All posts in Random Nights Out

Two nights in a row? I’d hardly call that “random”

I really need a new category for when I go out. I can call the category “random nights” and then give a different title to the post.

Except for that I can’t think of another title which makes it overly difficult.

Okay… tonight was the opening of the Third Year Show at my old Uni, the National Art School. Basically, all the 3rd years graduating this year have their show on for the next week and their opening was tonight… last night… one of them.

So yeah… go see the show. Get off of your ass and see the show.

Anyway, I’m of the belief that you come and support your friends so I came and supported them… and I’ve got the pictures to prove it.

While stuff did happen tonight, I’m going to intersperse the images all throughout the text for once because really, I’ve got a lot of images that will probably make it into this post. I also have a lot of images that won’t but will be in a gallery on another part of my site so just read on or scroll to the bottom of this post (the post, not the blog) and you should see a link somewhere there.

Really, I’m not offended that you don’t want to read my blog. It’s probably too much information for you. You just want your pictures… [i]your[/i] pictures, damnit! Don’t worry that I slaved over a hot keyboard and trackball to bring them to you… never mind that I put minutes and minutes of blood, sweat, and tears so you could see how you look the day after you’ve drank half of Crown St’s liquor supply…

Right. I’ll shut up now and start. 😛

It was a pretty basic night to start with. I waited with Emily outside the Cell Block while Bernard droned on with his speeches. I shouldn’t actually say that. I don’t know if Bernard Ollis did drone on with his speeches this year. I know he went on for a while, but that’s not anything unusual for him so I’ll just skip that and say “Bernard droned on”. When the droning was done and people started to leave the Cell Block, Emily and I began to make our way inside.

It seemed underused. Not really sure if I can say anything else. Yes, the Cell Block had sculptures in it… but that was it. Compared to last uses of the Cell Block Theatre for art exhibitions with paintings and ceramics and printmaking and photography and whatnot… this year felt dry and empty with sculpture being the only visible art existing in the place short of the overly shiny floor. I know they have the new gallery with which to show their art in… but it still felt… [i]too[/i] empty.

We met up with Damo who was cool but was already out of digital film. Bit of a shame that. I offered to lend him one if he needed but he didn’t want it. Probably a good thing. The only spares I had were 256mb’s and we used for my DS for music and whatnot, but I can easily spare a card for him.

[i]Hey, it’s Damo![/i]

I started to walk around and was asked to take [url=]a few photos[/url] and ended up getting shots of my friends like Jane and Adele who each won prizes for their art which is just simply grand.

[i]Jane & Adele each won prizes and were both thrilled from the beginning until the end of the night (so they should be)![/i]

Emily didn’t stay all that long. She’d already seen the works from around the place, so she left not long after we’d met up with Damo. I, however, went to fund my buddy Ferdie who was near his work.

Ferdie doesn’t seem to like being in pictures very much. Try as I might to take a photo of Ferdie, he’ll put his hands above his face, give me his back… it’s a shame that I have to resort to the trickery of the pre-focus and then calling his name to get shots of him.

[i]Ferdie in front of his work.[/i]

But Ferdie didn’t take long before he felt that desire to go find his friend-who-is-a-girl and will probably-become-his-girlfriend somewhat soon. So I started wandering around again to see if anyone wanted their picture taken as well as [url=]meeting up with people I knew[/url].

[i]Left: Asha and her man; Right: Leah and her man.[/i]

At one point, I found one of my close friends Katherine waiting around. I even got some arty shots of her.


I think they’re arty, and like the third years soon will have, I’ve got a degree in the bloody field… so even if you don’t think they’re arty, they’re still arty. So there.

I even caught up with Natalie from printmaking who I used to have a big crush on (but ssshhh!!! don’t tell her!!!) and who, while she’s incredibly beautiful, doesn’t seem to like pictures being taken of her… which is a shame. (Maybe she just doesn’t like pictures taken by me… who knows really… )

[i]Shell (Michelle maybe) and Natalie having a ciggy while I try to take some Levi’s-esque shots.[/i]

There was a bit more talking and chilling [url=]and photo taking[/url]. I met up with Sian (who I also was fond of) and Tim (who I didn’t want to shag) and a fair amount of other people and one of the librarians who was also a bassist and we got to talking about bass playing before we parted ways as we headed down to The Dolphin Bar.

The Dolphin Bar is one of those names that automatically bugs me, however.
I expected dolphins. I wanted dolphins. I can’t imagine a less fitting name than “The Dolphin Bar”.

Seriously… where the hell were your bloody dolphins, The Dolphin Bar?
You must have a strange definition of the word “dolphin” to call yourself “The Dolphin Bar”… unless of course you call overcharging for drinks under the term of “dolphin” in which case, “The Dolphin Bar” matches…

Anyway, at The UnDolphin Dolphin Bar, I chatted with [url=]Jacky[/url], one of Kieran’s friends from the Blue Mountains who was a nice girl (I wonder if she caught her train…), as well as [url=]some random girls[/url] from photography who had just finished as part of this Third Year class.

I also got to see Kieran and Ann-Marie do a tequila shot.

