Three Little Nuggets!

I swear my watch just jumped forward six days! If I didn’t know better I'd say I've been cast in a bad sci-fi movie about time travel (I got the role over Eric Bana). Since drinks with Mummy-Bloggers it feels like 6 days got crammed into 24hours. 99% of my life I’m sitting on the couch, eating pizza and wondering why I don’t have a life; then for 1% it’s a crazy, psycho blur. I’ve used up double my year’s quota of activity just in the last week.

But for the sake of my beloved blog I’m trolling out three stories from the last week that ring clear in my head. All for different reasons. St. Murphy has become bizarrely like a diary for me, which was never my intention, I had hoped to be more interesting than that. It appears I’m too self-centred to write about anything but myself (Shock! Horror!.. St. Murphy you’re not self-centred).

Story 1 – Royal Wedding

Hello Boys!

I would never in my wildest dreams have predicted that I would be so transfixed by this fairytale. I fell hook, line and sinker during Ten’s appalling telemovie which had me on the edge of my seat. Then from the moment my beloved Kate stepped out of the hotel I was in tears. No joke! Miss Cal will vouch for me, she was on the couch beside me. We were literally in a trance the whole ceremony. It was truly spectacular and amazingly beautiful. Maybe there is a romantic deep inside me after all.

A-Dorable!

So many highlights! The trees, the music, the dress, David Beckham, my new best-friend Pippa. The 6 priests, the hats, the carriages, the crowds swarming towards Buckingham Palace. It was 5 hours of heaven! The absolute highlight on my little couch was during the national anthem when Miss Call, who is normally super-intelligent, turned to me and said “Why isn’t the Queen singing?” To her credit she realised her error immediately and we were hysterical! SHE IS THE QUEEN, ITS ABOUT HER! My only non-pure, un-romantic thought during the whole thing was about the James Middleton / Prince Harry sandwhich that I am sure is on the menu.

My fav Archbishop cause his eyebrows are bigger than mine!

Story 2 – So grown-up and brave!

Was south of the border in Melbourne on a work trip over the weekend. Had a lovely cocktail party, a gorgeous dinner, then a quick disco nap – as you do on a Saturday night. You know how it is when you are newly single and determined to be a part of everything? I know this will ring bells with some of you. I wanted to go out and dance on a podium waving my arms in the air like I just don’t care! My hurdle – I couldn’t find anyone who would go out with me. Was feeling rather sad and lonely, fat and ugly, who know one wanted to play with – then I had a very Oprah moment and forcibly made myself pretty and went out to the Greyhound... ON MY OWN. So grown-up and brave.

Reno'd Greyhound. It did fill up. (haha file pic)

Now I can’t remember doing this since 1996 when I first moved to Sydney. Difference then was I was young, thin, had big gorgeous hair and didn’t get tired if I lifted my arms above my shoulders. I distinctly remember I had no problem making friends. Oh how times have changed. I spent nearly all night standing sadly in a corner sucking on double-vodka’s and B&H Fine. I forgot the key element of going out on your own – you have to be prepared to approach and start conversation. And no way am I doing that! As I’ve been saying for years, I’m not good with new people. Too old to make new friends. Luckily I had the young-gay-Melbourne’s obsession with hair-product to keep me entertained. So much hair-product it was both hilarious and disturbing. Please note boys; if you are not a model do not get a model-like haircut, and if it takes more than 3 minutes to do you hair than the cut is not working for you. Thank god I am now back in Sydney where I do not have to go out by myself and the gays respect their hair.

Story 3 – Hang-over cure fail.

Had a work party on Sunday night which is my ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE night of the year. It is the one and only night of the year I wear a tie – even bought a new one. Now you may have heard me brag here before that over the years I have mastered the hang-over cure. Being interstate I didn’t have all the ingredients so I woke up (late) on Monday with one of the most debilitating hang-overs ever. Speaking was a huge issue, brain-function was the equivalent of an NRL forward. I stumbled into work looking like the grim-reaper. I don’t even think my shoes and belt were the same colour leather.

