The Rest of Your Life (v4)

Listening To: Fear Of A Black Planet : Public Enemy

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day

Miyomei2 I had my portable CD player,
Miyomei2 and took it in the bathroom with me while I went to pee.
Miyomei2 And the second I whipped my penis out,
Miyomei2 the theme song to ‘Rocky’ started playing.
Miyomei2 I’ve never felt more manly than in that moment

It was Mardi Gras on the weekend, so today groovers I’m going to give a little blast from the past, so to speak. A little glimpse of personal darkness from less than two years ago. It’s a story about a girl … although you might have to read between the lines to divine that, considering the ostensible subject matter. All I can say in hindsight is – I’m soooooo very glad this person isn’t in my life anymore. It started out well enough of course – these things always do. In the end though it all went very much to shit, as this story so amply demonstrates.

I live in Sydney, Australia … one of the universally acknowledged ‘gay-capitals’ of the world. I’m prone to wearing tight little singlet tops (slightly less-so at the moment considering I’m having another of my bi-annual battles with the bulge, although they’ll be back on a daily basis again once I shed the pounds), baggy hipster flared jeans (or REALLY tight, black stretch ones), black leather armbands, and spiky, product-rich haircuts. I use various male skincare products, still remember how to apply my own nail-polish and eyeliner (damn those teen-goth days), know the difference between Manolo Blahnik & Fendi, and will freely acknowledge that Jai Rodriguez is a bit of a cutey. Given the preceding information, you may therefore be surprised to learn I’m actually straight, if you haven’t met me before or are a new reader to this blog.

I’ve documented elsewhere my brief teenage flirtation with ‘dating’ a guy (which essentially boiled down to a few bad kissing sessions while we were both conveniently ripped on various substances), and the few occasions since in my early 20’s when I snogged random guys at clubs. I won’t rehash old ground here – the point is simply that I can safely say I’m very secure in my heterosexuality precisely because I have flirted with the idea of ‘playing for the other team’, and know without a shadow of a doubt it simply isn’t for me.

At times though, this can be a bit of bummer (pardon the pun). Mainly because sometimes life would be so much simpler if only I ‘swung the other way’ – or even swung both ways. Y’see gang, ever since my late teens, and for reasons which still remain a mystery to me, I’ve found that gay guys will often be attracted to me. I’ve literally lost count of the number of times I’ve had guys come up and offer to buy me drinks at clubs over the years, proposition me, try to do the ‘bump and grind’ on the dancefloor or whatever. From the sweet-looking 60 year old grandpa at someone’s 21st in Sweden (who asked me if I wanted “some gay sex” in front of the girl in question, and when I replied in the negative, made sure to try his luck again a mere twenty minutes later “just in case you’ve changed your mind”), to the chubby, stalkey fuck who took my refusal of a drink with a scowl and then proceeded to follow me to every goth club in Sydney for the next 3 months and would try to ‘catch my eye’ on the dancefloor (or worse … try to dance up close behind me until I’d tell him to “fuck off dickhead, I tell you I’m straight every time – can’t you take a hint ?!”), it seems sometimes like every queen and his corgi have tried to cop a feel of the package over the years.

“Where am I going with this ?”, I hear you ask. Let me take you back now, to a warm spring night around August of 2004. I’m drunk, half-lying, half-sitting on the bed in my ex-girlfriend’s room in Paddington. She is also pissed to the eyeballs. We’ve just been out for drinks at the Fringe Bar with our boss, the bosse’s boyfriend, and the bosse’s obnoxious friend Howard. I’m not entirely sure (since I’m way too drunk to make sense of anything much), but it appears someone made a revelation a little earlier in the evening about my ex, the boss and the boyfriend of the boss having a Boy-Girl-Girl 3-way pash-session.

My own relationship with my ex has been slowly deteriorating for ages – she ‘broke up’ with me almost 6 months ago, we’ve both been going on dates with other people, and the sex has been getting less and less frequent to the point where we haven’t done it at all for the last month. This ‘no sex’ policy was instituted by yours truly just before we started working together (again), and just after I found out she’d slept with a sodding male model (of all things) who she’d specifically assured me she wouldn’t sleep with when she’d first met him. She’s also started ‘seeing’ someone else in the last fortnight – a scumbag commercial litigation lawyer; but that hasn’t stopped the ongoing flirtation on her part, or us regularly hanging out to drink and talk after work. Predictably enough, even with all these balls twirling up in the air, it doesn’t take my ex-girlfriend long to try seducing me again. Horny as I am in my drunken state, from somewhere deep within my sense of indignation rises.

