Wooo!

Yes, I have not posted in a couple of days. Why? Because sometimes it is simply too much effort to get on here and type "Today I did Fuck All". Because that is what I have been doing.
Well, actually, yesterday I did have lunch with my Grandmother. I had one of those meat balls. You know the ones, they have sticky savory mince in the middle and crunchy bread crumbly stuff on the outside. You don't actually see them very often, but they are damn good. The yare also something I have only when Icome back to waipuk, so that makes them exta special. I haven't ever seen them in Wellington, Perhaps it is just a Hawkes Bay thing.
After my tasty meat ball, I went to collect sheep in my fathers truck. My father, after 30 years of cutting sheep and cattle open at the local freezing works decided that he had had enough, and now switches jobs more often than I switch underwear. I got to open gates. At least sheep don't complain about stuff. They don't want the extra special suite in the back of the stock truck. They don't wan't Soy Decaf Carob Moccachinos. Sheep are pretty easy to get along with.
In other news, Today is Thursday. on Saturday, I go back to wellington to continue with the frantic existance I lead there. I am not particularly looking forward to it. It is the second half of the second trimest of my third year of english studies, and right now I am thinking to myself "Hang on, I've done this shit before!" I still like reading. I still enjoy what is being said in lectures (when I am awake/ sober), but I am just so sick of assignments. My next group of assignments is in a fourtnight, and I know I am going to find it very difficult to muster any motivation for them. I have written too many essays. I can write essays with my eyes shut. Please, I wan't to do something other than write bloody essays.
I just made myself a Bacon, Tomatoe and Mayonase samwitch. There was no lettuce, so I have to improvise. It tasted good. But the smoke from the oven is still hanging around. I've opend all the windows, but there is no wind to take the smoke away .I wouldn't have this problem in Wellington.
My Grandparents are comming around for dinner tonight. We are having Chinese. I love Egg Foo Yong.

Egg Foo Yong. What will these crazy asians think of next?

If it tilt's it's not ideal.

Yes, I missed a day of posting. For all of you who read this, I give you this as a consolation prize: The Bird. And you can get free refils on that whenever you like.
Yes, I know, I stole that one. But if www.toothpastefordinner.com haddn't done it, I would have thought it up sooner or later. It was only a matter of time. In fact, you could almost say they stole it from me. Stole it with their funny joke time traveling computer. From me. And my god-like brilliance.
Can you tell I have too much time on my hands? I went outside for the first time in two days a little while ago, and that was just to bring the recycling bin inside. To make matters worse, I woke up at 7am this morning. I have read a whole novel today. Granted, it was only a trashy detective novel (we ain't so big on fiction in my parents house. You get four choices in book: Detective, Romance, Murder Mystery or Cycling.) but still, unless it is a book that I have been itching to get my hands on usually I make a book last three days. because when it comes down to it I am a lazy reader. My favorite reading position is horizontal. Perhaps this is why I have so much trouble with Lord Of The Rings: It makes my arms go numb with the effort of keeping it open. But as I say, this all changes if it is a book I have been waiting for. For a good book, I will put everything else on hold. I will read as soon as I get out of bed, while I make breakfast, as I am walking around and in bed late into the night. I have gone on 18hour reading binges to finish a good book. I don't even spend that much time on my school work.
Anway. On to the significance of this blogs title. Not only is it refering to a advertisment that has drilled it's way into my subconsiousness through endless hours of working with a radio turned up next to my ear, but it is also a referance to my pecker. I saw on the TV show "the perfect age" last night that it helps for a man to be able to touch his toes, because that means the base of the penis is flexable. I cannot touch my toes. I am glad. I don't want a stiffy that can be knocked over by a breeze. No. I want a stiffy I can hang towels off.
Future Girlfriend: "Flan, can you hand me a towel? I just got out of the shower but there are none in here" (Yes, my next Girlfriend will have to call me Flan. Especially in the bedroom."
Me: "Sure. Here's a towel. It's ON MY WANG!"
Zing!
I'll leave you to think about that.

