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: Cuz Its Hot : My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

Current Horn Factor :

I know, I know – it’s a few weeks overdue, but here for what it’s worth is my Australian BB05 wrap-up. It’s going to be a fairly short one, since every other BB blogger has already given you the blow-by-blow account of the show itself. I’m just going to comment on the final outcome itself i.e. the shock-win of ‘Logan’ Greg, the former CUB sales rep, over everyone’s favourite housemate ‘Lefty’ Tim Brunero, erstwhile Newtown journalist & Workers Online contributor.

To say this result was a bit of a disappointment would be a major understatement. Don’t get me wrong – Greg seems to be a genuinely nice guy, and is certainly the nicer of the two ‘Logan Twins’. Nonetheless I feel cheated, as I’m sure many Lefties do, by the fact that for once the major prize of a contest which is essentially the ultimate televised physical manifestation of the right-wing paranoid psyche was within ‘our’ (Tim’s) grasp, but was snatched from us at the last minute by the nutty voting whims of Australias pre-teen & teenage female demographic. “FÇ”ck it !”, I say. Fuck it hard with the distressingly phallically-shaped Bratzâ„¢ “Electronic Spin the Bottle Game”, suitably lubed and primed for action. I think if we have a similar situation next year where we’re down to a likeable Leftie contestant (“pick me, pick ME !”) vs a good-looking, generally likeable but ultimately right-wing guy like Greg, I’m going to start spreading the rumour that voting for the ‘wrong’ housemate will give your Barbie syphillis. Who’s with me ?

So there you have it … that’s the ‘ending’ referred to in this post title. “What, pray tell, is the ‘beginning’ ?” I hear you ask, gentle reader. Thanks to the miracles of modern videotape technology and a grandmother with too much time on her hands, I’m proud to announce I will shortly become probably the only English speaking blogger in the world (and certainly I’m sure the only one in Australia) to hold the dubious honour of commenting on the first ever Czech series of Big Brother, kicking off this week just outside Prague. Yaaaaay !!! 😛

This is being produced by the Czech “Television Nova” network, previously known in the Western world primarily for its nude late-night weather forecasts. This station is also renowned by the natives for its racey (Czech dubbed) Brazillian & Argentinian soap-operas, reruns of the ‘Red Shoe Diaries’ soft-porn series starring a pre-X-Files 1980’s David Duchovny, and Spelling Entertainment productions which are an average of only 5 years behind their current US counterparts – making them some of the most ‘immediate’ American soaps in all of Eastern Europe. As such I can almost guarantee you we’re going to see lots of T&A, and I’m also fairly certain to learn some new Czech vulgarities, which are certain to come in handy next time I’m in Prague and having to tell a gang of skinheads to fuck off without exposing myself as a traitorous immigrant who grew up overseas. I’m very excited, let me tell you !

To cap it all off, the current super-model & pØrnstar statistics would bear me out when I say that the majority of Czech/Slovak women are majorly good looking, so the Czech HM’s are all bound to be Jo Ashton & Kate, rather than Vesna & Sarah-Maree Fedell, if you get my drift. All I can say is – “DÄ•kuji Christe, za Sametovou Revolucy !” (Thankchrist for the Velvet Revolution !) Granted – my commentary is going to be somewhat delayed by the fact my grandma is streaming a feed straight to the antique 1970’s valve-powered, Russian-made fileserver grandpa has running in the communal boiler room videotaping it for me and sending the tapes over my snail mail once filled with a few episodes. Nonetheless I reckon it’s better than no commentary at all on this world-important, cross cultural event (in other words, I’ll let you know about the major T&A hotness and/or funny bits, lads).

However, before the hotness I’m going to give you a little teaser-pic of one of the other HM’s I’ll also be watching with interest when my videotape arrives from the Czech Republic. His name is Jaroslav, and I’m going to be watching him because … well dammit, I haven’t seen such a hideous permed-mullet and handlebar ‘tache combo since the 80’s. Man, are we Czech men stylish or what ? *smirk*

Finally then, “just another” night of clubbin’ to report on in the world of DB. Saturday night I made my way over to Bondi in anticipation of taking IG out to her first-ever goth club. Giving her a bit of glimpse into the ‘scene’ that was at least partially responsible for making me who I am today, what with my decade+ association with it in various countries and various levels over the years (to the point now where I’ve finally weaned myself off to maybe one goth club in 6-8 months if I’m lucky). ‘Twas not to be – Lisa’s copy of the Drum was a week out of date and the night in question had actually already occurred a week previously. Although we were both suffering from the flu, and somewhat tired, we were determined to go out so after some quick debating decided to head to one of IG’s old haunts instead, to whit the uber-yuppified “too cool for school” hangout of coked-up City investment bankers, known as The Tankstream Bar/Tank Nightclub.

