Put on your party dress, we're going out tonight.

I was originally going to entitle this post "I have a penis, and I want you to touch it", but I didn't want you to confuse my particular brand of bawdy-slash-ribald sensationalism for the Herald Sun newspaper.

This post has two parts- Part One, and Part B, with a little message tacked onto the end I will call Version 2.0.

Part One.

Thank you Bloggy people!

I was just venting yesterday, I had no idea such kind and understanding words would come my way.

So to my paramour YGWIN, my pet Kitten, my resident fashionista Bou, that bastard Hamish who does everything better than me (just jokes yo!), the elusive Flaming Goddess, my occasional visiting therapist Dxxx, Felonius Spunke (nope, wasn'ae me at the Napier, I won't be visiting there again), and of course Vyv of the impeccable taste in manflesh, I offer you a picture and a thank you.


The picture.

"Thank You."
The thank you.

Part B.

I so wanted to recall a story to you yesterday, but I wasn't quite up to it, so here it is today!

I used to spend a lot of time in the late 90's living the life of an environmental activist, or 'greenie' as they are known in this big brown land of ours.

It was pretty exciting some days, and other days it was mind-numbingly boring. Plus, I had to work with a lot of hippies, and we all know what that means- consensus decision making (sux 4 eva!)

But during one of my exploits, waaaaay up in the tropical North of Queensland 'Beautiful one day, Racist as all Hell the next', I met someone very different.

Or not.

You see, she was different to me, and not a hippie at all, which makes her pretty normal.
Maybe that's the appeal.

Susan (let's call her that, it was her name after all) had led a remarkably ordinary life.

She was a well adjusted, confident, clean living young lady, who had left her job at The Macquarie Bank (a large investment bank here in Oztraya), to join the Wilderness Society on a campaign (read: blockade) to save The Hinchinbrook Channel.

Nice.

When we met, I pretty much had a coronary, right there.
She was astoundingly beautiful, and so natural.

No make up, no pretense, just the business at hand, which was clearly falling headlong into a very messy relationship with me.

After we had finished up wasting our time fighting big business and the Howard Government in the mud of Cardwell, we spent some refreshing R+R time together with 2 lesbians up in the Daintree rainforest.

We did all the fun things, like fuck in the hot midnight rain in the middle of the rainforest, fuck out in the surf with the crocodiles and jellyfish, fuck in the...wait, this is starting to sound like someone else's blog.

Point is, we fucked a lot, and it was awesome, and our feelings started to get more and more complex, and then she said she would meet me down in Sydney in 2 weeks.

So I hung out on the Sunshine Coast and in Brisbane, sweated a lot and missed her like a dog misses his balls when they're gone.

The vet tells you they don't, but if they don't, why do they keep poking their nose round there, looking confused, and making sad little bye-bye noises?

Anyway, when I got to Sydney, she didn't show up.

After a month, she eventually got hold of me, and said now that she was back in the real world, she didn't think it was such a good idea.

She said this at the Park on the Corner of Glebe Point Road and Broadway, by the lake.

And even though we were in public, and I'm harder than steel, I cried pretty openly right about there.

I felt like my guts were being sucked out of me by the airplane toilet, like 20 fat children were all sitting on my chest, and like God slowed down time, just for me, so I could really get into and fully appreciate the agony and the ecstacy, only, without any ecstacy.

Two weeks went by, and i watched A LOT of tv, and hung out in the hood (Little Eveleigh Street in Redfern yo), when I got a call from Susan.

She asked if I was doing anything, and would I like to meet her at a cafe in Glebe, to catch up?

Of course, my heart leapt, and I put all my eggs in the one basket, and hoped against hope it was a 'boyfriend part 2' audition, with yours truly playing the part of 'boyfriend part 2'.

Of course it wasn't.

I just had to sit there and smile and pretend to be happy, while she told me all about how she saw this guy, and that guy, and started smoking, and...basically a whole bunch of stuff that didn't make me feel better.

I was miserable, and even though I didn't want her any more, I wanted her more than ever.

"Paging Dr Freud..."

I moved over to New Zealand, and did nothing even remotely resembling activism, unless you call spending 7 nights a week in the city off my face on pills and loose women 'activism'.

Aaaaanyways...

Now I live in Australia again, and not so long ago I found myself walking up Glebe Point Road again, feeling really good again.

I decided maybe it would be a good idea, and perhaps a wee bit therapeutic to go into 'that' cafe, and exorcise the old demons, replacing sad memories with happy ones.

So in I walked, and of course, there she was.

I was pretty sure she had moved from her chair some time during the past 7 years, but I asked her to be absolutely sure.

And we talked, and we laughed (eventually), and we both got to enjoy the feeling you get when you flush your emotional toilet, after a big 'curry and lager-style' relationship.

I can't describe the relief that comes from letting go, and from being able to appreciate her anew, afresh, and without any sort of need or clingy alien-face-grabber knee-jerk reactionism.

Plus, she let me finish her cake, which was amazing.

Version 2.0.

I have a major gripe against Arnott's biscuits, producers of the 'Quatro'.

Now, the Quatro is a fantastic cookie that tastes and eats just like a Whittakers Peanut Slab, only softer, and in biscuit form, with added caramel.

Sounds great so far, right?

But check out this packet...



It looks big from the outside, but it is specifically designed to pull the wool over your eyes and only deliver unto you 8 biscuits.

That's only 3.2 seconds of eating time!!!

But the worst part was, I went to their website to give them "feedback", and the website seems to have been designed in a similar fashion.

The send email javascript button simply would not send email, although to be fair I got more than 3.2 seconds of play out of the experience. I tried it 8 times over 4 hours, and nothing.

BAD JOKE WARNING:
Maybe that's why they call them 'Quatro's, coz, like, they take you 4 a ride.

Never mind.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.