Adam: Hmm, I really feel like some Japanese soup.
Me: Since when did you like Japanese food?
Adam: I had Japanese for lunch the other day.
Me: Ah. So now you like it, eh?
Adam: I have Japanese ancestry, you know.
Me: Oh, that’s a good one.
Adam: I’m serious.
Me: You’re the most unoriental person I know.
Adam: No, I must be adopted or something. You don’t get ninja skills like mine just by going to a martial arts school.
Yes… he still thinks he’s a martial arts master. The problem is that he is actually quite good at all that stuff.
Lately, Adam has been attempting to (mostly sucessfully) disgust me by sitting there and staring at me with a drink in his mouth, then letting the drink dribble out of his mouth and down his chin. Half the time it serves him right because it’ll stain the shirt he’s wearing but he usually claims it was worth it. It all went a bit too far the other day when he was doing the washing up and was scrubbing a glass which was full of water. I commented that it wouldn’t surprise me if he threw the whole glass of water at me – seemed like a natural progression from the dribbling thing. So he did.
San Fran, the most Unheterosexual Man In The World, continues to ring Adam on his phone, full of requests to go out on Friday nights. I can’t tell what his agenda is – you see, although he’s repeatedly asked me ‘Why is such a cute face like Adam single?’, he’s also trying desperately to set Adam up with his female friend Leah (who may as well be a man anyway). I don’t think I could bear to be seen out with anyone wearing a biege skivvy, to be honest, so I don’t blame Adam for continously turning down San Fran’s party requests.
Then there’s Leah. She has a habit of sending Adam text messages to his phone like ‘Hello princess, how’s it going’. I don’t know which one of them wants Adam more, but it seems to amuse Adam that he has people chasing after him. (Actually, I think I’ve got a woman after me too, and I didn’t even mean it. More on that later.)
*****
Torana paid me a visit on the weekend – he’s driving down to Melbourne for a few weeks to do some work, and wanted to borrow my Melbourne street directory. While he was at our place his girlfriend called him on his mobile. I only got to hear one side of the conversation.
Hello?
I’m what?
Am I sorry?
Sorry for what?
What do you mean I don’t know what I said last night?
I wasn’t that drunk was I?
What did I say?
I don’t know, how can I be fucking sorry if I don’t know what I said??
I DON’T KNOW.
Oh come on. It wasn’t that bad was it?
I don’t even remember picking you up from the train station!
(Note: At this point I heard a scream of fury from his mobile phone)
But what -
That’s -
I don’t fucking know what I said!
Okay, okay! I’m sorry!
How can I be sorry if I don’t know what I said?! But I am sorry!
What did I say?
Fuck!
Yeah, I’ll pick you up from the train station. I’ll be about ten minutes.
I AM fucking sorry!
Well you won’t tell me what I said will you?!
Fucking hell!
Are you there? …hello?
and I hired Fight Club on the weekend. I was sitting on the vinyl part of the beanbag, and whenever I moved, the vinyl would stick to my skin and came close to ripping most of my skin off. This is why we need silk beanbags. I think that invention could rival my Self Contained Nachos idea.
John paid us a visit while we were watching Fight Club. I don’t think I’ve spoken about John in my journal before but he looks like a pimp and is officially The Dodgiest Person I Know. He told us that it was a really good movie, when his girlfriend rang his mobile and I witnessed a repeat performance of Torana’s conversation.
Hello?
Oh, it’s you.
What?
I’m at Adam’s.
ADAM’S!
Bloody hell.
What do you mean who’s that woman in the background?
It’s bloody -
It’s the bloody Fight Club movie!
You know, Brad Pitt!
Fucking hell, there IS NOT A WOMAN IN THE BACKGROUND!
It’s the bloody Brad Pitt movie Fight Club!
(I noticed, bemused, that there wasn’t even a female in the scene we were watching)
Oh, for Christ’s sake.
I’m at bloody Adam’s!
Oh, for-
Hello?
Are you there?
Stupid cow.
iked the concept of Fight Club. When I say he liked the concept I don’t mean he liked the concept of the movie, he liked the concept of having a Fight Club in real life.
