Night Out

An hour of preparation shared between the shower, razor and the bedroom mirror.
An hour of self-admonishment for forgetting how to let loose with my style.
Five cans of Rum & Dry.
Half a dozen cigarettes and a couple of slices of cold pizza.

Smash the last can of rum down on the half-dozen block walk to the train station and there’s no turning back.

We’re going out on the town.

More specifically, I’m going out on the town to the only local gay bar I know in existence. That was another point of self-admonishment. I’ve forgotten my dyke style. I haven’t been around my kindred spirits for so long I’ve forgotten how to make my statement among them.

Twenty minutes of train journey.
Twenty minutes of enduring some snotty little teenage girls talking about how many guys they got onto and how so-and-so is so disgusting for getting onto so-and-so.
Get me another fucking drink.

I turn on the music player on my phone as I get off the train. Let’s have some pump-up music, in the form of Big and Rich’s party track Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy:
Well I saddle up my horse and I ride into the city
I make a lot of noise ‘cause the girls they are so pretty

Yep, yes, and hell yeah. I’m hoping to see me quite a few of those pretty girls, bust a few beers down and perhaps make a few friends. Then I plan on getting my merry arse on to the dance floor and working off all the pies I shouldn’t have had on the way to work. Then, hopefully, I’ll make it home without sleeping past my stop on the train.

It worked out, sort of. I listened to bad karaoke run by a fantastically camp tranny. I watched two absolutely gorgeous women play some great pool. I was hanging out in the smokers’ section chatting to the occasional random person when…
I got picked up on.
You’re joking. I think to myself.
I haven’t hit my peak with the style. I’m wearing sneakers for fuck’s sake. I’m carrying ten kilos more fat than I want to, and in all the wrong places.
Surely this is a joke.

I bailed to the dancefloor because I wasn’t actually there to pick up. I just wanted a night out.

She continued to seek me out, cornering me in the smoker’s section.

No joke. She definitely wanted me. Wow! Holyshit and whatthefuck all in one big swirly mix. I ended up trying to go home because I wasn’t exactly that interested in her. She was sexy all right, but I was tired and she was extremely forward. She asked if she could kiss me before I left. Sure, I say. Why the fuck not then?

It was nice, although it felt as though she was trying to rape me in the middle of the courtyard after a while. I broke it off, kind of embarrassed to be virtually fucking in front of everyone, and also not wanting to have her think I was going to take her home. Another day, maybe I would have. Not this time. I had only just started coaxing my dykeness back out of the closet and there was no way sex was going to come easily to me. I thought it best to head home. That’s where things turned nasty.

I was a fucking tease
A mole.
Apparently I knew that she’d had her eyes on me from the second I walked in the door.
An arsehole.

So maybe it’s going to take a while to get my mojo back in full swing. Certainly it’s going to take a while to deal with being hit on. That normally doesn’t happen to me and was a daunting surprise to say the least.

But the mojo, my inner dyke style?
It’s coming. It’s coming back with a vengeance.

Quote of the Day

"The problem with your gene pool is that there's no lifeguard."

Born today: Newton

"Newton was not the first of the age of reason: he was the last of the magicians."
- Keynes, John Maynard (1972), "Newton, The Man"

Sir Isaac Newton was born three hundred and sixty-seven years ago, today. At the time of his birth, though, it was Christmas Day, 1642. It just happens that England hadn't adopted the Gregorian calendar yet. In fact, the Brits didn't change to the different style calendar until quarter of a century after Newton died, so the poor bugger was stuck celebrating Christmas and his birthday on the same day. They were the fourth last in the old Europe to join in on the whole Gregorian calendar party, so if he'd been born somewhere such as Spain or Portugal he could have enjoyed separate Christmases and birthdays his entire life.

