My Life in the Slow Lane

Couples are couples?

2009-07-02T19:23:00.005+10:00

As of yesterday, same-sex couples are considered couples by Centrelink, the Australian social security agency. Isn’t that lovely, my friends, that Centrelink has deigned to “recognise” (their word, not mine) same-sex couples who are living in a de facto arrangement in exactly the same way as their heterosexual counterparts?

The Australian Government has introduced wide-ranging reforms that recognise all couples, regardless of the sexual orientation or gender of a partner... From 1 July 2009 changes to legislation will mean that customers who are in a same-sex de facto relationship will be recognised as partnered for Centrelink and Family Assistance Office purposes. All customers who are assessed as being a member of a couple will have their rate of payment calculated in the same way. (Source)

The Minister for Human Services, Sen Joe Ludwig, even has the gall to describe Centrelink’s changes as “the next step to equality for the gay and lesbian community begins” (Source). There has been an extensive advertising campaign run since 30 March, when Centrelink’s “couples are couples” campaign was launched. It cost taxpayers $450,000, probably paid for in its entirety by the savings Centrelink is sure to make by this move (Source). Forms have been changed and now everyone is reminded, when asked if they have a partner, that this also includes same-sex couples and in the case of student allowances, asked about everyone they live with, rather than only being asked about people of the opposite sex like they did before the start of the new financial year.

Am I the only who can smell the stench of false magnanimity in all this?

Many reforms have been passed so that same-sex couples are treated in the same way as opposite-sex couples in areas of tax, superannuation, social security and the like, it is true. This is a wonderful gain, I don’t deny it, but there is one major privilege that has been expressly left off the table: marriage. So, ultimately, the government is saying that GLBT Australians are good enough to tax as a couple, good enough to receive couples rates of social security (which are pitiful compared to singles rates), but apparently we are NOT good enough to marry.

Why should we, I say, accept the burden of equality (as the Attorney General puts it) in having reduced pensions and allowances because our relationships are suddenly recognised, when in actuality, they aren’t recognised in any meaningful way at all. Attorney General Robert McLelland has gone on record to say that legislative changes that seek to remove discrimination against same-sex couples are “overdue” but, mere breaths later, he hastens to remind any right-wingers reading that “the government regards marriage as being between a man and a woman and we don't support any measures that seek to mimic that process” (Source). The attorney-general’s department has set up a website, www.ag.gov.au/samesexreform, to explain the reforms but it is eerily silent on marriage.

Don’t be fooled. The Australian Government doesn’t really care for equality or for making the lives of same-sex couples easier. It cares about votes. If this were actually about human rights or equality, then all discrimination would be removed and, however you choose to couch it, whether in financial, religious or political language, the phrase “marriage is understood as between one man and one woman” discriminates against an already vulnerable section of the community.

The proposal, part 3... coming soon

2009-07-02T18:30:00.000+10:00

I had many emails, SMS, IMs, facebook messages, tweets and smoke signal messages from friends and readers asking me what happened next. What, they ask, is this “fallout” that you allude to? Was it really that bad? Surely there was no radioactivity involved?

I will finish it off soon, I promise, but I’ve been snowed under in a pile of snotty tissues of late and my head really isn’t prepared for thinking of anything more complex than “must sleep”.

Love is...

2009-06-26T23:39:00.004+10:00

And now for something nauseatingly soppy that I've been meaning to post for a few weeks but have never got around to it.

Love is...

driving me to work, simply because I was lazy and slept in
picking me up from work when I’m sick
cooking me dinner when I’m sick and/or doing exams (and/or procrastinating)
not saying the words “stop procrastinating”, most of the time
saying “stop procrastinating”, and braving any potential explosion, when I’m really running behind
looking after me when I’m sick and coughing up nasty stuff
telling me I’m beautiful, even when coughing up nasty stuff
correctly interpreting “no chocolate for me, thanks” as “I shouldn’t have chocolate but I want some anyway, so I’m going to say ‘no’ to keep up appearances”
buying me chocolate as per above
saving the strawberry-filled chocolates for me
calming me down when I break machinery that doesn’t belong to me
attempting to fix machinery that I have broken
listening to my stoned ramblings
making me breakfast in bed
putting up with my moodiness and sullenness
reading to me

Part three of The Proposal series will be coming soon... promise...

The proposal, part 2

2009-06-21T19:18:00.003+10:00

From part 1...

Answers
We arrived back at his place and I slumped petulantly into his bed. While petulant isn’t a good look on me, I don’t think that anyone could deny I don’t do it with the utmost fervour and skill. Janek lay next to me. “What are you thinking?” He asked.

“Where do I start?” I said. My stomach was in knots, my heart was racing and I was feeling not a little anxious. I love Janek, don’t get me wrong, but I was completely taken by surprise and, when it comes down to it, I’m just not ready to hit the aisle and wed anyone at this point in my life. I was also a little pissed off with Janek too, if I’m brutally honest, for not predicting my reaction a little more accurately. Looking back now, fifteen days later, I’ve had a lot of time to think about my reaction and what the possible motives could be… But I’m getting ahead of myself, that’s for another post.

I started trying to explain myself, figuring that after my little tantrum Janek deserved some answers. “I guess you’ve just taken me by surprise. I mean… umm…” At this point words failed me a little. “It’s not that I don’t love you, baby, I just…” I sighed. “I’m not ready to get married.”

