From: J Date: 30 September 2002 01:36 To: S Subject: Ooh Lawdy, here we go!
Hey Sis. How are you? Well, bugger you, let’s talk about me and all my lovers!
First lemme tell you about my midnight ATTACK (that might be overstating things just a tad) on Church Street at the hands of the Homely Homo, a former work colleague of mine. He’s 39, rotund, bespectacled, bad skin, big nose and a lecherous, but amusing nature. The worse thing tho’ is his arse – it’s flat and wide and sort of droops in the middle, you know? Like instead of looking like two apricots side-by-side, it looks like a mango with a cut down the middle. Moving right along, the event in question took place at 6.00pm, Wednesday night, week before last. We met at DTs, this poofta pub in Richmond. He was waiting for me when I got there.
As soon as he saw me he made a sign to the barman. I got to the table said “You would like a beer, yes?” and he says “There’s one already waiting for you.” I looked to the bar and the barman is pouring my beer and smiling at me. I thought “Now THAT’S smooth,” and had a little giggle to myself. O why I am fortune’s fool – not heeding the signs nor hearing the bells of warning?
We got into buying rounds, but I think he was buying light beer for himself and heavy for me, cos I was absolutely HAMMERED by midnight and made to go, but he grabbed me and started massaging my shoulders. I turned around and slurred “Hey, y’know we’re jusht friendzh, right?” and he says “O shut up YOU!” and kept rubbing my back. I felt weird, but didn’t wanna be rude. I always feel like I’m being too presumptuous to tell anyone to back off, which they always takes a tacit acceptance. People are bold, no? I have learnt my lesson. After a bit I said “Look, I gotta go,” so he leaves as well. We stagger up to Church Street and he moves for what I thought was gonna be a social air kiss goodbye but turns out to be a PASH! I keep my lips and teeth clenched together like a terrified clam. I pull back, pat him on the shoulder and totter off up Bridge Road like nothing has happened, squeakily-croaking out “Well, I’ll give you a call, eh?” as I stagger into the night.
And yet I have ANOTHER stalker, this one from Pooftas Anonymous. Bruno, my former stalker, has stopped calling, but now this freak Wayne is leaving messages. The day after my molestation at the roaming hands of the Homely Homo, Wayne comes to the pub after Pooftas Anonymous . (It’s usually just me and Jay and Michael, the two facilitators, but towards the end everyone was getting in on the act.) Bruno Lothario didn’t go, I think he likes to be tucked up in bed at 10:30 with his teddy. Not like crazy Wayne who was out at DT’s (the scene of my all my shame!) with us, suckin’ back lemonades like there’s no tomorrow! He don’t drink, and he don’t work – he’s on some pension – so he could stay as long as he wanted, only he has to catch the train cos he’s too poor to cab it. I felt a bit sorry for him, he was slouching in the corner in his bright blue beret and chunky-soled shiny-buckle shoes, mumbling something about conspiracies at me and I thought “Ooh Lawdy, here we go!” and he told me some terrible tale of woe about how he was banned from visiting some hospice (you know, where people go to die) because he wouldn’t leave the patients alone. He didn’t know them, he just thought they’d like someone to talk to. A resident complained and “the Matron” took him into her office and told him not to talk to anyone unless they talked to him first. So he turns up the next week, walking around wearing a big sign ”I’M SORRY I CAN’T TALK TO YOU, THE MATRON WON’T LET ME.” The Matron pulls him off the ward, goes through him, “makes up lies” and then before you know it, all the people he was visiting were dead and he didn’t know cos they didn’t tell him. Conspiracy, you dig? He’s got HEAPS of stories like this. O Sis, it’s grim out there I tells ya!
Last Thursday tho, was the final Pooftas Anonymous, and I swear that is the LAST time I go out for a drink and then come home at 6.00am. It was the final class, and we had to do this really embarrassing thing where you had to write a “positive and personal note” to each person in the group and put it in their envelope while they put theirs in your envelope. GOD it was hard, sincerity is NOT my strong suit, but luckily we weren’t allowed to open them until we got home. Anyway, most of us went to DT’s afterwards, and by 11 o’clock most of ’em were drifting home, but Jean-Jacques (he’s from Mauritius, 36, short, chubby, always smiling and a VERY good dancer) said in his sexy French accent “Ah, I do not have to work tomorrow. You are all go-en ‘ome, but I fill like, you know, keepen on go-en!”. I was half-pissed, so I said “Hey Jean-Jacques, I’ll come out for a drink – let’s go to the Peel!” He was rapt.
Then Jade turned up with her new object of affection, Henry. Henry is a VERY good looking YOUNG man. (23, Fijian, sweet, sexy traditional tattoo on his forearm and huge dark and quick eyes.) They’d been doing that thing, you know, how you’re out with someone you fancy, and you’re pretty sure they fancy you, but neither of you has the guts to do anything, so you just hope that if you pour enough alcohol on it, something will happen. We talked for a bit, then Jean-Jacques and I cabbed it to The Peel in Collingwood. I dumped my bag in the cloakroom and Jean-Jacques and I kept on drinking. We had a bit of dance, a bit of a drink, a bit of a dance, a bit of a perv, a bit of bitch, a bit of dance, a bit of a drink. And then Jean-Jacques starts rubbing himself up against me on the dance floor, like TOTALLY grinding his pelvis into me. I was pissed and went along with it, having a bit of a larf, you know. But then it got a bit much. It was about 4.30am at this stage. I pulled him into one of the quiet parts of the club, sat down on a long bench and said “Now Jean-Jacques, you’re welcome to come back and stay at mine, cos it’s a $60 cab fare to your place, but I have to tell you that there’ll be no hanky panky.” He shook his head and said in that saucy accent with hands gesturing “No no – cha’ was just dancen, y’know?”
