A Southern Californian Fairytale (part 1)

Alternatively known as the stripper, the softbox and the studio.

Well this is a fairytale in only the loosest of terms. To be honest I don’t think this will be something I can tell my kids in the future. Just a portion of it told to the girl got me about as much attitude as could be squashed into 15 minutes…not that the two above audiences are at all related….cough….cough…*glance around furtively*

Anyways, this was all CP’s fault. Her and her shoddy scheduling for her wedding. I mean who gets married in November?! The fact that R and I couldn’t make it and in fact could only be there on a TV screen pissed both of us off immeasurably. Probably pissed me off more since I actually had to drop her off at LAX. After hugging her goodbye I rolled over to the boys’ place…determined to drink till I dropped.

If CP was the base for this escapade, D was the catalyst. Appalled that PC and I were intent on drinking, getting thanakolafied and then watching Black Hawk Down, D insisted we instead go to the local Xposed, a fine establishment where ladies show off their athletic skills and make more and hour than I can ever hope to.

God knows how much rum and cokes later, there we were, PC, D, me and S (who had sadly forgotten his glasses) staring up at indistinct shapes, that we were pretty sure were women writhing around poles.

“Two for one deal gentlemen, two for one”

Always being one for a deal, this was not something I could pass up.
 

In the bad light and with my BAC somewhere near dangerous levels, I swear she looked like Rihanna.

 

“Dance honey?”

 

“Yeah…that’s a splendid idea!”

 

So off it was to the secluded couches for my two for one deal.

 

“Honey you can touch anything you want…but not my vagina”

 

As an icebreaker….this sentence left somewhat to be desired.

 

I processed this rather intriguing piece of advice…before dissolving in laughter.

 

She laughed as well…a bit uneasily.

 

“So do you watch porn?”

“I’m a guy, whatcha think?”

“You ever seen me?”

“I barely know what you look like right now”

“Eh?”

“Oh…no…no”

“Well keep an eye out for me, I’m called Lavish.”

At this stage the girl was doing this thing with her rather bountiful rear that introductions were the furthest thing from my mind...

*light bulb*

“Wait a minute, if you’re in porn, who does your photoshoots?”

To be continued…

Friday the 13th

3.30pm

Friday the 13, June 2008.

This time is always the worst. Waiting for the weekend to start. For that blessed relief of either thanakola and a movie, loose girls and house music. Whichever floats my boat these day, though recently of course it has been mostly the latter.

It's sort of like the last two hours of a flight. I always get cabin fever then. It's like I have the ague and it's all I can do not to resonate enough to scare the crap out of my fellow passengers. Is it me or have I lost my writing ability? Methinks its about time I crank out some funny shit on this blog, maybe the story of the stripper, the softbox and the studio. It's sort of like a Southern Californian fairytale with a princess with really weird boobs...not to mention wholly inappropriate photographic direction. Maybe I should write that up.

Or maybe I'll just get thanakolafied and watch Juno.

Endless Cycle

What? Really?! I can't fucking believe it. In a fit of nostalgia I checked out TLF to see how I was placed last year at this time. Imagine my surprise to read something I could have written this time around being none the wiser. I'm not sure whether to be bummed or somewhat comforted that at least this time around some things are better. There are a few normal people to hang out with (though I describe them as normal with some trepidation...hehe).

I also have a plan this time around. PhD application in the works for submittal in a couple of months. If that doesn't work out a PR application combined with a two year re-entry permit. If that fails another PhD application...if that fails...well there's always the bottle. It's somewhat of a plan, just requires pure survival for the next 10 months.

The similarities are eerie though, tragedy (though much, much more personal this time), unexpected plane rides, feelings that can't quite be extinguished no matter how much I try and push them into the back of my head. It's a bloody endless cycle of insanity and darkness. I feel broken, I'm not sure if I've felt this broken before but I know I feel broken. I want to lie down in a drugged up haze and sleep for six months. Wake up when the light at the end of the tunnel is flashing in my face. When the warm sun of home is rising, the greeny gold light and those brown eyes are in front of me. I feel broken.

