Road Trip

The house that gay built is embarking on a lightning mission to Planet Newy. Just so you know.

The Monday Melee

Today's Monday Melee comes to you from my lounge room floor, where this blogger Vic is currently stuck, immovable and in immense pain.

1. The Misanthropic: Name something you absolutely hate.
Back pain. I will whinge, bitch and swallow tonnes of anti-inflammatories until this fucker settles back down. And finally, have a massage. It's caused me to take time off work (where I have no sick leave) and teaching (where I'm self-employed so I have no sick leave) and have to fork out money that I'm not making to make myself better. It's minor in the scheme of things, I know. But I will whinge even to the walls until it's better.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
When I booked in for a massage I was asked if I minded having a male massage therapist. Actually the quote is - he's a man. Do you mind? He's very good. I personally could not give a shit who it was, as long as they make me feel better. It leads me to think, though. Do men who ring up for a booking get asked this question? If this question is to cover their asses in regard to sexual harassment, it should be asked across the board. Where does the line get drawn? If I were to work there, would it have to be asked of the female bookings - she's a lesbian, do you mind? She's very good..

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
Being asked by a redneck prick at the pub on Saturday night how much for a monkey rub?.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
Country Energy, our local power supply company for scheduling a maintenance blackout on Saturday night. Thanks to you, Cruiseydyke and I came home plastered and thought we'd broken every light in the house. It will be a night we laugh about for the rest of our lives.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I'm happy, and I can love.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
Kisses. Soft, light ones starting on my neck just in that point where my jaw and earlobe meet. Kisses that continue and work down folling the curve of my neck to my collar bone and finally, to my heart.
Oh bliss.

Personal DNA

I took yet another gimmicky personality test. Cap'n Dyke did it, so I felt I'd give it a go for something to do on a hung over Sunday morning.



*Warning!* The bastard thing takes forever.

Quote of the Day

Cruiseydyke: He's like a monument to ineptitude, I swear to god.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GAYMAN!!!

Happy Birthday to the most bitchy man I know. A man who can leave a kitchen looking like the taliban flew a plane into it. A man who can reduce me to giggles in a supermarket with one poke of a finger.



Happy Birthday to Boo Boo Kittyfuck, the only man who can piss off an entire household in less than fifteen seconds.



Happy Birthday to a highly talented photographer. A man whose words can be beautiful and inspiring. A man whose words can also be downright filthy and utterly hilarious.



We love you Gayman, you're a legend.

Half-Nekkid Thursday

I've decided to join in the Half-Nekkid Thursday fun. Happy HNT!

Into and from the depths

Tonight I went in search of material for a lazy post. I thought I might revisit the bad poetry post idea of a few months back.

Being disorganised and not totally unpacked (still) from the last move I wasn't sure where to start. So in my random searching I came across a total gold mine that otherwise would have been forgotten. The diary from three years ago that catalogs the total destruction of my mind.

Coming out, depression, panic attacks, anxiety. Love. Hate. It's all there, including bad poetry.

And of course here is a bunch of excerpts. A Cliff Notes version of my shitful life.

Let us go then, you and I
   into the depths of each other
   into being ourselves augmented by
     our own mirrored feelings
Let us be like closing our eyes to that
   first taste of delicious.

Holding you is like wrapping myself
   over you
    around you
     through you

Augmenting. Extending what we are.
     Will be.
     Have always been.

Let us go.

Let's put that down to a false idea of undying love. Totally wrapped up in a situation where I had no control over myself and no home of my own. I was lumped in with this girl and she became my world.

So I started to break down, due to so many factors I won't even try to list them. They don't need to be listed because the result is what matters. My head was fucked.

   Running blind. My hair is streaming out behind me. Like I want this hollow to trail away from me.
   Soul naked.
   Soul shrivelled and burnt and cringeing.

And a little further on, fighting myself. This still echoes through me and has become a major part of the way I think.

How can you define yourself?
I am a product of my surroundings.
I have no direction.

Now I'm up to the part where I snapped. Moved out after she pushed me away from my best friend, the man I'd left for her. Because I told her that he understood me better because he'd known me for longer, and that I found life easier if I got to talk to him.

I wanted to rip out this page and tell you something to make you feel better on it.

