228th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday September 8th, 1999 11:16 AM
Subject: I don’t want to leave you.

Dear Stacey, I think I am addicted to you.

Over the last week I didn’t get enough of you.

I want more.

I know some would say I’ve had my fill.

But it’s not enough.

My tolerance has increased.

I need more.

See, I noticed over the last couple of days that when you left the room I started to withdraw. Even when it was the smallest of moments, I’d start to get shakey, lose a sense of self, get paranoid and truly feel sick.

How will I be when it’s days, weeks or months?

And sorry I was so grumpy on Saturday. It’s such a stupid thing to waste our precious time with a bad mood. I didn’t think it would affect me when I saw Elsa and Crisps together it hit me hard. I mean at least those craft markets have lots of places to hide but still seeing them by that pottery stall, hand in hand and laughing made me angry. Not jealous. I have to stress. It was pure anger because they had all the time in the world and we only have five days.

It’s just not fair. They don’t deserve each other.

Fuck them.

Anyway no point on dwelling on this moment, it only takes our time away.

I should start packing, but I can’t. It all seems so much. The only thing I want to take with me is you (and maybe an extra pair of socks)

Arghhhhhhh



Love

Dom

219th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday August 17th, 1999 20:31 PM
Subject: My new home

Okay here I am back in my parent’s house. It feels weird to be back. I’ve been out of home a couple of years and I’m fighting this feeling of failure as I sit at my old desk, looking at old views and smelling the residue of old dinners.

My mum was sweet about the whole thing however. She bought some comfort food – Custard Cream biscuits and bacon for some sandwiches tomorrow morning. There were clean sheets on my old bed and a Goblin Teasmaid set up so I can wake with a hot cuppa. Now there’s luxury.

My dad was sweet too. He suggested we watch some old films like we used to do when I was younger. So ‘Von Ryan’s Express’ is teed up in the machine and ready to go when I finish this email. If we’re really lucky we might even get a chance to watch‘Where Eagles Dare’ too.

To their credit, my parents have been discreet. They haven’t talked about Elsa or Crisps at all. I appreciate that.

They did ask about Oftenbark and I told them he was staying with a friend.

They hoped that maybe he could stay with them. They love Oftenbark, see.

And I imagine it’d be easier for you too.

So would it be okay if we picked him up tomorrow?

I understand he gets under your skin but you’ve done so much already and I’d hate your Real Estate to find out about him and jeopordise your home.

Now you might have noticed I called you ‘friend’ a few paragraphs up. As in ‘he was staying with a friend’—

Let me explain—

I contemplated telling them about us. But I don’t think they’d understand and though I feel a little cheap about accepting their sympathy it is nice to have the odd parental ‘there-there’.

And to be honest I know they’d judge us. They are quite old parents – now sixty. They had me late in their lives. I am their only kid. And they’re quite conservative – you know - standard bearers of the synthetic fabrics, pinapple, ham and benzadrine suburban set.

But I also know they are kind and protective and if we reveal ourselves at the right time they will embrace you. I promise.

So please don’t take it personally that I’m keeping our connection clandestine still.

You’ll get rewards in the end. Mum will introduce you to the convenience of tuppaware: So handy for little blue pills. And Dad will seduce you into some kind of rotary club while never taking off his hat. Except indoors.

So with this in mind, will it be okay if we pretend to ‘just be friends’ when we pick Oftenbark up?

I know I will find it difficult because the first thing I will want to do is kiss you. It’s been a week since I last saw you and all I want is to touch your cheek or the soft lightly freckled section between your shoulder blades. I so miss that part of you.

Anyway call me or email me back if it’s cool to pop ‘round tomorrow.

And when this is all sorted out here, I’ll fudge an allnighter excuse and defect to your apartment with a stolen toothbrush.



Miss you

Dom



PS Forgot to answer your question you asked on the phone. Yes I did end up seeing Elsa yesterday. It was awkward. She was apologetic about everything. Even us. Though she did say she still hit me if the moment happened again.

What she said she would change was how she revealed her affair with Crisps and understands that our shared friends will more than likely side with me.

I did ask her how long it’d been going on with him. She told me it had been on and off for over a year. But since your birthday they’d been seeing more of each other.

