What’s all the Hoo-Haa About

It's now 12:05am on Thursday morning, and I am leaving to go to Cambodia at 10:30am on Saturday morning. I've arranged my visa into Cambodia, but that is basically the only thing I have done. I don't actually know why I am so calm when, if I don't get my act together, I am not going to be ready in time. I have to do a whole lot of washing, ironing, and packing. Tomorrow, I'm getting waxing done and have to get American dollars. There is so much to do. But, like I always say to my mother, "If it wasn't for the last minute, nothing would get done."

On Saturday, I'm flying to Singapore. Then I'm spending the night at a hotel, which I think is either in the airport or very close to the airport. Then I fly out to Siem Reap in Cambodia on Sunday morning. I'm meeting my friend Maiki in Siem Reap on the 19th of December, which means I'll be there by myself for around 11 days. I am actually looking forward to that time alone. I think it's quite reasonably priced to get a car from the hotel for a day for around $100 US dollars, so I'm going to go to the temples and around town.

The whole objective of the trip is to do research for a novel I want to write, so I’m going to literally map out the town and the temples. I’m going to write down every little detail so that when I write about it, I can do so with a sense of authority. It will be good to do all of that alone before Maiki gets there, because he might get bored doing the same thing every day.

We’re staying at a hotel called Borei Angkor, and we’re also staying on the Privilege Floor. I don’t really know what that means, but it only cost a little bit extra, and it sounded like something I could weave into my book. Maiki and I are staying in the same room but in separate beds. It was cheaper to get twin beds, and we’ve stayed together like this before. We have never been together and don’t want to be; we’re very much like brother and sister. If I had a partner, I obviously wouldn’t stay in the same room as another man, but seeing as I’m single and Maiki’s circumstances are complicated, it’s not hurting anyone.

There are a couple of things I've been meaning to write in this blog for a while now, but I haven't had the chance. I've been quite busy. I haven't been busy getting ready for my trip, but I've just had little bits and pieces on. It was just over two weeks ago that I went to a panel discussion at the museum, which was part of the Feast Festival. My friend Rebecca came we me and as we walked into the museum, Uniting Communities had a table set up with rainbow badges and flags that they were giving out for free, which I thought was so lovely. You can see their setup below.

The panel discussion was called "What’s all the Hoo-Haa About?" and it was about the female anatomy in nature. It was hosted by cabaret performer and comedian Libby Trainor Parker, and the panel was made up of Jamie Bucirde, who is a South Australian sexologist, Megan Folwell, who is a researcher at the University of Adelaide, and Kristen Messenger, who is an invertebrate ecologist and 'bug whisperer' from Bugs n Slugs.

The discussion was hilarious, as it was meant to be, but it was also incredibly interesting. I was surprised at how much pleasure animals seem to get out of sex. How they knew this, I really don't know, but seeing as the discussion was about the female anatomy, they talked a lot about clitorises. For example, hyenas have very large clitorises, and some male snakes will vibrate their heads around a female snake's clitoris. Flying foxes and bats perform oral sex on each other. I actually could not believe that.

They talked about female praying mantises and Red Back spiders eating their mates after sex. I did know this, and I always just thought it was the nature of the beast, but apparently, with Red Back spiders, if they don't eat the male, it has a detrimental effect on the eggs she produces.

Because this discussion was part of a festival celebrating the LGBTQI+ community, it was fitting that they touched on homosexuality in nature. Apparently, it is rampant in giraffes, and female macaque monkeys only orgasm with other females.

It was a really good night, and I am always looking around for things to go to at the museum. Below, you can see a very poorly taken photo of the panel.

The only thing that was a bit of a downer on the night was Rebecca. I asked her if she wanted to come along, and she said yes, so I got her a ticket. She got to my house on the Wednesday night it was on, and she sat down and started talking to Mum. I heard her say that she thought it must be an exhibition at the museum because she said she saw online that it went for three hours. Then she says to Mum, "It must be an exhibition because there is no way I'm going to sit there and listen to people talk for three hours."

I knew that it was a talk, and it didn't surprise me that it would go for three hours, so I just said to her, "It is a talk, and I imagine it will go for three hours. I'm happy just to go by myself, though, so you might need to go home." She immediately said she would come, but then the whole night she just complained, bitched, and whinged. When she said she wasn't going to sit through people talking for three hours, I thought to myself, "What else are you going to do? Go home and watch Home and Away?"

The panel discussion itself wasn't three hours. When we first got to the museum, there was an hour to kill, so we went and looked at the National Geographic Nature Photographer of the Year Exhibition, which they opened up for everyone. Rebecca was complaining about the time to kill. Then, when we got to the Pacific Gallery where everything was set up, she complained. I just thought to myself, I want to be alone. I would much rather be alone. I only asked her if she wanted to come because I mistakenly thought she might enjoy it. I will not be doing that again. I usually go to these things alone anyway, so I'm just going to stick to that.