In other news, I have a new set of Pajamas. they have the Paul frank Monkey on them.

Tiny, tiny hands.

I have a new cousin. Today I went with my parents to see my aunty who has just given birth to a baby boy, yet to be named. I discovered that babies are small. Really really small. So small, in fact, you cannot really beleive that you were once a baby. I mean, look at their hands! So small, with little mini fingernails. My hands are huge. Gigantic. And you know what they say about people with big hands. Yup. But anyway, I never thought of hands growning so much. Same as fingernails. I thought they were just there. Growing is a strange business.
The other strange thing about babies is how they affect people. Men, they come in, they look at the baby, that say something like "It's small", and then they retreat into the nearest corner, taking solace in talking about things like the weather and work. Women, on the other hand, will croon over the baby until it hiccups, and then use that hiccup as a pretext for picking up the tiny human: "Oh, look, he's crying!", and then spend the rest of the time going into details about the birthing process, and other things, like breast feeding.

I am a firm believer that there are things that Man was not meant to know. One of those things is birth. I am sorry to whoever is fated to marry me, but while you are doing the painfull pushing, I will proably be in the nearest toilet doing the retch and heave. But women seem to have no problem with talking about contractions and passing things the size of watermelons out of their vaginas. No. They could talk about it untill the cows come home.

I guess you just had to be there.

Holidays!

Yes, my real holidays start now. Sure, it has been almost a week since I finished work, but the time since then has been filled with many activities that have stopped me sleeping. The cheif of these being my trip to auckland to see my old time buddy, Spasm.
Now, I am not sure if I had ever been to Auckland before, and it is quite possible that I may have been an Auckland Virgin. The process of becomming a non-Auckland Virgin, is unfortunately, like having so much other man inside you, form behind. No, I do not like Auckland. It is big. In Wellington, you can get pretty much anywhere if you have a spare hour and a pair of legs, but if you wanted to walk across Auckland you had better take a three-seasons sleeping bag and a GPS system. Yes , there are things that simply do not make sense in Auckland. For example, there are seven Starbucks along Queen st. Eve nthe most feindish caffeen addict can go for 200m without shitty coffee from Starbucks. And the roads. We here in the rest of New Zealand pay for Auckland's roads. Auckland could at least have the decency to make use of them in a normal fashion eg: along the ground in grids not hanging in the air, making pretty patterns, or, in one case, vertical. No one needs vertical roads.
But, I did get to see boobies. Yes, Boobs on Bikes happened as we were walking down Queen St. I imagine that is what heaven is like, but with more beer samwhiches.
Anyway, after four days of travel, crowds and hilarity, I am now back in my sweet little hometown of Waipuk, whereeven the locals sometimes wake up and say to themselves: "Wow, this place still exists? I thought nothing ever happened here, and so Waipuk had been trapped in the past with other unwanted relics, such as spirograph."
Of course, no one actually says things like that in waipuk, because they are all stupid.
Well, tangenting aside, I am now able to sleep. Sleep for many many hours. And watch cartoons. My life for the next week will be a carefully balanced schedule between these two events. It is just a shame you cannot do both at once.


Or can you... "DUH DUH DAHHHH!"
Next time on Flan's blog:
Flan finds out you cannot combine cartoons and sleep. Except with Snoopy pajama's.

I unripe for english speak

Last night I down loaded old ICQ, and had an entertaing time going through the chat rooms on said site. Because sometimes I have nothing better to do. Anyway. I logged into a channel called "#English", bucause it said that that was where people who spoke english met to chat. Kinda lame, but it sure looked better than the "#GayMen", "#13yrOldsWhoShopAtSupree", "#FearOfCommunism" and "#HornyPediophiles(60yrs+)" channels. One of these channels is not one I just made up! Try and guess which one. Hint: It's not #GayMen.
Where was I? Oh yes. I entered into the chatroom, the english speaking chatroom I have you know, because of boredom, and was shocked at the number of illiterate asian girls who messaged me. Perhaps I have some kind of field around me. A Forigen Affairs field. More likely, they were poor women (or possibly men- I am not sure about one of them) who want to migrate to New Zealand by way of marrage.
Of course, there is only one thing to do in a situation like that: chat them up.