That must have hurt to hear. To his eternal credit, he digested this remarkably well. He asked if I wanted to call Dad or Paul or someone, I said that no, I would be ok, I just needed something to relax me and I’d be fine. I went over to my room to grab some stuff and, partly, to give me a chance to SMS Paul and send my father with a death threat (while Janek probably maniacally SMSed Nic with updates). When I got back, much deep and meaningful discussion ensued; I don’t remember what was said exactly (I was, by this time, heavily under the influence), but I remember the outcome. It all ended with me saying:

“Look, Janek: It’s not that I don’t love you, obviously, because I do. And it’s not that I am not committed to you, because I am. So, if the question is ‘will you marry me at some point in the future?’… Then my answer is ‘yes’.”

Suddenly the worries I had pent up in my stomach and various butterfly-producing muscles melted away as I rolled on top of Janek and kissed him.

There’s more. Stay tuned for Part 3, the fallout and the reflection.

The proposal, part 1

2009-06-17T17:40:00.003+10:00

I should be studying for my psychology exam, which is scheduled for 9.20am tomorrow morning. In my experience, nothing good ever happens at 9.20am. But I am sitting in bed, watching Home and Away and trying to ward off The Midnight Cat who, despite my protestations, is intent on climbing all over me and pawing at my stomach. I know that she’s just trying to be affectionate, and I do love having her fall asleep on my chest, but she makes it impossible to do anything other than change the channel with the remote control, and she only permits that if the remote is in reach when she chooses to sit down. But anyway, the purpose of this post is not to discuss the mundane…

The Anniversary
Eleven days ago it was our one year anniversary. During the day, I was at home reading papers and writing an essay. John made reservations for dinner at an Italian restaurant in Newtown; I shaved, showered and hoped that I could get through the evening with my winning smile and dashing good looks considering I hadn’t actually bought him a gift. As it happens that was both the most, and the least, of my worries that night.

I knew that he had spent a lot on my gift and, according to a mutual friend, that I’d “never guess what it is” and “never expect it”. This made me nervous. I don’t like surprises, especially when I know about them beforehand…

We arrived at the restaurant, were greeted by the restaurateur and took our seats. After a lovely dinner Janek said “well I have your gift with me...” I cut him off before he could continue: “What!? Huh!? Where!??” “You’ll get it in about twenty seconds,” he said. Immediately I had visions of the waiter coming in with a diamond ring nestled in a canapé. My mind reeled. I said to myself that he wouldn’t, he knows I don’t like rings, he knows that I freak out from this weird finger claustrophobia when I wear them. He took a breath, gulped a little, and continued.

“Well I’m not going to be so self-centred as to say that my gift to you is myself,” he began. In my mind’s increasingly horrified eye, the ring glistened and actually grew larger against the bed of lettuce it was nestled in. He gripped my two hands in his. Though the romance of the situation wasn’t lost on me, I can’t deny I felt a little sick. “So I got you this,” he said, a small goldmark box materialising in his left hand. The phrase “I was speechless” doesn’t begin to cover the moment. He opened the box and a silver ring poked out of the white fluff at me. He took it out of the box and wrestled it onto my ring finger. It was two or three sizes too big for me (which, I found out later, was done on purpose to avoid the finger-claustrophobia).

“I called your Dad today,” he said, “and asked his permission to ask you this…” HOLY FUCK, I thought, and then, oh, it’s ok, he’s only joking. Phew. “Will you marry me?” Thinking it was a joke, I said yes.

(Hint: he wasn’t kidding)

About five minutes later, I realised it wasn’t a joke. Then I panicked and my mind reeled anew: I’m not ready to be married, I’m only 25 you idiot! Fuck! I’ve said yes! How do I go back on that? Huh? HUH?? ‘Oh, actually honey, I was kidding’? Janek, ever the intuitive one, picked up on this. “You’re freaking out aren’t you?” he asked. “How’d you guess?” I snapped.

He took my hand and I melted…

Stay tuned for Part 2.

The wisdom of Dan

2009-06-10T00:14:00.002+10:00

I love Dan. Especially when high. He just got here and has tried to put his eye drops in with glasses on. He burst into tears of laughter when I described a cardboard box to him. He has said the following:

Me: Remember how you were saying I always lie on your right when we watch TV? I'm on your right side.
Dan: Does that make me gay?

Dan (to the Midnight Cat): My darling! Do you want to lie down here? Here, why don't you like on my jacket and scarf, not this horrible plastic bag... this way you don't need to hear yourself sleep.

Dan: You know how everyone says "Oh I learn more about you every day? Well baby you know enough about me to know I don't like relinquishing control,especially in regards to gravity.

Winter woes

2009-06-04T19:33:00.006+10:00

Reasons I hate winter, in no particular order:

I drink more coffee than is probably good for me, in a vain attempt to stay warm.
Sex can be a tad chilly if the room is not adequately heated.
It gets dark an hour and a half before I finish work, which is downright inconvenient.
The start of winter heralds the beginning of assessment season (though to be fair, it comes with the start of summer too).
All the cute Sydney Boys at uni are wearing too many clothes that inconveniently cover up their taut and tanned bodies.
Similarly, I am forced to bundle into four layers of clothing before setting foot out the door, lest I end up turning a rather unpleasant shade of blue, tempered only slightly by the greeny-yellow shade of snot that drips down my front.
This sudden jump in clothing usage means more washes and, most infuriatingly, more rewashes (since the original contents of the first-mentioned wash gets soaked on the line during the ravaging downpours we invariably get on days after I've done the washing).
In turn, my bedroom becomes a labyrinth of shirts, jumpers, towels and jeans as they must dry while being festooned from ropes slung across my ceiling since the line outside is always wet.
Similarly, the ravaging downpours also occur when I am at uni, the shops, or on the way to work. But only if I am without umbrella. (In short: If there is no washing on the line, or if I have an umbrella, the sky is blue and clear).
Water from the aforementioned deluges enters into the bathroom, through the window and cornices. Mould ensues.

