Earth Hour?

I was absolutely appalled to find out on the weekend that there were ten minutes of fireworks over the harbour following Earth Hour. What on earth is the point of switching off all our lights for an hour if we are then to follow it by ten minutes of burning gun powder? (Clover Moore (Sydney Lord Mayor) would have fireworks to go to the toilet if she could). It kinder offsets the carbon footprint offset doesn't it? Mind you I shouldn't talk: I totally forgot about Earth Hour. It wasn't until I read the smh website at about 10.30 that I realised I'd missed it: I had everything on in the house; all the lights, the computer, the telly, the washing machine, the dishwasher and the fan and I chain-smoked all night. I didn't have a carbon footprint; I had a carbon stampede!

Jesus, Joan and Daphne

Call the police…..someone stole my Easter break. Honestly where did it go? I am so exhausted. I need a break to get over the break. Most of the weekend was spent preparing food for the ten (which turned out to be 13…I seriously can't count) people I had for Easter Lunch on Sunday. Good Friday was really the only day I relaxed. My brother was the Good Son and went home to see Mum and Dad in Brisbane for the weekend whereas I was the Bad Son and stayed at home…..mainly because I left booking my flight to too late and couldn't get a return flight to Brisbane for under 500 dollars; no thanks! Besides, I felt like having the place to myself for a few days.

So Good Friday, I had a personal training session with Ray at 9am. Normally we train at Sydney Park outdoors but when I looked out the rain drizzling down my bedroom window, I thought no-way-jose is that going to happen. I texted Ray and advised that I wasn't going to train in the rain (nothing would surprise me; Ray's a trainer in the army; he would train in an earthquake if he had to). Ray rang back and said that when it rains he takes his clients to the gym at the Victoria Army Barracks on Oxford Street at Paddington. I so much wanted him to cancel so I could curl up with Bette and Joan (The Divine Feud) and snooze the rest of the day, but alas I took myself out into the drizzle and made my way across town to Victoria Barracks. I've only ever seen the sandstone walls of the Barracks; I've never been behind them before. It's quite ornate; a step back in time to convict days; beautiful early 19th century sandstone buildings and manicured lawns. The gym is located in what used to be a ballroom. It is massive and very well equipped ….and that's just the men. The place was pretty much empty except for these two lads who resembled Porn Idol entrants; shaved heads, guns for arms, footy shorts, bonds singlets and the obligatory tattoos. There are going to be so many old people with wrinkly tattoos in 60 years time. I don't intend to be one of them. Still the Porn Idols provided great assistance in the adrenaline department. It was the first time I'd done a weights session with Ray and I needed all the assistance I could get. He killed me. My biceps were still burning three days later not to mention my legs, my shoulders and my chest.

Following my session with Ray, I popped over to Judy's at Potts Point for a breakfast of coffee and cigarettes. See how I always have to achieve a perfect balance in my life; personal training session: v. healthy; coffee and cigarettes with Judy : v. unhealthy: it all balances out…..ya ya ya. After two hours of talking about celebrities as if we knew them in between long sighs and "where are our gold logies?", I went home and baked a salmon mornay. You can take the boy out of Catholicism but you can't take the Catholic out of the boy…..no pun intended. My family has always eaten salmon mornay on Good Friday respecting the Catholic Church's no meat policy on the day that Jesus got nailed. I continue the tradition. Once I'd put the mornay in the oven, I sat down for an hour of power with Bette and Joan. The more I read about Joan Crawford, the more I like her. She was hysterical: slept with everything that moved and loved making an entrance:
'Even in her bath, Joan Crawford looked as if she were about to make a public appearance, just in case a crowd happened to drop by'.

I've dated guys like her. I have a whole new curiosity for her films now. Apart from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane (the only picture she did with Bette Davis), I've never seen a Joan Crawford film…….and I really can't count Faye Dunaway playing Joan Crawford in the camp classic Mommie Dearest. I predict a few Crawford orders being made through Amazon in the not too distant future.

Judy called around 6pm and announced that he was coming over. I advised he would arrive just in time for fresh mornay. I asked him to bring back my copy of Some Like It Hot and we could watch that whilst consuming. Some Like It Hot is still the funniest film of all time. Made in 1959 and set in the 30s, starring Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon as two muso's who witness a mob killing in Chicago and go undercover as "Geraldine" and "Daphne" in an all girl big band playing at a beach side resort in Florida. It also starred Marilyn Monroe as Sugar (enough said). I have seen the film countless times and I never cease to roll around the floor in stitches. It was the first time however, Judy had seen it and it was like watching it for the first time all over again. We laughed so much that it took us about four hours to watch due to constantly rewinding and replaying particular scenes. My favourite scene is still where the naughty old millionaire is enquiring of "Daphne" how she plays the boofiddle:

Naughty Old Millionaire: And what instrument do you play?
Daphne : BOOfiddle!
Naughty Old Millionaire: On nice. Do you pluck it?
Daphne: Yeeeessss…..but mostly I SLAP it!

HOT ARAB NUMBER 5

Well Summer finally arrived in Sydney last weekend.....in Autumn; as my pic last Sunday morning from my back balcony over the Hills of Dulwich demonstrates (Easter has since proven otherwise unfortunately). A big blue Sydney sky with enough stench of ozone to make it very pleasant indeed. All of Summer was spent catching up on the monsoonal rains that this part of the world has missed for the last 15 years. The last time we had rain like that I had a perm and a girlfriend. My my it's amazing what a drought can change. So the rain was much needed. However it does tend to ruin one's fashion plans for the season, not to mention one's tan. The weather last week was trully glorious almost causing me to burst into old Church of England hymms about gardening and animals. Instead I went to North Bondi to observe hot men ( Sat afternoon). I actually haven't swum at North Bondi since just after September 11 (2001) when Betty and I were at the beach (quite inebriated as I remember) and Britney Spears came for a swim. Yes I know......am I stalking her? Britney Spears in September 2001 (when she still had her mind and her panties) was in Sydney for a promo visit when the World Trade Towers were struck. This resulted in her being stranded here for as I recall about two or three weeks as there was a flying ban into the US. One Sunday she decided to visit Bondi Beach. Brad and I were smashed at the beach giggling to ourselves reading the Sunday papers out aloud when suddenly all these burly blokes arrived on the beach in black suits. I didn't know whether it was last rites or the Soprano's. And then this twig of a thing ran through the middle of the suits and into the surf. It was Britney. She jumped up and down , screamed and said it was "Great!". Everyone clapped, took photos and she left. Good times.