“Piss off, N ! I’ve told you before … I’m not sleeping with you anymore !” I tell her.
“Why not Pete ?” she asks.
“Well coz you had sex with a fucking male model, for one thing ! How the hell is that supposed to make me feel ?”!” I spit back (it makes me feel like shit, of course).
“I told you I’d start sleeping with other people sooner or later. Besides, that thing with S just kind of happened” she says, not at all apologetic
“Oh really ? What about P ? You’ve been ‘seeing’ him now for what … 2 weeks ? What would he think about all this ?” I ask sarcastically.
“He’s not here right now, so forget about P. We’re both horny, we’re both drunk, and you know we both have a good time when we do it … so why fight it babe ?” my ex replies slyly.

I can’t believe the shit I’m hearing out of this girls mouth ! I can’t believe I used to be in lust with this person, let alone in love. The love did a Black Eyed Peas a while ago … but in that moment, it feels like the last stray tatters of lust flutter in the wind for a second … then … whoosh … they’re gone. My anger crests in a wave that actually manages to cut right through the alcohol haze for a few heartbeats, and quicker than you can quote the Poppies with “Wise Up Sucker”, I’m out the bed ‘n out the door. I manage to run safely down the first flight of stairs from the second floor before my drunkeness re-asserts itself. Consequently I stumble down the second flight and wind up in a crumpled heap at their foot, painfully smacking my ankle against the solid wooden runner in the process. “Fuck !” I scream in frustration, past caring what all the losers who live in this ‘rooming house’ complex along with my loser ex-girlfriend think.

I hobble out the door and into the night. Five minutes of walking, and I’m starting to feel a little sorry for myself. Ten minutes, and I hit Oxford Street. I ponder going back to Fringe Bar for a moment, “but the place is full of wankers” I think to myself and elect to press on. With no set agenda, a head full of alcohol, and a 1001 confused thoughts racing through my brain, I start walking towards Town Hall station. Another quarter hour later, I’m starting to feel really bad, and really lonely. As luck would have it, that’s when I realise I’m walking (nay – stumbling) past Stonewall Hotel. For those of you unfamiliar with the Stonewall, let’s just say it’s to the ‘Naughties what DCM was to the 90’s. In a city full of gay clubs, the Stonewall is to many the glittering jewel in Queen Barry’s Sydney gay & lesbian party ‘scene’.

Now as I’ve mentioned already I’m strictly hetero, but gay guys have always hit on me. Right now, I’m feeling pretty damn lonely – I don’t think words can really do justice to just how bad I feel. So on the spur of the moment, I decide to venture in to the Stonewall. Now let’s be clear about this. It’s not that alcohol or my feelings of self-pity have eclipsed my judgement to a degree where I would actually do anything with any of the guys inside. However, right at that moment I need to feel ‘desired’, and it needs to be by someone other than my clearly demented ex-girlfriend. “Any port in a storm, eh guv ?”

Now I could go on to give you a blow by blow (pun fully intended) description of the next painful hour, but I won’t. Suffice to say, the one time in my life that I was actually looking forward to the pink brigade approaching me with their usual directness, they let me down big-time. No-one offered to buy me a drink, no-one tried to catch my eye across the bar, and no-one tried to grope me as I sweatily danced with my gammy ankle and my baggy hipsters, to exactly the same music you hear every Saturday @ The Slip Inn and a thousand other generic nightclubs for the disaffected trendset. Essentially I think it came down to one thing – they could all smell the loneliness, self-pity and desperation just rolling off me.

Ultimately then, instead of making me feel better, my little sojourn to the Stonewall just made me feel worse. “Fucked over by my ex, rejected by queens … nobody fekkin wants me !”, was the disjointed line of thinking running through my mind as I finally stumbled back out the door. For a second I think I actually lost it altogether … one moment I’m standing on the pavement in front of Stonewall, the next I’m out on the road with an irrate Lebanese taxi driver honking at me and smoke drifting off his tires from the sudden stop he must have just made.

I babble out an apology and try to regain the safety of the pavement. Hands reach out to grab me … bouncers from the pub no doubt, but I manage to make a quick duck and dodge them. Then I’m running, running, running as fast as my feet will take me. Running away from the Stonewall, away from Paddington, and far away from the ex that’s messed with my head for so long until I sunk to feeling like this.

