Rumble in the Jungle at the Lesbo Disco

Tomorrow is New Years Eve, and last night was a beautiful evening.   I was supposed to go back to work for a few days in-between Christmas and NYE but the beauty of working for one’s self is that I didn’t feel like it so I haven’t.  I slept and sun baked by my pool on my new banana lounge, thanks grandma, and read nice books and ate and watched DVD’s and slept on my day bed that catches the nice afternoon see breeze.   An amazing afternoon and evening, went to my favorite gay bookstore in Darlinghurst and bought a new book, then walked through Paddington, past the football stadium and fox studios to watch a French film at Cinema Paris, “Heartbreaker” pretty good, then in the spirit of wonderful summer evenings pasted I didn’t want to go home, so I went looking for a club that was happening on a Wednesday night.  The Eastern in Bondi Junction had a line of over 2000 people waiting to get in, so no to that one, then back in the jeep, down Oxford Street, and the through the city, non taking my fancy, on my way home, then for a quick look at the Bank Hotel, it was pumping, so I parked the beep beep Jeep and went in.  It was obviously a gay night, but then I noticed it was very obviously a lesbian night.

The DJ was pumping, so I went up stair to what is called the velvet room, which I was about to find out was very appropriate.  I had a girl humping my leg like I was a horse and she was riding me within 30 seconds of arriving, quite strange, but harmless, but I felt saying “this baloney pony doesn’t want to ride your national velvet.”  Lesbian culture really is strange.  There were all the diesel dykes lining the walls with their hands in their pockets wearing boys cloths staring at the girls on the dance floor, or as I like to put it “eyein’ the pretties on the floor”  There were like a bunch of blokes in a club or bush dance.  I swear there was more testosterone in that club then in a bus full of year 9 boys doing a school boy ruby tour of New Zealand.

Some of the women wanted to be my friend and others looked as though they wanted to fight me.  It’s all a bit confusing, and I had no intention of ending up in a lesbo punch on, so I decided to ignore all the attention I was getting and just dance my little heart out the cracking tunes.  I was getting a lot of attention, and I wasn’t sure why, I guess my canvas flats could have been mistaken for Birkenstocks, maybe they mistook me for a really butch gal, or maybe a really pretty one? Who knows I can’t work out what’s hot and what’s not in lesbo land.  I have heard that you know you’re wearing something gay, if a lesbian wouldn’t wear it, and to my pleasant surprise I saw about three quarters of my wardrobe being worn by different women, so obviously I dress pretty butch.

I also saw Muslim girls there in their full head scarves, but with their face showing.  How strange, to keep that part of religion and culture while in a gay bar cursing and picking up girls, crazy.  Then 2 groups of hot boys came and boy could they dance, I guess they were cuties from Sydney Uni, but I have no idea all I know is they could dance like demons, and I’m usually the one with most of the moves, but I was finding myself standing on wall with the diesels watching this amazing show of krumping etc, and they were hot to boot, and funny, I love it when peoples humor comes through in their dance, which is why people like it when I’m dancing they just start laughing, with me…. mostly, not at me.  There was one white bread, an African American and one hot wog boy, and the level of coolness they brought with them was amazing, it was like they liquid nitrogened  the whole club, every one stopped dancing just to watch them boys go ape.  They had that whole gay boy/cool straight boy thing going on between them, so that in the end I couldn’t really tell either way, but it’s so much more interesting when guys deliberately blur the lines so that no one can tell, it makes them fascinating to watch.

Monogamy, Mono-go-me!, Monoga-not-so-me

I have come to an inner peace for the moment that unless one is at the place where you want to build a life with one person for the rest of your days, then dating really is a waste of time.  I think this is why I find the gay world so convenient, it’s built for non attachment one nighters, and un-entanglement just the way I like it.  I find any date I have been on with women, they aren’t killing time dating, they have a goal at the end of a date, am I going to have children with person, and will I be financially provided for with this person.

Man dates are not so.  There is no biological clock counting down your youth, well there is but the 30’s power flip that happens to women sort of happens to gay men as well as in their stock starts to plummet after 30, which I didn’t realize until after I turned 30, no one warned me that I had already peaked until after it had happened, not a nice feeling at all really.  But with gay men we are all in the same boat, our stocks are falling at the same rate as our looks fade.  But women’s mass appeal on the meat market starts falling after 30, while straight men’s stocks are rising.  May be I should turn straight now that I am 30? And watch my stock rise again.  That would be nice.

It’s as a dear Eastern Suburbs blonde friend said to me, “Women are like a cheap bottles of passion pop left open in the sun, they go off real fast, but men are like port, they get better with age and mature around 40”.  Truer words have rarely been spoken.

I have admitted to myself that I don’t want to build the rest of my life with one person.  It’s too soon.  I wake each morning and think  “the worse think that could happen is I meet “the one” today, because before you know it you won’t get to know anyone else other than that one person for the rest of my life”  scary.

If there are women who are out there dating just to kill time, I would love to meet you, because I haven’t met any of you yet and I think it would be nice to know one of your kind just to know what you’re like.  I have read another blog written by a 50 year old women and she sound pretty cool and laid back, but I guess once the children window has passed, what’s the rush.

I would like the security of having someone to depend on in my life, and the grounding influence of a stable relationship, but it seems too high a price to pay yet, to give up exploration and the thrill of meeting new people.

End of an Era: All a bit too much really

How my family got around.  Any yes we had this album growing up too.