A few days after this panel discussion, a much less soul-destroying friend and I went to the Jam Factory and had a look at the glassblowers and an exhibition by Gabriella Bisetto. I know Gabriella is a senior lecturer at UniSA and is also a glass artist, but this exhibition had a couple of mediums. Below, you can see photos from when we watched the glassblowers and my favourite part of Gabriella Bisetto's exhibition.

The exhibition was called First Breath, Last Breath, Everything In Between, as the neon lights suggest, but it was very significant to me because I had recently started researching neon glassblowing. You can see some pictures of the neon lights below.

I think I've mentioned in this blog before that I have tried glassblowing, but neon glassblowing is a specialised skill that involves manipulating glass tubes on an open flame, then blowing into the glass so it doesn't collapse on itself, and shaping the glass tubes using a pattern.

Before attending this exhibition at the Jam Factory, I was considering whether I should learn to do this. Then, when I saw Gabriella's neon, I thought it was definitely a sign that I should. I love neon—I love how seedy it looks, the '80s vibe, and how vintage and iconic it is. I started to notice neon signs everywhere, and I found a master in Melbourne to teach me. But the more I learned about utilising neon signs as an art form, the more I came to realise how dangerous it is. There is a lot of electrical work involved in the establishment of pieces, and a very real hazard is electrocution.

Sometimes mercury is required to create certain colours, and of course, there is always the risk of severely burning yourself with the open flame or on hot glass. I also discovered that no one does traditional neon glassblowing in Adelaide, and if I want to learn or even create something, I would have to go to Melbourne. The most eye-opening thing I learned was that most of the neon lights you see around are actually LED neon lights made of silicone or PVC, which are much cheaper and less work-intensive.

So, combined with the danger and the cost, I realised that if I want to create something using the neon light effect, I can design something and have it fabricated out of LED neon light material, which is what I am going to do. Below, you can see a few of the neon lights I have noticed lately, and I was fooled into believing they were bent by artisans. Thinking about it now, I think they are LED neon lights.

I have one last thing I'd like to share with you tonight before I try to get some shut-eye. I desperately need the sleep if I'm going to try and function tomorrow and get all my jobs done in time before I go away. I think I have mentioned in this blog a few weird things that have happened to me. From memory, one was how I was thinking about whether Paul McCartney was a billionaire, and then the next day, all over the news, there were stories about him being a billionaire.

Well, around ten days ago, I had a dream about one of my brother's old school friends, Justin. They were like brothers and still have a very close relationship. I was very friendly with Justin and I even lived with him and his wife for a while when I was in Sydney. So, I had this dream about Justin, and it wasn't anything sexual or romantic—we were just hanging out. When I woke up in the morning, I said to Mum, "I had the weirdest dream about Justin last night." It was weird because I hadn't thought of him in years.

A little bit later, I was in my room doing a few things, and Mum yelled out to me to confirm that I had just told her I had a dream about Justin. I confirmed it, and she asked me to go into the dining room where she was reading the paper. She was on a page where there was a large article... about Justin. He is in the military, and it was something about what he was doing. I could not believe it, nor could my mum.

Call it coincidence, call it whatever you like. All I know is that it was weird, but it didn't surprise me because that kind of stuff happens to me all the time. Most of the time, I just don't tell people because I don't want them to think I am crazy. Which I am.

Rainbow Love

It's nights like tonight that I want to get married. I want to meet someone, fall in love, and completely entwine myself into another person's life. I don't know how long this feeling will last, but it's thanks to my beautiful friend George and his marriage to his long-time partner Doug tonight, that I can safely say I love love.

George and Doug are really into the amateur theatre scene, so it was fitting that their wedding ceremony was held at the Arts Theatre. When I arrived, I couldn't see one person that I knew, so I sort of loitered around in the foyer. There was a matinee show on at the theatre prior to the wedding, so there was a moment there where people were going in different directions as the audience from the show were leaving. Because I was alone, I chose to sit basically at the back, just behind everyone else.

I have known George for around 25 years. He's a little bit older than me, and we met when he worked for a woman who was in the same line of work as my mother. My whole friendship group was made up of staffers, and George and I were very close. Over the years, the time we spend together has lessened, but the love is still there, and we usually catch up around my birthday.

I actually don't know his husband Doug all that well, but I know he is an absolute sweetie. As I understand it, he's a social worker, and his passion is the theatre. I like Doug because he said he was impressed I managed to get all the addresses for all the heads of government and Chief Justices from every country of the world. I feel he really understood how big a task that was.

George works at an NGO in public health. On George’s 40th birthday, which was a few years ago, I sent him a singing telegram dressed as a chicken to his workplace. Interestingly, when I was arranging the telegram, I first contacted a woman who does them, and it was going to be a 40-degree day or something. She told me she could do the job as a chicken but would need to get changed into the costume in the toilets at George’s workplace.

I initially agreed, but then I contacted another performer who said he would arrive already dressed as the chicken. So I called the woman back and told her she had lost my business. I understand it was hot, but if you’re going to do singing telegrams as a job, you need to be aware of the occupational hazards. It’s also incredibly unprofessional to get changed in the recipient’s workplace bathroom.

