Long time, time for thought!

Three blogs in three months. Wow. THats productive.
BUT WHAT HAS BEEN PRODUCTIVE! TO SEE A COMPLETE LIST OF THINGS I HAVE BEEN DOING, SCROLL THIS PAGE IN A DOWNWARDS DIRECTION!
-Boozing
-Karioke
-Eating raw fish
-Roller Blading
-Eating cooked fish
-Winning almost all the money at poker
-SUMMER ALE!
And thats about it. But it is importaint to not that yes, summer ale is back on the market again. Why is this importaint to note? Because it means that I offically have mo money, and any money that I do procure from various sources shall be immedately spent on that light substance that fills your mouth with the spice of many bees, deposits a warm liquidy tase of golden days witin your spleen and, if you have been drinking in the sun, inserts the compulsion to sit upon the roof tops.
As we all know, I am not a fan of sunshine. I dispise summer and it's underfed, moody child that is spring, I laugh in the face of sunshine (preferably from behind a heavy curtain) and new born animals smell funny. No. No I do not love the smell of puppies. The smell of a poorly formed gastric system.
But summer ale... oh how you delight me, how you make my taste buds flutter in delight! The creamy taste of your drunken emphoria is enough to draw me out of my dark enclosed spaces to squint painfully in the afternoon sun.
So raise your glases, filled with summer ale, and give them to me. I shall be outside more often this summer, me thinks.

In other news, shock events cause scandal within my immediate surroundings! More on that when Highlyflannable returns!

Why do I smell funny?

Becuase I stayed out for a substansial portion of last night drinking. Must shower.
Anyway. Long time since last post, ectera, no not dead, ectera, life much the same, etceterara... back in wellington from teaching placement, that seemed to go well, no trouble, good reports, kids are still disrespectful, good to see that the traditions of schooling have been passed down from Father/Mother/State appointed caregiver to Son/Daugher/Motherless Barstard. Weee.
What will I do tonight? I don't know. Let us find out by spinning the wheel of fortune!
Chunkachunkaghunkachunkachunkachunkachunkachunkchunkchunkchuuuuuuuuunnnnnnkka!
NOTHING!

Teaching Experances, Vol.1

I am back in the Hawkes Bay, back at my old college, which I probably cannot name due to copywirght issues, and I have just spent my first day teaching. Well, observing how to teach. And telling students to settle down. But honestly, it has not been half as weird as I thought it would be. It has been kind of like stepping back into a pair of old shoes. Stinky, full of holes, but comfortably moulded to your feet. It's also pretty amazing the level of respect you obtain just by wearing the tie and "teacher" label. I would like to think it is my presence within a classroom that creates a respectful awe in the students, but I am thinking that it is more likely that they are figuring out who I am. Noone really knows what this "Student Teacher" creature really is, and it is far too early days for me to count my chickens yet. I haven't even seen any eggs. It's all guestimation.
Anyways. I sit in on three drama classes and two english classes. In fact, tomorrow I am doing my first actual "Teaching" thing. I am starting off a lesson for a year 12 english class, period four.
Fun times indeed. When will I know that I have actually become a "teacher"? When I stop using the quotation marks will definately be an indication.

If Julius Cesar were a teacher:
"I came, I glared, I kept the entire class in through interval."

Where do Tuesdays come from, Daddy?

What purpose does Tuesday serve? All it does is seperate the space between the Monday, typically a bad day, and a Wednesday, also a typically bad day for many people. It is breathing space, a small void which, in my opinion, could be better served by being an extra friday (and extra saturday would be too much to hope for). Go on, ask sopmeone what their favorite/ least favorite day of the week is. I bet the awnswer to either will not be "tuesday". If it is, throw fruit at them and call them rude names. You can download both these things, in throwable form, from the amazing internets.

To recap, Tuesday is the bastard son of all times that you just feel too lazy to sex yourself or others. Remember, everytime you complain of a "headache", another tuesday is born.

So really, the moral of the story is, the more you get your bone on, the faster the week goes.

Shin Nibblers

Oh, what time has passeth since I last bessed my flock with apparent wit! What things have happened! What miraculous events and spectactularities!
So many wonderful things have occured! My dancing sandals flap with amusement!
"Have there really been many miraculous ecteras occuring in your life since your last post oh sage Flan?"
...
...
...No.

Well, yes, there has been somethings happen. But I'm not going to say anything about them at the moment. Because I don't wan't to. But to take your mind off things, look around you. Look around you. Just look around you. Have you spotted what we're looking for?
Thats right, the correct awnser is BOREDOM.
BOREDOME, chemical symbol B3m, has manifested itself in the form of me renovating this little page. New photo (Sexy, yes?), new words at the tops and bottom of things, same old disgusting green colour. Because I like you to suffer, and crap green is the best way to do so.

Anyway. Most of the reason that I have been too busy to do stuff here is that I have been training to be a teacher. In fact, soon I shall be going upon my first Teaching Experiance, where I have to teach small people of little maturity the England. Extra In Fact, I shall be doing so at my old college. I hated that place. The only reason I am going back there for four weeks of what I expect to be tourturous tourture is that I can get free board and I know my way around. More about all this jazz later.

The apple does not fall far from the trees my friends, unless that apple tree is growing on a cliff and drops small rocket propelled fruit into the void on windy windy days.

SUPER DONE!

Looking on the intranet, I find that I have pased my last two courses, with and A- and a B.
I am now finished my BA.
I am "Flan Hyperbole, BA"!
Or possibly "BAFlan"
...
This kinda works better with my real name. Anyway, a giant Huzzah and Waley Waley Waley to me!

Seaweed

Oh, the upstairs brain jello is percolating nicely. I keep on seeing people out the corners of my eyes, but really it is just junk. Actual junk or brain junk? I don't know. In these kind of situations I don't really think it makes much of a difference.
Speaking of people, I am now back in Wellington. I went home of r a couple of days to see the parents and eat food and do a bit of detox. I entered a story in a short story competition. I won't find out about that for four months.
Speaking of people, why won't people contact me? One person in particular. Of couse, this thinly veiled attempt for meaningful human contact will probably be seen through instantly by said person, provided she still looks in on this page every now and then. The question is whether this is a badly coded shout out or simply just a cathartic purging of what is bothering me. It might be both.

It's hard to see through the shadows in the jello.

And if THAT isn't simutaneously the strangest and most emo comment you've heard today then, well... I want to read that comment.

With the passion of a dying sun. Whatever that means.

All alone again...

My flatmate has just goneback to the ole hometown for a while, therefore leaving me COMPLETELY ALONE for a few days. What will happen to me without anyone keeping my mind off my horrible lonelyness? Want to place bets?
One buck will get you three on the bet of me turning to Satan dark lord and master in an attempt to populate my house. With the souls of the undead. But at least they will keep me company.
One will get you eight in the bet that I go stir crazy a do absolutely everything I can do, such as read all the books on next years reading list, whitewash the walls and fix the leaky tap which keeps me awake at night.
One will get you twenty eight if you be that I will remain completely sane, or even become more sane.
Same odds for me obtaining spiritual enlightenment.
If, however, you decide to bet that I shall become a drunken wreck while watching scrubs in my dressing gown and not showering, well, you will have to pay me for ever dollar you bet. becuase, come on, betting means you have to risk something. Otherwise it just isn't fun.

Now I am going to go to the supermarket, to hopefully stave off the odds of me starving to death, but unfortunately raising the odds of me burning the house down or asphixiating myself through gas stove cooking mishaps.

Another day

Another whiny post about how little I do, or at least the fact that all the things I do seem to be remarkably similar to all the things that I have done before with very little...muh. Word that means change, but more eloquent.
Man, I wish I'd never seen Groundhog Day. Sometimes that movie seems like my life, but I AM GETTING OLDER!
Ok, more positive stuff. Gotta re-write some stories for the competition which has its deadline at the end of the month. Good fun. Got helpful feedback from my co-partner in this endevour. She had actually sat down and done close readings of my stories.
Close readings.
My stories.
This is pretty much like a dreamy thing come true. If someone likes your crap enough to read it that thoroughly, well, it's like random people walking up to you and saying "Damn, I wish I was as hot as you."
And since the latter probably wont happen to me, I better just get writing, huh?

Yup. Huh. Huh. Yup.

ANd now it is done!

Thats right! The forth sign of the apocalypse! Flan has a degree!
...
It's alright, I swear I won't use my new powers for evil.
You can come out from under the bed now.
Well, seriously, I won't know whether I have obtained my degree or not for about a month, but I felt pretty good comming out of my exams, and my internal marks were pretty damn good also. I really font think there is anything to fear this time round. Also, I have to pass this time round, otherwise my parents will kill me and then my grandparents will dig me up and use me as a scarecrow. Oh,you think Im joking? My grandmother can be pretty damn scary.
Sometimes it keeps me up at night... all that white poopie...
Anyway, in other news, some of my friends are graduating tommorow, and my cuzzie is having a celebration for finally tunring 21 on saturday in which me and the band shall be performing. Good times. Good times indeed.

Untill then, I am going to read web comics.

Almost done part2.

Well, it has been along time since I last posted, and I would like to say it was because I was studying dilligently. And I will say it. I have been studying diligently. And now I have just proven myself to be such a fucken liar. Clinton wasn't this much of a liar. I might as well get up on a podium and annouce that "I did not have sexual relations with that bottle of wine and her 12 sexy alcohol cousins." But it was all oral, nothing carnal. Oh, I am going to hell.
Oh, a Clinton joke! soooo who knows how long ago. Well, yes, I don't keep up with current events. At all. So old things that absolutely everyone knows about will have to be my comedic staple.
Anyway, in current Flan events, tommorow is me final exam, hopefully for ever. Instead of studying, I drank the last of the beer hanging around my room and have been reading a webcomic called "Questionable Content." Apparently, hanging around a coffee cafe will get you women. I should hange around cafe's more often... hang on, I fucken work in a cafe! I should be covered in hootch by now! Instead I am a burned out shell of a man who wears his jeans to bed because the effort of putting them on in the morning seems futile and I am afraid I will wake up too angsty to pull on pants one morning and end up in prison for indecent exposure. And prison is one place you don't want to be without pants.