That stung, strangely. She asked about us and for some odd reason I said the same; since your birthday party.

Not sure why.

I guess I’ll never see them again. I guess that’s what getting older is all about; a training ground for losing people. They all fall away in the end, I suspect.

211th - 216th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 00:14 AM
Subject: A new day?

Okay I’ve just finished Dracula…not sure why I chose to finish that book tonight…as now I’m a little worried and think that the Count has taken you…maybe I should have finished Confederacy of Dunces instead…been trying to finish it for six months…but Bram Stoker won out in the end…

It’s funny how I do that…I never read one book at a time…I’m always reading five or six books at a time…it’s not that I don’t like them…I just want some kind of variety or something…it’s like channel surfing with lit’…and there’s always one that emerges anyway…and Dracula was that tonight…have you read it? It’s really good…I was so caught up in the other retellings of the story that I had no idea the book was so good…no one’s really made a decent film out of it…and if folk aren’t reading the book because they think they know the story already…think again, folk…you’re wrong…pick it up today and read it immediately….

Now I’m raving…can’t sleep at the best of times…and with you…out there…after Elsa said that stuff at the party…so publicly…with your friend…I keep hearing her words when she announced it – I can’t get it out of my head;

“At least he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot”

And then you told her… and she hit you… and it all feels like an afternoon American soap opera…

At least Marcus doesn’t know…

…should I tell him…?







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 03:11 AM
Subject: it’s so quiet

Don’t you love the wee small hours? It’s so quiet like you could be the last person left on earth…I’d love to be the last person left on earth…or at least the last gaggle of folk…I think that’s why I like the lighthouse doctor who episode so much…it’s like they’re the last people left on earth…actually not really…but as a kid…I fantasized about living on a lighthouse…just me… some supplies… a dog... and a healthy dose of mist…

I think I’m a little tired…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 06:59 AM
Subject: dawn

The sun is rising…haven’t slept…gone a little mad and eaten all the salty snacks in the house…I tried to sleep but couldn’t…I wanted to be here in case you called…I hope you’re okay…I’m okay…I’m wearing felt-soft terry toweling clothes…toasty warm with dinosaur slippers…sorry they where a gift from my mother…but they do growl when I walk and as much as it shouldn’t - I’m still amused by them…

I also drove around for a few hours last night…I love driving at night…no one around…just me…I have no direction, I turn when I want to turn and stop when I want to stop…I drove past your house…but the lights were off…I think I saw Crisps car…anyway I ended up by the river…I always end up by the river…north where they still have that old wooden crossing-barge-like-thing…not sure what they call them…anyway ended up there…cranked up the stereo and listened to the News….god I love singing along to the news…

“Everybody now… hundreds dead in a Chinese Mud slide… He-di-hee...hi-di-ha...”

Okay that’s just poor taste…the garbage trucks are now in the street….men with fat voices yelling over the loud mechanics…clash of tin and metal and the stink of rotten food and lavender bin liners…okay now I am truly raving…I might put my head down…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:21AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Maybe you’ll be at work (kinda just wrote that twice – once in the subject and now in message line itself…fuck, Stacey…why are you rationalizing and telling him everything…whatever…just thought you might be at work…you start at 9:00, hey? Okay, I’m going to try you at work…

I wonder if Oftenbark knows where you are…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: oftenbark < mailto:ofentbark@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 07:37 AM
Subject: Where’s Dom?

Oftenbark, do you know where Dom is? Give him a lick for me if you see him...

(Sorry that sounds wrong)

I’m going to sleep now…good boy…good girl…good us…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:59AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Okay, I think I’ve worked it out…you must be plotting revenge…I’d be plotting revenge…after what she said…what they did…I mean, I know we’re not that much better…but we didn’t rub their faces in it…but…

God is that better…? Are we better? Are we the same? I think we’re the same…maybe sneakier…maybe we’re worse…it’s all so complicated…

I don’t know…

Actually I do know…

I know telling everyone at the party that she was seeing your best friend is wrong… I know she was drunk…but still and all…why would you stand there and tell you that was she cheating…and then to hit you…man those dancers can choreograph a great beating…I don’t know if you saw Crisps face (stupid name by and by) but he was ashen, wan and washen…

I mean what a way to clean out a party…

...and just to be clear…this wasn’t your fault…you didn’t make her do it…you didn’t turn her to him…you didn’t make her hit you…I know we are the same…but she didn’t know…not then--

I think I heard you at the front door?

