Woke up early-ish. Well. ‘Twas 10:30am before I got as far as putting my feet on my bedroom floor. Had a brilliant night out the night before. Truly brilliant. Even if the band at PMF was truly crap. They were. There was so much tinsel and sparkly bits on the stage it was hard to tell if they were performing or just glittering for the hell of it. I suspect quite strongly that the sparkles were to distract from the fact that they were talentless drones. Not even the drummer appeared to be enjoying himself.
Stayed out a bit later than I should have.
Note to self – when the band stops, the show is over and when the show is over that’s when you go home.
Apparently I need to read my ‘notes to self’.
So yes, hauled backside with some difficulty from bed to kitchen. Coffee. Toast. Got dressed and packed my bag for ‘parking’. My version of parking? To go and find a park and read and write and listen to music and daydream and draw for a few hours. If a bit under the weather at the weekend, I find that exercise helps, as does sunshine and fresh air.
Couldn’t be arsed going all that way to Wendy’s park so found one a bit nearer my house. Rang Susan to ‘debrief’ and had a giggle when she told me that she’d managed to take a photograph of an ex-boyfriend she still has feelings for, and had accidentally made it in to wallpaper on her PC and could not seem to get rid of it. What a metaphor.
Returned book (unread) to Library. Tried to have a squiz at a couple of pages whilst walking to the Library. Um, another note to self. Don’t try to walk and read at the same time across uneven ground.
Felt a bit annoyed that I hadn’t managed to actually read the book at all – especially as it had been recommended to me by another writer and all. The couple of pages I saw before nearly breaking my own ankle were really good. But, on the upside, if had have broken my own ankle, at least I would have had a book to read whilst I waited in A&E.
Wandered a bit further down the hill. Had a beer in a quiet shady (as in in the shade from the sunlight – not the other sort of shady) pub and saw the same guy who has been giving me weird looks the last few times I’ve seen him. He just stares and it’s just a little bit creepy, but I try not to sit facing him, and am quite determined not to make eye contact. He’d tried to sit with me a couple of weeks ago – but I thought that I was fairly direct (yet gentle) and said ‘she’s right mate, sort of doing my own thing here’ and he went away immediately.
Still he stares. Guess I can’t stop him – but at least I can discourage him from talking to me.
Had quite a nice text message relay with a friend of mine that in the end lifted my spirits even more and couldn’t really concentrate on the reading that I had planned to do much beyond the current issue of Time Magazine.
Oh, and the brief-interview thingy in the Good Weekend. Laughed out loud at the comment the interviewee made about the last belly-laugh he’d had – which was when his son said he didn’t feel like going to preschool today because he was feeling a bit ‘fragile’.
Then realised I’d just laughed uproariously on my lonesome, and must be giving everyone else there the impression that am a complete nutbag (impression?) and decided that I should toddle off very shortly.
And anyway, was late for friends birthday drinks – and would be even later if I didn’t really get a wiggle on.
Remembered to go home via supermarket and even without my list remembered everything I needed.
Got home to meet the landlord coming through the gate. Told him about the leaking toilet. Said he’d be up in a minute to fix it.
Stupidly figured I’d have time to throw my sweaty self in the shower before that happened. But, timing being what it is in my world, had only just undressed and hopped under the shower when I heard him calling out ‘Hello? Hello?’.
By the way, in case you’re wondering – he’s an absolute sweetheart of a landlord. Not the creepy hang around the keyhole kind, but will do anything to keep his tenants happy.
Buggeration.
Had to get dressed – still wet – and let him in. Then he went downstairs to get his toolbox, and spent another twenty minutes fixing it. Still, at least the thing is fixed now.
One of my pet hates is lateness – I get really stressed when I run late, so you can imagine by now I’m starting to stress that my friend thinks I’m not coming as I’m by now a full fifteen minutes late.
Then I’m late, and as I’ve been parking I’m a little dreamy and have forgotten to do the mental wardrobe shuffle and pick something to wear so that I wouldn’t’ have that hassle when I got home.
First thing I try on – nope – gives the appearance I’m about 2mths from giving birth. Second. Again, nope. Just isn’t working for me today. Try to decide what to wear as its Cocktails at 4pm – do you go with casual dressed down or halfway between that and a little bit of glamour (bright colours)? Decide to go with the half-way thing. Which is a dressy top, jeans, and black slides.
(In my book it’s half way at least).
This is about spot on just in case we decide to continue on anywhere after cocktails.