[i]The “before” and “after” of what a tequila shot looks like if it’s being taken by Ann-Marie and Kieran.[/i]

Me, I’m not a big fan of tequila shots. Hell, I’m not a big fan of shots. Aside for the small gullet I’ve got (runs in the family), I prefer to taste my drinks. I know that tequila comes from cactus, but hell, I don’t mind the flavour. You get used to it. Why ignore the flavour and down the fucker so you can’t feel anything else?! Just seems like a waste to me.

And then I went around and started taking pictures and seeing random people. Not “seeing” seeing them… I’m not that lucky, as life would present me evidently, but rather seeing them around the place, the old “How are you?” and whatnot, and then taking their pictures. I took pictures of [url=]Alice and some girl[/url] I’d never met and then more people I’d never met and probably never will.

I saw Jane and Adele again and then sat down with [url=]Jane & Ben[/url] and also Natalie and Shell (?… still confused about what her name is…) and then saw a very attractive girl who seemed sad… quite sad… and probably lonely from the look of it… neither of which is good. [url=]Her name was Emma.[/url]

[i]Emma & Jane in a nice shot together.[/i]

[url=]Emma was gorgeous[/url], but like most of the people from that night who I didn’t already know, it’s unlikely I’ll ever see her or them again. Fact of life… not a nice one… but one regardless.

The UnDolphin Dolphin Bar closed at midnight. Kind of a waste, especially since people were getting into [url=]the intoxicated vibe[/url] from their overpriced drinks just as the place decides to shut their doors. So we all clamor up and move out… and head to The Gaslight, what is considered the new local for NAS people.

In my year, we’d head to the Judgement Bar above the Courthouse Bar (across from the courthouse in Darlinghurst). We’d started to head to the Darlo Bar, mind you. The next year, it became the Green Bar. This year, it’s become The Gaslight. Changes every year.

At The Gaslight, I met a few people of whom finished in this third year that I’d never met before. And some were even Jewish! Now how the fuck did that happen?! There were virtually no Jews (not like that matters a whole lot to me) in my year at Uni and I was the only one in my Photography year, but here in their group, there were at least 2… and more… and… whoa… they’re hot too. Sorry, did I not mention the fact that the Jewish girls were hot.

Well, here’s the one in question that I got to talking with who actually lives near me… strangely. Her name is Mimi.

[i]From left to right: Danny from Melbourne, Mimi, and another girl whose name was never mentioned to me. Or if it was… I can’t remember it.[/i]

Mimi was hot. And Danny was funny. Both probably still are, mind you. I’m just using past tense because… well… because I am. Shit, don’t ask me questions like that. You’re going to mess up my whole line of thinking or unthinking or nonthinking or thinking-without-parameters or something.

[i]Did I mention Mimi was hot?[/i]

Mimi told me that apparently I shouldn’t bring my DS around if I want to get girls. Who knew? Certainly not me. I’ve been asking people to tell me this sort of crap for ages. Shit, seriously… who knew?!

I shared a cab back with Mimi and Danny as they headed back to Bondi at around 1.30 in the morning. They were heading to another party even though Danny was bloody tired. It was nice meeting them and I hope I meet them again sometime soon.

That was the night. I already know I’m going out on Saturday night with my friends to the Cross for Dee’s birthday. No longer “random nights” as a subject title. I guess I really do need a full fledged category. I probably also need a full fledged job that actually pays so I can have more of these “random nights” or random-esque or whatever.

By the way… I took a shot of myself when that hot girl with the stunning face (that’s Emma, by the way) put some glasses on me back at The Dolphin Bar. Not bad, though I think I’m going to have to find a way to saw off my double chin. I’m feeling a little flabby upon seeing that.

[i]Whoa! Man In Black![/i]

Oh, and in case you didn’t actually read my blog or you did and you missed the reference to “a few photos” with the link (or any of the other links for that matter), here’s the direct link to the gallery of images from last night. 🙂


“Random Nights” just doesn’t cut it anymore

I’m going to have to come up with a new category or even a new subject name for these nights out with friends and parties and random hot women with random breasts and random randomisations of randomness randomingly randoming random randoms ’till they’re random ramdon’s.

Ok. That’s possibly the 2 vodkas and 1 Heineken I had tonight.

And maybe even the coconut juice I had when I came home.

Oh do I love my coconut juice. I’d love someone to make an alcoholic drink out of it so I could drink it more often and find it more easily. And not Malibu. That’s coconut flavoured. The coconut flavouring is nice, but if I want to taste artificial coconut, I’ll go lick the tummy or ass of a girl lying on a beach to get the sunscreen essence off of her flesh and then deal with the fucking lawsuit later on.

Tonight was [url=,22049,20813960-5009160,00.html]the launch of the Black & White special issue about the Chadwick model agency[/url] as well as celebrating their 30th anniversary.

A few months ago, I was sent to work with [url=]James Cant[/url] as a digital operator on this shoot for Black & White Magazine.

That was my job at the time. Still is to a degree.

Of course… aside for working with a bloody good photographer, I was to be working on set with… topless women (and men), for this issue was all about the topless-ness.

