Hiring And Firing

Whether through sheer dumb luck, good looks or actually being good at what I do, I now find myself in a position where I'm responsible for a whole department at work. Basically, I'm tasked at heading up and coordinating a whole horde of Fitness Instructors as well as managing the gamut of classes we run at the Health Club. It's an interesting role and a not-at-all-insignificant step from being the plain Ass Whipper and Door Bitch that was yours truly's previous job description.

Being the Coordinator is fun work and one of the most enjoyable things about this new role is being able to hire new employees. It's empowering to have the ability to bring in new talent on board and provide someone that much-needed opportunity. I know from previous experiences of looking for employment, it's often a daunting task to front up and go through interviews hoping to land that job you're applying for. It's nice - and surreal - to be on the other side of that.

But there's also the flip side; the worst thing about this job. And that also involves dealing with employees but in this case, instead of hiring them, I'm firing them. Fortunately, I haven't had to do many of these but the very first time that I had the responsibility to do so didn't pan out so well.

An Instructor that had been at the Club for a number of years had been on the receiving end of some very negative feedback for several months. Basically, the poor girl is no longer motivating nor inspiring in her classes to the point that attendances in her sessions have dropped from twenty per class to four, the latter being her die-hard groupies. Several attempts at coaching and training didn't improve her lacklustre performance and when it was time to let her know that she was being dropped, she instigated a boycott which affected not only the Club but several other employees. She got very bitter, very quickly, and attacked yours truly personally for something that was done solely in the name of business and without a personal agenda. Anyway, that whole sorry saga is now sorted and last I heard, that particular Instructor has also been dropped at other Centres for her divisive attitude. I think she's a check-out chick now.

Anyway, so it was with some trepidation that I had to do the same thing again this week and let someone else know that we're no longer needing his services. Agonizing all week at the best way to approach the issue, I almost worked myself into a state and even started feeling ill at the thought of having to do it. When the time finally came and I sat the Instructor aside for "the chat", I mumbled so much that it was surprising that the guy actually understood what I had said. In fact, he felt so sorry for me that he started apologising - the person who was firing him! In the end, it worked out that he already knew what was coming and was only waiting for me to do something. He thanked me for giving him the opportunity to work at the Club and also for being so considerate of his feelings. When he came in today for his final session, he even brought in a cake to celebrate. How nice is that?!

So, yes, this job is definitely fun and sometimes, it proves to be very interesting.

And as for Instructor, well, I'll definitely be sorry to see his arse go, and I mean that literally. The guy teaches Cycle and has buns the shape of peaches. Now that he's no longer an employee, I wonder if he's single.............

Age Shall Not Weary... Maybe

So lately the kind of things that used to give me a real buzz hasn't.

For example, instead of slapping me awake, coffee has actually been making me drowsy. I figure it's the warm milk that's been causing it and not because I'm now immune to caffeine. Beer doesn't seem to have the same kick anymore either, but that could be due to my liver now becoming very good at metabolising the alcohol instead of, you know, being slowly killed by it. And even crack doesn't trip me up the same way as it did before... Well, okay, so that last bit is a lie. I'd never ever do crack.

But I have had the occasional recreational party drug. And so when some E were offered at a party this past weekend, I decided to partake in the pill-popping, buoyed especially by an already extra debaucherous time had.

Now, it's been years since I last got high on the white tablet but I do remember feeling it within minutes. So, it was with some disappointment that after half-an-hour of taking half-a-pill, downed with bourbon no less, I still wasn't feeling tripped up. Instead, I got very sleepy. Must have been some cheap shit.

I would have gone and punched the guy in the face for selling me useless crap, but, well, by that stage my back was feeling a bit stiff. So, instead, I laid down and fell asleep.

Bah. Crazy kids.

Not An 80s Teen Flick

I caught this video clip of The Presets' newie, This Boy's In Love, and must admit that I really like it. Apart from the trip-hop scintillating tunes, I like the whole aggressive yet homoerotic theme of the two guys duking it out.