Reasons I tollerate winter, in no particular order:

It's much easier to cuddle up in bed without the whole exercise devolving into a sweaty groping match (which are fun, yes, but everything has a time and place).
I can wear my many scarves.

And so the "nays" have it.

Faded pictures

2009-05-31T21:13:00.003+10:00

It’s a scary thought to think that right now I am living in the proverbial Best Years Of My Life™. Even though I’m twenty-five-and-a-half, I certainly don’t feel like the Grown Up™ that I am supposed to be, and I certainly don’t feel like the Grown Up that my parents appeared to be at this age. I look back at photos of my parents from back then, circa 1979, and cannot believe that I am, in a way, at the same point in my life that they were back then, given that in many ways I really don’t feel it at all.

Twenty years ago, as a child, I poured over the same photographs—they were only ten years old at that point—and seeing my parents’ twenty-something faces smiling back at me I thought to myself that they were just the same as the parents I knew, only slightly younger and presented in colours slightly faded. But they were Grown Ups, that was for sure.

But nonetheless, here I am, Grown Up™ (at least on paper), and living life smack bang in the middle of the Best Years Of My Life™:

I’m halfway through a degree at university. Although at this time of year (and again in November) I am generally loathe to talk highly of academia in any way, shape or form, I am really enjoying it at uni. Currently I have two 2000 word essays due within the next three weeks: the first about the assimilation “experiment” in relation to Indigenous Australians, the second about the ways that the Catholic Church prescribes heterosexuality and gender roles in society. Both topics I’m interested in and passionate about, particularly the second one, but it’s a lot of work!! I also have a 100 question multiple choice exam for psychology to study for. Terrifying.

I’ve got a job I love. It is very stressful lately, I grant you, because we are undergoing a process of Quality Improvement which entails us filling out 17 evidence-based competencies. This, in turn, involves us wanking on about how we do or do not meet said competencies. It’s necessary, yes, but a very stressful endeavour for all involved. Ada, my manager (so named because she bears an uncanny resemblance to Ada Nicodemou), and I have been pulling out our hair and smoking out our lungs trying to get it done on time. It’s due today (being the end of the month). It’s not done. It will be handed in, late, on Monday. We both worked late on Friday, including locking ourselves out of the office at around 5pm when we went for a smoke break.

I have a cat I adore. It seems the slippery slope has been slipped, and the cat is now, for all intents and purposes, mine and Janek’s. I was explaining the situation to my grandfather, by far the most morally upstanding man I know, and he pointed out that what is important here is that as far as she is concerned, she is ours (or, as he put it, we are hers). This means I can now take her to the vet to get her claws clipped with a clear conscience. More about her incredible cuteness at another time. Probably with photographs.

And finally, though by no means least(ly), I have a boyfriend I love. It’ll be a year in six days. Wow. Things are great; nothing much to report really, but then no news is good news. Or so they say, whoever “they” are.

So that’s me. I look back at the faded faces of my twenty-something-year-old parents in those photos from 1979, but I don’t feel as Grown Up as they appeared at the time.

It's the 8th of the month... must be time for me two write again

2009-05-08T23:10:00.002+10:00

So, Dan promises he will write very very soon... he's been swept off his feet with assignments and work, and uni... and life.

What can I say? I'm sorry for not writing more often here, but I've been trying to run my own blog, as well as this and Kate's blogs, and my thousand of other things to do.

I know, whinge whinge, complain complain. I've got no time to blog. Wah wah wah.

Expect Dan soon... I promise!

To tide you over... nudity:

Ok, ok, it's a gourd... but here's a sexy man to make you feel better :)

Where's Dan?

2009-04-07T13:39:00.003+10:00

I'm posting again, because I just realised Dan's now not posted since JANUARY!!!! tut tut tut. So, here I am putting a "Watch this space"... he'll post soon :)

It's just been that he's been so busy, what with me having a crisis or two, work, uni, and his own life. Time for a holiday, methinks!

Dan's been being slack!

2009-03-08T15:21:00.007+11:00

So, Dan's been being slack, and has now loped off to a family BBQ and left me to fend for myself today, so I'm just going over and forcing myself onto his blog.

He's made it back to uni, doing three courses - Australian History, Psychology, and Gender Studies... he's become the gay Arts student, covering the major categories: queer theory, English, psychology, and history.

February has been a busy month for both of us, with Dan's birthday, the feast of St Hallmark, and a trivia night, not to mention preparations for yesterday's big shin-dig, the Mardi Gras Parade. For Dan's birthday, we shot on up to his parents' place for dinner, which was lovely, and then had a lazy drive back for the Monday at work. Valetines was a little bit of a bust... we were going to picnic it up somewhere in the National Park, but Dan came down with a lingering flu, so we spent the day in bed watching films. Trivia was also great, though Dan and I didn't get to sit down much, as we helped Pablo with all the behind the scenes stuff, like the "reverse raffle".