As the show got started, the celebrant walked on stage, and she was giving off awesome vibes. So many of George and Doug's friends were from the theatre, either actors or crewing, as they say. They started going crazy as the celebrant announced the wedding party and then George and Doug. There was lots of cheering and yelling out—it was really beautiful.

It was the first wedding I've been to like that. The wedding party were all wearing black, each with a different coloured waistcoat that had been specially made. As this wedding unfolded, I was reminded of the shameful time Benjamin Netanyahu spoke to Congress. He would say two words and everyone would stand up and clap. There was a lot more noise at this wedding, though.

You can see below as George and Doug were saying their vows.

I cried a fair bit during their vows. I don't know why; I'm not really much of a crier. I guess I was so happy to see my friend finally get the chance to marry the man he loves. It also made me think about how lucky some people are to really find someone—to really find their soulmate, someone who looks at them with nothing but unconditional love. In a world of Tinder and casual hookups, it's so nice to be a part of it when two people have real love for one another and want to commit themselves to giving forever a go.

After the very interactive formalities were over, Doug sang to George. He sang that Tina Turner song, "You're the Best," but he did a slow version of it. George was crying, I was crying, I think everybody was crying—it was truly beautiful. After a group photo with all the guests in the theatre, we were led outside to the front of the Royal Theatre, which is just next door to the Arts Theatre.

I thought I didn't know anyone and was surprised I didn’t see anyone else from our crazy times in our 20s until I heard a voice call out my name. It was my old friend Katrina. She was talking to Louise, who I knew a bit, and they were talking to Vanessa, who was the wife of a Federal Minister. Interestingly, her husband wasn’t invited to the wedding, and neither was Katrina’s.

Anyway, the feeling I got when I saw Katrina was disappointment. I have gained so much weight; I look fat, haggard, and old. I hate it when you haven't seen someone in over ten years, and then they ask what you've been up to. I absolutely hate it. Vanessa was nice, but Katrina and Louise are very judgy, and while Katrina and I used to be very good friends and have a lot of memories together, I know she always looked down on me because I hadn't finished a degree. I was also working as a temp while most of these guys had high-paying jobs. Katrina ended up working for one of the Prime Ministers.

The four of us decided to go for a drink at the pub before the reception. I agreed to go purely because I didn’t know anyone else, but I knew it would be one of those conversations where they all talk about their children and their good jobs and sort of pity me a little. I really liked the Minister’s wife Vanessa; she was really cool. I actually like her husband too, although I’ve never met him. I avoided talking about myself like the plague. I’ve become very good at it, but it just goes to show how uncomfortable these sorts of people make me feel. I spent my entire youth comparing myself and my failures to them, both occupationally and personally.

I never thought Katrina would get married. She is a beautiful woman, but she was so career-focused. Now she has a husband and three kids, and she lives in Sydney. She’s still got an awesome job but is out of politics. I really didn’t say much, but then they started talking about a woman I know, someone they all used to work with. Louise made a comment that she didn’t even own the two-bedroom unit she lives in. She really emphasised "unit," trying to degrade the woman. I just looked at her like, "What the actual fuck are you talking about?" She looked away, and I just thought, I need to not be here. I need this to be over.

Louise had received an invitation to the ceremony but not to the reception. I was pleased. She said she would drop us off at the reception, so she led us to her car. It was a blue BMW, and when I got inside, it had these leather seats. I knew that she hadn’t just bought one of those crappy older models. She talked about her house in Netherby and how her children go to Mercedes College, and it all just seemed so pretentious. 

When we arrived at the Festival Theatre for the reception, I was not on the same table as Katrina and Vanessa. I was seated at the same table as Roz, who is the daughter of one of Mum's friends. I like Roz. When Mum and her friend Nadine—Roz's mother—go to the theatre, they sometimes take Roz and me. She is part of the theatre crowd, which is how she knows George and Doug. She likes a drink, and she is very outgoing.

I wasn’t drinking tonight; I wasn’t in the mood at all. But I still loved love, and I said to Roz, "This makes me want to get married," and she said she felt the same way. Roz is a few years younger than me, but like me, she doesn’t have any kids, and she doesn’t have a partner. She also doesn’t want kids. She has the loudest laugh, and she is incredibly loud in general.

I was sitting next to her tonight, and I was thinking she really is a legend. I used to be a bit more like that—not to her extent, but I used to be loud and outgoing. Now the confidence isn’t entirely gone; I just feel the need to be a bit quieter in my ways. Roz and I were on the 9-to-5 table. You can see the centrepiece below. You can also see the little biscuit that we got at our place settings.

It's funny—last week I was at a function for the Feast Festival, and the Uniting Church was giving out free rainbow badges and flags. I took a badge and said I would wear it tonight, which I did.