I’d like to say I never saw her again. That’s not quiet true – we continued to work together for another few weeks, and continued to be on ostensibly cordial speaking terms. That night finally killed any desire I had to be anything ‘more than friends’ with her though, and when ultimately even this casual friendship started to fade, I didn’t mourn the fact. Eventually in December I met my future fiance, and a few weeks later my ex (supposedly) moved back to India. Thanks to that fateful night in Paddington, I can safely say I have absolutely no regrets about the fact she’s gone – and I never will !

There ‘ya go peeps … that’s my Stonewall story …

Listening To: Follow The Leader : Korn

“…he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks an absynthe drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he sings the songs that remind him of the crap times, he sings the songs that remind him of the worst times…” coz I’ve had worse than this, DB you big fekking baby !

So, what are your plans for the weekend, dear readers ? I’ve been a good boy all week, not much in the way of alcohol consumption, but I’m all set to ruin that tonight, let me tell you ! Found out some grimly disturbing news this morning (which I’m not at liberty to discuss), and coupled with my ongoing worry about my girlfriend overseas, this has led me to the inescapable (and oft repeated, but we won’t go into that) conclusion I want … nay NEED … to get out of my own headspace, at least for a little while, via the magic of alcohol.

So basically, my plans for tonight are to ingest as much alcohol as my body can hold, possibly more, and then mosey on down to yet another goth club (“Rapture” @ Rogues) since I didn’t get a satisfying fix of gothness @ Neotokyo last week. In fact, I’m planning on getting so off my tits, if I don’t choke to death in a pool of my own vomit, I’ll be slightly surprised ! The ‘evening’ kicks off at around 2pm when our work Lawn Bowls function commences. I plan on having one or maybe 2 beers there … no more, since I still have to drive home.

Once I *get* home however, around 5 or 6, it’s <ON> for young and old, as I plow my way through a goodly number of absynthe + recharge, and vodka and cokes. If I can still manage to walk 3 hours later, I will be catching the bus into the city, and hopefully shaking my oh-so-gothic arse to some decent ‘old school’ industrial @ Rapture. Hopefully I’ll get home around 5 or 6, and have enough brain-cells left to sensibly fall asleep lying on my stomach, so that any projectile vomit ends up on my sheets only, and not lodged in my throat, blocking my airways.

I know, I know fans … it’s a hard life, but someone has to do it, and that someone might as well be me ! So – what are *your* plans for the weekend ?

Listening To: Wipeout 2027 Soundtrack : Various Artists

In the style of Boris from The Wogboy, I must admit dear fans – “I am so munted, fŨcking !” It’s Monday, five or so hours to go at work, and I must admit it’s one of those times I well and truly wish I had access to some nice methamphetamines. Y’see, I don’t really want to take speed for the same reason as other people i.e. to “party”. I want speed to enable me to do that which most people take for granted, namely to stay awake and alert, and fully functioning.

Oh, to be able to wake up in the morning, rub a little bit of goey on my gums and have enough energy to get through a full day without feeling like I’m going to collapse in my work cubicle at any moment from sheer weakness / sleepiness. I won’t do it of course … have been without chemicals far too many years to foolishly go back to them now. But it’s a lovely fantasy to get me through the day nonetheless …

Why am I so delirously tired today, I hear you ask ? Why do my kidneys hurt, my eyes burn, and my back ache like a troopful of boyscouts has tied multiple knots at the base of my spine ? Is it just the usual Monday-itis, or is it something more ? Let me give you a quick run-down of the damage from the last week …, and you can decide ….

Monday Night: The calm before the storm. Had a healthy night of drinking no alcohol, jogging, doing my weights, and eating ceasar salad. A good start to the week, right ?

Tuesday Night: Drinks @ St.Leonards Tavern & The Commodore. 4 or 5 schooners of foaming, golden, Carlton goodness, and about 3 Vodka’n’Cokes. Went to have a $5 meal at the Tav, had a beer and decided to come back out after dropping the car off home. Played some pool with the usual geezers, decided to have a drink or two at the Commodore (hence the vodkas later in the night) and possibly check out Greenwood, but ended up nixing on Greenwood and going home instead.