Mardi Gras was huge, and this year Dan and I decided to take the plunge and be a part of it. I am so glad we did, I have a fantastic time, dancing topless on the back of a car with two drag queens and a couple getting married. The croud went mad every time Dan and I made out, too, which was trilling. We saw countless people along the way that we knew, and there were even some people who saw us but we missed. It's like being a rock star for an hour, cheered as we went along, though I will be happy to never here YMCA again.

As some of you who read my blog, The Engineer Muses, are aware, there have been issues had with a certain person and her management style, but not too much is going to be said here for fear of her finding out what a horrible, tyrannical bitch she is. Honestly, you give some people a little power, and the next thing you know they're thinking they're the Queen of England.

Final point for this update is a bit more of a sour point, unfortunately. Recently, religious protesters have been coming to the Friday night Mass I attend. They're not there to fight, they're there to pray the rosary so that they might heal us of our terrible affliction. They quote verses of the Bible at us, and doctrine of the Church.

I am going to make the point here. Life is about finding that person that you love and finding happiness on Earth with them. We do not seek to fight the Church, we do not go to Mass as queers, but as Catholics, seeking the rite of Communion. No matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone does, they can never take my faith, Dan's faith, or anyone's faith away because some guy in a fancy white dress and expensive red shoes doesn't like it. May the world forever accept that same-sex attracted people are not here to fight you, to take over your children's schools and indoctrinate them with some agenda. We just want to celebrate our love for each other.

January

2009-01-31T19:39:00.000+11:00

After an interesting New Years Eve, Janek and I returned to reality.

Janek moved out of The Family Home, to a new place a mere two doors down the road from me. It’s like living together only without the actual living together part. Which is great because I’ve found that if I don’t get some space to myself I get really antsy and things get a little unpleasant.

I’ve been insanely busy at work lately too. I’m working on a casual basis with one day as “core duties” and one day for a special project. Between the special project and another big project that’s part of my “core duties”, I’m swamped. I could comfortably work five days a week at this point and still have stuff left over.

I’m waiting for March to come so that things can settle down a little when uni starts. It’s going to be a hectic week: one and a half days at work, three half days and one full day at uni. It’s a little daunting but the amazing thing is that just twelve months ago I never would have thought such a schedule was possible for me! My health is picking up, I can work a full day, study, all that kinda stuff, my only problem is the pain that hasn’t gone away.

So that’s life up to now...

Backdated: New year’s eve

2009-01-30T23:37:00.002+11:00

Janek and I journeyed northward to the Land of the Beach, to Lala and Cal’s, for New year’s. The weather was perfect for it, nice and hot like I like it but not so hot that the simple act of moving produces a tidal wave of sweat.

We arrived on the 29th of January, the idea being that we’d be there a few days earlier to help out with setting up the house for the (now traditional) big party that is held there each year. Naturally, little-to-no groundwork was done in the days leading up to the 31st, mostly because Lala didn’t want to do anything before hand (I love her, but she is not the most organised egg in the basket). The day of the 31st consisted largely of Lala getting progressively more stressed as the hours wore on, and Janek, Cal, Alex and I trying to be helpful, calm and above all: out of her way. In the end, Janek, Alex and I offered to go to the supermarket and get the various foodstuffs, drinks, ice, serviettes-plates-cutlery and (best of all) a kids’ blow-up boat to put the ice and drinks into in the back yard.

At the appointed hour, the guests arrived, the music started playing, the barbie was fired up and the drinks began to flow. As time passed, and people began to get progressively drunker, things started to get interesting. There were two incidents that stood out.

At one stage, I walked to the back of the garden where Mary sat at a table, sobbing hysterically. I looked askance at Bee, who informed me the reason for Mary’s tears: “Umm... she thinks someone has drunk half her vodka but she doesn’t know if it was her or someone else.” I blinked. “Right... Perhaps, in that case, she’s had too much to drink if she doesn’t know if she drunk her drink or not?” Bee shrugged. A little later Ade noticed that one girl had a bottle of vodka on the table in front of her. “I think this is my girlfriend’s!” he barked at her. “Go on,” she sneered, “take it.” “Oh, I just did” he said triumphantly, and ran off to Lala, to dob the girl in. What happened next I’m not quite sure of, but it ended in Ade and the girl’s boyfriend involved in the kind of argument that is conducted in terse tones that are intended to sound cool but actually sound arrogant, followed by a shot contest with Canadian Club, presumably in some kind of straight-yet-strangely-homoerotic mating ritual in which they probably compared penis sizes.

So that was New years. It was a good night, apart from that and the girl in question and her friends snorting crushed up ecstasy pills in the bathroom, causing even more drama as Lala indignantly refused to see my point when I pointed out that Mary drinking to the point of collapse is just the same really, if not worse, considering they’re both forms of escapism in one way or another. Lala is strangely anti-any-drug-stronger-than-marijuana.

So that’s it for the backdated stuff ladies and gents... tomorrow, a catch up of January then we resume our regular programming.

Backdated: Space Cadet Junior

2009-01-22T19:27:00.001+11:00

I’ve decided on a name for the (not so) new flatmate, formerly The New Guy; he will henceforth be known as Space Cadet, Junior. He is like The Space Cadet only without the sociopathic tendencies, midnight showers or loud music. He loves his marijuana, he never seems to be quite with it when you speak to him, and he has an angry streak. Unlike The Space Cadet, however, he is a really nice even if a little difficult to speak to at times.

