Matt Day Homewrecker aka Australia’s very own Angelina Jolie

Last night I was woken by an anxious friend calling me from overseas concerned that her boyfriend was on the verge of cheating on her.

‘It’s horrible, like I know he’s not right now cause he’s making me a smoothie but when he asked if I wanted avocado I just thought of my god that’s her vagina and him making me the smoothie well that’s just him metaphorically f**king her.’

‘With the avocado?’

‘No, she is the avocado. Don’t you see?’

‘He’s not going to cheat on you with an avocado, there’s not enough room’ I mumbled as I rolled onto my side and was greeted with my flashing clock and the reminder it was 3am – clearly finest advice given hour.

‘It’s my own fault you know, I hired her for this campaign and she’s his ‘free walk around the park.’ Oh my god, I’m Jennifer Aniston. I can literally feel the pity of others dripping off me.’

‘Not that this is important, but you do know it’s free to walk around a park?’

‘Not in LA Lou.’

‘Since when?’

‘9/11 Lou.’

My pillow fell on my face but to my shock and horror I was still able to breathe…f**k I can’t even muffle myself properly at this hour…

‘So what she’s his ‘if I could cheat on you it would be with her’?! Everyone knows they’re just the thing of fiction, something couples do to add meaning to a relationship.’

‘You so know this is how it started with Brad and Angelina.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Him and Jen were just kicking back at their house in Malibu and Jen’s all like she’d so go Captain Picard – ‘

‘-Captain Picard, from Star Trek?’

‘- yes Lou, he’s very commanding and anyway I thought you liked bald?’

‘I’ve done bald, but it never set a precedent.’

‘That’s a shame; I think you and the Captain would work well together.’

‘He’s not real’

‘Those things from your past you’ve called relationships aren’t what we’d call real either but let’s not split hairs, I was talking about Jen and Brad.’

‘Yes, back to those close friends of ours.’

‘Don’t get sarky.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘And so am I Lou, from this constant fight to keep my man.’

My pillow smelled nice, I could feel my oxygen levels running low…

‘Fine, continue.’

‘Well they were just hanging and she’s like her night on the town would be Captain Picard and Brad laughs and knocks back some carb-free popcorn and Jen tickles him until he admits he’d so go Lara Croft from Tomb Raider and then they both laugh cause they know they’ll never cheat on each other cause their cheats are fictional characters and then Jen’s like ‘hey Brad, we just got this script, it’s called Mr & Mrs Smith I’m thinking of producing it post Friends and then BOOM he’s suddenly adopting Asians.’

I hung up, still alive.

Now a few years back when I was living in London I’d had this same conversation with my then boyfriend who at every turn made it very clear he was never out to impress me.

‘Any page 3 girl’ he said. ‘You know just for something different.’

‘Different how?’ I asked

‘You know naked with boobs.’

‘Oh as opposed to myself?’

‘Well I can see you naked any time I want so it doesn’t count.’

‘I can guarantee you from this point on you will not be able to see me naked anytime you want.’

‘You going all frigid or something?’

‘Yes, that’s it. I’m going all frigid or something.’

The conversation had been prompted when my ‘night off’ guy had moved into the same street as us, Matt Day, previously of A Country Practice…ok, so it had been a long time between long term relationships and I hadn’t gotten around to updating my list. It happens to the best of us.

‘You have to change your guy’ my boyfriend stated.

‘Why?’

‘Cause he now lives next door.’

‘And?’

‘You’re more inclined to have sex with him if the he’s next door. It’s a presented opportunity now.’

‘I don’t want to have sex with him.’

‘It doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t.’

‘I think you’ll find it does both legally and human rights wise’

He closed his copy of the Mirror, Sandra from Cheshire’s breasts saw the light of day no more…

‘No. You see if we’re together forever then he’s your only way out, whereas I get page 3 ladies and Julie Sawahla but only from her Press Gang days, you’ve should’ve given yourself more options.’

‘So you’re saying I either sleep with Matt Day, cause that’s bound to happen at some point when he walks past our flat with his baby and wife, or never sleep with anyone but you ever again?’

‘Yes. It’s really a concept that doesn’t involve that much thought Lou.’