In many ways I am a sad, lonely man.

Today, however, has been a different story. I have tidied my room. I have done a load of washing. I am mostly packed for my trip to Auckland tommorow. The sun has bee shining, and since I hadn't returned my libary book yet, I decided to do so and afterwards grap a beer from 'the brewery' and enjoy it in the sun. Then I bought sushi, and tried to enjoy that in the sun, but it was poo. So then I had roti chennai, and it turned out to be the most satisfying roti I have ever had. Huge chunks of potatoe and chicken (still the 3:2 ratio, however. Getting a dish of roti with 3 peices of chicken in it is one of my life's goals) and an extra peice of roti bread. Damn, I haven't been soo full since the time I was hungover and ate two roti chennai's one after the other. SO today was a great day to spend $15 in three hours. Oh so satisfying.

I need a new wallet. But wallets are expensive. And I don't really want to buy something to put my money in and then find that all my money has gone because of it. It just doesn't make sense.

A lack of morning here.

Today is officially the first day of my holidays, and so I celebrated it in the traditional fashion: by not getting out of bed until the afternoon. A really, my day has not gotten any more exciting. I was supposed to go to the libary and return the doorstop that is "David Copperfield", still half unread, but I decided not to, on grounds of 'cannot be bothered. I have eaten nothing but taost today, taost being the easyest thing by far to prepare, and have successfully washed a load of washing for my trip away. I also did a bit of packing. Well, I put some DVD's in a bag. Talking of bags, I have made a startling discovery: Bag+Moisture+Leaving it in your closet for months= Mouldy bag. As a result, I am forced to take much of my colthing when I travel in Plastic bags from the mill. Luckilly, I have a great deal of those.
The only real thing of note I have done today, in fact, is watch "Some kind of Monster", the documentary about metallica's latest album. I am a big Metallica fan, but still, I have never really enjoyed the St. Anger album. Perhaps the fact that it is shit has something to do with it. Oh well. Anyways, the DVD was pretty good, all the behind the scenes action you can shake a stick at. A big stick too: the documentary is over 2 hours long.

Perhaps I might watch the "S&M" DVD I have. And I mean "S&M" as in Symphony and Metallica. Not anthing else. You sick bastards.

Over and out.

Done. I am finished. Finished work. For a long, long time. Well, two weeks. Two weeks of glorious I-don't-have-to-get-up-at-six-thirty-ness. It is going to be good. Oh so good.
But before I managed to leave today, that bloody cafe still managed to take a peice of my spirit. I thought it couldn't get any worst than scalding my stomach on the coffee machine (the mark froim which is still there), but it happened. I had finished, I was signed off, I was happy, I sluged on my trenchcoat, and was about to walk out the door when I smelt the tantalising aroma of mushroom soup. So I went over, and filled a cup with its creamy goodness. But, oh the humanity! A mushroom, I repeat, a bloody mushroom, fell out of the ladle and onto the hand which held my cup. It hurt like needles. Giant, bruning hot mushroom shaped needles. I actually sustained quite a bad burn from that fucking mushroom. How completly pathetic.

At least the Soup tased good. WHO GETS THE LAST LAUGH, HUH? You may have burnt my skin, mushroom, but now you are inside me, experiancing the cruel and lengthy death that is my digestive system. The gigantic fall through my ascophogas, the burning pain of the acid bath that is my stomach, and, finally, the unamaginable and stinky horrors that reside within my colon.

So, think twice before burning me, people. I will give you a one way trip to Bowel.

(Cue Cymbal crash.)

Really, really big.