The anger became apparent one night when he arrived home, drunk, and had an altercation with his screen door (his room is an external room like mine). It was about 11.30 at night and I was just getting ready for bed. He opened the screen door of his room, then his door, then I heard three loud bangs that made me jump out of my skin almost. Suddenly a calm descended on the house. I ventured outside to see what was going on. As I approached his door he hurled something at the window, which hit just as I was walking past, then threw something at one of the walls inside. I went back to my smoking chair and lit up. A minute later I heard a scream, “FUUUUUCK!!!!!!”, come from his room, followed by a low groan. I was about to go over and ask if everything was ok when the lights went out so I gratefully went back to my own room and went to sleep.

So that’s my neighbour. What is it with that room?

Backdated: So this is Christmas.

2009-01-22T17:31:00.003+11:00

Christmas is my favourite time of year. Always. I love the anticipation; I’m like a little kid waiting for the arrival of Santa (which I never was, mind you, because we were never told that Santa brought the gifts down the chimney on Christmas Eve. This was partly because we celebrate Christmas on the 24th so by Christmas Eve we already have our gifts, and partly because Mum thought it was stupid to believe a big fat man brings you gifts only to be disappointed at the age of ten).

Each year we celebrate Christmas on the 24th at Grandma’s place. We arrive at about 5pm for pre-dinner drinks and enough peanuts to sink a small rowboat. Once everyone has arrived, usually by 7, we enter the dining room for prayers. As a child we were never allowed into the dining room until we heard the dinner bell so this is when we’d see the decorations and the Christmas tree for the first time. Since I’ve got older, I’ve been the one who actually puts the tree up, so the dinner bell has lost some of its magic. When we enter the dining room, we kneel before a nativity display that sits atop a table the size of your average dining table. The entire scene has been hand-carved and painted by my grandfather and it’s simply stunning. After the prayers we sit at the three tables, all twenty-three of us, while my grandfather reads the gospel of the nativity story in Slovak, followed by one of the “children” (ie my generation) reading it in English. Then comes dinner!

The dinner is huge. In typical Mediterranean and Eastern European fashion, it is totally over-catered. Traditionally, each household makes three dishes. As we’ve grown older and moved out of home there are more households and thus more food. There is so much food that the two fridges, the standalone freezer and the tuckerbox freezer struggle to contain it all. And it’s all delicious.

Following dinner come the presents! Admittedly this was a little more magical when we were younger, partly cos we were smaller so the pile of gifts looked even more enormous, and partly cos the gifts we get these days are more compact, but still. This year Christmas was just as magical as ever it was. The night passed way too quickly as it always does but I had a great time with Lala, Cal, and the whole family.

This year it didn’t end on the 24th. I decided to organise a Boxing Day lunch at our place so that Janek could spend some time with us and perhaps have an enjoyable Christmas for once. Having working in retail for the past five years, when he thinks of Christmas he imagines rude customers, standing for long hours on the floor at a major department store, and family arguments.

The guest list included Mum, Dad, Sister, Janek, and my aunt and uncle (Dad’s sister and her husband, who used to live with Pop). On the morning I got up and went to say good morning to Mum. “Good morning,” she said, but she sounded a little worried about something. She told me that my aunt had called this morning and that another aunt and uncle were coming, and asked if that was ok. “Sure...” I said, not quite sure what the big deal was. “Well,” Mum began, “It’s just that your uncle is a bit...” Her voice trailed off in a way that meant “your uncle is a homophobe”. “So? I don’t give a fuck if he’s a bit...” I said, allowing my voice to trail off in the same way, “It’s my house!” “Perhaps you should give Janek your gift in private?” she said. To be frank, I didn’t see any reason why I should but I could see the worry on her face so I promised her that we would exchange gifts in the privacy of my bedroom, and promised not to fellate each other in the presence of company. She seemed pleased to hear this.

Janek came, as did the aunts and the uncles, and we had a great lunch. Everyone loved him (but then that was totally unsurprising) and we all had a great time. This has been one of the best Christmases ever.

Backdated

2009-01-22T17:30:00.000+11:00

It’s funny how silly we get sometimes. Over the past month or so I’ve thought so many times “Gee, I should blog about that,” but I haven’t because I’ve left it so long. It’s like when you don’t ring someone because you haven’t rung them in so long that you feel stupid doing it now. So I’ve sat down and wrote a few bits and pieces down to catch up...

Busy-ness

2009-01-17T00:53:00.007+11:00

Hi all, Janek here, doing another blog update for my wonderful, brilliant, and absolutely fantastic boyfriend (he's been really earning those kudos lately). This has, of course, been keeping him busy, along with work and about a million other things, as per usual. Add little drama with misunderstandings in the family, and it's practically Days of Our Lives with only some of the attractive cast members and half the candles.

This has prompted my post, of course. He promises to post at least 15 times an hour as soon as he gets a minute. Well, maybe not 15 times an hour, but slightly more regularly. Meanwhile, I have awarded him the prestigious title of World's Greatest Boyfriend 2009, because he is. He'll talk to you soon :)

The great fairy light massacre

2008-12-22T16:51:00.002+11:00

Janek and I arrived at The Homestead on Friday after driving two and a half hours, past two accidents and hence two detours, on what should have been an hour’s drive at the most. As neither the Christmas tree nor the fairly lights were up yet, it was decided that Janek, Sister and I would do it the next day.

