Who Are You Looking At?

Sorry for the lack of posts, team.

Since being here, I've found that time has a way of getting away from you. And it's not so much that I've been doing a heap load of trip hopping - although I've already done a fair amount of that - no, it's just the everyday things that people do here that tend to eat up a lot of time. Like eat, go shopping, eat, visit friends, eat, sing karaoke, eat, go drinking, and did I say eat? My grandma has been cooking up a storm since we've all arrived and thank goodness for the month of detox diet I did before I left since I would seriously be the size of an elephant by now.

I've caught up with plenty of people, some I remember from when I was a child, a few I've just met and plenty that I no longer recognise. It really is awkward when they come up and greet me as I'm often stumped to think as to whom I'm speaking with. In any case, I seem to get by.

My sister's wedding comes up plenty in conversations as the whole town seems to know that she's going to tie the knot at the end of the week. Invariably, either one of two things will happen. The first is that I'll get asked when I will get wed myself? This usually happens when I'm speaking to someone who hasn't seen me since I was young and so feel the need to ask the question out of politeness or curiosity. After all, it's especially unusual here for the eldest child to not be already married before their younger sibling. I simply answer jokingly that I'm still having far too much of a good time.

The other thing that happen is the one that I find most amusing as well as the most curious. Instead of being asked the question, I will instead get the "look". You know the one, the "I-know-your-little-secret" look, which is usually coupled with a polite smile and not without a hint of pity. It doesn't faze me so much as it unhinges me in the way that some people get unhinged when confronted with something completely unfamiliar. With my not-so-close relatives, whom I haven't felt the need to say anything about my being gay, I can understand why I get the look. Things best left unsaid, and all that. They still treat me the same regardless, so I accept this as their unspoken acceptance (not that I'm after it, you should understand). But from complete strangers? That's something I still need to wrap my head around. I almost want to ask out loud what they know and how they know each time I get it from them. I feel like I'm in a middle of a Chinese Whispers game.

The funny thing is that it happens to some degree every time I go back home. This time around, though, I've found less of the former happening, and definitely more of the latter. I guess that it's a game that's been going around for a good long while.

Oh, and postscript, I'm fast becoming a big fan of Hen's Nights and Bridal Showers, especially since the stripper at my sister's gave a little private performance to, erm, yours truly. It was wicked.

Just So You Know...

...the holiday is going well.

Woke up this morning with a penis in hand... and it wasn't mine! A wonderful start to a birthday, wouldn't you agree?

Scrumdidlyumcious!

Regulars readers of this blog (that's the four of you; thanks Evol, Gabriel, Sebastiane and Jughead!) will note that the normally sporadic updates have lately been a daily event. The reason? Simply, time.

Contrast to last holiday's mad dash when I was literally still packing my suitcase at the 11th hour, this time, I've been super organised. So much that, aside from the regular posts, I've also had the chance to...

• Take an absentee vote AND the early opportunity to stick it to Howard.
• Setup the plasma TV, VCR, stereo system and home wireless network at a techno-challenged friend's new place.
• See the new crocodile monster flick, Rogue, and god-awful vampire thriller, 30 Days of Nights.
  
• Register as a Sole Business Trader entity for (hopefully) future work as a freelance writer.
  
• Finish watching the backlog of taped TV shows, some going as far back as BB06.
• Have a two-hour long remedial massage to relieve the four weeks' worth of over zealous weight training and cardio (due in part of below).
  
• Attend farewell dinners, lunches and breakfasts with friends and sundry.
• Drive all over town in my brand spanking new pimped-up ride.

And now, I'm truly done. For most of today, I've been pretty much just killing time. Right at this moment, I'm watching Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory as I type out this post. I love how scary and maniacal Gene Wilder appears in this film, much to my obliviousness as a child.

Every person who finds out that I'm about to leave for my 9-week jaunt invariably asks the same question: "Are you getting excited?" In truth, not really. Perhaps due to having kept myself occupied or in fear of preempting, I'm yet to feel that giddy, butterfly-in-the-tummy sensation. But soon as I have those bags checked-in tonight, I'm sure to start jumping on the spot AND clapping like a little schoolgirl hyped up on Bratz-branded sugar.

So guys, this is it. My last post for a little while as I head off to the big blue warm waters and sunny isles of the tropics. Wish me luck, don't be a stranger and be sure to keep in touch.

I can't wait to eat that airplane food.

A Good Day

Today marks a momentous occasion. And no, it's not because the Divinyls are again back on tour. No, today has a far more personal significance.

As long as I can remember, I've always had this irresistible and innate desire to be creative. From painting with acrylics, playing instruments, stitching embroidery and even drawing my own comic books. But nowhere have I found this creativity channeled more perfectly than in my writing, and thankfully, I've been blessed to have the ability to do this with relative ease.

Though something I may have mentioned once or twice, pursuing my passion for writing and making it a career has been a quiet dream of mine since high school. I never realised that it's actually something that I can, well, realise.

So, after years of scribbling short stories, essays and dissertations, years of writing blog posts after blog posts, and another year of voluntary columns and contributions, today, I officially became a paid writer. An article I submitted to the local gay press will be published tomorrow, and along with it comes my first ever pay cheque for my written effort. The money is meagre, I'll be honest, but that's not the point. The fact that I have finally realised my dream is what's causing me to dance like a giddy school girl every so often.

And when I told my parents about the news? My mum replied, "That's nice, but 10 cents per word? You couldn't really retire on that, could you?" Oy vey!

Isn't it funny how things are never as a big a deal with others as it is for you? Oh well. Nothing's gonna change this inner glow I'm feeling right at this moment. I think I'll go celebrate with a quiet drink. A toffee nut latte at Starbucks.

Today is a good day.

Back On The Wagon...

...and boy, was it ever like heaven. Starbucks, how I missed thee.

To Shag Or Not

Jug and I visited a friend who just came back from Europe. Voula had some wildly interesting and funny tales from her mostly solitary four month experience overseas. The kind you get when you're living out of a suitcase and following an itinerary that comes from a well-thumbed Lonely Planet guidebook.

But what I found really intriguing were her stories of drunken shenanigans and crazy sexcapades. If only because I'm looking forward to some of my own.

Holiday sex is exciting, let's admit it. It's random, exhilarating and quite often spontaneous. There's something about an unfamiliar setting, a new place, where experiences, and even at the times the people, are yours for the taking. You do things you may not normally do because there isn't that thing that defines you from back home; the identity, the ties. But what if that isn't the case?

Voula recounted the brief time she spent back in her hometown to catch up with long seen family. Despite her initial misgivings and subsequent lapsed into insanity, she ended up having horrible sex with a local. In a loading bay. There wouldn't have been much of a consequence if it weren't for the fact that the local was a boy known to the family. Her cousin's ex. She couldn't wait to get the hell out.

Which is the sobering point to my otherwise hot and sweaty fantasies of tropical sessions. Complications will inevitably ensue from the fact that for most of this trip, I'll be in my hometown, where everybody knows everybody and particularly, where everybody certainly knows my well-connected family. Whilst my folks may know that I am gay, I definitely do not want them knowing anything of my gallivanting and philandering. Grandma would never look at me the same way.

The solution? Maybe my own solitary holiday from the holiday? I wouldn't know where to go. Abstain and go without for the duration? Three months is a long time. Or simply go with the flow and root like a local? Most probably, especially in a place where humidity and heat, the smell of rain, and the lean farmerboys dripping with sweat just screams sexual promise..........

Excuse me, I think it's time for a cold shower.

Listen To 'Just For You'

I was cutting a summer edition of my Back To Mine playlist - the tunes you're likely to hear playing when you came back to mine - yesterday when I came across this old hit from M People.

I can't remember when I first got into this British group, but I've been a long time fan of theirs. They make beautiful feel-good music that empowers and celebrates life. Search for a Hero is a great example. Plus, they have gay sensibilities. Fantasy Island, anyone?

