Thursday, May 13, 2010


Everything imaginably possible has gone wrong today.

I found myself in a very dark place, where without even the illumination of the burning end of a cigarette (YES, I WHO INHALES MORE SMOKE THAN OXYGEN WAS WITHOUT FAGS) I struggled to see any semblance of a light at the end of the tunnel. Penniless, food-less, tobacco-less, I figured things could only get better. Boy was I wrong.

Just when it seemed so bad that the only conceivable solution I could come up with was to pop down to Darlinghurst and whore myself on the Wall, shit got even worse.

I have been waiting on payments from several sources for several weeks now. This is fine. I can handle, in small doses, being broke. Lord knows I can starve a little. When stretched, i can usually charm a few smokes from somewhere. Rent money can, generally, be pushed back a little if absolutely necessary.

There is one thing however, that means more to me than anything else, that I CANNOT and WILL NOT live without. You know what it is. It's the first thing I greet in the morning, and the thing I embrace before I sleep at night.

My iphone.

Horror of Horrors, on this day where, had someone thrown acid on my face at Central Station I would not have been surprised, I realised that my PHONE WAS ABOUT TO BE CUT OFF!

Knowing that drastic measures needed to be taken, I did the only thing an independent 24 year old man can do.

I called Mummy.

Like all good happy endings a Hero Came Along. Sometimes, the only Hero at all available is your Ma. What the fuck would we do without our Mamma's Kids?

After that, every other problem started to fix itself. In my blackest of black pit, the universe started giving back.

And so, with a sense of entitlement only those of my generation could relate to, I wanna send out a little wish list for the universe to look over. I figure, after the Nightmare that was today, the least the world can do is give a little back. Hence, as follows is a very short list of Desirable Lovers I Expect The Powers That Be To Send My Way:


He dresses well. He has exquisite manners (polished in swiss finishing schools). He wants to take me to three-hat restaurants. After dinner, when I'm feeling too full of quail and Grange '78 to shag, it's okay coz he has the best grade Colombian to perk me up for a midnight fuckfest on his yacht in the harbour.... then we snuggle and talk about art until dawn....


He's doing his Doctorate in something really boring and works in the library on weekends to supplement his student loan. We live in genteel squalor in a one bedroom in Newtown. When I get home from going out all night he leaves my jockstrap on the pillow with a handpicked flower and a folded note that says "Love You! wake me up when you are home!"....


On Sunday mornings (after a rollicking night of sexual positions only a gentleman of certain years has the confidence to enlist) I put on one of his white business shirts. It smells like Christian Dior's Fahrenheit. He reads the business section of the newspaper, I read the social pages, and then we retire to the bedroom for an afternoon of eye-opening education(s)....


No comments:

Post a Comment