‘There’s a lot things in this room at the moment that don’t require much thought…’

We’re not together anymore. 15 years on (yes, it was that long ago I made him my ‘get out of jail free card’) and Matt Day is still a hottie, but as my relationship ended and I matured with age I was very aware of the severe limitations I’d placed on myself with only one option, now I have more, starting with Ron Weasley and ending with Shaun Micallef (yeah, I just haven’t made my career more awkward). That is why there is now a chair on my front porch, just in case they move in down the street.

You’re a bad girl Lou, bad girl…now pick up your shoe and go!

Exiting the David Jones food court use to be one of my greatest thrills (understand, I spend most of my day typing words into an inanimate object that fails to engage me in any sort of conversation and no, it’s a not a boy – BAM!) and it was upon making this exit that I ran into a guy called Gareth (yep, let’s call him that cause it’s his real name :))

He was a guy I’d met through friends about 18 months back when I relocated to Melbourne. We got on, he was cute, had brown hair and made me laugh and so we agreed to go and have a drink together. Nothing too formal, just a casual get to know you better inner city drink.

 

But as luck would have it I needed to fly to Sydney that weekend, so we rescheduled – he then had a sudden deadline, we rescheduled. He rang me for that drink; I was going to London for a week but would call when I got back. I did, but he was relocating to New York indefinitely. It was just one of those things…and yet, now here he was standing before me in his cords and tussled hair, maybe it was fate, him catching me just as I was in the middle of gorging on DJ’s fresh baked cookies.

 

‘Hello’ I smiled as we enviably crossed paths.

‘Oh hi’ he smiled back.

‘You’re back!’ I proclaimed.

‘I’m back’ he too proclaimed!

‘Wow’ I surmised.

‘You look great’ he observed.

‘So do you’ I offered back.

‘What have you been up to?’ he enquired.

‘Oh you know the usual…deadlines and stuff.’ I surrended.

‘Yep, don’t I know it’ he casually laughed back.

‘Yeah’ I nodded.

 

And then silence befell us both.

 

‘So maybe we should catch up for that drink?’ I coyishly asked.

 

Pause.

 

‘I don’t think so.’ He said.

 

(Note to self: this is why you don’t ask people out Lou, you see what happens! Sure, you might be a sure thing Lou, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is – BAD GIRL! BAD GIRL!)

 

‘Oh ok then…’ the words stumbled out of my mouth, as some random biscuit crumbs escaped down my cleavage; a once sexy calling card now functioning as a tragic catchment area.

 

As I started to schlep away my shoe decided to fall off (don’t look back Lou, keep walking, you don’t need that shoe, you’re a one shoe kinda gal, just keep walking…you’re almost out of site…) and then came a tap on my shoulder.

 

It was Gareth – I means how many times did I have to run into that guy today!!!!!!!!!

 

‘You? What do you want?’

‘I wanted to ask you a question?’ he asserted.

‘Yeah, sure whatever…’ I mumbled back.

‘Why would you want to have a drink with a guy that obviously can’t stand the site of?’

‘What?’

‘Well you kept cancelling, and I’m not great with hints but I get there…eventually.’

‘So did you! You cancelled all the time!’

‘I had things come up – you told me you understood Lou.’

‘I had things come up too.’

‘Writing a blog is not a ‘thing’.

‘Yeah, well writing for the…. what it is you wrote for?’

‘The New Yorker Louise.’

‘Yeah, well writing for the New Yorker is not a thing either.’

‘I’ll think you find it is Lou’

“I know you are, but what am I?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing – Belle Jour made money from her blog.’

‘The prostitute?’

‘Yeah, but she was high end.’

‘You’re not high end are you Lou, you have stumpy legs.’

‘Don’t you think I know that!’?

 

I turned to walk away…’Hey not so fast lady, you didn’t answer my question.’

‘I liked you – I wanted that drink and now I’m back in Melbourne, I can’t say much more than that.’ I spat out, now wishing I’d picked up my other shoe.

‘And you’re committed to Melbourne now?’

‘Yes’ I replied

 

Now as soon as I said that word I should’ve frozen time, stepped out and gone and got a tattoo in my forehead that read: ‘everything I say from this point in will sound desperate.’

 

‘I was only asking you out for a drink’ – translated as ‘I’d drink petrol to be with you.’

