Tuesday, August 30

REMEMBERING STUFF IS FOR FOOLS

So here I am desperately trying to remember what it was that I said in my previous entry that crashed and burned when I tried to post it…Oh the humanity…alright I suppose on a grand scale this occurrence isn’t as bad as the Hindenburg tragedy Nobody died, it won’t signal the end of a mode of transport and it isn’t related to a tyrannical empire, but it fucken means heaps to me. I slaved away and wasted valuable hours which could have been used for more rewarding pursuits (surfing the net for porn, having a crap, foraging for lost treasure in either of my nostrils, calling a friend, adopting a little Ethiopian kiddie, running away from the paparazzi, writing songs for my next album, calling a press conference, admitting to a drug dependence, cleaning my ears, plucking my nostril hairs…lets face it I could fill your screen with a massive list of things I could have been doing). But oh no, I dedicated a couple of minutes to a keyboard assault that was ignored and disposed of with one click of a post button. Still I could have written it in Microsoft Word and done the cut ‘n’ paste thing like I did for this entry. I will attempt to recover the results of my feverish typing from the lower depths of my head for you now…although I know this will blow for sure…read on at your own peril.

So I was talking to the girlfriend of my favourite lady ‘mosexual the other night and she was telling me how they had just celebrated their first anniversary of love. Oh yeah ‘mosexuals can hang in for the long haul, hubby and I are into 2 and a half years already so stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Anyway we were talking about how quickly time flies and all that spazzy crap you get into when you’re stoned and rambling on the phone. As a side note I would like to point out that the only reason I remember this topic of conversation is because I wrote it down the minute she mentioned it…phew. It was then that she mentioned how difficult it was to learn the phone numbers of your partner and it struck me as one of the most difficult things about a new relationship. Yes, while the average punter is worried about how to put up with that thing that shits them, wether they’ve made the right choice, when is the right time to slip a fart out and learning how to say ours, we and us instead of mine, I and me, I was focussed on remembering a friggen phone number. I don’t have a good memory at the best of times so when hubby and I first hooked up and it got serious I was madly working behind the scenes to memorise not only his mobile but his home number as well.

Do you understand the pressure and expectation that comes with a relationship when you are a living, breathing adult in his 30’s with the memory of a goldfish? I would spend days just staring at the numbers trying to make it second nature. Then because my memory is so short term I’d wonder who the hell this number belonged to and why I was staring at it. KIDDING! Of course, it is with great pride that I mention I have learnt the numbers off by heart, but even now I still have lapses. It is kind of like when you forget how to spell the simplest of words. Someone will be standing over you and you suddenly go blank on how to spell ‘the’ or ‘we’ or ‘kidney’. Everyone has those moments don’t they? As for memorising hubbies birthday don’t even mention it. I vividly remember being in a department store filling out one of those forms that authorises them to send you useless crap and build points to buy more useless crap. Anyway it gets to the point where you have to write your partners birthday down and I had a complete mental blank while he was standing along side of me watching. Talk about freaking out inside my tiny head, which of course uses more mental capacity, which means I drain other resources, which means I was drooling and recreating scenes from Rain Man and Forest Gump. Although without the touching teary parts that could win me an Oscar, it was more of a call security, get a cattle prod and round up some big, no neck security types who are coming down from a steroid cocktail. So yeah, remembering stuff is for fools, live for the moment, write things down and get yourself some serious as shit personal assistant who can whisper in your ear while smiling inanely at anyone approaching you….sorted.

Wednesday, August 24

SHIT AS FUCK

I wrote something great, witty, fabulous, all about me and then it crashes as I go to publish...mother f*#king, arse licking, pig fondling, son of a motherless, DNA coated, bug ridden, prick headed, worthless, shitful, FUCKO!

Will try and re-write it tomorrow, over it now.

Thursday, August 18

CAMP AS SHIT LOVE

So today I got an email from one of my bestest buddies who lives in London. When she and I were teenagers struggling with life in Adelaide (the capital city in the 'State of Unnatural Acts' described by one visiting friend as 'almost like everyone is waiting for something to happen but nothing has yet'). We lived next door to one another in the upper middle class suburb of Somerton Park. Both out families had numerous children, a token dog and an in-ground pool. Cat and I spent numerous hours hanging out and developed a fabulous relationship. At night we would take turns to leave our house and go next door to the others persons bedroom window and knock on it so that we could talk about anything and everything until we were too tired to talk anymore. I'm sure both our parents believed would develop into love, engagement, marriage and kids.

But seriously if my parents didn't have any inkling I was a 'mosexual in the making, they were clearly spending their days hoovering Temazepam and ignoring the OBVIOUS signs. Anyway Cat wrote to me after reading this blog and commenting that some of my musical choices (early INXS) brought back memories which I have cut and pasted for your viewing pleasure

Takes me back to College Rd times when I had an apparently straight boy neighbour my age living next door to me... Oh you spin me right round baby right round... on a mound.. of dirt.. in the front yard...

Yes it is a sorry thing to admit but as a teenager I developed a rather large passion for miming to the campest songs of the day, Dead or Alive being my all time favourite, however I also become so skilled in miming to Bonnie Tyler's 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' that my parents would badger me to mime it for friends at parties! Hello!!! Apparently my parents were clueless cos that sort of behaviour is screaming pooftapalooza to me.

