My talents number three...

I can do a lot of things. Tie my shoelaces, deep throat bananas, ignore the bible. But there are many things I simply cannot do, and really wish I could;

Grow a beard - while I have very coarse stubble (many men whinge about pash rash after a session with me), I can't get it to form any sort of reasonable looking facial hair. I'd love a goatee, but it just looks like a rodent has been trying to form a nest on my face.

Sing - tone deaf I am. I used to have to do a singing component to my music exams as a teen, and I had one examiner remark "I've heard dying elephants sound better than that". Karaoke is not my friend, but how I wish it was.

Cook a roast - I am a good cook, I really am. So cooking a roast should be simple. Turn on the oven, bung in the slab of meat, chuck in the veggies, make gravy, enjoy. But no.... the last time I tried a roast it took forever and was fucking horrible, so I went and got subway for everyone.

Run - well I try to run from a fitness perspective, but it's more of a shuffling wheezing, death jog where I'm all hunched over like an arthritic old man. I do hope with time I will be one of those guys you see running down street looking like they're going for a simple stroll. But I just don't think it will ever happen.

Pronounce words the containing the "th" sound - yes, I actually have a speech impediment. It's more of a lazy tongue thing though. Where as normal people's tongue will automatically go forward to touch their teeth when pronouncing any word with the "th" sound, mine just flaps about and does weird shit. While I can do it, it's a conscious effort to do so. "Brother" is the word I have the most problems with. It usually comes out as "Bwuvva".

Accept compliments - I still blush and defer to other people/circumstances as being responsible. "Oh no, it was all Jesus/flesh eating virus/hot sex with your mother that helped me lose the weight. I had no input into it at all."

I'm sure there a million other things that belong on the list (I'm sure the ex-boyfriends would add a few more too).

So what simple things can't you do?

Shameless name dropping...

By virtue of two different, but sometimes equally as crappy hospitality jobs I managed to meet quite a few celebrities during my ten years in Toowoomba.

I did a heap of work for the Empire Theatre as a Front of House Manager, where I got to see a lot of great plays and performances. Some of the minor celebrities I got to meet there include;

Marcia Hines - I offered her a slice of chocolate cake at an after show function, but she refused and gave me a hug "Oh Honey, I'm on a diet". This when she was still rather "hippy" and many years before Australian Idol.

Dionne Warwick - had the most ridiculous rider I have ever seen (you know all things they demand be backstage for them). The most extravagant part was the 7 bottles of Cristal Campaign, all of which were to be opened 2 minutes prior to the end of the show. I think I threw out 6 and a half bottles.

Tim Freedman - the Whitlams front man is without a doubt the nicest man in showbiz. The stupid theatre booked them to perform during a uni mid-semester break, so it was no where near a sell out performance, but Mr Freedman came out into the foyer after the show and posed for photo after photo with all the fans who queued up to see him. A genuinely nice and happy guy.

Bruce Samazan and Melissa Tkautz - I had to escort them through the theatre in their underwear for a play they were in. Melissa has one of the finest bodies I have ever seen on a man or a woman. Seriously hot that woman. Samazan was nothing to get excited over.

Natural? I mean her hair colour, not what you're thinking about...

My last job in the T-Bar was as F&B Manager for the only hotel with a lift (woo hoo - 6 stories tall baby) so it was easily the classiest joint in town. All the celebs stayed there when they were performing;

Anthony Warlow - I had to fix his toilet when it wouldn't flush. He might have done a poo too, but I didn;t want to check (does that make it a phantom poo?). Then I had restaurant guests steal his cutlery and wine glass from the table before we could clear it.

Tania Kernaghan - the country singer (allegedly) got drunk on Lemon Ruski's and dropped her room key in the toilet in the casual bar. After fishing it out of the bowl, I chucked the room key in the bin.

Antonio Sabato Jr - couldn't get his Internet to work and I spent about half an hour in his shirtless presence trying to get it to connect. Tipped me $50. (Sadly - when I try to tell this story, most people have no idea who I'm talking about!)

Seriously, how could you forget about this man?

Kimberly Davies - the former neighbours starlet was in town shooting a move with Mr Sabato Jr. She was much shorter in person, but still rather friendly. No tips.

