Textbook dates, bathrooms and a city of people who can't drive a car for shite, and more shite.
Well I thought David and I were rather clever, since we somehow became friends at age 12, still are at age 22, and somewhere along the way both realised we were gay and came out. But it would seem that the honours for Earliest Established Platonic Gay Relationship go to my date last night, Frodo*, and his flatmate Sam*. They have been mates since they were nine, and I suspect share a tacit agreement that they shall remain so, no more and no less.
To cut to the chase, the left-wing radicals at Queer Collaborations this year shouldn’t be worried about how trifling things like gay marriage might perpetuate the hetero-normative status-quo. No, they ought to turn their attention to the text-book turn of events that Frodo and I played out last night. We went out for dinner, moved on and had some drinks at a nice bar. I dropped him home and he asked me to come in for some more drinks. Before long I was too pissed to drive home. And I had a shower at his place this morning. (Fill in the plot-voids as necessary.) Does this all sound a little too…normal, or something?
The remarkable thing is the state of their unit - it’s just so neat and orderly. I really don’t understand why some landlords object to homosexuals renting out premises when this is the way they are likely to be kept. In the bathroom their bottles of body cleanser, facial scrub, toner, bronzer and various other essential gayboy accoutrements were all arranged on the vanity with their labels facing the same way and the hand towel was neatly folded in its hanger so as not to be creased. I recalled, with a degree of shame, the inexcusable condition in which Robbie and I keep our bathroom - although it only gets truly messy when Tim visits with his make-up bag.
Poor Sam probably wondered why some car (mine) was sitting in his spotless carport when he left early this morning. I hope it didn’t leak any oil - those pavers were clean enough to eat off before I parked there. In fact, such is their glossy perfection, I could very nearly see my reflection in them as I left today, which was certainly not a sight I wished to be confronted with at the time.
Speaking of, the Charade loses its NSW numberplates this week since the time has come to register it in South Australia. This means it will no longer carry a visual hint that it is being driven by a Sydneysider and is thus piloted at twice the speed, with four times the aggression and with eight times the skill of most other vehicles in this city.
I’m adding a new feature to some of my entries now. No, it’s not “What Your Bathroom Says About You”. Rather, I’m calling it “What Shite Did I Write…”. I’ll just include a few words taken from my past entries, just as a counter-point to whatever drivel I type in the present. I don’t promise any particular degree of quality, which why I have chosen to describe the text as “shite”. Since it is to be inaugurated right-here-right-now, it would seem fitting to include something from my very first Livejournal entry.
*Names have been changed to protect innocent by-standers who just wish to keep their house tidy and not get involved in my escapades.
_____________________________________________
What Shite Did I Write…
…in my first entry
“It is with what I would regard as a certain (high) degree of self-indulgence that I begin this on-line journal. I guess mindlessly expressing my thoughts is not really my thing. Still, as Oscar Wilde said, “try anything once except incest and folk dancing”.”
View the full entry
To cut to the chase, the left-wing radicals at Queer Collaborations this year shouldn’t be worried about how trifling things like gay marriage might perpetuate the hetero-normative status-quo. No, they ought to turn their attention to the text-book turn of events that Frodo and I played out last night. We went out for dinner, moved on and had some drinks at a nice bar. I dropped him home and he asked me to come in for some more drinks. Before long I was too pissed to drive home. And I had a shower at his place this morning. (Fill in the plot-voids as necessary.) Does this all sound a little too…normal, or something?
The remarkable thing is the state of their unit - it’s just so neat and orderly. I really don’t understand why some landlords object to homosexuals renting out premises when this is the way they are likely to be kept. In the bathroom their bottles of body cleanser, facial scrub, toner, bronzer and various other essential gayboy accoutrements were all arranged on the vanity with their labels facing the same way and the hand towel was neatly folded in its hanger so as not to be creased. I recalled, with a degree of shame, the inexcusable condition in which Robbie and I keep our bathroom - although it only gets truly messy when Tim visits with his make-up bag.
Poor Sam probably wondered why some car (mine) was sitting in his spotless carport when he left early this morning. I hope it didn’t leak any oil - those pavers were clean enough to eat off before I parked there. In fact, such is their glossy perfection, I could very nearly see my reflection in them as I left today, which was certainly not a sight I wished to be confronted with at the time.
Speaking of, the Charade loses its NSW numberplates this week since the time has come to register it in South Australia. This means it will no longer carry a visual hint that it is being driven by a Sydneysider and is thus piloted at twice the speed, with four times the aggression and with eight times the skill of most other vehicles in this city.
I’m adding a new feature to some of my entries now. No, it’s not “What Your Bathroom Says About You”. Rather, I’m calling it “What Shite Did I Write…”. I’ll just include a few words taken from my past entries, just as a counter-point to whatever drivel I type in the present. I don’t promise any particular degree of quality, which why I have chosen to describe the text as “shite”. Since it is to be inaugurated right-here-right-now, it would seem fitting to include something from my very first Livejournal entry.
*Names have been changed to protect innocent by-standers who just wish to keep their house tidy and not get involved in my escapades.
_____________________________________________
What Shite Did I Write…
…in my first entry
“It is with what I would regard as a certain (high) degree of self-indulgence that I begin this on-line journal. I guess mindlessly expressing my thoughts is not really my thing. Still, as Oscar Wilde said, “try anything once except incest and folk dancing”.”
View the full entry