Scanning the crowd at the door (Habibs with $200 designer-dishevelled haircuts, women in fur coats & Prada dresses, Patrick Bateman-types in suits), I got a pretty good idea of what lay in store for us, and some of those impressions were certainly spot-on. Dècor was a rough imitation of the kind of ‘big money decadence’ in places the elite (i.e. Mafia … haha) go to in Europe, complete with dancefloor area & downstairs bar in what appeared to be a genuine cellar. Having seen the real thing though I’m unfortunately hard to please when it comes to that sort of thing, so I was fairly underwhelmed. Particularly on finding out later that the cellar area seemed to feature no discernable ventilation at all, niavely trying to rely instead on its impossibly high ceiling (by normal above ground standards) to disperse the hot air generated by a dancefloor full of clubber shaking their bootay. Here’s a tip guys, if you ever stumble across this blog – mount some fucking fans on the big wooden pylon holding the ceiling up, because your stupid Aussie “we’re unfamiliar with how cellars work because Antipodean architecture doesn’t usually feature them” ventilation plan is utter bollocks, meaning anyone who spends any length of time on the dancefloor is in serious danger of developing heat-stroke !!!

In terms of the music itself, alas I must also confess this wasn’t really to my taste. I tried my best to enjoy it, and got a groove going with IG on a few songs, but either the DJ’s had stuffed up the EQ levels somehow or they were trying to emulate the Prague clubbing scene in more ways than one. With very few exceptions, Czech music always sounds like it’s had the bass surgically removed. No doubt this is due to its historical reliance on second-rate Russian knockoffs of early Moog synths and a few broken Yamaha DX-7’s ‘liberated’ off the back of a truck by Russian forces going on unauthorised rece-leave to West Germany. This is why all the good clubs in Prague won’t touch that shite with a 10-foot-pole, and choose to play strictly imported (American/European/UK) tunes instead. This is also why trying to emulate the ‘Prague Sound’ is a bad, baaad idea – since the only GOOD Prague sound is the one that resembles Rotterdam/Ibitha/London/Sydney … i.e. indistinguishable from the JBL-powered acoustics of a good club anywhere on the planet.

Finally then, lets talk about the club patrons. As mentioned earlier, the predominant motif seemed to be ‘the beautiful people’ / Spelling Entertainment refugees. Don’t get me wrong … I know I’m a wanker too – I love all the (other?) Merrivale venues (Establishment, Slipp-Inn, Hotel CBD, Angel Place), Greenwood on a good night, Commodore Hotel, Cockle Bay (on occassion … though not TOO often) etc etc. Yet somehow to me at least, it felt like this particular crowd epitomised my wankerdom taken to another level again. It’s taken me around two years to get really comfortable and stop feeling like I’m something that Pussy Galore, the Western Suburbs Moggie dragged in at the aforementioned places I usually frequent, but after all of 5 minutes in Tank I was already feeling that old familiar vibe of “oh my god, I don’t think I belong here”. Turns out I needn’t have worried though – as I stood at bar getting drinks for my fiancé and I, a drunken queen who looked a little bit like Andy from the Peregrine Gig proceeded to lisp in her ear “you’d better hang on to him girlfriend, he’s not gonna last long in here coz they’re a pretty pushy lot”. Not more than 30 seconds later, I felt my arse being fondled. I’d like to think it was the blonde girl and her brunette friend behind me … it wasn’t STRICTLY a gay crowd … but I’m not sure – it could have been Andy.

Directly after that, a drunk & fairly plain looking mediterranian girl came up to us and proceeded to start flirting with Lisa, and telling me what a lucky guy I was to be with her (“yeah thanks, I know”). A bit freaked out, we retreated to the other side of the bar to have our drinks, then headed to the downstairs area for a dance via the restrooms (which were freaky in and of themselves, with an entry area which made it difficult to asertain where the club-proper ended and toilet began, and which was the mens & womens loos). Now I’ve already talked about the dancefloor and downstairs bar so I won’t rehash that. Instead, I’ll just mention briefly that we ran into Andy-Clone & Drunkgirl again on the way (the former actually having to show us where the stairs were, the latter reiterrating how lucky I was to be with my girl), and that the dancefloor was packed as the Zion party-scene in Revolutions.