Is that you…I think I hear oftenbark…

Sending this anyway

209th and 210th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 20:31PM
Subject: I’m going mad

It’s a few hours now and I still haven’t heard…I did try to give you a call…but it just rang out…where are you? Maybe you’ve moved out instead…god if you’ve moved out…how will I contact you…maybe you’re under a bus…or hit by a train…or beaten up by wayward men…or Elsa and Crisps have cut you into little pieces pickled you, stuck you in larder…never to eat you…looking at regifting you…

oh God…maybe you’ve done a runner…maybe you’re in Prison…maybe you’ve killed Crisps …maybe you’re not real…and I’ve been emailing myself over the last few months…

I’ve gone mad!!!

Okay Stacey, breath, breath…this isn’t about you…it’s about Dom…okay, refocusing now…looking back toward you… and I’m going to read and wait for you…I hope you’re okay…

Maybe you’re at the Hitlon…




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 21:11 PM
Subject: Not at the Hitlon

Okay so you’re not at the Hitlon…felt like an idiot ringing there…but you never know…I’d hate you to spend a night alone in a King Sized bed…

...god... I’m a whore…what’s wrong with me…I’m sure that’s the last thing you’re thinking of…anyway…I feel so hopeless…I’ll wait a little longer…

208th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 15:01 PM
Subject: Stalking now

Okay I couldn’t wait an hour… and I’m still not ringing…please email me back and let me know you’re okay…I just feel awful ringing if Elsa’s still there…man...

...I feel awful if Crisps (dickhead) is there too...

...I can’t handle this…I so want to be there for you…I feel useless...

...Marcus is ringing but I’m not picking up…I know he just wants to gossip about it…arsehole…I mean he’s not an arsehole…he doesn’t know all the details…

...but still and all…what if I came over…? Okay I can’t come over…that’s crazy…email me…please…

201st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Friday August 2nd, 1999 2:01 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE I’m actually feel a little guilty

Dom did I just read ‘love dom’ at the end of your last email…? I know I shouldn’t point it out…but I can’t help myself…it makes me wonder if I’ll write ‘love stacey’ at the end of this email…I guess you’ll just have to wait and see…

Yes, I am certain that I came into your bookstore a year ago…and I reckon you served me…I have the vaguest memory…actually when we first met at Crisps’ party back in April, I did have a strong feeling that we’d met before…you did seem familiar…you did seem strangely comfortable too…I know I was probably a little cool…but part of me was just trying to work out why I strangely felt there was already a connection between us…

… maybe I’m just trying to justify that I was simply attracted to you…a guy with glasses gets me every time…

Anyway…for the moment, I’m going to believe we met in the bookstore…I’m going to imagine that you served me…I’m going to imagine that I wanted to read something meaningful and you guided me toward Franz Kafka…I’m going to imagine that you picked up his collected works (volume one) and told me that this could change my life…

I’m going to imagine taking the book off you and our fingers touching briefly over the spine…

I going to imagine, paying for it and walking out the shop, glancing one final time over my shoulder at you…

I’m going to imagine seeing you at the counter…perched on a stool…reading something surprising…something like CS Lewis…

I’m going to imagine that you looked up just as I was leaving…

I’m going to imagine you smiled and I knew that we would meet again…

I’m going to imagine that when I returned home I read Metamorphosis in one sitting and cried for hours…

I’m going to imagine that I put the book back in my book shelf and seeing a cockroach scuttle across the floor…and for the first time in my life I considered giving such an gross creature a name…

I’m going to imagine I then spoke to the cockroach as it hunted for crumbs…”Be safe, Gregor,” I imagine I said, “Avoid the fruit, avoid the family, avoid the world and know that you are safe here with me.”

Anyway there it is…my imagination on the page…I wonder what it says about me…

And what are you doing tonight? Can you sneak by in the wee small hours? I know that’s so much to ask…

Love (there we have it)

Stacey

94th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Wilma Petranoff, Fryman, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 13: 42PM
Subject: RE RE RE Friday night dinner

Hey Stacey and everyone, Elsa and I will be there.