Perhaps I should’ve titled this thing “random toplessness”. Nahhh… can’t do that… their toplessness wasn’t random and was strategically thought about from the get go.

Anyway, I’ve still got some pictures laying around from the shoots that I can probably publish online since they were shot by me on my camera and I’ve got about seven bucks to my name so suing me is only good for about seven bucks.

What will seven bucks buy you these days? A dinner at Macca’s? A very cheap whore (if you’re that cheap, please contact me immediately)…? A movie where [url=]Demi Moore gets fucked and tries to fuck Michael Douglas[/url] or even a film where [url=]Demi Moore teases all of us that wouldn’t mind fucking her while in the meantime making a fucking horrible film[/url]?

Either of those. Anyway, on a completely unrelated note, here are some images from the shoot a few months ago.

[i][url=]Eunice[/url], one of the models.[/i]

[i]Where I worked: a trolley with a PowerMac on it next to the studio where James worked.[/i]

[i]Damien, James’ assistant at the time, sleeping.[/i]

[i]Another model, [url=]this time Zoe[/url], on the phone in two different shots of her.[/i]

So, I got the call from Wade down at [url=]Pix Photo Media[/url] this afternoon that I’d been invited to the launch party for this thing. I got the invite email and both Ben and Wade from Pix would be going, as would [url=]Wendell[/url].

That’s nifty. People I know. That’s pretty much the only sort of reason I’d go to a party of any kind. I’m not exactly a face that blends in easily. I can get blended, but blending in isn’t the easiest of things for freaks like me.

So I go. I see James. He’s cool, as is Damien (whose name I’m probably spelling wrong in some form or another… seriously… there are too many different spellings of names). There’s drinking and hot women with more reach in height than I could possibly think of.

Do they get clouds where their eyes are?

It’s odd. I don’t intend to look at the models’ breasts or thighs, and yet I’m stunningly given no choice if I want to look at the models since most of them are a lot taller than me and a view of them pretty much entails staring at either their thighs or their tits. I’m not sure if that’s disturbing or not, but it’s seriously the case.

I was looking up at women all night and at no point did it cross my mind if they’d ever actually realise they were looking down on me.

Did I look like an ant from above?

I have no idea what sex would be like in that.

Do you go down on a girl that tall and then take an elevator just to ask them if it was good for them?

I went to the bar earlier on and saw Jane. Jane is hot. Always has been (well, at least since when I met her) and always probably will be. It’s just one of those things. As consistent as the brick that’s just about to hit your windshield. Seriously. Look out your window. A brick is about to hit your windshield. Don’t ask me why. It just is. It’s consistent. See.

Jane was cool and I’ll see her tomorrow… today… tonight… one of them… at the National Art School Third Year opening… as it was her last year and it’s her opening (technically) tomorrow night… ahhh… memories…

And then she served me up a Vodka cranberry cocktail and I went on my merry way to do whatever the hell it is I do when I’m on my merry way.

I actually spent most of the night following Wendell around.

I even met Tito, from [url=]the Tito Media group[/url] I’m beginning to do music photography press work for. Weird night, eh?

Actually, I began to spend a fair bit of the night out on the patio-balcony-thingy with James and Ben as Wendell was going to leave and I was going to be bored once again.

[i]Hanging out with Ben from Pix.[/i]

You see… me and parties… we don’t get on very well. Somewhere between parties being social and me not being immediately-social… there’s a problem with the language.

That and [url=]I don’t exactly have a pretty face[/url]. Seriously, if you saw [url=]this face[/url] in the room, it’s unlikely you’d want to tap it.

I actually started playing with my Nintendo DS at one point during the patio-balcony-thingy.

Now, you might immediately ask yourself why the fuck would I do that, especially with all the hot women floating around the place.

[i]Eunice and Zoe with some other random guy I’ve never met or seen.[/i]

You also might immediately ask yourself where you left the lubricant. I honestly don’t have a clue what normal people ask themselves, when they ask themselves, or why the hell they’re worrying about lubricant while reading a blog.

Regardless, I had my DS with me in case I get bored. As I mentioned before, parties and myself don’t normally work all that well together… so I have the Nintendo in case I get bored.

Well, one girl seemed to take exception to me playing my Nintendo and even tried taking it off of me (which didn’t work) and shutting the clamshell lid on my fingers (which actually annoys me). She told me that if I was bored, I should go home. I told her that if I was at home, I’d still be bored and there wouldn’t be the same sort of atmosphere for me to be bored in.

I’m not someone you want to get into an argument with… can ya tell?

Anyway, I’m not sure if she saw me playing my DS as an insult to her… but she wasn’t talking to me in the first place.
Also, if she’s carrying around a phone with games on it or a camera on it which costs three times as much (if not more) as my Nintendo, then it’s a bloody double standard.

I can see a point where she might be upset for thinking my DS is more interesting than she was, even if it is.
But if you’re not talking to me and I’m not talking to you then seriously… what the fuck are you getting so uppity with in regards to me playing on my Nintendo?!

That said, I’d have tapped it.

I have no picture and she wasn’t anywhere near as hot as a lot of the eye candy floating around the party… but shit… when you’re a sexually frustrated nutcase… well, what right do you have to be picky?!