It reminded me of this jock I befriended when I was back in High School.

I was, for want of a better word, a nerd who was hopeless at sports and almost failed Phys Ed due to lack of effort and, erm, attendance. Basically, I cut class as much as I can to avoid not kicking the footy, not shooting basketball and not swinging the cricket bat. You get the point.

In my year level was Brad who was great at sports but hopeless with his Literature. He wasn't in my circle of friends and I wasn't in his, but over detention, we met each other and somehow became study partners.

(Yes, okay, so this is all starting to sound very much like an 80s teen flick, but trust me, Molly Ringwald doesn't star in this one.)

Eventually, Brad and I became very good friends. At the time, my feet were still firmly stuck in the closet while my head tentatively poked out the door. I knew which way I was swinging. But I still didn't dare come out. After all, this was a school located in the western ghetto. I liked being alive.

I don't know if he sensed it but I soon found I liked Brad more than a mate. It wasn't hard not to. He was tall, a jock, friendly, a jock, fairly good-looking, a jock, and we spent a lot of time together. He was also a jock.

One late evening studying at Brad's place, we were laid out on his bed pouring over a Lit text that needed to be analysed. We were on our stomach with shoulders touching reading this book. The closeness was getting to me and I was finding it *very hard* to concentrate. To relieve the building tension, I playfully shoved Brad over with my shoulder. He looked at me surprised but shoved back. I hit him harder in return. Before you know it, we were jumping on his bed, pushing each other. It ended up into a wrestling session between the two of us, with one trying to pin the other down.

Eventually, we stopped. We were both kneeling on the bed, our chests heaved, breaths panted, clothes messed up and barely on. We looked at each other for the longest time, just staring. All I wanted to do was to grab Brad and plant him some big ones - but then he cracked a smile and we soon fell into a heap of laughter. The tension dissipating. Nothing more happened that evening and nothing more would happen since.

It's been a very long time since I last heard from Brad but I'll always remember that night. Two teenage boys raunchily wrestling in bed, aggressive and homoerotic..............

Gay Porky's anyone?

Shoot The Shit

For the last couple of weeks - probably even longer - I've been feeling this kind of restlessness that, I guess, has come from familiarity and routine. It's not anything bad but it has been gradually gnawing at me to the point that now it seems there isn't anything else but it.

As a result, I feel this boredom and staleness with things that I once used to feel quite excited about: work, hobbies, even writing. Is this the doldrums? Sometimes, I feel this urge just to yell. But since I don't do screaming (I laughed my head off throughout the theme park rides while everyone else broke their voice boxes), I went drinking and binging instead.

My mate Jug spent last night with me in camaraderie as we hoed into a large pizza and did my best to down a bottle of Jimmy while he polished off a bottle of wine. At the same time, we watched this movie called "Across The Universe". It's a quirky, indie-ish musical set during the 60s at the height of the Vietnam War that I can only best describe as a cross between Rent, Grease, even High School Musical, tripped up on acid.

I think it was halfway during one of the film's song and dance number set in a dark and dingy underground New York bar when Jug turned to me and asked how exciting it would have been if we were both in our twenties during the 60s. That set off a spirited conversation on the kind of shenanigans we could have gotten up to. Pretty much the same kind that we do now: drinking, dancing, picking up boys.

That's the thing I really like about Jug. I didn't tell him why I felt like stuffing my face and getting trolleyed but he went along with it anyway. I sensed that he knew something was up and yet still didn't feel the need to prod and ask. But that's not to say that he wouldn't pull me up when I deserved it. He's already done that. In fact, I would have gotten myself in plenty more trouble if it wasn't for him. He's saved my arse from embarrassment many times.