To blog or not to blog……… drunk that is.  It’s Monday evening and I have had 10 standards I estimate in an hour and my keyboard is loaded.  I drank in a bar, not alone and it is the Monday before Christmas, so summer festivity, yes maybe I could pass it off as that if I had to.

Why so you ask? Well my anxiety was off the Richter scale today and I can’t put my finger on why so I write in the hope excising the demon.

Too many coffee’s…. yes.  But I am about to self disclose a side you may never get to see again.  I am part heir to a small Australian family dynasty and my mother has just told me by email last night that she is going to sell the family business that has defined 3 to 4 generations of how we have defined who we are as a family.   My real family name is famous in a certain part of Australia and whenever I give my name in that city people suddenly light up and want to be my friend or at least ask me questions about my family and how I fit into it. There is a National trust museum dedicated to my family as one of founding families of Australia, now that I live in Sydney my name means nothing and I am just fine with that.  But where I am from it is as if my last name was Packer or Murdoch. 

In my opinion my parents were too dedicated to a failing business that consumed every waking hour and they neglected their large family as a consequence.  The financial markets have not been kind to my parents, but they have never had to work for anyone else, always being their own boss and master and ruling over their empire with an impish bratty disregard for the financial realities of “meeting the market” that anyone who works in business knows is a must.  They have been shielded from their selfish ways by their deep pockets which must have finally run out.  And seeing as my Mother has had to do it all by herself since my father died a few years ago, it has all gotten too much and 120 year of family history is coming to an end. 

To sue or not to sue? That is the question.   I have been abandoned and discriminated against in the most horrible ways and as one person asked “do you think it is because you are gay?” and I am beginning think that it is.  While not “out” as such to my family, we are like the US military, don’t ask don’t tell.  My mother has huge prejudice against gay people and her spite is painful to watch.   But she is a woman of the world from working at the leading Australian Hospital for HIV research and care, and seeing as she worked there in the 70’s when the sexual revolution was in full swing I’m sure she has seen some sights and can pick a homo from a block away, including me her son.

So yes it’s the end of an era, part of the family biz is a large cattle station out west where we have planes, helicopters, horses, motor bikes, and hot stations hands.  Ahhh no more, pet horses and general gallivanting around on toys.  No more being the boss and wielding influence.  No more swimming pool and tennis court and neighbors who are all your friends and who have been your neighbors for 5 generations.

To sue my own mother make me sick to my core, but it may be necessary to stop the unfair distribution of assets which has happened my whole 20’s and might continue now that my mother is finally “cashing in”.  So I guess that’s why I needed a few drinks tonight, it’s all a bit too much really.  Homophobia is alive and well, at least in my family it is.

More Beautiful Gorgeous Things: part 2

 

About once a month I go shopping for a lovely old Mosman lady who simply can’t be bothered facing the shops, so I take a borrowed black Amex and head usually to Chatswood Chase David Jones and buy what she wants and deliver it to her, lots of fun, and I like making the oh so sexy shop assistance think that all this stuff is for meeeee.  Well don’t  really care if they think I’m rich or not, but it’s just nice to have a legitimate reason to interact with the hot dudes who are serving me and it doesn’t hurt when I walk out with 10 grand of stuff in one hit.

This morning I got a phone call saying “The TV’s stopped working I’m sick of this one get me a new one and make it white”.  She said it much more lady like than that.  The only white one was a Bang and Olufsen starting at 13k and heading towards 26k.  It was all ordered and ready to be shipped from Melbourne for her, when her Christian guilt kicked in and she decided that it was simply to extravagant, which I am glad because excess like that make me sick, even if it is fun to write about.  The children in Africa can rest assured the checks are still coming children, your whole village will be educated and have clean water.  Thanks Mosman Lady.

This isn’t actually the most extravagant purchase I have been witness to I went to The Ferrari show room with a Dr. friend who was on a mission to buy a second hand one ($220,000) before tax time on orders from his accountant, and we walked out with a new one instead ($450,000), cash……. Ops.

We were sitting at the Bondi Junction David Jones oyster bar afterwards being generally fabulous and gregarious, with the other Eastern Suburb dandies drinking champers at 3pm in afternoon and laughing and carrying on when this yummy grandma wanted to part of our fun so she asked me “what have you been up to darling?” “We just bought a Ferrari” I said and seeing as I look nothing like the good Dr. I couldn’t possibly have been his son due to two different skin colors, and the Grandma must have mistaken me for a Hooker and said “well make sure he buys you something nice too, like a nice Tiffany’s tennis bracelet, get him to leave it on the passenger seat for you.” She said with a wink. I tried to stop my jaw from dropping, it was so funny.  I never told the Dr. what had just happened as he was too busy discussing consult fees with another plastic surgeon he knew that was sitting at the oyster bar as well.

I have been anxious lately and I can put it down to a few things.  50% too much coffee, 50% things are going well and it scares the bjesus out of me when things are going well as it usually means I’m in for a crash because in my life bad follows good like clockwork.  One wise soul once told me the more you have the more you have to lose and that’s why some executives crash and burn because they can’t handle the thought of losing it all so they just check out instead.

I Just Want To Be Surrounded By Beautiful Gorgeous Things

“We’ll start with a light lunch at either Daphne’s or Quarges’, followed by spot of light shopping at Harvey Nic’s and then mosey on down to Harrods’s for some late afternoon gorgeous nibbles and a spot of Bolly.  Sound alright to you Pats? Sound dam fine to me Ed.”