You know what is bigger than my Wang? No, Flan, there is nothing that could ever be possibly bigger than your Wang. Well, thats what I thought, until I spent the last half hour on Google Maps trying to do some research for my writings. And you know what? America is bigger than my Wang. It is alot bigger, in fact. It is bloody huge. I have been trying to reasearch which suburbs are the poncy and which are not in Cleveland, but I think I have made one fatal miscalculation. Here, In wellington, a suburb can be the size of Aro Valley, wich is basically a road, or Higbury, which has four houses and a park. Not even close to the size of my Wang. In Cleaveland, however, suburbs are big. Really big. Size of Wellington big. I wouldn't know what to do with a Wang that big. Cleveland is too much Wang for any man.
So yeah, what the hell am I going to do, short of go there? Wikipedia is no bloody help, either. "Cleveland is populated by Gays" stated one article. This may be true, but it really doesn't help. Anyway. Now I am going to bed. Tommorow is the last day of work for two weeks, so I want to be good and rested for it. HAHAHA! Boy, I crack myself up.

Once more for good measure: WANG.

Pajamas

Today is a great day. I get to cross off one of the things on my "What to do before I die of stuff" list. Thing I have done on this list include absailing, whitewater kyacking, and eating a whole two liters of icecream in one night. Things yet to do include kicking a sparrow, going to japan, and filling a room full of balloons. But today, I did do this: I went to work in my pajamas. This has been a long standing dream of mine, as pajamas are both fashinable and comfortable. I have been to uni in my PJ's before, and I have been to uni dressed as a vampire. But I have never been to work in bed clothes before.
Half the fun is making excuses when people ask why I am in PJ's:
"It's laundry day"
"I live in newtown"
"I am expressing my sexuality"
"Chicks dig snoopy"
"I'm not wearing pajamas."
"I don't really work here, so no one can fire me."
"God told me to."
In other news... no, I have no other news. I am going to go to class, in my PJ's. Then I am going to go to thearter sports. In my Pajamas. Then I shall go home, to bed. I might get changed for that.

Really. Chicks do dig snoopy. Try it for yourselves!

Robots and cyborgs are different.

It be wednesday. Wednesday is good. it be my money day. This means that I have had a drink. And it means that scrubs is on tonight. I love scrubs. i cannot function without scrubs. Scrubs is my life, my love, my everything. Scrubs in my true north. I shall watch Scrubs tonight, then I shall go to sleep.
In other news, I have a lot of money. I will have $200 for my trip top auckland, where considerably less is needed. Today at work was fun, if by "fun" you mean "busy", "exhausting", and "ungodly". Yes. But the week is now more than half over. I have two days more of work, no assignments to do and soon I shall be supping wine with like minded folks in auckland, and then I shall go home for all the sleep I can stomach and all the free food which isn't interupted by people getting up too early. Wait a minute...
You know, I haven't been to auckland in living memory. of course, this isn't saying my as my living memory streches back about one and a half days, but even so, I haven't been to auckland in at least ten years, possibly even more. And I have only ever been once. Al I really remember is that there is alot of it. Lots of cars. lots of road and lots of stress. Should be interesting. Especially since the people I will be visiting live in the western parts of auckland, where crime is keept down only by the inherrant stupidity and lazyness of its inhabitants. and still crime is quite high. And black. And bogan. And they throw rocks at you if you wear funny hats. Basically, I am going to where they keep the people of a society who should be in jail but the cops are kept out because they are scared. Like I say, Interesting. Y9ou better appreciate this Spasm, you are the reason I am comming. nothing else wouold get me out of my smelly, lonely bed. I mean, I could be watching scrubs DVD's for two weeks.

Scrubs, Scrubs, Whereforout thou my Scrubs? (By the way, that line is the most commonly misunderstood in Shakespeare. It means "Why are you called Scrubs" not "Where is my Scrubs" of course, I use it here in the mangled sense, because otherwise that last comment makes little sense. Everyone knows the show is called "Scrubs" because that is the name for the two-peice plastic-y suits everyone wears in a hospital. At least it isn't as bad as that new "Miami Vice" trailer. "badness" is not a word. Go buy yourself a dictionary, fuckers. And the definition of "Foreboding" is not "The feeling that badness s happening right now". No wonder this country is going straight to hell. Bloody hollywood.")