So Reef oiled up like George Hamilton I found my spot at North Bondi, pulled out my copy of Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud to signify to the masses that I was homoxial.........not that one really has to do that at North Bondi; even the seagulls are gay. Well it was like Arq (gay niteclub) at the beach. All the same rules still apply. Look at each other, pretend not to look at each other, wander around each other, laugh as if ur having a good time (this can look a tad demented if one is on one's own....), smirk at each other then ignore and then look busy on phone. The only difference is that there is sand and water involved. We're all wearing pretty much the same amount of clothing as we would wear at Arq. There were twinks, muscle mary's, bears, leather queens, nancies and those lost in translation. It was the United Nations of Homosexuality. Between the pages of Bette and Joan (I think I read one sentence for the entire afternoon), I was exchanging various glances employing said Arq procedures of mating when Hot Arab Number 5 positioned himself directly in front of me about 3 metres away towards the beach. Hot Arab Number 5? No it's not a perfume. It's a man.We snogged on the dancefloor at Ceasars's (now closed...on parra road at Stanmore) in early 2002 and he was wearing a baby blue abercombrie fitch shirt with the number 5 emblazened across it. We snogged so much I lost weight; all night and never a word spoken. I thought for a while that he might have been deaf. He smiled alot.Regardless, he was so piping, I thought if I took a breath to speak he might leave. And then he did. On the stroke of Don't Leave Me This Way he grabbed both my hands, kissed my forehead and left.

Disastrous. I'd already planned commitment ceremonies, holidays to the greek islands, villas in france, spain and italy, his and his dogs, foster children and perhaps sign language classes. His Batman style exit was not included in my itinerary. Drenched in devasation, I drank 50 thousand more scotches, propositioned myself and asked myself home. I obliged.

But that was not the end of Hot Arab Number 5. We have spent the next 5 years exchanging glances. We see each other at gym, bars, clubs, restaurants, airports...even in Christchurch, wearing the same shirt (he lost points for that). We have never spoken a word to each other. We just glance, stare, smirk and disappear. I find it frustratingly enjoyable. He has these crazy green eyes that give him the ability to lock onto you through a crowded room.....and well....I lose the power of speech. He probably thinks I am deaf too.

So back to Bondi. Hot Arab Number Five took his top off (did I mention he is made out of marble?), stripped down to his swimmers (yes more marble) and started applying sunscreen. Meanwhile I am frantically rearranging myself from my back lying 'seal on a rock' position to the far hotter (yes of course I have a six pack) lying on my stomach position facing towards Hot Arab Number 5. This was accompanied by flurries of sand, sunglasses and reef oil. I must have looked like I was mining for gold or about to lay an egg...one or the other. Hot Arab Number 5 continued to apply lotion all over his marble. I'm settled, Bette and Joan in hand....hide cigarettes to look healthy. What if he can't see my face because of the book? Perhaps I should put the book down I thought. I had to look busy...I couldn't simply being looking straight ahead.My phone: I would pretend I am texting someone. I put Bette and Joan down. Commenced said pretend texting. He continued to apply lotion....he has a lot of marble.

Putting on his ipod, he finally fell onto his towel. I was hoping he would be lying on his stomach as that would result in our eyes locking. No of course that didn't happen. He lay on his back. I stopped pretend texting. What did I do now? I could walk past him going into the water. But that wouldn't work as he would only see my back not my face ......and I ccouldn't really walk backwards into the water. I could walk around, go into water on the other side and then walk back out of water past him.....just like Daniel Craig did out of Casino Royale. If only I had the body of Daniel Craig and a make up artist. I had to remain wedged in current position and bide my time. I returned to Bette and Joan. Ironically I was up to the part in the book where Joan Crawford is attempting to seduce her second husband to be......by inviting him into her solarium to rub lotion over her back........when he walks in, there she is wearing nothing but a cocked leg and a pair of sunglasses. Perhaps I could have tried a similar thing on Hot Arab Number Five?

Pretty useless if he never turned on his stomach. I returned to Joan's cocked leg and hoped for torso movement in the east.Of course I couldn't concentrate. Reading biographies is not really commensurate to cruising. And any attempted displays of cruising activities on my behalf would be lost on Hot Arab Number 5 who seemed to be intent on tanning his marble chest as opposed to his marble arch. My tontine back on the other hand was starting to resemble a beetroot salad and would progress onto bolognase if I didn't swap positions soon. It was time for a swim.

I jumped up, put my bag under my towel (always fools a junky thief I find) and made my way past Hot Arab Number 5 to the ocean. I kinder made a casual attempt to look down (a bit like an Emu) and lock eyes but I was confronted by a wall of Gucci sunglass. Between the shiney marble and the glossy gucci's, the guy resembled a solar panel. Not a smirk or a grin transpired his lips. Not that I blamed him, my looking down like that, I must have resembled a bald golden retriever.

The water was freezing. I have lived in Sydney now for almost 8 years and I still haven't got used to the temperature of the water; I find it excruciatingly cold. I miss the Queensland beaches……a lot…..the heavy sugary air with that nice warm water. I made my way out past the breakers to calmer waters and decided to lie and float for a while. One of the benefits of having a 22% body fat index is that one is able to float like oil on the ocean. I quite enjoy watching twinks and muscle maries attempting to copy my buoyancy and sinking right to the bottom. I on the other hand could float to Auckland if I wanted.

I looked back to shore just to check that my ingenius decoy to deter thieves from taking my bag was working. It appeared so although one important package was missing; Hot Arab Number 5. His towel imprinted with his marble butt cheeks left firmly on the sand. I scanned the beach looking for him. Perhaps he'd gone for his daily run or with a torso like that, his daily marathon. I then spotted him making his way through the breakers in what appeared to be my direction. What now? There were no phones or biographies to read in the middle of the ocean. Should I look busy or take the sitting duck option? No more Jane Austen games, I was going to wade in the water and blatantly stare at him as he approached. How novel. It was a sure thing. So I did, we locked eyes and he swam straight past. What? Of course he would. That's what we have been doing for the last five years. I don't know why I was surprised. This time however I wasn't going to let him disappear. I swam after him. (Super! I was now stalking amphibiously).