I have officially turned into one of the “Ladies who lunch”. I did sweet F.A. today and it was GREAT! Well actually I did quite a bit and all of it involved spending money, something I am very good at.  I started by jetting out west to pick up my new Jeep, and paid for it.  And then I felt the need to have a new ipod to match the interior of my new car so off to Apple in the city, needed a park for my new car and seeing as Oprah was in town and I couldn’t park out the front of David Jones in the city I decided to try my luck in the Domain and it worked, I got one right out the front of the NSW Art Gallery and I saw Oprah from a distance taping her show.  This hard day had taken its toll so I desperately needed a massage which was followed by a quick act of kindness helping out a family member followed by some gorgeous nibbles at Madam Char Char’s in Surry Hills, then a little test drive of my new car that I should add was simply divine, I don’t know why Jeeps aren’t more famous for being fabulous cars / SUV’s / 4WD’s.  And then the beautiful, hansom, talented, charming pick up truck lead me back to the day spa, only it was night now for some more treatments because frankly I deserve it, and more importantly I NEED them.

I Want To Be Effluent Mum



This is the line that Kimmy says to her mum Kath on Kath & Kim.  What she means of course is “I want to be affluent mum”.   I feel the need to explain this as my blog is now read in over 13 different countries according to my blog statistics.  So I feel that I can no longer be Australian specific in my humor, or as Kath would say “my uma”.  Back to my point, I, like Kimmy, want to affluent and this month my ship has come in.  After years in the wilderness, like Mosses roaming the desert for 40 years, the tide has finally turned and brought in large sums of cash with it.  To be specific I have made $12k this month, in only my second month of being in business as a builder.  I can’t believe my change of fortune, as only a few months ago I was about to be homeless from being sick and not being able to work for a long period of time.  So to celebrate, well only in part as I need it for work, I went and bought a new car on Saturday.  A Jeep.  A cheap Jeep at that.  Beep Beep…. So as Murray from Clueless said to Dion, “Where you been all weekend woman? You been Jeep’n around behind my back?”  Yes Murray I will soon be Jeep’n around, all around Sydney.  And if my good fortune continues, and seeing as I am earning AUSTRAILIAN DOLLARS which seems to be the most powerful currency in the world at the moment, I think I might make the most our new found wealth and go on a little European grand tour next northern summer.  Talk about rags to riches in the space of 4 months. Mind blowing.   

Dion:  Hello! there was a stop sign.  Cher: What? I totally paused

I don’t have anything really to write about its just I miss writing so feel the need to post something.  I haven’t told my audience about the guys I work with.  I work some days with 2 hot leb and 2 hot Italian guys, and the other day one of them told me that ALL of them shave all over, yep even down there.  Not that big a deal really except they are all really good looking builders with hot bodies, nice faces and killer tans and now I can’t get the image of all 4 of them shaving themselves out of my mind.  I look at their faces when I talk to them and all I can think of is how hot it would be to watch them shave their balls and pubes and chest.  And when I look them in the eye all I can envisage is a silky smooth shaved ball sack.  To make it even worse they were telling me about this chick they tag teamed (group fucked) last night and how their ball sacks were touching when they were down the same end.  And how they could taste each other on her.  Mmmmm I’m beginning to think these guys are gay for each other.  They have sex together a lot, with a woman as buffer and they tell me things like how they like it when they are at each end, why? So they can stare into each other’s eyes as they fuck? Me thinks so.  I could tell you a few other things they told me but I’m afraid I will get an offensive material rating placed on my blog so I think I will have to keep it to myself.

View from one of the houses I'm working on

To other news, when I was at the house party two weeks ago I was having fun tuning a woman I had taken a shine to at the party and we were in the kitchen by ourselves having fun when my friend who had invited me felt the need to come in and announce to the girl after he saw the chemistry and sexual buzz we had building “just so you’re clear Clare, Cassius loves Cock” It’s true, but I’m more than a little pissed off that someone would come and cock block me like that.  What is it about gay guys that gets so worked up over seeing another gay guy interested in a woman?  I showed another girl some interest in front of the German Tourist and he felt the need to say “what are you doing? You’re gay!”  I felt like saying “what are you doing, you’re in a relationship, but that hasn’t stopped having fun with me” If a gay guy can turn a straight dude even once its seen as fun and all ok and fair sport, but if a gay guy wants to get with a girl it’s like he’s committing a crime and somehow destroying his gay friends image of themselves.  Why are they so insecure in their own sexuality to be threatened by someone else’s?  If anyone should be accepting of diverse sexuality it should be gay men, fuck knows we have all worked hard to enjoy our freedom.





Greedy Greedy Greedy

These are the words Stanford mutters to Carrie when he finds she has a new gay friend, “you have a boy friend, a husband and now a lover, greedy, greedy, greedy.” He tuts at her disapprovingly.  It seems to be assumed that most if not all gay marriages / relationships of the male variety have an element of openness to them, if not straight away, then with time.  I’m sure there are some total monogamous ones out there, but I don’t know any and either does anybodies else I know, and even when someone says they are in a monogamous relationship it’s either early days, or you wonder if they know what their partner is doing behind their back.
Even straight guys I know get married then cheat on their wives, isn't that just greedy getting up in public and saying "I will love you for ever to the exclusion of all others" Isn't that eating your cake and wanting it too?  They are greedy, they want the girl so they say I love you, then have sex with others behind their wives or girlfiends back.