Before I went, I said to Mum that I was wearing the badge to show my support for the LGBTQI community. Then, as Mum was dropping me off at the Arts Theatre, she said to me, "Did you say that that badge means you are gay?"

My jaw dropped. Was my mother asking me if I was gay? I didn’t mind at all; I was just shocked she would think that, based on the fact I have recently told her about my attraction toward a number of men.

I told her that I was wearing the badge because the invitation said to wear some colour, and also because I wanted to wear something rainbow. My bag was also a metallic rainbow-coloured bag.

If you think about it, it’s not completely unrealistic that my mother—or maybe other members of my family—might think I’m gay. I have been single for such a long time, and I don’t date at all. I suppose the other side of that is, if I were gay, I would have a girlfriend—or maybe I wouldn’t want one of those either.

The speeches were truly beautiful. With the theatre crowd, people were going off. Below you can see George and Doug during their first dance together.

I didn't catch the song they were dancing to. If I ever get married, I want to have my first dance to Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd. If the man I’m marrying objects, I also like Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis.

Tonight was a good night. I’m so happy that George got to marry Doug, and it’s about time that it’s legal.

During the ceremony, you would have seen that they were wearing white waistcoats, and for the reception, they were wearing rainbow-coloured ones. They weren’t new waistcoats—they were made especially, and they are double-sided.

Below, you can see the awesome rainbow-coloured waistcoats.

I learnt a valuable lesson about myself tonight too. I am tired of all the people I know who are snobby, jumped-up arseholes. Tonight, I was with some high-flyers, but all I was craving was my friend Andrew, who lives in a Housing Trust unit and my friend Mariah who is the smartest person I know but doesn't have a degree. She is the astronomer at the Planetarium. I will never put myself in a position again where I am justifying my life to a bunch of elitist jerks.

Below, you can see the wedding I want to recreate if I ever fall in love and we decide to walk down the aisle. I just might need to find a way to make sure I don’t get electrocuted.

The Texan Mindset

I’ve got a few things I’ve been wanting to share since I last sat down and really wrote, so I’ll just catch you up in no particular order. The first thing I want to share is that my brother’s wife had a birthday a little while back, and Mum entrusted me to arrange flowers to be delivered to her in London. My brother was actually here with us for Nanny’s funeral, so he didn’t get to share her birthday with her, but I feel like the flowers we sent made up for that.

You can see them below, and I think they are the coolest flowers I have ever seen. They weren’t dyed, which makes me believe they were genetically modified — Nanny had roses like that, and they were similar, although not as bright as these rainbow roses.

I know I've touched on the fact that I've got this idea for a book, and I am going to Cambodia to do research for it. I'll sit down and give you more of an idea about my vision for that book, but for now, I will tell you that, while the majority of the story is in Cambodia, some of it is set in Texas. This is because the protagonist is the daughter of the Governor of Texas. I can't go to Texas to research this. This is because I've spent nearly all my money going to Cambodia, and also, I don't want to go to the United States alone. My brother works there a lot, and we talked about meeting in Texas, but he would only be able to give me a couple of days, so it's not worth me going there for that.

So, I put my thinking cap on and thought about how I could learn about Texas and get into the Texan mindset. The first thing that came to mind was that when I drive to Gawler for mosaics classes, I always see the sign for Lone Star Rib House on the side of Main North Road. I knew it had to be Texan. So I did some investigating, and the one I drive past is the Munno Para branch, but they’re everywhere around Adelaide.

So, when my brother was here, he agreed to come with me to the Norwood restaurant. We got Mum to come along too. They weren’t actually all that thrilled to go, but I told them it was really important to me, as I was looking for a place where I could sit down and write my book, and this could be it, since it was a Texan-themed restaurant. Lone Star is on The Parade, and below you can see the sign as you walk in off the street.

I was so enthusiastic about finding this place that I didn’t really think about the fact that I am a vegetarian and it is a rib house, but they did have two vegetarian options, so that suited me well. Inside the establishment, it sort of looked like an American diner, and I love that vibe. I could see myself coming in with my laptop and sitting down for a long writing session. Below, you can see one of the booths I would love to sit down in and write a book about the Governor’s daughter!

While we were in the restaurant, I was taking a lot of photos with my phone, and my brother told me that if I didn't stop, he would leave. So, I stopped, but I managed to get these two cool shots before my photography operations were shut down.

Finding the Lone Star Rib House chain of restaurants was something I believe will somehow make a difference in the writing of my novel, but I wanted more. So I searched around to see what other Texas-themed places were in Adelaide. I discovered that we actually have a Honky Tonk bar here called Shotgun Willie's. It's in Gilbert Place, and from their website, it looks like a lot of fun, but it also appears to be geared towards people maybe 20 years younger than me. However, I saw that on the second Thursday of every month, they offer free line dancing classes, so that is something I might check out at some point.

