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australia
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Cheddar.
When I'm inebriated, I become reflective. But only when I'm proper-drunk, not wired-drunk - I'm never making that mistake again. I space out after a couple of drinks and sort of drift in and out. I'm a quiet drunk, generally. It probably comes off as being a little rude, but oh well.
So after some unadulterated alcohol (i.e. untouched by evil Red Bull) last night and current period of sobering up, it occurs to me that I really do attach sentiments to all and sundry. And it's ridiculous. I mean, it'll only be a matter of time before I have to leave this city for all the primarily boy-related memories I attach to every single aspect of it. You know the kind of thing: romantic/sappy moments, hot and sexy ones, or even the gut-wrenching ones where I suffered tremendous heartbreak. Le sigh. And the really crappy thing is that sometimes the sentiments alone overwhelm me.
Like when my Dad unknowingly started wearing the same cologne that Chris did. And that really creeped me out. I mean, smell is very emotive. It's like Pavlov's dog, except instead of food and bells you've got boys and smells (Oh and that rhymes too. Hah!). I even contemplated stealing the bottle, just so I could daydream about Chris on my own terms. Oh, and to combat the wrongness of my Dad reminding me of the then boyfriend, too. That's a whole world of eww.
Then there was the time with Flyboy at the drive-in movies, in his car, during a thunderstorm. See now when I think of Sydney thunderstorms (I reckon our storms have a unique ambience), I think of backseat sex to the soundtrack of a bad Colin Farrel movie.
And then there are those kissy-kissy moments (cue montage). Like that one summer night, kissing Dazzles whilst wrapped in each other's arms, astride a nineteenth-century cannon at the old Dawes Point Battery. Or that time kissing Tony at a humid Tropfest 2004 just as it started to rain. Or kissing Laddy in a darkened Domain, while horribly late for a meeting with some friends. Or curled up in front of the TV, kissing N!xau and watching Yes, Prime Minister episodes on DVD. Or kissing Douglas at the Observatory Hill bandstand one Saturday morning, when we were interrupted by a bride and groom wanting to snap a few wedding photos. And I remember that new husband saying to us, "romantic spot, don't you reckon boys?". Sigh.
Yeah, it's all pretty cheesy. I know that. But I'm a sucker for cheese... hmm, bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. Also, evidently I carry way too much emotional baggage. Dr Phil?
Listening to:
Title: I Want You Back (Z-Trip Remix)
Artist: Jackson 5
Album/station: Motown Remixed (2005)
Length: 4.35
When I'm inebriated, I become reflective. But only when I'm proper-drunk, not wired-drunk - I'm never making that mistake again. I space out after a couple of drinks and sort of drift in and out. I'm a quiet drunk, generally. It probably comes off as being a little rude, but oh well.
So after some unadulterated alcohol (i.e. untouched by evil Red Bull) last night and current period of sobering up, it occurs to me that I really do attach sentiments to all and sundry. And it's ridiculous. I mean, it'll only be a matter of time before I have to leave this city for all the primarily boy-related memories I attach to every single aspect of it. You know the kind of thing: romantic/sappy moments, hot and sexy ones, or even the gut-wrenching ones where I suffered tremendous heartbreak. Le sigh. And the really crappy thing is that sometimes the sentiments alone overwhelm me.
Like when my Dad unknowingly started wearing the same cologne that Chris did. And that really creeped me out. I mean, smell is very emotive. It's like Pavlov's dog, except instead of food and bells you've got boys and smells (Oh and that rhymes too. Hah!). I even contemplated stealing the bottle, just so I could daydream about Chris on my own terms. Oh, and to combat the wrongness of my Dad reminding me of the then boyfriend, too. That's a whole world of eww.
Then there was the time with Flyboy at the drive-in movies, in his car, during a thunderstorm. See now when I think of Sydney thunderstorms (I reckon our storms have a unique ambience), I think of backseat sex to the soundtrack of a bad Colin Farrel movie.
And then there are those kissy-kissy moments (cue montage). Like that one summer night, kissing Dazzles whilst wrapped in each other's arms, astride a nineteenth-century cannon at the old Dawes Point Battery. Or that time kissing Tony at a humid Tropfest 2004 just as it started to rain. Or kissing Laddy in a darkened Domain, while horribly late for a meeting with some friends. Or curled up in front of the TV, kissing N!xau and watching Yes, Prime Minister episodes on DVD. Or kissing Douglas at the Observatory Hill bandstand one Saturday morning, when we were interrupted by a bride and groom wanting to snap a few wedding photos. And I remember that new husband saying to us, "romantic spot, don't you reckon boys?". Sigh.
Yeah, it's all pretty cheesy. I know that. But I'm a sucker for cheese... hmm, bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. Also, evidently I carry way too much emotional baggage. Dr Phil?
Listening to:
Title: I Want You Back (Z-Trip Remix)
Artist: Jackson 5
Album/station: Motown Remixed (2005)
Length: 4.35