Had the loveliest chat during drinks I’ve had in ages. First time I’d properly met friends of friend. They are all lovely people, funny, relaxed, down to earth and what I’d class as real.
By the time we were ready to move our party onwards, my sides were aching from laughing so much. It’s awesome when conversation between a bigger group of people just flows so naturally from the outset.
Personally pretty pleased with my witty response when P asked me how long I’d had that – pointing at my leg – I said – What? My leg? Since I was born? God was generous that day – he even gave me two whole ones all to myself.
Actually P meant my tattoo. Then he asked me where I’d gotten it – have only just remembered ‘In Denial’ in Glebe Point Road. First person who hasn’t asked me what it means. Those in the know know that if not immediately obvious – then it’s probably personal and relevant to the person who has it. Besides, didn’t want to bring down the tone of the evening by revealing why I’d gotten it.
Well, thing is, I think I’m funny – but in all honestly am probably not – have heard the comment once before that something I’d said was about as funny as a fart in an elevator.
Bit mystified whether they meant ‘your pun is BAD’ or ‘you really really aren’t funny, and thinking that you are is a bigger mistake-a to make-a’ or ‘you are funny, but your timing is way off’.
Which is a similar response I got one day when trying to retell the barramundi joke* at work. Not a soul even cracked the tiniest smile. I think that’s a good litmus test personally.
*Barramundi joke:
Man walks in to a fish shop with a fish under his arm and asks the guy behind the counter if they sell fish cakes. Man behind counter says yes they do. Man with fish under his arm says that’s great cause it’s his birthday today.
I guess you can see why no one laughed huh?
So naturally we proceed to the PMF. Stopping along the way to admire very expensive wine glasses in a window display. One of which was priced at more than $120. Which is a fair bit for a wine glass. Still, I reckon that would be a good way to gauge if something was worth getting really mad over. As in, am I angry enough over this to actually smash a $120 wine glass? No? Okay, not mad any more. Yes? Smash wine glass. $120 worth of crankiness out of the way.
Sit inside – being the only smoker (and two amongst us have recently given up) decide it is only fair that we sit inside, rather than in the beer garden.
I sneak out for one about twenty minutes later and am joined by P who has very politely snuck one from my bag. Not that I mind. But I would rather not encourage a recent quitter to keep going. I prefer encouraging co-workers to start – the looks of horror and disgust I get are actually amusing. As if *I* would try and get others to join my team!
We talk about everything, from friends we’ve recently written off, to wardrobes (organising not malfunction), shoes (of course), bad hairdressing moments and what the throat-slitting haka was all about.
Out of the corner of my little eye I spy a band setting up. Excellent. I’d forgotten there was a band on at PMF on Saturday nights as well.
Soon the others decide it's time to be on their way - and friend whose birthday it is we're celebrating decide to stay on and dance the night away for a while at least.
Band is brilliant. Covers band, but they play all of my favourite covers. Each band member is brilliant. No tinsel. Always a plus. Very little equipment too - which is something I found to be a bit different. Very small mixing desk, but it made no difference at all to the quality of their performance.
I absolutely love dancing to live music - I don't care if I look like a dag (I'm convinced I resemble a whacked-out windmill anyway), and I care even less that my taste in music is well, more than a little old school - mainly. I enjoy it, and a good night of dancing helps me get all of the kinks out of my system - apparently a night of dancing is equivalent to a weeks worth of gym workouts. Except doesn't make the slightest bit of difference if you're drinking alchohol at the same time.
**to be continued**
26 November 2006
12 November 2006
One of my favourite ever pieces of writing...
And as always, I can't just whack this up here without any background at all. 'Tis a long story. (When have you ever heard me say - it's a short story?).
This used to be printed on a teatowell that hung in my grandmothers kitchen. It was years and years later that I found it printed in a book and it had a bit of background about Max Erhmann (author) of it. He and I were born on the exact same day - 100 years apart.
Regardless of the spooky birth symmetry , this has always had resonance for me, and I refer to it as my spiritual touchstone:
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender - be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;and listen to others,even the dull and the ignorant;they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,you may become vain and bitter;for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;many persons strive for high ideals;and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,no less than the trees and the stars;you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,whatever you conceive Him to be,and whatever your labors and aspirations,in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
This used to be printed on a teatowell that hung in my grandmothers kitchen. It was years and years later that I found it printed in a book and it had a bit of background about Max Erhmann (author) of it. He and I were born on the exact same day - 100 years apart.
