The Rest of Your Life (v3.0)

Listening To: Disposal : Lab Animals

Current Horn Factor :

Reuters, London: (Monday, Septemtber 19th) Patrick Bateman, successful Wallstreet broker and serial-killing protagonist of Brett Easton Ellis’ controversial 1991 novel American Psycho may have some real-life counterparts according to a new U.S. study jointly conducted by researchers from Stanford, Carnegie Mellon, and Iowa Universities.

Using a simple investment ‘game’, the researchers tested a group of 41 subjects with average IQ’s, 15 of whom had suffered lesions to areas of the brain associated with controlling emotions. The study found that the emotionally impaired are more willing to gamble for high stakes and that people with brain damage are more likely to make good financial decisions.

In the words of Antione Bechara, one of the scientists from Iowa University, the most successful financial brokers might conceivably be called “functional psychopaths”. Baba Shiv, one of the studies co-authors from the Stanford Graduate School of Business goes further, and claims many high-level executives and top attorneys might share the same emotionally-impared psyches.

In most people, our emotions can lead us to avoid risks, even when the potential benefits far outweigh the losses. According to Shiv however, “there are circumstances in which a naturally occurring emotional response must be inhibited, so that a deliberate and potentially wiser decision can be made”. It’s in these cases that the aformentioned “functional psychopaths” excel – and the high paced world of the financial markets is a perfect example of such a set of circumstances.

It’s not too much of a stretch then to imagine how a “functional psychopath” with inhibited emotional responses such as those identified in the study, might go that one step further and become a fully-fledged killing machine a-lá Pat Bateman.

So girls – next time you’re out on a date with a guy in a nice suit who works at PWC, be careful. If you end up back at his place, excuse yourself and on the way to the bathroom give his fridge the quick once-over for human body parts. Should you find any, you know what to do – run ! Just don’t forget to email him the next day for his take on that hot share tip your friend from HSBC gave you

Listening To: Best of British Anthems : V/A (Alistair Whitehead Mix)

Current Horn Factor :

In a new, possibly semi-regular service for TROYL readers, here’s a quick peek into some recent stories from the entertainment world that caught my eye -

What Is It With Burgers & Clowns ?

Reuters reports that in a cease-and-desist letter sent by its attorney Howard Weitzman to the Burger King fastfood franchise and its advertising agency Crispin Porter + Bogusky on August the 4th, heavy-metal arse clowns Slipknot have declared their intent to sue the restaurant chain over its latest advertising campaign for Chicken Fries. The commercials feature a parody metal-band amusingly named “Coq Roq“, which the musicians claim bears a striking visual & sonic resemblance to their own patented blend of gothic shock-metal.

Which is the ‘real’ band, and which is the parody ?

If the matter does go to court and the band actually wins a settlement, one can only assume other metal acts will follow and we’re likely to see bands like Ministry suing cereal manufacturer Kelloggs for using heavy guitar riffs in its series of Australian “Nutri-Grain” commercials which bear a suspicious resemblance to material from the bands seminal “Psalm-69″ album. Chicago-based industrial duo Velvet Acid Christ would also like to sue somebody, but so far haven’t found anyone who would actually listen to their music, let alone use it in an FMCG commercial.

All in all its no laughing matter; whatever the outcome, someone is going to end up with yolk on their faces.

Presumably laced with high levels of toxic heavy metals.

Is The ‘Bedroom Raider’ Headed For A Breakdown ?

In the latest issue of Australian NW magazine it’s alleged Angelina Jolie, she-of-the-botox-competing-lips-and-adopted-Ethopian-kids, is on the verge of a ‘breakdown’ over the current widespread perception she’s a “man-stealer” who broke up the marriage of the Pitts. Which makes a nice change really from the usual line of Jen sympathy doing the rounds of the tabloids for the last few months.