But this song, Just For You, is my favourite. It always reminds me of summer when I hear it, which is apt since it's a wonderful summery day outside.

I'm off to spend the day with friends for a yumcha banquet and chill-out in a park somewhere with some liquid amber. The last week of my pre-holiday detox diet has been seriously derailed.

Keep it light, peeps.

Mood: Contemplative. Topic: Slideshows

I sit and look out the window with the passing traffic building up in the early hours of Saturday. My friend J sits in front of me tucking into the wholesome serving of fried bacon, poached eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes we both ordered as a special treat for a long day. Soul food.

I look at her slowly disappearing pile, I look at mine. I look outside again. The quiet stillness inside the cafe - a prelude to the busy day ahead, like the eye of a storm - is broken momentarily by the shrill sound of the coffee machine, creating another brew to save another sleepy soul.

Then a thought strikes. This is a memory that would last, something that would be remembered for a long time. Not due to anything of significance, but because of its ordinariness. And many months later, I'm still able to go back like it had just happened.

We create memories every day - most fleeting, some lasting, a handful forever. Have we control to dictate which? I'd like to think so. Lately, I force, nay, for that word carries a negative connotation... Rather, I welcome the opportunity to burn the memories in my mind of things big and otherwise, like snapshots forever captured, frozen in time, to be remembered and made to surface, and to feel what was felt at the time.

Dinner tonight was sublime. Good food, great company. Laughter, a background music to the interplay of words, ideas and thoughts. Friends make it easier to remember, makes it harder to forget, makes the effort worthwhile. Leave the cameras at home - they don't capture the feelings, the emotions. The slideshows of your mind.

If only I hadn't had that whole bottle of wine, I may yet remember this tomorrow morning. Thank goodness for blogs.

The Hardest Word

It's been several days since Dad and I had a blue, and in that time, I neither spoke nor looked at him. I was simply too angry - at him and at myself for letting him get to me the way he did. It was easier to shut him out rather than work things out.

I know, I should know better but old habits die hard, and God only knows I've had plenty of practice.

I guess I'm as stubborn and full of pride as he is because from experience he would never be the one to reach out first, let alone apologise. How ironic! To be like father, like son.

It seems, though, time can prove anyone wrong.

Sitting in the local cafe today, engrossed with the newspaper, I didn't even see him approach. Only felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Your mum and I are on our way to the supermarket..."

Too startled to speak, I could only look at him.

"Did you want us to pick you up something?"

"Ah. No. Thanks. Dad."

"Okay, then. See you later."

I watch him walk out of the cafe and kept looking, even after he's rounded the corner out of sight.

He may not have said the word and it may not have been an actual apology, but I know, too, what that meant to him. Sorry.

The Clothes On My Back

With only a week left until I fly out, I should really get my arse in gear and start packing. So yesterday, I went through my wardrobe and on top of working out what to take with me, I also decided to reorganise the whole thing.

And just as well.

It's amazing how much clothes I've accumulated over the years that my closet is actually very close to being filled to the rafters. I'm a bit of a hoarder who can't bear to chuck most things away. So, yesterday's effort was an exercise in ruthlessness and less of restraint. My plan: to get rid off anything I haven't worn in more than a year. Didn't get far until I got sidetracked.

I found a shirt - a light blue Saba summer number - that used to be my favourite. It was the shirt that I wore when I met A, my first boyfriend, and by coincidence, was also the shirt I had on when we broke up many months later. Bitter sweet. It astounds me the kind of feelings and memories we attach to material things - clothes in particular. And how much of this comes flooding back even after a long time has passed.

There was the slightly ripped jumper from one winter when a domestic argument spilled over to a real fight. The shorts from overseas that my departed Grandma gave as a gift when she visited for the last time. The overworn tracksuit pants from Kmart, considered a luxurious purchase when we didn't have much in a way of finance. The t-shirts an ex bought when things were still good.

But as much as sad emotions were also the tragically funny ones. The well-intentioned purchase of a muscle top two sizes too small, even now. A long sleeve pullover too fluffy even for a sheep to want to wear. Tight polyester 70s inspired shirts from the freshly out gay days. And baggy jeans galore from a rather forgotten homie gangsta period.

But tag them and bag them, I eventually managed to do. What a cathartic experience!

Now, the clothes I actually wear have the room neeeded to breathe... Although, I may have been a tad too zealous in the culling. There just seems to be a little too much space between the hangers and piles. Well, I guess there's only one thing I need to do to remedy that... a spot of retail therapy!

The Long Weekend That Was

So I've been staring at this blank screen for the last 30 minutes trying to write something about the long weekend that's just gone. Not that it wasn't good, it was amazing. I'm just feeling a little (a lot) uninspired, I guess.

So, really quickly, here's what happened:

Friday
Caught up with friends to watch La Clique at The Spiegeltent for a late evening of burlesque acrobatics and sublime performances. Hunky Englishmen stripped to their undies, balancing off one another. Long haired Swedish contortionist with ten and twelve inch tennis racquets. Papier-mache dolls with acts saucier than their real-life counterparts. And a bathtub boy that got everyone seriously wet. Sexiest. Circus. Ever.

Saturday
Skipped on my final Trough Faggot Party for the year to head to G-Town, aka Geelong, for a friend's 21st birthday party. Dud decision. Apart from the lack of food upon arrival, the dismal turn-out, the cold and yucky outdoor setting, the only saving grace from the long wet drive was the three eskies worth of free booze. Still, I could have had double shots at Trough and some promise of action.

Sunday
Gastronomic trip into the city with my radio crew for some Japanese cuisine at Meiji Bar Cafe in Chinatown. Miso soup, tori kamameshi, gyoza, sashimi, and warm sake. Just the perfect soul food for an atypical blustery, wintery evening. And what to do when we found ourselves with some extra time to kill before the radio show? Why, visit the nearby Adult Bookstore, of course! Now, I know where to go to buy that extra personal presents for friends and family.

Monday
Headed to Rod Laver Arena, along with several hundred others to catch JT's (that's Justin Timberlake to those of you uninitiated) to watch his first concert in Melbourne. And boy, it went off! Amazing technicolour lightscape, an elaborate stage that has more moving parts than a Mechano set, and a pretty solid set list that cements JT as a damn good entertainer. Did I mention that he was less than 10 metres away from where we sat? Well, he was.

So, all in all, a pretty good weekend...............

Except when all's been said and done, you still recall heavily the non-argument you have with a parent whom you've foolishly assumed that after all this time, they're okay with you for who you are, only to find out otherwise, simultaneously wounding your ego, worth and sense of liberty. I hate that despite how much I think I've grown and matured, I still find myself affected heavily by my parent's approval. And I hate how I can't make myself stop from doing so.

TGIF!

I'm feeling super today.

It's finally November, which means my birthday is only a few weeks away, Christmas is around the corner, and what's more, I leave for my holiday overseas in two weeks!

Plus, it's Friday and the start of a long jam-packed weekend in Melbourne. Life's great.

So, in the spirit of all things wonderful, let me share these little pearls of wisdom that I stumbled on today:

1. The nicest thing about the future is that it always starts tomorrow.
2. Money will buy a fine dog, but only kindness will make him wag his tail.
3. If you don't have a sense of humor, you probably don't have any sense at all.
4. Seat belts are not as confining as wheelchairs.
5. A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water.
6. How come it takes so little time for a child who is afraid of the dark to become a teenager who wants to stay out all night?
7. Business conventions are important because they demonstrate how many people a company can operate without.
8. Why is it that at class reunions you feel younger than everyone else looks?
9. Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
10. No one has more driving ambition than the boy who wants to buy a car.
11. There are no new sins; the old ones just get more publicity.
12. There are worse things than getting a call for a wrong number at 4 AM. It could be a right number.
13. Think about this... No one ever says "It's only a game" when his team is winning.
14. I've reached the age where the happy hour is a nap.
15. Be careful reading the fine print. There's no way you're going to like it.
16. The trouble with bucket seats is that not everybody has the same size bucket.
17. Do you realize that in about 40 years, we'll have thousands of OLD LADIES running around with tattoos? (And RAP music will be the Golden Oldies!)
18. Money can't buy happiness -- but somehow it's more comfortable to cry in a Corvette than in a Yugo.
19. After a certain age, if you don't wake up aching in every joint, you are probably dead. But, we're all here, so ENJOY TODAY!