Hi Five - the blond one sat on the pokies and smoke and drank all night, while the Nathan was up in bed wearing his flannelet PJ's when I took him his extra blanket at 8:30pm.

Magic Dirt - Adalita and the band were in the afternoon they performed with Powder Finger - They sat in the casual bar and drank quite a lot of beer and put some great songs on the jukebox. All nice guys really.

There are many more (Jimmy Barnes's security guy tried to man handle me for no good reason, John Farnham accidentally spat on me, I almost hit Jane Hall in the head with a champagne cork etc).

So tell me, have you met anyone famous? I'll marry anyone that tells me they've met Zeke Kinski.

Seriously.

The nickname game

I used to have a rather juvenile habit of assigning nick names to people who were once part of my life, but now, I don't really give a shit about. Some still lurk around the edges, but I try not to talk to them as they generally shit me to tears.

Beth Ditto - a former housemate, who unfortunately bore a more than striking resemblance to the lead singer of The Gossip. A friend named her T-Bone for her stark diet consisting of T-Bone steaks and mashed potato.

Eyebrows - I've briefly mentioned him before, mainly for his annoying habit of wiggling his eyebrows during oral sex.

Elbow - my first ever boyfriend. He was 16 years my senior, which put him very close to the age of 50. He was given the horrible nickname of "Elbow" by friends (not that he ever heard it) because someone surmised that his "old balls would feel like the dry skin on your elbow". I did my own comparison on him one night. They felt nothing like my elbow skin. (Confess - your feeling your elbows right now)

Whore Lip - this is a horrible nickname for someone who I still talk to quite a bit, but she gets really really bad cold sores on her lips. Anyone that's seen American Dad will get the reference.

The Slapper - I was this woman's team leader for a couple of years. The first day I arrived she had the nerve to tell me that she was much more qualified to do my job but decided to give someone else a chance to do it. That kinda set the tone for many months of hell in managing this chick. She was also massively overweight, and had a bad habit of wearing dresses that were way too short for her. She had bad body odour and the day she perched herself on my desk I almost passed out from the smell.

Tumbleweed - a certain manager in this place who only blows in during the quiet times and blows right out the other door.

Moley - another boyfriend, and this guy just had so many moles on his face so it was an obvious choice. On his ears, on his lips, on his back, arms, legs, chest, hands. He used to use solariums quite regularly, so I was quite concerned about the melanoma risk. He just wanted to be tan, even though he was South American and already had a great skin tone. He was also known as the hairdresser, as, um, he is a hairdresser.

The Twin - we dated for a few weeks and well he was a twin (duh), but strangely enough he was also named Ben, he was my age and was pretty much the same height and weight as well. He did have a lot more hair than me. Bastard. Wish that one had gone somewhere though.

Hot Ash - a guy at the gym who strikes a remarkable resemblance to a random gay guy I know, but is much higher on the hotness scale.

On reflection, it was a really horrible thing to do. Espeically to the boyfriends. It really showed a lack of respect for them. Maybe Karma is now in effect and is making sure I don't find a new man for my past cunty behaviour.

The magical, mystical, hypocritical power of 15

I'm not an overly superstitious guy. I don't get freaked out when I spill milk, black cats don't send chills up my spine, and I hate it when people feel the need to tap their heads when they say "touch wood". But the number 15 seems to have a some-what auspicious connection with my life.

Here's some examples;

15th December 1996 - I ran through a barbed wire fence on a motorbike and ripped my right leg to shreds. You can see a picture here.

15th December 2003 - Started my job with TAFE.

15th December 2003 - parents moved out of the family home into a much smaller place to fund their retirement.

15th March 2004 - my maternal grandfather drops dead of a massive heart attack while holidaying in Perth.

15th March 2005 - my third niece, Sarah is born, turning a sad occasion into a very happy one.

15th November 2007 - my paternal grandfather finally succumbs to lung cancer.

15th November 2008 - my cousin's son is born, once again turning a sad occasion into a happy one.

The only time I won any sort of significant money was on roulette. Yup, you guessed it, I played the number 15.

