Archive for April, 2005

That Girl Who Did That Zine

Wednesday, April 27th, 2005

Yesterday I was recognised by a stranger on account of my old zine, Eroticus. It was both surreal and sweet. We had a brief but pleasant chat; she was a lovely girl. I couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a rock star. Maybe I should use this anecdote to my advantage the next time I demand a rider. (I love that term, it sounds so dirty.)

Post Mortem

Saturday, April 23rd, 2005

Sobriety has clawed its way back into my system, and the Canadian has fled back to Canadia, so I’d best chronicle what I can remember of his time here before it all becomes a hazy, dodgy-photo-chronicled memory. Behold, for your enlightenment and momentary relief of boredom, a handy and not necessarily chronological list of Stuff What Me and My Friends Did While Scott Was Visiting:

1) Scott’s plane is delayed for 13 hours. Except it’s not really, because they put him in a different one. As a result, he gets to see more Australian airports than he could ever have dreamed of, and no one is at the airport to pick him up. He catches a cab to the hotel to be greeted by prematurely drunk Shannon and Aimee. He wears jetlag and our most unladylike affections (read: grabbiness) most graciously.
2) Time to visit Tim, whom I haven’t seen in years and who rocks my socks. Hire big-arse fuck-off four wheel drive because it’s the only car the hire place has left. Being under 25, I am not supposed to drive it, but I do at Scott’s request. He comes to regret this.
3) We stop en route for a drink, which includes my badly-needed first coffee of the day. Shan and Scott witness firsthand the bizarre, Jeckyll-and-Hyde aspects of my relationship with caffeine. My driving improves dramatically.
4) Scott teaches Tim’s eight-year-old son the Shocker; tells him it is the Canadian salute.
5) TOOWOOMBA PUB CRAWL. FUCK YEAH!!!
6) After everyone else passes out (or “goes to sleep”, as they would later claim), Tim takes me to Makeout Point or whatever that hill thing in Toowoomba is called, and we bond over hot chips, anecdotes of various degrees of amusement, and watching people far below get pulled over by the police.
7) Back to Brisbane. River cruise to Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, where Scott is ill-advisedly allowed to molest native fauna. I get my photo taken cuddling a snake. Feel one step closer to becoming Britney Spears. Make mental note to start going barefoot into petrol station public toilets and having sex with Kevin Federline, then decide do not actually want to be Britney Spears that badly.
8) Shan and I reach point in our relationship, after being friends IRL (as the kiddies say) for several years, where mutual nudity and breast examinations become par for the course. Don’t think this is entirely result of alcohol, although maybe partially. It’s nice to feel comfortable around people, even if it does manifest in Girls Gone Wild sort of way.
9) Drunk.
10) Drunk.
11) Drunk.
12) Fea and Andrew’s lovely but potentially fatal apartment for dinner, then back to hotel for #13.
13) Drunk.
14) Fly back to Melbourne day before Shan and Scott to take Dad to Upfront 11 at the Comedy Festival.
15) Meet Shan and Scott at airport. Shan goes with her grandparents for some quality time, Scott and I hang around airport to await arrival of Bob, another Interwebnet denizen who’s joining us from exotic Mt Gambier.
16) Go to my place to drop off Scott’s stuff. Both housemates are home. Jo is tipsy and Jen is dressed as a pirate. Feels like a very “welcome to my life” moment.
17) Take Scott and Bob to Brunswick St for dinner. Mention that bar I was planning on taking them to has karaoke on Wednesday nights. They say this is okay and feign disinterest at karaoke shenanigans.
18). Until we get to the Laundry. “Feign”, I discover, is the right word. Have my karaoke cherry popped by two guys at once, in form of being dragged onstage to sing “Teenage Dirtbag”.
19) Make my solo karaoke debut; song of choice is NIN’s “Closer”. Discover interesting fact: when Trent Reznor sings “I want to fuck you like an animal”, teenage girls everywhere cream their knickers. When I sing “I want to fuck you like an animal”, people want to tuck me into bed and read me a nice storybook, possibly about animals.
20) Do not realise just how drunk Scott is until I suggest he should sing “I Want Candy”…and he does. Hilariously. Complete with dangling cigarette and wicked cool drunk white boy dance moves.
21) Worst. Hangover. Ever. Bob is fine and chipper when I ring him at ten the next morning; alcohol is wasted on the young(er than me). Shuffle, wanting to die, off to work. Leave Scott lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and whimpering softly to himself. Insert smutty joke about how usually I put men in that state via entirely different methods. MP3 player decides that a grey, nasty day where I’ve got the One Hangover to Rule Them All is perfect time to play U2’s “Beautiful Day” at me. Not amused.
22) Ferris wheel on the Yarra! More drinking!
23) Horse-and-carriage ride through streets of Melbourne! The Shocker makes a reappearance, as Scott uses it to wave to people on the street, complete with calling out “Hellooooo!” in Monty Python woman voice. Shan, Bob and I pretend not to know him. There may have been more drinking that night, but I can’t honestly remember very well.
24) Barbecue at my house with assortment of Interwebnet people and Stuart, who has finally returned from contract in Canberra. Drunk!
25) Lunch in St Kilda before driving Shan and Scott to airport and Bob to accomodation. Feel suddenly sad and lonely.
26) Drunk! Or maybe not.