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

Dreams And Pumpkins

So, I'm slowly getting myself organised as my flight date gets ever closer, and yesterday's task was to clear out the increasing amount of paperwork I have piling up on my desk.

I found this short piece I had written a few months ago when, for a good period of time, I was having some insanely vivid dreams. I wrote a few of them down, mostly for kicks but also for record-keeping since I'd be lying if I didn't also say that a small part of me secretly expected that they may actually happen one day and wanted some proof when they did. Hey, it wouldn't be the first time. Seriously. Although, as you'll soon read, I hope these ones never ever do.

I've been having really vivid dreams in the last week, and I'm beginning to feel a little worried.

In one of these crazy trips, I was driving a car that plowed into a head on collision with a semi-trailer. I can't remember if I ended up getting hurt, or worse, dying.

In another, I reconciled with my estranged half-brother, even making him cry as we hugged, only for him to be suddenly taken away as a terrorist suspect.

And last night, I dreamed that I was being chased by the authorities and tried hiding in an old colonial mansion only to be found and tried in a court of law where I was found guilty of a crime I do not know of and then sentenced to jail. I was about to serve a lifetime of imprisonment when I woke up with a start, feeling absolutely relieved as well as traumatised to know that it was only a dream.

Random and somehow not. They all seem to be stuff of real-life events - despite being surreal and nightmarish, and highly improbable from happening.

I wonder what it all means?
I wonder what I'll dream next?

Pretty crazy and morbid, huh? And somewhat fitting that I share it today, being Halloween and all. Happy Halloween!

Now this is scary... nothing says Halloween like
an ass pumpkin!

Car Bingle: The Musical

Last night, my friends and I went to see Priscilla: The Musical...

But before I get to that tale, let me just tell you first what had happened to me after the show.

I lost a fight against a cement wall.

Well, rather my car lost a fight against the cement wall. Trying to reverse oh-so-carefully out of a tight parking spot in one of those typically mini-sized underground carparks, I inadvertently rammed the back of my car into a support wall. The reason: I was so preoccupied with trying to avoid from clipping my driver side mirror against the other car parked very close that I didn't even notice the looming concrete behind me. Boom! As soon as my ride rocked into an abrupt halt, I knew what had happened. I don't know whether I was more frustrated with myself for doing something so stupid, or mortified from embarrassment as the carpark full of theatre-goers, all on their way out also, gawked at the idiot who couldn't pull out properly. I got out of the car, quickly checked the damage (cracked brake light and 12" long deep scratch along the side bumper), feigned shocked and got back in. Made a hasty retreat with my tail tucked between the seats. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Anyway, back to the show. Long anticipated, after having purchased my tickets months before, the wait was worth it. Priscilla was everything that I've heard of. Awesome. The lights, the colours, the songs, the costumes. It was like a bunch of frenetic drag shows strung into a one long fantastic performance. Sticking very close to the movie's plot, everything were familiar but new (with plenty of in-joke references for those who know the movie inside out). And although it seemed to lack the depth of substance when compared to the film, it was still a thoroughly satisfying experience, that stands on its own. Priscilla was, dare I say it, fabulous!...

...inane car bingle and all.

Stomp, Stomp, Splat!

Music Moves

It must be the inner maths geek in me, but last night, during the start of Darren Hayes' concert, I wondered what critical mass of people would be needed for the audience to go from being seated to up standing. The reason I wondered this was because my friend and I had already been told off twice by those behind us for blocking the view. Admittedly, they had every right, but we were only rocking it out as Darren opened up the show with a pretty funked up number.

Standing atop a mechanical gang plank right in the middle of the stage, his "One Show Only" Time Machine concert in Melbourne was off to a great start. The sounds were booming, the lights were flashing, and the screens were displaying random abstract images. It was very atmospheric and quite electric. The only problem was the two sods behind us.

It's an age old problem, isn't it? To stand up or to sit down? To rock it out without a care or to be restrained and considerate? Both sides carry valid points that could be argued until one is blue in the face, but really, all I wanted to know was, how many more people would it take to change the tide?

Apparently, two.

Whilst, there were random groups of upstanding peeps here and there, they were still outnumbered by the largely seated audience. And what a varied audience; lots of gay men, a sprinkle of lesbians and plenty of young women. Obviously, Darren's coming out hasn't had any ill-effects on his former-Savage Garden fans. And why would it, he still sang the same, if not better, and he looked very comfortable on stage.

Darren moved from one energised beat to another and my friend and I were once again on our feets. And predictably, we get asked to sit down. This time, though, instead of dropping our wiggly arses back, we leave our seats and head down the aisle to dance it up by the stage. At first, it was just the two of us. Then, two more joined, then three, and not long after, people began running from right down the back to swell the gathering throng up front. Suddenly, everyone else were up on their feet. And it was like that for the next hour and a half. Empty seats, almost the lot of them, save for those who remained rooted watching both Darren and the moving mass upfront, happy to have a clear view.

It was an amazing experience to be able to dance and enjoy a concert like it ought to be. And Darren seemed appreciative. He swayed close to the throng, grabbed hands and acknowledged the crowd. As for the cranky two behind us, well, they were up the front with the rest. Evidently, they couldn't restrain themselves either.

Music moves - never contain it.

Hens And Cocks

Here's one thing I thought I'd never ever see: my sister being dry humped from behind by a burly black man, with my mother whooping it up for encouragement. No, it wasn't some bizarre Jerry Springer kind of a family moment, but rather part of a wild evening that was my sister's Hen's Night. Crazy.

Even though she is technically already married with her Civil Ceremony having occurred earlier in the year, my sister is still madly organising for her Church Wedding in December. What makes her preparations doubly stressful is the fact that it is going to be held overseas. Bridezilla, she is close to becoming.

So, to hedge of any unnecessary, but quite likely, connubial homicide, we decided to organise a surprise Hen's Night to distract her from the hair-pulling stress of the past few weeks. Let me tell you, it would have been far easier to keep a State secret than it is to keep something like this from my sister. She sensed something was up, although not knowing exactly what. All she kept saying was, "there better be strippers!"

Well, that's exactly what she got.

With thirteen of her closest gal pals, along with two gay boys that included myself, and our mother in tow, we had pole position at Mandate, a male revue venue, and front centre of all the action. Bless. And ours weren't the only Hen's Night being celebrated with up to a dozen other groups there, all wildly screaming and jeering for the boys to come out. What is it with chicks and their seemingly unending propensity for creating loud piercing noises? I was hoarse after only a few goes.

So, after a long build-up - the stage version of foreplay - the boys finally came out and expectedly, all looked buffed and very hunky. They moved, they teased and they stripped. The girls were going absolutely stir crazy. Oddly, though, I found the boys rather ordinary. They were all good to look at, that much was a given, but really, better eye candy could be found at Exchange, a local gay haunt. No, it was their antics with the chicks that I found more entertaining.

Hens were brought up on stage for some very special, very close, one-on-one attention. Gropes, humps, licks and kisses, anything goes. Which leads me to my sister's hilarious turn. Her close encounter with the Black Cop stripper was relatively tame by comparison, despite the embarrassment factor of being groped and being done in front of all her friends and mother. At least, it wasn't like the girl who was made to lie down while a sweaty, oiled up spunk, wearing nothing but a shirt, knelt down in front of her up-turned face. Talk about being tea-bagged!

Lucky bitch.

Eight Is Not A Prime Number

I got tagged to do this meme on my other blog, but since I've already done the same one there before, I thought I'd do one here instead. So, here's 8 things you might not know about... well, Joshua:


I like eating liver spread and ketchup on toast for breakfast.

