Pimp-Daddy says "Buy my house!"

So the ex, Aschapelle, and I have decided to
sell the marital home. Its our little Redfern 2-bedroom dwelling that we bought just over 2
years ago and renovated. I’d forgotten how stressful it is selling a
house!  My osteopath will benefit
as much as I will. Leaving no stone unturned in the quest to sell so I’m here
today to pimp it out. Call me Pimp-Daddy. You just never know, I may
have a stalker follower who sits at home hoping and dreaming that one day they
can sleep in my former bedroom.

Or there could just be someone looking to
buy a gorgeous terrace. Whatever your motivation it works for me.

2 Rennie St, Redfern

Our terrace sits in a beautiful little
pocket of East Redfern and is surrounded by the coolest little community. In
the early days of St. Murphy I banged on about it quite a bit – the park, the
neighbours, the reno’s. I loved living here. It’s a fantastic mix of Surry
Hills and all it has to offer but at a safe, accessible distance. East Redfern
has all the benefits of inner city living without the Surry Hills price tag.

When Aschapelle and I bought it, it had
cement floors and a 70’s kitchen and bathroom. We always saw it as something
that would need work. We bit the bullet and reno’d the kitchen and bathroom at
the same time and also did floorboards throughout. It was an absolute pain in
the ass, we swore we’d never do it again. But we were so so happy (and proud)
with the result.

Kitchen is very cool now. Looks so smart f
I do say so myself. And we pumped up our chests over the bathroom cause we
thought for two ‘design-challenged’ gay-boys it came out very masculine. Not a
floral tile to be seen but rather grey slate with a powder blue, glittering recess
with rain shower. Heaven.

Upstairs we put in a new bedroom wall
closing off a previous open space and put in built-ins. For us it was our
dressing room. Between the two of us we had a lot of clothes and needed the
whole room to express ourselves. Master bedroom has a balcony and a Foxtel
connection. We never agreed on shows – Aschapelle anything reality, me anything
scripted drama – so we needed two Foxtel connections or we would have divorced
much earlier.

Gorgeous little courtyard with rear lane
access out the back. Now this was actually the reason we initially looked at
the house. We thought Jackson and Little Sammy needed the space. So we bought
the house for our dogs only to discover that they never went out there. And
Aschapelle and I, well we rarely left the television. But it is gorgeous and
‘outdoorsy’ people would love it.

Next door is an amazing park that is absolutely
central to everything that goes on in the neighbourhood. Seriously, I’ve never
seen anything like it. I became so obsessed with it and everything it
represents that I wrote a 6000 word paper on it for Uni (yes, a HD). Its full
of toys that are there ALL THE TIME! Never stole. Such a safe and secure
neighbourhood. There’s a bbq, a compost bin, man-made swings – all provided by
the neighbours. They have neighbourhood bbq’s and drinks each Friday night
during summer.

Who wouldn’t want to buy into that?

So if you are in the market for a new 2
bedroom home or a brilliant investment please take a look. Our too-cute-for-words
real estate agent is the lovely Will Phillips from Bresic Whitney (as a general rule Bresic Whitney has the best looking agents in town, just saying!). Give him a
call. But just to be upfront; boys he’s not on our team and girls he has a
girlfriend. Call him to buy our house, not to try and get a date.

A little bit sad that we are selling. We
obviously bought in happy times. But if there is one thing that can be said
about Aschapelle and I, we’ve always been real good about keeping decisions
like this emotion free.

So buy my house! Pimp-Daddy says so.

2 Rennie St, Redfern is being shown:

Wednesday's 5.30pm to 6.00pm

Saturday's 10.45am to 11.15am

Auction: Saturday, October 8

Domain listing here!

Bresic Whitney listing here!

Anniversary.

I’m just writing for me today. Please don’t feel I need a reaction or sympathy, or anything like that. I’m actually laying on a beach on Koh Samui wearing a moo moo and having a great time so I’m in a really good place – geographically and emotionally.

But I can’t let today go by without writing about the anniversary of my Dad’s death. 11 years ago today, he was only 56. 11 years is a long time though and it’s a long time to heal. But anniversaries are shit in the sense that they are very specific. They force you to remember the events of a certain day in time. If it’s a wedding, great, lots of good memories. If it’s a death or tragedy than an anniversary is pure shit.

My poor Mum had to call both my Bro and I to tell us the news 11 years ago today. How she did that I’ll never know. I was sitting at my desk at Channel Ten. I very clearly remember that absolute complete loss of control when Mum first called. Its emotional, its physical, it’s everything. It just breaks you in two. You just loose all control of yourself in every sense. After that your head and heart are not in the same place together again for some time to come.