I’m really looking forward to meeting you. (Except you, Crisps. I never look forward to seeing you. I see too much of you already :))

Please be nice to us. We are the new people.

We are kind. We like food. We’ve been bred in captivity. We don’t bite. You can take flash photos of us if you like. If you’re wearing protective gear, you can pat us. We come with our own wine and sheets of newspaper for private business.

We are allergic to peanuts, omnivores, easy to care for, can be amusing; don’t smell too much, endangered and quite fond of Stacey.

Though a word of warning; we will probably be quiet for the first course.
This is not a sign of aggression. It is a sign of shyness.

As an ice breaker; can I suggest you ask Elsa (who is a dancer) how flexible she is? She might even show you. You’ll be impressed.

By the main course, things will have changed, I promise. With the incentive of food and an eager audience of strangers we will both be performing like Sea-Park professionals.

Watch as we dance on our tails, fly through hoops and swim in formation to gain your attention. We will also gladly eat out of your hand for affection at this stage.

Though as the main course and second bottle of wine finishes, I should warn you that I’ll probably be making too much noise.

You might think it’s a mating call. But it’s just nervous chatter. I promise. I apologise in advance.

By desert all will be fine.

I’m sure Elsa will be happy to pose for photos and I hope I haven’t flashed my tits as an attempt to mirror the alphas in the group.

By the end of the night, I am certain we will be free of our cage and dancing with the public.

At this point I am certain it will be safe to hold us. You might even want to take us home.

Really looking forward to it.


Dom.

92 and 93 email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Wednesday, June 27th, 1999 23:45 PM
Subject: Friday night dinner

Hi all…on Friday I am no longer a teenager…I am a woman…an ironic woman…who feels a little sad about it all…

so please share this ironic moment with me at Il Mondo…Kangaroo Point…at 8:00…I promise I’ll only be sad during entrée…then I’ll get drunk and flash my tits…


Love
Stacey.

PS This year I will be accepting presents…but as long as it’s second hand…something regifted please…

From: Dominique Doyle
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Thursday, June 28th, 1999 8:31 AM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Hey Stacey (and all) I will be there. I’ve found you the perfect gift. Quick question – do you like Jigsaw Puzzles?


Dominique

PS Do you mind if I bring someone? I’ve started this ‘too soon to talk about’ thing with this chick named Deb’. She’s cool. Lez’ but not too lez’.




From Gill Shepherd
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Dominique, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Thursday, June 28th, 1999 9:26 AM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Hi Stacey, I’m so sorry but Kiki and I are out of town this weekend. We’re going up north for his parents wedding anniversary. I’m not sure why. It’s not a special year and they don’t really like me.

I’ve found you gift by the way. Kiki won it at last year’s exhibition. I’ve had it sitting in the kitchen for a few months. It scares me. But I know you’ll like it.

It’s porcelain and kitsch. And I know you’ve had your eye on it.

Happy Birthday
Gill




From: Crisps
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Thursday, June 28th, 1999 11:53AM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Fuck yeah – I love Il Mondo. I’m going to dress up as one of those Venice boat-guys. I might even bring my own punt.





From: David Angus
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Wilma Petranoff, Fryman, Lou, Sus’, David M Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 13:01 PM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Yep me and Lou will be there. We might be a little late as got a work thing to go to before. So start without us.
David and Lou




From: Cath Leaman-Walsh
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Wilma Petranoff, Fryman, Lou, Sus’, David M Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 13:01 PM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Hello Stacey, Pete’s out of town at the moment doing a gig in Wagga. But I’m home alone. So I’ll be flying solo and flashing my tits with you.

Love
Cath




From: WKP
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Fryman, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Thursday, June 28th, 1999 22:01 AM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Fryman and I will be there. Is it byo? And can you make sure we don’t sit next to Sus’ and David? They’re starting to smell like each other and it freaks me out. :)




From: Sus Kristofski
To: Dom Borax Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Wilma Petranoff, Fryman, Lou, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 9:13 AM
Subject: RE Friday night dinner

Hey Stacey, happy birthday. I hope this isn’t too late but Dave and I are keen as all get out. I’ll ring you later today to confirm.
Sus and Dave

PS Hey, Petranoff – you’re the one that’s starting to stink like your bloke. And he smells like Centrelink! In your face! :(

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 11:42 AM
Subject: RE RE Friday night dinner

Hi All, a quick answer to all your questions:

Dominique: Absolutely bring Deb…look forward to meeting her…is she the double-bluff tart who really is a tart that you’ve had your eye on? Hey – also love jigsaw puzzles – especially ones of clowns.