When I was a kid, my grandma owned a milkbar where I can pretty much take whatever I wanted for free. But sometimes, I'd sneak into the cash register and take some spare change to buy something at her competitors.

I once stuck a piece of rubber up my nose so high that I needed to go to the hospital to have it taken out.

I own a DVD collection worth the price of a small European car. I started collecting when I was 18 and it's now grown to a 1000+ titles. I've only seen about 25 per cent of them. Some are still in their original packaging.

I got very drunk on a whole bottle of black Sambucca and got very sick from it. Now, even the slightest hint of licorice smell makes me wanna gag.

Today, I had some very impure thoughts for a married man, with kids. I think I have a DILF fetish.

More on fetishes, I get really horny when riding elevators. I have fantasies of being stuck in one with a really hot guy where we fool around to kill time and then a really hot mechanic catches us when he jumps in from the roof, but instead of leaving, he joins in and we have hot, greasy three-way elevator sex... Wow, is it me or is it hot in here?

Whilst Joshua isn't my real name, it was actually one of three I added to mine and pretended to have back when I was in high school. It was a "I wish I had a middle name" thing. But it didn't hold up for very long since I kept forgetting the right order they were supposed to be in. Stupid, huh? The other two names: Andrew and Kenneth.


I won't tag any other bloggers to continue the meme but if you do happen to read this, then you must leave a comment with something about you that no one else knows. Let's call it Group Emancipation. So, go on, press that "Comment" link.

Is It Wrong That...

...whenever someone mentions they're having a baby, the first thing I think of is that they've had sex?

Food, Glorious Food

For the last week, I've been on a detox diet. Partly for health reasons but mostly in preparation for my upcoming overseas holiday, I'm on a restrictive eating plan that would make even a rabbit binge in disgust. Carbs, sugar and fats are out and so is alcohol, and more depressingly, coffee, too. Instead, I've been munching on fruits, eating steamed veggies, downing protein shakes, and drinking lots and lots and lots of water. I've never gone to the toilet so much in my life! Aside from the initial headaches due to caffeine and sugar withdrawals, I feel great - my insides feel clean, I have energy to burn and my cravings are gone. I've even lost a kilo when I did my weigh-in this morning.

One thing I hadn't counted on though is the effect it's having on my social life. It's been rather interesting this past week.

Have you ever noticed how our relationship with people or the way we relate to others usually involve some form of eating or drinking? No, really. Take a moment. Think about it. We are beings who celebrate with food and drink. We have dinner with family, share a beer with mates, have meals with friends, catch up for coffee, and heck, we even give out edible treats as presents and gifts.

It's something I've never really taken notice of and, I guess, something I have always taken for granted, but lately, it's something I've recently become acutely aware of.

With a friend visiting from Sydney, my friends and I had organised to meet up for dinner. The venue was a place I have frequented often with plenty of favourites on the menu. The challenge this time was to find something that will fit my prescribed eating plan. Caesar salad, tandoori chicken, Vietnamese spring rolls were big no-nos. Instead I went for a bowl of vegetable chick pea soup and a side of steamed vegetables. I was fine with my rather meager choice when the waiter was taking our orders... until he asked what I'd wanted to drink. Just plain water, thanks. I could almost hear what he was thinking and see him turn his nose up. I wanted to tell him that no, I'm not really a tightarse scrimping on cheapies. I have money. Really I do. I just can't eat or drink like a normal person for now.

And just this past weekend, I attended another social event. A friend's birthday soiree... at a bar. I lost count of how many times I had to explain to people why I was nursing a bottle of water and not getting suitably lubricated like everyone else. You should have seen the looks of bemusements and pity on their faces. I felt like a real right pariah. I think I should just say no to invites. It'll be easier.

In any case, I still have at least another week to go. I'm hoping that by that stage I'd have the pre-holiday body in check, ready to get fattened up again. In the mean time though, I'm gonna stick to my guns. I'll try not to succumb to the collective jeers, remarks and temptations. And I hope that by the end, I haven't done too much damage to my social life. Or lost all of my friends.

Hmmmm... cake!

Lost In Translations

For the last couple of months, I've been working on translating a series of mobile phone text messages as a favour for a friend. The SMS have all been sent by the estranged husband of my friend's niece and documents, frankly and vicariously, the acrimonious breakdown of their relationship. It's an interesting, if not a draining, experience as I attempt to accurately interpret each message that range wildly from desperate and begging to nasty and abusive. Clearly, he isn't coping very well with their separation.

But the thing that gets me, aside from the spiteful words and terrible sentiments being passed on, is that this man clearly still has feelings for his wife. He pleads for her to speak to him and to see her and the kids and even offers his assistance if she ever needs it. It seems that it's only when he doesn't get a favourable reply that he turns nasty on her.

I often wonder at what point in a relationship do things start to go sour. Is there a flash-point event involved or is it more gradual, the build-up of tension and erosion of respect? Just when do you stop from having your good side show that is so persistent at the beginning and start being less than warm and downright nasty to the other person? Working on these translations has definitely resonated that curiosity.

For me, in my limited personal experiences with relationships, it has often been a case of what I've dubbed as my "three-month itch". Basically, at the point when the honeymoon phase of a relationship is about over, I get restless and invariably break-up with the other person. I've already explained previously the chief reason for this but put simply, it's because of the fact that I get real involved from the very beginning and often, I find the response lacking. It's not something I'm blaming on anyone else but rather, one of those unfortunate character traits that I need to work on. In any case, at least I'm glad that most, if not all, of my break-ups have been amicable and I remain on speaking terms with my ex's. I'd hate to go through the pain and stress that my friend's niece and her husband are going through.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the reason for needing to translate said text messages. It's legal: to make it easier, potentially, for lawyers to understand in English the SMS that have been sent to my friend's niece, in the event that they need to be used as evidence in Family Court. Pretty full on, huh?

So Wrong, But Oh So Funny

Little Sally came home from school and with a smile on her face told her mother, "Frankie Jones showed me his willy today!"

Before the mother could raise a concern, Sally went on to say, "It reminded me of a peanut."

Relaxing with a hidden smile, Sally's mum asked, "Really, small was it?"

Sally replied, "No... salty!"

Tool

"Nice to meet you, Joshua."

"Nice to meet you, too, Nate."

"And that's your friend Jug?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Hmmm. That's funny."

"What?"

"I have friends named Joshua and Jug. And they're a couple.... Are you two a couple?"

"A couple of best mates. Yes."

"Oh. So you're not together?"

"Nope."

"So you're single?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Joshua, would you like a drink?"

"Thanks, but Jug's getting me one already."

"The next one then?"

"Oh, but it's my shout next."

"Right. Well... I'm just gonna go say hi to my friends. Might catch you later."

"Sure, Nate. Catch ya."

I'm a tool sometimes. A real daft one.

Almost There

I've just read the last six month's back-catalogue of posts on my other "real" blog and felt a quiet stir of emotions.

In fact, amidst the varying posts that swung wildly from poignant and sincere to total fluff and nonsense (was I on drugs or something then?), I started to question why I ever stopped? Was there ever, in reality, the need to disappear, or was it all just in my head? I seriously wondered whether I made a big deal out of nothing.

But then, I get an anonymous comment like this:

"I agree your writing has been a bit stale for awhile, and a break might do you the world of good. I was about to applaud your brave decision! Or were you just fishing for compliments?"

I admit that I get very insecure and defensive when subjected to criticism and feedback that seems unwarranted and not wholly transparent, but that's because I'm fiercely proud of what I write and of what I've written. Maybe I'm just a little too over-protective, maybe I'm not as enlightened as I'd like to believe.

A fellow blogger and friend asked me recently what it felt like to blog on a smaller scale? "To be able to count your readers on one hand", as he puts it. My answer: an irrational sense of relief. It took a little while to find it but I eventually worked out the balance between the need to post that I previously constantly felt to the whim of just posting when I wanted to. Here, I feel something that is assertive and welcoming.