Ah, I forget how fun this is. Anyway, tomorow, in celebration of my rapidly approching barmitsfa into the world of adulthood, I shall be at B4 from 5pm onwards. Assemble, minions! I shall be drunk and in the need for pool playing!

Almost done...

Time, oh, it's running out, soon I shall be out and about, in the big wide scary world, I shall be teaching both young and old, but first there's exams, and a millon other plans, that fist I must execute, before I start a major commute, first to karori's teaching school, then to places in New Zealand's rural, or perhaps to major cities, It's so scary sometimes I think of quitting. The workloads immence, after I commence, and soon you might not see me, as often as you'd like it to be. But before then you should take this chance, to ring me up and have a rant, for when July 13th rolls around, I shall simply have to go to ground.

Its exciting and scary in equal mesure, along this path I hope to find pleasure.

New Guitar!

I have a new guitar! It be beautiful, it be sound beautiful. It be really really good. My dumb ass flatmate said something nasty about it, but I don't care. I have the semi-accustic guitar that I have allways wanted, I bought it a new bag, and it be the feel good.
Words cannot actually describe what it feels like when you get a new guitar. It's kinda like a blind date. At the start you can't get your hopes up cause you don't know if you are going to be paired up with a un-immaginatve strict schoolteacher or a smoking hot biddy with your sense of humor, but when you are staggering home supporting each other because of too many appletini's and you look into her eyes and just know she's going to ask you in for coffee, well... that kinda comes halfway to the feeling that you get when you have run home from the music shop, put your fingers on the fretboard and her the notes ring clear from under your flying fingers. It's good. Really good.

And now fate has tragically torn us apart for hours, while I have to work. Damn you social commitments!

#263: 2nd Birthday of Highlyflannable!

Today is the sencond annerversary of that fatefull night when I decided I was simply too bored to not create my own blog. Nothing was on tv, I was in waipuk and somehow my mind decided on this ultimately tragic form of entertainment! Weee! Looking back on my life I have found that... well, not alot has happened. I could do a top ten list of things that were good, thinks that were bad and things that were drunk, but as I was looking over the events of the last few years I noticed that I would be severly lacking in some events to fit in the good catagory, and that many other events would be included in all three catagories. Really, life is a mixed bag of emotions and activities and trying to pigenhole anyone, including yourself, is bound to be an exercise in futility.
So, instead, lets look to the future... together!
Pretty soon I am going to be going to teachers college. This is going to mean a huge change in the way I do things. For a start, the course will run pretty much from 8.30am to 5.30pm EVERY WEEKDAY. So, no more working at vickies. No more days off. I shall have to find a job that will let me sacrifice my weekends for money, and after five weeks of classes I shall be shipped off to somewhere in new zealand for teaching experiance in some school somewhere. Then I come back for five weeks, then away for five weeks, back for five weeks, away for five weeks. Then, and only then, will I be able to join the exciting and actually quite frigtening world of teaching secondary students about the wonderful and grotesque world of Shakesphere and other notables. But that wont be until after this time next year, so I can safely not worry so much about that. But I do have to worry about not being such a drunkard. Mostly because teachers cannot be such booze hags, but also it occurrs to me that perhaps it is not "my life is empty theirfore I should drink" but more "my life is empty because I drink". It is difficult to do stuff when you are hungover 24/7. Besides, have you woken up sober reciently? It's not a bad feeling. Not at all. It may be harder to get to sleep when you are sober but it is a damn sight easier to get the hell up.
As far as writing goes, I reciently received a positive peice of feedback from the last short-story competition I entered. Very positive, in fact. I didn't win, but most of this stuff you simply have to chalk up to experiance. Today I plan to write some more, after this blog, in preperation for another few competions that are comming up. If I could get myself published within the next year I would be completely over the moon, past mars and into those uncharted reaches of space, racing the hubble telescope into galaxies unknown.
Musically, at the moment I have $149 dollars left to pay on a nice new semi-accustic guitar. If I am able to get the money my parents pledged shortly, I shal be able to pick up "Dusk" on wednesday. This is another strategy I am employing in my fight against the bottle: If I spend money on stuff I need, such as clothes and books and what have you, I can't get so drunk due to lack of funds. And, of course, I will have a lot of sweet stuff.
My bedroom is tidy. I am washing my sheets. Yes, I am actually trying to de-stink my bed rather than just complaining and festering within it. Don't I feel like a proper human being? All this activity and trying not to smell bad. Yes indeedy, I certainly seem to be trying, don't I?
On the negative side, on friday I got exceedingly drunk at my friends going away party and made lots of noise when I stumbled home. I also mangaged to make myself some food, of which I only comsumed half of, and had to wake up and clean. Ewww. But I am trying, I swear to whatever invalid deity you care to name.
I keep on stealing pens from work. There is a fly in my room. I am sorry if anyone was expecting any glorious insights into life as we know it in this blog, but I am afraid to say it is more likely that I shal simply harp on about my pathalogical aversion to things that fly and other unimportaint topics. I sometimes think that after these two years, or even more, I have not learnt a single thing. Except for a lot about english. Which is pretty damn inportaint. More importaint than your silly "science" or "law". At least English can admit when it is a fiction, rather that hiding assumptions behind a mask of fact. I have never actually seen an atom or a subpoena. Have you? Huh? I thought not.
Well, a load of rubbish here so far. But I am moving towards my eventual goal of being a teacher/lecture person/writer extrodinare/person who lives in a house which he owns and has three day weekends. It's nice to have goals in life. And all that traveling I want to do. Good stuff there.

But right now I am going to get out my electrified tennis racquet and kill this damn fly. I hope everyone in the world is able to also conquer their annoying flying insect too, weather physical or metaphorical.

Now that is a wish for the future.

Many things have happened

Days Sober - Who Cares?

Yes indeed. Since Thursday, I competed in Battle of the Bands. We got through to the next round, but my guitar was fucked, so I had to ask around on friday morning to borrow someone elses. Managed to find a guitar. Boss shouted a couple of drinks after work on friday. Went to battle of bands and played very well, but unfortunately didn't win. Went round to friends flat afterwards with six bottles of wine and some groupies. Drank wine. On way home, got a vegeterian kebab. As I was eating my kebab, Calvin, who was also walking home, got punched in the face because he wouldn't give someone a dollar. I got home and said rude things to my flatmate about her clogged up nose (she has a cold.) I woke up in the morning to a text message from my Gradparents announcing that they were comming to wellington and frenzedly cleaned my room in an effort to hide or discard all incriminating contraband. Then went out to a restruant for my great-uncles 65th birthday. Grandparents shocked at my ability to drink five glasses of wine. I beleive I may have laughed. Had sushi for lunch today and farewelled my Grandparents, and then wrote an essay.

I have done so much this weekend that I am having difficulty feeling anything about the particular events. All has just been a blurr of movement.

I feel nothing.

Do I have any other news? No, I think not. I news nothing. This comming week I have two assignments to hand in, one completed one not started, and an appointment in Karori for teaching stuff. Busy busy busy.

And I need to fix/buy guitar.

My skull is leaking!

Days Sober: 1

Gah! Today I have to work at premise, the staff club on campus. I hate working at premise. It is hot and muggy and I don't know where anything is. It reall sucks. And they use stupid coffee that tastes like crap.

In other news, tonight is the first round of the Battle of the Bands, at Tussok bar at massey. So don't be surprised if my sobriety counter has reset itself tomorow.

Now, I must work. Sigh verilly.

Liquefy

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Days Sober - 0

So, who hads bets that I'd crack after two days? Oh well, just gotta start over I suppose. WOO!

Had something to say. Cannae remeber what it was. Going to buy myself some jeans this morning. FOR REAL this time. Mostly because yesterday I spilt warm milk all over the buggers. And I gotta go buy new guitar strings. And some curry or something.

My friend Calvin had the opening of his exhibition last night. It was pretty good. He sold an art work, life is good. I had to celebrate. Thats my excuse. Whats yours, huh? You don't have one! Put your judging fingers away people!

I have lots of things I need to do. Everyone should come and see me and other people at massey bar this thursday and or friday for we be playing in the battle of the bands. Then this weekend I really, really have to get some work done. Otherwise halfway through next week I will have essays comming out my yahoo.

Which is a fictional humaniod character from "Guliver's Travels" writen by one Jonothan Switft. I have a modle of one in my room. And that is where the essays will be comming out of. The yahoo modle in my room.

No boozing

Flan's Sobriety Counter: Time sober, 2 days.

Well, one of those days doesn't really count, becuase I was HUNGOVER LIKE AN OX. But yes, I, Flan, perpetual drunkard extrodinare, am planning to go for a whole 30 days without alcohol. There is only one exemption to this clase, and that is while I am performing in my band I am allowed one (1) handle of beer. All other times the vine, yeast and potato water water shall not pass my lips.

Oh yes, I hear some of you say, we have heard this one before! The flannanator cannot but help himself in the presense of alcohol, wether it be free or retailing at $8 a bottle from the local convinience store! And yes, I do admit, there is a hig chance that I shall fail in this endevour. But I am going to try. A thought occured to me on sunday night, and that thought was that perhaps the reason that I feel really bad a lot of the time and connot sleep to well and often look like pure shite is not because of a vengful god, but perhaps because of the incredible amounts of toxin I put inside me each night. I know, crazy, but it might be the cause. So I am going to try this "bandwaggon" for a month, and if I don't feel any better after that then, well, I am going to be a drunkard until I die.

If you wish to sponser Flan in his endevours for a more healthy lifestyle, you may pledge money that I will collect after my month long sobriety-binge. I promise that money wont be spent on booze.

Probably.

In other news, I had banana, muslie and apple for breakfast this morning, with a coffee. Healthy breakfasts may be cool, but now I need to poo before going to work.

Catch you later, carnivioururs amphibious lizards.

