My long weekend was very fun. I played in the Tanunda basketball carnival and we bowed out in the semi-final this morning. After arriving at the caravan park on Friday night after some slight being fucked over by whereis.com.au the weekend was divided into four categories: basketball, sleeping, drinking and stretching.
I played for the enviable, independent club "Turbulence" (team dance: waving hands alternatingly up and down) and we represented two mens and two womens teams. I hit like 12 threes over the six games which was pretty epic. But the best part of the weekend was undoubtedly Saturday night where basically all the teams converged on the only pub in town. There my teammates and I played pool and then worked our way into conversations with all of the women's teams until we ended up in conversation with the best looking ones. This was notable because they'd watched our last game earlier and despite never having spoken to them they'd come up with nicknames for our team members. Alex was "The Face", Buff Sam was "Nugget" and I had been deemed "The Arms".

Now, I do go to the gym a lot but that's mainly because I'm a health fag and I like to be athletic for basketball. But this wasn't the first night at a pub that I've had girls tell me they like my biceps. It's an awkward problem, but I have no idea how to take this or use it to my advantage. I might like a girl, but how do I know she likes me and not just my arms? Especially when half the time I spend with girls they continually feel my muscles and lift up my shirt! All I do is feel embarrassed and self-conscious and this does not lead to phone numbers. After having my pecs groped a few times I inebriatedly decided to pluck "now do I get to feel yours?" out of my pick-up-lines-to-be-vetted databank but apparently this is "creepy".
I'm only saying, I want girls to like me but I want them to like me, not just my arms. I have a personality too! When am I going to meet a girl in a pub who calls me "The Journal"?

I think it's an interesting, human thing the way it doesn't take much of a change to compartmentalise your context.

For example, for pretty much the whole long weekend my only focus was on basketball games, basketball strategies, stretching and beer. Left behind in Adelaide were friends, family, careers, to-do lists etc. I thought it was pretty amazing how everything that was important or attention grabbing earlier in the week could disappear with only a 90km change in isolation.

While I was away I lost my tracksuit pants which, I think, were perhaps one of the only things in this world that made me think unconditional love existed. In the context of the weekend it seemed inconsequential as it happened between winning games and trying to win the next game. But now I'm home and have resumed serving normal context I can't shake the harrowing feeling of loss and hollowness that grips me every time I walk by The Berkley on Hindley St.

This morning I woke up 3 hours premature to this:

Which was obviously disappointing. Someone crept down our driveway last night and hucked a tin of oil based paint on my car. I don't know what beef they have with me or why they don't have the courage to confront me about it.

Nevertheless I decided I wasn't going to be angry about something I couldn't change. After filling out all the necessary paperwork with equally unhelpful police departments and Allianz insurance I visited the Holden Crash department and they showed me that with certain paint strippers I could remove the paint - slowly - by myself. Instead of making a claim on my insurance, paying an excess and losing my rating I could buy $10 worth of Turpentine and do the work myself. Fortunately I have a cool boss who felt sympathy for my situation. So I spent 11 hours today in my driveway with rags and turpentine cleaning off my car.

It was slow going of course, and I had plenty of time to think. One of the first things I noticed was that I listened to the radio today rather than CDs to avoid creating psychological associations between a messed up car and certain artists.

I was going to post an entry today along the lines of how the first thing I thought of this morning was about how this would make a good journal entry. And maybe post some passive-agressive rant about how it would have been a much better prank if they'd done it during summer when the paint would have a chance to set harder overnight, and that next time maybe they should have the balls to come all the way down the driveway instead of flinging paint from two steps in and then running away. But I'm not going to do that. I'm not too worried about creating further motivation for my car to be vandalised and damaged again (though if it happens after today's workload I'll obviously be disheartened). Instead I want to dedicate today's entry to saying how thankful I am to have friends, particularly the collection of them who came to my house today to strip paint, help wash and buff, and make jokes about ejaculating all over my car at every opportunity.

So although my day might have revealed I may have an enemy out there, it definitely has confirmed I have valuable friends.

So obviously being cut up and teeth gnashing gets difficult to drag out over more than a couple of days. Still, I've compiled a list of possible suspects for the unrequested painting of my car:

• MIA, who I once accused of being crazy in a journal entry. And she does know how to use the internet, sort of.... Alibi: Was playing Bonnaroo last Friday...
  
• Camille - A French singer who I also gave a negative review in Rip It Up a few weeks ago. Is an artist and seems to be a least a little crazy. At this stage, prime suspect.
  
• Zoe. Former Bradism.com commenter, now St. Kilda supporter. She sent me an angry text message last weekend after I SMS'd her the Western Bulldogs theme song in all caps. Alibi: grew up in Queensland so it's doubtful she has that much football passion.
  
• Zippo. Number 1 Bradism.com commenter who would predict that Zoe would be mentioned instead of her, despite her having more comments, thus causing rage. Alibi: way too nice, also this scenario is kind of recursive.
  
• Professor Plum. I stole his carpark when I drove to work on Thursday.
  
• Forlorn looking woman in Marion carpark. I went there last week and as I was reversing from my spot to get home I noticed her standing with a puzzled look in front of an empty car space. I didn't have time to help her and find out if her car was stolen. Mainly because I'm not a detective.
  
• Karl the Painter. May have discovered what I wrote about him a few summers ago and is now more assertive and wants revenge. Evidence: has access to paint.
  
• Craig Lowndes. Motive: Doesn't like Holden.
  

I have a few other suspects, but they're kind of drawing a long bow.

Every morning that I go to work I spend between seven and nine minutes preparing, blending and gulping my breakfast smoothie. But I haven't had one in the last week, since my unlucky Friday the 13th. Friday, of course, I was too preoccupied by other things to prepare a delicious smoothie. And each day this week I've ended up rushed for breakfast and have instead opted to save time by putting Weet Bix in a bowl, adding equal parts milk and honey and smashing that down.

But with my low-fat, sugar reduced vanilla yogurt about to expire I made the effort this morning to blend up a healthy, vitamin rich breakfast. And it was all going well until half way through the puréeing when my blender started grinding and not stirring. Figuring some ice was stuck, I removed the lid and stirred a little and resumed, but nay! Still more grinding. I put the jug on the bench and gave it an almighty stir, sifting half crunched chunks of ice and lumps of protein powder and peanuts trying to remove a blockage that I was to find didn't exist! No, instead I found that the gear on the base of the jug had its screw filed through! When the motor said "spin!" the blades said "how!?".

So now there were metal filings and grease all over the bench and my hands, which I had to avoid as I gulped down my health fag flavour of a frozen coke to try and avoid running late for work. And as Beastie Boys lyrics and an ice-cream headache had a date in my brain I realised that, what should have happened last Friday is, I would have suffered through a sabotaged breakfast attempt and escaped from my frustration to a paint covered car. Had my mother not alerted me to it before breakfast.

Possibly jumping at shadows here. But I still have to fix my blender somehow tomorrow. Hopefully won't need any turps.

I think I redefined binge drinking. It's ok though, Mens Health said I could do that occasionally.

Hey there, just thought I'd better put an entry up today because I knew some people from 2003 would be reading it. Have a good one.