When I returned the video back to the video store the next day, the woman was absolutely overjoyed. She acted as if I’d saved a small child’s life by returning the video – and even rewinding it! I don’t think she has a lot to live for.
*****
I think my phone number at work must be really similar to a radio station’s request line, because since I started my job I’ve had about five people ring me to request a song. I had someone ring me up late last week:
Young girl: Is this the request line?
Me: What?
Young girl: I want to hear the new Mel C song thanks.
Me: I think you’ve got the wrong number.
Young girl: Isn’t this the request line?
Me: No. It’s not.
Young girl: Oh.
Me: Um… yes.
Young girl: Do you know the number for the request line?
Me: What? No, of course I don’t.
Young girl: Oh, okay.
Me: Mmrgh.
Young girl: So can I request a song then?
Me: Yes, but I’ll throw it in the bin as soon as you hang up.
The DJ Accountant is really starting to irritate me. I think Mr Marketing is truly regretting hiring him. One thing that I really don’t like is the way the DJ Accountant swears so much. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t really care if people swear, but every second word he says is ‘fucken this’ and ‘fucken that’. As an example, when he sneezes:
Accountant DJ: (sneezes) Fucking cunt shit ball licker of a motherfucker, where are my tissues?
He also wears terrible ties. I mean, nobody wears those cartoon character ties anymore, do they? There’s this Daffy Duck one he keeps wearing. It’s just terrible. It’s got four Daffy Ducks all smiling and waving at me, including one disembowelled Daffy Duck that slips off the end.
I was walking around the city today, and spotted a guy standing outside a store with a microphone announcing all the specials. I don’t think he knew the microphone was on when he said to his friend:
Store announcer man: I can’t wait to finish this stupid job. They only pay me $12.50 an hour you know, and this store is just full of crap.
What I should have done:
Me: (walk up to sales assistant) Excuse me?
Sales assistant: Yes?
Me: Do you sell faeces here?
Sales assistant: What?!
Me: The guy on the microphone said this store is full of crap. So is it?
The announcer man isn’t the only person about to leave his job. Jen is really getting over her job, she just doesn’t enjoy it, and she doesn’t get treated very nicely by certain other members of staff. I don’t want her to go, I really don’t, because she is so cool, but she’ll be much happier at another job. As for me, well, I’m feeling sort of 50/50 about the job, but I’ve promised myself to give it until December at least, and then make my mind up. I still don’t know what I want to do for a career.
But I do have one idea. It started off as a silly idea I had when I was living in Torquay, but it’s grown into something I want to take quite seriously. I’m applying for a position in a job that’s very different from anything I’ve ever done – something I really, really am interested in. I have no idea what my chances are of getting it but there’s quite a few positions available in this particular field at the moment.
So what is this new mystery job I’ve applied for? Well, you’ll have to wait until my next entry. Heh.
Jen is looking on the internet for a new home. She’s been printing up pictures of houses and showing them to me, and asking me what I think.
Jen: (waves printout of a house around excitedly) So whaddya think? Do you like it? Does it look like a nice home?
Me: If you like coming home to a black and white pixellated home every night, then yes.
I also recieved a phone call from one of my younger sisters on the weekend. One of my sisters has just started uni this year and I swear it’s done something to her. She’s not the woman she used to be.
Me: So what have you been doing today?
My sister: Maniscuses.
Me: (thinking this is something sexual) What?!
My sister: Maniscuses. Or it could be maniscii.
Me: What is all this?
My sister: Part of my chemistry stuff. When you fill a glass to the very top with water, it curves upward at the top. The curve is called a maniscus.
Me: Er… right. And what job will this course get you?
My sister: That’s not all. Liquid mercury has an inverted maniscus!
Me: (feigning her ecstatic scientific joy) Fantastic.
*****
Adam and I were on our way to the pub when I noticed someone had a hose poking out of their window with water flooding out of it.
Me: Why on Earth would you turn a hose on in your own home, then just pump the water outside?
Adam: They could be emptying a waterbed.
Me: Oh, that’s true.
Adam: You’re supposed to empty it now and then.
Me: I don’t like waterbeds. I slept on one once and didn’t get any sleep at all.
Adam: I love them. They’re brilliant.
Me: If you had one you’d grow to hate it. You’d never sleep.