Still, without sounding like a self-absorbed wanker, I've been quietly impressed to read what I've written on the "real" blog. I've loved the challenges that it has presented - antagonistic nameless comments included - as well as the evolution that my creativity has taken because of it. I catch myself every time wondering how I've ever been capable of such words, turns of phrase, and expressed sentiments. A big deal for an immigrant who didn't learn how to write nor speak English fluently until the age of eleven.

Anyway, enough of my ego-stroking platitudes. I just wanted to let you know that part of what quietly stirred within was also a tempered sense of excitement...

I'm almost ready to go back.

The Sad Thing Is, It's Friday Night

I spent the last two hours playing Mahjong on my laptop instead of blogging as I'd originally intended. The reason I wasted so much time on it was because I was trying hard to finish a game. It took about ten tries before I did, and the reward I got for my troubles, apart from a hint of smugness and self-satisfaction: some computer-generated Chinese fireworks.

I used to be addicted to Mahjong many years ago when it was installed on our first computer - a 486 Pentium behemoth. It was the perfect distraction from the responsibilities of high school that involved endless essays, assignments and practice exams. MySpace and Facebook were yet to be invented. It was perhaps the sole reason why I failed Specialist Maths with such spectacular results (5 marks out of 50) during the final exam when I had all of an hour to cram a whole year's worth of formulas and equations, after spending the whole night on the game. And that's the excuse I've been sticking to.

So, yesterday, when I actually got around to exploring the other programs that had been pre-installed on my notebook, it was with both surprise and dismay when I found the game amongst the items listed on the Start menu. Surprised because it was good to see an old fave, and dismayed because I knew this was going to happen. Hey, at least it actually inspired this post.

As for what I was originally going to write about, well, here's the first and only line so far:

One of my biggest fear is finding myself stuck in a public toilet cubicle without toilet paper and yesterday, it actually happened...

Maybe I'll get around to finishing it tomorrow. But for now, just one more game.

On And On And On

I was watching the telly yesterday when an ad came on for a new R&B compilation album and in the background played an old familiar song.

Every time I hear Zhane's 1993 hit, Hey, Mr D.J., I'm fifteen again and back in high school. During those days when cool kids wore bright oversized Cross Colours pants, carried Country Road duffel bags, and listened to Sony walkmans, I was a chubby, timid boy, not part of the cool click. I was into R&B when everyone else seemed to be into something else - headbanging heavy metal music and pop that was popularised by the then locally manufactured group, Girlfriends. I was also in an all boys class that I couldn't completely relate to. It was a confusing and isolating time.

Hey, Mr. D.J. will also always be the song that will remind me of MJ.

MJ and I met at a friend's house party and got on easily and became bestfriends very quickly. He was the first male friend I had that appreciated what I did: writing, dancing, and R&B music. Finally, a kindred spirit - and I didn't have to pretend in having interests in cars or sports. There were many afternoons spent chilling to the groovy tunes made by the Black artists from the States that were big in Australia at the time, but particularly over Zhane's song. We almost wore out my cassette single tape of Hey, Mr. D.J.

At the height of our friendship, MJ and I were inseparable, and everything was going well until R came along. The new girl at school, MJ befriended her and I could sense that he was really interested in her. Not long after, he began spending less time with me and more with R. I couldn't understand what I was feeling - I just knew I didn't like what was happening between us. So I acted out. I ignored him when he paid me attention, I got annoyed at him when he didn't, and I was a complete bastard to her. Somehow, I thought by acting the way I did, it would bring MJ back closer to me. I was just being an arse.

In the end, the tension between us became too much and he and I came to blows. In our one and only fight, I called him a faggot. I don't know why I said what I did but as soon as it escaped my lips, I knew I'd lost him for good. He didn't reply but simply walked away. We stopped speaking from then.

Looking back, I realise that I was really in love with MJ, even though at the time, I considered him more like a brother. In a way, he was my unrequited first love and the friendship that we had was a relationship where unrecognised and unacknowledged needs were sustained - if not mutually, at least mine - for a time...

Ironic how things pan out, isn't it? More than 10 years later, here I am, the one that actually turned out gay, and last I heard, MJ is about to settle down with his long-time girlfriend. To this day, we've neither spoken nor seen each other. I only ever hear of him from friends of friends.

I've moved on now - no longer regretting what had happened. I've made many friends since and I even have a better bestfriend now, but I'll always hold a special place for MJ. And, of course, there will always be that song that will remind me of him... on and on and on.

Funniest Old Ladies Joke Ever

Two elderly ladies are sitting on the front porch, doing nothing.

One lady turns and asks, "Do you still get horny?"
The other replies, "Oh sure I do."

The first old lady asks, "What do you do about it?"
The second old lady replies, "I suck a lifesaver."

After a few moments, the first old lady asks,
"Who drives you to the beach?"

Rose-Tinted Lenses

My dad bought our very first camcorder in 1997. We were late to the whole home video thing, but once had, we sure made up for it.

Over the last few days, I've been backing up all the grainy footage shot on our old Video-8 cassette tapes over to DVDs. Not an easy task considering there are more than 30 of them... each at least an hour and a half long. As a consequence, I've watched plenty of home videos.

My favourites are the Christmas ones, which has become a tradition in our household. Started in the same year we got the video camera, we've filmed every year without fail, usually beginning four days before Christmas and finishing up just before midnight on the day. The big highlight is when we gather around the tree in the morning to open presents. A fun affair for all its anticipated, hurried craziness.

Aside from the typical scenes of Christmas trees and Christmas Day fare, here are some of the things I've observed that invariably happens every year at ours:

• Candid (and usually stolen) shots of feet and toes, accompanied by my sister's behind-the-scene commentaries and giggles.
• Someone being grumpy for being woken up early (me).
• Waiting impatiently for Mum to get ready and join the rest of the family to open presents.
• Sister annoyingly sing-songing "Who wants to go first, my darling? Who wants to go first?" and screaming indiscriminately out of excitement.
• Brother chucking his opened boxes, ripped up wraps, and recycled ribbons at sister.
• Mum getting overly excited and doing some kind of a funky-arse chicken dance.
• And Dad getting shafted with his presents.

Definitely some unique and odd antics involved, sometimes embarrassing, but often fits-of-laughter inducing. I think what I've enjoyed the most seeing is the joy and happiness that were present on everyone's faces - happy, perfect little family vignettes. It's made me wish to go back and relive it, enough that I've gotten a real palpable sense of desperation for it... But then I realise that yearning for those days and feeling sad that things are no longer the way they were is simply futile, because a) I would always feel the same way any time I reminisce, and b) there's always going to be a chance to do it again anyway... like this coming Christmas, for example. So, I guess, the lesson that I took away from this experience, despite the clichéd nature of it, is to live and cherish the moment... And to always have a camcorder on hand.

Anyway, not sure if this is at all relevant or making sense to any of you guys out there but I thought I'd share one of the things that I truly appreciated while growing up.

The View From The Top

Typical lazy Sunday afternoon at a not-so-typical venue.

52nd floor apartment at the Eureka Tower, Melbourne's tallest residential building. Sweet views from atop the crystal palace.

Vertigo inducing.

Bitch Please... I'm from the Westside

Early morning jaunt to Richmond for a spot of furniture shopping with friend, J.

Inside a boutique - and rather over-priced - homewares retailer. A Kath and Kim's Trude lookalike at the counter.


Me: Morning.

Trude: Yiiieesss, how can I help yiiou?

Me: That Barcelona chair by the window, how much is it?

Trude: Oiii yahhh, that chair. It's $3000, plus delivery.

Me: And how much is delivery?

Trude: Where iiis it to?

Me: Well, I'm from the western suburbs.

Trude: Ooohh. You're from the wiiiestern suburbs?

Me: Yes.

Trude: And yiiou know about the Barcelona???

Me: Well, it's a step up from the milk crates, but yes, I know about Barcelona chairs.