Yes... yes, I know. I need help.

Big news for Spasm.

HAHAHA! Yes, i have news for you, spasm! But I shall keep it untill the very end of my post! Of course, you may have already been told by the time you read this, or you might just cheat and scroll down to the bottom of this post. but that would be cheating. And besides, you want the surprise, don't you?
Yesterday i did not post because I wagged class and went to sleep. unfortunately, my old, faithful Alcatel cell phone of the last eight yeara has been getting more and more reliable these days, so I woke up only ten minutes before the time I was due at work. People said that it was freezing outside, but you kind of don't notice when you are trying to break the land-speed record for the uphill dash. I made it on time too. because I am a god.
Today at work it was busy, but I got invited to a thearter sports thing on thursday. I might go. Mainly because it was an attractive young woman who asked me, not the bastard theatre hell bestie's that you usually associate with theatre sports. This might be a bad idea, because I have FAR TOO MUCH to do lately, what with bands and work and drinking and by the way spasm I am comming to auckland to see you and school work, but, oh, what the hey, I will try it out anyway because I am a sucker for punishment.
Soon, I have to go to a tutorial. This will be only the second time this trimester that I will be completly preared for a tutorial. It is on Ben Jonson's "The Alchemist". But you know, I am just far too cool for all this kind of stuff, and they shouldn't give me good grades so that I have an incentive to actually do some work. Although, as complained of above, I don't really have enough time for that bollocks anyway.
Soon it is the holidays. I am going to go home and sleep. For pretty much the whole two weeks. Good old sleep.

HAH! No news here! I hid it somewhere in in code in the middle of all that trollop! That will teach you for scrolling down to the bottm of the post! Earthquake my sins indeed.

Again I am hungover.

Damn my beard is big. I have been meaning to go to the barbers so as to ge a trim for a fourtnight now, but I have been too busy even to go and get my face fungi taken off. Oh pity me, for life is a trial.
Did I take that DVD out of the drive? Why yes, yes I did.
This is in fact the first time I have been in my own house since the weekend started. I have been out doing things, doing things while inoxicated. Last night is worth special mention, because after I had a 2/3rd's of a bottle of Midoori, a bottle of wine and a bottle of scrumpy, Me and my friends went to town to visit the various meat markets, and I got less than looked at. Good times. But seriously, we traipsed through all the low down crappy bars which play remixed versions of the "milkshake song" all night long and people go their to hook up with strangers. God knows why. Actually, none of us had much luck. The friends of mine who are girls of course were danced at by a couple of guys, but that is because men are controlled by their penises. Well known fact. Anyway, with my face covered in fuzz and wearing a shirt whichgot me denied entry from one or two bars that think they have standards, I am not too surprised, nor am I too dissapointed. Fuck one night stands. I want someone to talk to.
After all that we went to a place and had Roti Channai, but it wasn't at the normal place. It was a bugger load more spicy, and they gave us a lot more roti bread. As an added bonus, the poeple at the table next to us left two whole chicken hot-pot things behind them, and so we ate them as well. And I stole myself a bottle of pump from the cabenet because I wanted to get some water but nobody was serving me, so I got it myself. Fuckers. Provide better sevice. So actually, the eating of the food at the place would have been the best part of the night, if two of my friends had not gotten sick from it.

Hey, an earthquake just happened. As I was typing this. Cool. The only problem is that if there was a big quake right now, I don't think I could be bothered getting out of bed and standing under the doorframe. I think I would just lie here and take it.

BRING IT ON EARTH TREMORS!

Gay.