Adam: Wrong. I would absolutely love it.
Me: Okay then. Tonight when you go to bed, just lie there. Whenever you make the slightest move, I’ll jump up and down on the bed for three minutes. See if you still want a waterbed after that.
I’ve been braving the cafeteria at work lately. I try to avoid eating out anywhere more sophisticated than McDonalds because to be honest, I’m just not comfortable at restaraunts. I always worry that I’ll do something wrong, and most of the time I never even know what half the things on a restaraunt menu are. I’m still not quite clear on what what those whore’s derves things are. I don’t even know what whores are doing with derves in the first place.
(Okay. I’ve checked my dictionary and there’s no such word as “derve” but there is an entry for “dervish”: ‘member of a Muslim fraternity vowed to poverty and austerity, and which uses wild dancing etc. as part of its ceremonies’. Whores and dancing? I’m now thinking of the Muslim religion much differently than I used to!)
If you are about to email me and correct me on the spelling of whore’s derves, I know they’re not really spelt like that. However, I do know more about dervish people than you, so shut your trap.
But back to the restaraunt thing. I especially, above all, avoid eating out by myself. At least when I’m with others, I can just say things like ‘Oh, I’ll have one of those too.’ I’ve got a real habit of ordering whatever Adam orders when we go out. Even if it’s something as simple as minimum chips and two dim sims.
The cafeteria at work shouldn’t really be called a cafeteria because they serve really upmarket type food. Thankfully, they only have three different meals on any given day to choose from – and I have the security of being able to order chips if I don’t know what any of the meals on that particular day are.
I’ve ordered chips quite a few times, unfortunately.
However! On this day an Italian beef soup or something was on the menu. Apparently the Italian part was olives, and I’m safe with beef, so I decided to take a chance. I always bring a book with me to the cafeteria, and when I ordered my meal:
Cafeteria girl: So what would you like?
Me: The Italian beef soup, thanks. And some chips. (I still needed some sort of security, you see.)
Cafeteria girl: (points at book and smiles at me) Oh, that’s supposed to be a fantastic book!
Me: (already nervous in the cafeteria atmosphere and slightly thrown) Er… yes, um.. he’s a great author. I, ah… I really like his work.
Mentally, I was kicking myself. ‘I really like his work?’ I sounded like a reviewer on an SBS arts show! Not ‘he’s a good author’, not ‘he writes really well’, but… ‘I really like his work’.
She gave me a look that straight away said she was immediately thinking differently of me. She stopped leaning over the counter at me and I realised that I may have just been the victim of a really bad come on line that I totally screwed up. And I’m gay! I’m supposed to be able to get on well with women like this! But then:
Cafeteria girl: Well, I haven’t read it, but my girlfriend has. Why don’t you have some free sauce on your chips? You must have good taste in books.
Is free sauce on my chips a come on? I have no idea. I went and sat down and started to eat my soup, when I realised that soup is not I should order when I’m not at home. It was splattering everywhere all over my shirt. Then to make matters worse the cafeteria girl sat down on the seat directly opposite me.
Cafeteria girl: I’m on my lunch break. (smiles)
She had an Italian beef soup and chips too! I mean, come on. Nobody generally orders chips with sauce with an Italian beef soup? Do they? Was she trying to say something by having the same lunch as myself? Most of the lunch was consumed with awkward small talk and me trying to splatter my soup on myself as little as possible, let alone her. She actually had a giant cloth serviette type thing over her shirt, and I don’t even know where she got it from. I noticed most people eating the soup were wearing the serviettes and I realised that once again, I’d screwed up another restaraunt attempt. I still don’t know Cafeteria Girl’s name though.
All this happened on Friday. There were further developments today (I got free sauce again, and this time she even asked me if I wanted salt on the chips) but you’ll have to wait until my next entry to find out where this steamy romance is heading. Not to mention Adam’s dilemma over if he should choose San Fran or Leah.
I took my bottle of Pepsi that I had at lunch back with me to my desk. Jen immediately piped up:
Jen: Gay guys always drink Pepsi.
Me: What? I like Dr Pepper best, actually.
Jen: Well, that tastes like semen anyway.
Me: What?!
Jen: It tastes awful.