The magazine also claims the elder Pitts recently flew out to visit ‘Jen’ on the set of her new film, with the Bradsters mum “begging” Aniston to try for a reconciliation with their son. Two words for you, OK guys ? “Interfering in-laws” ! C’mon, do you really think visiting your sons ex-wife at work and harrassing her to give the jerk another chance is gonna work ?

You don’t need Brad baby … pick IG and me instead !

Personally, I don’t see what the problem is. Everyone involved has six figure bank accounts, Jen has supposedly “found love again” in the arms of Vince Vaughn, and if Angelina is happy to be involved with a guy who is on public record as stating he expects his wife to pop out six kids and give up her career if needs be – then wassaproblem ? Alternatively, Le Jolie is always welcome to leave Hollywood behind and have a torrid lesbian fling with my fiancé Lisa – as long as I get to take the photos

Listening To: La Sexorcisto : White Zombie

Current Horn Factor :

OK gang it’s official … I’m finally free of the annoying, overweight Kiwi flatmate and her equally annoying, overweight cats. Yaaaaay ! I’d been ferrying small carloads back and forth all week since last weekends engagement dinner for IG and I @ St.George Leagues, and on Saturday the removalists came to shift the majority of my remaining stuff to Bondi. Thereafter I spent the remainder of the weekend loading up my car with the few left-over odds and ends, and cleaning up the areas of the old apartment ostensibly under my control. In the end I think my old bedroom and bathroom ended up looking better than they had when I’d moved in. Which is natural I suppose – I’m an excellent frikkin flatmate, let me tell you !

We also took some time out with IG to go see Wedding Crashers on Sunday, which was absolutely hilarious (hell … I might even post a review depending on how slow work is today !) , and to hang out at the beach on Saturday morning. Excellent timing on the move, if I do say so myself. Spring has just sprung, and I’m ready to work on my tan again … so methinks I’ll be hitting the beach a lot this year One realisation I’ve been carefully trying to avoid, but which hit me full-force on Saturday till I couldn’t ignore it anymore is that Bondi is seriously full of good looking people. It makes sense; my fiancé lives there after all – but it does mean I definitely need to get back on the DB Workout Plan and shed those winter kilos quicksmart !

It’s an indesputable fact that Lisa likes surfie boys (and mediterranian boys, corporate boys … lots of different types of good looking guys hehe), and Bondi is full of excellent specimens in peak physical condition. I can’t afford to get complacent just because we’re engaged and as of this weekend living together, and being in a suburb which boasts such a high percentage of good looking competition, I’ve got no option but to get back to being as buff (if not buffer) as I was when we first met. The first phase of the plan involves getting up an extra half hour early to do some morning jogging. Will try to start that tommorrow. It also involves starting to use my weights again … which may involve me sourcing a mirror of some sort. Perhaps I’ll ‘steal’ the one from the ‘spare’ bedroom in my parents house, since they haven’t got a tennant in yet.

The next phase of the plan involves buying myself a pushbike again, since the fittest I’ve ever been was in Sweden when I was riding everywhere on a regular basis. This relies on my ex-flatmate paying me back my bond ASAP. I’d like to get a new bike for a change instead of a second-hand one, but depending on how badly the Kiwi wench tries to stooge me on outstaning bills, I might have to resort to the Trading Post again. We’ll see … one things for sure … none of this is gonna be easy ! It’s going to be well worth it though, to be able to stroll the streets amongst all the Bondians hand-in-hand with my fiancé, head held high knowing I’ve faced the competion and I’ve prevailed. Bah … and my parents think I lack a competitive streak !

Bring it on I say … it’s gonna be a great summer !