Not yet.

There is no better.

Be strong. please.

And then moving back in with her and the panic attacks have started. For weeks I have involuntary shudders, muscle tensions that pull me into a ball. Mini fits, in a way.

Snap. Just like that. Crying and balling up and why the hell do you go into a ball anyway? Pain in my arm from hitting it stopped me... Pain in my hand from digging my nails in.

Snap.

You're crying next to me Sarah and I've shut my heart out so much that I hate you for it.

I should write this but you break down when it's important.

Basically here we have Vic knowing that she's depressed and suicidal and all this girlfriend seems to do is start crying every time I shut out the world. When all I need is strength from her, I just seem to end up giving her mine.

Sadness. Deep and heart crushing. It's like a darkness that takes over me and I hate. Sometimes I hate so much that I want to inflict damage, pain. You're so insensitive in my eyes when I'm like this. You only care about yourself and how I relate to you.

You don't understand how much contact crushes me. I've told you so many times. Why don't you listen to me?

It's easy. Don't get right in my face. Don't touch me, especially my hands and my ears and my face.

Don't try to reason with me.

Why do you let it affect you so much? The last thing I need is for you to go to shit on me just because you can't understand what I know I've told told you I need.

The final entry, decorated with music notes and smiley faces:

BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE

Give me a padded room....
Where the walls are all so friendly!

Anyway there you have it. I will return to inconsequential blogging in the very near future.

What to do?

It's Gayman's Birthday on Friday, so the grand question of the evening is...

Should we get him fishnets?

A random text conversation:

Number I've never seen before: Hi mate, hope all is well. Have now been in [-] for 9 months, gone fast. Will be at [-] with my boyfriend, J-, from 22 Dec. Would like to catch up!

Vic, thinking - Okay? Who has got my number?: I'm a little confused as to who this is?

Random: It's R-!

Vic, thinking - R- from ten years ago at school? How the hell did she get my number?: Holy hell! How you doing?

R-: I am good. Living in [-]. In love with a wonderful man. In watch house on rotation. Like the staff here. You?

Vic: Teaching guitar, working in a fruit shop and occasionally playing in a band. Living in [-]. It's good you're happy mate. What's a watch house?

R-: You joking? What happened to the police?

Vic: Hang on what police?

R-: Oh who is this? Have I sent to the wrong person? Mix up..

Vic: My name is Vic. I went to school with a R- who I haven't heard from for ages... I'm getting the impression it isn't you though. Too funny!

R-: That is funny! I don't know what has happened. I had this number of a girl called Vic who I went through police academy with. Weird!! Bye.

Vic: Wow bizarre coincidence that my name is Vic. Thanks at least for introducing a funny weird amusing element to my day! Take care and enjoy life. -Vic

The Monday Melee

Today's Monday Melee is brought to you courtesy of Instant Coffee. Without it's assistance I would not exist before 10am.

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something you absolutely hate.
Frangipani stickers on the back windows of cars. You're not individual. Every idiot and her dog is decorating their rear windshields with those cutesy stupid sprays of stickers. You know what it means to me? Warning: Bad driver. Two weekends on the road and I have been in several close shaves where I have been cut off by other cars.... with frangipani stickers on them. I know that it's a generalisation to lump all frangipani drivers into the same definition but I don't care. I will heed them as signs of danger and stick well away.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
Fuel prices. How come I can drive to the coast and pay a whole ten cents less per litre?

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
School is back, so I start teaching again this afternoon. I've been doing this for eight years, but every term I freak out that I can't do it. Today is an anxious and nervous day.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
My sister, for spending the entire morning yesterday walking along the beach with me and talking. Those times of catching up are the best.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I'm happy.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
The ability to be in two places at once. I feel like I have been in two places mentally for the past week, so I don't think it's much of a step to be there physically.

What is it with the buttons?

Haven’t you ever seen [insert movie name]? Where have you been?

or Do you remember watching [insert cartoon/kids show series] when you were young?


More often than not it’s a no. I watched television, sure. But as kids we had to pay for it. No kidding.

With buttons.

Our mother had a jar of buttons. She doled them out at the beginning of the week and we could use them as tokens for watching television. Every fifteen minutes of childhood viewing pleasure would cost you one button. If you had any buttons left at the end of the week you could exchange them for money.

