to enter lifts, shops, doors of any kind unless people have first had the opportunity to exit! These are simple rules and really do separate us from being animals – even my dogs let me go through doors first, and yet I have dated people who don’t – what’s wrong with them! If my uncontrollable pooches can learn the rules then it should not be that hard for even these inbred people. Once again, people need to be told, if they do this, mention to them that it’s rude and they should wait, otherwise they will continue to do it and society continues to erode until we are all dragging our knuckles on the ground and killing our neighbours for food again.
At one time I needed to catch the train to travel to work, those days are behind me now and I will never allow myself to return to that hideous style of transportation - I have a bike now and love riding, well I don’t love it at such, but compared to the other alternatives, well it rocks. I now arrive at my destination not covered in someone else’s germs, their spit, cough extract, hair or stench and I am generally far more tolerable on arrival than I once was.
I have had many incidents on the train but a couple that spring to mind:
Picture this, hot day, fucking hot, get on train which was late (yes, I know you will find that hard to believe) its Parliament Station about 5.20pm and a million people try to get on the train due to it being late and it being an express.
I get on the train and my face is literally pressed against the scummy glass and I can taste the lack of hygiene and am trying to forget all I know about bacteria breeding.
During the short ride to Richmond Station, the first stop and not the stop I plan to get off at I try to work at peeling myself off the glass and the door and by the time the train stopped and the doors opened I had moved to one side of the path of exit and was working at trying to remain on the train whilst these hot sweaty rude animals pushed and poked each other in an attempt to save 3 seconds of their day and move that bit faster!
I was trying to stay on the train because if one gets off the train it is likely to take off before you have time to board again and that would not impress me.
So it was at about this time that one of these animals, who happened to be disguised as a tall middle-aged man with a very limited amount of hair remaining on his head and way too much growing from his nose and ears pipped up and said ‘do you mind moving, people are trying to get off the train’…..this was a mistake.
I turned and looked up at this creature who was trying to intimidate me with his height and some misapprehension that he was under that he had “power”, at this stage my eyes had become daggers and I was snarling and I responded with ‘listen fucker, its hot, we are all hot, its been a long day for everyone, we are all doing the best we can on this cattle train so I suggest you settle the fuck down leave me to do the same’.
It seemed to work, he looked shocked that something so small had the power to be so evil – but he left me alone.
Another incident on the train was one Friday evening (of which there were MANY) when I had been having a few wines with the girls at the London in Richmond. I jumped on the train after watching my beloved Pies cop another thrashing and it was packed, full of families who had just left the footy at the MCG – this I like, this is good that people don’t drive to the MCG, the whole concept defies any kind of logic, I don’t want to get sidetracked but do people actually know that the train literally drops you at the MCG, like RIGHT THERE, punt road is a cunt at the best of times let alone when the football is on and it doesn’t matter how early you get there to get a good spot closer to the door, everyone will be leaving at the same fucking time! The closer you are to the ground the LONGER IT TAKES TO GET OUT!
So I was on the train, not pissed, but you know, its Friday, few wines, few cigs few laughs with the girls, things are moving along ok in my world at this time, I am quite pleased with things in general.
That is until this fuckstick who decided that he was going to travel home that evening in the middle of the carriages, yes, this was considerate of him actually because he was chain smoking and I was pleased not to have that going on inside the train. I was however conflicted, on the one hand I really do want him to fall and be crushed to death by the train, this would eliminate one more dickshit from the world, but I just kept thinking about how this was going to cause disruption, they won’t just keep driving the train I’m sure they will stop and want to call the police and the ambos and this is likely to delay my trip home…..you can understand my dilemma.
So all is going along fine until at regular intervals this idiot started opening the door and screaming the lyrics of one of these ridiculous songs he was listening to on his oversized headphones. The lyrics where filthy, involving many many words that are not suitable for the sensitive ears of children and the sort of shit families just shouldn’t have to put up with.
I was not very impressed with him and showed my distain for this behaviour by casting a few nasty looks over my spectacles at him whilst trying to read about Kylie and her breast cancer.
Finally this creature decided to joint the party inside the carriage and sat, wait for it….opposite me. I knew there would be trouble.