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: WWIII : KMFDM

Current Horn Factor :

Allright gang, so I admit the posts this week have been pretty ‘dark’. In an attempt to lighten the mood somewhat for this luvverly Friday (IG gets back tommorrow morning ‘n I get to speak to her tonight … yaaaaay !) I’m going to steal a meme from Mark and enlighten you all with an insight into exactly what some of the influences on DB’s horn-factor scale are …

10 Things that Turn DB On

1. Intelligence.

This doesn’t necessarily mean having a uni degree, although I used to think it did. Street-smarts, the ability to string together coherent sentences, the capacity to think beyond the day-to-day mundanities of job, car & what’s playing on tele tonight; all of these are big turn-ons. Also, she HAS to be a reader. Sorry Victoria Beckham, but I guess this means you and I were never meant to be.

2. Beauty.

Any man who claims good looks aren’t in his Top 10 list of turn-ons is a liar. Not that looks by themselves cut it, but a woman who (a) looks good (b) takes care of her looks and (c) isn’t afraid to make the most of what she’s got – that kind of woman definitely has sexiness-potential !

3. Fashion Sense

A thorough indoctrination in feminist epistemologies meant that for years after graduating I used to vehemently deny the horn-influence a “less is more” attitude can play, whilst secretly wishing my partners would bare more flesh to the world ! I wouldn’t make that mistake anymore – but luckily for moi, IG is not averse to wearing the odd backless top or short skirt on occassion so I’m more than happy ! I’m also a fan of the ‘corporate’ look … and this too, as luck would have it, my fiancé carries off extremely well.

4. Sexy shoes.

Forget women who only ever wear ‘comfortable’, ‘sensible’ and ‘practical’ shoes ! I don’t need that shit in my life. Sure – this probably means I have a mild foot-fetish, but then so do a hell of a lot of guys ! What’s wrong with finding a sexy pair of heels or platforms, red nailpolish and a toe-ring on a shapely pair of peds attractive ? Exactly – absolutely nothing !

5. Positivity.

I don’t mean being happy all the time. People who are happy all the time are fûcking idiots and/or on Prozac. However, any woman who can maintain a positive attitude for the majority of the time and get through the down times without giving in too much to the drama-queen instinct is damned sexy.

6. Life Direction.

Got a job ? Got life-goals, and at least some idea of how you want to get there ? Got a work ethic, without being a total workaholic ? Good … if not, talk to the hand …

7. Good taste in music.

She doesn’t have to like all the same bands as me – in fact difference is encouraged, because it means we can build up eachothers mutual record collections. However, if she’s not into music at all or I can’t stand anything she plays on the car stereo – then Huston, we have a problem …

8. Sense of Fun & Spontanaity.

. . . because it’s damn sexy to be with someone who will say “fuckit, let’s go to the beach !” on Saturday morning when you were expecting to spend the day doing laundry instead ! Sure; a sense of responsibility and purpose is definitely important too, but balancing it with a certain devil-may-care sensibility is essential for tipping the horn-factor towards the higher end of the scale.

9. Creativity.

Think outside the square, have a creative streak in you, and I’ll be bound to try grope you if all the other factors come together ;P

10. Self Confidence.

I’m not talking about being so smug and up yourself that you put Real Estate agents to shame. However, a certain level of self-assurance is assuredly beguiling. As long as you’re comfortable in your own skin and happy with who you are without being a pratt, you can indeed be a bit of ‘all that’.

11. Sense of Humour.

OK … so I cheated … it’s eleven things. However, I think possesing a certain level of wit and the ability to not take yourself or life too seriously are also imperative for rockin’ my world. Grumpy bums – sorry, but you don’t do it for me. If you can find my mildy amusing, mostly self deprecating, cynical shit funny .. that’s a big bonus too !

10 Things that Turn DB Off

1. Racism & Xenophobia.

Especially if taken to extremes.

2. Ignorance.

Coz dumb is NOT sexy, and bimbos don’t get MY motor running.

3. Emotional Instability.

Supporting your partner when they need it is one thing. Being a perrenial emotional crutch is quiet another. Get some therapy, and stay the fǔck out of my way.

4. Infidelity.

Coz if you want “the package”, you can’t have your cake and eat it too ! I believe in being faithful to my partner, and I expect nothing less in return.