Except for the news. That was free.

Having the whole family together for a couple of days brought up the opportunity to clear up a few burning questions…

Why buttons?
Apparently they wanted to use twenty cent pieces – one button was worth twenty cents – but they didn’t have enough twenty cent pieces. I don’t think it occurred to them that there was a bank just down the road. So it was buttons.

Why was this regime put in place?
The official answer is that it was to teach us budgeting skills and time management. Personally, I think this explanation has been refined with hindsight. Originally it would have started with how the hell do we keep the kids away from the television? (with special reference to freeing it up for our father) and the educational value would be discovered in later pondering of the idea, and having to justify it.

Was it open for negotiation?
I musn’t have had much skill in this area. I know we got the Olympics for free. Not that it was especially interesting – it must have been a bonus pay period for us because there was simply nothing else on. We didn’t have to spend a button at all for the entire Seoul Olympic games in ’88.
But it has come out that my sister Kat had learned to bargain with our father to get extra time. Nobody else knew about this until I started asking questions just this weekend.

Why didn’t we just raid the button jar?
I was telling somebody recently about the television regime (in answer to one of the opening questions of this post) and she brought up this question. I was dumbfounded. I don’t think it even occurred to me at the time to raid for more button supplies.
Our mother has always had that jar of buttons. She counted them, knew how many were there. I swear she knew and remembered purchasing every single fucking button and why, so there was no chance you could go on a raid and get more when you ran out.

Station Break

I'm heading home to the parents' place on the coast because my big sister Kat has finally decided to stop floating around the world and is coming to live here again. A weekend of celebration and catching up is in order, so I'm off the air.

Have a good one. I know I will, so everyone else might as well too.

Cheers,
Vic

Clothes, beanies and boy's underpants

Here's the deal. Most of the time I wear jeans and a shirt appropriate to the occasion. It works for most occasions - whether it's for the fruit shop job (black, collared, short-sleeve polo), running around playing frisbee (sports top with built-in boobsmasher bra), going out (dress shirt, long sleeved, possibly with a tie) or just a casual t-shirt day.

I've taken to wearing boy-style clothing. Which leaves me cruising the men's section of any clothing store almost exclusively. I stick away from the frills and sequins and darted fitted things as much as possible. The only part of the women's section I really feel comfortable in is the sportswear. Not that I'm especially sporty at all - it just houses the boobsmasher sports shirts I've come to love. I can't resist them. Different colours, styles. Collect-a-set pops into my head every time I see one on sale.

Now, the men's section is a place of wonder for me. I'm like a kid in candy store - wide eyed and full of hope and happiness. Dress shirts, ties, jackets... I love it. Even the casual tees are so much more exciting for me. But I have a problem.

I'm little.

I'm not a midget. I'm not a stick figure. But I'm small enough that I get milk crate jokes regarding my height. And a lot the men's dress and casual shirts that I like are still too big, even in the smallest size.

So in search of smaller clothing I occasionally head off to the kid's section. I wade through all the coathangers and clothing on the floor - how that section always gets so messy is beyond me, I know the people who clean it daily. I bypass all the fairy stuff and head for boys only. I bypass the Bob the Builder and Spiderman age-specific crap. However, after wading into that section and succesfully navigating toward something half-decent I get the most awful feeling.

It's true that I'm drawn to it. I have a purpose. But my mind screams at me. WRONG! GO BACK! in big red flashing letters accompanied by a siren. I start to get paranoid that I'll be seen as a paedophilic wanderer, a weirdo to be avoided and looked at with distaste. I check both directions of the aisle before riffling through the items to see if one will fit me. I feel almost... dirty to hold an item against myself to check what it will look like. Going to the change rooms with these items? Not a chance. Maybe in another town where I won't be recognised as a guitar teacher checking out boy's clothes, but only maybe. That feeling of WRONG! is so overwhelming. This is madness, I think. You could be shopping for some kid with roughly the same body shape as you. You could say that and it would be okay. If the question was asked. But how often is the question asked? How often is the assumption just made without question being asked?

