This is a short one because I've just watched Layer Cake. Excellent shit. It was released last year so go download/buy/steal it. Now.



And damn, what Daniel Craig lacks in face, he makes up in body and sheer, fucking cool.

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Muscles!

On treadmills and weight benches, glistening with sweat as they burned and trembled under the strain. I sat on an unoccupied rowing machine, absently sliding back and forth as I watched my friend rhythmically pump more than twice my weight.

“That’s more than twice my weight,” I observed helpfully.

He ignored me, pumping the bar up and down without missing a beat. It would have seemed effortless if it weren’t for the throbbing veins and blood vessels threatening to burst.

“Do you want some of my peanut butter?” I offered him my jar and spoon.

*Grunt...pump…grunt…pump*

“What would you do if I tickled you right now?” I leaned forward, finger extended in anticipation.

He hesitated in mid-pump, then straightened shaky arms to lock the bar back onto the rack. He sat up and glowered at me. “You mean if the bar didn’t crush my neck? I’d probably crush yours.” A frightening threat, but his purple face let it down. He sighed in exasperation. “I thought you wanted to check the gym out. Go check it out! And leave me alone.”

I gave him a withering glare. “I heard that last bit, you ingrate.” And rubbed peanut butter into his hair in retaliation, narrowly avoiding an angry swipe. Then I retreated to the other side of the gym with my peanut butter. I didn’t want to be within reach of an irritated guy who could a hundred kilos. Imagine what he’d do to the peanut butter.

Mmm, yummy peanut butter. I ate another spoonful while surveying the gym.

At one end, an obscenely sculpted gym rat glared at himself in the mirror, scrutinising his body for the slightest hint of jiggle. A slightly less-muscled, but definitely more sexy guy bent over next to him, reaching for his water bottle. Mmm, yummy arse. Come to think of it, there were many yummy arses in the room (mine included, of course). And only four…no, five…wait, four… Well, only four or five females besides me, depending on whether the feminine-faced but scarily buff individual in the corner sported boobs or moobs.

I licked my peanut buttery spoon thoughtfully. Hmm, I could definitely see a few "fit" reasons to join this gym.

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In response to an email mentioning a hot Mauritian guy from soccer:

Jamie

can't you find a nice Chinese boy and be happy??? wish I had married you off before sending you to perth.

Love - Dad

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I was at another birthday party last night. But one with rules:

"EXCLUDING UNDERGARMENTS ALL APPAREL MUST BE OF A PARTICULARLY BAD TASTE. OP-SHOP QUALITY IS PREFERRED. HOWEVER IF YOUR OWN WARDROBE ACCOMMODATES THEN PERSONAL BAD TASTE CLOTHING WILL BE ACCEPTED.

SHOE QUALITY IS OPTIONAL DUE TO THE INTOXICATION SAFETY ACT OF 1985."

I decided to go with a stripey theme - I am, after all, a zebra:

• Stripey black-n-white toe socks
  
  
• Stripey candy-coloured pajama pants
  
  
• Black-n-white striped jailbird shirt (a salute to Aussie heritage)
  
  
• Red Scottish Tammy hat, complete with fake red hair (not stripey, but it was plaid - close enough)

Perfik.

Actually getting to the party was a bit touch 'n go at first. The first bus that came by tried to run me over but had a change of heart at the last moment and went for a jogger wearing tights instead. So I waited half an hour for the next one, and even then I had to take my Tammy off before the driver allowed me on (he must've still been smarting over Australia's lost swimming golds).

I managed to reach the party without further incident (no one wanted to sit next to me on the bus though - rejection hurts). Pulled the Tammy back on, gave myself a quick onceover, and walked through the door.

And had a Bridget Jones "Tarts and Vicars" moment. Apparently, everyone else had taken "Bad Taste" to mean shirts advertising crap bands or crap drinks. As far as I could see, the title-holder of "Worst Taste" pre-stripes was an English rugger jersey.

It was going to be a lousy night.

I ran to hide in the kitchen. And just as I popped the cap off a bottle, a voice floated out from behind the island.

"There's a rental fee if you're gonna share my hiding spot."

It was my Mauritian Soccer Guy! In full dag glory! Chelsea jersey! Mickey Mouse boxers! Winnee the Pooh suspenders! Hideous bow tie! Purple football socks!