5. Liberal voters.

… because I definitely don’t need that shit in my life either !

6. Negativity.

Been there, done that. As Denis Leary says “Hey … life sucks … get a fǘcking helmet !”

7. Rampant drug abuse.

I agree with Mark on this one. Drinking is fine … but anything else when you get past your late teens / early twenties – nah screw that, I’m over passing the dutchy on the left-hand side.

8. Laziness.

Think Vesna from BB05. Not sexy, not sexy at all !

9. Excessive body fat.

Sorry, but I ain’t a chubby-chaser and never shall be …

10. Anal Sex / Golden Showers / Scat / Fisting / Object Insertions

“Oh shit, is it that late already ? I’m sorry baby … I gotta go … I’ve got an early start in the morning. Yeah … look … don’t call me, OK ? Like I mean … don’t call me EVER !”

Thas it y’all – have a great weekend, won’t you

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: Choose One : 1200 Techniques

Current Horn Factor :

I slept in her bed last night. Alone. I got takeaway from our favourite Indian place on Bondi Road, and sat on the couch in her loungeroom watching the A-Team and Rove. Without her. Y’see, IG left me her keys before she went to Fiji, and I was supposed to go to her apartment last night to pick up the rent money for her from her flatmate. Said flatmate ended up being a no-show, leaving me to spend a lonely night on my own in their deserted apartment. If I’d known how lonely that was going to be, I think I would have said “fekkit”, and made the long public transport trek back to Artarmon 15 minutes after the appointed time the absent flatmate was supposed to show.

Instead – fool that I am – I thought it would be nice to wait around and do all the things I’d normally do if my fiancé was there i.e. the trash TV, the yummy curry, and watching Rove. First up – The A-Team … I was fine during that; listening to Laurence Tarraud (“Mr-T to you, fool !”) tell Mad Dog to “cut the Jibba-Jabba” & watching another implausible plot unfold as the Team strove to successfully escape the clutches of both the military police and a band of uncrupulous bounty hunters, with the help of a pretty female vet named Dr.Kelly. I started to feel a little peculiar after the show finished however, and I went for the walk down Bondi Road to get takeaway. Walking past one of the seafood places, I remembered the other week when I bought IG a dozen oysters in lieau of sushi after Sushi Love shut its doors early one night. Walking further along, I started to mentally tick off other eateries as places we still had to try … and naturally I started to miss my baby more in the process.

I got back to the apartment with my spicy haul, and Lisas flatmate still hadn’t shown. Flicked the tele onto Rove, and proceeded to demolish my curry in record time. Now my stomach was full, yet I could still feel a paradoxical void starting to grow within. Rove was a bloody classic last night, so I found I was almost pissing myself with laughter at various points, especially Pete Helliars ‘interview with Arnold Swartzenegger’. Yet in the back of my mind I found my own laughter sounding strangely hollow, echoing in the space of the deserted loungeroom without her laughter to accompany it. Eventually the program finished at 11 pm, and I retired to the bedroom I’ll be sharing with IG fulltime in another few weeks.

That’s when the loneliness really hit me.

I know – I coped alright in the end with her going to Europe for a month, and I know she will be back in another few days. Every time she does this it still seems to get harder for me though. Lying in her bed, surrounded by the normal clutter everyone accumulates in their bedroom, I thought I could detect the faintest hint of her crisp, clean scent. It felt as if she’d been in the room a moment ago, and had left it just as I walked in. More than ever before, even that month she’d been in the Mediterranian; I found myself missing Lisa with every fibre of my being and wishing she was home ! It took all my strenght to stop myself from breaking out sobbing like a big, wet girlie, and crying myself to sleep. It doesn’t help that Fiji has no mobile coverage except for the main island, and the smaller islands she has been hopping between don’t even have landlines. Thus the last time I spoke to her was on Friday, and it won’t be till Friday hence that I can speak to her again. The days in between seem to be just dragging on and ooooon

On that note, friends and fans . . .