Still, off-topic which is incredibly usual for me, I spent the rest of the night talking to Ben & James & Wade & Damien about random crap in its entirety, until we were kicked off of the balcony and we all got into Ben’s car for the ride home.

[i]James Cant at the party.[/i]

Before we were kicked off and while Ben & I were talking about Scientology, Mormons, and crop-circles (oh yeah, because that would make sooo much sense if all of that was connected), a group of security tripped and knocked down an Aboriginal lady who looked like she’d thrown a glass bottle at them… or the club… or something.


Ben was nice enough to give us all lifts home. At any one point, I highly doubt there have been 5 photographers or even 5 photography-related individuals in that car at any one time.

If we’d been involved in a fatal accident, the headlines would’ve read something like “Five photographers coming back from a party who had seen breasts all night were involved in a fatal car crash…” or something like that.

It’s a shame too because I hadn’t actually seen any breasts tonight outside of their garments… which is a bit of a shame, really.

Anyway, that was the night. I’ve spent a good hour to an hour and a half writing this blog entry and it being 5.42 in the morning, I should probably set up an animation render and then fall in my purple bedsheets and snooze till… when is it I normally wake up…

One of those random sorta nights…

You know the sort of night I mean… it was just random.

I started by doing some press work — which by the way, I’m now a press photographer — at The Four Seasons hotel on George St. by taking paparazzi-esque shots of actors and actresses and anyone else who was apparently known. A bit annoyed about that because whilst I got the call late and had to leave pretty quickly to get into the city, there were no free cabs on Bondi Road and then a bus came so I headed up the Junction. Still no cabs but… lo behold… two express buses.

At this point, the logical part of my brain has kicked in and gone “LEIGH YOU’RE FUCKING TIRED!!! GO TO BED!!!”

At this point, the illogical part of my brain has decided to go on with the story and say that with two express buses, the buses can play more leapfrog than they normally do and — in essence — get me and the rest of my fellow travelers to our destinations a lot faster.

Right. You’d think so wouldn’t you?

[b]Whose idea was it to put a Christmas Carols celebration in Martin Place in November?![/b]

Yes, I have that to say as it was bumper-to-bumper traffic from pretty much the start of the start of Liverpool St. (at the end of Oxford St.) to Martin Place. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken to get to the Quay. I gave up at Martin Place, got out and walked.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d taken a cab or bus in this circumstance. It wasn’t a Sydney Transport issue… it was a lack of planning from the City of Sydney… the only real difference between the cab ride and the bus ride would’ve been cost: the bus was a TravelTen and so was approximately two bucks whereas the cab would’ve been about 45 bucks from all the traffic.

Because of the fucking awful traffic, I missed getting the Sam Neill shot. This sucks.

At least I got the Geoffrey Rush shot.

And Emily Barclay. Hubba hubba. Reow. She can throw potatoes at me any day, especially on potato-throwing-Vodka-brewing-Monday.

I was originally told that I would be able to shoot inside the fundraiser where I was doing press work… I could’ve been shooting Jimmy Barnes. But no… I couldn’t. New Idea had the bloody rights. Mind you, I’ve shot inside The Four Seasons before for music… it’s really not THAT fun. Not a whole lot of room to move because the stage just doesn’t come that far off of the ground.

I don’t expect the stage to levitate or anything… but more than 3 or 4 inches would be nice.

Leigh’s stupid-humour section of his brain has just told me to say “that’s what she said”. Instead of saying “that’s what she said”, I’m removing that part of my brain and throwing it into a blender. Mmm… brraaaaii– sweater.

Shit. Wrong part of my brain.

Anyway, so after talking with some of the other photographers down there (some of whom were very nice… and others… well shit, not so nice… I don’t have a fucking metaphor or opposite phrasing at four-forty-six in the morning… I need sleep)… I packed up my gear and headed South.

South of George St. Actually, I don’t even think it is South.

I went down George St. Does that work? It’s probably not South, but seriously, I’m just too fucking tired to give a damn.

So I got in at 9… and was told that the gig wasn’t going to begin until 10.30.

Well fuck me.

No, seriously… somebody fuck me. I could’ve used that time that I spent being bored and waiting for the gig to begin to be fucking someone. I probably wouldn’t have been, but that’s not to say that I couldn’t have been. Or could’ve been. I don’t know. My eyes are drooping and falling under the spell of sleepy .. er… bleepy? I don’t have any funny sounding names for crashing. How about I continue this in the morning.

*insert Leigh sleeping here* [i]zzz… zzz…zzz…sex…zzz…[/i]

And we were… where… exactly? Right. Now I remember.

Yes. I had a real sleep. I started writing at 4.31 this morning and it’s now 12.02 in the afternoon.

I’m just THAT dedicated to my blog! (It doesn’t take seven and a half hours to write a blog, though it may take that long to read.)

So… back to it, I guess?

When the gig started, I went upstairs and had my ear drums blown out from the shock of how fucking loud it was. The sound guy was either deaf or an idiot. You couldn’t pick up individual sound from what was being played by the band.

