Behold... my third nipple

For a while now, I have been toying with the idea of tearing down this blog.

Being over a year old now, (gah!) considerable amounts of two-fingered typing have gone into its construction. To delete it would be akin to cutting off a third nipple.

Like an extraneous part of me being severed, but one that is at present unsightly.

It's just that...


I don't feel that it truly captures the essence that is Adrian.

And that is not cool.

Not being a writer, or professing to have any consistent passion for writing (although I have my moments) I'd like to think that I am more interesting than my words make me out to be. It just feels like a ramshackle mixture of drear happenings and the odd vengeful spiteworthy poem.

Not the most enjoyable reading material I'm sure.

And my lack of http skills, access to peripherals, and general motivation to dress it up do not help matters (Not to mention time).

Of course there is the chance that I am just bland and insipid (Crickets chirp). And that this blog is a true and accurate representation of who I am and what I stand for (not much). Perhaps that is what I fear the most. What a harsh truth that would be.

Maybe, I'm just kidding myself, and getting all Self-important and serious. I do that too you know. And quite well.

I think actually that I'm just out of time like Sky Saxon. Miserable introversion is not cool at the moment like it was in the mid-nineties. You don't see Lindsay Lohan sitting in a library cutting her arms or fretting over existential dilemmas. Oh no.

More likely she's at the BAFTAs getting shitfaced and throwing her legs in every direction EXCEPT downward.


Well, perhaps I just lack a little direction...

Perhaps the third nipple will eventually get its areolae decorated with some flower petals and smiley faces.

So for now, blog stays.

But if one day, out of the blue, you find it no longer here...

Please don't be surprised.

I'll still be reading your blogs though. Especially yours Wegg, you make the mundane seem so un-mundane and with your own brand of individualist spice thrown into the mix. And talk about prolific. I'd like to get bitten by what ever bug got you (I don't mean the creepy ant).

Let's just hope that things get better around here,

For my sake,

And yours.

Keywords, keywords do your thang

Fitzroy, Richmond, share, accommodation, sunny, terrace, housing, up to $600 per month, music, sweet, acrobats, girls in 6" stillettos dancing naked around a greasy pole, photography, tricky fly, licky tie, sticky pie, magic bus, tragic fuss, sorry no pets.

There...

Now we sit back and allow our unsuspecting new housemartins to become entangled in the cosmic forces of my world-wide web.

Then we pounce!

The meek shall inherit nothing

By some strange twist of fate, I am now homeless. Officially starting at midnight tonight.

On Friday (after two days off with sickness) , I went to ask the boss what plans had been made for my transfer, and was thusly advised that work in the mother state has suffered an irrepairable setback. During the wait for my lease to end, it would seem that the Project Manager of the interstate job has been replaced with a more budget-conscious individual.

Good thing that I brought it up then, huh? (Eyes roll)

Common wisdom now dictates that there are an adequate number of people working on that project. But my job is still safe (For now...)

It wouldn't have been as much fun to hear that after I had relocated. But two days before the end of my lease is just fabulous. (Fucking fabulous)

So how was your Easter?

Ever tried squeezing a rolled up double sized futon mattress into the front passenger seat of a Peugeot 306? Well that's how Ron Jeremy would feel on a bad day.

Very frustrating.

Suicide gurls: revue

After a long drive home in the cold from Bendigo (formerly Sandhurst, but this isn't a history lesson) , I was looking forward to a nice warm shower and the opportunity to see my favorite SuicideGirls perform live as they tour the world with their outlandish modern punk rock burlesque show.

Yup.

So, I arrived at the HiFi bar and found the end of the queue. Now I had only heard of the Suicide girls in passing. When I bought my ticket last month, I was expecting to be blown away by gorgeous talented smart funny girls that could do amazing things like contortion and magic tricks and make me want to give up my dreams of becoming a clergyman.