We opened the box full of decorations to discover, to my total horror, half a set of fairy lights. At first I saw the set and thought “That’s odd, this is a 150 light set, and it looks like it only has twenty lights.” Turns out there were in fact only twenty lights on it. I ventured into the garage to find the second set and found, to my absolute horror, the remaining 130 lights. Upon further inspection, I found each half of the set had its wires ripped apart, the bare copper wires unsheathed. I nearly cried. Someone had wrenched the poor, innocent set of fairy lights so hard that it had snapped in half. Who would do such a heartless thing? Massacre such a beautiful creature, one that only brought happiness and light to the world?

The mystery will probably never be solved.

This is why I love my father...

2008-12-18T00:13:00.005+11:00

From: Dan
To: Dad
Time: 7:15 PM
Message: I have a serious question for you. Would rather talk in person but as i'm on a train can't do that. But then i'm not good with confrontation so maybe its better this way. Does it bother you and mum that j stays the night with me at home? Be honest.

From: Dad
To: Dan
Time: 7:19 PM
Message: It does not bother me one bit...want me to ask mum privately.. Love you...dad

From: Dan
To: Dad
Time: 7:21 PM
Message: Yes please. Sister said to me last time that j and i "showing affection" makes her uncomfortable. I still had a fever at the time so i said "i'll see what i can do" but frankly i don't know what to do. We held hands and that's it. Anyway yes can u see what mum says. Might be an idea to SUBTLY warm sim that he'll be staying on friday night. Thanks dad i love you too.

From: Dad
To: Dan
Time: 9:56 PM
Message: Mum has no problem either...maybe just cool the "affection" in front of Sister.... :-)

From: Dan
To: Dad
Time: 10:09 PM
Message: Well i'm glad you and mum are cool with it. The thing is that as i say we were quietly holding hands during the movie not fucking no the coffee table. I don't see why i cant hold a simple hand in my own home. I'd like to know why she feels uncomfortable exactly but as i said i hate confrontation.

From: Dan
To: Dad
Time: 11:08 PM
Message: Dad i'm not tryig to be difficult, like i said i don't really know what to do. Everyone has conflicting advice. Anyway i'm a little stoned so should probably finish this discussion later. Good night, love you. X

From: Dad
To: Dan
Time: 11:13 PM
Message: Ok....chill now and we can tail later....you should take my advice when here...anyway, go get some munchies :-)

From: Dan
To: Dad
Time: 11:15 PM
Message: I already walked to shops for caramelo choc :) the only prob is that "tone down" is really subjective. So we're going to have to define it. I need to talk to sister during the week... And i really don't want to. Anyway i'll deal with it later. X

Post #400

2008-12-17T23:53:00.004+11:00

With the end of year approaching, my life has been very much all about work so in the small amount of time off from thinking about it, all I’ve wanted to do is curl up in bed and eat chocolate (with or without Janek’s presence). But now that work is over for the year, I can begin to sit down and write about a few things I’ve been meaning to mention.

The first, and most important, is the passage of our six month “anniversary” on 6 December (though I hate referring to the date in this way, since the word anniversary means “once a year” and therefore an anniversary every month is totally illogical).

The festivities spanned the entire weekend. On Friday night, after work, we had a quick dinner in at a pub in Newtown (after the food poisoning, there will definitely be no Thai on the menu for quite some time) before a farewell for a friend of ours who is going back to Lebanon for Christmas. We actually ended up bumping into my step-cousin and his girlfriend. When I introduced Janek as my boyfriend, the step-cousin said “Oh you’ve come out, congratulations man”. I pointed out that I’ve been out to the Family-at-Large for a year now, ever since the Facebook Stunt.

Janek stayed at my place that night, I don’t think we’ll go there though.

On Saturday we slept in. This itself was cause for celebration also. It felt so luxurious, sleeping in with him on a lazy Saturday morning. He had to go back home for a few hours during the day, mostly to make an appearance at home before his family sent out a search party or made snide remarks about the need for change of address cards. He returned later and took me to a movie. The movie was American Teen, it was ok, quite funny. It turns out the film is in fact a documentary, though we had it pegged as a mockumentary. It's a little scary that it seemed so ridiculous that we thought it wasn't real when in fact it is. We had dinner afterwards, before returning to my place, where Janek again stayed the night.

On Sunday we spent the day together, sleeping in again, and in the afternoon went to a Christmas Shindig at a friend’s place with a bunch of Janek’s friends (I don’t know if I can claim them as my friends yet, but they’re a great bunch of people nonetheless).

The last six months have been amazing. I’m not the kind of person who can easily give compliments in person; I end up feeling a little embarrassed for the person to be honest, so I often reserve my praise for email, text message or, on the rare occasion, a blog post. I don’t like confrontation, perhaps that has something to do with it. When we got together, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t gush on and on about Janek on this blog, or anywhere else really, because having been the recipient of such gushing about a third party at various points in my life, I know how irritating and sometimes frankly sickening it can be.

BUT. That said, he really is the most amazing guy, and I feel really lucky to be able to claim him as mine. He’d do anything for me, The Great Unpleasant Episode proved that when he stayed by my side in hospital all day and then drove me home to my parents. He’s gorgeous. He’s sweet, generous, kind, caring, loving, and any number of other fluffy-and-pink adjectives.

That should do us now on the gratuitous compliment front, I think. Until one year perhaps.

So this is love.

Affection

2008-12-08T12:36:00.002+11:00

Immediately after The Unpleasant Experience of Food Poisoning, Janek drove me up to Mum & Dad’s place to rest and recuperate. Despite the fact that it was coming from both ends, that I still had a fever the next day, and that I felt like death warmed up (slowly), Mum was still very pleased that I had come up for a little visit.