Wednesday Night: Trivia @ PJ O’Gallaghers. A pint + a schooner of heavy, followed by 3 or 4 V’n’Cs. A mid-week breather, although more than I usually imbibe at triv …

Thursday Night: Post-interview drinks @ CBD Hotel, then Establishment. 6 or 7 beers, no spirits. Had a job interview @ Merrivale group (FYI those bastards I met at CBD the other night lied to me kids … you CAN’T buy shares in Merrivale), and since I was in the city already in my second-sharpest suit, I thought I’d have a few bevvies @ some of the venues they own in honor of the occassion. Thank fŨck I didn’t run into my boss again at Establishment like I have been lately !

Thank fark2 that the North Shore blonde yuppie type (she probably works in PR or something equally edifying) who looked a bit like my old boss Kate and who kept trying to catch my eye across the other side of the bar didn’t come over and try talk to me ! I don’t usually get that (or at least notice … apparently according to other people I *do* on occasion get women ‘checking me out’ when we’re out, I’m just oblivious to it most of the time), although it seems to have been going on more of late … must be the whole fact I’m *not* single & *not* interested anymore, so suddenly the universe is throwing my way what I was seeking during my long dark winter of recent singledom.

It can get pretty damned annoying if they don’t get the hint “… oh … yeah I’m good. Missing my girlfriend who’s in Spain … how are you ?”, and I really wasn’t in the mood. Horny – for sure. But horny for my girlfriend, and not some frikkin PR layered-foil North Shore barbie ! So yes, thankgod Establishment has a biiig, wiiiide bar island in the middle which I was able to keep between myself and the Kate-clone !

Friday Night: Visiting friends at Collaroy, then out @ Neotokyo. Half a bottle of vodka, followed by two V’n’C’s @ Club 77. After having drinks with K, his wife and a friend of theirs from overseas at their place, I was missing IG and just wanted to go home. After getting home though I was compelled to check my mail (hadn’t been able to reach IG for a few days), and realised Neotokyo (which I’d wanted to check out) wasn’t on Saturday as I’d originally thought, but was on Friday instead.

So at almost 1 a.m I decided to head back out, into the city. Bad idea, coz Neotokyo was absolutely shit ! There’s a reason I don’t go to goth clubs much anymore – and half of that reason is because places like Neotokyo don’t even play stuff I’d classify as goth or more than very vaguely industrial ! If you’re going to play dance music, at least play something decent. This was just rubbish, and the DJ was an utter fŨcking tool, complete with the kind of ‘crowd inspiring’ hand signals you would see at a ‘Happy Hardcore’ rave circa ’98-99. In a word – tragic !

Saturday Night: Clubbing @ Slip-Inn. 5 or 6 Absinthe & Recharge, 6 or so shots of Schnapps. Got home on Saturday night after picking up my Evo from Intermusic, and I’d already decided I wanted to go to Slip-Inn. The trouble was, I was already seriously crashing. Stomach cramps & nausea, yawning like someone who’s pulled an all-nighter doing a uni essay, unable to even contemplate going across the road to KFC, let alone out clubbing.

Determined to have a good time though, and fearing tiredness, I’d arrived prepared … I’d picked up some Sprite Recharge (I fŨcking looooove that stuff … forget Red Bull, Recharge is the shit my brothers and sistas !) at the supermarket on my way home. With a system crash imminent, and given I usually have my absinthe with regular Sprite anyway, I decided to experiment. Let me tell you kids … you ever need a pick-me-up, try 70% Absinthe and Recharge ! Vodka & Red Bull …. pschaw, thats for soft-cocks ! Absinthe & Recharge … that on the other hand is akin to liquid speed !

Now seriously fired up after my drinks, and slightly bouncing off the walls, I got a cab into the city. Got into Slipp-Inn without a hitch. Laundry was open, Cave still closed at that point, seeing as it was before midnight, and Sandbar was playing crap as usual. So I got myself a shot in Laundry, danced down there for a while, went up to Sandbar. Got another shot, got pigeon-holed by the stairs by a Filipina chica who asked me if I had any cigarettes. Got into talking for a bit, then she asks me if I have a girlfriend. Uh-oh, here we go. “Yeah, she’s in Spain at the moment. Really missing her” (hint hint hint). The chica seems to get the hint too, thank fŨck ! Body language subtely changes, and in another few minutes she tells me to have a good night, and walks off to stalk for other victims. Phew !