"Hey!" I yelled out to him. If he didn't turn around, I was going to nearly die. If he did turn around, I was going to nearly die. Either way there was going to be a near death experience involved.He turned around and with no facial recognition said, "Yes?". Well it was nice to know he wasn't deaf. What was more concerning was that he now appeared to have amnesia and not know who I was. Perhaps I should remind him. I swam closer with my heart overdriving into a coronary. "Umm you don't remember me? I think I saw you at Trademark last Sunday...". Oh my god I was using Manhunt Message language to have a conversation.This was woeful. Now would have been the perfect time for a shark to come collect me. "Yes I do," he said in a strong middle eastern accent. He looked back down at the beach and then looked straight back at me.......this time covered in recognition and his piercing green eyed smirk. He held both my hands, similar to the last occasion we met, except under the water this time. He then planted a big kiss on my lips. "I have boyfriend. He is arriving now. Thank you for saying hello to me. I must go." He gave me one more kiss and swam back to the beach and vanished. He certainly liked his biblical exits. And there I was stranded at the disco yet again floating on my body fat index wondering what the hell all of that meant.

I swam back to shore. It was 4 o'clock now and the beach was packed with revellers determined to catch a belated summer. The invading purple of Autumn signalled they were fighting a losing battle. I walked back to my towel and to my annoyance found a pile of sand in the middle of it. Thinking the worst, I quickly checked my bag underneath the towel to see if my wallet and phone were still there. Everything was in it's place. Too over it to question, I shook the sand off the towel and in doing so a piece of paper fell out of the towel. I picked it up.It was a handwritten note.

"It was nice to meet you.Chris" ....followed by his phone number. I smirked, left the note in the sand and took myself home.

C

Flashback Friday on a Wednesday

In a moment of boredom, I did Sandy's Flashback Friday exercise: http://www.banalchew.typepad.com/. As per usual I overlooked the part on keeping the answers to 15 Words or fewer. Woops. Hope it makes sense.

If it's possible for you to remember the following events, in 15 words or fewer, describe your experience with them.

1. The assassination of Robert Kennedy.Blank;………somewhere in my previous life. Six years before I was born.

2. The stroke of midnight on the first day of Year 2000.

Mum and I did a sit-down dinner for thirty of my closest friends at my parents' place in Brisbane. We were all supposed to be going to a party for which we had paid 200 bucks each, but the party was cancelled due to poor ticket sales. We never got our money back either. So on the stroke of midnight, we were all on my parents' back deck overlooking the pool, drinking cosmopolitans. How I felt? Excited about the future. Things were changing for me.

3. You first saw/heard your mother cry.

My uncle and my mother had a fight. I was about 4 years old. I was always very intrigued as a child when grown ups fought; I thought only children had fights. I guess at the time I was curious as to why Mum was crying but kinder fearful as well….it was the first time I'd seen the vulnerable side of mum.

3.A teacher falsely accused you of something.

Absolute horror. I was such a suck at school. I was terrified of getting into trouble. I never did anything wrong and any such accusation usually caused me to burst into tears; which I did in Mrs Ferguson's Year 5 when she accused my having not completed weekend homework. I was her top student but incredibly shy: I didn't start coming out of my shell til the following year. My family and I had been to the Sunshine Coast for a long weekend holiday and my mother had written a note to Mrs Ferguson prior to the holiday asking her to excuse any homework she had planned for me that weekend, as I would be away. Mrs Ferguson didn't seem to have a problem with this request prior to my going away, but did afterwards. When I got back on the Tuesday after the long weekend, she asked people to hand in their homework. I was the only one who didn't: pretty ironic considering I was probably the only one in the class who consistently did their homework. Anyway when she questioned why I had not done my homework and I referred her to my mother's note, she dragged me out of my desk and humiliated me in front of the entire class. It was truly quite horrible and it still sends shudders up my spine. There was something sinister behind her actions. I never forgave her for it. And to this day I haven't told my parents that story. Strange huh?

4.The Challenger space shuttle tragedy.
Shock and sadness. As I recall it was about 5.30 in the morning Qld time when it happened and it was one of the few occasions that I had decided to go and help dad milk the cows……..we were still on the dairy farm in Christmas Creek then. We were sitting down watching it live on telly eating our porridge when the Challenger blasted off. When it started to break apart, Dad said, "That doesn't look right" and the camera crew focussed in on the school teacher's (who was on the challenger about to be the first civilian in space) parents who appeared to be as confused as we were as to what was happening. It then dawned on everyone that The Challenger had exploded.
5.You bought your first piece of designer anything.

A Pierre Cardin tie for my cousin's 21st about 20 years ago. It was pink with grey diagonal stripes. I wonder where that is now………it would be fashionable again.

6.The first time you heard a) Little Red Corvette, b) Billie Jean, or c) Material Girl.

All in my cousin Trish's bedroom………the discotheque of Christmas Creek!

7.You first fell in love.

Taking and holding my left hand as I was driving him home.

8.You walked out of a movie.

Crocodile Dundee 3………do I really have to explain this?

9.The Chernobyl disaster.

I don't know…..all I know is that it convinced my mother not to buy a microwave for another 15 years.

10.A beloved idol disappointed you.
I guess I never regarded them as idols but still they were VERY disappointing live. The Scissor Sisters at the Sydney Entertainment Centre last year……so bland and dull!

11.You first questioned the truth behind whatever religion you were brought up with.I was lucky that I was brought up to question all things including religion and one's faith.

In my childhood, I largely had a positive religious experience. I was brought up Catholic. My father's side, traditional Rural Australian Irish Catholic and my mother's side, Working Class Far North Queensland Catholic. It was that combination of these sides of Catholicism that gave me a healthy realistic grasp on my faith. From the rhythmic traditional spirituality of my father's parents' daily ritual of the Rosary to my mother's father's daily work in charities which lead to my work in social justice. I still pray……… as much as all my education and logic suggests how utterly ridiculous it is to put one's faith in a being I've never seen or met. I don't know why………I still like to go and sit in a church every so often….it calms me down and perhaps connects me to my past. I remember my nana with her slow Irish whisper being two words behind everyone else in the congregation while reciting the Rosary on a Saturday night before Mass. I remember my grandad delivering literally the thousands of meals he delivered for Meals On Wheels over 40 years…all for his local parish. I know organised religion has a lot to answer for and as a gay man, I'm not looked on favourably by any religion but Catholicism gave me a lot more than it took in my childhood. I like to think of it as a crazy old uncle with whom I don't see eye to eye but still like to have a nice few quiet ales every so often
.
12.The first time anyone asked you to dance.
Nicole Stonehouse asked me to the annual lunchtime disco at Beaudesert Primary School. I was in Grade One. She was the prettiest and smartest girl in my grade and I was so thrilled that she asked me. We both tore up the dance floor and consequently were both named respectively Disco King and Disco Queen for 1981. I've still got the trophy!