That was actually considerably longer than I thought it would be. Ah well, it’s staying in list form. I know there’s a lot of stuff I’ve left out due to fogetting it, but perhaps those who were there could remind me of anything particularly pertinent.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed attempting to remember it.

Blame Canada. Or Brisbane.

Friday, April 8th, 2005

I arrived in Brisbane last night. I’m here to catch up with some friends, all of whom my relationships with began via the Interwebnet. The guest of honour is Scott, who’s coming out from Canada to meet us all, and whom I’ve known online since I was 16. Without wishing to sound like I’m calling myself old, that really is a fucking long time.

He was supposed to get here at 6am today, but the plane was delayed at Los Angeles, so he’s getting in at 7:30 tonight. And now I know what Brisbane traffic looks like at 5:30am (answer: busier than I would have thought).

I am fucking nervous. And fucking excited. And fucking sick of watching Cheaters on Foxtel in the motel room Shan and I are staying at. It’s raining at the moment (I might as well have stayed in Melbourne!), but soon we are going to brave the rain and go shopping, or something.

Full report somtime tomorrow. Or, you know, whenever I’m sober next.

A Geek is for Life, Not Just for Christmas

Saturday, April 2nd, 2005

Stuart has a complete inability to distinguish the difference in tune between the Wedding March and Darth Vader’s theme music (whatever the proper name for it is). I put this down to his being a drummer rather than a musician. It raises some interesting possibilities for wedding ceremonies should we ever decide to stop being dirty fornicators, though. My favourite wedding ceremony idea, however, is still the pirate one, which swaps “I do” for a hearty “Yaaaarrgh!”.

Not that this is something that has been contemplated or discussed at any length, you understand. In addition to the too young/not ready stance we both happily employ, I also have an ideological problem with doing anything John Howard might approve of.

Back on topic, Stu’s latest seduction method involves imitating characters from computer games we have known and loved. Because as any girl knows, there is nothing more arousing than getting naked and intimate with Pac-Man. Things got kind of ugly when he switched to Frogger, though.

The unintended side effect of this was that I got all misty-eyed about my old Commodore 64, which I owned until my mother threw it out behind my back when I was 18. Sure, it was decrepit as hell and only worked extremely intermittently, plus I don’t think I’d played it for a few years (having discovered alcohol, sex and Internet porn, in pretty much that order), but as far as I was concerned, that was completely beside the point. I’ve been trying to remember the name of one of my favourite games ever since, which was something like Beam Runner or Beam Rider. Whatever, it was awesome and I was great at it. I will leave the smutty jokes about my skill with a joystick as an engaging and no doubt challenging activity for those of you playing at home.

The Writing (Sort -of-but-not-really) Cure

Friday, April 1st, 2005

I’ve been feeling a bit better, or at least a bit more clear-headed, since writing that last entry about Bec. You (collective) were right, so thank you. Especially to Cheng, who continues to prod me in ways I need to be prodded (I just wish she’d cut her nails).