Weekend

It feels like a long time since I have had a weekend. Like a proper weekend, with things like sleep and leasure time and just enough motivation to do some needed things so that when you turn up at work on monday you feel a nice little bit of self satisfaction from the knowledge that you have, in some small way, made your life a better place for yourself.
Of course work soon burns that feeling away but it is still nice to bave it, even if just for a small while.
So what am I doing with my weekend? I am reading. I might watch some Scrubs, I might have a few cans of beer. But what I WILL be doing is reading "Prelude" by Wordsworth, "Songs of Innocence and of Experiance" by Blake, "To a Gentleman" By Coleridge, and something or other that will help me with my essay by Byron.
Byron is actually a damn funny poet. Pitty he has such a fucken stupid name.
In making these grand gestures of will and intent, however, I also know that sometime later on today Calvin will ring and we will play pool. And after pool, who's to say that there might not be a party close by which needs our attention? Or a bar? Or a gutter? Unfortunately I know how likely this is.
But I can resist. I am resistance king. Except temptation. Temptation is pretty hard to resist. And booze. Yeah that too. And just sitting around. In fact, you know what sounds pretty tempting right now?

Doing something.

Oh Jesus Christ, Part Two.

Ah, would you hark at the drunk man. Boy, that is one incomprehensiable blog, the result of a comment made by a friend while I was drunk at Wendys 21st dinner. I had a really good time at that dinner, and probably a bit too much to drink (but hey, this is me we are talking about) and had put it to the back of my mind... unfortunately, the comment was still at the back of my mind when I got home at about 1am, where upon it exploded into the wide world of the internet as incoherant drool.

I like the internet. Sometimes its just like a really big sponge for all that mess you don't need any more.

Well, anyway, now I have stuff to do. Meet with my agent person regarding a short story competition (I haven't heard from the previous one yet. When did I enter that? two months ago?) and do some work on some essay and go to work. Businiess as usual.

Oh jesus christ...

...blah blahbalh, maon, bitch, whine, rubarb, rubarb, rubarb.

I was going to give you the extended version of this post, but unfortunatly, my computer died halfway through it. So this is the condensed version.

I don't care what anyone says. These are my feelings. This blog is my feelings. Yes, they are edited, either by the booze that I have consumed or by the feelings of the people who I know read this blog, but these are my feeelings! If you find them stagnat or unreal, deal with it. My life is basically filled with booze and essays. Well done if you find more meaning to my life than I do. Well done indeed. You are obviously the kind of person who willshift throgh a ton of muck to find a penny.

Oh Jesus Christ indeed. Save me fromthe critics and editors of this world. You cannot seem to save me from anything else. And beleive me,when I get down to Hell, I am going to make a pact with Satan (because even he seems to see my soul as a useless comodity as it is now) to work with him until I can find a way to kick God in the balls. Hindsight or no, drunkeness or no, I emplore my readers to realise this: yes, sometimes I do not rememberwhat is importaint. Yes, sometimes I omit what is improtaint because it could be harmful to those other people I know. Yes, sometimes I omit things that I think or feel or do because itcould be halmful to myself to remember. Sometimes language, as much as I hate to admit it, is simply not enough to convey the true emotion that ripples beneath everyones everyday mask of acceptability.

This blog is not reallly her to immortalise my every move. It is a amalgamation of what I am, what I feel, what I say, what I do, what I think, what I cannot think, what I write between lectures, what I think between moments, whatI cannat envision without an atlas to "lifeas WE know it".

No one knows what life as WE know it truky is.

So please forgive me if sometimes this blog seems like a rushed narraitive, but it may surprise you to realise that I think in narraive. I am consantly re-editing the sentences I spoke a minute age, I am constantly framing my own experiances within that framework of the human mind that demands a cohesive plot. Unfortunately, Life dosen't work that way.

We are all spirals, and I am sorry if you do not inderstand what it means to feel the tug Of that "other space'

This other space is my own .Accesable, and the MACHINES cannot function.

oH DEAR GID,i AM POSSIBLY too drunk to be typing.

Obviously.

But I live on, and hopeflully, friends will accept my appologies for what has happened and my life will return as normal.

A future where the human body a gave a flame...

Ps: Imogen and Clarisse, I will be comming to pay you a visit unnnpanned or a lightsfalure.

peace out.

Alright this is ridiculous.

Gotta write something here. Been too long. Unfortunately, I am in a rush. Have to run up t ouni soon to orint off an essay I wrote last night (Its not due in for 13 days! This is the most organised I have ever been, ever. EVER.). Have been drunk lots, have to write two short stories tonight, have to sleep, have to hve my beard trimmed... gotta do some crap.

GAHHH! I STILL LIVE!!
I shall put more pertenent and interesting things in this space when I have a small amount more time.

Time, its on my side. Just now, however, it's taking the day off.

Say No To Toast!

We have been in the "Post-Modern" era too long!! Come on people, it is time to throw off the shackles of an undefinable movement for too long. I mean, come on! How can we be respected as poets/writers/musicians/artists/dancers/actors or even people if, when the history books come to name us, can only describe the period that we were creating within as "the period that happened after the modern period, kinda like avant guard but with less direction." Less direction than the Avant Guard? That particular movement thought that turning a urinal upsidedown and calling it a fountain was a work of art. Certainly, with all our brains and creativity, we can come up with something with more substance.
And so, myself and my friend Calvin have. The new movement shall be called "Say No To Toast" or "No Toast" for short. Basically it is based on and overblown breakfast metaphor. But it has direction. Observe:
-There are basically three types of people in the world, Dough, Bread and Toast. People with no inclination to strive or goals that they are reaching towards are dough. People who work are Toast, either being Toastees if they are employed or Toasters if they are employers or bosses. Toasters are all part of the giant mechanism, "The Toaster", which chars everything that comesinto contact with it. Bread are the people who have their own goals and heated by their ambitions they rise towards them, free from "The Toaster" in mind or body. The world in which we live is "The Plate". We all start off on "The Plate" as Dough, but it our choses in life that will determine what we become, or if we change at all.
-What people leave behind them, what they give to other people, are crumbs. Of course, dough being the sticky substance that it is, leaves no crumbs. Bread leaves little crumbs but what it does leave is useful, a substance that is able to be used in other types of cooking, for crumbing chicken and the like. Toast leaves many many crumbs, but these are burnt and corse things unuseful to all and are, after a small amount of time, need to be washed from the plate. Unfortunately, in this process, most of the bread crumbs are also washed away.
-Being bread, toast or dough is not just a fact of life status, but also a state of mind. It all depends on how much you think on things, bread being the optimum state to both be useful and still retain its adaptability. The main point of the movement being that people need to think but not become set in their ways, not to submit to "The Toaster" which burns and makes a person fixed, unmoving and unchanging.
Of course, this is not all there is to "No Toast". There are subclasses such as "Breadwinners": Toastees that mistakenly beleive that their own goals and that of "The Toasters" are the same, which may seem innocent but too much time inside the machinery of the toaster turns them into burnt out crusts, or "Vogels": those that were born to be Toast, and their aptitude for being able to think things through in minute detail lets them turn the machinery of "The Toaster" to both their ond everyone elses benifit. There are also loaves, which only like minded Bread can form. Inanimate objects, historical events or present happenings can also be refered to as "Toast", but here the meaning is slightly different:
-To call something "Toast" in the negative sense is to say that it is normal, unchanging, stagnant, of no use, but,
-To call something "Toast" in the positive means that it is something unexpected and amazing, while having the appearance of the above but, against all expectations, the Crumbs of the object/event have managed to form into something that is useful, interesting, changable and full of worth. It is like a person who has never played chess before winning against someone much more experiance: all their mistakes have come together to create an unbeatable strategy. Of course, the person who they were playing was probably halfway Toast if they couldn't adapt to meet a new chalange, but the event of this occuring would be "Toast" in the positive sense in any case. Occurances of positive toast make us refelct on what it really means to be bread.
Of course, people themselves cannot be toast in the positive, only their actions.

And that is the start of the Say No To Toast movement. Pretty spiffy huh? No doubt things will change or expand, but its a start. And you should start as well. Say No to Toast today.

Before the stuff happens:

Just a quick blog before I have the band practice that is tommorow night at the bodega that happens with glee. I have been enjoying waving my hands in the faces of friends and co-workers and complete strangers and shouting "WEDNESDAY!" to remind people. Of course, many people didn't know what I was reminding them of. But im a busy person, and if they don't know then Im not going to tell them.
Childish, yes, but it works for me.
Anyway, it has been nine (9) days since I last posted and if people aren't thinking that I am dead then you should be. Not that I was. But the last half week was pretty much a no-go for me. I had things to do, people to see, exhibitions to attend, parties to dance naked at.... and what I actually accomplished was a whole lot of fuck all. Just stayed in bed mostly. Not alot indeed.
But on the bright side, I got an "A" for an assignment, a grade that I contested because I thought that it was too high but apparently I am actually good at essays. My horn that I have been blowing has not been blown with hot air. This is good. This next essay I am actually going to try, get a draft done and have someone proof it and then re-write it. Yes I know, these are familiar words to some of you, but I finish my BA at the end of this trimester and I'll be damned if I am going to go to teachers college without the warm glow of satisfaction that I beleive an A+ will bring.
Also, work and school has started up again which forces me to do things. Perhaps not the things that I have to do, but things none the less. I have tidied part of my room, done some washing and almost finished a couple of short stories. Not too bad me thinks. And tommorow night shall, with our ten song set, hopefully lift me to new highs of grand feeling-ness and leave me motvated and eager to do everything I possibly can, at least after the hangover goes away.
Man, is all I do moan and whine? Perhaps. But Lymph means "pure water". Put that in an essay. People love big words.

Also, I knicked three paninis from work today! Go tomorows lunch! I am sure my George Forman grill will help me knock out that excess fat. I whish I'd George Forman'd that pie I had for breakky/lunch/dinner (Just the one for all three, thank you) because man it tasted like poo. But what is it about those pastry wrapped, easilly held, warm parcels of meat that tempt us every time? Who knows. Who knows. Do you know? I thought knot.

There goes the text message for my ride. See you tomorow night.

Wouldn't ya know...