When the behaviour continued I got his attention and he removed his noise from his ears and I requested ‘do you mind pulling your head in, there are kids here and families who have tried to have a nice night out at the footy together, try and behave yourself mate?’ a simple request one would have thought……apparently not.
At this point this idiot decided to unleash a great deal of abuse on me about my judging him because of the way he looks and various other insults, trying to explain to this numbnut that I was judging him because of the way he was behaving and thought it was appalling was apparently getting me nowhere so as he screamed at me that I was a “spoiled stuck up rich bitch” at which point I tried to point out that may in fact be quite incorrect about that and was being quite hypocritical in fact as it was actually HE who was judging ME on the way I looked……we didn’t reach agreement.
It was quite clear that other than all the other things this bloke was he was also intellectually superior to this clown which made him angry and when idiots get angry they resort to violence. He started to threaten me and described some rather unsavoury things he planned to do to me. It was about this time that two gentleman who had been observing this few minutes of exchange got up and came over and stood over this loon and told him in no uncertain terms that this needs to stop and that he was to apologise to me and to the rest of the carriage for his poor form.
I should explain something here….when I say “gentlemen” this is perhaps describing more what their personalities were like, not their physical appearance. They both looked like they had seen a bit of action over the years, and possibly done some serious jail time. When the clown refused to make his apologies he was advised by the two “gentlemen” that his stop had in fact come and when he tried to dispute this they picked him up, opened the door, punched and kicked him a bit whilst he struggled and tore some of his clothing, but he was not much of a problem to them and the passengers on the train cheered as the train pulled away leaving this idiot almost in tears. I thanked the kindly gentlemen for their assistance.
So the lesson here is that these idiots will not be stopped until someone says something! Someone threw rubbish on the ground a couple of weeks ago as I was walking along the busy city street, when I told the man to pick it up, he was firstly surprised that a stranger would speak to him and secondly was shocked that someone had told him off – I reminded him that I was not joking and that I didn’t want to have to get nasty and he picked it up – simple.
I always tell people off for spitting in public, it’s a disgrace, what the fuck is wrong with you or makes you so special that you produce SO MUCH saliva that you need to spit all the time?? Do you have a medical condition which forces you to do this?? Then go and see a fucking doctor about it!
Men should open doors, idiots should stop trying to enter lifts, shops, doors of any kind unless people have first had the opportunity to exit! These are simple rules and really do separate us from being animals – even my dogs let me go through doors first, and yet I have dated people who don’t – what’s wrong with them! If my uncontrollable pooches can learn the rules then it should not be that hard for even these inbred people. Once again, people need to be told, if they do this, mention to them that it’s rude and they should wait, otherwise they will continue to do it and society continues to erode until we are all dragging our knuckles on the ground and killing our neighbours for food again.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
This is a particular passion of mine. What is wrong with people that they simply do not know how to behave??
I am not sure about at what point in the evolutionary process that humans stopped believing that its is in fact civilised and stopped waring with their neighbouring tribes and started to behave in a more refined way by just complaining behind closed doors about where they parked their car in the street or how they have let the garden go or really need to cut the branches on their tree as they are encroaching on our property, but at some point we seem to have relegated in the social evolutionary process and now it seems you only need to step one foot out of your front door and you are smacked in the face with rudeness and inconsiderate animals.
One only needs to turn on the TV, around 6.30pm for a viewing experience which is guaranteed to reduce your IQ level by at least 10 points by watching A Current Affair of Today Tonight and watch these people go at it. Neighbours taping each other as “evidence”, spraying each other with hoses and verbal abuse most unfit for a 6.30pm timeslot, not to mention the physical violence, and the issues they seem to fight about are as benign as those which were once discussed at the kitchen table of an evening which resulted in the shaking of the head and a realisation that not everybody is as good a neighbour as you and you simply leave it at that – alternatively you might consider going next door, and try this UNARMED and ask the person who has parked over your driveway for the third time this week ‘mate, do you mind moving your car, it kind of pisses me off when I can’t get into my driveway’ to which your neighbour would happily respond ‘no dramas, probably a bit pissed when I got home and didn’t realise – speaking of which, do you want to watch the footy down the pub and have a few beers on Saturday?’…….ahhhh the old days.
So my observations are that whether it be where you live or simply when you are out and about conducting the every day activities we all have to endure, there is a distinct lack of attention being paid to the way that ones actions and behaviours have on the people they come into contact with.