A band called [url=]Wolf & Cub[/url] were playing at this first night of [url=]The Flight Of The Coachmen[/url] and while Levi’s PR has said that this music was turning peoples’ heads, I really couldn’t see the fuss over this band. Could’ve been the sound guy, though… the sound was all muddled and all you could hear was messy guitar and pounding bass with a bit of vocals all meshed together in a sticky sort-of goo… didn’t sound very spectacular. The guy didn’t seem to have that good of a voice or all that fantastic guitar skills, in my opinion. The bassist was okay. The drummers were great.

Drummers. Plural. Keep the “s”. Two drummers. Very cool and playing with and against each other.

Seriously, not sure what the big deal about “Wolf & Cub” is supposed to be. I think the band I’m in is better, and we have issues.

Hopefully tonights bands are better, though I seriously just don’t want to go. It felt like most of the club was filled with wankers last night.

Except for a few people. A few people weren’t.


On the left is Jess and on the right is Angie. Both Jess & Angie are from the Eastern Suburbs, which is always nice to know that people are from the same part of Sydney you’re from.

As I was leaving, Angie stopped me. Wanted her picture taken. At least I think that’s what she wanted. Really, after having my brains blown out at bob-knows-whatever decibels, I really have no idea what she wanted.


Anyway, I snapped a few photos of her and she asked me to go upstairs with her. So I did.

And after losing the rest of my hearing from Wolf & Cub, I met the rest of her group of friends (where I met Jess) and took more pictures. I think I became their personal photographer for the night, which is always nice to have, I guess.


I don’t remember the girl who Angie is sniffing the hair of or doing whatever in that pic. I remember she was a journalist for Rush (I think).

They were all hot girls that I met. I had my ass grabbed by Jess. And at one point, after having both her and Angie kiss my cheek, Jess pointed at her lips and her cheek and I think she wanted to kiss me, but really… I’ve got no clue. Seriously. She did it for a minute or so and I just kept yelling (to try to get over the sound) “I don’t understand” and “I don’t know what you want” because really… I don’t.

That sort of crap just isn’t in my head. No one told me what to do in those situations. I wasn’t born with a part of the brain or a gland that said “ok Leigh… you’re with some hot women… one is grabbing your ass… she’s pointing at her lips and she’s just kissed you on the cheek… go for it and smooch the girl”.

Would’ve been nice though. Both things really: to kiss Jess and to have a part of the brain that would tell me what to do in situations like that.

I got the weaker trade-off, I guess though. Great brain, shit social skills. Go figure.

Still… hot girls.

Odd night.

Candles & Cockshops

So I didn’t post on my birthday… you can probably put it down to a combination of being tired after going out with my friends or having not much to post in the morning.

Either way… I’m posting now.

[i](Press play above to hear below!)[/i]

Sooo… it’s my birthday! It’s my birthday! Or it was! And it isn’t! But it was! No longer is! Might be next year! If I make it another year! But it isn’t! Not right now! And I’d really like something of a sexual nature sometime between my last birthday and the next one provided I make it through to the next one unless there’s some demon force of sheep and monkeys and evil queen bitches from the planet Mars that aren’t into freaky shit and don’t want to get down and jiggy and funky with me because if they were into some freaky shit and didn’t look like David Schwimmer I’d be totally down for some freaky funky jiggy shit with Queen bitches from the planet Mars!

[b]*Leigh collapses from a lack of air*[/b]


Oh sorry… wait.

[b]*Leigh breathes again and gets right back up*[/b]

So, it was my birthday on Wednesday… I was previously 22 and am now 23. What are the big changes? Well… I’m … uhmm… uhh… hmm… well… yep. Can’t think of any. Still not having any sex. Still not dating anyone. I’m still going bald. And I’ve still got a very small amount of people visiting this site.

[i](Press play above to hear below!)[/i]

But it’s my birthday! Or it was! On the fifteenth, baby baby! Maybe you’d like, to friggin help me! You could always donate to charity some part of your soul or vagina if you have one that you can spare! I can mold it into a Fleshlight and it could be a present to me or anyone who has a problem whereby they can’t get laid or find a girlfriend but they’ve got a bit of silicone and rubber with a nondescript slit inside, yes yes there’s a way to make sexless freaks like me happpyyyyy!!!

[b]*Leigh collapses from a lack of air*[/b]

I’ve got to stop breaking out into song & dance.

Oh yes. Dance too. I dance, baby.
I even add the word “baby” to the end of phrases, baby.

Yeah baby, baby.


I got phone calls from my parents and friends on Wednesday wishing me a happy birthday. I got greetings from Mum, Dad, Nanny, Nantie, Nana, and even songs from Geoff & Bel and Dee.

Oh, if I had a recording of Geoff singing me happy birthday… why, you’d see why there’s a perfectly pointless-but-altogether-ridiculous explanation to why I’m known for occasionally breaking out in a random song & dance in this post.

Anyway, I got a few pressies from my family and I knew that later on in the day I’d be going out with my friends for dinner to celebrate my birthday.

