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jordan's diary
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Jordan's Diary

Greasy food smudges on my paper diary have forced me into an online diary. Now I’m pushing plastic for all the public to view. Humiliating? Always. Disturbing? I hope so. Entertaining? Potentially.

I’ve always imagined re-reading your diary is like re-visiting your own vomit, so if you would, step inside the filthy cubical of my mind, take a seat and a load off.

Archives

28/02/2005

Dear Diary,

Thank you for being here to be written in. Who else can I tell about all the sordid details of my weekend? I have approached people on my way to work, they usually tell me they don’t know me and it’s inappropriate to refer to people they’ve never met as being ‘sluts’.

The weekend has been really random. I was meeting up with a friend in the Cross for afternoon tea so I was waiting by the fountain for him and these two Swedish tourists came up to me. They asked me for directions and then where they should go clubbing that night. I told them ARQ because I was going to be there and not much else would be hopping Saturday night. I ended up giving them my number because one of them was cute and they had literally just got off the plane and didn’t know anyone. Tourists are so friendly. I’m going put a back pack on one day and wander around asking for directions, just so I can experience people at their friendliest.

So then, I’m walking back home from the Cross and I bump into these 3 really good looking girls, they tell me how cute I am (always a good start) and that I should come back to their apartment for drinks (it was about 5:30pm Saturday arvo). Eventually I say ok because one of them is a DJ. Turns out she has this full deck in her apartment and is into knitting. Interesting. I leave shortly after arriving because I had to get ready for dinner and going out. ARQ was cool, I kissed the cute Swede and he promises to meet up with me next weekend for Mardi Gras. Super. Sunday night end up at Stonewall for Polly’s Follies. Oh my dear god. Carlotta flashes the crowd her right tit and I my arse is met with many wandering hands. So tired. Go home. Sleep, wake up. Vomit. Back to sleep. What a wonderfully random weekend.

J.

25/02/2005

Dear Diary,

What a lovely day it is outside! Oh wait, I’m staring at the mural painted outside my window. I open another window, oh dear god, dismal outside. The sun is shining (so aging) there is a breeze blowing (it’s going to mess up my hair) and people are laughing in the streets, soon to be laughing at my tired face and messy hair.

Just about everyone I know has a birthday in February, which is consistent with my theory that people have a lot of sex in May around mothers day and Adelaide Cup Day. Horses make women horny surely and what better present for mothers day than making your woman a mother. Straight guys are stupid.

It’s so expensive though buying all those presents, largely because I love shopping, not my friends. I have had to borrow money from Switzerland to pay for them all and now I have a huge foreign debt. Dismay.

For breakfast I’m having the full English supermodel breakfast. I’m having a can of V, a couple of Duromine and the top off an apple muffin. I’m full thinking about it. We’re still in bikini season and I need to look my best. I have a potential date Saturday night. So it’s get-cute-by-Saturday diet time. God I’m boring myself now. I will shoot myself in the foot and when my shoe fills up with blood I will be able to get out of my chair and do something not as counter productive as meal planning. See you in the next entry.

J.