People don’t give way when driving, but they won’t even give way when on a footpath! Public transport is nothing but a moving nightmare. I can not stand it, and it forces me to ask people to pull themselves into line – I have decided that this is the problem, nobody says anything! So one dickhead at a time I am going to tell them and improve standards for the benefit of all.
I am not sure about at what point in the evolutionary process that humans stopped believing that its is in fact civilised and stopped waring with their neighbouring tribes and started to behave in a more refined way by just complaining behind closed doors about where they parked their car in the street or how they have let the garden go or really need to cut the branches on their tree as they are encroaching on our property, but at some point we seem to have relegated in the social evolutionary process and now it seems you only need to step one foot out of your front door and you are smacked in the face with rudeness and inconsiderate animals.
One only needs to turn on the TV, around 6.30pm for a viewing experience which is guaranteed to reduce your IQ level by at least 10 points by watching A Current Affair of Today Tonight and watch these people go at it. Neighbours taping each other as “evidence”, spraying each other with hoses and verbal abuse most unfit for a 6.30pm timeslot, not to mention the physical violence, and the issues they seem to fight about are as benign as those which were once discussed at the kitchen table of an evening which resulted in the shaking of the head and a realisation that not everybody is as good a neighbour as you and you simply leave it at that – alternatively you might consider going next door, and try this UNARMED and ask the person who has parked over your driveway for the third time this week ‘mate, do you mind moving your car, it kind of pisses me off when I can’t get into my driveway’ to which your neighbour would happily respond ‘no dramas, probably a bit pissed when I got home and didn’t realise – speaking of which, do you want to watch the footy down the pub and have a few beers on Saturday?’…….ahhhh the old days.
So my observations are that whether it be where you live or simply when you are out and about conducting the every day activities we all have to endure, there is a distinct lack of attention being paid to the way that ones actions and behaviours have on the people they come into contact with.
People don’t give way when driving, but they won’t even give way when on a footpath! Public transport is nothing but a moving nightmare. I can not stand it, and it forces me to ask people to pull themselves into line – I have decided that this is the problem, nobody says anything! So one dickhead at a time I am going to tell them and improve standards for the benefit of all.
So the story of that goes on and this period of my life can be read under the soon to be established “history” section, but basically since that day, three years ago next month I have been very much at a loss as to what to do about the house.
I have bought things for it like new furniture that fits – that was a good start, our new couch I just tossed out on the street and someone collected it – score for them I guess but just needed to get everything out. I also put pictures up, new curtains etc and did what I could to make it look nice, but the fact is that it needed to be renovated, and although the architect plans were approved by council two weeks after Ryan left me, I simply did not have the money to do the renovation/extension by this time unless I was to borrow more money and that would mean my lifestyle would have to change significantly, and I was not keen for that, so its stayed this way for three years now – that is until recently when the renovations, to be completed by my self and with the assistance of friends commenced!
So the inspiration came from a few areas:
· Some friends visited from QLD and commented that a splash of paint could do wonders for the place
· I started feeling like part of “getting my life back together” was to start to change the environment I live in
· I had done all the gardening I possibly could and really needed to start working on the inside of the house
· I started “seeing someone” who pointed out that my house is the worst house he has ever been into – a fairly harsh criticism, and I am not sure completely accurate but never-the-less made me realise that I need to spend more time at home working on my house than looking after other peoples needs – its time for some selfishness!
So the first night of renovations started after an ex-boyfriend of mine who now remains a very good friend had come over, we both had drunk a large amount of wine and had been watching some movies when suddenly I became inspired and we got up, put on some music, poured some more wine and got to work!
We started in the hallway, removing a wallpaper strip that looked like it would be perfect for the home of Kath & Kim, we cleaned the walls with sugar soap and smashed down some ugly looking “Changing Rooms” structure as well as patched holes with a some plaster filler – luckily I had a whole bucket of it after I was smart enough to stick it in a friends car whilst helping him move from his flat to his aunt and uncles place after his wife left him, so not sure who it belonged to, but it came in quite handy and continues to do so!