The free line dancing classes got me thinking about line dancing itself, and I found a place that offers classes just up the road from our house in Kensington every Tuesday night. I might stick my nose in one night and see what it's all about. The last Texas-themed place I found in Adelaide is a diner quite close to Rebecca's house called Texas Diner. I think I may have had some food from there before, but it wouldn’t hurt to drop in every now and then to get into the vibe.

Just over a week ago, my friend Andrew and I went to see Blade Runner at the Festival Theatre. They showed the movie on a big screen and had a group of musicians playing and enhancing the music live. It was so good—I loved it. The musos loved it too; they really got into it. I think I had seen Blade Runner before, but so long ago that I could only remember tiny little pieces of it. Sometimes I think I hadn’t seen it at all and was just going off bits I’d seen referenced in other shows, but regardless, it all felt new and fresh to me.

I think Andrew assumed I’d seen it, and I didn’t tell him otherwise. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything, but we had such a good night. There were so many people there—I think the stalls were close to packed out. Below, you can see photos of the sign out the front both in the daytime when we arrived and at night when we left, as well as a piccy of the inside of the theatre before the movie started.

Something I love about the Festival Theatre is that they have some pretty impressive artwork hanging on the walls. During this particular trip, I took notice of the political artwork. Below, you can see two pieces that depict former South Australian Labor Premier Don Dunstan. The first one, titled "Don Dunstan," is by Clifton Pugh and is a digital print on canvas. The second one, titled "Captain Adelaide," is by Nigel Murray-Harvey and is synthetic polymer paint on canvas.

The next piece of political art was of our current Foreign Minister, Senator Penny Wong. It is titled "The Senator and Ma" and was painted by Tianli Zu using acrylic on linen. This particular painting depicts Senator Wong as two people: first as a Senator and secondly, and most importantly, as a mother.

The last political painting I captured during my recent visit was a digital print on paper and a reproduction of an original oil painting on canvas. The subject is Steele Hall, and the painting is titled "Former Premier Steele Hall" by Robert Hannaford. As I understand it, Steele Hall was not a bad bloke.

The last thing I wanted to share with you is about mosaics. I have been going to classes on Monday and Wednesday nights, fitting them around other meetings I have on those nights. I absolutely love going, and even though it’s an hour’s drive to get there, I think I would drive two hours just because I love it so much. I think my teacher thinks I've lost my mind because I keep buying sheets of glass and cutting them into small little pieces, but I’ve been doing that because I want to master the art of cutting glass.

I’ve started working on a piece I showed earlier in this blog that I began about twelve years ago. It’s of the anatomy of the human heart. I got started with it because of the idea of “chambers of the heart, chambers of law,” but now I just like the idea of finishing it. Some of the women in the class have become very interested in my piece, and one lady even showed me on the drawing where she had surgery. She said something like, “I had my left ventricle moved to the aorta.” That definitely wasn’t what she said, but whatever it was, I didn’t understand.

I told my brother how I didn’t understand what she was saying, and he had a massive go at me, saying I was creating artwork without knowing what it was. He then went on to say I wasn’t living with passion and gave me a huge lecture. But that’s where I can say he is wrong. I do live with passion, and his lecture hasn’t inspired me to live with more passion—maybe just to make it clearer to those around me what my passion is.

Below, you can see two photos of the glass I’ve been cutting and my anatomy of the heart, yet to be completed.

Below, you can see a piece of glass cut to an average size, and the smaller piece is the size I want to work with for future endeavours. I love tiny pieces of glass for mosaics. However, for the anatomy of the heart piece, I’m going to stick with the larger ones.

Peace Be With You

Nanny's funeral was held at the Lithuanian church on Saturday, the 19th of October. It was so surreal going to the church without Nanny, as I have been there with her so many times before. There was a big turnout of her extended family and the Lithuanian community, which I know she would have been very happy with. My brother came back from London for the funeral, so I went with him and my mother.

As the service began, the church choir sang a song in Lithuanian, and that set me off. My brother Bryan and I had written short speeches and were to speak, and I was very worried that I wouldn't be able to hold it together. Nanny's daughter Pam got up and spoke first; she started crying initially and couldn't compose herself. My friend Rebecca, who is her daughter, got up and stood up front with her, and she eventually got the words out.

Then my brother and I were up. I asked Bryan to come and stand next to me as I spoke first. When I started speaking, I had to push the words out through the lump in my throat. I wavered a little and I almost lost it, but then I somehow managed to get a rhythm going and said the body of the speech without crying. At the end, I said, "Nanny was my best friend, and her passing had left a huge hole in my life. I love her and I miss her." I really stumbled through that. I then went and sat down, and my brother spoke.

I love my brother, and I really feel bad for him because this was the third funeral he has spoken at this year—all for VIPs in his life. But the way he spoke was like he was doing stand-up. Don't get me wrong; he wasn't cracking jokes, it’s just that he was quite casual, wasn’t using notes, and looked at the congregation so much that it was almost a little bit awkward. I didn’t tell him that, but it was just an observation I made.