Listening To: My Flatmate Snoring : Through the Bedroom Walls

Current Horn Factor :

I must confess that for the third time today I’m altering the content of my last post. I actually had a fairly extended rant up for most of the evening (if anyone caught it) about Vesna from BB (not a fan), and some other stuff in general, but it’s been flicked back over to ‘draft mode’ because I’ve realised as much as Vesna shits me, I was getting a little too worked up in said post.

I want to be more like Tim – the HM cheated out of winning tonight by ‘under the radar’ Greg and the competive advantage offered the latter by the fact he’s a twin. Which means I need to develop more patience with people. Suffice to say, I’ll be having another look at the post in question before it goes back up. I just thought y’all should know … it’s not that I’ve been caught sleeping on the BB watch – I just need to get my head straight before I post about the latest evictees, and life in general.

Yeah … in case it isn’t bleeding obvious, IG is overseas again for a week … my writing always seems to get a bit fÖcked up when that happens doesn’t it ?

Laters …

Listening To: Choose One : 1200 Techniques

Current Horn Factor :

My apologies to anyone who read this post in it’s original (short) form, but I’ve decided it’s better to expand on the reasons for my glee at the most recent BB05 eviction, and to simultaneously tackle a rant that’s been a long time coming in the process. I’ve also edited it again now (as you’ll see from the post above referring to it being taken down temporarily) to take some of the ‘sting’ out … because I realised I was getting a little bit too worked up over some of the later stuff and I don’t want you guys to get the wrong idea ! Anyhoo …

The eviction I’m referring to is of course that of Vesna – the subject of a what was my shortest TROYL post to date earlier in the week, exhorting you to use the power of network-sanctioned democracy to make sure her whiny Macedonian arse was voted off the show. Seems Australia heard my impassioned cry – because come last night, this spoilt princess was indeed booted out of the BB05 house. Sitting rivetted on the couch, waiting for Gretle to open the eviction envelope, I’m sure the entire floor of my apartment block heard my loud whoop of “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay !” as the erstwhile Kileen uttered the fabulous phrase “It’s time to go … Vesna”

Now before I say anything else, we need to clarify that I have absolutely nothing against Macedonians in general. My dad is currently consulting in Albania, which is next door, and probably will be for another two years. Being a Czech immigrant myself, I have absolutely no problems with Eastern Europeans / Slavic races as a whole. It’s Vesna herself as an individual, rather than as a ‘representative’ of the Macedonian community, that I’ve had major issues with, and that’s why I’m sooooo delighted she is not one of the two remaining BB finalists.

“So what ‘issues’ do you have with the Melbourne hairdresser exactly ?” I hear you ask. A picture, as they say, speaks a thousand words …

This is exactly the kind of face we saw Vesna wearing for probably 80% of the time she was in the house. To say she is a bit of a whinger is perhaps the biggest understatement of the century. I lost count of the number of times watching the daily show that I just wanted to smack her about the head and scream “Shut the hell up Vesna you whining, snotty little biatch !” – and I’m not normally a violent man, nor have I ever hit a woman. However after only a few episodes of watching this chick do nothing but complain and carry on, I became more than thoroughly sick of Vesna and her shit.

I’m not a fan of whingers at the best of times … after too many years spent in the goth scene, I have very little patience left for people who choose to take a consistently negative view of life. Couple this with the fact that at least half of her frequent tantrums were directed at BB himself, and I know if I were in the house with Vesna I probably would have strangeled her within a week. I mean helloooo … if you hated BB so much Ves, why did you agree to go on the show as an ‘intruder’ in the first place ? It’s not like you were like the rest of the housemates who had no idea what was in store for them this season, were you ? You got the watch the first three weeks of the show like the rest of us, so you knew the producers were going to play up the ‘mean BB’ angle this year. Yet you still went into the house … so why the FŲCK couldn’t you just shut your stinking pie-hole ? Or better yet, why didn’t you tell the producers you didn’t want to go on the show after all, and given someone else who auditioned (me, pick me !!!) the chance to go in instead ?