One of my children's section finds that I don't have a problem admitting to is my beanie. Most adult beanies are too big for my head. I like to keep the tips of my ears warm (since my short dykey hair certainly hasn't got a chance of doing the job) and not the whole of my ears and most of my head. With an adult beanie to be able to hear I have to roll up the sides so much that I look like a cartoon condom ad. There goes Vic the midget looking like a franger ad again. Great. But then I found a kid's age 3-6 beanie. And it's perfect.

Another thing that I'm fascinated by but totally intimidated to look at closely is men's underwear. I've had plenty of conversations with Gayman regarding the subject and I'm working up my courage to just buy a pair to try. He's been great and supportive and obviously pretty knowledgeable.

And yesterday, all this knowledge of my fears and desires in hand, Gayman buys me a present. Kind of a joke, kind of serious.



Unfortunately, I don't have stick figure thighs and being a 6-8 they are a little... restrictive. But these are an item of clothing I'll treasure forever, even if they only get worn as the emergency I've run out of my preferred undies but haven't progressed to the I'll go without stage yet pair. I know, regular use of the washing machine would fix this - but it's not the way I work. I let it all get to crisis point and then spend a day getting it all done.

Thanks, Gayman. Love you to peices.

I'm in!

The sensationally suave and sexy Sinclair of Sugarbutch Chronicles is running a competition of sorts, where readers submit a scenario for an erotic piece. There will be five finalists, and Sinclair will write those scenarios.

Check it out here.

Monday Melee: Say it with lyrics! day

Here is the deal. Monday August 6th, 2007 is the day to take the Monday Melee, dreamed up by fracas, one step further.

The rules:
No posting an entire song.
Explanations of chosen lyrics should not be necessary, the lyric should speak your answer for you.
Name the song, artist and the album for the benefit of anyone who can't pick it, or wants to hear more.

Feel free to pinch the logo and put it in your sidebar or at the top of your Melee post on August 6th. Make sure you link to fracas Monday Melee page, and this post. Here's the code:

<a href="http://fracas.wordpress.com/read/the-monday-melee/">fracas Monday Melee</a>

<a href="http://musodyke.blogspot.com/">Monday Melee:<i>Say it with lyrics</i></a>

If you've never done a Melee before, why the hell not?

These are the questions, every Monday. Visit the Monday Melee page to sign up with fracas.
1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

He's a worry...

The weekend housemate IcePick (aka the dude in the loungeroom) has decided to test my skills with a quiz - Gash or Tash? If you feel the need to check it out, there is a soundtrack and it is definately not safe for work or libraries with nasty chinese librarians.

Disappointingly I got 14/16, where I think I should have got a perfect score.

Meet the family: Bertha

This post has an alternate title - Stock Photo for Dive.

Bertha is my 335 copy.

She inspires fingerstyle jazz.

She plays like the real thing because she's not a young cheap copy.



She has a dodgy input jack but all is forgiven.

Monday Melee

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something you absolutely hate.



2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.




3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.



4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.




5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.



6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

Doorstops

Because it's Sunday, and I've had the most fantastic weekend leaving me completely shagged, here is another gem from the local art gallery. A pair of super-size doorstops.

Quote of the day

Well I figure that you can't stop your body from getting old. But it doesn't mean I have to get old with it.

from TransplantMan, in good spirits after getting a kidney.

Of course I'm the little one

You Are a Pinky

You are fiercely independent, and possibly downright weird. A great communicator, you can get along with almost anyone. You are kind and sympathetic. You support all your friends - and love them for who they are. You get along well with: The Ring Finger Stay away from: The Thumb

What Finger Are You?

This sparked a house exploration of online quizzes. Sadly, I am the least masculine member of the household. A fact that is being rubbed in at any opportunity by everyone.

Road trips, dilemmas, misconceptions

Blogger Vic is hitting the road this weekend. I need no persuading to leave the cold and drudgery of this particular part of the countryside. Even though I've been living here for the past (shit is it really that long?) eleven years I am still a coastal child at heart. Give me sun, bare feet and the beach and I'm happy. This town is absolutely beautiful in autumn and winter, and I could photograph it all day. But there lies the problem... I could photograph it all day if I wanted to remove myself from the heater and step outside. While wearing five layers, a beanie that makes me look like a cartoon condom ad and a pair of fingerless hobo gloves. Yeah right.