After we all spoke, members of the Lithuanian church community spoke about the huge contribution she had made and how respected she was amongst them all. This is something that would have meant the world to her, as it was such a huge part of her life and she gave so much of her time and herself to it. There was then a full Catholic mass. I surprised myself by how much of the service I knew and knew what to say at times. I think that’s because I went to a Catholic school for a year, and I’ve spent time at different masses throughout my life.

Sometimes, when they say "peace be with you," people turn around and shake hands, and there’s a lot of love around the place. In saying that, I’ve noticed that more in Anglican services. At this particular service, people turned around and nodded their heads, saying "peace be with you." I have decided that at the next Catholic mass I go to, it would be appropriate for me to hold up the two-finger peace sign during this time to my fellow congregation members.

When it comes to communion, as I have not been baptised or confirmed, I tend to go up for a blessing. To get the blessing, you generally have to cross your arms across your chest to indicate to the priest that you would just like a blessing. I was trying to explain this to my brother when the priest said it himself. It was all fairly self-explanatory, and both my brother Bryan and I were blessed by Yahweh. While I am not a fan of Yahweh, I sometimes behave myself at church to get in his good graces.

My brother and I, along with Nanny's four biological grandchildren, were pallbearers, and we somewhat awkwardly escorted her coffin out of the church. Then we had to carry her to the hearse. While we were carrying her to the hearse, I had an out-of-body experience. I could not believe what was happening. I was with Nanny's four grandchildren and my brother, all of whom I have known since the day I was born, and we were saying goodbye to someone who was everything to most of us. I couldn’t believe I was carrying her and that she wasn’t with us at the Lithuanian church.

I was so glad when all of the formalities were over. I’m afraid I’m just not equipped for this sort of thing. I didn’t want to feel or experience what was happening. I didn’t want it to be real.

Afterward, we all went inside to the church hall. My mother, brother, and I sat at a table on our own, and everyone else tended to sit in family and church community groups. As the food was laid out on one of the tables, people flocked to it like seagulls.

We were sitting at this table, and Rebecca, Pam, and lots of people came and spoke to us. I said to my brother that I wanted this day to be over. He got a bit annoyed and said he had come all the way from London and wanted to go and talk to people. I told him there was no hurry at all; we would wait for him as long as it took. I was more making the comment in passing.

Directly opposite me, a few tables over, was Roger. Roger is Nanny's sister's daughter's husband—so, Nanny's niece's husband. Nanny's niece died, I think, just over a year ago now. When I first met Nanny's niece Melinda and her husband Roger, it was over 20 years ago now. They were both ten or so years older than me. He was this big, heavyish set, tall South African with a sexy accent, and I said to Rebecca at the time that I wanted to meet a man like that. I was incredibly attracted to him, although, of course, I didn't want anything from him because he was with his wife Melinda at the time.

Melinda was such a cool chick; she was friendly and bubbly, and I was so sad to hear that she had died of cancer. I had seen her since our first meeting, but I hadn't seen him until last year at Nanny's 90th birthday. Melinda had just died, and I spent a lot of time at the party just looking at him, trying to build up the nerve to go and give my condolences, but I was somehow attracted to him again.

Seeing him at Nanny's funeral with his daughter triggered the attraction again, and I couldn't bring myself to go and say hi, let alone give my condolences about Melinda. I made eye contact with him once or twice, but once Bryan had finished talking to everyone, we decided to go home.

Below, you can see two photos I took at the church. The first one was in the hall, of a woman in traditional Lithuanian dress at a spinning machine, and the second is of a sculpture carving type thing on the outside wall of the church.

I never really use Facebook. I use it for an organisation I run their page for, but my own private page I haven't really engaged with in years. When we got home from the funeral, I decided to send a friend request to Roger, and I also wrote an accompanying note. I said how sorry I was about Melinda and that she was a beautiful soul. I told him how I was too shy to go up to him and say hi but that I remembered when we met over 20 years ago.

He accepted my friend request and wrote back to me, and we got into a conversation. We ended up talking for over eight hours. We talked about the loss of his wife, his work—which is turbine work with oil and gas, as well as fly-in, fly-out shutdowns for half of the year. We talked about him a lot, but not really about me. I asked him a lot of questions about his life, but he didn't really ask about me much.

He believes the world is flat and the moon landing was faked. He also believes there are cameras everywhere recording everything we all do. My friend Mariah, who works at the Planetarium, would have annihilated this guy with the flat earth and moon landing claims, and I myself can't understand how people can honestly think that in this day and age, but I was lapping it up. I also made a joke that anyone watching my life 24/7 would be incredibly bored, but he seems to think it is real.

Something else he said was that the media is set up to control us with the stories they report and all of that kind of thing. Politicians, puppets—it was this full-on conspiracy theory. I don't judge anyone's belief; I like ancient astronaut theory myself, but what he was saying sounded like paranoid delusions. Which, again, I do not judge, but it's hard to have a rational conversation with someone who's talking like that.

But you want to know a secret? I didn't care. In this instance, the man's overt masculinity and the 20 year echo of his deep sexy South African accent overrode the ridiculousness of what he was saying. 

