Home Is Where The Art Is

Place I wanted to move into has fallen through, so am currently without a home to call my own. Hmm. So...

Housetrained and happy Zoo requires large bedroom/two rooms, that is, enough space for queen futon, costumes, clothes, sewing machine, desk, bookshelves and hopefully a big comfy chair or two.
Not a neat-freak, but not a total pig either. Can cope with some general mess, but not filth. At least, not that type of filth.
Genderqueer omnisexual pervert and academic, with smatterings of performance artist, journalist, events organiser, media slut, activist, freelance provocateur, rabblerouser and public spectacle.
Mostly vegetarian and full of soy-joy, own a big bbq and not afraid to use it. Smoke cigs sometimes, but always outdoors at home, and don’t have any pets. Don’t really do any chemicals anymore, but don’t mind if housemates do. Sometimes. But NO ice, seriously, and not willing to live with total potheads. Done that too many times before, and not very interested- sorry.
Currently working on The Thesis, and will be for the next couple of years, so will often be hidden away for weeks on end, emerging sometimes for tofu, beer, photo shoots, film shoots and random encounters of the artistic and down’n’dirty kinds.
Under $120 per week would be nice. Have bond, and regular income. So...?

In The Ghetto/Home On The Range

Well, what a beautiful homecoming weekend that was! Hanging out with my folks, then wandering into the Inner for a performance-planning date, followed by many jugs of New with a frenzy of mates at the Courthouse, doling out their Xmas pressies and telling tales tall and true. Then onto a mate’s place, walking myself sober as I walked to his place. Meet up with my Scragg and a naughty Smurphe, and a fab fag friend who wants to make me into a musical instrument. After quite a while I broke out the duty-free vodka, shared it around and drank a lot of it myself, talked gibberish, proposed art projects, giggled, cuddled, danced, passed out/dozed off, came to very confused and happy, ate cake and toddled back with the S’s for a nice big dose of shut-eye. Woke up between them, and felt all safe and warm and happy and floppy (not even much of a hangover- must remember to drink clear spirits more often). Then met up with Schwee for an afternoon of reading queer press and hanging about various cafes, before getting the train back to the ‘burbs. Sweet.