Without a female in a relationship to quell the male sex drive what hope is there of two men being content with each other?

If in spiritual and sexual terms, men and masculinity is fire and women and femininity is water, as that is how I have seen it described in eastern religion sexual awareness books.  Then the whole point of two men together seems to be the heightened sexual power and intense sexual energy that two men have.  Even when you see two straight guys out, they usually work as a team as it heightens each other sexual prowess in a club.  They are actually getting high off each other sexual energy, not that they would admit that.  So two men lead to higher sex drives; not that conducive for long term nurturing.  

But this is only kind of an aside because what I really want to ask is; is the concept that you can get everything you need or want from one person an out dated concept that need no longer apply in today’s modern world?  And is hoping that your lover will also be the mother of your children (already not possible in the gay world) and your best friend and the person that cares for you as you grow old, too much to ask for, and will it lead to disappointment? 

I read in the paper over 5 years ago that futurists believe that we will have less and less children and that one life partner will be more uncommon, and instead we will have several for different stages of out lives of maybe about 10 years each.  I felt sad when I read this as it seems like the end of romance and love.  But I like to be a realist, so is it just our expectations that say there is only “the one” and not the “the few”?  And what would it take to make society go back to one life partner and lower divorce rates.  Was it only social and economic pressure that kept people together in the past?  Was social pressure a bad thing or do we need more of it?  I think it was a bad thing.

Should we have a different person for each of the different needs and desires in our life?

After my last post (Designer Vagina) which happened last Thursday I went out on Saturday afternoon in Newtown where I live, the first time in 2 years.  After a bar crawl through a few cocktail bars, we settled at The Bank.  It’s very gay there.  I thought it was straight but it was as gay as Stonewall, well no where is as gay as Stonewall, but at least as gay as The Columbian.   I got a phone number and have been texting someone who was there for his birthday, I think all his friends dumped him, which has happened to me on my birthday in the past, so it was therapeutic for me to see it happen to someone else, as this guy is lovely and it made me realize that the nicer you are, the more arseholes you attract as you are the only one who puts up with their shit.

Sunday was a cruise on an all gay cruise on the harbor and the weather was terrible, raining and grey, but the cruise was even worse, terrible music and ugly people for the most part, and the hot ones were unfriendly.  At least it saved me a few thousand dollars going on one of those big all gay cruises on the Mediterranean, I couldn’t think of anything worse now.

Followed by a house party full of Sydney’s A gays, it was ok, but a little precious and they were not my people, they all seemed very conscious of how they presented themselves and it made me feel like everyone was walking on eggshells.  I have started reading “Velvet Rage” which is a book by a psychologist about the things gays do that fuck up their life due to the world not validating who they are as people; to be accepted as gay you have to be special at something.  And this is what this party felt like, a room full of very good looking successful damaged people with low self esteem.  The books first thesis is that under all the layer of fabulousness nearly every gay man has a huge level of hidden self hate, instilled in him from a young age as he learnt how to hide who he was to survive.

Went to bed early Monday and as I lay there wishing I had someone to cuddle I had my blackberry next to me so I started texting and within two minutes I was texting 5 different guys at once seeing if anyone would come over.  I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I turned my phone off and then I thought “fuck 5 different guys at once, am I a legend or am I terrible?” Greedy, greedy, greedy.

Ps. on all things greedy I just remembers I hooked up with a beautiful black man with 12 inches where it counts on Tuesday, 12 inches for when 11 just won't do.  My singing voice has never been better.  I wounder why?

Designer Vagina

Something strange and fun happened on the way to the pool last night, Ivy pool that is.  Ripped_panel_beater and I were up for a pay-day break- out, so we were on a our way to The Strand Arcade’s free Cointreau Christmas Cocktail Party when I decided it was best he didn’t drink on an empty stomach after the last few disastrous nights out where he had drunk before eating and ended up shit-faced at the dinner table sleazing onto poor innocent girls trying to eat at the tables around us.  So seeing as Mr. Panel Beater had been kind enough to sponsor the last few big boozie nights out due to funding issues my end, tonight was my night to reciprocate, so off we went to sushi on Stanley Street, and then walked through Hyde Park into the city.  We missed the Cocktail party and went to Marble Bar (boring), then Zeta Bar (also boring) both in the Hilton, then made a bee line for Ivy, and choose Ivy Pool, which was also full of stuck up suits without a clue how to party, despite drinking like fish.  But at least it was busy.  We struck up a conversation on the island in the middle of the pool with a bunch of bankers from the Royal Bank of Scotland, and were suitably bored with our time with these wanker bankers, when out of the night a very glam glam, tall leggy brunette came bounding onto the island and wanted a chat.  She told us she hosted parties, then asked for coke, then told us that the hot blonde that the whole club was staring at, who she was here with, was a high end escort.  Suddenly her motives seemed to crystallize, and she was viewing the island with the 5 males on it as a money making opportunity.  Seeing as last time were out Mr. Panel Beater had bought drinks for girls who turned out to be hookers, I was thinking to myself what is it about this guys, does he had “will pay for sex” tattooed on his forehead?  We were in the middle of the pool with the whole club looking on watching this extremely hot hooker poll dance the umbrella, lap dance me, and generally shake her money makers at the whole place trying to drum up business.   I decided I wasn’t happy being part of this public spectacle after a little while and voted myself off the island and went and talked to her friends under palm trees.  Apart from the extremely tarty looking hot blonde (you have never seen some one spend so much to look so cheap, if my fucking blackberry camera was any good I would have photos to prove it) there was also an extremely hot Italian stallion and a rather nice faggy handbag along for the ride.  Turns out the Italian was disappointingly brought up in England and sounded like one of those unfortunate characters off East Enders.  He was tuning the hot blonde something chronic, and was forcefully asking her for sex in front of me.  Which was hilarious because despite looking the goods, his attitude shot himself in the foot.  I love it when hot people don’t have the brains to turn themselves in the lethal package they could be if they only had nice manners.  Mr. Panel Beater latter found out that the blonde had treated herself to a vaginal resurfacing and she actually wanted to fuck the Italian but couldn’t due to her new designer vagina, but the Italian didn’t know this and just kept begging harder and harder, so funny when we all knew why she was saying no.

