Sunday, October 31, 2004

all in a night's work

time to get quasi-loaded.
saturday was interesting. a brief rundown:

tale of the cowgirls

weather girls - it's raining men

it was a balmy night in melbourne, and i had to head off to my favourite consultant's birthday. the party had a western theme so, obviously, it just had to be held in a boatshed on the banks of the Yarra. After smashing my shoulder on a metal bannister (i have a lovely little scar building up off that one...) , i managed to down a couple of beers, watch as the fire brigade decided to turn up, hang out with the birthday (cow)girls, dance with them to it's raining men, take a few fotos of the group, say hello to some guy i went to school with, say goodbye to everyone, slip on a train and head over to newmarket...

poisonous bushes
ella - imagine my frustration

...where my dear friend L was having his birthday drinks. now L occasionally moonlights as a drag queen by the name of Oleeander ('cos she's a poisonous bush, sweetie') - but Miss Olly was nowhere to be seen. instead, i caught up with my melbourne gay boi posse (aka. the 'mgbp'), had a few drinks, bumped into an old friend, took a few photos and managed to introduce a couple of drag queens sans makeup to mame. as you do. of course, that meant only one thing: the peel.

crazy ass pool 'playaz'
michael sembello - maniac

at the peel, the party was joined by the rest of the mgbp. given we have not spent time together as a whole group for almost a year, of course it was fabulous.

until L's sis T decided that i had to play pool with her. which, stupidly, i agreed to.

all of a sudden we were playing against this strange little old man. he was in full '70s get up: the tight grey pants, the white shirt open almost to the waist, the overtanned skin, the white-gray hair in a floppy 'do. and i think he honestly spoke five words of english.

he kept doing this thing where he tried to show off how much of a hustler he was. except he wasn't. he'd spend about five minutes lining up shot, doing that whole 'fake shot' thing where you rub the cue up and down along your fingers for ages. still, he fucked up more shots than me, but somehow his team won. which was great for me - there's nothing more disconcerting than having someone tell you that you have two shots by giving you the good ole two-finger salute (and we ain't talkin 'v for victory' kidz) and then repeating it until you basically scream 'i get it - two shots!' at them.

fuckin weirdass bastard.

so i went off for a drink, then danced for a little bit til i got bored (it seriously took five minutes) then headed back to the pool room, where the mgbp was seated.

immediately, crazyass pool playa walks up to me and starts gesturing in his hyperactive way that i'm playing this game, that i have no choice, and that this time i was playing on his team. fucking T - she copped it later.

somehow, we won; but i feigned drunkenness and said i couldn't possibly play another game. instead, i ran off to the dancefloor to a catchup with old friend A and a free line of speed.

so far, so strange.

to market, to market...
armand van helden - my my my

So L decided we were all heading to the market. the sun was rising at that point, and luckily i had taken my bag with me, cos all of a sudden everyone was utterly green with lust for the pair of sunnies i had just put on.

market was ok for a couple of hours, but at some point i tried to start a conversation with a coupla guys who were totally out of it. which i wouldn't normally do, except that one of them was wearing a full suit with dirty cross-trainers. when i tried to ask him why he was wearing them, he started some long boring tirade, that next thing i know, i had woken from a five minute nap.

heh. five minute man.

time to head home.

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