Go downstairs again, more dancing in Laundry. Cave finally opens, so I go in there and right from the get-go the set is awesome. My adrenalin is pumping … I’m on a definite high ! After about an hour and a half of shaking my booty like a madman, stopping only a handful of times for air, I go out into the little passageway / under-stairs bit connecting Cave, Laundry & Sandbar for a quick breather. Sitting down on one of the benches near the wall, I’m having a res when this dark-haired chick sits down next to me. Mascara is on a bit too thick, she’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and a denim skirt, a studded dog collar and red three-stripe Addidas.

On the whole – “not too shabby lookin” I grudgingly think to myself. Naturally, we get to talking. Eventually, surprise, surprise … she asks me if I have a girlfriend. I drop the hint … yes, she’s in Spain. Except it doesn’t seem to work with this one … body language is still too friendly, and she actually slides up a bit closer to me on the bench. F*ck ! So when she asks me “say, do you want to head somewhere else ? I’m gettin a bit too tired to dance, but I’m up for a few more drinks. There’s a really funky little pub near my place …”, I’m almost expecting it. “Ummm …. no thanks … I’m having a good time here … and I really miss my girlfriend … so I wouldn’t want to do anything like that. But thanks, really.”

The next bit really floors me though. She’s says something along the lines of “Hey, dude … chill out … yeah I like you, and if you play your cards right I might just fŨck you. But I don’t need a puppy-dog, and tommorrows a whole new day, bubbaloo. So don’t worry about your girlfriend. Besides, what she don’t know can’t hurt her, right ?”. F*cking what ? Did I hear that right ? If I had a drink right now, I’d choke on it ! “Is that right ? You know what ? F*ck you ! Talk to the hand, bitch, coz I don’t like your attitude !” And with that, I’m up and outta there before this chick even has a chance to react ! I storm outside the club, and I’m actually shaking ! Angry … really angry … “fŨcking ho” I’m thinking to myself.

I go up the street a bit and sit in the driveway opposite Bristol Arms, shaking imperceptibly and trying to get myself together. See her coming out after a bit, looking round. She spots me and starts walking in my direction. Sheeeit ! So I get up as well and walk back towards the club. When I reach her she starts trying to talk at me “Hey dude … sorry … I didn’t mean …” but I tell her to “piss off” and keep walking and don’t look back. Get back inside the club, go into Cave again. Order a shot, down it, and hope the bitch hasn’t followed me ! Luckily I guess she didn’t … I danced some more, had another shot or two and eventually lost myself in the beat again, ending my night on a high despite all the earlier aggro. Got a taxi home eventually, and all but passed out on my bed.

Sunday Day/Night: Flatmates Birthday, Beer @ St.Leonards Tavern. 1 cup of Cherry Liquer & Coke, 2 Schooners of Amber Fault Detector. Feeling completely shit for most of day, barely able to keep food down, I drank softdrink throughout most of my flatmate’s birthday party except for a cup of the aforementioned Cherry Liquer that was all but forced on me. Pissed off from that about 6:30-ish to see what was showing at movies. Nothing interesting, so I went back to St.Leonards to grab a $5 meal at the pub. Had soft-drink with that as well, could only manage to eat half of it.

Then my mate Dave (who I’ve known since uni, lost touch with for a few years, then ran into one day at MY pub) comes over to my table … thought I wouldn’t see him again, as he’s just moved to Bathurst to do some building work down there for the next 2 years. Apparently though his house in Sydney was broken into, so he’s back here temporarily to sort that out. We chat for a bit, before he heads back over to play some pool with Jason, the drunken builder who used to come into the pub with his dad, but now comes in alone (although I’ve seen his old man in there on occassion too). So I get myself a beer and join them. Dave beats Jase (who is paralytic), and I beat Dave. Get myself another beer, then Jase proceeds to demolish me in a truly stunning display of pool for a man who is comprehensively maggotted. Cue exit, Disappearing Boy.

And that’s pretty much my week. Can you see now why I’m feeling a bit tired and in need of serious sleep, and possibly a new liver ? 😉 Gaaawd … I really need to have a bit of a quiet week this week !

Listening To: Nina Hagen Nina Hagen

So here’s confirmation that going to the pub isn’t always a complete, self-indulgent waste of time. I dropped into Hotel CBD the other night in a fit of nostalgia (IG and I spent a sizeable chunk of our first ‘date’ there). As a result I found out some very interesting info from a couple of middle-aged suits sporting very impressive Merv Hughes mo’s.