In fact her memories reminded me of the numerous gay things I did as a child and as a teenager that I wrote off as just a phase I was going through but in hindsight were clearly the makings of a wooly woofter or a horses hoof, as my Dad loved to describe them (that's rhyming slang for poofter and poof). I also thought it was wonderful stuff to rave on about and expose for all and sundry to view. So without further ado I present the

Top 5 Signs Your Kid is a 'Mosexual In Training

Sign Number 1:

Well duh, I liked to mime to songs sung by women and camp men and was so proud of my skills that I climbed onto a mound of dirt, dumped on our front lawn to help build up our garden beds and performed Dead or Alive's 'You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)' for all the neighbourhood kids. I know now that I enjoyed the laughs I got whilst doing it but seriously there are other ways to make people laugh that are less gay. Thankfully I never donned the makeup or the dresses, something that still doesn't interest me to this day.

Sign Number 2:

I made jewellery out of FIMO, mostly earrings and badges, which my mother used to wear and I also sold to her friends. I even went as far as to create themed badges (oh who am I kidding I called them broaches) for Christmas which included small Xmas trees, reindeers and snowmen. Plus I took up decorating t-shirts with that bloody hideous paint that puffs up when you iron the back of the t-shirt so you get a slightly raised look. Somewhere out there in some suburban op shop is an old t-shirt with a weird arse looking koala on it, they were my speciality.

Sign Number 3:

I gave up being a lifesaver, which I started learning from the age of 9, so I could learn how to ride a horse. Once again with the benefit of hindsight I realise that leaving an environment that means you are surrounded by well built men in tiny speedos at the age of 15 could indicate that I was actually straight but clearly not only did I want a pony but I was also terrified of getting a stiffy in my own speedos while surrounded by all that barely encased meat...gulp.

Sign Number 4:

Even though I currently do voiceovers using my lovely deep voice, I had to work to find it. A few years back when I stumbled across my first aircheck from the late 80's, which I recorded when I was about 17 or 18, I was shocked at how gay I actually sounded. I also finally understood why so many of my parents friends would ask "Don't you need a deep voice for that?" whenever I told them I wanted a career in radio. How rude, I should track them down and finally respond with a "Don't you have to be more sensitive to a teenagers feelings when he is revealing his dreams to you rather than rolling your eyes, suppressing a laugh and then jumping up and down on his still growing testicles?"

Sign Number 5:

Despite attempts to cover up my sexuality, by feeding myself large quantities of food from the back of a dump truck so I wouldn't appear sexy to anyone, women were all over me. On a few occasions I would actually give in and accept their proposal to be their boyfriend, but the minute they tried to wrestle me to the ground and shove their tongues down my throat it was the old "It's not you, it's me" and the dating was over. When my last "girlfriend" complained to our friends that I didn't put out and that she thought I might be gay, I turned to her and said "I'm not gay and how dare you spread such vicious lies about me, we're over, I don't wanna see you again". Boy did I have some explaing to do to her when I finally came out of the closet.

So there you have it, me in a nutshell. Now I'm all bushy 70's mo, shaved head, military and work shirts and deep voice, but back then I was all the glitz, the glamour, the swishy. How times have changed. By the way, don't worry about Cat, as a 'mosexual herself, I love that we found each other and spent all those years bonding. Her friendship is one of the greatest things I found in my childhood and thankfully I still have to this very day.

Saturday, August 13

MIND BLOWING READ

Putting my own demented ramblings aside, I stumbled on this letter while surfing the blog world and it is amazing. Click here and be moved. I wish I could argue a point home as well as this woman does, she is my new personal Jesus.

Tuesday, August 2

AN OPEN LETTER TO DR JOSHI

Dear Dr Joshi (what kind of name is that anyway?)

Yesterday marked one week into your book Dr Joshi's Holisitic Detox, oh yes, I am finally purging my poor 36 year old body of the years of abuse and magnificent substances that have coursed, congealed and oozed into my veins. I feel fucken fabulous however I do have issues...well duh, read the inner thoughts below and any drooling, monosalibic fool with the mental age of a goldfish that was born with half a brain and then trod on but put back together and then bought back to life and given a translator who uses bright crayons, flash cards, fuzzy felt stick on pictures and those dolls which usually get introduced with the words

"Show me on the dolly where they touched you"

and you could work that one out. No this issue isn't one I have previously listed, this issue is with Dr Joshi's helpful advice on how to stay motivated on your detox. You see I honestly believe the only reason I am still doing this thing is because I have decided I need to do it. I'm sick of feeling like crap, hate that I've tried almost everything on the home delivery menu's and I'm terrified of getting to the point where I start investigating kaftans and washing myself with a rag on a stick. So when I read that this detox will re-educate my taste buds and make me not wanna eat those bad foods ever again I got excited.

Well Dr Joshi you don't know me or my taste buds. Yes I will admit that your holistic detox food is lovely, complex, fresh and stimulating but it aint nothing compared to something smeared in butter, deep fried, dunked in chocolate or served in a big fuck off martini glass. You get what I'm saying? I could keep eating this organic whole food till the day I kick it into the next existance and I would still crave a slab of pig fried in a pan and served on a stack of eggs with butter spread as thick as a slice of cheese melting into a hot toasted slice of really soft doughy bread and a milkshake with enough sugar to shatter your teeth. Jesus I think my heart just squealed in my chest writing that....gulp.

So the struggle continues as I write this I am about to hop on the tram and head to the organic supermarket to load up on more 'treats' but don't ever think for one minute that I wouldn't go you with a knife for trying to convince my taste buds they will be re-educated. This aint some Stanley Kubrick film and I aint falling for it.

Love

me