Trude: Oohhh... nooo, I didn't mean to...

Me: What? Be a pretentious eastern suburb snob? Oiii yaaahhh, I'm siiiure.


I am so gonna go all "Pretty Woman" on her ignorant arse.

I love me my Barcelona chairs...
even for a Westie.

Lessons (And Brackets)

The rest of the Time Out (as I've dubbed it) went by like a breeze as I got busy with the many odd bits and pieces I've put off from doing. I filed my tax return, cleaned out the fish tank full of comatose fishes, and even alphabetised my DVD collection (I'm anally retentive that way).

Later in the day, I finally got myself to get out of the house and headed out to the local Starbucks to get my fix of the franchised and bastardised version of the caffeine brew. I'm currently hooked on the "limited edition" double mocha macchiato (just for you, Sebastiane). I like coffee with my sugar.

Knowing that I was chilling for a few days, one of my brother's friends messaged me to kick it with them for a few hours at their place, so I headed out their way. My little brother moved out almost a year ago and he, along with his partner and friend, have been living it up on their own. I find their living arrangement interesting (and a little desiring). Theirs is a tight group, welcoming and laid back. And although there is the odd tension here and there with regards to domestic responsibilities, overall they seem to have things sorted.

This would have been about my fourth time over despite the fact that it's been months since they've moved in. That's not as bad as you might think considering I didn't think I'd ever visit at all. You see, not long ago, my brother and I had a terrible falling out and we didn't speak for a long time. On top of that, I vowed never to befriend his partner ever again.

But how times have changed... and how it's softened hearts. The grudge I held for the two of them is now gone and things couldn't be better.

"I saw M the other night at a party," my brother said of a friend he himself hadn't spoken to in years (they almost got into a punch-up).

"Yeah? Was there tension?"

"No. We were fine actually. Had a chat and even laughed."

"That's good."

"And you know why that happened?," asked his partner out loud.

"Nope. Why?"

"It's something he learnt from you..."

"I didn't want to keep holding on a grudge," my brother answered.

"So, you let it go?"

"Yep, let it go."

"Good for you."

I've come to realise that sometimes we need a little bit of tension and drama in our lives (a catalysmic event even) in order for certain things to change and move on to the next level. Sure, sometimes this might not result in anything ideal, and sometimes things mightn't even change at all, but once in a while, when good intentions win out, it can actually lead to something better and rewarding.

That's a lesson I'm learning to recognise in many forms and evidently, a lesson that keeps on teaching.

(End)

Working On It

Day one of my sabbatical away from work and things are a little better.

I don't feel so bad today as I did last night and haven't thought about the issue as much as it permeated every thought yesterday. I also received a few text messages and emails from colleagues and friends from the gym, so I guess the word's out.

It's a little weird to be home at the start of the week when I'm usually pimping it at work. Not sure what to do so I've been spending some time (a lot) on Facebook and watching daytime television.

I caught this midday movie - a British flick called Saving Grace. It's a story about how a small-town English widow, facing financial troubles after her husband's suicide, turns to agriculture of an illegal kind as a plan to get out of her debts. It's a gem of a movie. Old biddies stoned and acting like Beavis and Butthead is seriously funny shit.

I realise that my last several posts have been filled with negativity and I guess it's symptomatic of the way I've been feeling and thinking. I sense a change from that, thankfully, but I don't think it'll be immediate. So, I guess, what I'm saying is please bear with me a little longer... I'm working on it.

Monday Meltdown

Worst.Monday.Ever.

I completely lost it on a client today and let rip a barrage of choice words on her that I didn't realise I would ever say to anybody let alone on someone at work. To be honest, the bitch deserved it - she's been a complete nightmare right from the beginning, asking for preferential treatments, difficult to deal with and generally being a right royal pain in the arse. A diva with horrible over-bleached hair and a muffin top outfit.

The shit finally hit the fan when I sat her down to discuss the ongoing billing problems we've been having with her accounts. She is in arrears for several weeks due to continuing failed debits. When she saw the itemised amounts owing, she baulked and refused to pay for several Personal Training sessions, of which I'd personally especially organised at her request, claiming that she never had them.

That's when I realised that enough was enough.

Despite being over-understanding and bending over backwards at her every request for the last several weeks, she neither appreciated the effort nor was satisfied with any of them. In fact, she was still complaining! The result: 15 minutes of slagging match that saw spittle fly, faces flushed and her giving me the finger as she left the Club.

I was left shaken and shocked. Normally cool-headed, poised and in control, I couldn't believe that I'd let her get under my skin that way. I should have known better. My manager has since spoken to her and whilst he stood up for his employee, I could sense that he was far from impressed. To be honest, I feel a little angry at him - I've asked a while ago for him to mediate the issue but he never got around to it until it was too late...

I've been carrying a lot of tension and anger lately - from whatever cause, I'm not too sure - and it all finally culminated with my little episode this morning. Now, I'm feeling really disconcerted and embarrassed for my actions. I've taken the next few days off as stress leave and hopefully soon, I'd be able to finally stop thinking about the horrible incident when I finally had a complete meltdown.

Puke Me A River

Q. What happens when someone who's been tee-totalling the last couple of months suddenly goes on a big night out of serious beer imbibing and drunken feet shuffling?

A. About 5 litres of stomach content flowing down an inner city street somewhere.

Sorry if I got some on your car, Jug.

M&M's Anonymous

I'm so addicted to M&M's that I can eat a whole bucket in one sitting, even though I know that I'll feel bloated and sick the next day. Upset tummy aside, I also know that it's filled with empty calories that isn't doing my fitness training any good. Still, I can't help myself. They're just too darn yummy...

This is usually the point where I'd make a somewhat insightful (or salient, take your pick) observation. Something like despite knowing how certain things can be bad for you, one still can't resist having it.

And I'd also probably follow it up with an example. Oh, say maybe how a certain guy keeps insisting on messaging me to catch up even though I always come up with an excuse not to be able to make it. Away. Asleep. Out of town. Dead. Well, maybe not that last one but almost. The dude can't take a hint and he inevitably gets upset every time. The reason why I won't meet him is a moot point, but let's just say that he's a right royal pain in the arse to be with. I should just tell him to piss off, but I'm not c*nty like that.

Anyway, so I'd probably do all that in this post if I had the time, but I'm off to the Witness Protection Party tonight and my ride's already here tooting his horn.

So... have a great weekend everyone!

Comeback Interruptus

Britney releases a surprisingly good song with Gimme More and her fans scream "Comeback"! They obviously didn't count on her doing a live performance.

Even Milli Vanilli would be embarrassed.

Amnesia, Muffins and Chinese Whispers

I hate how I can't remember the next day the sentences that I write in my head the night before when I'm driving home from the radio station. The late evening solitary experience somehow induces a spontaneous surge of literary inspiration. I've written whole posts in my head only to lose it the next morning when I'm about to type it out on a keyboard. I ought to carry a dictaphone, but I can't get over thinking that those things are real lame and so I can never bring myself to use one.

In any case, last night's prose began with a sweeping and witty opening on why I haven't been blogging of late. Obviously, that's not the case as you can see.

Yes, I have been neglecting my blogging duties - even for a secret blog. No excuse for it really. Well, apart from the terminal amnesia. Just been feeling generally flat and uninspired. So please accept my apologies, my dutiful readers. All 4.2 of you.

Seriously, I've been a little run down. Tired, emotional and feeling real blah. The whole oral ordeal - the tongue ulcer, cold sore and sore throat - was definitely a symptom of that. Not sure what's causing it: over-training, change in seasons, lack of sleep... or sex... who knows?! I guess I should still count myself pretty lucky though since every person and their dog around me seem to be doing it worse having contracted the rather nasty flu that's doing the rounds. Meanwhile, to stave off the blah-ness, I'm like Izzie from Grey's Anatomy. I've been baking muffins.

But getting back to the topic of secret blogs, certain people are cottoning on to Joshua. Which makes me wonder, who's been talking???