Another source of frustration for Vesna and myself were the household chores, or to be more precise, her attitude to said chores. How anyone who has reached 28 – my age – can have no idea about doing simple things like window washing or toilet-bowl cleaning is completely beyond me !!! Prior to BB did Vesna live in a little Macedonian coccoon, where mum and dad did all of those tedious but necessary things around the house for her, so that our little princess never had to lift a finger ? I guess so, given the way she carried on (and on, and on, and ooooon) when faced with these tasks for the first time in her life on entering the BB house. This alone qualifies her for the title of “Biggest Twat of BB05″, a title jointly shared with Glenn the shearer for all his many (but entirely different) flaws.

I’m not talking about her outburst during the ‘Masters & Slaves’ task about being unable to cope with being “a slave to a man”. I’m talking about the routine upkeep the housemates are required to perform while they live in the BB house. It’s not very arduous housework either. Compared to the way most normal adults live, the BB house is generally a bit of a sty. Nonetheless, maintaining even this very basic state of household cleanliness was a bit too much for Vesna it seems. I’ve got news for you babe. True – most men aren’t going to ask you to be a ‘slave’. However, most decent self-respecting blokes (unless they’re complete pigs themselves) are going to expect you to do your part in keeping the place you live in together clean. Most men don’t want a slave, but most men don’t want a frikkin’ princess either ! It’s little wonder then that Vesna’s ex Ari, the one rumoured to be causing so much friction with her family on the outside, is only 21 years old. Who else but a guy barely out of his teens would be stupid enough to put up with attitude like that ?

I mean honestly, can you imagine waking up next to that sour looking face in the morning ? Jeeeeeesus ! “What’s wrong Vesna honey ?” “I’m feeling frumpy this morning, and I think I broke a nail in my sleep. I need chocolate, you have to buy me some before you go to work.” “I can’t baby, or I’m going to be late …” “God, you’re a bastard Ari. I hate you, I’ve always hated you. I think I had a better time living in the BB house than living with you !” “Ok … ok … I’m sorry, I’ll get your chocolate before I leave.” “Good … and clean the toilet before you go too. I think I had one too many tubs of Haagen Daasz last night, and my shit was really runny.” “Umm … ok. Listen, I might be back a bit later tonight, we have work drinks on. Love you baby …” “Oh … GOD … you think my arse is fat, don’t you ?” “What ?” “You’re cheating on me with some woman from work, and it’s all because you think my arse is fat, isn’t it ?” “But … but … I never …”. Ari you poor, poor schmuck ! I feel soooo sorry for you … if you have any sense at all, you won’t get back together with this girl, and you definitely won’t marry her if you know what’s good for ya !

Speaking of fat arses – yes, I must say the other reason I quickly got sick of watching Vesna was because I couldn’t stand another day of having to see her chunky thighs wobbling about in her pink tracksuit while she grabbed herself another tub of icecream out of the BB fridge ! I already live with an overweight, moody, black-haired, housework-lazy chick, and shall continue to do so for another month until I move in with my fiancé. TV is supposed to provide escapism, not to strain my eyes by adding more unattractive people to my life than I already have to deal with in the real world on a daily basis. If I wanted to watch an overweight woman sitting on a sofa eating icecream, I just have to walk in to my loungeroom. I don’t even need to turn on the TV, because she will already be watching one of the million and one shows she seems to follow, although idiot that I am I still pay half the cable TV bill ! This brings us very neatly then, to the more ‘general’ rant I mentioned earlier – a rant I’ve been hinting at for several months now. A rant that’s been building for almost a lifetime.