Although, as it turns out, plaster filler is not anywhere near as good as gap filler, for holes in the walls like the ones I have (due to the drought and being right near the Yarra) you have to use a gap filler like “no more gaps” and then plaster filler over the top – its just a little something I have picked up now that I am the renovations queen.
Since this time there have been a number of achievements on my little home, there has been many many evening which have started early with some music, a glass of wine and the goal of just patching a few holes and ended in the clink of many bottles of wine and gin being tossed out into the recycling and the feeling of terrifying fear when I wake up in the morning and realise that I was renovating but am unsure of what it was I was doing and start to worry that I may have made more mess than anything else.
One evening involved several bottles and many many hours of “productive” work which resulted in grabbing a hammer and smashing my loo to bits, it was already broken and was completely stuffed but I was so sick of it falling over all the time and being a smelly nuisance that I just smashed it, wheeled the bin up the hallway and chucked it all out…….seemingly a great idea at the time however on reflection my long suffering neighbours may not have appreciated this kind of activity at 2.30am as, being normal people they were probably asleep, which is what I should have been doing because after getting to bed at about 5am and then getting up for work at 8am with a killer hangover, I simply wanted to die.
I have bought things for it like new furniture that fits – that was a good start, our new couch I just tossed out on the street and someone collected it – score for them I guess but just needed to get everything out. I also put pictures up, new curtains etc and did what I could to make it look nice, but the fact is that it needed to be renovated, and although the architect plans were approved by council two weeks after Ryan left me, I simply did not have the money to do the renovation/extension by this time unless I was to borrow more money and that would mean my lifestyle would have to change significantly, and I was not keen for that, so its stayed this way for three years now – that is until recently when the renovations, to be completed by my self and with the assistance of friends commenced!
So the inspiration came from a few areas:
· Some friends visited from QLD and commented that a splash of paint could do wonders for the place
· I started feeling like part of “getting my life back together” was to start to change the environment I live in
· I had done all the gardening I possibly could and really needed to start working on the inside of the house
· I started “seeing someone” who pointed out that my house is the worst house he has ever been into – a fairly harsh criticism, and I am not sure completely accurate but never-the-less made me realise that I need to spend more time at home working on my house than looking after other peoples needs – its time for some selfishness!
So the first night of renovations started after an ex-boyfriend of mine who now remains a very good friend had come over, we both had drunk a large amount of wine and had been watching some movies when suddenly I became inspired and we got up, put on some music, poured some more wine and got to work!
We started in the hallway, removing a wallpaper strip that looked like it would be perfect for the home of Kath & Kim, we cleaned the walls with sugar soap and smashed down some ugly looking “Changing Rooms” structure as well as patched holes with a some plaster filler – luckily I had a whole bucket of it after I was smart enough to stick it in a friends car whilst helping him move from his flat to his aunt and uncles place after his wife left him, so not sure who it belonged to, but it came in quite handy and continues to do so!
Although, as it turns out, plaster filler is not anywhere near as good as gap filler, for holes in the walls like the ones I have (due to the drought and being right near the Yarra) you have to use a gap filler like “no more gaps” and then plaster filler over the top – its just a little something I have picked up now that I am the renovations queen.
Since this time there have been a number of achievements on my little home, there has been many many evening which have started early with some music, a glass of wine and the goal of just patching a few holes and ended in the clink of many bottles of wine and gin being tossed out into the recycling and the feeling of terrifying fear when I wake up in the morning and realise that I was renovating but am unsure of what it was I was doing and start to worry that I may have made more mess than anything else.
One evening involved several bottles and many many hours of “productive” work which resulted in grabbing a hammer and smashing my loo to bits, it was already broken and was completely stuffed but I was so sick of it falling over all the time and being a smelly nuisance that I just smashed it, wheeled the bin up the hallway and chucked it all out…….seemingly a great idea at the time however on reflection my long suffering neighbours may not have appreciated this kind of activity at 2.30am as, being normal people they were probably asleep, which is what I should have been doing because after getting to bed at about 5am and then getting up for work at 8am with a killer hangover, I simply wanted to die.
Ok, so I have decided to write a blog.
I know I know, everyone seems to have one these days and so I am more than aware of the fact that this is by no means an original idea, but I figure that I have a lot to say and that some people might be interested in hearing it, and if not then I have at least gotten a few things off my chest and am feeling more relaxed at the end of the day.