Holding My Tongue

It's been three days and I still can't talk or eat properly. I have a massive ulcer on the side of my tongue and it's excruciating. What started off as a little blister late Saturday, grew four times in size by Monday. Now, even the smallest attempt at speaking or chewing brings tears to the eyes. I've been reduced to living on mushy food like a toothless baby and have grunts, nods and moans for replies.

It's not all bad I guess, as unbelievable as it is with the pain, I've found that there is an upside. I've learnt how true the saying "silence is golden" really is, but probably not in the way you might think.

In the past few days of my forced silence, I've been admired for my attentiveness, patience and even my tenacious listening skills. If they only knew what I was really saying in my head, then they wouldn't be so forthcoming with the superlatives.

You become very aware of many things one might usually miss when a voice is readily available to rely on. For example, people seem to have a general aversion to silence and will try, subconsciously or otherwise, to fill the void with noise, either with nonsense ranting or more of the same conversation. I noticed this the other day when a friend of mine was counting off her many reasons for not liking a particular person we knew. She must have felt that my not answering her was a way of not validating her responses because she kept rattling on. In the end, I realised that she was actually making herself believe her own excuses.

And conversely, how amazing it is to learn how to economise your words. To say as little as possible but pass on a multitude of meanings. The right combination of head turns, finger actions and simple grunts can convey so much... and so variedly that it's fun to see what the reply would be.

But the icing on the cake has to be when some stranger started talking loudly at me because I was giving her non-verbal responses. I dunno whether she thought I was dumb and therefore deaf, but um, hello? I can understand fine, just not saying a word. Sheesh.

At least, I still have the power of the written word to adequately express myself. And what's even better is I have my new laptop... sorry, notebook to do it with. I have a new baby to play with and it is beautiful. Yesterday, I spent the afternoon out in the backyard, sitting in the sun and wirelessly interneting until dusk. It was bliss.

The only thing that would have made it better was if I had someone else to bring me mushy food and cool drinks when needed. Vanilla ice cream and iced lemon tea... served by a topless, sexy houseboy. Hmmm... yes, because that would have cured all sorts of ails.

Follow Your Passion

In my previous life before becoming a Personal Trainer, I worked in the Finance industry as a Financial Planning Consultant. It was interesting work that often proved challenging. I was fast-tracked into the role, after being employed only a couple of years at the bank, and was especially promoted in the then pilot team. Sadly, I left the much demanding position eight months later due to too much stress and horrible office politics.

In the meanwhile, I continued to spend time at the gym to de-stress and there I found my passion in health and fitness. I studied a Personal Training course through the gym I'm working for and eventually got my certification a few years ago. I've loved it ever since and never looked back.

When I tell people about my move from the Finance sector to the Fitness industry, I often meet looks of disbelief as they must think I'm crazy for letting a relatively high-paying job go. Sure, the money was great and so were the fringe benefits, but none of that really mattered much when I was fighting ill-health and anxiety attacks. Something had to give - and I didn't want to end up with lots of wealth but no health to enjoy it with. Hence the reason for the career change... Still, sometimes I wonder if I've done the right thing.

Last night, a couple of my friends and I went to see Katie Noonan at the Forum. Katie is from a home-grown band called George and her musical stylings lean towards the alternative-folk genre, which suits her evocative, soulful and, at times, melancholic voice to a tee. Equally, the punters are also of the varied kind... and queer. Sitting in what must have been the gay section of the theatre, I noticed that one of the girls out of the lesbian couple canoodling in front of us looked familiar and remembered that she was a colleague from the bank. After some trepidatious introduction and establishing some semblance of familiarity by trying to work out who worked with who, she asked me a question through the din of the music and crowd:

"So, what made you leave?"

I gave her the answer I've become used to giving but she cut me off before I could go into my spiel.

"No, I already know the reasons why most leave. I asked 'when'?"

"2003."

"Oh, good. You left just before it really turned into shits."

She told me how the culture within the bank gradually changed from that of people first to profit first. And how several others also left when the volume of work being given eventually out-paced the renumerations being paid. She herself had just handed her resignation that day, after sticking it out for several more years, and is due to work in the IT industry in a few weeks. She looked real happy.

And just like that, the niggling voice that was never far from the back of my mind, that often questioned my decision, that made me doubt my actions... it suddenly disappeared. And in its place left a confirmation of what I always felt was right.

Follow your passion.

Something In The Water

Is there something in the water?

In the last month or so, I've seen at least half dozen of my favourite bloggers come to a stop, either permanently or on indefinite hiatus. And just yesterday, another one has followed suit, which is a real surprise since this blogger is a particular prolific one, not to mention quite popular.

What's happening out there?

I sensed something's up but... has blogging gone passe?

Caution: Party Training

The last few days went by almost without much fanfare. It's kinda weird not having a weekend filled with activities, events and errands; the hectic and sleep-deprived kind I'm usually used to. It's a nice change of pace.

No, apart from work and the workouts, the most interesting I did was to book my holiday for Sydney Mardi Gras next year. Talk about being organised, hey. I've got my plane tickets, my accomodation booked and all I've left to do is to buy the party tix when they go on sale. I'm not usually like this - heck, I'm usually the last minute kind-of-guy. But I had so much fun attending my first ever MG weekend this year, that I vowed not to miss out on next year's celebrations, especially since it's the parade's 30th birthday.

Trips are always fun, but I'm super excited about this one, and much more so than my upcoming two-month jaunt overseas this November. Isn't that weird?

Maybe it's from the sense of empowerment that comes from knowing that I've already been able to affect what I'll be doing next year. Or perhaps it's from the anticipation of relieving those memorable days again from earlier in the year. Or maybe it's from the thoughts of being immersed in that bubble of a weekend when you feel solidarity and inclusiveness that you may not normally experience at any other time. In spite of the criticism that it gathers, no one who's ever experienced Mardi Gras in person could argue the palpability of the event. It's everywhere... like Gay Christmas.

Now that the little details have been sorted, I can focus on the more important things: getting myself sorted. Gymming and grooming, I've gotta look my best to be buffed, tanned and terrific. And of course, some serious shopping and pre-event party training.

Best get started.

Surprised

I emailed Nico a few days later in response to the several text messages he'd sent since Saturday. He was getting worried since he hadn't heard from me. What he didn't know was that I was waging a private Cold War on him and Tommy.

I know I should have called him instead and that I should have done it much earlier but I didn't trust myself from saying something hurtful or something I'd really regret. I was still very angry. So, instead I sent him an email. In it, I admitted that I was mad at the both of them and told him how I felt betrayed and let down by him especially. I sent it before I started to have second thoughts.

A few days later he responded with a surprisingly long answer. I won't go into details but Nico expressed how he felt about the whole thing. Sufficiently. Somehow, he'd also managed to turn the whole incident about him, and in a way that was not entirely egomaniacal or absurd. He did make a point that was not totally lost on me: that I had unfairly assumed that he knew everything that was going on. He was right. He didn't.

So, we decided to make up and move on from the drama. In truth, I was already over it as soon as I had sent him my message. As for Tommy, well, I hadn't seen nor spoken to him at all. But that's okay, he is busy with his new boy.

On another topic, I went to see Thirsty Merc recently, an Aussie pop-rock outfit who hail from Dubbo in New South Wales. I'm a big fan, having seen them twice already this year. They sound awesome live. A few of my friends and I have long organised tickets for this local gig, when another acquaintance had asked me if I wanted to meet the boys before the show. She'd won a competition from a radio station she doesn't even listen to. I jumped at the chance even before I could think about it and before you know it, we were at the venue, waiting excitedly to get the call from the manager.

It wasn't until we were about to rock up backstage did I start wondering what the hell I was going to say or do. I've admired these guys from afar and to be so close and personal was a little intimidating and not to admit, a tad awkward. I didn't want to sound like a gushing fan, cos that would be totally sad, but I didn't want to seem disinterested either. I settled for cool indifference, like this was something I get to do all the time. When we first entered the room, all the guys minus the lead singer came up to greet us and shake hands, and not long after, we were downing a couple of beers together. It was going well and I'd started a friendly chat with the drummer who I admit I barely noticed before. He seemed genuinely engaged and interested in what I had to say.