Now, if I had the money (which I don’t), and it was possible (which it isn’t), I would naturally buy shares in my (and believe me gang, it *is* mine, all mine … bwahaha !) pub – ye olde St.Leonards Tavern. However, the mob who own it and Gilroy’s pub across the road (how’s that for good old Aussie competition) don’t have shares available on the open market as far as I know. This is a shame, because to my mind at least, sinking your money into a pub has got to be a great investment.

Australians like to drink – there’s nothing more Aussie than having a few schooners down at the local with your mates after a long, hard day at work. Except possibly hopping in your Falcon Ute at the end of the night, and taking the back roads to avoid the boys in blue and mobile RBT. Most pubs mark up their booze by a margin ranging from subtantial to out-fŨcking-rageous. A schooner of Carlton for example will cost you $2.70 at your local RSL or Leagues Club (remembering these places are STILL turning a profit, even with that small margin) – whereas up the road you’ll pay $3.60 for the same schooner, and that’s at a *good* pub like mine. In the city or North Sydney/Balmain/Oxford Street/Cockle Bay you can conceivably pay up to $5 or more for the same schooner – and that’s not at a strip club either ! You might even be charged upwards of four dollars-something for a ‘schmidi’ rather than a schooner, depending on how pretentious the place you’re at is.

With figures like that, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out pubs are a good investment – and we’re not even talking about the margins on post-mix spirits and pre-mix drinks, which are another world of stratospheric profit again. As I’ve said already, I can’t buy shares in my pub as much as I’d like to, because there are none available. So I can’t plow my beer money back into my own pocket, not when I’m drinking locally. Thanks to the suits from Hotel CBD however, I now know of a city drinking establishment I *can* invest some cash in, and so can you, if you’re that way inclined. Or should I say, establishements.

Now you may, or may not, have heard of Merivale Group before. Although if you haven’t, you really *are* a sad little individual, who doesn’t get out much, aren’t you ? Merivale are the mob which own and operate a number of notable Sydney night-spots such as Establishment, Slip-Inn and the aforementioned Hotel CBD, among others. Think “classy decor”, think “drinks on the expensive (but not prohibitively so) side”, think “popular places to go clubbing”. Most importantly, think “profit”, or at least it would seem that way to a humble observer like yours truly. According to the besuited Merv clones from the other night, it’s possible to buy shares in Merivale on the open market. You know what that means, groovers ?

That’s right – no longer do you have to invest in dodgey Telstra shares that go nowhere, second-rate insurance & fun-managment companies that devaluate faster than you can say “board-level in-fighting” or go belly-up completely, and resource company behemoths which happen to hold a substantial stake in uranium mining operations in Kakadu !

Instead, you can do what I’m going to do as soon as I get some spare moula happening, and invest in the Aussie way of life – going pubbing and clubbing, getting pissed, and groping blonde haired, Manolo Blahnik wearing PR executives from Double Bay or Morrissey suit-wearing, Robbie Williams hair-style emulating, recruitment consultants from Potts Point. I’m going to run my own pub one day of course, and it will be trendy, and hip, and have a large number of Tongan bouncers who enforce a completely fascist door policy which barrs entry to Americans, talk-show hosts and known Liberal Party sympathisers. In the meantime though, I’m going to start small and put my money where the lip of my long-neck is – and invest in Merivale.

One final alternative to consider if you’re more ‘financial’ than me and like a bit of a ‘challenge’ is a lovely like pub called “From Dusk Till Dawn”, on Jindriska just near Staromestki Namesti, in Prague. Last I heard, this was available to buy outright for the measley sum of a few million CZK (one AUD is roughly equal to 20 Koruna). It has atmosphere, it has a steady Western / expat clientelle, and Ondrej the bar-tender makes a mean concoction called the “Adios MotherfŨcker”, which, as the name implies, will leave you feeling a bit rough around the edges after one, and completely paralytic “oh my god I hope I don’t need my liver”, puking on the 12th-century cobblestones, and insane / careless enough to consider actually screwing one of the gypsy prostitutes who hang around Perlovka, the street my grandparents live in, after a few.

These are your choices. Better than the Rivkin Report, eh ?

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UPDATE 19/04/05
———————————————————-

Argh dammit, it seems this post is redundant ! I had an interview with Merivale a few weeks ago for a job, and forgot to let you guys know that it looks like those share-broker fŨckers in the Hotel CBD lied to me – according to the guy who was interviewing me, Merivale is a family-owned company NOT listed on the sharemarket Damned lying sons of bitches !