13.You suffered your first broken bone.
I was two. All I remember is climbing over the back fence on the farm and thinking how smart I was……

14.The first time you heard the word "blog".

Somewhere around the same time I discovered Gaydar.

C

I Wear My Sunglasses At Night...

.......because because because I have lead eyeliner on that can't be removed. I spent all mardi gras party wearing these fuck off gucci impersonations to cover my heavy eyeliner racoon eyes..........which refused to be removed. Without the gucci's, I looked like a Post Hot Tub Princess Margaret; v.sexy. The trouble with the Gucci's was both Brent and myself could not see a damned thing. We may have looked hot but mistaking polls for hot guys and consequently attempting to strike up conversations with said polls kind of ruined the hot look.
My racoon eyes were of course a result of my night's previous incarnation as Pink Wig Going to Zz Clubs Britney in the Gimme Gimme Britney Float for this year's 2008 Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras. What can I say.....it was full on but we had so much fun!!!! It's the best thing I have done in years and I could kinda get used to paparazzi chasing me around.

Setting Up
Saturday began at 7am when I had to pick up the generator to power the sound system and the lights for the float; not that I had slept a wink the night before; I think my body started releasing adrenalin from about Thursday in preparation for the parade...I just couldn't sleep....I was literally turning into Britney; mumbling to myself, picking up my imaginary dog and telling the press I was about to go shopping.
The guy with a generator did nothing to lift my mental state. He looked like a hobbit reject and someone who would download illegal pics on the internet, not to mention his vile spitting problem: it was like having a conversation with a lama. Dodging the bombs of flem coming for me, I worked out how to wack the choke, turn the monitor (what?) and pull the trigger (was this a gun?).
"So which Britney are you?"
Oh god. Really....
"Pink Wig Trash Britney.....going to the clubs Britney"
He smiled with hepatitus gums. I love stained teeth on a man.
" Oh yeah. Cool. I reckon you could carry her off ya know?"
Thanks.
"Do you think I should lose the beard?"
I didn't wait for the answer. I jumped in my corolla weighed to the ground with what looked like a wheeless lawnmower. It stank the car out with petrol fumes....mind you this didn't stop me from having a cigarette did it? It wasn't until I got to Trev's after smoking half the packet that I realised that perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to do......considering that the generator appeared to be leaking petrol. Woops. I could have ended up being Black Britney.

Trev's Place : Britney Set Down

So get to Trev's deliver said generator. Try to show Trev's partner Paul how to start said generator to power sound system. Get it totally wrong: for god's sake me showing someone how to start something mechanical ??? It's like getting a vegan to bbq a steak. No idea. Paul eventually works it out.

Trev is half way through making about five thousand ham cheese and tomatoe sandwiches like he is expecting the local school fete to visit.......worse..........30 queens (with at least five personalities and thirty opinions each) in two hours time in a very small house. I leave....pick up my costume; go home, try on costume, look in mirror (am I really doing this?); shave beard (look like twelve), pack my bag (enough clothes for about three days...I guess!); jump back in car and go back to Trev's. There are already about 15 people there; some of them britney's, some of them paparazzi; Tina Sparkle (otherwise known as David...our make-up artist) had already done Trev's face (Chief Britney), had done Greg's (oops red catsuit britney) and was well on the way to finishing Wanda's face (otherwise known as Andrew....Toxic Air Hostess Britney.)

It's nudging 1pm and the lack of sleep from the last two days is starting to catch up....am feeling seriously tired. So what does one do? Continue chain smoking and drinking coffee.....lots. And talking and talking and talking and walking and walking .....lots of walking and talking...keep nodding ya head...keep nodding ya head......it was all very The West Wing. And a packet of sudafed is always handy. What did one do before sudafed?

Trev had put me in charge of collecting money..........which was very stressful....am hopeless at adding up and keeping lists.......I'm good at reading english and being melodramatic.......that's why I studied law.....not accountancy. Anyway managed to collect nearly everyone's money...I emphasize the word nearly. We decided earlier on that everyone would contribute 50 bucks each to costs of hiring equipment, makeup, printed shirts for the paparazzi etc etc...........which we later discovered wasn't nearly enough. About nearly a thousands bucks....as I said, I was good at english, not math.

Everyone was at the house by 4pm....it was like a casting call for Priscilla. In all honesty I wasn't enjoying it because I was starting to become quite stressed....the vehicle, the driver and myself had to be at set down by 4.30.....and I still didn't have my makeup on.
Trev and i had an argument over my keeping my hairy chest and hairy legs: they are my best assets and I'm not giving them up for Britney....I would be Bear Britney if I had to. We both calm down and continue to chain smoke.

Make up done, Pack my gold handbag (it really was quite handy....it fitted so much in.......am I really saying this?). Driver check, 4wd check, lighting check, sound system check.......Paul comes with me and driver to set up sound system and generator. I'm fully dressed (not alot to it) as Pink Wig Britney

PARADE SET DOWN

We jump in our mega sexy big black truck decked out in Britney Signs and head off to set down on corner of Elizabeth and Goulburn streets. Get to set down...they let us through.....all except............moi. Because the intitial set down only allows two people in until we collect the passouts to give to everyone else.....what is this? the iron curtain? The driver obviously has to go in and Paul is stuck in the back of the truck in the generator. So who has to get out of the truck in the middle of goulbourn street and stand in front of the district court in a denim skirt, white boob tube, pink wig and not much else??? Moi. If my father could see me now.

Yes so there I was.... standing in front of the District Court of NSW....a court I've appeared in numerous times dressed in a suit......not in a pink wig etc looking like Julia Robert's transvestial reject in Pretty Woman

I call Judy and try to be preoccuppied as I realise a school bus is driving by (with a pack of school boys coming back from rugby)....great(a complete nightmare)....a few woof whistles later and I am seriously wanting the earth to open up and swallow me. Paul finally arrives with passouts and I escape into the enclosure. Then I begin the long wait...............not to mention freezing my fake tits off: I've forgotten to bring my jacket and am only wearing a strapless boob tube and very very shot denim skit...arkin freezing.

We wait and wait and wait.........members of Gimme Gimme Britney start arriving in bits and drabs from about 5.30......everyone except the three most important : Trev (Chief Britney), Andrew (Toxic Britney) and Leyton (MTV Mong Britney).