Out of nowhere a hot black beautiful young man, who says he is a cage fighter from Los Vegas appeared on our sun lounge, flirting outrageously and feeling me up in front everyone even though he had a “girl friend” in tow.  She was apparently his promoter doing the rounds of Sydney booking him a fight for sometime in the future.  She was majorly in love with him and I could tell she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as she was so deluded she had let herself believe that a guy, who looked like him, would ever fuck her more than once.  She had another suitably frumpy white girlfriend in to toe who kept trying to pull Mr. cage fight off whoever he was draped over at the time saying “Those too are engaged”  Apparently they had only met at the airport 4 days ago and fucked once.  Other frumpy white women would come up and go week at the knees talking to His Royal Black Hotness, salivating all over the concrete, it was sooooo bizarre.  His Royal Black Hotness ran off to the toilets with the leggy coked up brunet and the gay hand bag, and Mr. Handbag reported that his big black cock was indeed as big as he was promoting all over the club and that he had sucked him off for 5 minutes in the toilets with an audience, got to love those toilets at a Ivy pool, the only club where they encourage group sex in the showers!

The Black Hotness managed to ditch the wicked white witch and hang with our little hot posse, when I asked where she was, he said “who cares” and the hand bag said “probably at the bottom of the pool drowning her broken heart” and I said “weighed down by the ball and chain that she is” hahaha we all laughed at her delusions. And Pain. Hahaha I’m still laughing now. Turns out the_opens theory that white women who have black boyfriends, are all greedy bitches, might be true (See An Existential Crisis) Turns out the tarty blonde wasn’t a hooker, she was banker who dressed like a tart, and the brunet ran invite only swingers parties and the Italian had met the blonde at one of those.  And both women had children!  Visions of the tortured Saffron Monsoon waiting at home for her drunken mother to come home, “I guess you havebeen making a spectacle of yourself all over town again mum, I can’t go anywhere because of you, thanks a lot, I hate you, you fucking slut!”  The brunette wanted to go for a ride in the inflatable swan in the pool and was trying to negotiate her way into it in 8 inch heels, the whole club was watching with baited breath and with cameras ready to catch the moment she went tits first into the pool, but unfortunately she must of managed a moment of clarity in her coke haze and it never happened.

When I got home I realized I actually picked up last night’s under pants and put them in the wash hamper, this was one of Bridget Jones’ points in her manifesto on telling the whole truth about Bridget Jones at age 32.  I’m only 30 and managing to do it, slightly drunk, and I guess a blog is a little like a diary.  So I am either two years ahead of Bridget or that movie has educated a whole generation on how to not end up a lonely old spinster who is eventually eaten by her own Alsatians after dyeing alone.

The Chase, Fantasy, Touch and Orgasms'

I only just realized the other day that a whole lot of different things are going on in matters of sex and romance, and when I broke it down I came up with these four main areas of motivation.

Some people hate the chase, and only like it when the deal is done, seal and delivered.  People who like the security of having someone there for them are not likely to constantly be on the chase.  I used to hate the chase, until I realized how much hard work relationships are, now I love going hunting.  But only when I’m on a winning streak, I hate periods when no one is interested in me, rejection is so painful. 

Fantasy and Projection to me are the honey moon period, when you’re in the thrill of getting to know someone, and the 42 different faces of Eve haven’t just been discovered, and you’re both still flat out hiding all the sides of each other that you don’t want the other person to see.  In fact I think I am addicted to the honey period in jobs as well, that’s why I’ve had so many.  Projection and reflected glory are two things I have done much of in my 20’s.  Putting someone on a pedestal, fantasizing about wooing them, not thinking I was good enough for them, and then letting a reflected sense of self worth develop when then do finally through me a bone of affection, attention or even just tolerance.  Thankfully therapy got me out of that cycle, I no longer only feel safe in other people’s approval, I will let myself give me some as well.

I sometimes only want a massage when I go to a sauna, but it’s hard to negotiate that when sex is the selling point of a sauna, but sometimes I can find guys who only want the same.  I have a friend whose grandma gives her hugs flat out when she visits as she must know what it’s like to be young, single and looking for affection.  The things we get ourselves into just to get a hug.

I’m a big old Samantha when it comes to orgasms.  “If I RSVP to a party, I intend to come.”  I love the big O ending, but occasionally don’t care, I guess everyone’s different.