Oh and the last one... I currently weigh 15 stone (well 15.1459872 according to Google).

Like I said, I'm definitely not superstitious, but the number 15 comes into play way too often in my life to ignore it.

I think I might go get "15" tattooed down my back 15 times by a guy with the IQ of 15 who has just finished a 15 year jail term for selling cocaine to 15 year old school boys.

Not that I'm superstitious or anything.

Will you go out with me? Tick Yes/No

Had a date tonight. It didn't go well. Lets look at some of the things that went wrong;

1. You chuck the shits because you weren't allowed into the bar you choose because you were under dressed.
2. You keep going on and on about not being allowed into the bar, even though you spent a couple of hundred dollars in there last weekend.
3. You spend 20 minutes texting people telling them how shit it was you weren't allowed into the bar.
4. You keep checking your mobile phone constantly for the rest of the night.
5. You openly eye every attractive man that walks past.
6. You loudly sigh as a particularly fine specimen walks past us.
7. You unashamedly mention how much the mortgage is on your inner-valley town house. More than once.
8. You unashamedly mention how your next overseas jaunt is costing you and how much you're expecting your parents to pay for. MORE THAN ONCE.
9. You expect me to understand you work-specific jargon.
10. You don't bother to ask any questions about my life/habits/likes/dislikes thereby learning absolutely nothing about me.
11. You expect me to care about anything you had to say.

OK, OK - I'll admit I wasn't really going out of my way tonight to make things run smoothly. It's been a full on week, and I just wanted to have a no fuss evening with a nice new guy. A date where I didn't have to do any of the work.

But with that sort of mind set, it was bound to fail. Way too many uncomfortable silences (well one is too many really).

Things were so bad at one stage that when he took an extremely long time in the toilet I had thought he had possibly done a runner.

AND I WAS HAPPY.

But he came back. When he told me that he was heading home because he was tired, I almost bolted out the door. At least there was no pretense of calling each other soon.

I'm sure it beats sitting at home alone on a Friday night, but not by much.

How not to retain customers in a competitive market...

I love the gym. I used to spend so much time there getting buff. But now I'm more flab than fab and with the impending move, I've had to cancel my membership.

And while my gym was brand new and all sparkly and shiny there are several things that really shit me about the place;

When a customer refers several new members and the manager tells you "Hey, thanks for that. We'll give you a couple of towels." Make sure you actually give them the towels.

When you send a customer their "Happy Birthday" letter, it might have more impact if you sent it close to their birthday in August, not at the end of October.

When a customer's personal trainer quits, you could possibly convert them to a new personal trainer by simply making a phone call , and asking if they want to try someone else. But it appears you don't want the extra $45 a week.

When the only two ab abductors in the place break, don't leave them sitting there with "out of order" signs on them for three months. They are the most popular machines in the place.

When customers are working out, its poor form to see the staff members playing cricket in reception.

When your opening hours say you are open til 9pm, don't go turning off all the treadmills at 8:45. I still might want to do some light cardio after my weights.

When a customer has their iPod stolen don't say to them "feel free to check everyone's pockets". Maybe a phone call from the manager would have been a better option.

When a customer calls to say they need to cancel their membership, don't say "OK, call this number and it's done." Maybe try and talk them into staying, or ask the reasons why, or try to get them to join the same chain in a different suburb. Never say "OK".

Sorry Goodlife Chermside, your facilities are nice and new, but you've blown it with your shoddy follow up and client retention. I shall be referring people to your opposition.

It's important to keep up the liquids...

It's been muggy as all hell in Brisneyland the last couple of days, so I've been feeling a little dehydrated. When I look back at what liquids I had yesterday, I'm surprised I'm not dead really;

Coffee for breakfast

Coffee for morning tea

Two schooners of Hahn Super Dry at lunch (low carb choices are smarter choices), to go with my steak and chips.

Can of diet coke for afternoon tea

Two stubbies of Toohey's White Stag with dinner (low carb choices are smarter choices).

That's it. No water at all, but plenty of beverages with massive diuretic properties. So no wonder I had another massive headache by night's end.