The queen nazi on the back gate starts announcing via megaphone to the crowd behind the barricade (it was all very Les Miserables) that the gate will be closed at 6pm and no one repeat (and he kept repeating) no one would be let in.....giving the feeling that even if Princess Diana turned up from the dead she would be given a Brave New Worlds pamphlet, some attitude and directions to her nearest saloon. Lots of frantic phonecalls.....me pacing with handbag and cigarette.
Me: Where are you
Trev: Still at home
Me: ummmm....why?
Trev: None of our cabs have come
Me: Ur going to have to drive. They are closing the gates
Trev: They have gates?
Me: It's like a gay abboitoir. They're locking us in for slaughter. If you don't get here soon, you will be sent out to pasture and will have to watch the rest of us being shot.
Trev: Tell him to wait.
Queen Nazi with megaphone: The GATES WILL BE CLOSING IN THREE MINUTES; NO ONE WILL BE LET IN AFTER THIS TIME: REPEAT NO ONE
Trev: ur sure ur not at an airport?
Me: Apparently. Get here.....now!
I hang up and prepare myself to confront the Queen Nazi and beg for mercy.
Handbag over my shoulder (I got used to it a little too much) I approach the Queen Nazi.
He kinda looked like Jeanie Little with sideburns.
QN : " Yesssssssssssss" He sounded like her as well. I was going to need another sudafed to get through this.
Me : "I understand you are about to close the gates; I know this is a big ask but my friends are running late...they haven't been able to get a cab...they're driving here now...they're part of the Britney floa..." The QN's eyes skewer like a snake's.
QN : "I don't care whether it was Jesus Christ himself. You heard the announcement. You know the rules. They know the rules. The gates are closing. Please step away."
Me : "Mate please...fair go....they weren't able to get a cab....they ARE the Gimme Gimme Britney Float....we can't go on without them" If only I had some violins on me...
QN: "Don't mate me MADAM. Now step away or you will be removed yourself" The QN then picks up his whistle and blows it in my face and points for me to go.
The last time someone blew a whistle in my face, I was in grade 3, I'd taken Darren Clue's hat (because he'd taken my rubix cube) in a game of Newcom (poor man's volley ball) and Miss Kent blew her whistle and demanded that I go and pick up rubbish. I burst into tears, called her a bitch and ran to my father's work. Something told me that the way I was dressed, I wasn't going to be able to do the same thing. So refraining from calling the QN a bitch and running to my father's work, I start to employ skills learnt from Mediation 101 at law school, when I hear screaming and cheering coming from behind the barricade. I look over and there are our three remaining britneys working it across goubourn street to the fateful gate. I start yelling at them to hurry up so I can give them their tags and make it past the Queen Nazi. But no Trev and Co think they are arriving at the Oscars. The crowd starts going nuts flashes going off everywhere meanwhile QN is closing the gate in front of my eyes.

While Trev was holding practically a press conference three steps from the gate, I could see the QN glaring at me then the Britneys then back at me. "Trev for fuck's sake!!!!!!!" I was seriously becoming hysterical. If they didn't get in, the float was ruined and I was going home...mind you the QN would have probably kept me in the compound. "Trev....seriously....the guy is closing the gate....u need to hurry." Trev was still at the Golden Globes and I was in some badly produced Children of Men 28 Days Later style movie of the week disaster film where the last remaining britneys are left trapped in the badlands of dragdom because they were too busy being adored!!!
"THE GATE IS NOW CLOSED. NO MORE ENTRIES PERMITTED" He pointed the megaphone practically in my face.

I had enough.

I catwalked with a vengence over to the QN.

"Excuse me .....mate.....you will let my friends in or I will do it myself .....which is it gonna be?"
My god I was Dirty Harry in Drag. It was fabulous.
The QN squinted, tossed his bald patched and turned around, opened the gate and let the three remaining britneys in.........
"Thanks doll" Trev kissed me and walked in.
"No probs doll" We turned around for one more cheer from the barricades and walked to our truck....
We were set to go............

Waiting...........and the ex-boyfriend

We just had to wait another three hours and 45 minutes. The first hour and a half was fun. Checking out other floats, practising our dance routine, posing for photographs and drinking vodka. The following two and a half hours of realising that I didn't really know the dance routine, my knee high boots fucking hurt, our lights weren't as great as I thought they would be and was the sound system going to work?......plus joining the two thousand other people waiting for one of the five porterloos. ....not so much fun. It was in the que for the porterloo where I was chain smoking channelling Britney and an foot surgeon to tend my feet, that I heard the words:
"Hey...JB?" Now not many people in Sydney call me this.....it's my old nickname either reserved for my parents and brother,cousins, old school friends and people generally from Brisbane. I turned around with dread....surely not one of my cousins......
"Michael?" Great. It was my ex from 7 years ago.
"My....I thought you had moved to Queensland" Clutching my handbag......you know what when u catch up with an ex you sorta always want to look ya best.....definitely not in makeup and a frock. This was not the way I'd ever envisaged running back into Michael.....in fact i just hoped I would never bump into him again. He was the first boyfriend I ever really had when I first moved to Sydney. The only problem was that six months into the supposed relationship, I realised I was kinder part of a herem of about ten or god knows how many guys who also thought Michael was their boyfriend. It was like being in The (Gay) Bachelor without realising. I love humiliation!
"Yeah I have. 5 years ago. Just back down for mardi gras....we're on the ACON float." He pointed to a 50 something gentlemen behind him in chaps....as I recall he was in the herem as well.......I remembered him at my eviction. It was nice to see they were still together.
"Ok cool. I'm a Britney.....am on the Britney Float.....just over there...all the Britneys. Am Pink Wig Britney. We're doing a float....yah" My god I was babbling. He always made me do this. He always made me so nervous. And here i was nearly 7 years after the supposed relationship still babbling like a 16 year old girl. He was pot addicted coke nutted himbo and he still made my knees shake. I need my head read. I met him when he was 20, I was 26.....I was still very new to the gay thing and I'd just arrived in GAY WORLD....Sydney town. He was the first guy that came up to me in the shift and said hi.......to be honest a giraffe could have come up to me and said hi and I would have fallen in love with it. I'd just come out, I wanted a boyfriend....no matter what.....it was on my 'to do' list. And Michael was it. He was a beautiful creature and still is; an absolute deadringer for the actor Rufus Sewell....except taller...a nice 6ft 3 with piercing blue eyes. A pity he was just an absolute loser....never could hold down a job, was stoned most of the time and was the town bike. Naturally I fell 'madly in love' with him and he pretty much ruined my life for about a year. At the time I thought I was heartbroken but it was just plain old fashioned infatuation. I had no love for him....just lust.
And that lust still made my knees shake..........even as Britney.
We chitchatted for a couple of more minutes.....me swinging my handag....yeah I know....so hot! He had moved to Qld with old chaps man (who was glaring at me all the time....it may have been the reflection of my pink wig), tried to get into the Police Force but couldn't (i wonder why....this was a guy who'd do a line of charlie just to go to the corner store to buy smokes....and would have a bong every night so he could sleep.............are you serious?) and now old chaps man and him were thinking of having a baby. Thank god at that moment my porterloo came up and I had to go....I really didn't want to know how IVF was going to help old chappy.
I planted a big smooch on his big hubba bubba lips (still so cute) and said "See ya Ladds" (his nickname) and escaped into porterloo number 5.
And you can see why I was a little exhausted before we even started the parade!!!!! After I got back from the loo, I think I drank about half a bottle of vodka, popped half a packet of sudafed and was ready to run to Brazil. Lets get this arkin party started!!!!