New tie - so proud!

To cut to the chase on tedious tale, I am writing this to extend my sincere thanks to Qantas. More specifically, Qantas Club! I bailed for the airport early after even the polite receptionist said I looked like shit and then slept in the cab the whole way. Qantas couldn’t bring my flight forward – damn to hell that discount ticket – so I turned a lounge at QC into a make-believe bed, curled up cuddling what was left of my dignity, and slept for over an hour! Doesn’t matter what you pay for QC cause there is always one day a year you would give your life for a membership. Monday was that day. Thank you also to the check-in guy (who earlier I despised) who had the good sense to keep the seat beside me free on the plane. My breath was horrific and there would have been complaints. Moral to the story, I want to have my 40th at Qantas Club.

My beloved Qantas Club

So just three little nuggets (tried for gold, more likely shit) that in a nutshell sum up the last 6 days. The emotional highs of the Royal Wedding  and Sunday night down to the crassness of passing out in Qantas Club. Talk about highs and lows – I’m practically Lindsay Lohan.

Two very important Life Lessons!

Life Lesson No. 1

You may recall that I've bucked ‘the break-up’ trend and stacked on the weight rather than shed it after becoming a single man. No one likes a fat homo, especially other homo’s, so I’ve joined my new local gym. I heard that they have equipment that if you stand on them you lose weight. And this place seems so much friendlier than my old gym that I donated too, which was the gayest gym in the world. I felt like I needed to do my hair before, during and immediately after a workout. My new gym is a little more, shall I politely say, down-to-earth.

Life Lessons from St. Murphy

I went for the first time yesterday and it was an all-round horrifying experience. First off it was very early morning so the synapses were hardly firing. Had trouble in the changerooms working out the locker situation, had to go and ask the lovely/cute receptionist the protocol. It seems I need to bring my own lock. So I finally get to the X-trainer and I 100% guarantee you it’s the biggest machine I’ve ever seen. I’d been on them before but not this big. Twice I dropped my iPod, keys and stuff while trying to mount that sucker. So embarrassing. I could feel eyes all on me thinking ‘how unco’.

Its quite lovely in photos

Keeping in mind I’m 38 not 105, I thought I’d be able to bash out a 30min workout. At the 7 min mark I knew I was in trouble, by 12 mins I was gasping for my last breathe and the controls – dragged that down to 20mins. By the time I’d finished I was a mess – mentally and physically. What has happened to me? When did I become an old man??? Somewhere between Absolut, Benson &Hedges and Pizza Hut Delivery I’d lost my fitness.

So ashamed that’s all I could do I thought 15mins on the treadmill would redeem me somewhat. What the hell was I thinking? At 3mins I reduced that to 10mins but by the 8 min mark I realized my health was in danger and I desperately, achingly need to be seated on a toilet STAT!. I pushed through to the end and than ran. The grief and mortification I felt when I realized that the toilet, with gaps above and below the door, was right on the edge of the changeroom was overwhelming. Lets just say I ain’t making any new friends at the gym anytime soon.

It was such a horrific experience that I know, without a doubt, that I need to go everyday! Otherwise I will be dead or a Sumo within 2 years.

Life Lesson No. 1 – Gyms are embarrassing and horrific places, but sadly if you don’t go you become a fat homo.

Me in 2 years unless I go to Gym!

Life Lesson No. 2

I’ve never been very good in the kitchen; I have no interest, no skill, no flair for the culinary. Had been very lucky that last few years to have someone who enjoyed cooking and prepared most of my evening meals. Now at Man Pit I am my own Shopper/Chef so I thought I’d give a simple steak and steamed veg a crack - I mean really, how hard can it be.