Gill: Bugger to hear you and the K-man are out of town…keep your head up…and if his folks get too tiring…take it as a life-lesson not to be like them when we’re old and bitter.

Let’s catch up when you’re back so you can share some more of his horrible mother’s stories. (Sorry, K’ I know you’re reading this – but you know it’s true)

And is the gift that weird mongrel china dog with the sponky eyes and missing ear? I hope it is.

Crisps: You’re an idiot and I love you.

Dave and Lou: Get here when you can. I know you’re busy and I’m really looking forward to seeing you. It’s been ages.

Cath: Who needs Pete anyway…he’d be way too interested in us flashing our tits…indeed they all will…so how about we make it a date…ladies lav’…11:30 you me and the mirror…

Wilma: Yes it’s byo...and you are so sitting next to Sus and Dave…just to see if you’re going to smell like each other by the end of the night.

Sus: Read above.

Lou and Nick: Haven’t heard from you…will keep a couple of seats free in case you get this in time…but no worries in case…speak to you next week…

Dom and Elsa: Aren’t you going to reply either? It’s my birthday, buster… come on…anyway see you tonight.

Love to all
Stacey

92 email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@printthis.com >
Sent: Wednesday, June 27th, 1999 20:12 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Matrix and Election

Dom,

Yeah – let’s catch up…actually it’s my birthday on the weekend…Friday…I wasn’t going to do anything…just hang with Marcus…but maybe we could go out for a bite to eat?

I’ve got this friend….whose folks own a hotel…Il Mondo…anyway…the restaurant there is really lovely…good Italian…they do a mean calamari…so tender…marinated in passionfruit, I think…or some citrus…actually I think I’m making that up…but it is good…

So if you’re free maybe we could have a bite there…bring Crisps and some of the gang…what do you think…?

I know it’s short notice…that’s because I’m a little neurotic about birthdays…reinforcement of time, I guess…

But this year I’m feeling sorry for myself…no longer a teenager…I feel...maybe... I need to do something…

What do you think…if you’re keen…I’ll send out an invite…


Sxx

PS Do you think I should invite Keith…?

78th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday June 14th, 1999 11:21AM
Subject: RE RE Coming down

Yeah spoke to Elsa this morning.

She is going to be here on Saturday. She’s looking forward to catching up too – in a vino-way.

And yeah she did get together with the goatee, square glass, short-haired guy (though I think he’s actually going bald).

They came home together and emerged from her bedroom around 5:00 the next afternoon.
And you are so right. He didn’t shower.

Instead while she was in the bathroom, I had to make polite conversation with him in the kitchen.

I mean I’m always quite hospitable to the guys she brings home. I always offer a cup of tea. I always initiate polite conversation. And in one case, I can actually become their friend (that’s how I met Crisps – ending up talking for hours and playing Myst – Elsa got a little jealous – which I understand.)

But this guy – man… his name was Keith for a start. He was so caught up in himself. He’d lived in Sydney for a few years and felt so superior. He was constantly talking about the clubbing scene and how Sydney was so much better.

And his voice! He had this annoying accent that was sorta fey, nasal with English try-hard tones. I think he’d excuse his accent as trans-Atlantic. And I agree on this definition as it does sound like he’s drowning.

And how he sipped his tea;
A morse code of slurping (…---…)

And he had no interest in me either – not just me, but no interest in talking about anything but himself.

And as part of this ‘me-me-me’ conversation - he went into great detail about the night he shared with Elsa.

“Man, I’m a really giving lover…”

“Man, I think she liked it when I kissed her back. She said my lips were the best. And she liked my goatee as it touched her skin. It gave her goosebumps.”

“Man, I can control my orgasm. I’ve got this strong mental life. I think of rocks and streams and moss. I can go for hours.”

