Phone: *Rings*

Me: Hullo?
NG: Hi, it's me, Norwegian guy.
Me: Err, hi! How're you doing?
NG: I'm good, I'm good. A bit hungover, but I'm doing pretty well, thanks. I had a really great        time last night.
Me: *Really regrets last night* Um..yeah, I did too.
NG: Hey, I'd really like to see you today. How about a picnic later? I'll pick you up and we could go        to King's Park or something.

//Alarm bells go off in my head. PICNIC! Next thing I know, he'll be suggesting moonlit walks on the beach and watching the sunset from a river cruise!//

Me: Uhh...about that...you see, I...err, it's not you, it's...no, what I mean to say is...well...err...I-       I, err, I... *Sighs* Well, to be honest, I like another guy. (I thought that it might be a bit        cruel to say "other guys".)

//Long pause//

NG: Oh. I see. Ok.
Me: Ok?
NG: *Subdued* Yeah. I mean, if you like someone else, that's your thing. Nothing I can do about        it.
Knife: *Stabs into my heart*
Me: I'm really sorry about this...
NG: *Even more subdued* No, no. Nothing to be sorry about.
Knife: *Sinks further in and starts to twist*

//Dammit, why won't he call me a bitch? I want to beg him to yell at me, swear at me, ANYTHING, just as long as he stops sounding so fucking dejected. I'm writhing on the floor with self-hate right now. God, someone end my misery.//

Me: But I really am sorry.
NG: Ok.
Me: I'll see you at soccer, alright?
NG: Alright.
Me: Ok...bye then.
NG: Bye.

I hang up in relief. What a nightmare. At least I won't have to face him for another four days.

//One hour later//

Phone: *Rings*

NG: Hi again. Listen, I know you don't like relationships, so I was just wondering, how do you feel        about something casual instead?

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Mmm…you gotta love rugby tourneys. The only thing better than watching hot kiwis do the haka…is watching hot kiwis do the haka with their shirts off! *SQUEEEEEEEEEEE*

I was floating, lost in a sea of rugby players. Whoever said drowning’s a traumatic experience must’ve forgotten to bring a camera along and had to go through the ordeal of not having piccies of shirtless kiwis.







But where’s Joe? Joe who was ever-so-teasable, Joe with the tiny freckles and broken nose, who went red every time someone asked for an autograph, who got tricked into telling another guy he had a sexy arse, who stressed out over how to smuggle 40 pirated DVD’s out of the country, who laughed at all my jokes and consoled me after a scrappy game. Joe whose number I forgot to ask for, whose email addy I didn’t write down, who hugged me once and left me wishing for more. What about him? And I’ve only got one pic of him too.

Goddammit woman! So which one’s Joe then?!

Right, no more teasing.

I wanna fly over to NZ now.

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Another one of those text conversations.

Me: So. My kungfu instructor. He's fun. I like.
Mom: He's fatherly. Is that why?
Me: What?! Christ no! He's 29!
Me: I DO NOT HAVE DADDY ISSUES!
Mom: What's he like then?
Me: Well, he's hot, athletic, makes me laugh, loves dogs...I dunno...
Mom: Hmph. Minus the dog bit, he sounds like your dad in his heyday.

In other news, I'm off to New Zealand on Monday. Back in a couple of weeks!

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YAR HAR HAR HAR HAR! Ha ha ha ha HA!!!

Last Super 12 ever! Fifth title!!! Crusaders are GODS!!! I kneel before you and kiss your mud-splattered, Tah-ass-kicking boots!!!

It was brilliant! Spectacular! It was bloody kick-ass rugby!!! 13 All Blacks, 8 Wallabies! NZ vs. OZ! TAKE THAT TAKE THAT TAKE THAT YOU WALLABY-LOVING TWITS! And especially you, Sydney, for daring to doubt Rico Gear!

