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Wednesday, January 29, 2003
If I ever get AIDS, I'm killing myself. Gay pride, empowerment, and rights can go fuck themselves and then wipe their bloody butt-fucked ass on the Rainbow Flag, I don't care. If an AIDS test comes back positive, I'm eating a bullet.

I already look like I have AIDS (or that I am a heroin addict), why would I want to lose more weight and get bigass lesions all over my face and body? Who do you think I am, Matthew Kopp (love your work, buddy! Keep searching me!)?

I suppose you're wondering why I've suddenly pondered the nature of STDs. Is the sex-drought broken? Has the cemented-up dam wall been penetrated, washing away my prior patheticness in a sea of creamy white man-o-naise? Uhm, no (and I'm totally considering removing Coles Dude from my LOVES list entirely, cunting hot-muscled ripped pretty-boy jackass). We are just still on Channel Ten's yearly cycle, and Philidelphia was on. It's probably the only film I like in Tom Hanks' repertoire, and yet I still can't watch it. He is just so. Damn. Ugly.

Luckily Dangerous Minds was on, so I watched that instead. Damn, it's a great movie. Rocking out to Coolio, hideous and low class teen actors? Sweet. I can't tell which is better, Dangerous Minds, or Sister Act II. Which one has the sassier black kids who have emotional strength and talent despite their hardships and obstacles?

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Friday, January 24, 2003
I saw 8 Mile the other night. So good. Is it wrong to be a well-educated, "sexually alternative", upperclass male who is a "fan" of Eminem, a supposed homphobic misogynistic asshole? I can't help it! He just looks like he'd be a really good ride. And you see his ass in the movie. Sigh, I'm so easy. Okay, the character he plays is probably like a watered-down version of himself: if you saw the movie you'd want to fuck him too. He's protective and loving of his sister, who he treats like his daughter, he's protective of his fucked-up mother, and he has a gay friend/workmate who he stands up for in a wicked rap-battle thing! Plus, dark hair really suits him. Man I'm desperate to be boning up over Eminem.

That night though, I had a dream about a more "suitable" celebrity: Vin Diesel. Which is weird, because I have never seen any of his movies, and I don't really rate him on Dawei's Hot-o-Metre (okay, he's about a 6). But the dream was really vivid. We had just gotten over some virus that was spreading around the UQ campus (in fact I rubbed an emaciated Seth Green's back while he hurled into some bushes!). Vin thought he was getting sick again, so I gave him a hug and he kissed my cheek. So of course I immediately started macking on him.

Classy.

Actually, in my dream I rubbed my... ahem... boner into his stomach straight away. That is a big move for me! In real life, I never do that. I always check the other person first to see if they are aroused first. I've gotten quite good at twisting my lower body this way and that, until my hand reaches and discovers hot throbbing manstaff. Either skin-to-skin contact or through their pants. Or better yet, just through some sexy underwear. Droooool.

Ack. I need a cold shower. Excuse me.

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Sunday, January 19, 2003
You know something? I don't think I'm half as popular as I think I am.

Last night, while hanging out with five of my good friends from first year uni, I found out that pretty much everyone new I meet hates me. Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement, but one told me that most people hated me at the New Year's party. Like, what the fuck? I thought I was being nice! Actually, I can't even remember talking to anyone really, other than a few people I knew. I might have been rude to them, but they already know my style, and know that I jest because I love. Oh, so I insulted the host's punch. But everyone was! It tasted like V-to the-O-M-I-T.

I just don't see why these people didn't like me. One stupid bitch even wore my sparkly party hat into the city, and hugged me when I left! Stupid cunt. Apparently she's meant to be this affluent snob, so maybe she was threatened by my splendour. I exude my superiority through non-flashy opulence: far classier than her tacky attempted Gucci number from Cue and her three seasons too late haircut from JustCuts. But really, should jealousy be expressed through hostility?