We talked a few more times, and to be honest, I got a bit of a thrill every time we spoke until one day we started talking about how racist Nanny was. There is no doubt about it—she was extremely racist. She didn’t like Black people, Asians, Jews—anyone that was different, really. I was deeply against her prejudices, and I don’t view them as a difference of opinion; I view racism as an injustice, and there is no place for it in this world. In her instance, it was a generational thing, though. And I know I have just made an excuse for her, but at her core, she was not a bad person, and it’s just one of those things I overlooked.

When Roger and I were talking about that, he said that people often think he is racist. But he says he’s not. He says he is “sure there are some good ones (Black people),” and he will talk to them and work with them; he just won’t let them in his house. I knew after he said that, that I couldn’t continue talking to him, but I didn’t say goodbye straight away. As I did with Nanny, I overlooked it for a minute, but then after a few days, I made the decision that there is no room for someone like that in my life.

One of my best friends, Maiki, is a Black man, and my good friend Mariah has a beautiful daughter who is half Nigerian. How could I look them in the eye while talking to a racist pig like Roger? Once I made the decision I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, I didn’t message him again, and strangely, he must have got the vibe because he hasn’t messaged me either. 

Completely Exposing Himself

It’s 2:52am on Saturday, October 12. I'm sitting here at the desk in my room at the Intercontinental, and I have the curtains open. Below, you can see a photo of the view from one of the windows. If you look closely, you will notice a couple of people walking across the bridge, which surprised me at this time.

I still have this sickly feeling in my stomach after Nanny's death. My brother is flying in from London on Thursday for her funeral, and we have been asked to speak. We have also been asked to be pallbearers, along with Nanny's biological grandchildren. I figure my emotions will go one of two ways on the day: I'll either be super emotional or not emotional at all. I expect it will be the former.

Nanny would not like me staying here at the Intercontinental because I'm too scared to stay at the house by myself. She would have been so angry and told me not to: (a) waste the money on the hotel and (b) talk about such nonsense. Nanny, of course, would have let me stay at her house, which I would have done, but that's not a possibility now.

I’ll tell you one thing she would have hated: I ordered a bowl of ice cream with chocolate topping earlier, and it cost me $26. That isn't as expensive as other food I've purchased here through room service, but I thought $26 was particularly ridiculous. Below, you can see the ice cream.

I’ve been thinking about my mother’s experience at an all-girls school and comparing it with my own. She went to Seymour College—back then, I believe it was called PGC. She was a boarder, and she absolutely loved it. She still has her core group of friends from those days, and they all meet a couple of times a year.

Out of the eight schools I attended, three were private all-girls schools. Two of them were fine, but one of them was awful. If I ever had a daughter, I would have never sent her to St Peter’s Girls’ School. The culture there is incredibly bitchy, and while I was never formally bullied, I was very deliberately excluded and made to feel unwelcome by the other students.

The girls there were incredibly mean, and I’ve never felt so strongly that I didn’t belong somewhere in my life. I started at Saints in Year 8, and I was sent there against my will because I loved Scotch and had to leave all of my friends—and my whole life there—when we moved house. I wasn’t used to an all-girls environment, but everything else felt familiar, like the uniforms, especially the hats we had to wear in public at all times. Saints is an Anglican school, and every morning before classes we had chapel, where the entire school attended a service before going about the day.

At Scotch, I had been in the cool group of girls. We weren’t smoking cigarettes or pot at that age, but we were still considered popular. In junior school, they called us the BP’s—the Bitch Patrol—but by Year 7 our image softened. When I started at St Peter’s Girls’, I didn’t have any friends. I wasn’t pretty or athletic; I think I was a bit of a weirdo. At lunchtime, I would sit alone in the library, not reading novels but flicking through textbooks. The popular girls excluded me from everything—classwork, lunchtime groups, and any kind of social interaction. Sometimes, they even laughed at me.

I remember one girl whose name was Holly. She made a comment to me during art class that has stuck with me all this time. We were all sitting around a table making something, and Holly said I reminded her of an actress in a movie called Heavenly Creatures. Someone else commented that the particular actress was really ugly—which, by the way, she is not, but I’m just repeating what was said during art class. Holly just looked at me and said, "Yes, I know." I said to her, "That's not very nice," and she just responded, "I'm just telling the truth." All the girls around the table laughed. Holly had this incredibly nasty look on her face, and I'll never forget it.

When I got home from school that night, I went to my room and cried a lot.

I think my unhappiness at Saints had a lot to do with why my parents moved me to Loreto at the end of Year 9. It was an elitist school that seemed to celebrate nastiness and had a culture of exclusion and singling out anyone who was different. I'm friends with some of the girls I went to school with on Facebook, and I see they've sent their daughters there, and I can't help but feel bad for them. I hope they have a successful educational journey, but the school reminds me of so many reasons why women can be so awful to other women. More often than not, they were awful to me.