Anyway, on Monday as I lay on the lounge, totally zapped of energy from not eating (due to vomiting still) and not keeping down what I could eat (from the other thing), I asked Sister if she’d like to watch a TV show or two on DVD with me. We agreed on a show, she put the disk in and it loaded up. As we sat watching the main menu, I looked at her to indicate she should click “play all”. She placed the remote on the coffee table, looked me in the eye and spoke: “Um, before we do, and I don’t want to open a can of worms, but I want to talk to you about Janek.”

I was so not in the mood for this. I was still a little feverish, and totally not up for a theological battle with her. “Uh, ok...” I said at length. “Well it’s not him personally,” she hastened to add, “it’s just, well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show affection to each other in my presence. It makes me uncomfortable.” What the fuck!? “Ugh, Sister,” I groaned. “Well I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” she said, “it just makes me uncomfortable.” At this point I gave up, I knew there was no point fighting with her in my present condition so I narrowed my eyes, and in a tone of voice that would make even a hardened drama queen weep said, “Whatever, Sister, I’ll see what I can do. Put the fucking show on.” And that was that.

If I had been a little stronger I would have asked her exactly what it was we’d done that had made her so uncomfortable; was it the quiet hand-holding while watching TV with my parents last night (who were also hand-in-hand I should add)? Was it the way we hugged in the hallway after I had just emptied my bowels for the fifth time that night? Was it the chaste kiss on the lips (no tongue) that we shared as he was leaving? The irony is that unlike other times we’ve stayed at my parents’ place together, there was no sex whatsoever happening.

I spoke to Mum about it, and asked her if Sister had ever said anything to her about Janek and I. She said no and I told her what had been said earlier in the day. “Oh,” Mum said, “That’s a tricky one. I don’t know what to advise on this one.” “Yeh well I don’t know what to do!” I said. “I mean it’s not like we were fucking on the coffee table in front of her!” “Well if you want to be crude about it, I suppose not...” she said with a half smile on her face.

So. Sister thinks that I’ve agreed to her ridiculous mandate, and I think she’s dreaming. If I get a chance I’m going to ask her exactly what it is that makes her uncomfortable about Janek and I (apart from the simple fact of his existence at my side). See, the thing is that I recognise that she shouldn’t be made to feel uncomfortable in her own house, but she has to recognise that I will not be made to feel that my relationship with my boyfriend is inferior in my own house either.

So what now?

Prop 8, the fallout

2008-12-04T14:27:00.003+11:00

Janek sent me the link the video below, an anti-prop8 video (Prop 8 - The Musical) with an all star cast including John C Riley, Margaret Cho, Alison Janney, Kathy Najimy, Neil Patrick Harris and Jack Black (as Jesus).

This one is also amusing: Protect Marriage, Protect Children, Prohibit Divorce.

I have a lot of half finished posts that I'll be uploading in the next few days; hopefully now that I am no longer food-poisoned, exam-stressed or holiday-bound, I can write a little more reguarly.

Unpleasantness

2008-11-26T15:48:00.003+11:00

Janek told me about a month ago that for many years he hasn’t had a proper birthday do with friends. Playing the role of the faithful boyfriend, I suggested we organise something. Soon after, a plan for a Thai dinner in Newtown with friends, followed by a trip to the theatre to see The Laramie Project, was born. It was a lovely evening: the food was good, the company excellent and the production of The Laramie Project fabulous. It was, however, the beginning of a very unpleasant weekend.

As we was going to bed on Friday night, I felt a little nauseous. I woke up at around 7am shivering with a fever, quivering with nausea and moaning with a killer headache. I woke up Janek. He tried to help but there wasn’t much he could do; after two and a half hours of rolling around trying to get comfortable, taking panadeine and throwing it back up again, nibbling bickies and throwing them back up again, and feeling my temperature rise, we finally relented and called my mother for advice. After explaining that I don’t have a thermometer (“Well why the hell not?” “Because I’ve never had a fever at the new place, that’s why not!”), she told Janek to call an ambulance, especially since the vomiting was keeping me from taking pain killers for an increasingly aching back. I told her I didn’t like this advice, but Janek called an ambulance anyway; I wasn’t impressed. I then threw up a few more times, just for good measure.

The paramedic arrived on a motorbike, checked me out in a very non-descript kind of way. He couldn’t give me anything for the pain or fever, not even a paracetamol, and couldn’t really do much except radio for an ambulance, take my details and piss Janek off by telling him that I’m a big boy who can speak for himself when Janek went to answer for me as I lay there doubled over in pain. The ambulance arrived in about fifteen to twenty minutes and drove me the five minutes to hospital. Janek sat in the front as the ambo took my blood pressure, temperature and BSL, none of which were normal.

When we arrived at the hospital, I told them my details for the third time as I waited to be admitted. My temperature was rising and by the time I was triaged and told to wait in the chairs I was shaking from the fever as I sat there clinging to Janek who was trying valiantly (though somewhat unsuccessfully) to calm me down because all I wanted to do was lie down because my back was getting steadily worse. This part of the proceedings is a little foggy in my memory—I was exhausted and a little delirious—but I do remember telling the nurse “I don’t give a fuck which arm you put the name tag on, I just want to lie the fuck down”, to which he said that a bed will be ready soon, to just hang in there. I asked “Why can’t I just lie on the floor?” He told me that “it wouldn’t look good for the hospital”. They did let me lie down to take blood and insert a cannula in my arm, but only after I told them I’d pass out if they did it while I sat up. The guy (who may or may not have been attractive, but certainly had an attractive American accent) told me I had to go back to the seats. I wasn’t impressed. I seem to remember a lot of convulsing, babbling incoherently, crying and begging Janek not to let them make me sit up again. Unfortunately I had to give in eventually and ended up sitting up for what seemed like three hours (but was in fact probably only forty-five minutes) to wait for a bed. In retrospect I realise that, all things considered in a public hospital, this is pretty damn good.