At any rate, I don't really care that these wannabe plebs didn't warm to me. I've made some really solid friendships immediately with really cool fun people who like me! Well, one of those went down the toilet it would seem. Stupid Cheekbones. The scary part of this info I got last night, was that apparently one of them wanted to kick the shit out of me because I was gay. Like, the fuck? I don't consider myself a campy guy. In fact, I'm hardly the stereotype at all. Well, I dress impeccable and have exquisite taste (and use the word "exquisite")... but I don't have a huge lisp, feminine hand gestures, wanky spirituality, a warbly multi-toned speech pattern, or any of that shit. I certainly don't go around crooning all the straight guys trying to woo them to my ways. AS IF! They all had beards. Okay, that sounds pretty gay, but I'm not like that when I talk!

So what was this dumbass' problem with me then? I wouldn't have thought they would have thought (woah) I was that way inclined, unless someone told them. Fools. But whatever the reason, it was a bit of a sad wakeup call. Luckily most people I associate with socially are upperclass/well-educated people who know better, or people from the more alternate social-scene who are all for alternate lifestyles. I've never been subjected to homophobia, and I'll be fucked if that's going to start now!

It does make me worry though, as I'm afraid that in social situations I'll start censoring myself, constantly worried something I say and do would be considered too camp. Even though I'm not queenie, I should have the right to be so! In some regards I'm lucky, because I never had any sexuality issues, and never really cared one way or the other if I didn't like pussy. I suppose though I was looking through rose-tinted glasses at the world though. I thought homophobia was becoming a thing of the past, but I'm starting to realise that there are some total deadshits out there. Hopefully in a few years I'll wield enough power to crush them. Or I should take up kickboxing.

I suppose the thing I've realised is why gay-scenes exist. I used to think that they were all about sex. I never really liked the scene, and prefer playing pool and drinking beer with friends, than sliding up and down on some oiled-up shirtless musclegod on a cum-sticky floor while Kylie wails over the speakers (although I have been known to *ahem* participate in both those activities). Also, I rarely like any gay people at all. I mean, more than just sex. But now I see that I guess they feel safe in those environments. Am I the slowest person in the world? Don't answer that.

Sigh, people really suck sometimes.

Oh, and props to the count if she made it this
far.

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Thursday, January 16, 2003
Mojitos.

Status: Top of Dawei's LOVES list.

Ingredients: 2 shots Bacardi; mint sprigs; 1 1/2 tsp sugar; 1/2 a lime, quartered; ice; soda water.

Method: Put the mint sprigs and sugar in a glass. Squeeze the lime quarters and drop in rinds. Mash vigorously! Add icecubes and Bacardi. Shake and strain over ice. You can skip that for a more pond-y, peasant texture. Both are good! Top up with soda water, and drink by a tropical laguna with many semi clad a. muscle-ripped bohunks, or b. big-boobied nymphets.

Goddamn, they are so good. Two mates and I went through an entire bottle of Bacardi making them. In addition to that, we had a bottle of cheap-pleb red at a dinner of spicy-assed Thai. I was, shall we say, très shitfaced. It was all good though. One of my friends had an Orgazomotron, I used it. Often. It fucking rocks, it's hilarious. It's like this huge thin metal spider thing that scrapes down your scalp and encompasses your head, and you seriously do feel all orgasmic. It's brilliant. He, of course, has a stunning model-esque girlfriend, so what he needs with this device I do not know. I'm so pathetic I don't even have any masturbatory devices.

Hmmph.

Anyway, as the formula goes: spicy Thai + cheap red + plethora of delicious cocktails = freaky trip dreams.

This one was mean though, as it was about Cute Coles Dude (recently bumped down to #3 on my LOVES list, asshole). Obviously aware of my annoyance with the MIA checkout-chick, my brain decided to make him totally ugly: an unfortunate shaved head, monobrow, and shorter stature featured. The crushing blow though? I had read all the signs wrong, and he was heterosexual, and dating the obese manager bitch! What a frightening thought! My gaydar be off? Him NOT liking me?!

The real trippy part of the dream though, was I was shopping in Coles with my hair artiste's hairwasher, who was going to dye my hair. We needed supplies like a kiddie swimming pool and a mop... but seeing as that part isn't about sex or any part of my life really, I shall just gloss over it I think. Probably it was the important part of the dream, but eh.