I was also shooting my friends’ work in Uni who were finishing that year. Ferdie and Adele needed their artworks shot so I’ve come to the rescue (crap phrasing, but all I can think of) and have taken a fair amount of images of their works, even coming up with the idea of taking panorama’s of their studios so they can remember exactly what it looked like. Well, not their studios per se, but rather their workspaces where their final works were put up.

Regardless, afterwards, it was pretty much me walking with Ferdie down to the Starbucks on Oxford St. where I’d meet up with the gorgeous Greek goddess Skevi. Ferdie was already on his way down to Kings Comics to pick up the newest Astonishing X-Men, but I was meeting Skevi at Starbucks because that’s where we were waiting for and meeting everyone else who was going to show up.

I ordered a Gingerbread Frappucino. It was gingerbread-y, but wasn’t all that good. It’s Starbucks. Short of their Green Tea Frappucino (which is little more than a Green Tea Ice Cream milkshake) and Chai Tea Frappucino, I’ve found that most Starbucks specialty drinks miss the mark of being anything other than ordinary.

In fact, the Oxford St. store seems to constantly and consistently have the pleasure of being the only store that will end up giving my stomach and bowels a good going through later on that night, thus making me think that they’re using slightly off milk.
The next Metamucil ad should indicate a trip to Starbucks. Cross promotions or something.

Anyway, Skevi had a slice of caramel cheesecake (after much deliberating on whether it should be a caramel slice or a slice of caramel cheesecake) and we got our drinks (they screwed up her order and gave her a hot coffee drink as opposed to an icy one) and we talked and waited and then Margaret showed up.

Margaret had come from work just then. You see she’s a Santa photographer.

How cool is that? She gets to see Santa every day!

Anyway, she brought me a Myer Bear and some big jellybeans and black pussycats (the aniseed kind), as well as a donut, for me for my birthday. Them’s good pressies to get for someone who knows me and who knows that in Uni, I loved my jellybeans and licorice stuffs.

So Margaret came and she and Skevi and I chilled and talked. Margaret wasn’t to be staying for dinner. BJ wasn’t coming at all because she had gotten food poisoning the night prior at her sister’s graduation, which isn’t any good. But alas.

Then Dee showed up, and I got a Captain Bear. He has a name… somewhere in my backpack on a folded tag.

But more importantly, he had a threaded loop-of-a-hook on his hand which would let me attach him to the hook that was going through the lanyard attached to the Myer Bear. Already, I had two bears. Two bears that were attached to each other. Two bears in Darlinghurst. Two bears.

And then Margaret left. She had to go see her boyfriend.

A few minutes later, Emily showed up.

A bit of talking afterwards, we all agreed that we were hungry, and I was getting a little tired of stirring my melting milky ice around with a Starbucks see-through straw, so we left… [b]to Betty’s![/b]

But first, some wine!

After the training Stubbsy has provided me with, I have a vague idea of the sort of wine I like and also of the sort of wine that a bottle will be when I see it in a store. I settled on a Brown Brothers 2004 oaked Chardonnay for around 15-16 dollars that was really very nice. It didn’t go well with what I ended up eating, mind you, but once that was washed down, any acid-y feelings of indigestion would just dissolve with them and I could go back to enjoying the wine with my friends.

That said, I intend on finding that wine somewhere cheaper (or maybe not) and buying some to keep for myself.

We then went to Betty’s.

You might not know Betty’s. It’s basically the old art school eatery for people who like some somewhat wholesome food that’s warm & friendly. Yes, the food is warm and friendly. It just gets put right in front of you and says “eat me”.

The waiters are fun and gay and quite enthusiastic. You can’t be a restaurant critic at Betty’s and be expecting the most perfect restaurant experience in food and enjoyment. It’s one of those places you just have to love, however, as it’s just nice and cozy and open if you’re part of art school’s Bohemian sort-of-vibe-ish-crowd.

So we got there with Dee & Skevi & Emily and the bottle of wine with a cork top (not [url=]a stelvin[/url]) and the two bears who were attached to a lanyard that was attached to me and one of the gay guys made the comment that he’d have to get the cork screw out to which I replied that it’s already the beginning of the night and already you’re getting a screw with two bears, which made the girls laugh. Or giggle. One of them. Maybe both. I can’t remember. It’s been a few days now.

So we had dinner. I had nachos. Skev had sausages which were probably bangers and mash but I’ve got no idea what she ordered from memory. I know it had sausages in it, though. Emily had the spaghetti and Dee… I can’t remember what she had. Soup maybe?
Bugger. I need to write my blogs closer to the day they happened.

Anyway… there was talk and laughter and random bits of stuff with lots of stupid comments made by me (what else did you expect) as well as stupid and pointless sexual comments made by me (seriously, what else did you expect) because while I’m always hopeful, I know my luck and my friends are my friends…

So after the talk and the music and the food, Skev wants to go to a sex shop. I’m cool for that. I’m male. And naturally horny.

It’s a Scorpio thing. Seriously, go find a Scorpio and find out how horny we are from them. Male or female. Our obsession with sex isn’t so much that we’re obsessed like most people… it’s just that, we really seem to be enthusiastic about it.

Even the waiter at Betty’s (the guy with longish hair and a Spanish-y sort of accent) said that Scorpio’s are the best lovers.