‘So, are you seeing anyone right now?’ – translated as  ‘I’m fertile, there’s an alley round back, lets go make babies – HI FIVE!’

‘I’m staying with my parents’ – translated as ‘It’s a been a while….’

 

So you can imagine it came as quite a shock to young Gareth after he leaned in and whispered in my ear ‘Ok, I’ll give you another chance’  -that my response might be ‘thanks, but no thanks.’

 

‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed! ‘You never liked me and you know how I know? You never even tried to track me down on Facebook!’

‘What? – I didn’t even know your surname!’

‘LIAR!’

‘What is your trauma?’

‘Oh I know all about you Ms Sanz – your comedy, your lesbian group for comics, you’re little blog…and yet you know nothing about me.’

‘Oh believe me Gareth I’m learning a lot right now.’

‘I kept waiting for your friendship request, but nothing…day after day, month after month…’

‘You’re kidding me…you could’ve requested me you know, Facebook is a two way street.’

‘You’d like that wouldn’t you Lou, some guy crawling to you. Back to you.’

‘Back to me? We were never together.’

‘Well that’s news to me Lou.’

 

(Note to self: buy that house in the country and begin a life of solitude, buy a pug, call him Ned – he will be the only companion you never need.)

 

‘Listen Gareth I was only suggesting we have a drink to be polite, I’m actually seeing someone right now…sure it’s new and every – ‘

‘LIAR!!!! LOU! LIAR!’

 

‘Ok, I’m going to go…’

 

‘What you fail to realise Lou is I read your blogs, your little stories. I know the truth.’

 

I walked away, his voice fading into the distance…so you read my blogs to you Gareth? Well I hoped you enjoyed this one!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently I’m not a primary colour kinda girl…

 

Not to long ago I went on a date with someone. Things looked promising that is until he asked me what my favourite colour was; when I responded ‘red’ rather then smile with the knowing that comes with sitting opposite me complete with red lipstick and nails, he merely got out a notepad and pen and said ‘you’ll have to pick another one, that’s already taken’.

 

‘Already taken?’ I asked quizzically ‘ are we playing a game?’

‘No, it’s just I like to colour code everyone in my life and red just happens to be taken’ He waited, pen poised for my next suggestion.

‘Ok, well I’ve always quite liked green’ and in an awkward attempt to flirt, as I leaned across the table and traced my red nails over his hand ‘I especially like green on dark haired boys.’

Pulling his hand away to flick through his notepad he let out a gentle sigh ‘nup, sorry – gone’.

I slumped back into my seat and closed my legs. ‘Ok fine, why don’t you tell me what’s available and I’ll be that’.

As he took the last piece of bread in the basket, he chewed silently for a moment and then with his mouth still full remarked ‘well, there’s lilac or mahogany brown’.

Now, I don’t know about any other ladies out there but the idea of being assigned a colour usually relegated to the 1990’s or a Harvey Norman catalogue wasn’t really what I had in mind, surely I was good enough to claim a primary colour? I mean we were on a date, he could’ve just lied, but as was the case with most men I’d been meeting of late, this one had a flare for the truth.

‘I don’t want to be a catalogue colour’ I mumbled, tearing at my drink coaster.

‘I don’t really think you’re in a position to choose Lou – I mean did you honestly think you’d risen to the ranks of being allocated a primary colour?’

I said nothing, as my eyes scoured the restaurant for a bar tender.

He smiled to himself as he shut his notepad ‘oh, you did – you thought you were better then mahogany brown – oh how cute. That’s why I like you Lou you always dream big but end up getting woken right before the end.’

I contemplated emptying the ash tray of beer liquid that had somehow found a home there when he placed his hand over mine.

‘If it makes you feel any better, most of the woman I date get  a little upset about the colour code thing.’

‘Most of the woman?’

Like an impending sex offender he grabbed my hand harder and looked into my eyes.

‘That’s kinda what got this whole colour coded thing started’.

I pulled away and began fingering my pasta.

‘So this whole colour coding thing is a new thing?’

‘Yep, it’s the only way I know to tell all you girls apart’.

Ok – so it’s now at this point that most people ask ‘where the fuck do you meet these guys Lou?’ And it is at this point in my life that I say ‘I choose not to answer that, just leave me alone – life is a journey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

‘Tell us apart!?!’ I yelled – the whole restaurant turned.