Most people have seen cartoons of an apple donking Newton on the head, prompting him to come up with the theory of gravity. Well... not quite true. Watching an apple fall from a tree in his mother's garden prompted him to think on gravity. Not whether it existed, but whether it extended so far from Earth that it could also be the force holding the moon to it's orbit. Since he guessed the same force was responsible for other orbital motion he named it "universal gravitation".

"The" tree is a subject of some debate. The school that Newton went to (even though his mother took him out of school to be a farmer for a while - which he didn't like much)claim that they bought "the" tree, uprooted it, and plomped it in the headmaster's garden years later. Apparently his signature can still be found on the library window sill - so possibly the school has spent more money on refurbishing their gardens than they have maintaining the buildings.

Woolsthorpe Manor, Newton's family home, reckon they still have it safe in their garden. Trinity College in Cambridge think they've got a descendant of it in their gardens below the room he lived in when he studied there. You can even buy a descendant tree for yourself, from the National Fruit Collection, for your own inspirational benefit. Perhaps you could place it next to your model of Archimedes' bath. I feel a theory on the rate of decay brought on by fruit fly invasion coming on.

Heading off to work to:

Well, to install some insulation...

But my real aim for the day is to keep a tally of how many lame Hey Vic, haven't seen you since last year! comments I can get.

What Happened to the Weekend?

Yesterday I was planning to write about a nice little drive in the rain through the local countryside. There were nice little rainy landscape shots. There were geese. There were heritage buildings. There were bunnies and flowers. There were signs and reflections and patterns and all things photographically inspiring.

And then there was major pain. The type of pain that landed me in hospital.

So began couple of hours of morphine and uncertainty as to what the hell was going on. In fact, I still don't know what really happened. It was somewhere between my chest and crotch, but it was sending cramping pains all over my body. Mainly I just lay there in pain while the nurses shoved opiates at me and asked if I felt any better. Occasionally I dozed off.

There were a couple of beautiful moments of Australianism to witness. God, our people just make me smile.

One of the nurses came by with a plastic cup and shoved it out toward me. The doc said you should have this. It tastes like crap. I raised my eyebrows at her. Serious, darl. It's gunna stick all the way down your throat and you can't have anything for ten minutes after you have it. It's horrible crap. Well, at least I didn't have any good expectations for it then.

Where's me tape? Who stole me tape this time? Inspiring, definately.

Anyway, after a bunch of drugs and a few scans I still don't know what caused the pain. I have been told though, that I need to avoid cheese and large meals, as well as smoking and drinking. Have these people been informed of my cynical approach to the "standard" resolutions for the new year? Am I somehow being sent a message that it is time to act on those rather than putting it off for another year?

Kisses, Happy New Year

Now that I am capable of some degree of movement, it is time to say Happy New Year to everyone. The standard resolutions are in place - I have contemplated never drinking again, looked at the financial gains of cutting back the smoking, and swilled down Coke while affirming that I need to be more healthy in my lifestyle. They'll all go to shit very quickly, of course. But this year is mostly about being the Groover.

Out of the foggy hangover haze that is clouding last night's activities rises one very clear memory: a kiss. Actually a couple of kisses.

It was out of the blue, and to be honest I have no idea why or how it started. We were wrestling for the possession of my hat, and somehow ended up kissing. Oh shit I remember thinking. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. So I pulled away quickly, only to be grabbed by the back of my neck to come back for more. Oh what a fantastic feeling. That hand on my neck pulling me down. The beautiful soft feel of her lips. The slightly sweet taste of her mouth. The feel of confident, strong, desiring hands upon me. The soft skin of her neck under my lips.

It's been so long since I've had a hand that desires me touch me like that. It's a memory that will make me feel a little weak at the knees for quite a while now. Wow, what fantastic kisses they were.

Of course, I want more. Typically, though, I have picked a person that I shouldn't have. The search will need to be continued elsewhere. That's another resolution. I want somebody else to touch, to share with, to kiss with passion and receive all that back in full from them. I think I deserve it.

Oh, and I resolve to blog far more frequently than last year.