Immediately, and I mean immediately, immediately after I posted my previous post on how noone exists, the phone rang. It was Calvin. Then my flatmate came home. Then Charlie rang. It just goes to show you: weather it be karma or god or a giant hamster, someone upstairs really enjoys messing with me.
Anyhoo, so I went to the party that I had mixed emotions about. It wasn't too bad. It had a theme. That theme was "Flat Idol". Yes, everyone had to get up on stage and do a little performance. The winners got a pech snapps and lemon shot and the losers got losers punch, the components of which are a mystery to everyone who spends more than $5 on alcoholic substances. I wowed the audience with a solo performance of "Apple Tree" and advoided the punch, and the shot was quite good. At bout 12.30, after one and a half bottles of wine, three snapps shots and a glass of vodka with diet lemonade, I walked home and made myself some toast.
And thats about my night. Toast.
It was alright. Nothing splendific happened. Nothing awful happened. I just did what I usually do- try to drink away the social uncomfortableness and, when I run out of alcohol, stumble home. Good times.
Well, today myself and Calvin are going to meet for some chicken curry, play some pool and then retire for a night of drunk and music. So I shall catch you all, my lovely captive audience, on the flipside.

Flan out.

Eureka!

...I somehow think I might have used that as a title for a blog before. Anyway...
I have come to the conclusion that noone else exists on this lump of rock we all inhabited until sometime late last night. I have been trying to ring people to organise things to do, but there is no one at the other end of my telecomunications devices. I was supposed to be going to a party at Charlies house, an event that I have mixed emotions about, but it doesn't seem too likely now. Why? Well, I left a message on that wonderful invention the automated answering machine, and received not one but two phone calls when, as soo as I picked up te phone, the person on the other end meerly expelled air at me or hung up. So when, after waiting a few hours, I decided to ring her land line, all I got was the suspicious sound of someone taking the phone off the hook. Strange hey? So then I rang Clarisse, but alas, no one home, and my friend Calvin, ditto. I want to go have a beer and play some pool but you feel really really lonely when you do that.
Yes, I know, blogging twice in the same day kinda elicits the same response.
Hmmm... look at all those psudenoms that start with the letter 'C'. Coincidence? I hope so.
So now I am basically going to wait for things to happen to me. For the phone to ring, for my message alert to sound, for my flatmate to come home, for the armegeddon. Whatever.

This blog is brought to you by the number 7.

Nature, and all the joy it brings.

Of couse, I am not a nature person. I don't like to think about outside much less frolic in it. But it strikes me that my sanity does, and when ever I go back to waipuk *poof!* there goes my sanity off for an extended romp around the contryside with all its birds and bees and butterfly trees.
Now, back in wellington with my mind back in the, if tenous, grip of my sanity, I can clearly see, looking over the last few posts, the downward slope my mind takes when I am left to my own devices for any amount of time. And I wasn't even working.... it is unfortunate then, because of my apparent undesirability to the opposite sex, that after all this studying and so forth my chosen life path shall lead me into a single apartment somewhere wher I shall be spending most of my time writing in rooms with the blinds drawn, sipping vodka from a wine glass. It is a scary thought when you consider how much I can get unhinged in a weekto extrapolate that into the future...
Fortunately, crazy sells books. Just look around you. All the famous writers were either depressed, drunk, or doing the addictive substances fandango. And all of them were crazy. With this trend in mind, I think I am going to be an uber-author, the kind that has not been seen since the time of Dryden. Oh yeah. Flan nee Dryden. Of course, im not marring the guy, just appropriating his muse. I dont think you need a civil union for that.

Ok, so perhaps over emphasised the grip my sanity has on me. Did you know that in america there are toads the size of coconuts?

BACKING into the TOWN of TOWELS!

Today I go back to wellington! I just cannot wait to start worrying about all those things that you have to worry about when you are, you are... well, I can't say I live alone, I suppose "live apart" is a better phrase. Yeah. That looks good. Has a nice feel too.
Anyway. Yes. Worrying. Bills. Assignments. Classes. Work. Women. Friends. Money. Booze. Health. Meals. Clothes. Carpet. Whose that cat is. Other women. Parties. Illegal drugs. Legal drugs. That cat is still in here. Organising... all of these are things that most of us have to worry about on a daily basis. Thats why it is nice when you go and stay with your parents for a time. Because when you are at your parents house, certain things are a given. Such as "Do I have any clean clothes to wear?" becomes "Hey, look, my clothes drawer has magically filled itself up!" A similar thing happens with your stomach box. That cat is probably your cat and is more than likely up to date on its anti-flea stuff. Everything else you dont really have to worry about if you dont go outside, and who wants to do that anyway?
As for all the things that I said I would do when I was at home and away from all these stresses I have done about half of them. And of course they arent the most importaint tasks, oh deary me no.
But on the positive side, I still have anohter week off work! And a bit of money! Which means I shall be procrastinating while engaging in drunken practices with my friends. Yes, this means YOU. Sometime this week I will be turning up at your house with a bottle of wine and no I do not care if it's a tuesday morning. For soon I shall be back at the soul-rendering, foot-disease giving lovely front-for-satan's-planned-invasion-of earth cafe and before then I am going to make sure that I dont have much of a soul left to destroy. And we all know that spirits is the only way to do that. "Lose yourself in the first, find yourself in the second." Of course, when people say that, they mean the first and second sips. I mean the first and second bottles.

Also: Come see us play! Bodega 25th. Be there or I shall never talk to you again. Seriously.

Ever wondered...

...about the trend of goth girls becoming the sidekick/ love interest of the hero in cartoons aimed at teens?
....the etymology of the word "etymology"?
....why the sun goes away at night when clearly the light would be more helpful?

Is your mind bamboozled? Of course it is. Mine is. His is. Everyones is. I had something to write here at one stage today, but I have forgotten. Oh well. Tommorow I go to get my eyes checked again. I think they are getting worse, but I am not sure. Becusause I am not an optometrist. If I was, I might know.
OK, seriously, I have nothing. I suppose it is time to go read some of the illium.

Oh yes, and the awnser to question no.2 is:
[a. OF. ethimologie, mod.F. etymologie, ad. L. etymologia, a. Gr. , f. -: see ETYMOLOGE.]

Of course, the problem with many of life's awnsers is that they only raise more questions. And so the cycle of life continues, birds migrate for the seasons and somewhere far away a small lion cub is born, the only hope for a young script writer down on his luck who will do anything to make a buck. You reading this Spasm? Money lies not in your fancy art house films, but in movies about talking animals with a snappy soundtrack. Oh, how I used to cry when Scar dies...

Anyway, talking of people dying, at the moment in the Illiad Archillies is busy laying about with his heavy ash spear and since I have read 3/4 of the book for this bloodshed I had better go read about death rather than inflict it on all of you with this insane [ad. L. insn-us unsound (in mind), f. in- (IN-3) + snus healthy, sound in body or in mind, SANE.] prose.

Apparently "eccleptic" is not a word. Well, from now on, with the power vested in me by our lord jesus shakesphere I proclaim it to mean "illogical and disjointed writing [a. Flan's diseased mind], '2007 FLAN: Writing in which an active condition of insanity is passed from writer to reader through a lack of understanding on either participants part as to how one paragraph, sentence or in extreme case, word, could possibly follow logically from the other weeble weeble weeble.''"

Weeble weeble indeed.

My shoulder aches.

Today I thought it would be good to grow some swan plants. You know, those plants that only monarch butterfly catterpilliars will eat. Unfortunately, Monarch Caterpiliars eat alot. ALOT. And lots of swan plants die. So what I would do is grow lots of swan plants undercover, and then when they reach maturity take the covers off for a day or two. Then I would recover them. Hopefully this would mean that only a few butterflies would lay eggs on the plants so that the caterpiliars would have enough to eat and the plants would not die and I could do the same thing every year, the releasing of the grown monarch butterflies beccoming a yearly event for me which I would enjoy with a bottle of wine made from a few of my own vines as I slowly grew old and bitter and more cynical on a small lifestyle block just south of gisbourne.
Where this thought came to me from I do not know. I breifly considered making this little segment a part of a story, but I think I can do better. And this is what this website is partially for: the dumpbox of Ideas I no longer feel need to be inside me. And a dumpbox for the occurances of my life, of course.
In other news, I am supposed to play squash with my grandmother tomorow (or today as the case may be, you picky bastard). Unfortunately, my shoulder hurts like fire and brimstone for some reason and, as I am sure you are aware, my gradmother is not an easy opponent. Some might say that I being 45 odd years younger than her would be an advantage, but in squash the more experiance you have the better.
Or I am just greviously unfit. GREVIOUSLY.

Man I like that verb. Is it a verb? I get confused between verbs and the other ones. Anyway, "Greviously" is a great word. Think about what it means.

You know you have a problem when...

No, I shant tell you about the house. Except for the fact that in the new house there is exactly the same toilet as we had in the old house. As far as I know toilets usually come with the couse, so I think thats just odd...
Andyway, time to list all my crazy-makers:
- I have a phobia of marshmellows, I can eat them, but I cannot stand touching them. Which makes it rather difficult.
- Last night I found out that, even in a room full of people I know who I am comfortable around and even when the relaxitive known as alcohol is flowing smoothly, I am decidely uncomfortable in a large group of people. Even if it was a room simply filled wit clones of my best friend I would still need to go outside for a breather. This is disturbing, because along with my being uncomfortableness with large, open spaces, it now means that if I want to feel comfortable, I have to spend time alone, in a box, without marshmellows.

Why do my brain be the crazy? I like people, sometimes. I want to hang out with them in social situations, sometimes. I dont want to spend my life in a box! Please dont put me in the box, mother!

Back on the home turf

Yes, I am back in waipuk. I have many things to do while I am here but, becuase waipuk is an energy pirate, I do not know how many I shall get done.
Things to do:
- Read: The Illiad, The Golden Gate, My bloody poetry anthology.
- Write: The rest of the crazy short story I mentioned some posts ago, some more of my novel that has been on the back-burner for too long.
- Play: Guitar, with the hope of wiriting some songs, and FFXII.
- Sleep: In a bed. And that one I am going to do right about...now!

More about the house/ random rambling on rubble / life nexttime on Highlyflannable: It hurts your kidneys not to read!

Quickly! I have things to do!

But before you go, admire the crappy things I do when I am bored and cannot be bothered proof reading essays that have to be handed in tomorow!

And now I must fly through a shower and onwards towards my last day of work for two weeks. I am the hyper excited.