‘Hey, lower your voice Lou’

‘Sorry’…I mumbled…

‘That’s ok, apology accepted’ He looked around the restaurant, most people had returned to their meals.

‘Tell us apart?’ I whispered harshly ‘have you ever thought of just looking at our faces, it’s generally how people tell people apart.’

‘Conventionally yes, but when you’re seeing more then one girl at once it can get confusing’

‘you’re seeing someone else?’

‘I’m a player Lou, you know that.’

‘No I didn’t – you failed to mention it between the whole – I’ve never met anyone like you bullshit you were peddling’

‘Ok Lou, now you’re just being petulant’

I drained the last of my wine.

‘So, who is she? This ‘other’ girl?’

‘It wouldn’t be ethical of me to name names’

‘This isn’t a war crimes tribunal’ I spat out.

‘Fine, but if I tell you we’re splitting cheesecake for desert – deal?’

I pondered it a moment – the cheese cake did look good….very good….

‘Deal.’

‘The other girl is the colour red’

I was quiet for a moment. The funny thing is I would of been fine had she been beige or bisque – but red – my colour!

‘That’s funny’ I said ‘Cause you’re about to see red’

And with that I poked him in the eye with my desert fork. No cheesecake for me.

 

 

She’s one crazy broad

It was a late night. I was at a bar. It was crowded. It was full of familiar faces; yes it was the sort of place where everyone knew your name. I didn’t care though. I was drunk. A drunkard. A lush is what we might have called me that night in that bar, back in the day.

There was a time I knew her by sight, now I knew her by name. The girl who’d been going round town saying things about me to people, telling them things she had no place to be telling them. Things about me and a boy of no particular consequence, but hey, like I said I was too drunk to care right?

I know that some people would say looking back on the night, that Lou she sure was a crazy broad, where did she get the matches from? But could anyone have stopped me? I doubt it. I was a stubborn filly with money to spend and a reputation to burn.

Earlier that night…

They’d run out of paper towels in the bathroom again. I’d not told Larry the barkeep 2 days earlier that if he wanted to keep the ladies happy all he need do is keep them in a fresh supply of paper towels, but I knew he had other things on his mind. His wife was fiddling Con who owned the local Wash’n’Wear. Everyone knew, Christ his wife knew he knew, but he got a discount on linen, so if he forgot the occasional paper towel, I could forgive him.

The last cubicle door swung open, and out she stepped, that bit of sass I told you bout earlier. Normally I wouldn’t have noticed a gal like her, all plain, dressed up and no one to share it with, but tonight was different, but not right then it wasn’t, because at this point in the story we were just two ladies looking for somewhere to dry our hands.

I settled on my skirt as the right kinda dry place and quickly touched up my lipstick. I could tell she was watching me, watching my lips, wanting to know what it was like to kiss him, feel him. She hadn’t done that yet, but I knew it was her intent, for she was a lady brimming with intention and not of the good variety, no sir, not at all.

‘Why hello there’ she said smirking her flat mouth. ‘Hey’ I responded. We were not friends; I cared not for how she was, if her parents were in good health, if she were to be married in the spring. Her welfare was of no concern to me, but she persisted in making idle chit chat. I had to oblige, I was an accommodating kinda girl. Yeah, some people around town called me too accommodating, but the nights were often cold and long and sometimes I wanted it just like them. It was never about the candy and the chance to ride in a proper motor car, like the ones I’d seen in movie star magazines, it was always bout the being with, accommodating that need.

‘We saw you come in, you here alone again Lou?’ I popped the lipstick back in my purse and savoured the taste of the whiskey sour I’d left at the bar. ‘We?’ I grimaced at the thought. ‘Well, yes me and Tobias’. Ah yes, Tobias, the boy of no particular consequence, the town roundabout. We’d had a short lived tryst, sure it was fun while it lasted, but things went bad fast like a girl in a flammable nightie standing too close to an electric heater on Christmas Eve. It was times like this I missed my sister. I thought about her every night in juvie. Mum and dad thought she was too young to be taken from this earth, but that girl had been a ticking time bomb and she’d seen me on that rainy night, by the freeway with the shovel. She was a wrong time, wrong place girl but she was gone now and I was still standing in the bathroom with another wrong time, wrong place girl – the only difference was she didn’t know it yet.