Leon MacDonald scored a try! Even his nosebleed was sexy! Justin Marshall carted off on his teammates' shoulders! Dan Carter's half-line (almost) penalty kick! Andrew Mehrtens in the last 10 minutes! Reuben Thorne's intercept! And Mat Rogers' two tries! (I close my eyes to his wallaby-ness...it's a fullback thing.)

Victory! Glory! CHAMPIONS!

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Who knew that coffee could be sexy?

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Rugby guys have a penchant for nudity. Torn jerseys are a common sight after a game, but not because they were up against vicious, feral opponents. No, they were just trying to help one another along in the Brotherhood of Nekkidness. Put them in a ‘skins n shirts game’ and arguments will erupt in no time.

“I wanna be in the skins team!”
“No, you got to take your shirt off the last time! It’s my turn now!”
“Dammit, why can’t it be skins n skivvies?”

Not that I’m complaining. Rugby lads with short short shorts are a welcome sight, and rugby lads with short short shorts down are an even more welcome sight.

Which is why I’m awfully glad I followed our lads to Finney’s after Saturday’s game against the Hong Kong Football Club. I suppose the trauma of a completely humiliating defeat (63-0) and the heat must have got to the visitors, cuz after the pints had made their rounds, they decided to put a little performance together. Patrons of a café down the street lodged a complaint the very next day of an unholy tone-deaf din, which went something along like this:

WITH your shirt off!
WITH your trousers off!
WITH a wiggle! *Cue butt wiggle*
WITH a wedgie! *Cue wedgie*

This verse then repeated itself a few times, finally culminating with:

WITH your shirt off!
WITH your trousers off!
WITH a wedgie! *Cue wedgie*
WITH your kit off!

At which point, boxers and briefs of various mismatched colours joined their owners’ trousers pooling round their ankles. Of course shrieks of “My eyes! Gah my eyes! I’m blind!” and the sort immediately ensued. But for every hand clapped over the offended organs (eyes, I’m talking about EYES!), there was a gap left just large enough for peeking through. And in the dim smoky light of the pub and through empty beer glasses, every female (and some males) decided that the HKFC must be invited back for another game.

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A friend remarked yesterday that I'll probably end up with someone who hits me. And that I'll like it.

It isn't the first time I've been told this either. What, do I have "Beat Me" tattooed on my forehead? Do I project myself as someone who measures my partner's affection for me by the number of scars received?

     Total scar tissue surface area       x      100%
     Total skin surface area

Love me because I bruise so prettily for you?

Just cuz I once had a crush smack me one over the eye with a pool cue. Accidentally. So what if I sighed dreamily with every throb of pain that accompanied a raised right eyebrow? All it meant was that I spent the rest of the day loking either very cynical or very surprised. But that was just because it reminded me of my one-on-one (lovely phrase that) pool lesson with him.

But I'll have you know that I happen to find bruises and scars very sexy on my guys. So give me some credit. If I'm ever involved in an abusive relationship, there'll definitely be some giving of me own as well. Egalitarianism and all that. At least I'll never be bored, and that says a lot.

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I've finally uploaded my pics from last week's Cobra 10's rugby tourney. A lovely tourney it was too, the highlights of which included:

- hakas by shirtless kiwis (always a nummy treat)
- free beer at the stadium
- riding around on someone's shoulders like a kid
- more free beer at the stadium
- my souvenir ball sales pitch ("Got balls?")
- camwhoring
- free beer at the clubhouse
- free t-shirts (which got exchanged for more free t-shirts and a cap)
- beating the Worm at pool ("God, I think I drank too much. I'm seeing double" is a pathetic excuse)
- tequila and vodka in room 7180
- drunk Oris
- rallying the hotel security guards against Matt
- forcing the Worm to sleep on the floor
- spinning around in a chair that cost 20,000 bucks.

Err...and the rugby too.

Photos at me flickr album. Yes, I know my face is a bit pink in some of the pics. And I keep telling you, it's the sun, the SUN!

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