They put a saline drip in my arm, gave me some maxolon to control the nausea and some panadeine forte for the pain and I slept fitfully for an hour or so while Janek went to get some lunch (I practically passed out because I was so exhausted from all the convulsing and shaking I’d been doing for the last few hours). When I woke up a doctor came to see me, three hours after I’d been admitted, and I gave him my details for the fourth time. Dr Tall-Dark-And-Handsome asked me about what had happened, my medical history, drugs and medicines I took, about school and work. The fever had settled down and I was feeling a little better but I still felt very under the weather. I still couldn’t get comfortable but luckily Janek had gone back to my place to get me my nice strong pain killers so I could float away in a less-pained cloud.

To cut a long story short... Dr Tall-Dark-And-Handsome told me it was either one of three things: food poisoning, meningitis or a sexually transmitted infection. What an interesting juxtaposition of conditions. They discharged me at 7pm, after two sets of blood tests, a urine test, two x-rays, three litres of fluid pumped through my veins and after I’d managed to keep a little dinner down. Dr Tall-Dark-And-Handsome’s supervisor, Dr Bubbly, came to check me out before I was discharged and agreed it was probably food poisoning but told me what to look out for in case it was meningitis. She asked if I’d had any direar. I said no. “Oh, it’ll come,” she promised.

Janek drove me up to my parents’ place, where Mum hugged us both a little too violently for my liking. The poor boy was exhausted; he’d spent nearly the entire day by my side, and the times he wasn’t with me he was running off to my house to get me things we’d forgotten to take in the rush to get to the ambulance. We went to bed early and he practically strangled me as soon as I got into bed with him as he put his arms around me. He’d spent the whole day telling me “It’s going to be ok baby, don’t worry” but I know he was scared shitless and didn’t want me to see his fear. I could see it, sometimes, but I didn’t want to call his bluff and destroy the magic of the moment. He told me that when he was out having lunch he called my Mum to update her, then Kate called and he lost it and started crying while they spoke. When he returned, he was nice and composed, all cheery and ready to allay my fears.

So now, Wednesday, I’m feeling much better. I’m still at Mum and Dad’s, staying in bed reading most of the time, and I’ll be going back down to Sydney on Friday. On Sunday I still had a fever all day and just had lemonade and the occasional sao. Monday was much the same but yesterday I felt much better and then last night I had my first full meal since Friday night.

I discovered that Dr Bubbly’s premonition came true: I had the unpleasant experience of the runniest, most pungent and rancid smelling direar I have ever witnessed in my entire nearly-twenty-five years of existence. But you don’t want to read about that.

A brief break

2008-11-24T17:43:00.003+11:00

Hello all, Janek here, substitute blogger extraordinaire!

I'm just writing a brief note to reassure you that Dan is still alive, despite a brief trip to the emergency department with fever, nausea, and now the pleasantries of diarrhoea. Food poisoning is nasty stuff. He will blog again soon, as he celebrates the end of exams, his job, and Christmas... his favourite time of the year.

To celebrate a mere month until Christmas Eve, I've decided to end this post with something nice for Christmas...

Before the exam...

2008-11-12T13:43:00.002+11:00

I always try to sleep in on the day of an exam. I like to think that I am more well-rested after a good sleep in; whether or not it is the case or not, I don’t know. Today I woke up at 11:50am. My exam is at 3pm, so I have heaps of time, but I feel very... floaty... today.

Last night my back was quite sore so I took some of my beloved pain killers and went to bed at about midnight and was almost floating away on a cloud of blissful sleep when I was hit with a sudden, and very violent, case of hiccups. I lay in bed, quietly convulsing violently, for a little while hoping that it would go away but alas it didn’t.

I went into the kitchen in search of vinegar.

The Exerciser was in there, making a light midnight snack (of fried vegetables and snags). I waltzed past him, to the pantry, grabbed the bottle of white vinegar and took a swig. He screwed up his face. “Dude!” he said, “what are you doing!?” By way of reply, I hiccupped loudly. “I’m—hic—stopping these fuck—hic—ing hiccups. Apparently.” He looked at me with a look that conveyed perfectly the disdain he no doubt felt, and finally said “Riiiiiiight….” at length. “No seriously,” I said, taking a second swig of vinegar, “it—hic—works. Truly.” He didn’t look like he believed me, and to be honest I was starting to join him. “You need some soft drink,” he counselled, “make you burp.” “Oh—hic—yeh?” I asked, “I haven’t—hic—heard that one—hic. I know about th—hic—e one where you drink—hic—a cup of water and hold your—hic—breath.” I filled up a glass and did just that, drank it while holding my breath. I put the glass on the sink as The Exerciser watched me with mild fascination. “Wait for it…” he said. But nothing came. Hiccups gone. I went back to bed. It was 1:30am.

And that, my friends, is the end of my story. Not very insightful, I know, but a good way to fill in time before I head over to my exam. Now if I could only get over this fucking cough that I seem to have picked up somewhere, then it’d all be fine!