First obstacle, the George Foreman steamer that was a Xmas gift has no life left in it. Foreman himself went 16 rounds, not this steamer unfortunately. So within 2 mins I was down to just the steak (don’t even own a saucepan or microwave which says a lot about how I cook). I whip out my brand spanking new Jamie Oliver Tefal frypan, so shiney and pretty, and off I go. In hindsight, I think my mistake was not turning on the exaust fan cause within 2 mins the fire alarm was BLARING through my shoebox apartment. I’m waving tea towels, I’m unscrewing the fire alarm, I am depseratley trying to find a switch on a wall somewhere. Nothing would shut that thing down.

Little bastard!

Than to my horror my neighbour’s started buzzing through the intercom – THE ALARM GOES THROUGH THE WHOLE BUILDING!!! Holy hell, I hadn’t even met them yet! I scrambled downstairs in my comfy pants and headband where my new favourite neighbour and the owner of the business downstairs are franticly trying to disarm the alarm before the fire brigade get there. MORTIFIED!!! You need a science degree to do this, and only with their help and guidance, the alarm was turned off. I ate the steak half raw rather than try to cook that cow anymore.

Life Lesson No. 2 – Never, ever cook for yourself. Always order take-away or eat out. Do not endanger the lives of others by turning on a hotplate.

And you just know that the firemen saving me from my steak would NOT have looked like this!

Welcome to The Man Pit

So I’m calling my new pad “The Man Pit”! Not sure why, cause there ain’t a whole lot that’s manly about me, but I like the name and I’m sticking with it. And it’s not like there are any other men here, just me. But I’ve been buying lots of furniture and other homely things and I just keep reminding myself… Man Pit, Man Pit, Man Pit. I want to look and feel like an adult man rather than the 14yo schoolgirl I am in most other respects.

As a result there’s lots of dark, heavy wood and muted tones. I even just bought a black leather armchair – now that’s BUTCH! I reckon I could even smoke a cigar sitting in that thing. Played it safe and got simple white coffee tables and crockery. The pieced-de-resistance is a retro blue couch that looks like its straight from the set of Mad Men. Got a silver manly lamp as well As long as no one looks closely at the CD collection or bookshelf I could even pass as a near-40, urban professional with some level of taste. Until I open my mouth that is.

Where I have gone horribly wrong with The Man Pit theme is the boudoir. I’ve always had a hankering for a four-poster wrought-iron bed. So I got myself one. And its SHINEY! How cool is that. Would like great in a modern take on an old-style B&B. Very soft and romantic, and very girly. Also got some heavy gold and blood red floral linen. And just to completely make it look like the set of Burlesque I have a giant ornate gold mirror above the bed. Oh well, at leats I’ll be happy in there. As would Cher.

The most brilliant thing, Foxtel turned around their installation in a DAY! Only one night with out Foxtel, thank god and thank you Foxtel.

Next on the shopping hit list are some deck chairs. I have a disproportionately big balcony that gets some beautiful afternoon sun so I want to be able to lounge out there and have the houseboy serve cocktails. Also need some art but I don’t really know what that means. I need something on the walls but me buying art is like Paris Hilton buying a chastity belt – pointless, no idea! I might just put some Madonna posters up in the Man Pit. Or a Young Talent Time poster, that’d be cool!

The Man Pit is coming together very nicely! I’m thinking I will be very happy here.

** Sorry no pics as I’m still waiting on some furniture, will take some for a post I’m planning “The Rules of Man Pit”.

Single gay man looking... MONEY STUFF

There things that I know about myself…

-       I get addicted to things very easily

-       I am inherently lazy

-       I love boys

-       I like to feel pretty

-       I am bad with money

Today, lets focus on the I am bad with money!

When I say bad with money I mean embarrassingly bad for a man of my education and age. Like a tween with their first mobile I have no concept of limitations. My entire adult life has been spent filling in the gaps between financial disasters. First there was the post-Uni spending blitz where I first lost my financial dignity. There was the borrowing bond/rent off work-mate incident only late last century. And then the near-fatal credit card frenzy only a matter of years ago. I’m here to tell you that the person who suggested to me ‘apply to all banks online and see how many you can get’ is no longer my friend. Took many years to clear that debt but jeez I had a great year. Those of you who know me, that’s the year I refer to as the ‘dark year’.