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Tuesday, January 14, 2003
So Godzilla was on the other night. What a fucking abysmal movie. Not only are there larger holes than the size of *insert gay person's name here*'s much-pounded arsehole in the plot, but to weaken the monster, the writer's gave Godzilla human emotions. So when it finds all its babies dead, she nuzzles one in an attempt to wake it up. It always makes me cry. God DAMN I'm such a sap. Which is weird, because today I watched Requiem For a Dream, and didn't really flinch at the "graphic" scenes. Oh, the double-headed dildo was gross, but watching the icky cheering men slide two condoms and lube it up was much fouler than watching the arses (arsei?) of the two 'hos thrust. Plus, y'know, Jared Leto is totally hot. Even with only one arm, and one plaster chicken wing.

Also:

ATTENTION SEARCH FOR A SUPERMODEL'S MATTHEW KOPP!

I know it's you, because who else would search for your own name, and get here like, six times? If you want the references to you, they are here. Please comment and stick around a while!

If anyone still cares about the Search for a Supermodel contestents (HA!), you might like to try looking here or here or here or the Australian Vogue forums at all, really. Not that anyone does, as they all sucked. Except Kerry Doyle. Oh, and that chick (Kate O'Connell?) with the fluro hair, whose fringe was raped at the climax of the show. Damn, she should have cut his balls off for that.

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Monday, January 13, 2003
Dude, Bird on a Wire is on again this week? Give it up, Channel 10. How many times do we have to see Goldie's crack when she's climbing that cunting ladder?

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Sunday, January 12, 2003
Seen: the big loser of Popstars 3, James Campbell (affectionately nick-named by yours truly at TWoP "Obviously Gay Dude") as a grinning extra in the Scooby Doo movie. Heeee. He mills around in the background for a bit, wearing a red tshirt and then makes a "shocked" face at a monster. Actually, it's more like he shakes his head and sort of points. A great actor he ain't.

Dear OGD: Please don't turn to that medium now that your music career died a swift death. Just come by my house and look pretty. All my love, Dawei.

You can't even really see him very clearly, but I would have recognised that gnarled fang smile and massive hair anywhere. Actually, he had a proper mullet! He must have sliced off the bottom four inches and stuck it onto his fringe before he auditioned for Popstars. In the deleted scenes thing (gotta love DVDs), his "big scene" is extended somewhat, and he can be seen walking into the room, clapping and grinning in his oh-so-special twisted fang way at Velma who is draped over the piano singing a love song to Daphne. Seriously, that's what it looks like! Those wacky lesbians obviously never miss subtext, and I will never doubt them again!

(In non-mocking fashion, I must point out that local actress, Queenie van de Zandt who featured in plays at La Boite Theatre had a scene cut as well, which is a shame, as she rocks. Michala Banas also had a little part, but I'm sure you'd rather read about her in Always Greener, non?)

Scooby Doo was generally fairly decent though. Maybe I'm just a huge dork, but it was satisfying to see Queensland locations on the bigscreen. And they shot a scene (the opening bit) about five minutes from my house! Rats! I could have stalked Sarah Michelle Gellar... or Pamela Anderson. Hm, actually, my love for Sarah died when she made the biggest cringe-worthy moment in the Scooby Doo experience: in the cast commentary, she perked how Isla Fischer is this "absolutely huge star in Australia". Uhm, not. Because she was in Homos and Gays? Hardly. Shut up Sarah.

In other news, you know that new Dominos ad? With all the dots? Where they play Twister? You know that guy who mixes up the phat beats on the mixer and waves his hands?

HOT.

Stupid fetish for tall strapping dark haired men.

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Thursday, January 09, 2003
I've become such a domestic. Seriously, my social life died with 2002. All I need are velcro hair curlers and some fluffy pink slippers to wear with a terry-towelling robe. I can be fun! I can be cute! I can be charming (well, in my acidic way)! Where the fuck is everyone? I think I have B.O or something. All my friends always abandon me! I mean, I don't really care about them but they might know hot people who I could have sex with.