This unhealthy drinking regime isn't doing me any favours in the weight loss game. And considering the guy I've been dating has a stomach like this;

Don't ask me how the hell I found him (well he found me really). But compared to him, I feel like this;

I need to get my arse back into the gym, and do some ab exercises... STAT!

Simple pleasures...

A good hot skinny latte with two sugars
A toasted ham and cheese sandwich on thick white bread
Sushi train dinner with Kat
Watching TV with Greg
Taking fat puppy Rosie for a walk
Cooking dinner with my dad

I've been stressed, but I still get to the things I like outside of work. So it all balances out eh?

Tell me your simple pleasures...

My armpits hurt

I'm really enjoying getting back to the gym, and getting myself back on track. Even though I'm in a world of pain right now (who knew your armpits could hurt so much?), I'm remembering all the benefits that came from hitting the weights. But I'm also remembering all the things that shit me off about my gym;

The Chatterers - groups of three or four blokes (usually in their early 20's) who do one set of reps each and then sit and chat. It wouldn't worry me if they did it on the machines I hate (damn you seated row) but when they tie up the Fly for twenty minutes I want to punch them in the face. I need to work on my pectorals people!

The Denim Shorts Brigade - My jeans aren't the most comfortable things to wear so why the hell would you wear denim shorts to the gym? Oh... because you're a fucking wanker.

"Poofter Shoes" - That's what I call them, but I would never wear them. Thin canvas material on top, thin rubber sole, absolutely no support, so useless to protect you from any impact and generally worn without socks. Ugly, stinky shoes worn by pretentious wankers. Buy a pair of sneakers you tight arses.

The "Sunglasses Are Cool" Team - It's 7:30pm, you're inside, you're exercising. Why the fuck are you wearing sunnies? And there's the ones who leave the sunnies perched on top of their cap (these seem to be part of the Denim short crew). Put them in your locker you stupid cunts.

Black Socks - Not black ankle sports socks (they're fine if you're wearing dark coloured shoes), but black socks that go halfway up their shins. Usually business socks. Usually with bright white sneakers. Ruins any sort of hotness on a man.

The Sex Face - the men that put in so much effort when finishing off the set that they put on the strangest, most contorted, painful looking face. You just know they make the same face when they cum. It's not pretty.

The Bike Shorts and Bum Bag Man - he doesn't really annoy me that much, but he does go around and try to chat up the women. Seems to be in his 50's with a shaved head and goatee, and massive massive quads. Not sure what he's got in the bum bag, but I think he's got it strategically placed to protect his modesty - he's either massively hung, or the steroids have made it shrink!

Towel-less Wonders - you may think you don't sweat, but in reality you do, and you leave remnants of your sweaty arse crack on every machine you sit on. You make me want to vomit.

Giggle Girls - akin to the Chatterers, but these little bitches hang out on the cardio equipment walking at a stellar pace of 2.3kph and loudly judging everyone that walks past. At least I bag out people quietly to Kat, and not shout it out across the gym.

Now, all this talk of exercies has made me hungy. Time for a quad stacker from Hungry Jacks I think.

We're just a bunch of girls having fun!

Thank Christ the Olympics are almost over. I hate them so fucking much, but for some sad reason I keep flicking over to watch every now and again.

There are quite a few sports that seem really gay in my mind - men's synchronised diving is one - two hot, toned men in speedos thrashing about in the water. It's a porno waiting to happen.

Don't get me started on men's gymnastics.

But have you noticed there seems to be a lot of sports that are much more "lesbian" friendly? For starters there's the softball. They're not the most feminine bunch of gals are they? They do know how to fling the balls about.

Then there's the water polo. These ladies look like the roughest bunch of men on the planet. The shoulders are massive and it's a wonder their balls don't pop out the bottom of their swimmers.

And finally the Beach Volleyball - this sport has more of a lipstick lesbo feel to me. They are generally very attractive ladies in their hot bikini's, but you just know they'll be sharing their saphic love after the game.

Hmmm... now to see how I can turn this bunch of girls having special fun into a super money making porn site.

Jesus wants me to be a pedestrian

I have no luck with cars. No luck at all. It maybe something to do with the fact that I run every car that I ever get my hands into the ground and do next to nothing to look after them.