It has been said before...

but it needs saying again: I am an essay God.
I got up at seven am this morning to write my stupid 2000 word essay. Two and a half hours later I was finished. Ohhh yeah. Well, I am about 200 words short and I do need to proof read it, but hezus christ almighty Essays come to me like mud. Mud filled with WORDS!
Unfortunately, now after an essay in the morning and six hours work my mind is now, yes, filled with mud. But the non word enriched mud. Just plain boring old mud. Thick mud. Mud you can lose pennies in. If we used pennies in new zealand. Perhaps mud you could lose a fifty cent peice in. The new ones, not the old ones. You seen an old fifty cent peice lately? No wonder we changed to the new monies: if you threw an old fifty cent coin hard enough Im sure it could penetrate concrete.
Seriously. They were pocket sized weapons.
Anywoo, tomorow is my last day at work for a while! Huzzah, and I shall celebrate the only way I know: with WINE! COPIOUS COPIOUS (that isn't spelt right, is it) COPIOUS I SAY bottles of WINE!

And then the day after I go home. Expect more bout that later.

One down one to go.

And so starts another week. This one shall be filled to the gunnles with ESSAY! Thats right, not just with essay, but with ESSAY, the new and inproved version.
Yes.
Well, on a brighter note just before I hand in the first essay and get swallowed by the second, on this thursday I get to go home to see my parents. They have a new house. No doubt this shall be a strange experiance, so expect to hear more about that after I filter it through my mouldy brain.

Alright, time for the morning coffee. COFFEE!

Park Bench.

It must be hard to be a hobo. Waking up on a park bench is not one of the most enjoyable ways to start your morning. No wonder the homeless are always swearing.
Yes, you guessed it, last night I was the drunk. THE drunk. The penultimate drunk. The god of drunks. Nay, I was so drunk that even the god of drunks looked up at me as I staggered down the lonely Palmy street with a burger in one hand, two burgers in the other hand and a beer in the other other hand and said "oh shite man, that guy is fucked up". And indeed I was.
So what was I doing in Palmeston North? Celebrating with an old school friend who had managed to turn 21. We did so with 520 cans of beer. And 21 bottles of wine. And a five litre bottle of rum. Oh yes, you can get 5 litre bottles of rum.
Ehhhh... I really dont have much to say, except that I am a smoking hot bitch on the dance floor. Not with all this hipping and hoppin, jiving and joving buisness you all do these days, but that old school stuff, with the arms. You know what I mean. I am going to get some dance lessons inside me so that I shall be immortal. On the dance floor. You better bet I look good.

Now I have to finish an assignment. Yeah, I didnt get round to it on thursday. Essays + Hangovers = F.U.N!

The "F" stands for "Fire". I'll let you think about the rest.

This is the winter of our discontent.

"Oh, look at the big English Major, quoting Shakesphere! Woodeewoodeewoo! He must think he's soooo smart!"
Yeah, well, shuddup. Anyway, I am smart, as you will find when later in this post I make a reference back to the title that by that time will have muchly slipped your mind and you wont notice the connection until you re-read this post on a quiet rainy sunday. Besides, you didn't know it was Shakesphere at all. You just guessed. Ever noticed that shakesphere is quoted much like the bible? Pity ole Will isn't still around today. He would have all the money in the whole wide world and, as Gwen Stefani remarks, he would indeed be a wealthy girl.
Well. Now for something slightly more serious.
My place of employment was built by Satan himself. And Satan is a good builder. He put something in the wall, or the ceiling, that makes whoever works at little old "mount st cafe" have a mental breakdown at some point. Kinda like aspestos (yeah, no idea on the spelling of THAT one), but aspestos for the mind juices.
Take our last boss. Had a fisking heart palpatation one morning and had to go to hospital. Cause: Stress. Next boss now breaks into tears randomly perhaps once a day. Probably stress. Third boss now no longer talks past the nessicary. You would think that there would be quite alot that you would need to say when you need to run a cafe, but you would be wrong. Today my boss said two things to me, once when I arrived and once when she left. They were "Im going to quit my job" and "Make sure you lock up." Reason? Mind Aspestos.
And its contagious. Everyone at work is feeling it. People snapping at other people for little reason, or at least little reason that is other peoples fault. I am not doing so bad because Im certifiably insane and so rely less on my reson than other people. But still it is not a cool place to work at the moment.
But I still seem to be a carrier of the disease. Many of my friends seem to be having problems at the moment- people aren't sleeping, people are breaking up with eachother, being depressed, being anti social... and again, I am not too bad. It seems almost as if everyone elses problems have become to prevalent for me to be too concerned about myself at the moment. Which is alright. Gotta have someone around with a semi-consious grip on life, even if that person happens to be the aspestos-carrying, cynical and pessimistic person we all know me to be.
Of course, if the aspestos theory isn't right, and I am perfectly willing to accept that this may be the case, then I also have a counter theory.
Tis the season.
By this I do and don't mean the actual seasons. It is a proven fact that peoples mood is affected by the weather. Duh. I mean, even though I am a huge advocate for the overcast and windy days when you can feel the tempest rile your blood, I also like the rare calm, blue skied sunny day when you can feel the life soak into your bones. I just don't like them when they wont stop. I like change. I like the seasons of change, spring and autum.
But not everyone else is me. And although the change in seasons might account for some of what Im seeing around me, I actually think we are in winter. A dark cold winter where everyone has had the seasons of joy and laughter that is the end of a year and the season of hope which is the innocence a new year brings, and now many of us have hit the wall, the mirror wall, that makes us look and assess and think about what we think has to happen.
Mirrors are difficult objects. Many people have trouble with them. And right at this point I think what many people are seeing reflected in their mirror is a long and difficult winter. There is snow and ice, and not like a postcard either. The trees are bare and the wind is strong and the road is too damn long and you cannot stay still for fear of freezing but you cant go on for want of a destination.
These are scary things. And unfortunately there isn't too much anyone can do about them. There will always be snow and ice and biting wind, just as there is night and day. All we can really do is weather such a season together and hope that it passes soon.

Just as the song says.

Halfway through an essay.

I dragged myself out of bed a 7am this morning (yes, there is such a time) so I might do some actual school work. It has been some time since I have had to write an essay, and I must be rusty, because even though I have been writing for a couple of hours and this is only a 200 level paper, I am only halfway through my word count. So I have decided to shelve said essay until thursday night when I should have a clear head capable of thating a fresh view which will fill another 800 words.
This would usually be fine, but unfortunately I have other demands on my time. Friday I have a "flat warming" for Hobbs, Lilith and Wendy's flat. Flat warming gets inverted commas here because they have already had several parties there and besides their living room is so small that, if you have more than three people in it, it heats up to roughly the heat of a kiln oven. I can feel my clay-ish insides harden at the thought. And the thought that I shall have to be close to quite probably many people who I don't know. I don't like socialising.
Then on Saturday I am expected to go to Palmeston North for an old school friends 21st. Travel, more unknown people... gah. And Sunday will be spent with that great monster friend of mine I like to call "Hangover Beastie". So, even if I do get this essay done on Thursday, I will only have Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights to do another longer, harder essay that is due on thursday.

In other news, however, TONIGHT I ROCK! 9 songs, 9 somthings, 9 beers afterwards, and close to 9 hours of work the day after! Should be a good time.

Except for the work part. And the essay part. And the part which isn't me on stage, basically. Sometimes its hard being me.

It Lives! It Lives!...Again!

Tomorrow night "The Crazy" rides again! Thats right! All the completely idiot things that you can think of crammed into two guys and a girl (and that FIGURATIVELY you sick minded individuals). Come down to "The Valve", corner of Cuba and Vivian streets, walk through the broken wall and spend Wednesday indulging your OMG insane side.

I am quite excited. And so should you be.

I have a story in my head!

Finally! You know how you sometimes go though life without a story in your head and you feel slightly hollow? It's as if the real world isn't quite enough to engage you. You need something else to carry you through, something else to let your mind carry you through your everyday actions. Huzzah!
But let me tell you: This story looks like it is going to be stranger than anything else I've written. I know, Im not exactly an author who is on par with sanity, but hezus, if I can pull this one off, I shall be a very happy, if crazy man.

Because the odd numbers are before, and the even ones afterwards.

My Chemical Romance

Hah, no just kidding. I just wanted to put that as the title so you might have thought that I had well and truly gone off the deep end and into the happy limbo that is "emotional punk".
Yes, I know, its too easy to poke fun at emos. Or goths. Or punks. Or any other social group that defines itself as "being individual" while still looking all exactly the same. Strange that, isn't it? Something in our brains just goes "click" and then we suddenly feel the need to wear alot of dark, dark clothing.
Notice how many "inverted commas" there have peen already in this post? I love inverted commas. A couple of lines on a page, a small waggle of the fingers and suddenly you can make the meanings of your words "different".
Anyway.
Another week of work over, another weekend to do, another group of hours in which I have completely failed to do any schoolwork or tidy my room. And I really do need to tidy my room. it is filled with all sorts of undefinable crap, crap being the most undefinable when you actually really need to define something. Like schoolwork. Or underwear. But my room is now such a hideous mess that its chaotic nature has somehow worked its way into my ability to recognise things. And if you accidentally confuse schoolwork with underwear then you just know the day is not going to go your way. Basically because you have just been thrown out of your course and it's impossible to get biro ink of the skin.
Your evil shadow has a cup of tea. I like Lemon Demon. Yes, Lemon Demon is a band. No, those previous two sentences were not just random groupings of words.

Or were "they"? Ohhh, that ones a good one!

Idiot

Man im and idiot.
Read over the last couple of posts, and especially the comments. Can you see my chain of thought? No? Neither can I. Perhaps the reason that I am socially retarded is not because God hates me, but because I unintentionally sabotage every situation but running it through my paranoid, booze addled, worm ridden mind.
Sigh.

"Watashi wa baka de wa arimasen ka?"
"Hai. Baka des."

And that about sums it up sometimes. But oh well. Things could be worse, me thinks.

OH FUCK!