Me: It doesn’t taste like semen.
Jen: It tastes like how I imagine semen to taste.
Me: Is this a bad come on line? I think I’ve already had one of those today.
Jen: So you don’t drink Pepsi a lot?
Me: No. I don’t. Why do you say gay guys drink it?
Jen: The bottle shape is so phallic. I mean, just look at it. One look at that and you think… penis.
Me: That’s absolutely ridiculous. A bottle of Gatorade is far more phallic than a Pepsi bottle and I don’t see many gay guys drinking out of those.
Jen: They should market cider in penis shaped bottles or something.
This brings my list of invention ideas to:
* Silk beanbag
* Self Contained Nachos
* Cider in penis shaped bottle
*****
I arrived home from work on Friday to the block of units we live in. Someone had scribbled a sign and stuck it up on the wall of the foyer: ‘Oil on stairs – slippery’. Bloody oath it was slippery. The entire set of stairs was covered in this oil and the floor downstairs was coated in it too. Which begs the question – why was someone walking around with oil, and why were they walking around with such a large quantity of oil? I can’t think of any home use which requires such a large amount of oil. And why did they walk up and down the stairs and all around the foyer? Were they trying to set the place alight or something?
*****
Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2000 11:31:46PM (GMT +10:00)
Subject: Soft drink politics at KFC
To: webmaster@kfc.com
Hello.
You didn’t answer my last email about the Colonel. I wanted to know how the Colonel chose his chicken when he was dead. Remember?
I was wondering something else. I read in the news last week that the soft drink rights for all Australian KFC restaraunts are open for bidding. I know you currently stock Pepsi products, and Pepsi is worried if they lose the soft drink rights to Coke that they’ll lose almost 50% of their Australian sales or something.
I personally think you should stick with Pepsi. I’ve been told by a lesbian this week that the phallic shaped bottle is quite an attraction to gay guys (not that I’d know about that or anything).
Oh yeah. I also had this idea, that you could get a hollow shaped corn-chip shell and fill it with melted cheese, salsa, lettuce and tomato and create Self Contained Nachos. Do you think there’s any room for this on the KFMenu? Should I approach a different fast food chain with this idea?
Sincerest over-mayoniassed regards,
Jeb.
*****
I think I might tell the Cafeteria Girl about Self Contained Nachos and see what she thinks of it.
There’s a Stargate convention on in Sydney in a few weeks which I’ll stay very clear of, but I know Mr Marketing likes Stargate so I told him about the convention in case he didn’t go. He said he went to last year’s Stargate convention and it was crap so he’s not bothering, but he did go to a Star Trek convention a few years ago and met William Shatner. He had to pay $30 to get his autograph, but he says it was worth it because when he paid his money and got a book signed, he realised William Shatner was drunk. He could smell the alcohol off him metres away, and his signature was just a slurry mess. I guess there’s not much you could really do after starring in Star Trek except get drunk all the time. And write bad novels.
In Australia there’s a chain of stores called Cash Converters – basically just a chain of pawn shops. It’s funny that there’s so many Cash Converters stores in the Western suburbs of Sydney, where – by some strange coincidence – there tends to be a higher crime rate. Adam and myself were poking around in our local Cash Converters store and noticed a Sega Dreamcast for sale. Now seriously, who would go to Cash Converters and sell a perfectly good brand new Dreamcast? They probably only got about $80 for it, knowing how tight Cash Converters are. Even if you did want to sell it, you could get heaps more if you put an classified ad in the paper or something. I think the store should be called Thief Converters or Drug Converters.
My god. I just visted the Cash Converters website. I didn’t realise how many countries they operated in. It’s almost a Mafia operation.
*****
Adam was saying the other night that he had a really sore neck. I told him to go to the doctor but he started whinging. Adam NEVER goes to the doctor when he’s sick unless it’s absolutely fatal. Adam’s idea of medical advice is by going to Ask Jeeves and hoping that the search engine has the answer.
Me: That’s really bad. You should get your neck checked out.
Adam: I’m going to go and Ask Jeeves.
Me: You might not find out the answer from there, you know. You should go and get it checked out in person.
Adam: No, you don’t understand. Jeeves knows everything. He’s a genius.