Lets look at my sad history with vehicles over the years;

Orange XD Falcon - my first ever car. Bright orange hand-me-down from my brother (who got it from our grandfather) - I destroyed the transmission. Reapirs were more than the car was worth.

Gold Gemini - possibly my best car ever. Apart from my blowing the welsh plug on the Warrego highway one day I never had any issues with it. When I moved onto the commodore, I gave it to my brother-in-law and it lasted for many more years.

White Commodore -side swiped the carport two weeks after buying it, so it had a massive scratch down the passenger side that I never got around to fixing. I also killed the power steering, the fuel pump died, destroyed the radiator, then ran it up the back of a ute on the ICB two years ago 2 days after getting the radiator fixed. I got almost five years out of it. Washed once I think.

Grandma's Magna - for a loan vehicle, I had so many issues. Brakes went twice, ran out of petrol twice (damn petrol light came on two seconds before it actually stopped).

Red Wagon - this was the worst purchase ever. Went through three batteries in 6 months, the cv joints went, the front passenger door opened by itself going around corners if you didn't lock it, then I just blew up the engine. $800 purchase price, was sent to the wreckers 8 months later.

Blue Commodore (the current car) - there have been mechanical and human issues associated with this one. Apart from not paying the rego in time and getting caught driving on a suspended licence (I got to say hello to judge Judy over that incident), the brakes went not long after I bought it, and it is now wanting about another $1500 worth of work to get it back on the road.

So since March I have been doing lots and lots of walking and catching public transport everywhere. If it wasn't for Kat breaking her leg, and letting me drive her car while she's been off, I probably would have gone insane.

Jesus hates me for being gay. Oh and killing that cat one time.

I know I'm Gay but...

Yes I'm gay, and I do rather enjoy being this way inclined, but there are many things in this lovely little sub-culture of mine that I just don't get.

Celine Dion - why god, why? In fact, it's probably the whole "diva" pop princess thing I don't get. Kylie/Madonna/Brittney/Mariah. I just don't really care for them at all.

Sex in the City (the movie) - yes I did watch it when it was on TV, yes I have posted about it previously, but what's with gay men's irrational love of four wrinkly old cunts talking about sex constantly? Give up already.

Scarves - especially those big arse pashmina things

Pink - specifically wearing it

Cocktails - big, dumb, fruity, brightly-coloured cocktails.

Musicals - there is something extremely gay about men emoting through song. The only thing gayer is the gays getting all gay over them. (Sweeney Todd was a good movie though, and I do like Rocky Horror)

Bears - no issues with facial (says the man with the almost permanent three-day growth) and some body hair is OK, in no way do I go all gay for a hairy man. I prefer 'em smooth.

Drag - its not attractive, its not funny, its just a fat man lip synching badly to crap pop songs.

That's all for now, but I'm sure my rage will return with more later.

Damning the "man"

I know work is about, um, working and all that stuff, but how many of my favourite websites can be blocked by the department's content filter?

I used to have a morning routine - log in, make coffee while waiting for stupid computer to log in, turn on radio and go through all my favourite sites for about 15 mins or so.

But that's all changed now. Damn you. DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!

The list so far includes;

Dlisted - inappropriate language
Redmeat - as above
Facebook - social networking
Myspace - same
PerezHilton - um. He's a wanker
Ebay - on line auctions (not allowed to make money off guvvie pooters)
Weight Watchers - shopping sites are a no-no. I have never bought anything off there, it's the forums I go for.
Defamer Australia - umm not too sure on this one, maybe language?
Made in Brazil - not surprising as it is basically South American men in speedo's
YouTube - video streaming not allowed

I miss all these sites (especially the social networking things). I know I have the net at home and a good change manager shouldn't be wasting his time surfing the net, but can't I have a little bit of fun?

What surprises me though is some of the sites I can still access -

Towleroad, Real Jock, Joe.My.God - pretty much gay culture with lots of half naked men shots. Maybe they don't want to be seen to be victimising my sub-culture. Or maybe the guy that checks all the web links is gay and doesn't want to spoil his own fun?

Now they just need to block blogger and damnyouzeke and I'm truly fucked.