Regardless of the spooky birth symmetry , this has always had resonance for me, and I refer to it as my spiritual touchstone:
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender - be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;and listen to others,even the dull and the ignorant;they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,you may become vain and bitter;for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;many persons strive for high ideals;and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,no less than the trees and the stars;you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,whatever you conceive Him to be,and whatever your labors and aspirations,in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
The Best Advice I've Been Given
1 Life IS hard (em>
2 Do the crossword every day
3 If he wipes the smile off your face sweetie, kick him to the curb (Bizarrely offered during one of the more scarier cabrides off my life).
4 If the label says Drycleanable - then you probably should. (Maggie Alderson).
5 If you don't first love yourself, then no one else can either (a good friend of my Grandmothers when I was about nine or so)
6 You can't look for love, you have to let it find you (have absolutely no idea who said this)
7 Beware of being a 'uterus' (North Sydney Pyscho)
8 Never mix the grain and the grape (a father of a dear friend from long long ago)
9 Never lend what you can't afford to give away (proverb - possibly irish?)
10 Love many, hate few, but always paddle your own canoe (My mothers' autograph book from when she was a slip of a lass of, oh, about 14)
11 If in doubt, chuck it out (Marketing Manager of years gone by when I was attempting to make sense of the shitheap of the marketing cupboard)
12 Never leave the house with out at the very least lipstick on, you never know who you might meet! (You Knowwhoyouare)
13 When the student is ready; the teacher will come
14 You never know your luck in a big city
2 Do the crossword every day
3 If he wipes the smile off your face sweetie, kick him to the curb (Bizarrely offered during one of the more scarier cabrides off my life).
4 If the label says Drycleanable - then you probably should. (Maggie Alderson).
5 If you don't first love yourself, then no one else can either (a good friend of my Grandmothers when I was about nine or so)
6 You can't look for love, you have to let it find you (have absolutely no idea who said this)
7 Beware of being a 'uterus' (North Sydney Pyscho)
8 Never mix the grain and the grape (a father of a dear friend from long long ago)
9 Never lend what you can't afford to give away (proverb - possibly irish?)
10 Love many, hate few, but always paddle your own canoe (My mothers' autograph book from when she was a slip of a lass of, oh, about 14)
11 If in doubt, chuck it out (Marketing Manager of years gone by when I was attempting to make sense of the shitheap of the marketing cupboard)
12 Never leave the house with out at the very least lipstick on, you never know who you might meet! (You Knowwhoyouare)
13 When the student is ready; the teacher will come
14 You never know your luck in a big city
03 November 2006
'I'll ave a schooner-a-new and a pineapple juice please'.
One of the more bizarrre drink orders my ears have ever been privy to.
The thought of pineapple juice makes my toes curl - sickly sweet and syrupy. Yech. With beer? Although 'tis quite a girly drink so was probably for his girlfriend or mother maybe. Or elderly aunt.
'Tis funny though. The shift in drinking that occurs in ones life - as in consumption of alchohol. And attitudes towards it I meant to say, and of course, ones cultural background that largely contributes an attitude and value when it comes to consumption of alchohol.
Largely we spend our twenties drinking as much as possible for as little outlay as possible. The idea is to get as drunk as possible, as soon as, whilst taking great care to keep the costs well down.
In our thirties - or mine specifically - it seems the theme is more one of restraint. I prefer to pace myself so that I can keep it together for longer and still enjoy myself and with a stroke of luck - avoid the horror of the hangover the next day. Having one and being that was is a magnificently futile waste of a day. Weekends are so precious these days. So many things to achieve in such an eye-wateringly short space of time. As does the lack of sleep induced vague state of mind that one finds themselves in generally the following day.
Speaking of course from experience. Of course.
There is also the social out-fall and fall-out of drinking, and at times too much.
A young lady I met while out on a Friday had had too much - waay too much.
Emma. Attractive - bottle-blonde, wide brown eyes, prominent nose and well defined lips. Quite striking really. I'm not sure if she knew the people that she was with. Possibly not. We met her @ Loft Bar.
She introduced herself to (I'll call him Hamish) by way of grabbing his backside. He handled it rather well I thought. She said something to me, so I leaned over and said hi.
I guess having had at that stage a couple, I wasn't accurate in guaging just how much she'd had. Within minutes she was telling me how she'd lived all over the world as her father was in the 'millitary'. 'Cept in Australia we refer to it as the army or navy or simply just defence. Not millitary.