It was going to be a great night.

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DISASTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NEver have I beens so de-presed after drinking.!!osm! And I shall tell you why!! It is a diasaster! A national catashrtophe!!!!!!!!!! CATASTPROPHE!!!!!!!!!!

Itw as supposeed to be such a GOOD night!! Pub crawl! Perfect excuse to get drunk with mauritian guy!

And it worked too! At first...

And then he turned to another girl! WHY?!!!!!!!!!! WHY WHY HYW?!

So i tried to balance it out by paying attentin to a Nowegian guy (I didn't want to be obvious). Only...I paid a littel too much atettention and now Norwegian guy thinks I'm v much into him...which i'm not, because he's not hot...but that's beside the point. Because I'm not shallow...and I value maturity and communication and hotness and and..and hotness which is Mauritian guy. But now Mauritian guy probably thinks:
a. I am a slag.
b. I am into not-hot Norwegian guys.

So now I have a dilemmma - to call and confess? or to play it cool, a nd let him do the work.

I cry.

Beacuse I really thought we had something tehre and now I've mucked it all up.

Fucking pub crarwls..

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So. It's been a month since my last update. To those who complained (i.e. Jase), I apologise...for having a SHITLOAD of assignments to finish, you whinger!

Hahaha.

Right, assignments are over and done with. And the exams are a whole 6 days away, so I've heaps of time for that.

Anyway, priorities first:

UPDATE on the guys in my life

Grand total = 0

Bottleshop Adam

Has disappeared. I don't know where to and his manager was very evasive when I interrogated asked him. He definitely didn't quit his job because he got to see me everyday, and who would want to give up a perk like that. I actually thought I saw him hiding behind some wine cases once, but I must have been hallucinating, I was that cut up over his disappearance. Maybe he was kidnapped...who knows? It's a mystery.

Hot Mauritian Guy

Is a bastard. When I tried to verify the rumours, he assured me that there was nothing going on between him and the Other Girl. And the next thing I knew, they were doing a RichardandAmy beside the soccer pitch. I know. I was watching the whole time from my window with a pair of binoculars.

Bartender Victor

Had potential for a while. Hot, witty, bartending (i.e. drink mixing) skills, and hot. Unfortunately, he was either attached, or had serious separation issues with his mother. Between him and Bottleshop Adam, drinking just isn't as fun anymore.

So this left me languishing all by my heartbroken and lonely self. Until 3 days ago when I met the Tall Blond Guy (renamed by Jase).

Athletic, can hold a decent conversation, dresses well, a sailing enthusiast (!), can fly planes (!), wants to buy a motorbike (!), AND is not an alcoholic (!!!).

We may be going out for coffee at the end of the week.

Unfortunately I've forgotten what he looks like. It was a whole 3 days ago, it was dark, and I had had a bit to drink. All I remember is 'tall' and 'blond', hence TBG.

This had better not turn out to be another Norwegian episode.

________________________________________________________________

In the meantime, here are some pics I took at this year's Sexpo to make up for the lack of updates.

WARNING: Some of them aren't very work safe.

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We dance. I lean in for a kiss.

And at the last moment, he turns his face so that I kiss his cheek instead.

What's wrong? I can't kiss you, he says.

I ask him if he's gay. He laughs. No, he's not.

What, I grin cockily, I'm not hot enough? He half-laughs again and tells me that I have no idea how sexy he thinks I am. Then he adds that he wishes that he had met me ten years ago.

I pull back a little, my hands dropping from behind his neck to his shoulders. How old are you exactly?

He gives me a wry smile. Probably twice your age, he says, I'm 34.

Ahh. I tell him my age and he shakes his head a little. Where were you ten years ago, he repeats with the same wry smile.

Ten years ago, I was very, VERY illegal. Is it the age thing then, I ask.

He says that it is a little bit. But not really.

Then what? I am very curious now. But he doesn't want to tell me. I run my hands down his arms as I try to think of another reason. Maybe it will be easier to pry it out of him with more alcohol. I grab his hand to pull him to the bar...

And my fingers hit a ring.

Oh.

Damn.

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when you walk into a bar with him and you don't bother checking the other guys out.

Edit: Damn, I need to get KI outta my head. It's been more than a month since I last saw him and this bar incident, but evidently, he's taking up more of my thoughts than he should. Ngearghhh!

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