And if he said it, well shit… it must be true! Any takers? Any? No? Okay… moving on…

So we walked in the cold (because a cold front had moved in) to Kaos on Oxford near Taylor Square.

I think that Skev had actually wanted to go to the Tool Shed near Betty’s. She, BJ, and myself had been to that one before and it had quite a large selection. Compare this to Kaos where the selection was small and while there were some interesting things, the place felt more like it was dying and needed a good clean. They had a Fleshlight that just looked… wrong. I’d have taken a picture, but I imagine it would have scared the hell out of me if I woke up to find that picture on my phone the next morning.

What else was there? Well, there was a giant fist and arm that you could use as a dildo, somewhat inexpensive DVD porn, and a penis made out of soap-on-a-rope… to which I imagine must come in especially useful when either you’re trying to clean out your rectum, vagina, or are recreating a violent jail anal rape scene. But(t) mostly, the place felt more like it catered to gay porn. Not that this is a problem or entirely unexpected as it is near Darlinghurst… but this place once had two levels and now it’s compressed to one tiny-assed (no pun intended… okay… maybe pun intended) room. Come on (pun intended there)…

The Tool Shed store I’d visited previously was much, much better. It at least had an S&M section and vibrators, vibrators, vibrators! It was an adult store whereas Kaos was more like an adult convenient store without anything all that convenient.

And we left. We looked at the porn, us four we did. No one bought anything. It either didn’t look all that good or it looked old and dusty or the place just wasn’t that nice to be in.

I also don’t imagine I’d need anything in the place. Sure, they sell rubber heads and vaginas, but I’ve got a hand. If I need to get off on my birthday or any other day for that matter, I’ll do it with my hand. It may not be preferential, but it’s something and it won’t cost me 200 or 300 bucks for the privilege.

And that was it. We left. It was cold. Dee and I said a quick g’bye to Em & Skev as the lights changed and we headed down in the cold to her car. Dee gave me a lift home (to which she’s always nice enough and generous enough to do) and I pretty much came in and collapsed. And then turned on my computer and did stuff on it.

It was an interesting birthday. I’m glad I have friends of whom I can rely on to go out with me when I can’t actually think of anything else to do.

While I’d normally otherwise stay inside on my birthday, I can only imagine how much boring and depressing it would’ve been if I’d have just stayed inside.

Thanks 🙂

A diary for someone who’s stuck in the middle of someone else’s plane of existence (Also known as Leigh’s first entry into his new blog).

Right. Well. Right. This is the first entry into my new and improved blog. And what a whopper I have for you.

All… two or three of you, that is.

Well… anyway, last night I went to The Strand as there was some fashion thingy on celebrating and advertising and encouraging many people with larger wallets than mine to spend, spend, spend on clothes they probably didn’t need but bought anyway.

So there I was… mostly bored… waiting outside Bowie’s store… while otherwise hot women walked by dressed in things that cost more than parts of my computer… and I was playing on my Nintendo DS. Well, you might ask why I didn’t join in on the festivities… well what the bloody hell am I to do? I’m just a techie! I don’t know about social situations any more than I know about trapping wild buffalo with a staple, a steak knife, and an Atkins diet book. Go ask Macguyver. Don’t pester me about it.

Anyway, the night was ending and I’d already talked to Wendell and met the beautiful Ida (who I’m working with at Bowie basically) as well as finally knowing the store manager’s name (Joey, another beautiful girl) and meeting various other people I’ll probably never meet again. Models… designers… hair stylists… random single serve people who are all well and good and very nice but knowing my luck or lack of logic, very few will even see me again and if they do, are unlikely to remember me.

Ok. Moving on.

Ida, Joey, myself and a new fella named Alan Saunders get into a taxi and head to a bar that I probably can’t even pronounce: Kirketon.

The place kinda reminds me of Wine Banq, except without the live music and wine racks lining the walls. Unlike Wine Banq, it did have jazz — real jazz — coming out of the speakers that weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Sorry owners of Wine Banc (Jonathan Zchwartz???) but your place ain’t all that jazz.

Right, well anyway… Ida seems to want to pay for all of the drinks this evening at Kirketon… Kirketon… Kirk-e-ton… it doesn’t even sound like a word. It’s an uncomfortable name. It doesn’t even roll off of the tongue. It’s more one of these names that requires a forklift and a heavy machinery license to remove from an oral cavity before it can be said.

Right. Back on topic, Ida seemed to want to pay for the drinks that night. I’d already said to Alan Saunders — a nice chap (did I just say ‘chap’?!) who’s a restaurant critic with a design show on ABC Radio — that even though he’d offered to buy me a drink, he shouldn’t since with me being poor (I didn’t word it like that) that I’d be unable to buy one in return for him. He was fine with that, and off he went to get me a Scotch on the rocks.

When he came back, it seemed it was Ida who paid.

I’m not sure why, honestly.

Ida is a beautiful girl who seems very smart but I can’t quite figure out why she’d want to pay for all of our drinks.

Anyway, there was talking and low-lit rooms and stuffiness since the room didn’t seem to have the world’s best ventilation and martinis and all sorts of stuff.