You see, gang … if it hasn’t become obvious yet over the course of many posts you’ve read on TROYL by now, I’m going to state something here plainly and for the record which may not win me many friends, but which I firmly believe nonetheless. Basically, over the last decade or so I’ve developed an almost pathological aversion to a certain type of person you see more and more of on the streets, in shopping centres and even in your favourite nightclub, every day ! That’s right guys, I’m talking about freakin’ fatties !

I’m sorry, but I simply don’t like fat people who are under the age of 45, and I don’t see anything wrong with that !!!

It wasn’t always this way – I even dated a fairly chubby girl (who has since ballooned into an elephant) for a year or two back in the misspent days of my late teens. However, the older I get and the more it seems everywhere around me the chubbies multiply, the less I’ve found myself able to block out the natural repulsion and disdain which arises when you see a truly humungous guy or girl walking down the street.

It seems to be a uniquely Anglo-Saxon problem too – we don’t get this happening back home in mainland Europe ! You might see on or two fat locals at most, but either the rest don’t exist, or they have the common sense to stay home and live their lives as shut-ins, instead of parading around Penrith Westfields in tight denim miniskirts and crop tops (girls) or baggy bumsters and Snoop-Dogg singlets (guys), rolls of lilly-white Celtic lard literally hanging over their waistbands. Now back in my younger days I used to believe you were supposed to support people in developing good self esteem and a positive self-image, yadda yadda yadda, and everything good would follow. However, I think I’ve finally realised that’s not doing the trick here.

I think what we need to do is SHAME these people into losing those extra fekking kilos, NOT to praise them !!!

Yes, they probably get teased mercilessly by their peers at school. Join the club … I might not have been fat back when I was a kid but I still got teased mercilessly for other things. However, as a society we’re still telling these people “it’s OK. You’re just sick. We still like you, and you’re a worthwhile person”, which isn’t doing much to solve the problem, is it ? We’re making them feel better about themselves, which means they keep stuffing their fat faces with cheeseburgers and will one day end up breeding, usually with someone of a similar body shape. Invariably the offspring these unfortunate people produce end up even fatter, given they are eating the same lipid-rich, nutritionally-poor diets as their obese parents, and sport isn’t encouraged in these families. All of which means our kids or grandkids are going to end up with a drought of genuinely attractive thin people to have sex with, unless they import them from overseas !

Over here, we have Ray Martin doing ACA stories about women being denied work as promotions models because they are “deemed too chubby”, and taking their side against the modelling agency. If the same thing happened in France or Germany or Czech Republic, the woman would be a laughing stock, and they would feature an interview with her wasp-thin, tanned and perfectly groomed French mother (mmm … MILF ! ;P) saying what a disgrace to her family Claudette is, and begging her to get some help for her obvious weight problem.

Commentator: So what are you saying, Madame Baptiste ?

The Yummie Mummie: (sobbing) My daughter … I love her .. . but she ees a fůcking pig, Jean-Paul. I ‘ave failed as a muzzerr … I am so ashamed (more tears)

She wouldn’t be half-wrong either, would she ? Why do I have this strong antipathy towards fat people ? Part of it is to do with the fact that it’s not just our kids and grandkids who will be experiencing a drought of normally-proportioned people … I actually found the beginnings of it with my own dating experiences in the last two years or so where it seemed like virtually every remotely attractive person was already coupled up, and at least every second blind date I went on turned out to be someone outside the boundaries of the ‘acceptable to shag’ weight-range ! Even more than that though, the thing which really scares me about fat people is that it would be pretty easy for me to become one, if I let myself …

‘Aye – there’s the rub ! I have to work very hard to stay in shape, and thanks to a combination of genes and lifestyle, it’s very easy for me to put weight on (and fairly easy to shift it when I exercise, thankgod) when I let myself slack off, as I have been over the winter months. At the moment I weigh 80.5 kg, which is fucking atrocious when you consider I measure 175cm and have been losing muscle mass to fat during the winter months. Worse yet, this is not too far off the most I’ve ever weighed – 86kg during a very black period living in Melbourne. I think I’d die of shame if I ever got that frikkin bloated again before middle age – hopefully NEVER !