Andy-Clone turned up again at one point to point out a blonde chick and brunette guy he claimed were his “brother and sister”, although I didn’t see the resemblance and the couple in question both shook their heads as if to say “we don’t know what the hell this freako is talking about”. Perhaps he got it into his brain to set up the two ostensibly straight-couples for a bit ‘wife-swapping’ ? You can never tell with someone like Andy. Drunkgirl also put in an appearance to ask me if I “minded” if she dance with my fiancé ? I don’t think it would have mattered either way what I said, but all the same I answered good naturedly “of course not”, and she proceeded to twirl IG around in a salsa-esque display for about two minutes while the woggy guy standing in front of me (who had just arrived a few moments later and hadn’t seen the lead-up) gradually racked up his grin and attempted to get his crotch as close to both of them as he could without actually appearing to dance.

It was just after the point where Drunkgirl attempted to stick her tongue in IG’s ear that my fiancé decided she’d had enough, and nimbly side-stepped wogboy and his mates to come back to dancing with me. That was a very thankful DB right there, let me tell you ladies and germs ! It’s not that I would have a problem with my fiancé pashing or even getting it on with another girl, particularly an attractive one (which this one wasn’t) – per se. That is after all the stuff many male fantasies are made of ! This particular girl however came across with a very scary “I don’t really wanna share” kind of vibe … and while I think I do alright at tongueing the pink pearl (see … watching lots of pá»™rn CAN be good for something hehe) I don’t have one of my own so it’s conceivable if someone that does and who didn’t want to share took IG to “the darkside of the force” – I couldn’t be guarenteed of getting her back 😛

Eventually, all temptations successfully batted away and bodies drained from dancing to bass-lacking tunes in the poorly ventilated cellar, IG and I bade the Tankstream Bar farewell and stumbled off exhausted for a cab and home. Not before Lisa had almost backed inadvertently into Geneva from BB05 on the dancefloor mind you … which brings us neatly back to the start of this post.

Funnily enough – despite all my bitching above, I still wouldn’t classify it as a bad night. Certainly not the best night out I’ve had, but there were enough moments of quiet internal amusement, grooving with IG and curiosity at seeing an old hangout of hers to still make it an “OK” evening of clubbin’. Just lemme work on my tan and my beer-belly before I go there again

Bonnes noches, mis amigos !

Listening To: The Silence : Echoing off the four walls in my bedroom …

Current Horn Factor :

I swear … I am sooooooo over this abandoment shit ! As Boris The Mad Yugoslav would say – “Munted, FÅ©cking !” Except I’m not … I only wish I were. Had drinks tonight after work with K&A, a nice married couple Lisa and I know at my favourite pub ye olde St.Leonards Tav. Two beers and one $7 steak later, and we parted ways. I headed home to have a bit of kip. I’m chronically tired y’see … too many perrenial late nights on the ‘net doing things like writing blog entries or downloading prØn y’see.

After my very brief and unsettled nap, I decided it would be a good idea to have a shower seeing as I’d had a haircut earlier today and the little bits of hair down the back of my shirt were starting to itch. I also decided it would probably be good to jet the duck out of my apartment again, since my flatmate had arrived home a bit earlier and I really wasn’t in the mood for her shit tonight.

So … where to go on a Thursday night when you’ve already had a few beers, live on the North Shore, and are chronically missing the company of your fiancé ? Why – Greenwood Hotel of course, where else ? Yes I know; DB you’re a fekking twat ! I dunno … I had this crazy notion that maybe I’d have a few drinks, get happy and temporarily forget tonight is IG’s second last night in Fiji and the supposed highlight of the ‘Ultimate Lei’ tour she’s on. Tonight is Kava-drinking ceremony, and no doubt a party afterwards.

Hmm .. great … my gorgeous partner drinking mildy hallucigenic Melanisian ritual concoctions and dancing with a bunch of strange, male backpackers ! Just what you want to think about when you have an active imagination like I do, your partner has admitted to checking out other guys on occasion (guilty feelings not withstanding) which you noticed yourself a number of times even before said confession, she’s hinted at the fact she doesn’t find you as attractive as she once did since you’ve put on a bit of weight, and frankly you ARE feeling more than a tad bloated and unhealthy. Inse-freakin-curity

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I just don’t trust anybody f ûcking else … and at times like these I just can’t help thinking I’m not exactly “all that”. So my active imagination gets a workout, picturing all the scenarios of what could go wrong. It’s stupid – the universe invariably serves up whats in your thoughts. That’s the reason you should always try to stay positive. Whatever energy you radiate, the universe will tend to reflect right back at you. It’s so damn hard though, not dwelling on your fears when someone who means the world to you is half a world away and you have no way to keep in touch !