I've been looking forward to this trip so much that I have a mental list of things to do before going, which includes packing, cleaning out the car, making sure I've got camera batteries. All the usual stuff. But yesterday afternoon something occurs to me. What is one thing I really don't want to have to deal with this weekend? A quick mental count and I start to get paranoid. Sadly, I had to check my Monday Melee posts to be sure...

My period is due soon. Fuck. I don't want to have to deal with that for my weekend away.

When I left my boyfriend for a girl I threw out my contraceptive pill packet with the relieved thought of well, won't need those again will we? and I've been living a relaxed schedule of taking it as it comes for years now. But this weekend? No way do I want that to happen.

So Blogger Vic goes into damage control mode. Can I stop this thing in time? Who do I know that I can snavel some pills out of, if only to get me through the weekend and deal with the rest later on? I look through my phone book. Mostly I know gay women. Not much love there - they're in the same boat as me. So I end up calling my friend who also happens to my boss at work. Oh shameful. This has the potential to make me the laughing point for weeks to come, but I'm determined.

Um... I know you're gonna laugh. But... are you on the pill?...
Okay, you are. Cool. Can you... hmmm. Sell me some?

Turns out she's on her last lot. Shit.

So Blogger Vic heads off to a rehearsal with calming thoughts of it's okay. Your weekend is not ruined. Just a little inconvenient. It's not the end of the world. And at the rehearsal, like a shining light, there happens to be a doctor. With a book of scripts. My saviour. Hopefully I've caught it in time to stop any annoying occurences...

But the story does not end there.

I turn up to work this morning to face my boss grinning at me. 7am in a freezing and deserted veggie shop, just the two of us. She says to me Vic, it's not going to work.

Don't tell me that. I've got to try. She says You know Vic, you're better off with the morning after pill.

Why? I look at her blankly. Gently she says well... you just... take it after.

And that's where I get what totally different trains of thought we're on. Oh hell, she thinks I've decided to jump the fence and go away on a cock hunt! Standing in a freezing deserted veggie shop laughing at each other like total idiots, we got that one cleared up.

Walking past her office later, I poke my head in, looking at her very seriously.
Mate, if I was going to jump the fence what makes you think I wouldn't just use a condom? Then I laughed and went back to work.

Not exactly quote of the day, but...

Tonight I've been cruising through a thesaurus because I feel out of touch with words and real, tactile pages of a book. It's been a while.

So what happens? I find something that I think is funny, so I put the book down, fire up the laptop, and blog it.

HAPPY adj beaming... ...gay... ...good-natured... ...mellow... ...boyish...

Hang on. Boyish? Well, I think I'm set then.

Deep fried goodness?

Pluto Pup: A frankfurt on a stick, covered with the thickest layer of batter imaginable, dipped in tomato sauce. Dangerous for your health - and now there's proof...

Just a number

A Kaprekar number, is a number that if you square it, split the result into two sides and add them together you end up with the same number you started with.

Watch.

99 x 99 = 9801
Split that up and we get 98, 01
98 + 01 = 99

And the cool thing is that it happens with any string of 9s. There are other numbers that come into it, too. I cannot figure out whether there is any significant benefit to this property - I don't think there is. It's just one of things that is. And it's named after someone. Just because it's a quirky phenomena, and the guy must have had a hell of a lot of time on his hands to figure it out.

And that's what you think about when you peel 60kg of carrots continuously.

Meet the family Part One: Big Daddy

So finally I get around to the series I want to dedicate to Dive, the lovely guitar-toting balding ball of occasional rantiness. This man has recently made a comment that has become a mantra for me:

"You are Vic.
You are the Groover.
You don't need to be anything else."

And Big Daddy is where the groove really lies. Previous to this amp I was using something with less than half the power, and not being able to hear myself clearly at large gigs. Big Daddy is responsible for the confidence of The Groover.


(Apologies for the pic being dark, but you get the idea.)

I've danced on this amp.

I've jumped off it.

I've been blown away sitting in front of it.

I've sat on it and played a low B with the octave below doubling turned up, feeling the delicious slow vibration roaring through my entire body.