I have been dating a German tourist the last few days and I can’t express just how nice it has been.  His manners are amazing.  He is in a relationship back in Germany, but isn’t cheating as they have an arrangement when they travel separately.  I have only ever done this one time before and I ended up feeling a little bit used at the end, but I was inexperienced and have different expectations this time.   I’m not cheating, he’s not cheating, and hey we live on other sides of the planet, so what expectations can there be other then to enjoy each other’s company when we can and let the good times roll while they last.  It’s a bit like a war time romance, its feels intense because you both know “one of us could die any day now”.  Except it’s not die, just back to reality when the holidays over.  I find it interesting that the German_Tourist is so affectionate.  If I was on a break from a 12 year relationship, that’s right guys you read correctly, 12 YEARS – unheard of in Sydney, I would have thought sex with strangers would be the focus of a holiday fling, not cuddles, I thought that’s what relationships are for.  2 days nearly full time hanging out, and he’s off to see some more of Australia, but will be back in Sydney when he’s seen enough.  I got a phone call tonight saying he wishes he wasn’t in Melbourne, back in Sydney with me, it’s nice to think that maybe I am the best thing about Australia, well at least to one person.  But hey what can I say, I’m like the good time girls of yester year, I know how to show a visitor a good time, and I’m not just talking about in-between the sheets.  I love Sydney, and as my friends from interstate have told me in the past, when I show you my Sydney, it’s pretty fucking cool.

He has already asked me to visit him and his partner back in Germany, with a little lie of we met in a bar not a sauna.  If his partner is ok with me staying then ok, why not, except that I really like what I have seen of this guy and if he were single I think I could grow old with him, admittedly based on 2 days so the honeymoon phase is well and truly still in swing.  I’m probably playing with fire letting myself think of it as more than a holiday fling.  As I type this I can’t stop my fingers from quoting Carrie when she finds out Burger has a girl friend “I wonder how happy they are?”  Is he looking for an out? Are there problems?  I’m only joking; I think I will only be able to manage 10 days together, spread over 3 weeks, that will probably push my limit when it comes to commitment.

Do You Have A Life Less Than Perfect, Plan

And I don’t mean are there flaws in your life plan, I mean do you have a backup plan incase life doesn’t run as well as the dreams in your head.  I’m 30 and I have to say until I thought of writing this about 20 minutes ago, I didn’t.  I’m Gen Y and believe in personal development, part of which is dream big and it will come, like the secret philosophy or Tony Robbins.  But I have to say my life so far is so far from my dream track that I think it’s time I had a reality check and a backup plan.

What if you get sick?

What if you never get a career that fulfills you?

What if you never get a job that pays well enough to save for retirement because they only pay just enough to get by and live?

What if you never find someone to share your life with?

What if you never reach your desired body image?

What if your family and friends aren’t there for you they way they should be?

What really got me thinking about all this was, I am a little scared about having my next HIV test, and came to the conclusion that if I am going to keep living the way I have been, then I need to be ok with some possible bad luck.  I by no means practice unsafe sex, but you never know when your numbers up and sex is such a messy business that I don’t really think that “safe” is the correct term it is really only “safer”.  And Safest would be no sex.  But I’m not ready to go down that road, so I have to be prepared to sit somewhere on the risk verses pleasure cure.  What would you do if you found out you had HIV?  I think I would wish I had heeded all those chastity sermons from church and family.  And then be glad that I didn’t need to save for retirement any more…..lol is too soon for jokes?  I guess I am writing this to practice being more cognitively aware of how my life would change if it happens.  I could only date in the HIV+ community, and at the moment there are only 14,000 people in the whole of Australia with it, there are my options narrowed down.  No children. And I would have to bring any thing I wanted to do forward.

Please leave any other life changing things we should know in the comments below, thanks.

Does any one have any good ideas for when life doesn’t go as well as you thought it would?

Frivolous Fun Under The Sun

Today was Saturday, a sunny 28 degree November day and I went on the SHE (Soulful House Experience) 6^th Birthday Boat Cruise.  Not a transgender boat party as my brother asked, “She party, is that boat full of trannies?” No. No its not, it used to be a fab eastern suburbs set, and it was still heaps and heaps of fun, but I guess after 6 years a few too many westies know about it.  Sure it was still very very cool and fun, but most of the hot straight guys who had their shirts off looked like the typical festival bogan, with bad tattoos and pimples all over their back which I guess means they are on the juice (Roids if you don’t know the lingo).  And their chests were clippered and not particularly well, with big patches of missed body hair, I mean really get yourself a gay friend who will teach you something about man-scaping, you all have the looks and muscles to work with, but your execution and delivery let you down.  The handful of hot poofs on the boat only had all the girls going gaga over them because of their attention to detail.

Drunk bogan social skills are still about 100 years behind gay culture.  In 8 years of going to gay clubs I have never once scene a fight.  And when you think about it there are clubs and dance parties with 500 plus drunk and drugged men and no trouble.  What is it about gay men that make us so well mannered even when we have had a skin full?  There was a big fight on the boat and blood went everywere.  And the bouncers had trouble keeping the two groups separated because what can you do on a boat? Through them over board?  We had to pull into Tarronga Zoo ferry wharf and throw one group off.  The upper deck looked like something from CSI or dexter with the amount of blood spatter everywhere.