The rest of the night was spent half watching the movie, half talking and trying to keep ourselves from chucking up the alcohol and junk we'd consumed. Eventually, I'd had enough and dragged myself to the spare bed that Jug had made. Waking up this morning, I didn't feel like the world had magically changed nor the things that niggled at me only yesterday had completely disappeared, but still, I felt a little better.

Sometimes you don't really need anything complicated or profound to find the kind of solace that's sorely needed. Sometimes all it really takes is to shoot the shit with your best mate.

Sun-kissed And Water-buffed

The next time I'm back at the Gold Coast, I'm bringing binoculars.

It's fascinating to see the kind of things residents in high rise buildings get up to when they think - presumably - that no one is watching. I watched amazed one evening as a couple across the way went for it in the bathtub then in the shower. And when they were done, the guy - who even from afar I could see was buffed and well-endowed - stood in front of the window rubbing himself dry with the towel first behind his back and then between his crotch, all the while his penis bobbed up and down like an over-zealous pendulum. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out whether his was cut or not.

I spent the long weekend up north in Queensland with the family for a mini-getaway and to do the Holy Trinity of theme parks: Sea World, Movie World and Dream World. It's something we've always talked about but never got around to doing until now. To be honest, I didn't really think much of going at first since the thought of spending four days with snotty kids and daggy rides didn't at all seem appealing. But I had fun.

I like Queensland. Much more than I like Sydney. It feels closer to the laid back vibe and culture of Melbourne and, of course, with all the extra benefits of sun, surf and sun-kissed, water-buffed boys. And boy, were there plenty of 'em! Nowhere else had I ever seen a Micky Dees full of boardies-wearing, topless guys instead of the fat, tracksuit wearing mob that usually populate the place. Not for the first time that weekend was I salivating for something more than a Big Mac.

As for the theme parks, they were exhausting but I made sure to get my money's worth and went on almost all the rides. I did the Corkscrew twice at Sea World and at Movie World, Superman Escape was followed straight by the Lethal Weapon rollercoaster. I think a little bit of pee came out from that. At Dream World, the last theme park, I rode the Tower of Terror... and no, that isn't a reference to John Holmes and his (in)famous phallic member.

Apart from that, went out Saturday night to Cavill St Mall and Orchard Avenue, which looked to be the nightlife strip at Surfers Paradise. Part King St, part Chapel St with hints of St Kilda's Fitzroy St, it was filled with bars, strip joints, really good shopping and drunk men with great arms and pot bellies. Strange. Would have liked for a bit of beach-flavoured holiday fling but I was with sister and brother-in-law so felt the need to behave.

And lastly, at our hotel was the most delectable porter who looked like he stepped out of an aussieBum catalogue. Dark cropped hair, piercing blue eyes, delicious golden tan and an obviously pretty banging body underneath his thin cotton uniform. When he took my luggage, the bottom of his top lifted to reveal a surf-toned six-pack abs with a light snail trail. I wondered how much of a tip I needed to give for the kind of room service they don't advertise on the Guest Directory........

On my last day, I went to the beach and cooled off in the waters of the Pacific Ocean. It was freezing but I persisted. It helped. You know what I mean?

A Lazy Blogger's Post

Okay, so I haven't actually been completely lazy, more pre-occupied, but that still doesn't excuse my whole week's lack of blogging duties. Won't offer any excuses but just say that my lack of activity here also reflects those of my, erm, carnal ones. Mainly, still no follow up action with tall and fair fly boy. Hmmm.

Anyway, here are a few videos that caught my eye during the week. Enjoy!

Watch: Chas & Rove Pash
Chaser Chas taking Rove to task with his infamous interview question: who would you turn gay for? Hot.




See: [REC]
Blair Witch meets 28 Days Later is how this Spanish zombie-horror has been described. I have my own: pants-pooing scary. Bring it.




Listen: No One Takes A Bow
I love a good mash-up and this latest from Norwegian Recycling appeals to my closet pop-addict heart.




Play...
Erm, just watch it.