So that was why I went to Greenwood – to try give myself a little psychic boost if you will, via the wonders of alcohol and choons, man ! I would have been better off staying home. For the first time I can remember there wasn’t a lineup to get in, but the place was even more packed than is usual for a Thursday. Full of 16 year olds and North Shore yuppies by the looks of it. Fux Me ! Got myself a V’N’C + shot of Shnapps to start, and did a circuit of the pub. Courtyard blocked off, hot and full of people I had no desire to talk to. Shee…it ! Stopped to check out the music briefly in all 3 dancefloor areas. Normally I would have gotten into the cheesy hip-hop – but tonight it just made me think of IG, and wish she was here to dance with. Faaaark ! Another round of drink are in order.

V’N’C + another shot later, coupled with my the two beers I had at The Tav earlier and I’m starting to feel a little buzz. Finally loosening up … maybe it won’t be so bad – couple more drinks and it could be a great night. Make my way to outside front area where it’s a little less crowded to drink my drink. Spot a space on the ledge and sit down. Then I notice the girl next to me. She’s a gorgeous girl with glasses who looks a fair bit like Lisa. Argh bollocks ! I try to ignore her for a bit, sipping my drink and ostensibly looking up at the tall buildings surrounding Greenwood. Then, just as I finally turn my head in her direction to checkout the dancefloor beyond her, someone comes up and embraces her from behind. “It must be her boyfriend” I think, and I try to do my best not to stare as their body language bears this out.

In the end it’s too much for me though … I finish my drink, get up and leave Greenwood to get a cab home. The night is a total write off. I’m still sober, I’m a cab-fare worse off, and instead of thinking about IG over in Fiji less, I’ve ended up thinking about her more. Abandonment … I hate it. True – it’s my karma for all those years in my youth when I would fůck off to Europe for a month or more on a regular basis leaving my ex’s behind to twiddle their thumbs. Nonetheless that’s two trips now in the space of less than 6 months which IG has made without me. I really hope it’s not going to become a pattern … I’m not sure how many more nights like this I could take !

Blah … need sleep *sigh*

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 !

(Above graphic lifted from B3ta)

Listening To: Boss Drum : The Shamen

OK so apart from the first date, I haven’t really been documenting my burgeoning relationship with a certain someone via this blog. I didn’t write about the second date (the Dante Hicks dinner-and-movie special), nor the third (drinks at Slip Inn), I’m NOT going to reveal exactly at which point things shifted gear into the bedroom (I don’t kiss ‘n tell … sorry y’all) and I’m not even going to clarify the chronology of when the status of things changed from ‘going on a few dates’ to ‘going steady’ (for our American friends).

I am going to share a bit of last Saturday night with you however, because it reveals as much about me as it does about the state of things between me and the wonderful woman I’ve been lucky (choosy ?) enough to hook up with.

Now different people have different ‘priorities’ or values they guage a relationship and their (new) partner by. And of course for all of us, there are things which can make or break a relationship. Things which can make us look at someone in an entirely new way – anything from being completely repulsed by our partner borrowing our toothbrush, to falling completely head-over-heels for someone when you find their moral compass is as quirky as your own

Keeping this is mind then, I have to admit last weekend revealeth Disappearing Boy to be a total disco-bitch … the raver gravy kind ;P

Y’see gang, on Saturday night Imaginary Girl & yours truly went out for a night on the town with some of IG’s good friends. DB wanted to stay @ Slip Inn where we started the night, but the rest of them didn’t want to pay a cover charge so it was decided to head to Cockle Bay instead.

We ended up at Bungalow 8, where funnily enough DB ran into his boss. But that’s a whole different level of creepiness we’ll cover some other time. The point of this tale, which I’m slowly getting to, is that prior to Saturday I’d never seen IG dancing, nor had she seen me. Up that point we hadn’t really been out ‘clubbing’ together, just drinking.

Now for any of you who don’t know this interesting factoid yet, DB luuurves to shake his booty after a drink or 3 ! In a recent poll (conducted by my dad one when he was here), my answers to the question “what do you like to do with your spare time ?” were “Drinking, writing music, catching up with friends, and clubbing !”. That’s pretty much it ladies and gentlemen, apart from blogging / writing … but I don’t think my dad would understand blogging so I didn’t mention it at the time.