Then we got on to the topic of relationships. A favourite - strangely - of mine. (I know!). I told her I lived in Cammeray. She said she could see how unhappy I was about that. Possibly she had a vague point there. I am not unhappy in Cammeray. I love it there. It suits me fine. I have the worlds' best flatmate. I have a lovely little home to call my own. The only thing that gets me down the constant noise of the traffic. So maybe it flickered across my face, but only very briefly.
Susan and I were keen to move on and Emma had sort of attached herself to us, and seemed okay, so we made the decision to move on, two girls, two blokes plus one.
As soon as we got outside I realised my mistake. She was on the wrong side of trashed. Had possibly mixed her drinks as well. The way she leaped in to the middle of the road to flag a cab was a good indicator. The first two cabs went around us, flicking off their 'for hire' signs and accelerating in to the distance.
We had made arrangements with Susan, Luke and Hamish to meet at the bar at the Interconti (Intercontinental for the unsure). We were successful on our thrid try for a cab and the driver seemed nice in a grandfatherly sort of way. I chose to sit in the front, and opened the door for Emma to make certain she got in the back (well there was hardly room for her in the front WITH me).
He asked Emma to put her belt on - a fairly reasonable request given that it was the Friday night before a long weekend, and there had been the usual ad-campaign for the last fortnight about Police being out in force targeting drink-driving, speeding and seltbelt-wearing.
She arked up at this - telling us she was a 'pleece' officer and intermittently banging on his plastic screen.
I apologised for my friend. I tried to get her to calm down, but she seemed to have selective hearing at that point.
The cab-driver - potentially one of Sydney's best told me how he'd once carried a man down several flights of stairs on his own back, he'd fallen down and didn't get up again - and his friends were suspiciously unwilling to call an ambulance. Our cabbie had driven to St Vinnies and did not charge him - which sort of makes sense I suppose - how do you charge someone cabfare if they're unconscious?
We arrive at the inter-conti and head for the bar, the waitress approaches us and asks if we've been drinking today - it is THAT obvious. Choosing not to answer I ask her if there is a smoking section, in a snappy manner she replies that there isn't, only out the front on the street.
Emma, bless her clanky-clogs - has walked up to a group of suited corporates, just sitting around chatting at the end of a busy week and announces that we've just cut a $120Mil deal. As fucking if. I widen my eyes and apologise by mouthing 'sorry' at a safe distance and grab a table. I call Susan - it is with great relief that she says that they've arrived and are in the lobby. I grab Emma and head back out to the lobby. Emma is stumbling a little so I take her elbow and help her down the few stairs. We meet the others and I look up and out the doors to witness Emma giving parking directions to one of the valet guys.
Clearly not the night I had planned. Clearly.
Susan and I hang back a bit and plot an evil plan to rid ourselves of Emma The Female Blowfly. They cross the street ahead of us - and we hang back for a couple of changes of lights. Buggeration. She's waiting on the other side of the road with Hamish and Luke. Or rather waiting with Hamish but draped all over Luke.
While we're waiting (still waiting - always bloody waiting but that's a rant for another time) Emma makes an attempt to cross the road towards us - Luke grabs her arm and yanks her back on to the footpath just in time as a large speeding Sydney Bus whistles throught the intersection on a green light.
Could have been a bit of a messy way to finish the night. Nothing like witnessing a drunk blond being made in to mincemeat in front of you to pretty much ruin your night out - or the rest of ones' life (hers too) while we're here.
Near tragedy averted we continue on - the others - Susan, Luke and Hamish are ahead and I hang back with Emma. Again, helping her down a few flights of very old and very uneven sandstone stairs. She tries to shake me off and has started up her aggressive rant - this time directed at me.
'Nah, nah, I see what ya tryna do and I get it okay and I don't need you'.
What. Ever. The only thing I'm trynna do here is stop you from falling down stairs and breaking your stupid (and progressively red) neck.
We join the others, Luke gets the drinks in. There is a large group of people near us - they all seem to know eath other very well, present the point of the gathering becomes apparent as a birthday cake WITH candles is ferried out.
We join in the singing of Happy Birthday, clap and all manage to stop outselves at the exact moment that a lone reveller chants in '...for he's a jolly good fellow...'.
There is always one.
Luke directs his confronting line of questioning at Emma.
'So, Emma, why don't you tell us what it is that you do for a job'.
