On Thursday night I’m at home eating and watching Desperate Housewives series 3 and then Scott rings me to chat and I try to tell him a story about some guy we know – well a gym acquaintance anyway – but this problem that Scott has is that every time you talk to him about someone he can never remember them, so you have to give a brief life story beforehand. Sometimes I have to introduce myself when we wake up.
So about this guy I say: You know, the guy who comes to the gym where you work and you pointed him out to me the other day saying he has really nice arms and a good chest but you also said that I wouldn’t like him because he has an odd face and he’s too dark. And then I checked him out and I said that you’re right, I don’t like him and he has a nose like a budgie and stary, bulging eyes and it really takes more than two big arms for me to like somebody. And the other day I came across his profile on gaydar and showed it to you and we agreed that he looks better in real life and not even his arms are looking that big in the pictures. And also he has described himself as Caucasian in the profile, even though he is blatantly some kind of mix. And when I saw him again in your gym I noticed and pointed out to you that he also has acne scars on his face and you should be careful who you recommend to me in the future, I mean where are the standards.
Well even after all this Scott still has no clue who I’m talking about, so by that time I’m tired and bored and I don’t even know where my original story was going so I leave it there and say that I have things to do now (iron my shirt, finish eating) and we hang up.
On Friday at lunchtime, American Girl and I have a plan. American Girl is a colleague and I will refer to her from now on as A Girl, because I don’t like American Girl anymore. Anyway, the plan is that A Girl is going to have her nipple pierced. This is partly because she enjoys the pain and partly because she enjoys the shame. The pain is something only she can benefit from, but the shame I can take part in too, because after she does it, we can talk about it in the office and create some excitement. Understandably, we are so bored we’ll just take anything – it’s like my tattoo, that kept everyone busy for a couple of days.
So when A Girl tells me that she wants this done earlier in the week, firstly I direct her to the place that did my tattoo and Scott’s willy piercing and secondly I tell her that I have to also be there and film it. A Girl accepts. This is particularly exhilarating for me, as I have never seen a girl half naked – in real life – before.
So on Friday we both go there, A Girl strips off, I get the camera phone out, some hairy Italian guy sticks a bar through her nipple, A Girl gets her kicks, I get mine, we leave, she goes for a beer, I go and buy a chicken wrap, we meet back in the office.
It is now Friday night and I’m home alone. Over the last few days I’ve been thinking about Sydney a lot of course. It kinda terrifies me. But more and more I realize that I want to do it. And in a particularly embarrassing and rare display of emotion (do I have feelings too? maybe I should just take 10mg of Valium before I finish typing this), I am wondering if there are people who would be willing to hang out with me if I come there. Sort of help me adjust, tell me which buses to take, where I can buy protein powder, advise which bars to go to on a Friday night and stand there with a glass of water (no ice or lemon) and look at the floor not talking to anyone, which gym to join, that sort of thing.
I know October is a long time away, but I can’t help freaking out already because I’m used to London, London is mine but Sydney isn’t. And that’s scary.