After a little while, the lead singer entered the room and barely even gave us a glance before he sat himself down in a chair and started fiddling with a shitbox keyboard. I abruptly stopped talking to the drummer and oh-so-casually rocked up to the singer and made attempts at a conversation. I was eager to introduce myself. The dude may have been deaf but I suspect that he was just a right royal snob since anything I said fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile, the drummer, seeing how enthused his fellow musician was being, joined us and was nice enough to answer my questions that were not being replied to by the singer.

My muso friends were right. The lead front guy of any band are usually the moody types while the drummer, who is usually relegated in the background, is often the most friendly. That was proven when I met Thirsty Merc. Forget moody band poster boy, Rai. I have a new idol in Carl, their awesome drummer beatboxer.

It's funny how people can just surprise you in both the oddest and nicest of ways.

Duped

It really is quite pathetic and juvenile to admit, but part of the reason why I've decided to stop writing on my other blog and start a secret one has to do with a boy.

Tommy is a fellow blogger who I met through a friend, Nico. Both are avid blog readers of mine. Partly due to synchronicity and with some help from Nico, Tommy and I ended up meeting one late evening. We hit it off straight away and it seemed real easy. There were quite a few things that I liked about Tommy right from the start. He was funny, for one, sarcastic in the way that I was and the way I found appealing. He was cute and smart, but more importantly, he seemed genuine. Now, I would be lying if I didn't say I felt an instant attraction to him - and sensed that he felt the same.

I often fuck up potential relationships by being way too eager. I either scare the other person away or I get bored too soon from the lack of reciprocation. So, I made a conscious decision to approach this budding relationship with some caution and to take things slowly. At the start, it seemed to work. We enjoyed each other's company without worrying about how or where things were going. A natural progression. But somehow, between holding hands in a pub one Sunday to not seeing each other until the next, something happened that derailed the whole thing. Tommy didn't think that we were going to work. He had a lightning bolt moment midweek and felt that we'd developed a friendship instead. It was a shame, according to him, since he really liked me. Found me very attractive even. I didn't feel like saying otherwise, as I kinda felt the same, so I agreed.

I confided in Nico, not so much to find out what Tommy had said to him or the real reason if there was one, but mostly to talk things out. Even though I said it was ok, I felt confused from Tommy's lack of coherent reasoning and deep down, I also felt completely dumped by him. Nico was attentive and reassuring but I sensed that he, too, was holding something back. I decided to leave things be since it would have felt it low if I made Nico tell me what he did know and betray Tommy's trust.

Several weeks later and things take an interesting turn. Having promised to keep up our friendship, Tommy's contact had become irregular while I find myself spending more time with Nico. Neither say anything about the fact that all the while, Tommy had began a relationship with Jim, another blogger and someone I've recently gotten to know. In fact, it was Jim who mentioned it to me casually, over the internet no less. I didn't know what to say, and it was all I could do not to send a barrage of abusive messages to both Nico and Tommy.

Tommy has every right to be involved with someone and I don't have any to tell him otherwise. Nor does he need to let me know when he does. But I feel pretty pissed all the same. Angry, in fact. Why is that? Why do I feel like I've been duped and spurned? Is it because despite of my well-meaning intentions, I still got fucked over? I can just imagine Nico and Tommy laughing their heads off when talking about the whole thing.

I'm starting to think that, especially when it comes to relationships, gay guys are more screwed up than the straight ones. Me included.

You've Got Mail

I've just spent most of the afternoon going through the 50 or so unread emails that have been sitting in my inbox. It's been like that for the last couple of days.

I know it seems like a trivial thing to be complaining about. After all, there's plenty of other bigger problems out there that the media tells me I should be concerned for: global warming, terrorism, interest rates, Britney losing custody of the kids, for example. But everyday seems to bring more and more of these missives and messages that need actioning. I appreciate every one of them, don't get me wrong. Every last reply, comment, forward, newsletter and even the numerous alerts from several online greeting card companies. I swear I must be super popular with the amount of e-greets that have been sent to me in the last few weeks. From neighbours I didn't know I had, cousins I've never met, former schoolmates from places I never studied at, and even a card from a Sherpa in Nepal! I enjoy them all.

Sometimes, though, it can get too much. In fact, so overwhelming (there's that word again) that when I look at the ever growing list, I simply shut the whole thing down and walk away feeling stressed and jittery. Which is probably not the best thing to do since that in itself is another reason why I'm forever playing catch up. How has something that was meant to be a time saver ended up being the complete opposite?

But today, I've stucked to my guns. Today, I've replied to every message, forwarded every joke, watched every movie, checked out every interesting link, and answered every MySpace and Facebook request. My inbox is cleared, my red flags all done. And it only took me the last six hours. Just as well, too. Since I only have 15 minutes left until my shift is over. Better do something that's actually work related...

Right after I check out this new batch of deliveries. I've got mail!

Loose Lips And Ships

I have a blog that I've been writing for years, and I guess you can say that it's pretty popular. But right now, it's the last thing I want to be associated with.

The reason? Nothing dramatic or drastic. Just that after being involved with it for so long, I suddenly find myself feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. I know it's a little weird and I'm not sure exactly how it all came about but as of this moment, I want to be as far away from it as possible.

Part of the reason is that far too many people who read my blog know me personally, and that limits what I can write and express honestly. It used to be that I wouldn't have the need to censure myself, but lately, that's exactly what I've been doing. It's like going to see a counsellor for your childhood issues and the one sitting in the chair is your mother.

The other reason is the constant need to "perform". To come up with something insightful and unique that would impress readers and generate those feedback and comments. Because after a while, you establish a readership that has expectations and needs, and they will be very vocal if you're not up to task. It's too much pressure that's not good for either morale or sanity. And don't say that it's stupid because if you're a blogger, then you know what I'm talking about.

Which leads me, I guess, to the number one main reason as I can best articulate it. I started hating where my blog was heading. Reading my latest posts, it felt cynical, jaded and pessimistic. As a reflection of who I am, I found that scary since in person, I'm usually carefree and laid-back. Hate to think that deep down I'm as neurotic and wrought with worry as say, caffeine-addict Tweek from South Park.

Hence why I've decided to stop blogging. In fact, I mentioned on there that I would be taking an indefinite leave, not knowing when I'd return. But the relief lasted all of half the day before I started questioning whether I'd done the right thing. Don't get me wrong, though, I'm still pretty sincere with those sentiments, it's just that I have this need to write. It's like an itch that needs scratching. Badly.

And that's the reason for my relapse, and for this "secret" blog. It's my addiction... and therapy.

Just a couple of things that you need to know first.

One, I'm gay. A homosexual, a queer , a poof and yes, even a fag. I don't have any issues about being gay since I've been out longer than I can remember. Nor am I dealing with anything like internalised homophobia, coming out blues or any other problems with my sexuality. I'm fine, thanks. But at the same time, I'm not a militant poof nor a political queer shouting from the rooftops about how proud I am to be gay. I'm just a regular guy who happens to like other guys. Period.

Two, I'm usually not the type to be so secretive but I'm going to be doing the Anonymous thing with this blog. Trust me, that's far removed to what I'm usually like. I'm normally quite open and honest and most probably to a fault. I'm still discreet, don't get me wrong, but in my other blog, I've written in detail about quite intimate things about myself, my family, my sexuality, my sex life and everything else in between that's happened to me. The result is that too many people know too many things, which has led to some problems. So, I hope you'll understand if I'm a little vague with the details.

So, with all that I guess this is where you'll find me writing for a little while. How long exactly? Not sure. I guess until this secret blog serves its purpose and I'm ready again to resume my real blog persona.

In the mean time, though, just call me Joshua.