I’m not bad in the sense that I’ve invested in Nigerian oil schemes or played risky on the stockmarket. I’m bad in a much more childish way in that I simply want to spend more than I have. I have a very short attention span and like shiney, new things. I also love to have a good time – or GT’s as we like to call them - which is where most of my (relatively) hard-earned cash has gone over the years. I guess it’s the prioritizing that I struggle with. Seeing a bank balance go up ever so slowly is no where near as exciting as a night on Oxford St. I also spend the GDP of New Zealand on healthcare; I love a quick remedy and a supplement. But more about that another time…

So money stuff has never been my strong point. Over the last few years though I have been much, much better. That’s because of the influence of exBoyfriend who is BRILLIANT at the prioritising. He’s a clever-money man. He even managed to inspire me to have some assets! I’ve got a house and a car now! Who would have ever have thought? Not any one who met me in the ‘dark year’ that’s for sure. I love having the assets, makes me feel all grown-up, I can see what this saving thing can do for you now. Stroke of genius really.

Cash is top of mind today because it has come the time for me to move into my new place, finally cutting the financial-umbilical with exBoyfriend. Of course I have nothing in the tank for a curveball like this so it’s become this intense juggling act of what I can afford, when and what the priorities should be. There are some things that are a must like fridge, lounge and bed – all practical necessities. Then there are the highly desirable things such as a decorative armchair, ornate glassware and funky lamps. There is A LOT of stuff on the wish list! It is a new home and new life after-all.

So all my new skills, acquired through exBoyfriend, are being put to the test now I’m an independent spirit. My new mantra is “Do you need it? Can you afford it?”. This is in sharp contrast to my previous mantra which was “Does it make you feel good? How does it look on you?”. It really is a whole new way of looking at your wishlist. The plush linen and giant towels are going to have to wait until after I have some pots and pans.

So far I think I’m doing real good, I’m quietly very proud of myself. No crazy purchases or impulse internet buys. No superfluous new trinkets. There’s a very strategic financial plan in place that means no big boozey nights or Nudi jeans but rather sensibly priced homewares and electricity bond. I am starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I am finally a grown-up after-all. Perfect timing really. 

Single gay man looking... Weight Loss!

I thought that one of the few upsides of a break-up was weight loss? This is what I have been led to believe over the years. Well it’s a fallacy, a blatant lie.

I have literally doubled in size since exBoyfriend and I broke-up two weeks ago. How you can stack on so much weight in two weeks is anyone’s guess. My pants are strained, I can only wear my big man’s shirts and the thought of exposing myself at the gym is traumatic.

I’m going to put it down to ‘comfort eating’ (well use it as an excuse anyways).

Surely at a time like this I can be forgiven for choosing Macca’s over a salad. This is an easy and quick debate in my head, such as at lunchtime yesterday. If you feel bad why should you deny yourself something that will give you pleasure.  Mmmmm…Double Quarter Pounder large meal deal with Diet Coke. Heaven! And like Princess Di, over-eating makes me feel better. Not quite the ‘hug’ Di called it, but better none-the-less.

And it seems to be playing havoc with my stomach, but I won’t bore/disgust you with those details.

exBoyfriend has been very good, he is still going to the gym everyday. Where as me, I will come up with any excuse not to go. And to be completely honest, this is the best excuse I’ve ever had. I do pack my gym bag every day but it still hasn’t left my car. Such a shame as I have some lovely new gym clothes that now probably won’t fit me.





And no one wants a chubby middle-aged gayer! There are good and bad sides to being part of a body-obsessed sub-culture such as the hummer-sexuals - great for perving but shockingly hard to keep up your own standards. Us gayers have different standards for physical 'normalcy', the bar is much higher than for the straights. Oh whoe is me...