In this week of loserness, I've tasted the life of a stay-at-home mum (without the gross kids, of course). I've COOKED. Last night I made this bitchin' lasagne, and today I whipped up this weird Lemon Souffle-y thing I found in an old box of my grandmother's recipes. It's good in that I feel like I'm accomplished something, and through creating something the whole family can enjoy, I am encouraging love vibes and familial harmony and prosperity. (Obviously watching Oprah is another thing a stay-at-home mums/Losers do). However, I can feel my ass expanding and I feel hideous and repulsive and my hair is way too curly and a hideous colour and no wonder noone is calling me I look like a fucking troll!

No wonder stay-at-home mums are all depressed and drown their babies. It's a fucking vicious cycle of ugliness. Social leper, boredom, eating and TV binge, more "voluptuous" build, more social leper-ness.

Do you think anyone hot will be studying French this year? Besides me, I mean?

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Sunday, January 05, 2003
I think I'm addicted to my tracker thing. It is just this endless source of amusement for me. For example, I think the IQ of the average House of Debauchery and Bee-yotchingite is about the same as the temperature of a tepid bowl of oatmeal. The most popular search is "www.worldclock.com". Those trying to find International times can look here. But really, how dumb are these people? Don't they know you are meant to put the URL in that line thingy up the top, and not into a search engine? Or are they looking for documents which mention worldclock.com. In which case, I hope they are sated by my tale about me getting an SMS on my birthday.

Meanwhile, today was the best kind of Sunday. It's raining, so I don't feel guilty about not doing anything; I can just sit here and do the things you are MEANT to do on a Sunday. Things like reading, napping, watching my ass expand as I eat copious amounts of corn chips, and fantasising about bed-slammin' a hunktacular babe took priority. Normal Sunday behaviour. Of course, my hunktacular reverie was shattered by my ass-y parents. Uh, shouldn't you be out saving LIVES? Anyway, we have this drive from our place to the street, and along it grows this bushy hedge thing. So of course Mum bee-yotches in true Dawei measure that I have to get off said rapidly expanding ass and go trim it. UGH! There are thorns in there! And wildlife with creepy yellow eyes! Luckily though, as I complete about one hundredth of the mammoth task, my parents start bitching at each other in the manner of Teri and Ian from The Amazing Race! Mum snatches the keys, loads the dog into the back, and blitzes off to "walk him", almost crushing Dad's toes. Dad himself snits off in my car (hmm, still not impressed with that one) to go see his mother.

Hurrah! I am saved! I promptly strip off and go for a quick skinny-dip in the pool.

Aaaah, Gotta love Sundays in suburbia.

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Friday, January 03, 2003
Bah. I am, as we say in French, tres bored. I'm meant to be going to this ultratrendy bar tonight, but I have to wait for the friend I'm meeting up with first to call at like, 9.30pm. Yawn. Why should my social schedule be disrupted just because one of my cunting friends decides that he has to work until 9 on Fridays? Cunting Late Night Shopping. I am pretty excited though, as it's cocktails for this girl I haven't seen in AGES, and she is totally like a female me. We get along so well, even when we rarely see each other. It's just nice to know someone who you feel totally comfortable with. Unfortunately she is going out with the son of one of my Dad's work partners, so I am always a bit jumpy that some of my more embarrassing gossip will filter through to him. But she's all about the Passions and 7-11 Slurpees so I ignore that possibility.

But now I'm nervous. Rats. I think I just need to get laid. Preferably with a hung sweaty dirty Hobbit gay Elijah Dominic Monaghan fag LOTR type person. Sorry, just trying to direct more of that particular interest group my way through some of the more hilarious Google searches I get. What is the fascination with gay Hobbits? Is it because they are small and can burrow into small places with ease and vigour? Or is it more in the hope that the gay community may finally see a healthy gay couple in Elijah Wood and Dominic Monaghan? Why does Monaghan have "Trees" written on his hands? Because they've been in the Wood, per chance? Ew. I hope that he just scribbles them on, and they aren't tatoos.

*stares at phone* Hurry. UP.

PS -- If I run into my ColesCrush tonight I am throwing myself at him. But I wont sleep with him on the first night. I'm not a slut.

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