I've carried it across carparks, lamenting the tiny wheels that can't handle any surface but carpet and feeling strained for days from the effort (but loving it).


I've found a lot of myself in using this amp. Big Daddy.

Yes it snowed.

Ten seconds of pretty, followed by fuck off already, I'm cold. And I have to drive home, where this is happening:



Image courtesy of the back landing, facing the neighbour's yard. No ground cover due to previous rain....

Days like these...

On days like these I want to be held down, hit, tortured, tied, brutalised. I want to be used in every painful way imaginable. I need the pain and degredation of it.

Maybe because I feel so far shut into myself today it's a way to tear myself open.
Maybe because sometimes I need to express the weakness.
Maybe because can't be in control all the time I need someone to expose me.

Maybe the exterior pain will express the interior madness.

Maybe it just gives me a chance to lash out in return to that pain.

Monday Melee

Today's Monday Melee marks a few milestones.
#- It is my 200th post. I missed the 100th - didn't even think about it, so I'll celebrate this one instead.
#- It is the day that a good friend recieves a kidney from a live donor. What a gift to get.
#- It is the birthday of someone who forced my life into complete change and continues to rear up occasionally and just shit all over it.

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something you absolutely hate.
The unknown.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
Private schools expecting things to be done for nothing. I just got offered pay from a music teacher at a local public school, also a great friend, for doing maintenance on the classroom guitars. I don't want the money. It was a gift of my time, and fun to do. However the attitude in some local private schools is that you are priveledged to be part of their co-curricalar program, not that they are priveledged to have some of your time. And they don't pay you.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
I am surrounded by negativity.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
IcePick, for lifting me off my feet and swinging me around the room out of pure happiness for Friday nights.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
Most of the time I'm doing good with taking life how it comes.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
A day where the was no shit to deal with. No drama, no bitching. No negativity. Nothing that inspires negativity in me. Nothing that leaves me worried for those I care for.

What happens when you care

Pic stolen from Little People - a tiny street art project. which has some fantastic ideas.

Well tie me down and paint daisies on my toenails.

My masculinity has been threatened lately. By others, by my own thoughts. I'm in a spin of self-confusion regarding my own identity. What's interesting, though, is that I'm recognising my own confusion and not allowing it to take me over entirely.

It's always been there a little, but over the last six or eight months I've desperately wanted a penis. To become something else. To express these traits so deeply a part of my interior workings on the exterior. I've actually felt like a part of me has been missing.

But I wanted the right one. Lack of sex shops in the area (actually there's none in town) means I have to travel to look. Which requires time. Online is a possibility, but I'd rather see the product in the flesh. Funnily, also... The dick that I have in mind as mine is a relatively small one. And do you think you can find anything small easily in a sex shop?

So I left it. And what's happening to me now is that the desperate obsession is subsiding. Don't get me wrong, it's still there a little. I think that I pushed my own thinking and feelings to an extreme, and now I'm settling back into a more balanced mix of gender ideals. Rather than just wanting to be male. I am non gender specific. It works for me, but not having an existing gender role to identify with leaves me a little lost. But that's okay. At the core of it all I am Vic.

I grow, I evolve, I am Vic.

At the local art gallery I found what I once thought I needed.



And I walked away.

Quote of the Day

Gayman: How do you spell fellatio because I just call it giving head.

I got tagged... twice

HERE’S THE RULES…
- We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
- Players start with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
- People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people who get tagged and list their names
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them their tagged, and to read my blog.

So to Marda and Me Dear Cap'n, thanks for the thoughts. I'm going to break the rules a little, because I don't want to tag eight people. I'll just hassle the two that I live with. Feel free to do the eight things if you want also, but nobody except Gayman and IcePick can actually blame me for having to do this.

Thing #1: I have a hand made Indonesian-style gong hanging in my bedroom. (Yes, Gayman has joked about Red Symons)

Thing #2: Whipped cream during sex? Anything of that type? Never done it.

Thing #3: I've never seen ET and it has got to point that I don't intend to, just because it induces a reaction of What? You've never seen ET?