I know my workmates got me home that day and my friends got me on a plane. I know mum and Cousin Trude met me at the airport. I know all our family was together.  I remember things more as ‘situations’ after that. Mum, Bro and I with the funeral director, my amazing family. Sonia and Alana making tea and sandwiches all weekend, sitting in Cass’s spare room to write the eulogy. Massive breakdown getting out of the car at the funeral, giving the eulogy but not what I said. At the wake I fell in a heap, my body packed it in, and I curled up in my childhood bedroom.

See this is the sort of stuff that anniversaries make you remember. Cause it’s all about a date and what happened on that day. It’s tough on the anniversary of a tragedy in your life to remember the healing, the progress, and the good memories which over time you’ve come to do for the other 355 days a year. I resent that the anniversary drags me back to that dark place and makes me forget everything else.

There is absolutely nothing you can do to prepare for the sudden loss of a parent. In hindsight it took me much longer to get my life back on track than I thought at the time. And I think the sooner you accept you will never be the same again the easier it becomes. I also learnt how to accept that there are times that you are gonna be emotional, angry or really sad and that there is nothing you can do about it. My advice to anyone who loses someone now is ‘just take care of yourself, do what you need to do’.

But I’m not gonna dwell on that tough time or on the life I shared with my Dad. That’s probably a little too personal, even for me. Instead…

I think I share a very special bond with Dad in death. I’m not sure when it started but I’m pretty sure it was not long after that initial trauma. There are times when I know that Dad is with me. I can sense him with me. It’s always fleeting but he just pops up every now and then, sometimes stronger than others, but always in a good way. He has a presence and I feel him with me at the most random times you can imagine. I love that he checks in. I shared this with Aschapelle and over the years it was great to have him there with me when I could say “Dad’s here”.

Now I’m not Christian and I could hardly be described as spiritual but I believe in this. I was concerned in the early years cause you don’t want your parents seeing everything you do – especially 2004 - but I also believe there is no judgement. He’s just there with me.

I’ve also learnt to call on him for support. Whenever I’m going through a tough time, am really stressed or have a high-pressured situation to get through I call on him to support me through it, to prop me up. And if it’s a really big problem for me I call on my Aunty Bub as well. I’m very lucky cause I have two guardian angels. And considering the luck I’ve had in my life despite my own stupidity and foolishness they are obviously the two best guardian angels ever!

The other bond with Dad ‘in death’ is seeing more of him in me. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone on this, but the older you get the more you realise and understand how much you are like your parents. I’ve always been a Mummy’s boy and take after her a lot. Since we lost Dad I’ve come to understand the similarities between us a lot more, especially in the last few years. There is more of Dad in me than I ever thought. Some of it good, some of it bad, a lot to learn from. It’s very comforting to feel that part of your father lives on in you. It will make me a better person.

So yes, it’s a sad day. But I’m determined not to get lost in thinking about the details of this date, the sense of loss or the life not lived. It’s taken a long time but I can draw strength from the bond that Dad and I have now. It’s so different to before, and I don’t really expect anyone to understand, but it’s a bond I treasure.

It doesn’t matter how many years have passed since we lost him, I will always be my father's son.

Love you Dad. Xoxoxo

Steven

Do you think I should be dating?

Yesterday I was banging on about being a filthy pig. As a flippant comment I ended the post saying I think I needed a boyfriend/cleaner to sort out my hygiene issues.

But this got me thinking. My mind doesn’t work like a normal persons, rather it’s a scattered mess of crazy thoughts. It’s like a Rubik’s cube of zigzagging ideas and scatterbrain thoughts.

Hey, would dating again be such a bad thing? Is being alone all the time really what I want?

If this had crossed my mind in the last 6 months I’d shudder at the thought. I have been determinedly single. If I’ve ever met anyone I’ve been very clear that I will forget their name in 3 hours. One of the reasons for ‘the break-up’ is that I genuinely feel that I’d be happier living a life alone. I’m not good at sharing. Anything.

So what the hell were these thoughts? Dating? Surely not.

           

Once the seed had been planted my synapses started firing all over the place. First thought was ‘what the hell is dating now days anyway?’ and ‘do 39 year olds even date?’. I have absolutely no idea.

I’ve never been good at dating. In fact, I reckon you could count the number of dates I’ve been on in my adult life on one hand. My memory is bereft of good or bad dating experiences. My track record speaks for itself. Every boyfriend I’ve ever had – 2 serious, a couple other worthy mentions – I’ve met in bars or nightclubs under the influence of vodka. Each time I’ve gone straight from ‘Hi how are you?’ to head-over-heals in love. I’m very lesbian like that.

I met The Sculptor in a bar on a Friday night and on the Monday he quit his job in Melbourne to move to Sydney so we could be together. Aschappelle and I moved in together after 4 months and bought our first house after 9 months. Dating was not part of either of my two life-changing relationships. And in between relationships I’m usually too hell-bent on having fun to worry about dating. Maybe some slutting around nightclubs but that’s it.

