As Snug As A Bug In A Rug...

Hey guys and girls! I don’t know where you bloggers are but I’m going ahead with my post anyhow; it’s not like I aint used to my diatribe falling on deaf ears! I hope I haven’t scared y’all with my perverted tales. There was a documentary from the US last night called ‘God Hates Fags’ and I was astounded by this madwoman in Kansas who stands on the highway with her kids in tow, waving placards with pictures of boys like us committing acts of sodomy and fornication. They claim that anyone who supports our corrupt lifestyle is a ‘Fag Enabler’ and no better in their eyes; so that means you, Ms Obedie!
Fortunately, there’s only a handful of members in this ‘church’ and they’re all related to some miserable old fart who sits in the attic of a farmhouse channeling this hateful wisdom. Hallelujah folks! I turned the channel and stumbled on another fabulous US series called ‘Cheaters’ where a group of self appointed vigilantes chase ‘adulterers’ through shopping malls and peep their cameras through the windows of seedy motels to record these acts of fornication.
The things you watch when you got insomnia, folks! It’s hard on your brain in more ways than one. Last week I was popping pills and drinking hot water with three bags of chamomile tea in the mug. I was burning white sage to chase away the insomnia demons and sleeping with a Guatemalan worry doll under my pillow. I broke the head off my Japanese samurai statue and feared the repercussions so I buried it in the garden, under moonlight for seven days and nights to cleanse its energy.
My sleep cycles were fantastic most of the Autumn, although I was spooked out because I was in hospital this time last year and I had a psychological aversion to the season. It still shakes me up when the sun sets early and leaves fall from the trees; I don’t know how you cope with the somber skies in Europe, Lars. All of a sudden I’m home all the time, wrapped in my second hand blankets and second hand socks, watching the second hand TV on my second hand sofa!
I started a book of short stories and I reached 110 thousand words on my novel manuscript; the cold weather is so damn productive, don’t you think? Last week I had dinner at a friend’s place in Toorak and I baked lasagna and carrot cake. When I arrived, I was greeted by Mindy Lou and a group of homeless folk. There was a barefoot traveling preacher frying rice in the kitchen, an Indian peasant listening to Hindu music in the lounge and an Aboriginal guy showing his prison tatts in the dining room.
Apparently Mindy met these guys preaching the word of God in the Bourke Street mall and now they’re parked out the front of her joint off Toorak Road. They’ve been educating her about their brand of Christianity and showing her the pitfalls of dumpster diving. Mindy had a spiritual awakening, you see and I was invited to her very first Sabbath dinner party where I ate expired chocolate donated by the preacher and his disciples!
Later that week I was blessed to have another play performed, praise the Lord! The performing arts crew at RMIT had a crack at two of my scripts; Office Politics and Garth & Eugene. It was another hit and miss affair but I was impressed nonetheless. None of the actors were real experienced and they did a fine job considering. They forget several key lines but they were great at covering up. The costumes and the lights were fabulous and there were a number of memorable moments; Garth & Eugene was particularly well received.
For some reason, the director gave my call centre play to Indian exchange students and I had three demure girls playing my lesbian punk drug dealers! They were as quiet as mice and about as punk as a group of school girls playing marbles. Unfortunately the humour was lost but it had me in stitches anyway; they even played ‘Call Me’ instead of ‘Hanging on the Telephone’ by Blondie to introduce the charade.
There was free champagne after the play and Mindy chased the good actors down to see if they wanted to play faggots in my other shows. Maybe we can get an ensemble together and hire a space for the Fringe festival. God knows, waiting for a theatre company to produce a show for you in this town is as easy as finding a cure for AIDS!
Speaking of which, my most recent tests came back stable, bless those little tablets. The side effects are outrageous and I don’t know how long I’ll manage but I’ll hang in there for now and think positive; ha ha! This is the first week I aint had a wart or a coldsore on my face for six months and I’ve been living it up, darling! I’ve been zipping around this city from bath tub to thrift store in between chai lattes and anti retrovirals.
I ventured out last night to find me some lovin’ but I came home empty handed as usual. There was nothin’ but sad queens talking silly business and having domestics in Richmond and beefcakes with leather and hairy backs at the pub on the corner. The annual Mr Leather competition was in full swing and there were guys swanning around with their butt cheeks hanging out. There was nothin’ but smut, booze and shooting pool and I was left thinking how dreary it is to be queer in Melbourne and how I didn’t want to be 40 and 50 and my life to be this unextraordinary! I tell you what, folks, every time I venture out it makes the priesthood look more appealing and I can create more interesting fantasies on Microsoft word.
I spent the rest of the weekend as snug as a bug in a rug, trying to make sense of this mysterious universe and eating one chocolate after another from the box my friend gave me from her daughter’s school fundraiser. My mother’s boyfriend called me for mother’s day; go figure! I think he’s drinking heavy, waiting for his court case next month for $25 000 social security fraud; Lord, have mercy on his soul. There’s been enough addiction and incarceration in this family!
I brought a blue duffel coat from the Balwyn Salvo’s and I told the cashier I needed it for Europe. When I got home I realized I’d brought an identical duffel coat from the North Carlton Salvos three months ago! I heard a guy singing in a band on the radio and I realized he was a guy I made out with eight years ago during a drinking binge on Oxford Street. I was envious of his success and I regretted all those lost years in Sydney eventhough it made sense at the time and I thought of San Francisco and the guy I could’ve fallen in love with if I wasn’t afraid to tell him I was positive.
I wondered where all the years had gone but then I looked around and I was happy with what I could see so all’s well that ends well, I guess. It’s nice to have a little more wisdom, a roof over your head and food in your stomach, even if you aint a rock star.
Sometimes I get the feeling it’s not real and I’m not really here; I’m just watching myself in a movie and that’s kind o’ strange. Who knows, maybe it’s some magical mystery tour we have to go through to get to the real stuff, don’t ask me why. There must be some point to it all. Some days it fascinates me and I’m glad to be here and some days it scares me and I just wanna be somewhere else. Let me know if you figure it out cos I’m stumped, folks!
In the meantime, I’d highly recommend soaking in a tub. It’s a great way to relieve the stress from the demands of motherhood, Ms Obedie and it’d sure help you unwind from that busy nine to five schedule, Lars. So, hop in a bath with some lavender and sweet almond and soak those love handles, sweetheart!

Love y’all
JJ
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