So yeah … I’ve done a shedload of clubbing (and dancing) since I first started going out when I was 16 or so. In all that time (over a decade), and even through all prior relationship entanglements, I’d never found someone I could really get ‘in synch’ with on the dancefloor. At least not anyone I’ve dated / bedded / gotten freaky with.

There was one friend from the ‘old-school’ goth days … a PVC-wearing, speed-snorting, KMFDM-loving, industrial grrrl, whom I made quiet a ‘pair’ with when we both happened to be at Rollercoaster or Shrine … but a dance-floor pair is all we ever were and I half suspect she O.D’d a few years back when my ex-girlfriend broke up things which were finally ‘developing’ between us and then proceeded to steal this chick’s next boyfriend as well ! Either way, I haven’t seen Azrael at any of the clubs for about 5 years now, so it’s safe to say we won’t be “cuttin a rug” again.

The point is, I’d pretty much resigned myself to the fact that, no matter how ‘in sync’ we might be in other ways, it was unlikely, nigh on impossible, that I’d end up with anyone whom I’d ‘sync’ with on the dancefloor, certainly not instantly or without a lot conscious effort and modification of dance ‘moves’. Even when out with my most recent ex, who’s a pretty damn good dancer (must be those stripper moves hehe), we found styles still clashed. True – it looked pretty good to the casual observer (as I think you can agree from that time we all went to Retro Ms.Mellipop), but even there I had to ‘work’ to keep the flow and as good as it might have looked, it *felt* awkward. Can you see where this is heading yet, kids ? 😉

Now as I said, on Saturday IG and I went out with her mates. Started at Slip Inn, wound up at Bungalow. For the majority of the evening, we just drank and chatted as usual … me itching to go out on the dancefloor, but not so ‘into’ the stuff the DJ was playing that I’d get up and leave the rest of the group for some booty-shaking-gratification. At some point in the wee hours of the morning, IG and her mate’s wife decided THEY were gonna have a bit of dance because they heard a track they liked come on. I was still drinking my beer and trying to ‘bond’ with my girl’s school-friend (gotta make those ‘good impressions’ gang !), so I declined to join them. They came back after a little while, and we had another round of frosty beveridges.

Then comes ‘the moment’. I finish my beer, and over the conversation floats a bass-beat I vaguely recognise. Tonight they’ve got a live drummer on the corner of the dancefloor playing in tandem with the tracks the DJ is cutting, and he starts going off at this point. I glance over and catch IG’s eye – “Do you wanna dance, baby ?” I ask her. “Yeah, why not ?” she replies, and we head out into the sea of sweaty bodies. Can you see where this is heading NOW, guys ? hehe

To cut a long story short, it takes me all of two seconds to figure out Imaginary Girl is a really fantastic dancer ! That’s not what makes this girl and this moment so special though. What makes this moment so special, and what makes DB the little disco-bitch go “aahhh” and break out in an uncontrollable smile he just can’t suppress, is the way her body moves – totally in sync with mine !!!

“Ok, but can we keep this up for more than a few beats ?” I think to myself as I finally remember to ‘put on’ my usual dancing expression and look into my girlfriend’s eyes. That’s when I notice she’s got on the same little dancing pout that I have ! I break out into another huge grin … I must look like I’m on E big-time, but it’s just alcohol and an over-riding sense of … I dunno … Kinship ? Release ?

The beat keeps pumping, we keep dancing … the rhythm is flowing and we’re still in sync ! I fake left and she goes with it, she fakes right and I find myself moving in time with her, without even having to try ! Granted, our ‘styles’ are pretty dissimilar to eachother … but somehow it just works baby, I’m on auto-pilot without having to think about anything except how good this feels, and grinning like a maniac in between trying to pout … which probably makes me look mentally unbalanced !

At the end of it all, I think we only danced to 2 tracks or so … maybe 5 or 10 minutes total … which is bugger all for someone like me who can dance for 5 or 6 hours solid without chemicals (no wonder people are always asking me if I have any speed when I’m out clubbing) to the right music. But it’s all about quality, not quantity as they say ! As I said at the start of this post, different people value different things in their partners. I didn’t even realise how important being ‘in sync’ with someone on the dancefloor was … until last weekend. But now that I’ve finally found it … everything to follow flows from that little moment ! Hats off IG – I think I’ve found a keeper – me love you long time