The Thursday Night before I was at Arq and all the drunk uni students who had been at the Oxford Art Factory decided in their wisdom that they would be “so cool” and go to a gay club and bring their drunk suburban level of interaction with them.  Thanks guys and girls, thanks a lot.  I mean I really don’t mind if want to have a trip to gay land, but do you really had to shit all over Disney land when you go there?  Learn how to interact and behave or fuck off, please.

Having said all that I will not be writing anything in deep today I will just be posting my photos when I get them off my phone and say “wish you were here”

They flew The Shape Shifters out from London for the boat party, and they had apparently had trouble getting their DJ bags through customs at the airport due to traces of substances on the bags.  “Well officer, of course there are traces of substances on my bag, I’m a DJ, how could there not be.  I mean every DJ’s bag has traces of coke, ice or syphilis.”

And seeing as it was November I heard the guy who was supplying me with champagne say “November is truly the worst month of the year, it’s the only month you can’t tell who doing Movember and who’s a pedophile.”

I Just Saw My Dignity Leave In A Body Bag

My metamorphous is complete.  I had often wondered how the beautiful young gay boys with lovely skin, faces and bodies so full of happiness and hope for life, somehow change into the bitter, old, ugly queeny poofs you see on a week night in Stone Wall, who don’t care about themselves and dress SO inappropriately for their age and body condition.   Well this evening I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of a shop window and I realized it had happened to me, I was there, I had reached that point and 30 years to early I might add.

Bad attitude and hate life, check.

No money and live off other people, check.

Feel bitterness towards large percentages of the community and family, check.

Know what day pension day is, check

Don’t have a car, check.

And the final nail in the coffin was I left the house in a Nike running singlet to go to a club on a Thursday night.  Arq at that, with a drag show.  Mmmm, how had I arrived at this place?

Well a blog is no place to retrace life’s disasters, well actually it might be, but I’m not going too, but I do know how I ended up in Arq on a Thursday night in a singlet.  It was a hot night, and has been warmer than 28 degrees and stormy for the last three evenings and I looked like a blimp in a white T shirt, my only other clean top.  So that explains how the singlet made it out the door on my back.

And I was out because a friend of mine had been arrested the day before on drug charges, and seeing as I don’t believe in being a fair weather friend, and this friend has been very good to me, I wanted to be there for them the last two days.  To be clear, I hate drugs and have nothing to do with them, I am friends with this person for totally different reasons and we are defiantly not drug buddies.

We had a few drinks at the Beresford on Thursday afternoon to lick our wounds after the stressful day at the police station the day before, and I thought now was as good a time as any to come out to this friend.  I told him how I hadn’t considered myself gay in the past because I couldn’t date guys, but found them perfectly sexy.  But recently I had not met any females that I felt attraction to, so thought maybe things were changing for me.  He was fine with it, as I knew he probably would be, as even though he is straight, he once let a leb boy try and wank him off in the back smoking lane at Arq , saying “If you can get me hard I will fuck you in the arse, but if you can’t then I’m right, I’m not gay”.  So in full view of a watching crowd, the leb boy went for gold with his hand down his my mate’s jeans so he could get fucked, but as my mate said to him “I told you, I’m not gay.”  My mate said something interesting, he said he wishes he was gay, because life would be heaps easier, for sex and this is the one I hadn’t heard before, he said he wishes he could live with a mate for the rest of his life, as women give him the shits.  But he said he just can’t get attracted to guys no matter how he tries.  I am the opposite I can’t get emotionally close to a man, but I have no problem with sexual attraction.

Current social thinking would say that I am gay because I find guys sexually attractive, but I find it fascinating that if you prefer the emotional company of men, you are considered straight as long as you don’t have sex with them.  This explains misogynistic men.  Sex with women yes, emotional involvement, no.  I guess this explains why there are so many men out there who only want to fuck women and hang out with their mates.  I don’t think that those types of guys should get the right to claim that they “love women” because in my mind they fuck women, in lots of ways, and love their mates.

This brings me to Friday night where I was at a table of three other straight guys that I went to school with, and they are all good looking and of European backgrounds.  I know all their wives and girlfriends and two have children.  Well it came out that they had all been at the hookers before dinner.  I hate that.  I hate being part of a lie, what am I supposed to do next time I have to speak to their partners.  It makes me wonder if their wives are in on it?  Do they have an arrangement but they pretend to be cheating?  And if not, why get married?  They are only 30, very wealthy and good looking; don’t get married if you don’t think you can keep a promise.  Are they just being greedy?  I love honesty so I am not sure how they could publicly make those vows and then in less than a year be doing regular runs to the whore house. 

Later in The Columbian Hotel, my mate started chatting to two pretty girls who turned out to be hookers.  This didn’t faze him at all, he prefers hookers for girlfriends anyway as he reckons they are the only girls who truly know what men are about.  Interesting philosophy, and more honest then the cheating husbands I guess, but it all brought me to a sordid place where I have been hanging out with a drug criminal, cheaters and prostitutes, how did I fall so fast, and where has my dignity gone!

Help Police! Stop That Man!

I had the most arresting expirence today. I was in Mosman possibly the most conservative suburb in Australia, waiting at the bus stop out the front of my brother's business, which I might add relies entirely on image and reputation, when an elderly man, who I thought may not have been all there says to me "Are you Greek?" "No, I'm Australian" I said, taking off my cool sunnies as I said it so he could see I had blue eyes. "Oh" he said "You very good looking boy" "Very good looking" he said it arching his eyebrow to signal he didn't mean it in a plutonic way, he wanted me to follow him around the corner. I looked away to ignor him, thinking oh fuck my brother or one of his employees is going to walk past and see an old man trying to pick me up. Next time I turned around this old guy had his cock out waving it at me, on Military Road in front of all of Mosman to see. Luckly the bus arrived, and I got on it, and thankfully he decided against following me, but he thought about it and walked up and down past my window trying to get my attention.