THE PARADE

It felt like we were waiting for Moses to part the Red Sea. It took forever....even with dance rehearsals, photo shoots, running into ex-boyfriends.......the time was really starting to drag out. It seemed like every other float was out there except us. And then suddenly out of the blue we were moving and onto the parade. I think I was in a state of shock at first.....also I was distraught that the music was wrong and the strobe lights weren't big enough. We were supposed to start off with the song Gimme Gimme More not the other track Paparazzi.....I also discovered that Paparazzi was spelt incorrectly with two ps in a row on the back of the of the Paparazzi's shirts........this was the not time to commence being anal! But then the roar of the crowd.....it was amazing..and I fell straight into the character of snobby going to z clubs Britney. I held my starbucks cup up and my handbag with stuffed dog high. It was fantastic. And the flashes going off all the time....the crowd went nuts. We had people running at us from the crowd....it was like we were The Beatles. It was insane. The walk apparently took 45 minutes but it felt like 2 mins. I had such an Adrenalin rush......I think my body sapped all the remaining Adrenalin I had left. Trev was fantastic as Chief Britney blowing her whistle to get us into line for our dance routine. The trouble was there were so many other whistles being blown by the crowd that I could never work out which one was Trev's until he started screaming at me....."John get back into line!!!!!!"
In all honesty it's hard to describe......it was simply sensational. I got interviewed half way along by Bessie Bardot for some show she does : I think I totally confused the poor woman by being Britney with an english accent.....does everyone remember that? In January...just before she was committed, she started speaking with a British Accent? "CAN YOU GET OUT OF THE CAR PLEASE>.....CAN YOU GET OUT OF THE CAR PLEASE...CAN YOU GET OUT OF THE CAR PLEASE" Britney barked in pommie tones when a pappz jumped into her vehicle. I suddenly decided on the parade route to be that Britney. Everyone time Eddie took a photo of me I would bark " CAN YOU GET OUT OF THE CAR PLEASE...CAN YOU GET OUT OF THE CAR PLEASE". I think this confused Bessie dreadfully. Anyway I carrried on. The roar of the crowd was relentless. Everything was in slow motion yet it was over in the snap of a finger. It was extraordinary. Thanks to all the Britneys and the paparazzi who made it happen....particuarly Trev....there would have been no Britney's without you honey. I LOVE YOU!!!!. Next year Rio!

The Party

After such a huge rush that was the parade, even attending the Academy Awards afterwards would have been a let down: so I shouldn't have been surprised to find the party slightly dull. Number 1....I was exhausted. I had not really slept well for the week nor had I eaten....which was great for the hips....I lost 5 kilos that week.....consequently in the aftermath have put on about 7! So the party was going to be a bit of a downer...and it was. I still had a good time but to me it just seemed very unfriendly. I went with Leyton and Brent...two of my best mates...we were supposed to meet up with the other Britney's but as per usual it was like finding a toilet in a Westfields...impossible! So the three of us decided to just hang together and enjoy the party....which I did ...but I didn't love it. I dunno....maybe I'm getting old and too nostalgic but I remember the old mardi gras parties being far more creative and flamboyant...and friendly. In any of the large venues, it was so aggressive and satanic, I was contunually feeling like a sacrifice was about to occur. And maybe it's the drugs....every second person is on crystal and has been awake for about three years....so it does change the mood slightly!
It was worth it though just to see Cyndi Lauper perform at 8am ( we were locked out of Olivia...fuuuuurious!).....french classical period dress and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun...what a show!!!!
The best part of my mardi gras was when we went back out on the Sunday arvo and went to Phoenix (fantastic music...all good except at times I thought I was dancing in an emergency ward because so many people were dropping on G......so clarsey...not) and then the Oxford...sitting out on the deck talking to all these old queens: we had such a laugh and they loved the Britney's!

All in all it was the best mardi gras I've ever had and the Britney's are already planning reunion tours.....stay tuned.....

Cx

PS : we just found out that Gimme Gimme Britney has been nominated for Funniest Float at the Mardi Gras Parade Awards....Go The Britney's!!!!

THE BRITNEYs

They came, they drank, they marched, they danced and they mumbled to themselves.....most of all they honoured and celebrated the legendary Ms Britney Spears. THE GIMME GIMME BRITNEY FLOAT was the most popular float (well we thought so anyway) at this year's Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade. Over half a million people watched and ten thousand participated in the parade.

The Gimme Gimme Britney Float consisted of 8 Incarnations of Britney Spears surrounded by 20 Paparazzi:

1. School Girl Britney (the leader of the pack)
2. Toxic Air Hostess Britney
3. Oops Britney (in the red cat suit)
4. MTV Mong Britney (in the black bikini from October's out of it MTV performance)
5. Pink Wig "am going out undercover to z clubs" Britney (played by moi)
6. Bald Basher Britney
7. Straight Jacket Britney
8. "I'm a little bit pissed dropped the baby" Britney

Also Youtube footage below:



http://youtube.com/watch?v=ymnnxG_UECQ
http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=dpaAOGSw7Yc&NR=1 : mardi gras highlights package
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3hvweenFMQ

Mr Dopey

Strange Man Update.

Why do I keep attracting these people? Mainly because I keep breaking my other New Year's resolutions such as smoking, drinking too much etc etc, which lead to my being caught in the strange man web.

Went to Fair Day (part of Mardi Gras Festival) Sunday week ago. It was alright although I can think of better things to do other than queuing literally for everything…..beer, food, toilets, dancing, kissing….it was like Moscow in the 90s……..not to mention beer was $7.50 a pop………they were charging $7.50 for beer in a plastic cup!!!!! Anyway got over that…..hung out with some mates in the disco tent which was on situated on a hill…….I spent the whole afternoon disco dancing uphill…….I kept looking for the rope to pull me up.