Look at my last posts comment.
...
...
...
If this is Clarrise, which I am supposing it probably is (unless it's Calvin messing with me agin, in which case NOT COOL) then... well, I am kind of at a loss of what to say. One of the dangers about putting your thoughts on the world wide web is, of course, that people might read them.
A key board never looked so intimidating.
I would say sorry, but I dont think I need to. These are my thoughts. And like the little screen above your head, if you read something you dont like, I suppose its better you find out now rather than later. Hopefully you dont read things you dont like, but oh well.

Damn damn damn. That date got me through yesterday.

And in almost unrelated news, talked to a friend who tells me that yes, Vivi did believe that waking me up at four in the morning for a little game of tonsil hockey was simply a game. Shes just a friendly person, in her words. Well hey, I dont know about you, but I belive that there is quite a difference between being friendly with someone and skull fucking them. Really.

So yeah. Hows it going up there god? Having a good little giggle?

Dating

Well, just had my date with Clarisse. Drank too much coffee, but went pretty well. We just had a good chat for about an hour and a half, basically filled with all the mindless small talk that happens when two people who really dont know what their relationship to eachother is. But good just the same. It turns out that we are both pretty much socially inept at meeting people. Always a good starting point to have.
Oh well, now things shall just float around in ether untill we meet again, I suppose. No numbers were exchanged, only hazy plans about another meeting hatched, just have to wait until life throws us back together again I suppose.
But all is good, when your down in my hood, as they say. i wasn't stood up, and that, I posit, makes all the difference in the world.

Now I go off to work for what may be an 8 hour shift. GOOODIE! Ever noticed how the word "Goodie" also looks suspiciously like the words "Go die"? I thought not.

Anyways.

Just a Quickie...

And you know with a comment like that I must be on the up. And really, after half a dozen beers and and hour or two of scrubs, who wouldn't be? I actually think the reason why God no longer awnsers peoples prayers is because the producer of that show somehow found a way to melt God down as his base material for those DVD's. There's no other plausable explanation!
So yup. As long as I remember not to think I be fine. in other news, tomorow I have a date! Huzzah! My friends tell me I date more than any of them put together. Except for perhaps Calvin. Calvin is a date machine.
So fingers crossed and all shall go well. Until then I have six hours work to endure, and then I am off to a small party which shall include me, my friend, and yes, more beer.

Living life to the FEEL! Well, not too much feel right now. More a live life to the "do lots of stuff so you don't think" FEEL!

I just like saying FEEL really.

Life

Well, you know with a serious title like that it has too be bad. And it is. Oh yeah.

Good News first:
On Friday was my friends 21st Birthday celebrations. Unfortunately, I cannot remember her psudenom right now, but anyway, it was a fine and reserved affair that was very much appreciated after the week long reaming that work had been. Yes, I was ready to get very very drunk, but decided to limit myself to one bottle of wine. Yes I know, not like me, but I have been drinking alot lately and didn't feel like making myself a fool again just yet.
I am glad I didn't. For at this shindig I met a lovely person I shall call Clarisse Von Pink. With a sense of humor which almost blends seemingly with mine, chatting away the night was the highlight of the weekend. We have a date on Wednesday to drink coffee.

But hang on just one minute! Thy say: What about this Vivi that you have been writing so much on the topic of Flan? Is this not a kind of hedging your bets a bit? A playing of both sides of the fence as they say?
Well yes, and I was worried about that also. What happened if, as I was going to Vivi's flat warming on the saturday night, we somehow got together and the date with Clarisse had to be cancelled or, worse, acted through so as not to hurt the emotions? I really dont know how I would have coped with such a situation.

As you may have gathered I no longer have to worry about that. For now Highlyflannable Theatre brings you the Really Horribly Bad News:
On Saturday it was my friends, and Vivi's, flat warming. They live up on the back of the beyond, a suburb on top of a mountain they call Roseneath. I decided to take only one bottle of wine. Yes, I know, not like me, but I had been out the previous night and didn't feel like making the usual fool of myself that I do.
I wish I had taken eighteen bottles of wine.
On saturday night I crashed. I had an emotional breakdown the likes of which has not been seen since I was 18 when I suddenly had to leave school halfway through the day and go climb a mountain. I sat outside the Roseneath flat for a good part of the night and was bothered about things that shouldn't bother me and then about things that should have bothered me. Because of this moment I am washing my hands of Vivi. What is it about me that makes women want to mess with my mind? I do wonder sometimes about how much a labotomy might cost. I know I was being hypocritial in some of the things I was thinking on that night, and indeed still am, but my mind is so bundled up, so tangled up, I am surprised that I am still able to function, even if it is a very curtailed function.
I ended up walking home from Roseneath at 3am, along the waterfront, shouting at God. He didn't reply.

So now begins the difficult and painful process of re-evaluating my life though this latest event and trying to align myself with it in some way so I am not constantly slicing myself on its fractured edges. In time to come, I shall aborb this new peice of glass into my bloodstream, as I have done with all the other painful events of my life, and my life shall be just that small amount colder.

I am really hoping that my date goes well on wednesday. I hope for the best but know that the worst will probably happen. Sigh.

Its damn difficult being me sometimes.

Its Thursday, so that means...

Yes. I am hungover to buggery, through buggery and so far out the other side of buggery that I can barely see it. Even at 7pm I still feel like a stuffed and wall mounted trout. Its amazing how much two bottles of wine can make every muscle and sinew in your body burn with the stiff fire of pain.
But there are upsides to being hungover: Everything tastes really really good. If you can keep it down that is.
Anyway, nuff bout the hangover. More about women.
Why are women crazy?
I dont know.
You dont know.
Women themselves dont know.
And why the hell do relationships have to be so much problems? Not that I am in a relationship, but last night as I was sleeping on a couch Vivi comes along and tries to wake me up. Unfortunately, on this occasion, I was too far gone to be roused. But come on! What is going on here? Is it on? Is it not? Is every single time and drunken mistake? Or be there something more?
What humans need is a small digital readout above their heads so that you could see exactly what someone is saying or thinking. Then there would be no miscomprehensions, people wouldn't go around backstabbing or messing people up, at a glance you could easilly see if you should be hanging around with this person or not. Might be a bit nasty while people get used to the fact of exactly what others are thinking of them, but in the long run it would solve alot of problems.

Wouldn't solve this hangover though. Why wont it go away? Imagine what a drunk persons digital thingy would look like. Swirls of colour with the occasional demand thrown in there: Drink! Smoke! Coma on that couch! And then people could watch your dreams as you slept.

How disturbing would that be?

My Coat Smells Like Cheese

i guess thats what you get when you leave it in a cumpled pile on your floor for three months. But no worry, the smell will go away in a few days. Hopefully.
In other news: HERE COMES THE RAIN! Bwhahah! No more sunny weather for us! You wimps. After enjoying a few days of happy inducing sunshine and working on your 'tan' (what the hells the point in that, anyway? Painful sunburns so you can look like a forigener in our pasty city? It doesn't very long anyway. You noobs.)
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a nice sunny day as much as the next man, as long as the next man is as hungover as me. Sun hurts you eyes. But no, there is little better than sitting on a rooftop in the clear summer sun drinking summer ale.
Unless it is feeling the thrill of weathers rage UNLEASED!
I like the wind. I like the rain. Thats why I moved to Wellington. When I was a small child and still immortal, I would climb trees in the rain and shout offences at god as their ire swept the tree near right angles to the ground.
Of course, in a few weeks we will all be incredibly annoyed at the fact that we have to carry around an extra pair of socks and that our coats still smell like cheese and that valuable dance around space has been taken up in our rooms by clothes drying racks that, yes, I do beleive also smell of cheese. But untill then I have put some nice thumpy music on my MP3 player and intend to puriotte through puddles as my fellow storm clad wellingtonians watch in horror at my not too lithe and pasty form and book themselves sunbed appointments. Idiots.
In other news, I bout a new Final Fantasy game. You know those games which EAT YOUR LIFE? Yeah, one of those ones. Im not going to bore you with any details, but many nights are going to be spent in bed with that game.
When you start supplementing women with video games you know your in trouble. Oh well.
And in other other news, basically nothing. I work, sleep, yada yada yada. I want to go throw things of tall buildings. Like watermelons. Or pennies. Or Penny. Pity I dont know any Penny's.

Thats enough sensless rabble for now: Puddles await my jolly boots of doom!

Happy again!!

Yes indeedy, I am happy again! No demons on my spine, no bears in my dreams, no crazed thoughts of pancakes. Its good. Bloody old depression cycle. But now I can get through a shift of work feeling good and not much is bothering me. Still drunk though. Oh well, one step at a time.
What has been happenening? NOTHING! I have almost finished my scrubs dvds, I have some books to read, and I might just buy myself an icecream.

Yeah, life is pretty good, even if just slightly void of any true meaning. But again, one step. Paved with good intenetions, perhaps, but at least im moving again.

Placeholder

Woo! NEW POST! Would it horribly dissapoint you if I had nothing to say? I know it would I.
Yes, it has been 6 days since my last post, but6 I cannot exacxtly remember what I have been doing. Mostly the usual mixture of class, then work, then home or someones house, where alcohol is consumed until I fall asleap, bout 1am-ish. Don't you love the suffox (damn you god of spelling!), yea verrily, the suffox "-ish"? Makes making up new verbs a breeze. Nothing like another "-ish" just to continue the buctering of the English language. Ishly.
Where was I? Oh yes, God hates me. Yes, I know this is a pretty old theme in my life, but I think it must be true if I feel crap every single day for no reason whatsoever. Been drinking for five days straight now. I know thats not a record in my life, not even close, but it is compared to some of you "normals" out there. How do you get by? I just dont know.
Anyway, enough whinging. Time to talk about the greatest thing IN THE WORLD!!!!
There is, on campus, a vending machine selling Lift+ bottles at $1 a peice (RRP $3).
For someone like me who lives from day to day on the three poisens (Alcohol, Tabocco and Caffeen) this is like finding the holy grail of really coolness. I shall never have to feel tired again! I shall be able to go countless days without sleeping! Which isn't all that hard actually. If any of you have tried to go even two days without sleep you soon find that it becomes pretty difficult to count anything.

But still. Countlesslyish.

Man, they don't make ballons like they used to.