So to begin with I would like to state a few rules:
• You may disagree with what I say but if you find it offensive, distasteful or really disturbing – I don’t care, I am not going to say things all the time that people find socially acceptable and politically correct, so don’t bother sharing your thoughts with me – just DON’T READ!
• I have not got the time to continually spell check and re-read for grammatical errors, I plan to write these thoughts when the moment strikes and when I am generally at work – I might be a public servant but it does get busy some times and I won’t have the time, so smart arses piss off, I am not interested in your corrections or observations of my misuse of the English language.
• There are many of you who are my friends who will read this and will needed to be included in stories or other tales of my life, I will do my best to respect your anonymity and will not identify you as far as possible, please for the sake of out friendships, let me know if I have over stepped the line and I will rectify.
So off we go then. I have decided to do this in three stages, the first will be that I will tell some stories about the day to day business of going about my life. I will endeavour to weave some stories of past adventures among these tales.
To gain a better insight into my “stuff” and my weird and crazy world I will attempt to, when I feel like it and when I have the time and nothing to do at work, I will do a bit of a history of Rachie section – so that’s the plan so far.
In addition to the plan, and due to my keen desire to participate in as much social commentary as possible I encourage anyone to ask questions, about little ethical issues you might be experiencing, perhaps it’s a cooking problem, a relationship issue, something going on at work you would like an honest perspective on, and most importantly, my personal passion – social etiquette – yes, that’s right, the art of behaving like you are not an inbreed fuckstick.
I am more than happy to comment on these matters, and they may include appropriate dress for events, another one of my personal favourites, dickheads who can’t dress themselves……my comments will always be blunt, but I will always be right and could save you from looking like a wally for the rest of the world – the choice is yours.
So, lets gets to what’s going on with me at the moment……I have taken to renovating my home. Yes, that’s right, with absolutely not skills or abilities in the area of home renovations I reckon I have seen enough Suzie Wilkes prancing around in tight jeans with a hot arse and a hot set of tits to have learnt a few tricks of the trade, so I thought I would give it a bash – literally.
Basically the story of this house purchase was that it was made with my then husband, it was our second place, we built the first with a three year plan, to get the fuck out of the suburbs as soon as we had built as much of the house ourselves as possible, paid heaps off the mortgage and were in a better financial position to move inner. We had just finished Uni at the time we bought the land in Wonga Park/Croydon Hills/North Croydon – I say that because it was literally on the actual boarder of the three suburbs – a nice spot, not in a housing estate just a vacant block, it was cheap, we basically did the owner builder thing (due to which I have many great stories), we made some money on the place, decided three years on that we would be better to keep it as a rental and then buy a place in the Richmond/Abbotsford/Collingwood area.
All fine, but what we found was that if we were going to keep the other house and not borrow too much cash we would have to do a reno, which is kind of ok anyway because most of the places that have been renovated and sold its been done on the cheap, and the owners are trying to flog to make quick cash, this is not ideal for the purchaser…..so after a few false starts we bought 40 Henry Street.
My ex-husband and I had driven down the street on a Sunday and looked at the house, from the outside only, I liked it but the street was ordinary, further away from the river than I wanted and very industrial. But by this stage I had decided that there was nothing but Abbotsford for me, I could not live anywhere else I had decided, Collingwood has the flats and some unsavoury types, Richmond have too many footy heads, punch ons and young chicks who wear too much make up and too little clothing covering their arses, and don’t get me started on the traffic on the weekends…..
So reluctantly I went to look at 40 Henry Street when it was open for inspection with my sister, really was not keen, as I said, the street was not what I wanted it to be – but the house price was right and there was not much else for sale. As soon as we walked in she said ‘this is your house’ and she was right.
The house felt like home the second I stepped foot in the door and it had been a long time since I had felt that way, not having the “family home” for many years I felt lost before that house, and then I felt found as soon as I knew it would be mine – well “ours” at the time, but only for a brief moment in time, until that one Monday even when he walked in the door, hung up his jacket and said ‘I have been speaking to a mate, I am going to move in with him, I am leaving you for Cindy’…….and those words changed my life in ways I never thought possible.