I’m not a victim of those days, but I do think my experience at St Peter’s Girls’ School helped shape who I am today. It taught me how I want to treat people, and it set a standard for how I like to be treated in return—though I’m not always as strict about enforcing that for myself as I should be.

Shifting from Saints Girls to Loreto felt like running from a big, nasty monster straight into the arms of someone loving, gentle, and safe. My year at Loreto was one of my favourites, and the girls there more than made up for the genuinely horrible ones at Saints.

Tonight I’ve also been thinking about something else. When I was a young kid, my friend Melanie and I went for a sleepover at another friend’s house — Emma’s.

The three of us had our sleeping bags laid out in a circle and her Father came in to read us a story. While he was doing this, his dick was hanging out of his boxer shorts.

I can't remember him touching it, but he was looking at it and it was extremely confusing. I just remember looking at him. Really looking at his face and at his dick too. I was scared and I went to see Emma's mother in her bedroom and asked her if I could go home. She said I couldn't, telling me my parents were out that night and there was no way to reach them. 

The next morning when my parents were picking me up, I can recall his dick dangling out of the same boxer shorts as he packed up my sleeping bag. But there was something not right about how the night before, he sat there in such close quarters reading a book to the three of us—completely exposing himself.

I never spoke to my parents about it and only told Nanny really just to tell her I’d seen a dick.  She told my Mum who then said I wouldn’t be going over to Emma's house anymore and I thought that was it.

However, the other girl who was at the house that night, Melanie, told her parents, and they called the police. We were both sent to specialised counsellors, and he ended up going to court. Apparently, he was a serial exposer, but I don’t think he ever served any jail time.

Majestic Creatures

It’s 2:00am on Friday, the 11th of October, and I’m lying here in my room at the Intercontinental. I’m staying here for two nights while Mum is away in the Riverland because I didn’t want to stay in the house alone. The Socceroos just had a big match against China, which they won 3-1. And a man in the lift told me that the Socceroos are staying here at the Intercontinental, which I thought was a bit exciting. It makes me wish I were young and sexy so I could go down and flirt with them at the bar. Below, you can see a photo of my bed, and out of my window, you can see people walking across the bridge to Adelaide Oval for the match.

I am absolutely outraged at Adelaide Zoo. Yesterday, they euthanised their two lions. The first was Mujambi, a 19-year-old male who had a medical episode over the weekend. I understand that if he was seriously unwell, euthanising him could have been the kindest thing to do. But then they euthanised his partner of 16 years, 23-year-old Amani, claiming that "the negative welfare and aspects of her life without Mujambi were determined to outweigh any positives of remaining alone." Essentially, they are saying she couldn’t live without him.

Adelaide Zoo director Dr. Phil Ainsley stated, "In the case of lions, they are a social species, and the likelihood of safely moving or integrating Amani into another pride or environment was considered too risky and stress-provoking."

Here’s what The Advertiser reported online:

Zoos SA Chief Executive Elaine Bensted explained that the decision to euthanise was unanimous among Adelaide Zoo’s animal care team after considering the pair’s health and age.

“They were a bonded pair, they were both aged, they were both under medical treatment for quite some time, and we didn’t want what might have been Amani’s last months to be spent pining for the male she had been partnered with for so long,” Bensted said.

“It was a decision made with the welfare of the animals in mind, and now we wrap our arms around our staff and volunteers.”

I recognise that an extensive decision-making process would have been involved, particularly when euthanising Amani, who was elderly but relatively healthy. However, that was wrong. She may have been stressed and grieving, but she still had life left to live. Taking her life away because she couldn’t live without her mate is nothing short of criminal. Who are they to say she couldn’t have found some sort of meaningful life without him? It may not have been ideal, but it would have been life. They are playing God, and I believe someone should be held accountable for this.

The zoo is managed by the Royal Zoological Society of South Australia (Zoos SA), and it receives funding from the South Australian government and private sources.  Taxpayer dollars help fund the zoo’s operations, and I feel their incompetence is unacceptable. The ultimate goal of any living creature is to live. Do you think park rangers in the wild kill widowed lions because they believe the animal can’t live without their deceased mate? She may have missed him, but taking her life for that is another matter entirely. The should have at least given her a chance.

I have never been a fan of zoos; there is something grotesque about locking up these beautiful animals so we humans can gawk at them. Even those born in captivity can be released into sanctuaries or rehabilitation programs that prepare them to live in the wild. But I still visit zoos in solidarity with the animals. I believe we should create holographic zoos where people, particularly children, can engage with lifelike holograms. Zoos claim to be about conservation—well, holographic zoos would present a great opportunity to promote conservation through education and interaction.

This has really upset me. These beautiful, majestic creatures have been messed with by the staff at the Adelaide Zoo.

Whenever I read about something controversial like this, I try to assume there must have been an extremely compelling reason behind the decision. But in this case, I believe the Adelaide Zoo made the wrong choice—and now, they will have to live with that decision and what it means for the zoo’s legacy.