There was Wayne Cooper… someone who seems like a decent bloke and a fashion designer to boot. Upon returning home, it actually dawned on me that I had a Wayne Cooper shirt… and probably one that didn’t sell all that well, knowing me.

There was Alan Saunders, who I’ve already mentioned. He’s a restaurant critic, it seems, and has a radio show on ABC about architecture and design. We both agreed that Mexican in Australia is severely lacking and Azteca’s is probably among the best we have.

There was Bowie Wong… who was laughing and… drunk, probably.

There was Ida and Joey who both drank gin martinis.

There was a guy on the other side of the room who seemed like he’d be a model. At one point, I heard a conversation saying how he was supposed to be or how he was going to be the new face of Hugo Boss or something for David Jones. His name was James. I only met him as he was leaving.

There were other random people I probably won’t remember after going to bed in 15 minutes.

And then there was me… stuck in the middle of this and confused as hell as to why I was here.

I mean… this is me… the guy without any real degree of success in his life sitting amongst people who obviously had some… what the hell?

Surely there’s something wrong with the lunar alignment or something. Perhaps there’s someone more suited to this part who’s supposed to be sitting where I am in these terribly uncomfortable leather seats that look so plush and inviting and are about as comfy as sitting on a stone bench.

Less, actually. Less comfortable than that nice stone bench.

And at one point, I started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.
It was probably the same time both Ida and Joey started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.

There were some short conversations as the waitress cleared up some of our glasses and as we all (Ida, Joey & myself) commented on how pretty she was, I told her that the guy across from me was someone named Wayne Cooper and had she heard of him. I had to check it with Ida, but yes, that’s who he was… and her eyes lit up.

I tried to make a little conversation with the gorgeous waitress, even with how hard it is for me to make conversation with anyone.

I asked her if she was a uni student: she was. Where did she go, etc, etc… and it turns out, she’s interested in film-making, too.

Ida then wrote her email on the back of a card to get her into the guest list for Bowie as well as writing my email on the same card.

I don’t actually know if the waitress — whose name I later found out was Genevieve — will ever actually email me or what-not, but I have a feeling that was Ida attempting to help me in talking with a girl who might actually have something in common with me.

Thank you Ida.

Really. 🙂

It might not actually happen and nothing will probably eventuate from it, and by that I mean just friendly conversation, but the effort is always appreciated.

The night started lessening with more people leaving and with only a few of us left, those that were left seemed to want to go to some bar that wasn’t all that spectacular… but I’ll get to that in a moment.

As we left, I walked up to the waitress and said that I hoped she’d have a brilliant night. I don’t know why… I just did.

Seriously, if I knew why my brain gets me to do half the shit it gets me to do, I’d know more about myself than what my cat knows.

And he knows a lot. That cat ain’t one to be fucked with.

He’s got claws. Don’t fuck with someone who has claws.

Not unless you’ve got some mutant vision.

I’m getting off-topic, I know, and it comes from being tired, which I am. And I should go to sleep soon since I have an interview at Paxton’s in the morning, which I should probably be fresh for even though I won’t be able to bring my business jacket because…

…after getting into that craphole of a club we moved to after the Kirk-e-ton… some dickhead spilled beer all along the back of my jacket. Yay! A need for dry-cleaning!
Thankfully, it missed my DS. Phew.

However, Ida didn’t come into club nor did Alan. I’m not sure whether they weren’t allowed in or whether they didn’t want to go in or not.

Me, someone who normally isn’t a fan of clubs, went in since Joey said she’d like to have someone there who’s like family, I think.

Having only known Joey for a day, this made a lot of sense.

(If only people understood my brain… the world would be a more confusing place… and I might actually attract girls instead of deflecting them with a weird wavelength aura or something… who knows…)

It didn’t take me long to be bored.

I was beer bathed in a place filled with loud music and hot girls dancing in an environment where I’d look like such a wanker even attempting to dance with them (and I’d probably slip and break my back on the beer that didn’t soak into my jacket when it was dropped on me).

I told Joey I was going to leave within about 10-15 minutes of feeling like such an out-of-place wanker just standing around and doing piss all trying to blend in.

A guy in a donkey suit would have blended in much better than I did.

Joey tried telling me that I should stay and make contacts and talk to people and do all sorts of things like that because that’s the industry I was in.

But that’s not the industry I’m in. It’s just the industry I occasionally do work for.

And I’m not usually a club person. They have to be playing music I like… which they weren’t… and I have to be with people I want to dance with or know… and I was pretty much alone in terms of surviving that place.

Joey kissed me on the lips. Why, I don’t know. It wasn’t a kiss that you’d think “well, Leigh finally got with someone” so put away those notebooks, children. You ain’t winning a prize today from finding Leigh some lurve.

Nope, it was just a kiss, I guess. Not knowing what “just a kiss” is, I can safely assume that after finding out that Joey has a boyfriend, it was exactly that: just a kiss.

Weird that I put so much stock in just a kiss… I need to get kissed more often, I guess.

So I left. Caught a bus home. Had a shower. Wrote this blog.

Weird night.