I'm Getting My Moejoe Back

The weather in Sydney today is amazing. I woke up feeling like crap, still sick and decided the only thing that would make me feel better would be a sun-bake and a swim. A sun-bake always makes me feel better when I’m sick. I have been told that the UV helps the liver break down the white blood cells that the body produces to fight the infection, and the ache one feels in one’s body is the dead white blood cells piling up in one’s blood causing the muscle ache. Well all I know is it always works for me. Today is bright sunny blue skies with a gentle crisp breeze from the south, the PERFECT weather. And to top it off a huge thunderstorm has come in this afternoon, which I love, I love summer thunderstorms. I drove to Bondi in my ute with an old burnt CD playing, MGMT Electric Feel, Wham, Club Tropicana and If You’re Ganna Do It Right. I get to Bondi and get a park right on the beach, there were only about 1000 people there today, and everyone was in a great mood. I love it when you can feel the happiness and positive energy just flowing out of people and it was defiantly flowing out of me.

 Hot tanned beautiful people everywhere, happy mums and kids, so much love being felt that even the odd ugly like me dotted amongst the waxed chests and tanned six packs felt there was enough love to go around today. I always go to North Bondi because of Speedo’s café and Dean’s Panorama, and because I can even find free parking at Bondi, UNHEARD OF you say. North Bondi is also obviously the gay beach of Sydney. It’s funny how you can tell who’s gay they always where bright speedos too small and tight. It’s like a gay fashion thing to show off the package. I hate it and love it at the same time. Hate it because it’s gross, but love it because I love it when people put themselves out there like that, life can be so dull and conformist some times, and assaulting the world with a full view of your penis, penis head and balls and swimmers up your butt crack seems to one way of saying FUCK YOU to conformities.

It’s like when girls go to gay clubs and take of their shirts and dance in their bra, it’s one of the few places females can feel safe enough to let it all hang out and release the inner tart they have to hide everywhere else, so they don’t get grabbed and raped in the toilets of straight clubs. Brittney Spears was at North Bondi sun-baking topless when the September 11 attacks happened, so I read, and my friend runs the security at Zetta Bar at the Sydney Hilton, and apparently Paris was sitting by herself in a corner unnoticed by anyone on the Tuesday one week before she was sentenced to jail.

A Few years ago when Paris had been flown out for some news year party, my mate Mr_ANU and I were walking back from a big night in the cross to my family’s Sydney House, a glam terrace in Surry Hills, we were on the corner of Victoria St and Oxford St when suddenly the night sky went Bright White as we were walking past Ruby Rabbit and De Nom, it was the paparazzi waiting for Paris to leave and she did just as we were walking past and jumped in the waiting silver BMW 7 series. The funniest thing was there were a bunch of Paris wannabe girls who looked like her and were trying to talk to her as she left, and one tall skinny talk blonde ran down Oxford Street after the BMW banging on the window shouting “Paris let me in I’m just like you, let me in, let me in” how hilarious, what a loser! Earlier that night as were walking past the Hyatt down in rocks, the crowd from Big Brother were partying in the street and came up to my friend Big_Red and asked her for a light and a cigarette, she loves BB and said in a flash, I don’t smoke but I will help you get one, so like no one else could this 5’10 plus heels red head stopped every one the street asking for a cigarette, with Rob and David in tow asking or Ciggies. I hate Big Brother, but it was a pretty cool spontaneous moment which could have lead to an invite back to the party inside the hotel except Big_Red blew it by asking for photos with them, LOSER!

Back to today. I couldn't help but walk down the street with a smile on my face. It has been so long since that was the case, my level of happiness was as high as when I was 19 and it was my first year out of school and the world truly was my oyster. A friend from school and I used to cruise around Canberra in a brand new black Porsche 911 convertable with a red leather interior. We were 19, good looking, members of the Porsche Club studying architecture and law and loving every minute of life. We would go down to the beat by the lake in Canberra which pumps better than any Sydney beat because every one goes to same one, and do the ever so suductive cruise round with the top down on the Porsche and guys would see us and get in their cars and chase us because they wanted us that badly, and we would just speed of laughing. I have concluded that I was so happy back then because I didn't know how hard life can be, so I was all optimisum. 10 years on and I know when life has gotten as good as its going to, I know there are no mountains left to climb. It's impossible to have limitless optimisum when you know there are limits. But I have decided it's safe to be optomistic again. I feel safe to dream, and know that they are dreams, and even though I know how hard it is to keep all the balls that we juggle to keep life working in the air, I feel safe to focus on the bright things in life, and not be purpetualy vidulant in antisipation of the next disaster. I had a gorgous little salad at Charlie's Chicken Shop on Queen Street in Wollarrah, opposite where the Keating used to live and then I sat on a bench under a Plane tree on Oxford Street today and watched the world go by for half an hour. I went to my favorite gay book shop and talked about the new books with the staff, and then to my fave cafe and chatted with the own for a bit and then drove home, happy and feeling very safe to feel happy.

Katie Perry, Firework