I did read an article in the street press about the debate as to whether the SG show was demeaning to women, some of the former dancers being allegedly exploited and but tried to put those rumours aside as heresay and innuendo. Being an open-minded person, I left all my preconceptions in the cloak room.

I went and had a $7 beer, and looked around. It was only 7.30, and the main show didn't start until 10.30. The room was filling pretty quickly, and there were a surprising number of girls in the audience. And it was funny to see all the Kd Lang hairdos, bad angular fringes and flannel shirts.

The DJ was also a magician, and he was wearing a gas mask or something. I went and had another $7 beer.

When I came back there was a band playing. Sorry don't remember the name, but they had that bland sort of 70s sound that the kids are doing these days. They had a keyboard player too.

Gee 10.30 is still looking a long way off.

Fast forward another few $7 beers.

The first girl came out to open the show with her disclaimer. She had a thick American accent and plenty of attitude.

"Rule number fucken one"

The fucken girls can fucken touch you, but you can't fucken touch the fucken girls."

"Rule fucken number two"

Fucken the girls can touch fucken each other as fucken much as they fucken like. And then had a couple of girls demonstrating by clutching each others boobs.

"Fuckin rule three"

No fucken cameras fucken. Theres like a fucken big guy who'll bash you if you take fucken pictures.

Like whatever.

So one by one the girls came out. They all had "attitude" and lots of energy. They all had tits. Although most of them didn't have enough "attitude" to bare their nipples, with strategically positioned electrical tape to protect their modesty.

Each act lasted a few minutes, and mainly involved two girls in some pretend mild bondage scene. They would strut out onto the stage in some leather outfits, take their bras off, shake around for a bit before strutting off again. They would occasionally kiss each other at some point, much to the delight of the audience. But to me, it came off as a 'tacked on' ratings winner.

The girls were all fairly cute, even the girl with the huge painful looking implants. I was hoping that she wouldn't jump around too much.

So was my $47 ticket wasted? Well, I would say yes. Considering that I could have gone to the stripclub up the road and seen totally naked girls do exactly the same thing for free. And I wouldn't have called it burlesque either. Apart from one girl that had a hula hoop, there was no performance angle to the show what so ever.

Where was the fire breathing? Or the spectacular acrobatics and light show extravaganza? Where was the love?

There was one Australian girl on the tour, and it was nice to hear her familiar accent. Only for her to tell us that there are like a thousand Suicide Girls TM in their global chain, and she was lucky enough to have been selected from the Australian chapter. "

Good for her, I guess.

The only time any of the girls did actually speak was to mouth colourful expletives.

So the girls came out for their big finale.

I'm just glad I wasn't up in the front row. I'd still be trying to get the silly string out of my jacket.

Needless to say after being packed into that smoky room for four hours, it was nice to pick up my preconceptions from the burly man at the door.

The non-industrial revolution

Well theres nothing like two weeks away from civilisation to clear one's head.

My house is now empty.

The walls echo with a joyful silence.

Yesterday, the smelliest removalists came to clear out my housemates boxes, and like that episode of Seinfeld with the mutant funk, I had to air out the house after they had gone. It took about two hours for the stench to go. Quite surreal.

It was part of a healing process.

Into the last week of my lease, and after further talks with my boss, it seems that he was of the understanding that I would be staying a little longer.

Ha.

I don't know how he got that idea. Perhaps because I said it. Of course I was trying to be sarcastic when I said it, but I don't do sarcasm well. Evidently.

So rather than upset the apple cart (I hate upsetting apple carts) I am leaning towards staying.

Of course I'll have to have further discussions next week, but I suppose I should be covering my bases and looking for other accommodation.

Now, I must say that I am enjoying this feeling of being able to make choices from a position of power. Knowing that I have options available to me is quite exciting. Not having to worry about money is a new thrill for me also.

The boss told me he can guarantee me work here until at least July. Perhaps this is an opportunity to raise my sights? Lift the bar a little?

I might go home and ponder this some more. In a nice empty house.

With some Indian take-out and possibly some porn.