This has been a very whingey post today, sorry. I'm being a whingey-whiney bastard. And a little unfair to exBoyfriend. This is so much more about my own flaws rather than our circumstance. We’ve been very good at taking care of each other as we untangle our lives. And I am sure once I am in my own place it will all become easier again.

I do fear though that by the time we get to that point I will be the size of a house! 

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You to the Twitterverse & Blogosphere!

A small miracle has taken place!





And I have the Twitterverse and Blogosphere to thank.





After putting out the call on Sunday for all of you to pray to the Rental Gods for me, at 10.30am this morning the Gods came through!





I've landed myself a very cool inner-city bachelor pad that, most importantly, allows pets. PHEW!!! Thats a big pressure off.





Now my little Sam and I have a new home and we are very excited and happy. Well, we are as excited and happy as you can be at this strange and awful time.

Sam thanks you to and wants to shake your paw.

So huge and sincere thank you for your support cause I am sure your prayers to the Rental Gods got me across the line. I didn't even have to sleep with the agent.





Thank you. Moving in late March.

SIngle gay man looking... Rental Property

As most of you will know Boyfriend and I have parted ways this week. Its all good, both doing well, but the practicalities of 'separation' have kicked in.





So yesterday exBoyfriend and I, yes that is what I am now calling him, started our search for two 1-bedroom apartments in Surry Hills. Well that would have to be one of the most depressing experiences of the last 10 years. Besides the obvious emotional side of leaving our home and starting afresh, real estate prices in this city are RIDICULOUS!!! I had no idea. I literally feel violated.

I haven’t rented in Sydney since an enormous, but cheap, 3 bedroom terrace in Bondi Junction with Miss Cal 6 years ago. It was so big we practically had our own wing each. Before that I was living in Melbourne back when it was considered Third World. Then before that it was the Legendary ‘432’ Surry Hills terrace where I have no idea how much I paid in rent, only what I spent on vodka. So it was a huge culture shock yesterday to discover what Sydney-siders pay in rent. My wallet aches just thinking about it.

I’m quite attached to the idea that I am somewhat glamorous! Especially as I am fast approaching 40 and surely at this age you should be able to expect a certain level of comfort. I like shiney new things with bells and whistles. In an apartment I like to have a balcony, at least 1 four-walled bedroom, a dishwasher, and non-stained carpet. I don’t think I’m asking for that much? Well it appears that such an apartment requires a deposit bigger than a mortgage and an ongoing monthly rent equal to New Zealand’s GDP.

Ummm... NO! 

I spent most of the day trying to do the sums. And it did my head in. Thank god I had exBoyfriend with me or I’d be still wandering the streets aimlessly multiplying by 52 and dividing by 12. To further complicate matters, neither of us can bare to think about anything but joint custody of our treasured boys Jackson and Sam. It seems approx. 1% of rentals allow pets. Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And they haven’t even met Jackson and Sam, so judgemental. They are cleaner than I am and definitely make less mess. Some would say they even smell better!

So after all of the traipsing around Surry Hills/Darlinghurst/Woolloomooloo we found just one apartment that had potential. Dishwasher – yes. Balcony – yes. It has a lovely bathroom, lots of cupboard space and a carpark. Bedroom only has two of the four walls but we all need to make concessions. Most importantly they allow pets! Brilliant! Almost kissed the agent. Now I have to go through the tedious process off applying and references and payslips blah blah blah. Why don’t they just take my word for it! I am too fabulous for words, can pay all my bills and in the right light I’m semi-attractive. And it would really help us out.

Everyone please pray to the Rental Gods that this one comes through! And if you have any hot tips be sure to let me know. And if you are a real estate agent call me immediately! You are my new best friend.

Note: This is the first in a new series of posts called "Single gay man looking..." as after only a few days I am already overwhelmed with how many new things I will have to do on my own. Damn, this is a whole new frightening world.