WOOO! Into the swing of a new year now! Classes each day, radings to be done from books that the bookstores dont actually sell, eight hours of work each day and a lonely beer before bed each night!
Hip hip hooray indeed.
Well, I have had my hair straightened. Chemically. It be all spiky. I likes the spiky. And it's not normal spiky either. It insane spike. You would think that having my curls of insanity straghtened out would make me look slightly more normal, but no! I now look kinda like a cross between Einstine and a fuck load of electricity. Oh yeah. Cause its really long on the sides as well on the rest of the head. And did I mention spiky? Cause it is.
Lah.
I be working lots. I dont have much time to go out. I was planning on going to see me friends Hobbs Wendy and Lilith tonight but I think I might just go to be. Especially because Im going to be finishing work at bout 11pm. FUCK... I shall be glad when this week is over. Because then I am going to go to Spasm's house, even though he dont know it. Then again, he dont know anything because he must own the only house that, since the invention of the phone, has no phone jack. And his cell phone sucks. Cause he is gay.
Well.
Me brains dont hurt yet. Thats good. But sometimes I have dreams that my auntie is a plam reader and gives me holographic cards that will show me my fourtune but she accidentally gives me the wrong card and I end up seeing floating numbers. Then I wake up and The Bear is in my room and I am afriad to go to the toilet. He wont kill me, I know that, but goddamn hezus its strange.
The next cool thing I am going to do is buy myself a new guitar. But first, especially after tonight, I think a drink is in order.

Or five.

Big old drunk weekend

So nothing new there really. I am always drunk in the weekend. Oh well.
But on the plus side, I did hook up with Vivi again. You know, one drunken moment I could have fobbed off as an accident, but twice? Might be something there... I was hoping for another experiance on Saturday night, but unfortunately I got too dunk and passed out in the drive. People thought I had gone home. Nope. Just sleeping on the concrete. When your drunk that kainda crap just doesnt matter.
Well, this week is going to be fun. Classes have started up again, and I am working eight hours each day. JOY!! Oreintation is going to kick me in the balls repeatedly. Man I hate working late. I would much rather do an early shift. But at least with the night shift you get the food you would chuck out at the end of the day. Oh well. And I have some beer at home for after those particualrly hard days. Which is going to be all of them, me thinks.
So don't touch that dial! Comming soon on Highlyflannable: I get reamed. Constantly. For five days.

Dear God.

Last legs.

Today I got my guitar, Tuesday, back from her clean-up/fix-up. She looks good, and sounds good, but unfortunately the prognosis is dire. A fret needs replacing and her neck is warped, kinda like the ribbon off a coke bottle. It would cost about $150 to repair properly, almost as much as she cost in the first place.
Then again, I have had Tuesday for about seven years now. Shes had a good life. We've shared many a good time together. So within the next year I am ging to have to buy a new guitar. Its not unexpected- kinda like putting down an old dog, but what am I going to do with her? I really dont want to simply get rid of her, but she is going to be pretty unplayable in a few years. Sigh.
Well, at least there are some funky new Takahame semi-accustics going at the moment for bout $350. Me thinks I might have to get me one of those. Takahame are a good brand of guitar. Ive always wanted one.
Another thing for my Course Related Costs, me thinks.

Ohhh, and next wednesday cool things happen. I'll post a picture when it does. Till then, I have a busy weekend ahead: Drinking and feasting and dancing aplenty.

Ole!

Its hot and muggy

I had a few drinks last night. It has been quite sometime since I have been at work slightly hungove. Dont get me wrong, on the hangover richter scale this hangover barely makes a mark at 2, but you know what? As soon Ias I am not the godlike and onto it person that I usually am, even if just a little bit, God showers me with his evelasting love in the form of a two hour never ending rush of people wanting burgers. Uhhhh...
But of course, this isn't stopping me. I think im going out again tonight, to Lilith, Hobbs and Wendy's flat.

Its just a little too close to Newtown for my comfort, but hey, I'll handle.
Basket.

Dude... your hair...

I like having my own Mp3 palyer. it rocks.
I also like milkshakes.
Man, my life has gone downhill, hasn't it? I haven't done anything interesting for ages. All i do is work and read and sleep... although tonight I have band practice... hopefully. I was supposed to have it last night but it was cancelled. Not much of a bother I suppose, as I was tired and wanted to read, but I do hope it happens tonight.
You know what else I like? Money. I have a box of beer next to my bed. God did something right when he taught us how to get alcohol from yeast and graps - there is little better in this world than a beer after work or a a glass of wine with a meal. Good, good shit.
Also, this morning I went downtown and dropped my old and beaten compaina guitar "Tuesday" into the rock shop for a clean and general tune up. The guy at the rock shop actually said "ew" when he saw my fret board. I suppose seven years of accumilated dead skin can look pretty unappealing. But then again, so did his haircut. Ew.

Well, back to work... only have to work until 5.30 tonight though. Yay!

Bored

Work is supposed to be busy. Work is not busy. Work is not busy in the least. Work is, in fact, as busy as the grave. A deserted grave. In the middle of the desert. And corpses dont eat much.
SSo I am bored. And stuck here until 6.30. Ohhhhhhh yeahhhhh. SOOOOOOOOOOO BOOOOORRREEEEEDD. Nothing to do. On a half hour break. Nothing to do.
NOTHING.
So bored I cannot even get my mind to spew forth its usual incontinent ranting. That be how bored I am.

incontinence is for the weak.

Kicked out o Kumera!

Well, not kicked out exactly. More denied entry.
Bouncer: Hows your night?
Flan: Shlper.
Bouncer: How many drinks you had tonight.
Flan: Oh, jush a couple at the mighty mighty
Bouncer: When did you start drinking?
Flan: 9am. I mean. Oh Shit.
I had been dancing in Mighty Mighty for about an hour when I decided I needed a ciggie and was not alowed back in. Mighty Mighty is a fun bar. People boogieing out to some latin jazz stuff, doing the twist, just having a good ole lark.
It had been a hefty day of drinking, so I am quite pleased they turned me away. I certainly needed some sleep.
Now I am going to have a shower, because I smell like the brewery. And then I am going to go shopping. I just got my Course Related Costs! GO TEAM!!

Early Morning Post!

How long has it been since I have posted? I don't know. Like on so many topics, the hazy cellophane curtians of time envelope and obscure everything in a collourfully festive way. Then again, if I could remember such a trivial detail to the date and time I would also be exceedingly worried. I think that there is an upper limit to how much any one person can remember, and although it differs with the individual, I certainly don't want my memory-box filled with dates and times and other strange things.
I fill my memory box with books. And command inputs for video games. But mostly books. I can remember almost every title of every book I have ever read. It would be an interesting experiment to see if I could write them all down. Knowing the author is a little more difficult, but I am pretty certain I could do that with the books of the past three years or so. But right back in my early childhood my memory does fade, and I am haunted by books without names that I really enjoyed and cannot find again.
Sigh. Senility sucks.
Why am I up so early? Well, for a start I have work at 11, and also I was worried that Fuckers-Link might not have given me my money. If that happened I would not be able to buy anything this week. I wouldn't be able to pay my rent. I might as well have just curled up into a fetal position in the bathtub and let the shower run until it went cold. But I did get money, so there is know no need to commit suicide through hypothermia! Isn't that nice?

Well, since I have only been awake for half an hour, not much has happened to me. But that doesn't mean I cannot predict crap! FLAN"S SELF MADE HOROSCOPE FOR [15th, Febuary 2007]:
1/ Someone will have forgotten that valentines day was yesterday and instead have to declare their love for me TODAY!
2/ Work will either be sodomizingly busy or mind numbingly slow. Also, I may have to confront/confort and member of my family/co-worker/friend who is younger OR older than me. Or possibly both.
3/ There will be a small terriorist attack made against the Hunter Building. This, however, will simply be a coverup for the fact that a slightly smarter than average first year realised, while standing in the enrolments line, that he was not actually signing up for three or so years of free sex and drunken revelry but for sheer hell, and tried to leave the compound via the nearest wall. Unfortunately, he will be drugged and dragged back to the mind controling government facility we know and love as Victoria University.

So a good day ahead.

New? WHY?

Why do I have to upgrade to the new blogger? Why? Iliked the old one just fine.
Oh, I've almost finished my bottle of wine. Oh well. Too drunk to really blog anything. I'm listning to Jazz, courtesy of Jacob. Gool ole jazz.

You know, I have no photos. I wixh I had more photos. Except for this one. Shoody photoshop job again! Me monster!

On the upswing

Today I went to coffee training course. Then I went to work. Then I came home and did a load of washing. I had some toast about that time. With marmite on. The rest of today I have spent reading a book...
See how boring my life would be without incomprehensable tangents? DO YOU REALLY WANT THAT? I think not. So, let the tangents begin!!
Apparently for the price of a bag of popcorn you can find lasting love. Excellent. Sign me up. I found out this importaint fact when I was doing my bored and trawling though the internet thing, in one of those side little advertisment tings. But the advertisment which continues to impress me the most is the one for Sumo sized bean bags. I have a bean bag, and it's cool and all, but I want a giant one, coated in that nice silkly yet fulffy material you get on those neck rolls I am sure youve seen at the wharehouse, where everyone gets a bargain, and four tins of tuna with specail flavour for four bucks. I have a tin of tuna next to my bed. This is because there are very little amount of cupboard space in my flat and besides, I want my food near by for when the zombie appocolapse happens. Unfortunately, I have neglected to keep a can opener in my room, so all my tinned food will be useless. Not that my room is very secure. If you were a zombie crazied by the scent of my brain-meats you could easilly break through my window, like a well thrown potatoe.

Why am I on the net at such an unreasonable hour of the night (its 9pm by the way)? Because I don't sleep like I used too. And 'cause I don't have work until 11am tomorow!

Sleeping in is sweet, sweet like the candy of St. Nick.