Thing #4: I punched a guy on New Years eve at a gig for constantly yelling at my band that we were crap. Everyone else was enjoying themselves and he decided he'd have a sing on one of our microphones. When he was told no he got the shits. And started heckling. He pushed and pushed until I snapped and punched him. A couple of times. I thought I was gone for sure after doing that, but he buggered off. His sister came up to me later and said he deserved it. He came up even later and apologised for making me hit him.

Thing #5: Give me a good book and enough hot water to refill the bath a couple of times, and you've lost me for hours.

Thing #6: I saw Dangerous Minds twice at the cinema. I cried both times. A lot.

Thing #7: I have a pair of boots with cut-off jeans that I used to wear arranged to look like legs as an art piece. They have been in every house I've ever lived in and I view them as part of my identity.

Thing #8: Whenever I get bored, I get horny.

Dear Vic,

Three things you should not have done today:

1. Carried 40k of of onions on your shoulders up the stairs to that restaurant on the first floor. Even though you're fricking proud of it. You've got nobody to work on the knots in your muscles and loosen them.

2. Worn Docs to work. They don't leak. But they're purple Vic and the biker you work with just had to pick on them. Remember he said they were possibly the gayest thing he'd ever seen.

3. Looked up Kaprekar numbers (I'll write about it tomorrow) before going to work a full day at the fruit shop. Knowing - you idiot - that you'd be peeling carrots or some other mindless thing for the afternoon, leaving your mind to wander. To wonder why. What is the point of naming such a phenemenon?

Place of local (dis)interest

On a walk today and I come across this bridge. It's been there for years, but I tend to ignore it. Our brilliant council tried to art up the park a few years ago, and this is one of the things we got. Along with some angular metal fountain thing, apparently a stylised duck, that promptly rusted and not even the ducks will take a crap on let alone recognise it as one of their own.



So this bridge... Aboriginal art? No way. Those things look to me like three week old doughnuts.

The Monday Melee

And here we have yet another Monday Melee. Where the hell did last week go?

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something you absolutely hate.
While I was at work for less than three hours this morning I could see a glorious sunny day shaping up outside. As soon as I leave and walk home it's turned into a foul miserable cold day.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
The mallrat attitude. Real people don't just sit around drinking coffee every day.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
The pushbike that is sitting at the end of my lounge room, minus one tyre. Yes, it's my fault that it continues to be there. I don't care. The sight of it shits me and that's enough.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
The author of the text messages I've been recieving lately for providing me with smiles, laughs and plenty of sly grins.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I have been told, loudly, at a pub in the middle of an argument that the sex is fucking amazing. Got to be proud of that.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
New shoes. Without holes in the bottom from chemicals. That don't let the stupid leakage from the spud peeling machine in and stuff my socks.

The little things

Things to make Vic happy, even briefly:

Folding the last piece of clothing from the mammoth two-weeks worth of washing spree.

Watching the petrol gauge rise to the full mark.

All the candles in my bedroom lit while the room is tidy and uncluttered. Being able to read in this light.

Clean sheets and pillowcases.

Having my cat, who is fairly independent and stand-offish, tentatively come onto my lap for warmth and comfort.

Watching a child’s face when they realise that yes, indeed, after a week of dedicated practise they can play their set work really well. Watching that realisation turn to excitement about what they might be able to with that sort of effort consistently.

Running in the sun, playing frisbee with friends.

Dancing.

Performing.

Dancing and performing at the same time.

Imagine a whole onion display littered with loose onion skins all through it. Imagine Vic sticking the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner right into the thick of it and sucking all those little floaty fuckers into oblivion. Happiness in the execution, happiness at the outcome – onion skin free display, which also means onion skin free shop floor and surrounding displays. Nobody seems to understand this – it must be bordering on an obsessive compulsive thing. Those bastard skins get everywhere, and the relief I feel to be rid of them is about the same as that feeling after a hard and fast shag.

Knowing that I’m looking good.

Getting set up to shave. The process of shaving my upper lip and sideburns. Being able to feel the smooth bits afterward and still be fascinated by it.

Good coffee.

That first session of playing a guitar after I’ve oiled the fretboard and put on a new set of strings.

Getting a random visit from someone with a gorgeous smile on a cold and miserable evening.

Musical Dressups: The Wrap-Up Post

Here's the last of the miscellaneous pics from the musical.