I meet Susan's eye and we smile at each other briefly. We were both taken aback that he asked us the same question so soon after meeting him. It's not that there is anything WRONG with the question. There isn't - the question is a fair enough 'getting to know you' question - but it's so damned obvious that's all. It's predictable, and boring and nosey - most of us in this age group know who gets paid for what work, so it's a bit rude from that perspective.
I prefer to ask someone how their week has been - it's a much more genuine, less-invasive question. I am always genuinely interested in people. There is an art to conversation and there is definitely an art to starting one.
However, neither Susan, Luke or Hamish were prepared for Emma's response:
'I'm the sales director for a media company, a firefighter, a pleeceman and I'm a vet nurse for my brothers' vetinary clinic'.
Wow.
Susan let out one of her classic giggles.
Emma (naturally) went in for the kill.
'It's bitches like you I can't fucking stan.. You think your so fucking hot you stuck up cow and your not and thas coming from me'.
Good. Cause it would hardly be coming from me, or Luke or Hamish.
I should have known better. I should never have been okay with this twit tagging along.
I grabbed her elbow again, gently but decisively.
'Hey, do you need me to see you to a cab?'
'Nup'. She says.
I'm thinking - you know what? She might be drunk, and completely stupid and out on her own and as much as I don't like leaving other women like this - I think it might be for the best. She is going to get more aggressive. We're having cocktails at the next place and - after all - this was mine and Susans' night out. We'd planned to hook up with Luke and Hamish - not in that sense - but they were in town overnight, and a friend of a friend of Susans' and we were showing them around. Tour de Bars and all that.
By the time I turn around with a 'what on earth' expression Emma has moved on to the next crowd of hapless drunks and we move on.
I still wonder about her from time to time. I didn't want to watch the news for the next few days - fearful that I might read of a blonde meeting an untimely death.
Susan has told me more than a few times - you're always looking out for other people - who looks out for you?
I wonder if Emma has since given any thought to her behaviour? Did she wake up and wince privately to herself in the morning? Cause we've all been there, and alchohol is mostly the reason, the culprit, the scapegoat and the dickhead.
The thought of pineapple juice makes my toes curl - sickly sweet and syrupy. Yech. With beer? Although 'tis quite a girly drink so was probably for his girlfriend or mother maybe. Or elderly aunt.
'Tis funny though. The shift in drinking that occurs in ones life - as in consumption of alchohol. And attitudes towards it I meant to say, and of course, ones cultural background that largely contributes an attitude and value when it comes to consumption of alchohol.
Largely we spend our twenties drinking as much as possible for as little outlay as possible. The idea is to get as drunk as possible, as soon as, whilst taking great care to keep the costs well down.
In our thirties - or mine specifically - it seems the theme is more one of restraint. I prefer to pace myself so that I can keep it together for longer and still enjoy myself and with a stroke of luck - avoid the horror of the hangover the next day. Having one and being that was is a magnificently futile waste of a day. Weekends are so precious these days. So many things to achieve in such an eye-wateringly short space of time. As does the lack of sleep induced vague state of mind that one finds themselves in generally the following day.
Speaking of course from experience. Of course.
There is also the social out-fall and fall-out of drinking, and at times too much.
A young lady I met while out on a Friday had had too much - waay too much.
Emma. Attractive - bottle-blonde, wide brown eyes, prominent nose and well defined lips. Quite striking really. I'm not sure if she knew the people that she was with. Possibly not. We met her @ Loft Bar.
She introduced herself to (I'll call him Hamish) by way of grabbing his backside. He handled it rather well I thought. She said something to me, so I leaned over and said hi.
I guess having had at that stage a couple, I wasn't accurate in guaging just how much she'd had. Within minutes she was telling me how she'd lived all over the world as her father was in the 'millitary'. 'Cept in Australia we refer to it as the army or navy or simply just defence. Not millitary.
Then we got on to the topic of relationships. A favourite - strangely - of mine. (I know!). I told her I lived in Cammeray. She said she could see how unhappy I was about that. Possibly she had a vague point there. I am not unhappy in Cammeray. I love it there. It suits me fine. I have the worlds' best flatmate. I have a lovely little home to call my own. The only thing that gets me down the constant noise of the traffic. So maybe it flickered across my face, but only very briefly.
Susan and I were keen to move on and Emma had sort of attached herself to us, and seemed okay, so we made the decision to move on, two girls, two blokes plus one.