See, I don’t like looking at other fat people, but I positively loathe looking in the mirror or at photos and seeing my familiar face looking back with the onset of chubbiness beginning. Fucking H-A-T-E it !!!! Considering at one point when I was living in Sweden I weighed only 65kg from being vegetarian and riding my pushbike everywhere all day instead of driving … it’s all the more distressing watching my gradual cellular lipid buildup.

Which is why dear readers, you’ll find me enthusiastically joining my sexy fiancé IG (who really doesn’t need it, but who am I to argue) in her ‘detox’ & upcoming ‘get back in shape’ / ‘shake off the winter kilos’ resolve. It’s time to lose that winter flab gang, and head back to the solarium before summer … or Fiji if you’re lucky enough to afford it like IG ;P Who knows … maybe someone out there knows Vesna and can point her in the direction of this weblog, and she can take a leaf out of this book too !

Listening To: Clawfinger : Zeros & Heroes

Current Horn Factor :

All immediate family members have now been duly informed, and much to the relief of Lisa & I there’s no danger of freakout. So I can now OFFICIALLY (because nothings ‘real’ until it’s on your blog … right kids ? hehehe) confirm the brief mentions that we’ve been spreading in all your comment fields for over a month now. Namely – sometime in the next year or two my wonderful partner and I are set to walk down the aisle and become The Imaginary Disappearing Boy & Girl ! Woooooo !!!

Summer Bay barbies stick that in your hats and smoke it !

So how did all this come about ?, I hear you ask. Well … ever the unconventional one, it was actually IG who popped the question first, way back in late April after we had only been involved for a few months and she had come back from Spain. It was a very pleasant surprise, but also a bit of a shock at the same time. I definitely wasn’t ready for such a serious step at the time – so it was with some regret I had to tell her as much, and risk breaking her heart in the process. Very luckily for me she took this knockback in her stride, and I guess it was then that I really started to examine my own feelings and seriously ponder the prospect for the next few months.

By the time May rolled around I’d done some serious soul searching in my private moments, and realised that if I was ever going to marry anyone, Lisa was definitely “the one” I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Believe me, the decision wasn’t that hard ! So I put a deposit down on a ring, and started planning for my own romantic proposal. With one payslip left to go before the ring was mine towards the end of June however, my best friend’s partner Anton threw a small spanner in the works by weighing in with his own marriage proposal to the friend in question (Mellipop) .

Thus the small circle of blogs we all travel in suddenly exploded with talk of Mellipops nuptials, and further shocks followed as a number of IG’s friends also picked that week to propose to their significant others. Chaos gang, pure chaos ! Here I was trying to surprise my baby with a romantic dinner and a ring I’d been saving for quiet some time for, yet here she was feeling like the world’s last spinster because it seemed to her as if I was the only guy she knew who wasn’t thinking about marriage.

For a few days there I was paralysed by indecision – should I wait another fortnight till my next pay came through and I could follow through on my original plan of getting down on bended knee before IG in the restaurant she’d originally asked me to marry her complete with shiny new ring, or should I spare her the pain of feeling like Bridget Jones for a while longer and just pop the question now sans nuptial-bling ? In the end the latter won out, and I proposed to my wonderful fiancé in a park by the water at Blues Point, complete with the Harbour Bridge and Opera House as a backdrop. I had a moment of breathless anticipation wondering if perhaps she hadn’t changed her mind in the intervening months between her proposal and mine – and she drew it out a little bit with a joke “maybe I should say what you said to me when I asked you” …

Luckily though friends and fans – after a few moments of leaving me wondering whether I hadn’t perhaps fÇ”cked up by not jumping in with both feet first time round, the wonderful IG answered my question with a smile and a “yes” !

So yep … this gang, is where it REALLY begins … The Rest of Your (My) Life !!!

Rock on !