Listening To: Frequencies Will Move Together : Biftek

You know, ‘Biftek’ is the Czech word for steak. I just thought you should all know that 😉

So my little droogies, what are your plans for this weekend ?

For moi, the next four days will consist of the following, though not neccessarily in this order:

(1) $5 meal with my mate Sam at my favourite pub the whole world (yes, it’s official) – St.Leonards Tavern. Any blog stalkers who feel like coming up to say hi, you’re more than welcome. I’m the Arab man who can push his finger up through his nose and out the socket to displace his glass eye.

(2) Possibly drink a beer or 7 at the above pub, along with some Vodka & Cokes, and then play pool. Or not. Haven’t decided yet. I will not leer at Lychee the barmaid, since I am no longer single AND I strongly suspect she’s a lesbian. Nor will I try to hit on the blonde Canadian one I gave a pre-realease copy of my latest EP to last year – since she doesn’t work there anymore, and as already stated I’m not single anyway !

(3) Attempt to clear some of the moving boxes and other junk out of my bedroom, as I’ve been vainly trying to for the last week. This step is entirely optional, and depends on how much alcohol I consume in step 2 above.

(4) Help IG track down a cheap, quality, digital camera for her impending overseas trip, sometime tommorrow afternoon.

(5) Take IG to my parents (empty) house in Castle Hole, so we can record her vocal demo for her mate’s band, without any annoying distractions or complaining housemates. Again, this is probably gonna happen tommorrow.

(6) BBQ at IG’s friend’s house on Sunday. Yeah … umm … look I swear she’s met some of my friends too ! 😉

(7) Camp out near the Manning Bar at Sydney uni on Sunday night.

(8) Hopefully get to audition for Big Brother at Sydney Uni on Monday ! With sleep deprivation, a sore back, and probably drunk as a skunk because how else am I gonna pass a long night with 10,000 other BB hopefulls – remembering what kind of personalities most of the idiots who audition for ‘Reality TV’ shows are.

Still – it should make for an interesting blog post I’m sure

In between all that I’ve got to fit in sleep, sex and food … so it’s gonna be a busy one guys ! *s*

Have a good ‘un, see y’all in Blogland in a day or two !

Listening To: Nothing : Coz It’s L8

You know, one of these days I swear my luck is going to run out. Then I shall be well and truly farkt ! Had another date tonight, with a rather fetching (yes … ‘fetching’ … not ‘felching’ … dirty minded readers that you are) young lass of Serbian extraction.

Vaguely optimistic about the ‘outcome’ (i.e. the potential for a second date), but of course you can never tell with these things so best not to get ones hopes up. She didn’t ask me any awkward questions, unlike the model, and she didn’t take me to a sex-shop or confess to still smoking pot, unlike the recruitment / graphic design Asian girl. So it’s all good.

We met up @ Roxy Parramatta, apparently someone’s birthday ‘do’. This chick smokes and drinks almost as much as I do, which again is ‘all good’. Kind of hard to connect with someone who leads a ‘pristine existence’ really, innit ?

Had a vodka or 7, then did the drive home, which of course is where the whole ‘luck’ angle comes in again. Got RBT’d on Windsor road, just before the turn off to where my Maths tutor used to live. I KNEW I shoulda taken Old Northern Road !

Anyhoo, the scary little wog-man in blue got me to do the usual “count to ten please sir” … only this time after checking his life-destruction device he tells me “right well I’ve got a reading here, so I need you to blow into this tube in the usual way, so I can confirm if you’re over the limit or not”

Well sod me, if I’m not shitting myself again, innit ?

So I blow inta the tube for 3 seconds like he tells me to. Bacon-bits then tells me to take the tube – I try to pull the fekking thing off soberly, but it ends up flying off suddenly and ricocheting off the roof of the car before hitting me in the shoulder. “Shit bro, d’ya reckon he can tell I’m a bit trashed ?” I think to myself. He checks his readout, umms and arrrs for a bit, then goes back behind my car to consult with his fellow pork by-products.

Dammit bro, this suspense is killing me ! Just get it ooover with !

Finally he comes back “How far have you got to drive sir ?” “Just to Castle Hill” “Ok, well you’re borderline. So I’d drive very carefully if I were you.” “Will do. Thankyou.”

Relief once again washes over me, as I drive away trying not to speed, but not to crawl either. In my rear-view I see wog-trooper start up his car and follow me for a while, but eventually he overtakes me and disappears into the night.

I really, really have to stop frikkin doin this shit !