The topic of todays post is gay.
Today I was gay. no, I don't mean I felt happy and full of vim and vigor, or that I woke up next to a naked fat man this morning. No, I mean that I drank too much last night, had too little sleep, and although I woke up still rather drunk, halfway through today the hangover hit and I had to drink six cans of "Lift +" to be able to continue functioning in a semi-effeicent way. I am feeling alot better now, but there was a small period there where I thought I was going to throw up. Alcohol is a drug, people. Remeber that when you drink, a small peice of Jesus, who likes inside you, possibly areund the gullet area, yes a small peice of Jesus, dies. I although I am a fan of the big man, sometimes I like to cause him pain. Extend these comments in a Freudean sense, and you would get a very interesting and quite possibly demented reading of my personality. But of course you know I am kidding. OR AM I??!!

That was Gay.

God is Gay also. Because today, at work, a friday, which is supposed to be the easiest going of all days, perfect for nurturing that ill gotten hangover, he decided to whip out his wang and fill the cafe with customers. And not just any customers. No. Semi-Human customers. spawn of Satan customers. Customers both from the deepest pits of night and the furterest circles of hell, deformed almost beyond rcognition, sticky fingered and shill voiced creatures of nightmare. Thats right. My cafe was suddenly populated by a good sixty children. Let me ask you: When did a university cafe, full of moody, brooding, studying, drinking, drunking students, suddenly become an appropriate family Eating spot? What the fuck is wrong with McDonalds? Do you see a play area, complet with pit of plastic balls and trench coat wearing pediophiles? No? Thats because we don't want your abnormal offspring here. So fuck off. You gay bastards.

Children are the oh so gay.

You know what esle is gay? Taxes. No really, I should be thanking the government for taking all my money away. It's not like I need it to pay bills, or save for a scooter, or buy text books, or get drunk or live. Nope, I do none of them things. I got my pay slip today, and opened it up, because I thought for the 33 fucking hours I worked last week my $270 paycheck was a little sparse, especially since I had just received a whole $0.15 pay rise. Yes, I opened up the payslip, the design of which, I might add, was obviously designed by a gay man in a basement with no sense of ergonomics in a dark basement: tear here, insert tab b into slot c, turn around three times, say the password, and then bend over to receive the reaming that is the government taking $70 out of my paycheck for whatever the fuck. You know, seventy dollars is more than one day worth of work for me. I could have stayed in bed and slept of my hangover. But in truth, I have just worked, whicle in great agony, to pay for the highways in Auckland. Fuck Auckland. In the Bum.

Auckland is Gay.

But you know what wasn't gay? My gig last night. I was as nerovus as a homosexual in Nazi Germany, honestly, if I had had anything to eat that day it would have been in my pants, but I got up on stage, played my five songs with only six fuck ups, which people either didn't notice or were too kind to mention, and got back off the stage again. I seriously didn't think I did too well, but people seemed to like our interesting style, and considering the fact that we have only had three practices, we did damn well. Our music has come a longway from the days of getting drunk and sitting on a balcony, improvising songs to one badly tuned acustic guitar. Now we do it in a pub. Our next practice is on tuesday. We have a new song on the way, and i suppose we will start looking for other gigs.

Being in a band is not the Gay.

First gig

Well, tongiht is my first gig, and I am excited, scared and drunk. But first, there is a small matter of an essay that I have to get out of my way. It is only 1500 words long, and two hundred level, and I have already done the reasearch, and should only take me about 3hours to do, but damn I wish I was doing something else. Like sleeping. Or not sleeping because of nerves. Or because if nervously shitting myself. Anything but this essay. I don't like essays.

And I have nothing else to say.

I have no car, I have no money, but I'm in a band.

Tonight I have my last band practice before my first band gig. my band, The Crazy (the name should give you a hint as to what kind of music will be playing) will be at Happy Bar on thursday at or about 8pm. Good times indeed, as we now have a drummer to accompany me on Accustic and my frined on the electric, and are ready to release the romdom song upon the ears of the unsuspecting public.
Apart from that, I am just tired. Too much work, too many essays, too little sleep. I managed to burn my belly at work today. Burning your hands, fine. Thats just a part of working with hot coffee machines and deep fryers. But your belly? You have to have done something pretty special to do that. And thats me. Im special.