I know I know, everyone seems to have one these days and so I am more than aware of the fact that this is by no means an original idea, but I figure that I have a lot to say and that some people might be interested in hearing it, and if not then I have at least gotten a few things off my chest and am feeling more relaxed at the end of the day.
So to begin with I would like to state a few rules:
• You may disagree with what I say but if you find it offensive, distasteful or really disturbing – I don’t care, I am not going to say things all the time that people find socially acceptable and politically correct, so don’t bother sharing your thoughts with me – just DON’T READ!
• I have not got the time to continually spell check and re-read for grammatical errors, I plan to write these thoughts when the moment strikes and when I am generally at work – I might be a public servant but it does get busy some times and I won’t have the time, so smart arses piss off, I am not interested in your corrections or observations of my misuse of the English language.
• There are many of you who are my friends who will read this and will needed to be included in stories or other tales of my life, I will do my best to respect your anonymity and will not identify you as far as possible, please for the sake of out friendships, let me know if I have over stepped the line and I will rectify.
So off we go then. I have decided to do this in three stages, the first will be that I will tell some stories about the day to day business of going about my life. I will endeavour to weave some stories of past adventures among these tales.
To gain a better insight into my “stuff” and my weird and crazy world I will attempt to, when I feel like it and when I have the time and nothing to do at work, I will do a bit of a history of Rachie section – so that’s the plan so far.
In addition to the plan, and due to my keen desire to participate in as much social commentary as possible I encourage anyone to ask questions, about little ethical issues you might be experiencing, perhaps it’s a cooking problem, a relationship issue, something going on at work you would like an honest perspective on, and most importantly, my personal passion – social etiquette – yes, that’s right, the art of behaving like you are not an inbreed fuckstick.
I am more than happy to comment on these matters, and they may include appropriate dress for events, another one of my personal favourites, dickheads who can’t dress themselves……my comments will always be blunt, but I will always be right and could save you from looking like a wally for the rest of the world – the choice is yours.
So, lets gets to what’s going on with me at the moment……I have taken to renovating my home. Yes, that’s right, with absolutely not skills or abilities in the area of home renovations I reckon I have seen enough Suzie Wilkes prancing around in tight jeans with a hot arse and a hot set of tits to have learnt a few tricks of the trade, so I thought I would give it a bash – literally.
Basically the story of this house purchase was that it was made with my then husband, it was our second place, we built the first with a three year plan, to get the fuck out of the suburbs as soon as we had built as much of the house ourselves as possible, paid heaps off the mortgage and were in a better financial position to move inner. We had just finished Uni at the time we bought the land in Wonga Park/Croydon Hills/North Croydon – I say that because it was literally on the actual boarder of the three suburbs – a nice spot, not in a housing estate just a vacant block, it was cheap, we basically did the owner builder thing (due to which I have many great stories), we made some money on the place, decided three years on that we would be better to keep it as a rental and then buy a place in the Richmond/Abbotsford/Collingwood area.
All fine, but what we found was that if we were going to keep the other house and not borrow too much cash we would have to do a reno, which is kind of ok anyway because most of the places that have been renovated and sold its been done on the cheap, and the owners are trying to flog to make quick cash, this is not ideal for the purchaser…..so after a few false starts we bought 40 Henry Street.
My ex-husband and I had driven down the street on a Sunday and looked at the house, from the outside only, I liked it but the street was ordinary, further away from the river than I wanted and very industrial. But by this stage I had decided that there was nothing but Abbotsford for me, I could not live anywhere else I had decided, Collingwood has the flats and some unsavoury types, Richmond have too many footy heads, punch ons and young chicks who wear too much make up and too little clothing covering their arses, and don’t get me started on the traffic on the weekends…..
So reluctantly I went to look at 40 Henry Street when it was open for inspection with my sister, really was not keen, as I said, the street was not what I wanted it to be – but the house price was right and there was not much else for sale. As soon as we walked in she said ‘this is your house’ and she was right.
The house felt like home the second I stepped foot in the door and it had been a long time since I had felt that way, not having the “family home” for many years I felt lost before that house, and then I felt found as soon as I knew it would be mine – well “ours” at the time, but only for a brief moment in time, until that one Monday even when he walked in the door, hung up his jacket and said ‘I have been speaking to a mate, I am going to move in with him, I am leaving you for Cindy’…….and those words changed my life in ways I never thought possible.
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