Best in the house

You know as the ultimate love song I always liked the Smiths, There is a light that never goes out. With a lines like

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine

how can one not think love this tune.

It's been unseated though, courtesy of a rather lucky torrent session.

The new favourite:

Death Cab for Cutie - I will follow you into the dark

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

Lovin' it.

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Deja Vu

I coulda sworn I've done this before? Though I can't believe its almost been a year ago...or is it been almost a year ago? Anyways since Scrump and RD (indirectly) tagged me, here goes:

NB: I'm not going to bother with the rules or tagging anybody else...discretion after all is the better part of valour, not to mention there's nobody left to tag.

1. I have trouble figuring out which is my gut and which is my head. Throw my heart in there and intuitively deciding anything becomes sort of like getting the answer 42. I'm not really sure how to fix this, but I think rolling the dice might help me figure it out.

2. I love Kandos superblende, love, love, love it.

3. I used to be a big drinker. I still am but in a different context. Whereas those days I'd be hammering the vodka/red bull or a screwdriver with Blavod and dancing on tables, nowadays I'm more likely to be found sipping (yes sipping) on Old Reserve or a good rum with a bunch of friends. I still haven't sunk to the level of scotch on the rocks, when I do I'll throw myself off a bridge (sorry P and D).

4. I love photography, especially nature and street work. I'm not so sure how I feel about selling out. Necessary evil I guess?

5. I've been in love twice. Once was puppy love (not literally...because that would be...well weird). The second time was very adult but ended in tears (again, not literally...because that would be...pants). This time I'm not sure if I am. Might be the 10,000 miles and the other hundred things on my mind that are clouding my rationality.

6. Related to 5, I don't like saying 'I love you' or 'I miss you.' I say both sets of three little words to important people in my life. But I've learnt the hard way that using those words two often breeds a contempt, a familiarity with words that are too powerful for general use. Those words should be treasured and brought out at unexpected moments to maintain their power (wow...deep eh?).

7. I really do want to save the world, or at least Sri Lanka...not in a single handed powerful way. But in my own small way. I also want to live happily in a nice house with a nice wife and two cute kids...not sure how compatible the two aims are....lets find out shall we?

That's it right? Lets do this again next year yes? Would be interesting to see where I stand then. Assuming I'm still standing.

Am I crazy?

So I want to do a PhD. I really, really want to do one.

Why? As I have been asked by the tortured graduate students that I count amongst my friends. Many a time.

Well...I'm sick of the private sector. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind business. In fact I have a couple of entrepreneurial things in the works as it is. The thing is that I'm tired of this empty life. Working for rich people, making already rich people richer. While the rest of the world starves. I mean lets be frank I work in fucking Malibu. I'm a sell out. I harp on about sustainable development in the developing world while enjoying what is frankly a comfortable first world life surrounded by ipods and streaming video.

So I'm going to roll the dice.

A long time ago (well just over a year ago) I gave myself a deadline to go home or at least start doing something I believe in. I thought I was going to be late on that deadline, but it actually looks like I'll be within the set time. For one thing I've decided to forget about getting a black coloured passport. As easy as that would make travelling (with the exception of the Middle East) I think I'm going to stick with my red one.

Crazy? Quite possibly. I'm giving up a chance others have killed for, played lotteries for, died alone and cold in the cargo holds of ships for. And I'm giving it up...on the whisper of a chance. Note that I am building a backdoor, escape hatch into my plan...but that is a last, last resort. As I told the boys this weekend, I'd rather die broken and penniless in Lanka than driving a 7 series and living in a million dollar home here. I think the backdoor is less for me than the family..to salve their worry that I have finally lost my mind. Mind you I think that door was chosen for me when I was 8 and decided I wanted the heat of Colombo over the toys in the City of Angels.

My hand's clenched around the dice right now. I need to complete two years out here to make sure my CV isn't complete pants...and that means 10 more months of back breaking, soul sucking work...but I think I can make it. I'm researching PhD's with a fervour, trying to remember everyone who works in my field in SL, saving.

I need my life to have reason, to have a purpose. Come April, I'm going to do everything I can to stack the odds in my favour and then roll.

And hope for sixes.