I finally dragged myself away from said disco tent at 9pm and went to the Bank Hotel where most Fair Day revelers had moved. The place was packed with far too many twinks who kept touching my beard and going "is that a beard?". Need I say more.

So considerably over that and just really really tired (uphill disco dancing can take it out of you), I left……was waiting with five hundred other freaks trying to get a cab driver who would be brave enough to pick one of us up when this strapping 6ft4 swimmers build American college boy look-alike fella came up to me and asked for a cigarette.

I obliged.

"thanks man…..hey….how's ya night" He had a dopey voice. I am an absolute sucker for dopey voices. And of course dopey voices come with the dopey face. And I am sucker for those as well. He was a Brendan Fraser (George of the Jungle) lookalike. I was suddenly not feeling that tired anymore.

"not bad mate…….trying to get a bloody cab….yaself?", I said doing my best rough as guts Russell Crowe impersonation. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't…..I was suddenly feeling lucky.

"yeah….I dunno….ur alright actually…..are you like…like a bear?". I smirked. I always get that question….particularly from the dopey ones. Years ago I used to hate it because I really didn't want to be known as a bear but these days I've succumbed to the fact that I fall into that category…….and if it scores me the odd Brendan Fraser lookalike here and there ….why not.

" I dunno….there's a rumour going around….word on the street….I better check with my publicist." I thought I'd try some sarcasm and see how it went.

His hazey blue eyes just hung in the air looking straightforward into mine. No reaction at all……I saw my flock of sarcasm fly straight over his Robert Redford brow…….not a brain cell in sight. He was dim as Britney. I was in love.

Next thing we were snogging in the cab rank surrounded by fags and their hags, lesbians and their dogs, and drag queens and their make up kits. It was as romantic as chips and gravy. I took him home and did what desperate pissed gay men do. It was fantastic.

Normally I don't do one night stands, not because I am not a tart (I definitely am) but because I can't stand strangers in my house and what to do with them the next morning…..even worse when it's a school night. So Monday morning I was finding myself in a very rare situation…..complete (ok hot) stranger in my bed faced with the prospect of work and getting said stranger out of my house…..even if he was most pleasant to look at. He was from western Sydney but worked at Mascot. He was supposed to be staying with a friend at Newtown and his car was there. I'd left my car at Newtown due to my intoxicated state. I'd originally proposed catching a cab to Newtown but I knew the traffic would be a nightmare and I didn't want to spend 40 bucks on a cab .

After finally unentangling myself from Mr Dopey……it is very difficult to pull yourself away from tall men (who are continually demanding more sex)…..they are all limbs…..it was like fighting a giant octopus. Anyway once I got myself dressed, I looked around to find my taxi rank lover dressed in his kit from the previous night……he looked like he was about to lead the Mardi Gras into oxford street. There was no way I was catching a train on the Bankstown line with him dressed like Esta Williams. We'd be bashed. Not thinking, I gave him a pair of old billabongs and a karkee lacost polo…..one of my favourites……..I remember thinking to myself……..don't give that to him….you will never see it again…..famous last words.

He slumped on my couch like a big cat and looked up to me and said, "I'd really like to see you again…..you're a nice guy." Minus beer goggles in the harsh morning sobriety, it is always a relief to discover that one's pursuits from the night before were indeed (in the purely physical sense), worth pursuing. He really was quite a good looking boy.

I smiled. "Yes I'd like that." I did and I didn't of course. He was sweet and certainly not harsh on the eye but I could tell that he had not a scerrick of sarcasm or sense of humour in his bones and for me that is a minimum requirement in a suitor; well a similar sense of humour and sarcasm. Everyone has a sense of humour peculiar to themselves (ok there are some who clearly have none...I think they all work for Customs). As I've gotten older that's what appeals to me most in a guy.....someone with a similar sense of humour to mine. Someone who will laugh at me, with me and vice versa and not take themselves too seriously. I guess I am just a big kid looking for that other special big kid. I just haven't met him yet. So when it came to Mr Dopey, I wasn't going to be pulling out the wedding invites, but I certainly wouldn't say no to an encore shag.

We gathered our things, had one last pash (I grant the fact that the guy could certainly kiss: tall boys can always kiss for some reason…must be the thin air) and then headed for the train.

Later that Monday night, I got a nice text message from him : " Thanks for an enjoyable night, ur a nice guy, looking forward to seeing you again soon. Dxxx" This is where things started to go a little pear shape for me. Up until that message, I was quite happy to think of him as a good time and a bit of an ego boost…..he was a spunk and it had been a while since I'd picked up a spunk. It was sex and that was it. At first I wasn't going to reply to the message….I thought I'd leave it til later in the week….perhaps another shag and he could bring that lacost polo back. I read the message again. I thought to myself, actually, be nice to him, he seems sweet, make a bit of an effort….send a message now. So I texted…..

"Hey [Mr Dopey]! How was your day? Thanks for a great time mate. You're a sweet sexy guy. I was so tired today at work but in a good way. I definitely want to see you again "

Sent text. I never heard from him for the rest of the week. This of course caused me to re-read and re-read the sent text. I shouldn't have sent that text. It was too full on. Why did I draft and send that text when I was so tired? I was deliriously slumped on the couch when I sent it having had only an hour or so sleep the night before. No one can draft a cool snappy witty text in under four lines in such a state. No wonder it sounded like a Valentines declaration of love from the desperate and lonely. Oh no…….I was Mr Cool up until my reply…..he was the one who texted me! These thoughts went over and over in my head. AGHHHH!

See how texting has ruined dating. In the old days, I would have called him say the following weekend….asked how his week has been…..see if he wants to catch up….and when can I pick up that shirt. Bla Bla. Now it is a constant re-examination of text messages and their various re-interpreted meanings which drives you into some inadequate morphed state of desperation where you become quite convinced that you are indeed completely nuts. I still am.

"Don't worry about it. He's probably just busy. You said he was having trouble at work…he's probably caught up in that." Judy loves dishing out advice…..particularly to me. Mainly because I dish it out to her. We're like twin sisters….we know exactly what each other's thinking and she knew exactly that was not what I wanted to hear. But it was true…he talked about hating his job.

" I don't care. If I liked someone, I would reply to how was your day." Am I 15 years old with braids?

"I know you would. But he isn't you." Thanks Judy.

"Well why did he bother texting in the first place?" Actually make that ten years old.

"I can't answer that. You know I can't answer that. You don't know what is going on his life." Thanks Judy again.

"I don't care. I just want my shirt back." Hello denial.