As soon as we got outside I realised my mistake. She was on the wrong side of trashed. Had possibly mixed her drinks as well. The way she leaped in to the middle of the road to flag a cab was a good indicator. The first two cabs went around us, flicking off their 'for hire' signs and accelerating in to the distance.
We had made arrangements with Susan, Luke and Hamish to meet at the bar at the Interconti (Intercontinental for the unsure). We were successful on our thrid try for a cab and the driver seemed nice in a grandfatherly sort of way. I chose to sit in the front, and opened the door for Emma to make certain she got in the back (well there was hardly room for her in the front WITH me).
He asked Emma to put her belt on - a fairly reasonable request given that it was the Friday night before a long weekend, and there had been the usual ad-campaign for the last fortnight about Police being out in force targeting drink-driving, speeding and seltbelt-wearing.
She arked up at this - telling us she was a 'pleece' officer and intermittently banging on his plastic screen.
I apologised for my friend. I tried to get her to calm down, but she seemed to have selective hearing at that point.
The cab-driver - potentially one of Sydney's best told me how he'd once carried a man down several flights of stairs on his own back, he'd fallen down and didn't get up again - and his friends were suspiciously unwilling to call an ambulance. Our cabbie had driven to St Vinnies and did not charge him - which sort of makes sense I suppose - how do you charge someone cabfare if they're unconscious?
We arrive at the inter-conti and head for the bar, the waitress approaches us and asks if we've been drinking today - it is THAT obvious. Choosing not to answer I ask her if there is a smoking section, in a snappy manner she replies that there isn't, only out the front on the street.
Emma, bless her clanky-clogs - has walked up to a group of suited corporates, just sitting around chatting at the end of a busy week and announces that we've just cut a $120Mil deal. As fucking if. I widen my eyes and apologise by mouthing 'sorry' at a safe distance and grab a table. I call Susan - it is with great relief that she says that they've arrived and are in the lobby. I grab Emma and head back out to the lobby. Emma is stumbling a little so I take her elbow and help her down the few stairs. We meet the others and I look up and out the doors to witness Emma giving parking directions to one of the valet guys.
Clearly not the night I had planned. Clearly.
Susan and I hang back a bit and plot an evil plan to rid ourselves of Emma The Female Blowfly. They cross the street ahead of us - and we hang back for a couple of changes of lights. Buggeration. She's waiting on the other side of the road with Hamish and Luke. Or rather waiting with Hamish but draped all over Luke.
While we're waiting (still waiting - always bloody waiting but that's a rant for another time) Emma makes an attempt to cross the road towards us - Luke grabs her arm and yanks her back on to the footpath just in time as a large speeding Sydney Bus whistles throught the intersection on a green light.
Could have been a bit of a messy way to finish the night. Nothing like witnessing a drunk blond being made in to mincemeat in front of you to pretty much ruin your night out - or the rest of ones' life (hers too) while we're here.
Near tragedy averted we continue on - the others - Susan, Luke and Hamish are ahead and I hang back with Emma. Again, helping her down a few flights of very old and very uneven sandstone stairs. She tries to shake me off and has started up her aggressive rant - this time directed at me.
'Nah, nah, I see what ya tryna do and I get it okay and I don't need you'.
What. Ever. The only thing I'm trynna do here is stop you from falling down stairs and breaking your stupid (and progressively red) neck.
We join the others, Luke gets the drinks in. There is a large group of people near us - they all seem to know eath other very well, present the point of the gathering becomes apparent as a birthday cake WITH candles is ferried out.
We join in the singing of Happy Birthday, clap and all manage to stop outselves at the exact moment that a lone reveller chants in '...for he's a jolly good fellow...'.
There is always one.
Luke directs his confronting line of questioning at Emma.
'So, Emma, why don't you tell us what it is that you do for a job'.
I meet Susan's eye and we smile at each other briefly. We were both taken aback that he asked us the same question so soon after meeting him. It's not that there is anything WRONG with the question. There isn't - the question is a fair enough 'getting to know you' question - but it's so damned obvious that's all. It's predictable, and boring and nosey - most of us in this age group know who gets paid for what work, so it's a bit rude from that perspective.
I prefer to ask someone how their week has been - it's a much more genuine, less-invasive question. I am always genuinely interested in people. There is an art to conversation and there is definitely an art to starting one.
However, neither Susan, Luke or Hamish were prepared for Emma's response:
'I'm the sales director for a media company, a firefighter, a pleeceman and I'm a vet nurse for my brothers' vetinary clinic'.
