Reasons you will hate me

The day in question.

This is what happened last weekend. Just for those who asked*.




1. I voted.
At Northcote High School. I wore my John Howard Lies t-shirt and a defiant expression and my ex-husband came with me. We smiled unfailingly at the Greens people and the kindly Labor folk and I was all ready to spit seven kinds of vitriol on whatever fucker dared to proffer a Lib how-to-vote card my way. You know how you work out all those good things to say in your head beforehand? My mum chooses a firm: 'No thank you', followed by a steely, don't-fuck-with-me glare. Which, if you know my mum, would make you wet your fucking pants as soon as look at her. Others take a card and then slowly rip it to pieces in front of the trembling Liberal's face. I had something along the lines of 'suck cocks in hell you bitch-raped whore' worked out, when I realised too late that the Libs had duped me by sending over an incredibly cute twelve-year-old Asian girl .
Who can swear at someone who looks like they'd be more comfortable giggling and flashing their knickers at businessmen? Despite what you may think, I have a heart. I couldn't do it. But you can bet your fucking arse I gave her mother what-for when I discovered her hiding on a fold-out chair some yards back.
This proves what I've always known. Liberals are fucking pussies. How many people did you see walking around on Election Day with 'Go John, Go!' or 'Four On The Floor!' t-shirts on? Fuckers.


2. I bought some cupcakes.
Because after Slugger and I left the polling booths mistakenly thinking we'd changed the world (Slugger kissed his vote when he cast it), I felt like contributing to the community. So I went to the surly teenagers running a fund-raising bake-stall and made them three dollars closer to their band trip to China. You see how I give of myself?


3. I went to Triple R for the Election Call.
I was a big bag of fuck-up by the time I arrived and couldn't sit down. One tiny part of me still believed it could happen for Latho. The station's Program Manager Tracee Hutchison was in the same state as me and we kept holding onto each other and taking long slugs of wine. There was a buzz in the air that slowly dissipated as people kept trudging in from the telecast and shaking their heads sadly. Then one of the broadcasters, Phil Wales - who had been keeping my hope alive - came in and hugged me. 'It's done, mate' he said.
But still...


4. I got to speak to Bob Ellis on the phone.
Fuck. Tracee was nervous, but not as nervous as me. Bob was at home and already on his way to being liquored by the sounds of it, and making his usual erratic predictions about a Latham landslide and Howard losing his seat. He told a great story about being at the tally room during the last Election Call and being 'suicidally depressed. And then Senator Heffernan came up and he was just rejoicing all over me in a highly offensive manner, so obviously I tried to break his nose and I, I, I called him a four letter word.'
'Which word was that, Bob?' asked Tracee.
'Cunt. Cunt. I called him a cunt,' growled Bob hotly.
Oh my god. Bob Ellis saying 'cunt'. It was my equivalent of a 00555 phone call.


5. I got tizzied up.
And this was no mean feat considering I was in tears and wishing the world would be gayly raped. I can't remember the last time I ever zipped up go-go boots wiping snot from my nose and wishing I was dead. Trust me, if I wasn't one of the people throwing the party, there's no way I would have got out from under my doona cover.


6. We partied at Ding Dong.
I couldn't believe people actually showed up. But they did. There were at least a hundred people I didn't know, a hundred that I did, one certain reader of this blog (thanks for the gin and tonic, Alex) and one possible reader of this blog who sat on his own, didn't talk to anyone, and loitered near the dj booth without saying hello.
I thought CW Stoneking would depress people, but he was uplifting and oldee stylee and you should go and see him whenever you get the chance. The Phillips Sisters freaked everyone out - in a mates way - and made me smile for the first time all night. The Young Professionals were divine and I think Alex came in his pants. Me and the inimitable Clem Bastow were The Hot Fucking Bitches in our red-and-white dj set. Matching outfit hotness. Thunderstruck could have been the gayest thing ever but somehow ripped the roof off the joint. 'Angus' had a knee bandage and a balding crown which he showed us whenever he banged his head, which was often. Then DJ Karate tore it up.


7. Somehow I survived it all.
And after packing away the Polichicks merch (which now, insanely, gets another lease of life due to terrible circumstance), we went home and sat in the backyard and watched the sun come up and tried to pretend that when the papers arrived they wouldn't confirm what we all knew to be horrifically true.






*Actually, it was Jeremy . But he's someone in my world, fuck it!




29 days til Gabi comes home.
1089 days til the next election.

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