Oh yeah, and I recently got photoshop, so here i(or at the top of the post, apparently) is a badly doctored photo of me as a vampire:

ARSE

Today I got my eletric guitar back. You know, Tomi, the guitar that you read about a few posts back. She looked like shit. Apparently, a few months in a guitar bag is not good for your guitar. I should have paid more attention to her.
So as I was scrubbing her tonight I thought about how much music is a part of me. I'd say about a quarter of my soul is music, the rest being made up, in equal parts, of writing, reading and friends/family. But my god did the music part of my soul look a mess. Fortunately, I have cleaned up Tomi very nicely: A good thorogh scrub with paper towels and Pledge and she is looking quite shiny and clean. Unfortunately, there is no Pledge for my soul. My sould is going to stay grimy, mouldy, dented and unclean. You have a different view? Good for you. Obviously you have been in direct contact with that big ole Pledge can in the sky, and about once a week you probably give your sould a good once over. Well, if this is the case, could you tell him to just pop round my way? And bring a scourer. Because my soul is disentergrating, and I could really do with the delux treatment.
But no matter how often I ask all I get is silence.
I am not going to bore you with my exploits of the last few days. Just be content in the knowledge that I feel like arse. No doubt sooner or later I shall get over that. The arse just seems to come and go. Like a bear weaing a chicken suit, with human eyes the vibrate back and forth showing the diseased and discoloured whites that nevertheless still see through you and hack you into peices as they twitch pass with each ossolation.

A bear in a chicken suit you say? No, I am being one hundred percent serious. It was the scariest thing I have seen in a very long time. I woke up in a sweat.

Done

I have no more assignment.
I have no more work this week.
I do have to have a shower.
I smell.
Funny.

A weekend of insanely drunken proportions.

Indeed it was. I have only just gotten back to wellington from the three days of Lilith's 21st which were, for me at least, almost completely filled with drinking. I even smuggled a beer onto the bus so as I might be able to postpone that hangover just that little longer. Of course, a hangover is like a loan. The longer till you pay it off the more you have to pay. And the bus driver was a fuck. He was the air conditioner nazi, and refused to use my ticket that I had booked on the computer. The computer, for some unknown reason, decided to make my booking for tomorow instead of today, even though I clearly told it to book for today, so I was charged again. Why couldn't he have just let me on and then said that I rode the next day? Oh well. At least I can get the ticket refunded. But I was pissed off that I no longer had any pie money for when we had our dinner stop. At that time, however, the hangover had kicked in, and I didn't want anything that even smelt remotely like meat.

But, as wildly interesting as my bus ride was, even more exciting things have happened to me! First of all, I have a new character to introduce:
Vivi Rotunder: The alcoholic and longtime friend of Lilith who, after drinking far too much, came into the tent where I was sprawled, having also drunk far too much, and hooked up with me.
"Sweet. Vivi's cool." I thought to myself through a mist of drunken. And she is. Cool person. But I am willing to bet this was simply a random drunken experiance. So thats how I am going to treat it. If you want to prove me wrong, be my guest. But the question remains: why doesn't this sort of thing happen more often? This shits great. A drug with no side affects apart from the slight embarrasment the morning sun brings. Kissing people is great. You feel good. I feel good. Why doesn't it happen more often?

Well, next weekend I have another 21st to go to. Perhaps my manly musk is working, and I shall find myself in other plesent predicaments. Or someone else will attain that golden level of drunkeness that makes even me look attractive. This is possible. The 21st is in a bar.

Chow!

IT has been a little time since I have posted with absolutely nothing in mind as to what my post will be about. Lately I have had so many problems with relationships and axieties the my ususal ability to ramble crap for a few lines has been shelved, put to the side, locked in the trunk of a car. My insane, rambling self has been locked away and only made itself known by a few feeble thumping noises as I cruise haphazardly down the motorway of life.
But no longer! I have stopped at a motel, and my insanity has jimmied itself out of the trunk with a safety pin, and is now ready o wreak havoc on my sanity as it sleeps soundly on a moth eaten bed! ARE YOU READY?
...
...
...
Ummm...
Well, I just ate. I had some pasta stuff. It was good. But sometime over the next couple of days, it too will be released, from the trunk of my digestion system. This observation, which I am sure you have all made to varying degrees, strikes me as a very eloquent metaphor for life. This metaphor is as follows:
"We all get out the same way. Unless you are urine. Or possibly vomit, if you have been in life the equivalent of nasty homebrew. Or even sweat. I am sure some of you liken your life to sweat. Sweaty, sweaty underarms for example. Did you know that women can now by a deoderant which is supposed to make their underarms atractive? I my mind I don't think that there is anything that could make anyones underarms attractive. They smell funny."
And thats my metaphor of life and death as expressed by the human body. In short, we all smell just a bit funny.
Well, in actual news, tommorow I am going, once again, back to the hawkes bay. And yes, it is, once again, for a 21st. Fun and games shall be had by all, I am presuming, because if they aren't I shall want my money back. I really hope there is cotton candy, or as we people not in america call it, "candy floss". Seriously, when was the last time you had candy floss? It belongs to a lost era, the era of your childhood, where, as you sat in the sun with one of those stupid hats with a neck cloth shady thing attached to the back of it you would bite and tear peices of ridiculously sugary pink substance off the stick and see how mush of it you could fit into your mouth at once, letting your saliva moisten it slowly untill you had a giant red lump of solid sugar in your mouth and your hands and face were sticky with remains. Then on the way back to your parents you would stubb your toe, it being too hot for shoes, of a gutter, and hobble crying indistinctly through your red sugar gag to you mother who, taking in your red and stained apperance, would assume that been attacked, possibly by a lawnmower. After hugging you, she you realise her mistake, and have to burn both yours and her clothes because the mess was unable to be removed sitout some sort of industrial strength bleach.
Remember the days? Ahh, good times.

Right now, however, I am going to go home and pack, and wrap Lilith's present.

Later Days.

Some things have to be reported immediately.

I have just walked in the door, fresh from my "chatch up" with Charlie. Things could have gone better, but then again, I was expecting that.
First of all, I didn't meet her at her house. I got a txt saying that she was going to 'the park'. Now, to my mind, there is only one 'the park', but that one is halfway across town. So I rang to make sure.
"Which park?"
"Ah, the one with the swings?"
"And the flying fox, yeah?" (THe main feature of 'the park' is it's triple flying fox)
"Yeah."
"Sweet, see you there."
My flatmate just happened to be going out, so she drove me half way there. I ran the rest. As you know, I don't run too often. But I arrived at 'the park' only slightly sweaty and feeling quite good. Just then however, my pocket vibrated (Not from any extra-scrotactular-sense, but because my cell phone was in my pocket. And it was on vibrate.) It was a txt from Charlie:
"Not the one where we went. The one at the Botanics."
Sometimes you just have to laugh. The park at the botanics is not 10 mins away from my place.
In the end, the journey to meet Charlie took 50mins.
2nd thing was that I didn't tell the whole truth. Charlie had been worried about me giving the could shoulder, and me simply saying it was about the book really didn't have enough weight to let me feel alright about the amount of worry I had caused. But I couldn't say anything about those other feelings. Because she was looking good. Really good. And we were having a good conversation about not much, but it was good. So what was I going to do? Even though I had put on a clean shirt and showered and everything I could do to make sure I am was not in any way the usual crumpled, untidy and slightly stinky individual that I usually am (the brisk walk had done something to affect that), I still cannot do anything about my eyes. Becuase the really cool thing about wallowing semi-perpetually in a sea of slight self pity and alcohol is that it makes you look like utter shit. My eyes are now bagged and almost completely ringed with grey. Speaking of grey, there is a definate collection of whitness around my muzzel. I couldn't very well, feeling and looking like the arse end of a cigarette, expect any attempt at a conversation about our relationship to go too well.
Fucken Sigh.
Apart from that, it was a nice little meeting, alone and sober, which, considering both our personal vices, is likely to happen once in a blue moon. So I am not displeased. It's just that any meeting with Charlie stirs up so much confusion and feeling, especially that little feeling that your stomach has just turned around. Why does that happen? And for about half an hour afterwards you have to constantly mentally slap yourself so you dont start second guessing everything and blowing small things out of proportion and beating yourself up about things you should or should not have done.
To anyone out there reading this who has a partner: I don't care how much you think you have to go through or whatever. Tiff at home? At least you have the option of talking about it. In fact, its more than just an option, its expected. And even though expressing emotions may be a bit difficult sometimes, it is a damn shit fuck lot better than not knowing weather you can say anything at all.

Boy howdy I could do with a cigarette. I might not murder for one, but I would surely tap someone lightly on the head with a 4x2 for one.

And I don't have money till Wednesday.

My Weekend

Wow, thats still ridiculously small. Anyway, after seeing a rather humorous picture at www.toothpastefordinner.com, I decided its about time to make you all a graph of My Weekend. There is a segment for fri, sat, sun and total, and the legend is as follows:

Red : the colour the Works always puts in and you cannot get rid of it for some reason.

Green: Food, where 10 is a normal amount to eat.

Blue: Booze consumed, in standard drinks.

Yellow: Women, who talked to me/ found the experiance of being in my company did not make them ill.

You should make a graph of your weekend today! By far the easiest way to comunicate how much fun you did or did not have without wasting messy mouth words.

What to do, what to do....

Tommorow I go to "hang out" with Charlie. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? Really. What? I don't know. Probably just make small talk with no real anything behind it, for an hour or two, then she can feel good that we are still mates and I will leave feeling dejected and kicking myself because I was too wimpy to say anything. Its almost as if it is written in the stars, this path of repeated dejection I put myself through. All I can do is hope, and prepare for a completley disheartening experiance.
Perhaps I am going about this the wrong way...
Perhaps I shall charge through the door wearing Calvin's manfume (thats perfume for men. I only have lynx, the posh barstard) and scoop her up in my arms and carry her off off for minutes of pleasure (well, come on, it's been a while. and while it is fine to be positive, self delusion is another matter) before deciding to go to spain. For the wine.
On the other hand, she may just lock door and hide behind the sofa.

So wish me luck! Because we all need a little luck.

In other news, I have had a drunken weekend with Calvin at other peoples houses. I am only now feeling completely human from the hangover I bought myself yesterday. But Calvin should start a blog. Because his Friday was VERY interesting. not like mine. I just drank wine. I think its the whiskey. When you drink Whiskey interesting things happen. Nothing happens when you drink Mount Gay Rum. Or Corbans.

But anyway, back to procrastinating from reading a book for class by trawling through the infernalnet for crap.