‘Tobias asked me to grab him a beer on the way back, but I have no idea what he drinks – you’d know, wouldn’t you’. Sure I could’ve told her he’d drink a bum’s urine for the kick, but I wasn’t that kinda girl. ‘He’ll drink whatever you get him, he ain’t that particular’. The last word hung in the air like a kid who’d got in over his head and was now hanging by a noose from a tree in a downtown park where someone was yet to discover his body. His name was Patrick and we’d dated once, but that was long time ago and there was nothing more to be said about that.

‘Thanks’ she replied curtly and held open the door for me as we departed the bathroom. The bar was still buzzing and a quick look around the room confirmed that Tobias was probably out back smoking a smoke. I knew him, she didn’t, but let her find out was my motto. At least it wasn’t me being seduced with the promise of cheap wine and polite conversation anymore. It was her bed now and she could lie in it like my mother use to say, before she’d sit me down in front of the Lord and decide my punishment was another 14 days in my urine soaked bed clothes, cos Jesus was a tough man, a tough teacher and he didn’t appreciate urinator’s and so I’d learn, have to learn the lesson that Jesus was trying to teach me. She’d have to learn a lesson too, Jesus wanted it that way.

She asked me for a light. I obliged her. My whiskey sour still sat there. Lonely, but enjoying the ambience of the evening. My baby was too warm to drink now, its harsh amber liquid wouldn’t burn me like I liked, and the way I needed it, like finger nails deep in my back the moment before the skin tears.

I watched as she lit her cigarette and asked Larry for a couple of pots of draught, the cheap stuff. He wouldn’t know the difference. He was probably already onto the stash of moonshine he kept in a small flask hidden in his boot. She’d never know though. He never took his boots off. Never ever.

I picked up my whiskey one last time and smiled as Tobias walked back in and glanced my way, still looking at me like I was poisoned chalace interrupting his rather predictable evening, again. The whiskey poured itself over her, that girl, the one who had said those things about me. The one who had told them all about the time she seen me at the bus stop with that transient, sure it was all rumour but one day they’d find this body and then they’d come after me and that wasn’t going to happen to this dame, not again.

The match lit first strike. Mama woulda been proud.

Some say I rushed my first marriage…

My first marriage ended in disaster, but in hindsight I do suppose it was doomed from the start. I had to be tied up ‘bitch style’ to a tree by my peers and my husband was sticky taped to the playground slide. Our peers said our vows on our behalf. I think I cried throughout the entire ceremony, and I was still crying when my Grade 2 teacher found me still tied to the tree 3 hours later and remarked that no one liked an unhappy bride…I still plot her death to this very day…..

Sure, Andrew and I tried to make it work, but it was a volatile relationship from day one. I was abusive towards him; he barely paid me any attention, instead preferring to stick his finger up his nose, in his belly button and eventually his anus. Four days after our vows had been imposed upon us our marriage was annulled, after I tracked down the marriage ‘ringleader’ and threatened to scream rape in the tuckshop if he didn’t put a stop to this charade.

Friends would remark years later that I rushed into my second marriage; after all I was barely ten when I found myself seduced by the old institution once again. His name was Michael. We came highly recommended to each other by our best friend. Never mind that the idea of masturbating with shards of glass was more appealing then sharing oxygen with him – it was all set to go ahead and there was nothing I could do.

The ceremony was simple enough – under the swing set with a group of our closest friends. I did not cry this time; I had taken to drinking instead. It was my only release; for again I had a husband that paid me absolutely no attention. I knew he’d only married me to get closer to my best friend. I saw the sympathetic looks people gave me; I knew what they were saying – but really, who wanted to go into double-digits single? It was just not the done thing back in my day…

The police report said I purposely threw myself off the monkey bar set – to be honest, I don’t really remember the details. It was a Tuesday, I’d had a bit too much lemonade…I climbed to the top and then stood 6 feet high over the world and finally felt something, for the first time in ages – really felt something. I vaguely remember the other children daring my to jump, and maybe I did jump – but what I do know is that I hit that tanbark hard and survived with a broken nose and two black eyes and two days later my husband left me to pursue other activities – he wanted to spend more time with his horses.