There’s been a distinct lack of posts lately. I apologise for this. In my defence I’ve been busy organising a convention, trips to two other conventions, stock levels for products like wittily sloganned badges (What is the sound of one hand fapping?), and generally trying to not smoke whilst simultaneously not killing people in my immediate vicinity due to the amazingly stupid things they’re currently doing that affect my state of life.

Left unharassed by police after they came a raiding the Lolita parade

So I’m smoking again…

Anyway, I’ve been in Adelaide for a bit. Odd city. Small, quiet, pleasant (except for the water). It’s large enough to be interesting without being overwhelming. I rather enjoy it. But the scene there is just odd. The whole place is somewhat contradictory.

Friday night, I’m out and about with Trey, and he’s dressed as he usually is, which is to say women’s cut clothing that’s otherwise fairly unisex. We’re in Rundle mall, a fairly gentrified part of Adelaide. I jokingly warn him that it gets pretty rough there. Within 30 seconds he’s being assualted by a guy with a mullet that would put Captain Planet’s to shame.

Coming to his defence isn’t an issue. I do it swiftly, wordlessly, and glare the redneck down. Promises of fucking up my cunt later, we’re away to find some Italian food while I decide maybe I should wear my riding gloves in case it happens again. For the rest of the evening people are looking at me as though I’m the thug.

Trey is getting progressively sicker, shivering  in a little quivering ball that refuses to eat, but happily makes his way through a quarter of a tequila bottle. Supposedly it’s better medicine than the Sudafed packed. Who am I to argue? To each their own, and surely my medicinal methods could be viewed just as strangely by others. Herbalists no doubt laugh at me with my empirically proven tinctures.

I like Adelaide. For all its eccentricities it contains surprises. Some of my most cherished friends are there. I get to see them perhap twice a year. This is probably why I value them so much… They’re simply not here to piss me off. If they were here, I question if they would help me move my furniture. I’m not sure on that one. Even if they intended to help, could they? They are all such small things, easily damaged in a crushing embrace, and powerless with shorter, even shawn, hair.

Sunday night was interesting in a way that it normally is not. A normal Sunday would involve wishing there was more weekend. Regrets of things not done. Thinking maybe somehow another day could be squeezed in, but truly knowing it can’t be. This one wasn’t like that. It was spent with two close friends and a virtual stranger.

It was also spent sober.

Oddly enoguh, that made the night more amusing, especially when it came to watching horrendously violent and pornographic videos that we proceeded to dub terribly, or play music in time to. This proves that a good time can be had without the assistance of alcohol, but an orgy generally can’t. It feels a waste that we didn’t have the orgy in true Roman style. A bathroom as overstated as the one we were in should probably have hada  bit of vomit thrown in with all the blue dye left behind.

Odd city for odd people.

I feel at home there…

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