Wow.
Susan let out one of her classic giggles.
Emma (naturally) went in for the kill.
'It's bitches like you I can't fucking stan.. You think your so fucking hot you stuck up cow and your not and thas coming from me'.
Good. Cause it would hardly be coming from me, or Luke or Hamish.
I should have known better. I should never have been okay with this twit tagging along.
I grabbed her elbow again, gently but decisively.
'Hey, do you need me to see you to a cab?'
'Nup'. She says.
I'm thinking - you know what? She might be drunk, and completely stupid and out on her own and as much as I don't like leaving other women like this - I think it might be for the best. She is going to get more aggressive. We're having cocktails at the next place and - after all - this was mine and Susans' night out. We'd planned to hook up with Luke and Hamish - not in that sense - but they were in town overnight, and a friend of a friend of Susans' and we were showing them around. Tour de Bars and all that.
By the time I turn around with a 'what on earth' expression Emma has moved on to the next crowd of hapless drunks and we move on.
I still wonder about her from time to time. I didn't want to watch the news for the next few days - fearful that I might read of a blonde meeting an untimely death.
Susan has told me more than a few times - you're always looking out for other people - who looks out for you?
I wonder if Emma has since given any thought to her behaviour? Did she wake up and wince privately to herself in the morning? Cause we've all been there, and alchohol is mostly the reason, the culprit, the scapegoat and the dickhead.
02 November 2006
PJ O'Briens - 16 September 2006
I've just made the snap decision to stop in for a quick Stella on my way home from a pleasant afternoon's meandering conversation with my good and dear friend Shaun.
I'm at PJ O'Briens' having sauntered through the impressive lobby of the Grace Hotel on York, Sydney with (I hope) the air of a woman who knoweth where she goeth(e).
There's a pleasant crowd here, it's early enough to avoid the drunks, just enough people to keep the bartenders busy, not too busy that they can't chat in between drink-pours and table-clears.
One of the barstaff is Irish - possibly from Dublin - recently I'd say given his use of the word 'bollicker' for box - by way of explanation for where I could find the matches I so desperately am ashamed to admit I required (desperately!).
There's a group of women/girls/females/chicks not far from my table. One of which is of asian appearance - but I'd suggest Japanese heritage with Australian-born parents. She is the epitome of self-centredness as far as I can tell. She is calm, watchful, observant yet effortlessly multi-tasking as she listens to her friend talk about a boy to her right, whilst making a call on her mobile at the same time.
The woman to the right of the Japanese multi-tasker could be from anywhere. Truly: Lebanon. Turkey. Italy. Greece. Poland. Ireland. The woman to the right of the one from somewhere in Europe/UK is bottle-blonde-but-not-brassy.
They've just been surprised by an unexpected delivery of food - gifted by a table of boys nearby.
It is impossible to be sure if they know the blokes.
There are three blokes at the food-gifting table and that complicates the nature of things a little.
I do not have a clear line of sight to the fourth woman, I can see her in left profile only. She either uses a lot of mascara or is wearing fake eyelashes. Those puppies could clean the floor.
The fifth member of the girl-table has her back to me. She is also blonde. Her hair is wavy and platinum and lank-ish. She is thin. Pretty in a motorsport-event kind of a way. She has doe eyes and flawless skin. No doubt skilled at whatever she does, and conscientious and hardworking with it. Possibly also wearing the fake eyelashes, but as they appear so natural it is hard to be sure.
She smokes quickly, thumb-flicking her cigarette in to the ashtray behind her. It's an amateur-smokers' thumbflick. Robotic, an almost nervous response.
The dark-haired-could-be-from-anywhere has a charming demeanour. She is an expressive sort, gesturing quite naturally with her fork to underline her conversation. She wears a silver cross large enough to indicate that she is religious, but not so large that it's ostentatious.
I think that she's just twigged that while she's been engrossed in her conversation I've been covertly painting her with my words.
And therein lies the problem: If an artist paints your portrait - it is only natural to want to see it - to see ones essential character captured with brushstrokes and colour. What one immediately looks for is the representation of ones true self.
I am not now, or at any time, prepared to dilvulge what I have written - in this place (pub - not blog) for me this is an exercise in setting the scene.
The three - now - four blokes at the table that offered the food are no longer attentive. In response the women have become louder.
Doe-eyes has long slender fingers. She does not have the nail-extensions so hot right now in Sydney. Except they aren't. Hot. I refer to them as porn-star nails and I am certain that most blokes have a similar visual response.