I’m 99% sure I do not want a relationship so can I really trust myself to date without ending up back in one? Me thinks not. Not with my track record.

The other thing is that gay men have built this whole system of what can almost be considered ‘anti-dating’. We have all these tools in place where it is unbelievably easy to meet ‘like-minded’ (horny!) gay men. Online, iPhone apps, etc; our community may be fighting the good fight for Gay Marriage but there is also a recognition that there are advantages to single men loving other men. Grindr in particular has changed gay-dating forever!

But Grindr is a whole other post, and will come with a Parental Warning.

Which brings me back to ‘what the hell is dating in 2011’ and am I too old? So there is the cute boy at the fruit and veg store on Crown St, do we go for a gelato and call it a date? Or the hot boy at the gym who is most likely straight (gym attire tells you so much), if we shared a protein shake is that a quasi-straight-date? (yeh, I know you know I don’t know what a protein shake is) And what about those hot single boys on Twitter, if we met in person does that constitute a date? So goddamn confused!

And the age thing. 39. Even using the word ‘dating’ makes me uncomfortable. It seems a concept aimed at those much younger than I. Perhaps from your mid-30’s onwards we should start to call it something else? Like ‘judging’ or ‘interviewing’. Just an idea.

So after all these thoughts have been zig-zagging through my Rubik’s cube brain there is only one clear answer. NO, I should not be dating. The fact that it confused the hell out of me is a clear indication it is not for me. If I’m scared of it, don’t really know what it is or what I want from it then I really shouldn’t be doing it.

I’ll stick to nights on the couch with my Law And Order’s for a little bit longer.

Unless of course the guy at the fruit and veg shop asked me out. Then all bets are off.

Why can't I do more than one thing at once?

I am so easily distracted. And I’m not very good at doing more than ONE thing at once. Lets just say I’m pretty sure I will never be a CEO. Lets just take a look at 3 instances over the last week that have prevented me from carrying out the simplest of tasks, such as writing for this blog.





First off, the Airport Laptop incident...





So I'm coming through airport security last week and I was completely distracted by trying to avoid those awful people who want to stick their magic wand in my bag. Every time, and I mean EVERY time, I go through security they stop me. I’m sure it's because I’m a near 40yo dressing like a 21yo. I was so distracted trying to time my perfect run so as to avoid the wand that I left my beautiful, much loved, relatively new laptop on the security rollers. BLAH!!!! IDIOT!!!





I didn't realise until I'd landed back in Sydney. So dumb. I immediately tweet the beautiful people at Qantas Customer Service and they help me sort it out (I love the customer service benefits of Twitter! Qantas lead the way). I think it was Audrey who was a dream, then the wonderful Daryl at the Security checkpoint who found it and held for me. So relieved, so happy. Tweeted all my dramas and in the process found the wonderful MichelleLLeslie was coming through the airport later that day and she brought it home for me. So darling of her! Thanks Twitter for solving all my problems.





But alas, this was last Thursday and I still haven’t been able to pick it up from the lovely Michelle. Why you ask, its been 5 days??? Well the much dreaded repeat offender, the Man-Flu, has gripped me again!





So over it! By Sunday my chest was in trauma. Truth be known, I knew I was coming down with something on Thursday but stupidly, distractedly, completely wrote myself off on Thursday night. I thought my first vodka could be quite medicinal, sure as hell the 25th one wasn’t. Friday I do believe, in my Harden-The-Fuck-Up way, that I was close to death.





And I am the worlds worst sick person. I get so distracted by the fact that I’m sick that I can’t possibly do anything else. I sit on the lounge, watch Law & Orders and I pop pills. I had about 6 different pill boxes on the go at one point on Saturday. I am the world’s best self-medicator. Hasn’t seem to do much good though, but Monday night the dark cloud lifted somewhat. Dead keen to function like a normal human being on Tuesday.





And the icing on the distracted cake... I had a house guest for the weekend. Poor bastard. Had my dear friend (and ex-ex-boyfriend) The Sculptor up from Melbourne for the weekend. He had to fly solo on Friday and Sunday nights, a wingman covered in snot and phlegm is never a good look on Oxford St. So mature to be able to go cruising with your ex. Aschapelle and I are definitely not at that point yet, maybe some day, The Sculptor and I were 10 years ago. He was in town to teach bored rich housewives how to sculpt so I got no sympathy or support for my Man-Flu from him during the day. At least I had the lounge to myself to wallow in self-pity.





Next time he’s in town he’s taking me to manly leather bars. Can you imagine? 2011 is about broadening my horizons and that sure as hell will. The Sculptor is an expert. Dear lord what have I got myself into?





So my slackness in posting is because I’m a lazy, one-dimensional whinger who has a snot/phlegm problem. In a nutshell.





PLEASE NOTE: Sorry no pics because the 1980’s laptop I am temporarily using does not connect with any technology produced after ’91.