Special like a Fox.

A new week.

Monday. Again. All the work. Today I washed dishes. I am actually quite glad I was washing dishes. Bugger doing the coffee. In would have been busy to buggery. Buggerage. Bugger.
But yes, it is a new week, a new week filled with many, many things. In half an hour I have a class test, on the monster of a book that is David Copperfeild. I have to hand in an essay, and return my Jesus costume to the Costume cave. I shall eat Roti Channai, buy some ciggarets, then put out the trash and have a band practice. And thats just today. The rest of the week is going to be filled with gigs, Scrubs, drinking, work, more essays, bags that look like animals that you can open up and put things inside (like candy) and, if I have time, some sleep. I quite like sleep.
Damn, my beard is itchy. I need a trim.
What else? My body hurts, and my insides are dying, but thats old news. We have lost the cheese slicer at my flat. I cannot find it. It is surprising how much you come to rely on a cheese slicer. Using a knife is just not the same. I hate misshapen lumps of cheese. Does something to the flavour. I could talk about cheese all dday. But I wont. I think I shall go hand in my essay.

VIVA LOS CHEESE SLICER!

TODAY IN HISTORY: Since this blog has been going for a year, I have decided to have a look at the things I was doing at this time in the past, where I am told, they do things differently. I will then be able to tell weather I have become more interesting or crazy or whathave you.
AUGUST THE FIFTH (not today I know but live with it) OF THE TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE: On this date, Flan went to the doctors to make sure he didn't have the diabeties. He was approximately 50% less crazy at this time last year, but 25% more interesting. With this news, Flan shares have dropped an alarming 50cents a share, and still trade at precisely $0.01.
Investers are said to be unconcerned. As they don't exist. I bet your glan you kept on reading, aren't you? Yes, this is five minutes of life you will never get back! NEVER!

Sex

I am still alive. Yes, I know it might have been a while since I last posted, but that has been because I have been busy. Busy sleeping. AROUND THAT IS! Did he just go there? Oh yes he did! Finally, I have evidence that getting completly shitfaced midweek and spending all your money on expensive drinks yeilds positive results.
On wednesday the 26th of July, I had my first random and completly string free sexual experiance. And since I have not had a chance to talk about sex much for quite some time, I am now going to do so. Lots.
Anyway. I was drinking on a wednesday, as you do, and watching Scrubs with some friends. I had two bottles of wine, and they then persuaded me to go to the Kumera with them. The good old Kumera. Of course, nothing ever happens at the Kumera, and after a few Red-Bull Vodkas, I did my usual dissapering act, wandered the streets of wellington, jumped in some bushes and ended up in the one place I knew I would find no one I knew: The Wellington Sports Cafe, home of DB drinking jock-tards. The mind of a drunk works in mysterious ways.
Anyhoo, their I met a woman by the name of Crystal, who had blonde hair and a tattoo. We went to one of those little bars above street level somewhere, where I spet about $90 on Matinis. The Vodka kind.
She had a flat thing somewhere on cuba. I forget where, because I was drunk.
She asked if I would like some coffee.
Damn straight I wanted coffee. I had not had coffee in so long I had almost forgotten what the hell coffee was like. I proably would have gone upstairs with her if she asked if I wanted warm, dirty water. We had coffee, and that, my friends, is why last tuesday I turned up at work half an hour late, in the same clothes as I had been wearing the day before, still drunk and smelling like the brewery.
I was ill for three days afterwards, proably because of the alcohol I had put inside me. Remeber, Alcohol is a drug, and poison to your organs. But sometimes you just have to do it, and hope that you don't start bleeding internally.
For the record, Crystal hasn't rung, even though I left a number. It has been a week, so now I can safely put it behind me. It was just one night of sex.

Still I am alone in my smelly single bed. But it could be worse, I suppose.