When I see them, I sigh. Inwardly. They - the nails - are acrylic. Fake. Wrong. Ridiculous. Impractical. An obvious waste of money. A sheer waste of time and wilful disregard that the women who are employed to apply them are placed in clear and present danger every single day, given that the fumes from the chemical process are toxic.
The particles from the filings are so fine that both client and manicurist will suffer side-effects from inhaling them. Mesothelioma? Who knows really.
However, every aspect of daily life will kill us all eventually. Slowly for an unfortunate few.
If vanity achieves the desired result - is the risk to ones' health worth it in the short/medium/long term? Ever?
Does any one truly give this idea the considertaion it may or may not deserve?
I don't know that I do.
When I am an old lady I think I will have the answer. But not before.
I'm at PJ O'Briens' having sauntered through the impressive lobby of the Grace Hotel on York, Sydney with (I hope) the air of a woman who knoweth where she goeth(e).
There's a pleasant crowd here, it's early enough to avoid the drunks, just enough people to keep the bartenders busy, not too busy that they can't chat in between drink-pours and table-clears.
One of the barstaff is Irish - possibly from Dublin - recently I'd say given his use of the word 'bollicker' for box - by way of explanation for where I could find the matches I so desperately am ashamed to admit I required (desperately!).
There's a group of women/girls/females/chicks not far from my table. One of which is of asian appearance - but I'd suggest Japanese heritage with Australian-born parents. She is the epitome of self-centredness as far as I can tell. She is calm, watchful, observant yet effortlessly multi-tasking as she listens to her friend talk about a boy to her right, whilst making a call on her mobile at the same time.
The woman to the right of the Japanese multi-tasker could be from anywhere. Truly: Lebanon. Turkey. Italy. Greece. Poland. Ireland. The woman to the right of the one from somewhere in Europe/UK is bottle-blonde-but-not-brassy.
They've just been surprised by an unexpected delivery of food - gifted by a table of boys nearby.
It is impossible to be sure if they know the blokes.
There are three blokes at the food-gifting table and that complicates the nature of things a little.
I do not have a clear line of sight to the fourth woman, I can see her in left profile only. She either uses a lot of mascara or is wearing fake eyelashes. Those puppies could clean the floor.
The fifth member of the girl-table has her back to me. She is also blonde. Her hair is wavy and platinum and lank-ish. She is thin. Pretty in a motorsport-event kind of a way. She has doe eyes and flawless skin. No doubt skilled at whatever she does, and conscientious and hardworking with it. Possibly also wearing the fake eyelashes, but as they appear so natural it is hard to be sure.
She smokes quickly, thumb-flicking her cigarette in to the ashtray behind her. It's an amateur-smokers' thumbflick. Robotic, an almost nervous response.
The dark-haired-could-be-from-anywhere has a charming demeanour. She is an expressive sort, gesturing quite naturally with her fork to underline her conversation. She wears a silver cross large enough to indicate that she is religious, but not so large that it's ostentatious.
I think that she's just twigged that while she's been engrossed in her conversation I've been covertly painting her with my words.
And therein lies the problem: If an artist paints your portrait - it is only natural to want to see it - to see ones essential character captured with brushstrokes and colour. What one immediately looks for is the representation of ones true self.
I am not now, or at any time, prepared to dilvulge what I have written - in this place (pub - not blog) for me this is an exercise in setting the scene.
The three - now - four blokes at the table that offered the food are no longer attentive. In response the women have become louder.
Doe-eyes has long slender fingers. She does not have the nail-extensions so hot right now in Sydney. Except they aren't. Hot. I refer to them as porn-star nails and I am certain that most blokes have a similar visual response.
When I see them, I sigh. Inwardly. They - the nails - are acrylic. Fake. Wrong. Ridiculous. Impractical. An obvious waste of money. A sheer waste of time and wilful disregard that the women who are employed to apply them are placed in clear and present danger every single day, given that the fumes from the chemical process are toxic.
The particles from the filings are so fine that both client and manicurist will suffer side-effects from inhaling them. Mesothelioma? Who knows really.
However, every aspect of daily life will kill us all eventually. Slowly for an unfortunate few.
If vanity achieves the desired result - is the risk to ones' health worth it in the short/medium/long term? Ever?
Does any one truly give this idea the considertaion it may or may not deserve?
I don't know that I do.
When I am an old lady I think I will have the answer. But not before.
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