I felt embarrassed and said “Oh, right”. He went to the bar and, well, you just can’t leave me on my own, I can’t sit still. I started chatting up this guy sitting beside me on the long bench. He was short, chubby and had pale skin with dark eyes and dark hair that was clipped short, a number 1 buzz-cut I’d say. His name’s Trevor and he works in a call centre, 27 years I got home, climbed straight into the shower. Then I remember my envelope of notes from Pooftas Anonymous and ran to my bedroom in a towel, ripped open the envelope. Jean-Jacques had written “‘J’, I think you’re pretty sexy good looking, nice body, I’d like to get together .J-Jacques.”
O Sweet Jesus! I felt like such an arsehole – sleazing on Trevor in front of him, ridiculing his drink in front of Trevor and asking him to come back for a night of chaste bed-sharing! What a tool I am!
One or two others in the group hit on me in the notes as well. I put it out of my mind and walked from Richmond to Toorak to clear my head (not that successful a strategy between you and me) and then ate a greasy breakfast at a cafe called “Funkies” where I was gouged $12 for bacon and eggs. (It was DAMN fine bacon tho.) Then I sat at my desk, nodding off every 10 minutes. I was so tired I actually felt sick.
Five o’clock came and I sleepwalked home, laid down for an hour, then was up again and out to a bar in the city for Nadia’s farewell. She’s moving to Canberra, poor luv. But at least her job is good, she’s gonna be the political writer for The Age. I went with Jade and Henry, who had spent the NIGHT in Lisa’s bed after Jean-Jacques and I stumbled out of DT’s! (Scandal! Shlock!) There was no rootery, but the air was thick with expectation. I didn’t find out about the chaste nature of their evening together until Saturday morning tho cos I couldn’t prise the fuckers apart to find anything out!
I lasted at the bar until 10.30 then went home and crashed. Slept until 10.30 Saturday morning. (I never sleep in much.) Ended up having a rather quiet weekend after that. Went shopping down Chapel Street on Saturday while the the Grand Final was on and was agreeably manipulated into buying a shirt and tie by an EXTREMELY good looking sales guy at Saba. Pretty damn camp but SO damn pretty. Then bought some shoes and a CD. Rather an expensive trip, actually, but I really needed those shoes. The shirt and tie, well, who doesn’t need shirts and ties? (It’s a chocolate coloured shirt and a cream, raw silk tie. Wearin’ ’em today, naturally.)
I got home just before it started to pour rain and chatted with Jade about her love life and drank sickenly sweet herbal teas in the loungeroom while the rain made tears on the window panes (I really have to start writing for Mills & Boon). Then the footy goons all piled out of the MCG and into Richmond, but the rain kept them indoors mostly, praise the Lord-on-high-in-his-celestial-throne-and-infinite-mercy. I snuck out to get a video and was caught in the flow of foolery, but they weren’t too bad, all huddling in doorways under cheap plastic ponchos, weeping (the local team lost) and kicking the footy over the traffic in Swan Street, bouncing it off tram lines and menacing the shopfront windows.
I was invited to a party on Saturday night but it turned out that I had the house to myself so I stayed home and watched a video. Was très relaxing. Sunday I went shopping again, with John, who really IS mincing out of the closet but only in fairy steps. He said that he’s “thinking of telling his parents about his love-life” when he’s back in Sydney in three weeks’ time. I of course squealed with delight (we were eating outside at Greasy Joe’s in St Kilda, so it was OK to squeal) and asked him what that meant. He said that he was gonna tell ’em that he could bring anyone home, male or female, that all bets are off, but he’s planning on not sleeping with anyone for a couple of years. I thought to myself “Ooh this sounds familiar” but just nodded and Hmm’ed and said “Riii-ight”. I am good friend, ja?
I didn’t end up buying anything (I was shopping for pants) but I found the ones I want and I’m gonna go get ’em later on – delayed gratification. (I’ve heard good things about it but I’m not too sure myself. I’m more of the GIMME GIMME GIMME school of philisophy.)
And it doesn’t end there! Tonight, Jade is gonna take Henry to a restaurant and tell him she’s too infatuated with him to continue their friendship and she’s gonna get back together with her erstwhile boyfriend Eli, while I wait in disguise in the bar next door, ready to console and debrief. Maybe I should buy her some flowers or something as well. What do you think? What’s a nice thing to do for someone in emotional turmoil? (And I am NOT buying her another self-help book!)
Tomorrow I’m off to movies with Ash who’s just broken up with his girlfriend who lives in Cambodia (she’s an aid worker). He’s been living in her house in Abbotsford while she’s been away for the last eight months, so not only does he need to find a new lover, he has to find a new house as well.
Wednesday I have dinner party at Lance’s (from Pooftas Anonymous) house. Then Thursday I have pre-dinner drinks with Patricia, also from PA, then a dinner with all the PA blokes on Chapel Street. I have a party to go to on Friday, and not sure what’s on for Saturday. Jesus Christ, how did this happen to me? I bloody well never go anywhere.
Anyway, I’d better go sis. Blimey, I think I’ll have to write more often now I’m actually getting out of the house, this thing is enormous. I’ll be testing you to see if you read it all my Sweet Sis.
From: S Date: 30 September 2002 09:34AM To: J Subject: Re: Ooh Lawdy, here we go!
Who are you and what have you done with my brother – you’ve become quiet the social flutterby haven’t you?
You sound happy and that makes me happy.
Funny I can never seem to sleep either.