"No you don't. You don't give a rat's arse about that shirt." We are twin sisters.

"Shut up." Enough said.

Judy suggested that I should send a dirty care-free text message late Friday night along the lines of hey when are we up for a hookup. That is so not me but I thought I should follow Judy's advice to the word simply because really, I had no one else's. So I sent a so-called dirty care-free text message…..Hey Spunk, how's ya week….when are we hooking up?. Sent 4am Saturday morning after being out on the town with Judy; surprisingly I was quite sober….not drunk or tired. I wasn't expecting a reply straight away obviously. But by about lunch time the next day I kinda was. By 2pm most definitely and by 4pm I was furious. More furious with myself that I'd actually got myself wipped into a frenzy over someone that originally I could have taken or left. It was purely pride at stake here……I'd sent two ridiculous text messages and got nothing in return…….he was the cool cat and I was Bridget Jones and I still didn't have my shirt back……..which yes Judy may not be as high on my priorities as I make out to be but it is still a nice shirt and its only polite to return it…..it is!

At 10pm, my phone buzzes, text message from Mr Dopey:

Hi mate how are you? I just arrived home from Picton : my stepmother's birthday. How are you?

I reply:

Not bad mate. Hope my text last night didn't wake you (Obviously it didn't). Am having a quiet night in for a change. How was Picton?( did I really ask how Picton was? Oh yes I did)

His reply:

It was good we went to this nice restaurant. I am about to go to bed very soon

I reply:

No probs man. Sleep tight. Talk soon (whatever)

Well at least he had replied….eventually….I had a little bit of pride restored. I continued to potter around the house working on this novel (which is all wrong) and chain smoking (which is also all wrong).

By about 2.45am, I'm gathering my shit and getting read for bed. 3am…..my phone starts ringing….I fully expect it to be Judy or Trev screaming at me to come out. I look at the number………..my my …..it's Mr Dopey.

Me: Hey
Mr D: Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…….what are you doing…… (I could smell the vodka coming down the phone)

Me : well it being 3 am….am either usually dancing or sleeping……you've got me on an off night….am standing.

Mr D : oh (he seemed surprised by this response)

Me : What are you doing (I hesitantly enquired)

He was beyond drunk. It was like talking to Jodie Foster in the movie Nell….remember the one about a mute woman who had grown up in the woods and developed her own language. Did that make me Liam Leeson (Foster's co-star) in this scenario? I'm not tall enough. All I know is that in the time between 11pm and 3 am, Mr Dopey had managed (he told me and after hearing him speak, I believed him) to consume an entire bottle of vodka. Great….. a reclusive alcoholic.

Being the trooper I am (read: desperate), I managed to talk to him for another two hours. In that time (through a lot of stops and what did you just say?) I discovered the following:

1. Was about to be married at 22 (he's 33 now): he told his wife to be that he was gay on the day of the wedding: well he does seem to take his time to get messages through….look at his text messages.
2. He still lives in the house that him and his fiancé bought; his father bought it for him: at least he owns a house.
3. His brother tried to run him over in his car two weeks ago: why's that I asked? He hates my guts he responded. I can see that, I said, but is there anything else….I can't stand my neighbour but I haven't got her Spanish rollers stuck under my corolla yet….no response….he repeated the story about 4 times.
4. His parents split when he was 16: ok run of the mill.
5. His mother left his father for another woman: ok moving into Oprah territory.
6. His mother now weighs 140 kilos as does her partner: ok Jerry Springer now.
7. On one hand he's said he's only had two boyfriends and then he said he's had lots in the last year because "like I'm pretty hot". Oh my god was I talking to Paris Hilton? I was worried that Paris Hilton hadn't text me? This is so embarrassing.
8. Mr Dopey: "I like you man. There's a reason why I met you. I know there is." Oh my god…..how did I get myself here?
9. Me: "Why did you come up to me?" I actually was interested to know this……
10. Mr Dopey: "Well I needed somewhere to stay…."
11. OH MY GOD
12. Me: "Oh thanks…."
13. Mr Dopey: "Nooooooo man….I'm only joking….." Maybe….although he isn't funny enough to make it a joke. Great. I picked up a homeless person who I then text-stalked for a week. Can someone just exterminate me? Thanks
14. He wants to come over Tuesday night. Of course.
15. Tuesday night locked in. Don't ask.


The next day, I had five million things to do with Mardi Gras float orientation day and float rehearsals as well as picking up my cheap Mardi Gras party ticket…..got off a friend of Judy's for 100 bucks…instead of 150…..since it sold out, there are now tickets on ebay for $1500…..outrageous!

After putting down the phone on Mr Dopey, it was about 5.30 am. I was back up at 8am. I was delirious. 10Am. Mr Dopey calls again. It seems to be all or nothing with this one.

Mr D: Come over
Me: I can't
Mr D: Why not

(he'd already asked me this about 50 times the night before….me always saying, I can't …telling the whole Mardi gras story…over and over and over and over again)

Me : You know why
Mr D: Yeah…u can't cancel
Me : I can't cancel my own float.
Mr D: Ah yeah that's right….yeah can I go on the float?
Me: Ummmmm.....welll we may need some extra numbers….I will let you know
Mr D: And I need a ticket to the party…try and get me a ticket to the party….like it's sold out.

Oh my god he's telling me what to do already.

Me: Ok I will look out for one for you.... I've got to go
Mr D: Ok….so we're on for Tuesday night (Christ he remembers…he's a drunk with a memory…they're the worst of all): I've got uni first then I will come over.
Me : yes sounds good…I will text you my address. We'll speak before then. (I'll believe it when I see it. )

I end the conversation and tell him I will call him later that night.

He texted me during the day saying he's with friends and he will call me later. Ok cool….I didn't really need an update.

The whole Mardi gras day and night followed: I get home. I am absolutely rooted. I sent him a text to that affect. I went to bed. I didn't hear from him Monday.

Tuesday morning: I think…… perhaps I should text him and ask him if tonight is still on? Yes I know….am I mad? If you haven't worked it out by now……..yes I am…completely. Text: "So Mr Smith...are we still on for tonight?"

And do you think he responded or called? Na. I'm not surprised but slightly relieved yet confused all at the same time. Why bother interacting in the first place.

I still want my shirt back. It is one of my favourites. It is Judy. So I texted this morning:

Hi D. Didn't hear from you yesterday. No dramas but I would like that shirt back. You're welcome to post it. Let me know and I will send you my address.

Any response? Na

Do u think I will get my shirt back? Na

Do you think I care? Shut up Judy

C