About Me

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Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
Abandoned by the orphanage when I was six weeks old, I was left in the nearby woods where I was raised by wolves for two weeks. Then they got sick of me and abandoned me. A few things were said, I could have been more diplomatic perhaps, but I still maintain that wolf politics is corrupt bullshit. After this, a squirrel* took me in, until I realized that, whilst I was crazy about nuts, I was also allergic to squirrel hair. I hiked to town and hid inside the back of truck that was transporting Starbuck coffee cup lids and stirrers to The Big City. I stayed here for 18 years, never alerting my presence to the truck driver, who used to pull over every 500km or so and silently cry to himself. To this day, that truck driver is unaware that he was my primary caregiver growing up. I like trucks, beards, and country and western music. I've accidentally used deodorant as hairspray and vice versa on only one occasion so far. *Because of this I will not wear products made out of squirrel.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Bill Evans is my boyfriend in my mind

When I was saving the photo of this man on the right, it automatically came up as "Evans,B.jpg" in my save box, causing my heart to lurch.
What was it about seeing his official name written out like that?
I guess I would have preferred to have gone, "Right mouse click, save" and then seen a box pop up on my computer saying "Save as Evans,B.&Arundell,K,4Ever.jpg" straight up. Changing the title to this is a minor pain in the arse for me, but on a deeper level it's unpleasant for me to see Bill Evans' name separated from mine. I will write to the site this image came from and ask them to change the image name. It gives me sadistic pleasure to think of myself claiming Evans, B. via email.
It's not superficial. I didn't grow up thinking, "One day I want to marry someone who is the Managing Director of a Big Four Bank and also reads the latest financial news to adoring listeners on Channel 7". Everyone knows the man of one's dreams doesn't fit a checklist. They just have the kind of smack-bang, straight-to-your-vagina magnetism that rises up all hot into your chest until you interrupt dinner conversation and rush to the toilets to try to breathe away an orgasm. You know, just have that trait that Bill has.
Mariah Carey might have a voice like honey but Bill's voice is more like someone dropping a tractor on a small baby from a significant height. (I imagine the baby to be at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and the tractor to be dropped by another bigger yellow tractor at the lip of the canyon.) It is sudden, shocking, dangerous, fun and should be shown on Channel 7 news.
Did you know that William (Bill) Evans - (careful, heart, careful) - is a graduate of Sydney University? That he got an Honours in Economics and even a University Medal? I bet you that medal has an engraving of Bill's profile but with Bill dressed up as Napoleon or something. Maybe dressed as Cesaer, but I know a lot of Romans used to be gay and Bill is definitely not gay (my gay friend agrees with me).
As Westpac's economic spokesman, "Bill travels frequently, advising Westpac's customers on the Australian economy and financial markets." What this doesn't say is, "Bill travels a lot but he doesn't go to the Phillippines and have sex with prostitutes, or get with groupies whenever he's staying at Trump Tower or staying at the biggest Hilton in the world to tell Paris Hilton's Dad about the Australian economy." That's because Bill's not like that. He would be the perfect human and never cheat. Like most finance gurus, his mind is only able to concentrate on one concept and focus on just this concept indefinitely. He would not be distracted by other women. His mind, like his voice, is like a grey rock that is just grey and definitely has no veins of colour or silver in it.
Look at that photo of Bill. It looks like it was taken in the 80s, so Bill was probably around 70 years old there. I wish I knew him back then, when the age difference was not so insurmountable. Not that I think he's too old for me; on the contrary. But why would he want me? An old man, his voice rich with charisma, interested in an attractive, young, sensual woman who likes The Big Lebowski? I bet he hasn't even heard of that movie.
I will win him over. I'll dress up in a stuffy grey suit and 80's-ify my hair, and I'll reek of tobacco. I'll casuallly saunter into Channel 7 while he's finishing up, lean into my hip, tip my head and hold up a fishing pole. I'll say, "I need a partner. Know where I can find one?" And he'll say, "You just did", and we will go fishing, but I'll be the one catching all the fish and he won't catch anything. It'll be funny and I'll stand up in the canoe and laugh, pointing at him. Then I will accidentally topple over the canoe and we'll fall in the lake. We will come up for air, and as he emerges Bill's hair wisps will form a fine, glittering spider's web on his wet dome. I'll say, "Maybe fishing wasn't the best idea," and he'll grab me, stilling my words, with a big fish-lipped kiss.
Bill Evans reads the finance report on Channel 7 News in a monotone that will not cause heart attacks for elderly, hypersensitive women. He doesn't have a wikipedia entry, because he is above all that.

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