And this was only the printable stuff.
It was relentless.
I didn’t want to hear it.

I’ve known Elsa for a few years. We went to school together, made each other laugh and have found a content place of friendship. Sartorial, I guess. Sorry mean sorority –- sisterly -- I think sartorial means something to do with clothes making.

Anyway he went on and on. I was truly starting to think of ways I could kill myself to get out of the conversation when he said:

“You know it’s so hard having this face. People judge you because you’re so good looking. I wish I had a normal face. An ordinary face. I wish I had a face like yours…”

I lost it. I told him to get out. Get out of my house. He looked shocked. Not sure what to do. I said, ‘I’m serious – get out of my house before I hurt myself!’

Then the conversation went something like this:

HIM: Can I ring a taxi?
ME: No.
HIM: Can I finish my tea?
ME (Grabbing his tea and glugging it down myself): No.
HIM: Can I say goodbye to Elsa?
ME: When was the last time you were in a bathroom?
HIM: I can wait ‘til she gets out.
ME: You can wait outside.
HIM: But it’s cold.
ME: Use your strong mental life and think of summer.
HIM: But I only use my mental life when I’m having sex.
ME: Well then - go fuck yourself.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He blinked a couple of times, shuffled in his seat. I called to Elsa:

ME: Keith’s leaving, Elsa.
HIM: Tell her to ring me.
ME: Keith’s wants you to ring me.
HIM: Should I leave my number?
ME: No need. As you seem to be the only person in the world, you must be the only person in the phone book, right?
HIM: What’s that mean?
ME: It means Goodbye, Keith.

At this point I open the door and offered some sarcastic gesture.

I think I bowed.

Keith shuffled out. He was about to speak one final time. I said:

ME: Let’s not use words.

And I closed the door on him.

Once he was gone, Elsa came out of the bathroom. She was still dressed. I thought she’d be angry.

But she was relived.

She was hiding in bathroom, waiting for him to go.

She apologised but she had put up with Keith for hours. He kept sleeping, snoring and scratching. The sex was dull and his penis was quite thin (her words – not mine)

I asked, ‘how thin?’

And she started doing a drawing. I started drawing too and for the rest of the evening we pissed ourselves laughing over a sketch pad full of embarrassing male members.

Anyway – why did I start this? Oh yeah – Elsa will be there on Saturday night for dinner.

Looking forward to it.


Dom.

70th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday June 9th, 1999 8:05AM
Subject: RE RE RE New string of conversation

I think I will die drowning while filming a water safety commercial…
or

Accidentally stabbing myself with a chained pen in a bank as I cash a birthday cheque…
Or

Dying of old age at my computer while waiting for some massive cartoon attachment that’s not even funny…
Or

Being beaten to death by an idiot while wearing I’m with this idiot T-shirt…
Or

Misjudging the time and being hit by a bus that I thought I was running late for.
Or

Tripping and smashing my head on the footlights as I run onto the stage of some profit share production of Waiting for Godot yelling at the tramps – stop this show it’s killing me!
Or

Forgetting how to breathe for that minute too long.
Or

Electrocuting myself as I try to make a boat out of toast in the bath.
Or

Mistaking the sign that reads ‘koalas cross here at night’ as a caution to motorists not as warning about rage.
Or

In Italy. I don’t care of what. Just wouldn’t mind dying in Italy.


Dom

PS And speaking of things ‘Italy’ (gotta love that segue) I adore those Italian Thrillers too.

Crisps (the guy whose party we met at) is a real trash fan – I think it comes from being British and a childish curiosity about the Video Nasty boom. I think he listed and sourced them all.

He shared it with me and I got obsessed too.

And at the fear of sounding educational again (I so want to be Mr Chips. Indeed so did Crisps. That would make him Crisps Chips – message to self; do something about you’re a.d.d for Christ sake, Dom – and do something about talking to yourself in print too – Jesus!)

Anyway those Italian thrillers are called Giallo films (Giallo meaning Yellow – like the faint stained yellow pages in airport pulp books).

I’m kinda obsessed with them. We should watch a couple together. Let me think of two cool ones and I’ll get you and Marcus over for Spag’ bog’ and Euro sleaze.