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.

HooHah.

Not alot to say today, a fact of which I am sure you will all be grateful of after the gigantic posts of yester-days. All I really want to do is draw your attention to is the list, larger than my wang, at the right side of the screen titled "archives". That list signifies a whole lot of bollocks being typed. Really, have you ever seen so much bollocks in one place outside your local government?

Why wont people txt me? I think you all know which "people" in particular I mean. Perhaps I should drink some wine. You know, that sounds like a really good idea.

Anyway. Lots of work tommorow, I have to work a 7 and one half hour shift, commensing at 7 and one half hours in the aye-emm. God I hate the aye-emm. I was going to be able to sleep in tomorow, but alas, that dream will not come to fruition.

Back to the main point of my pointing out the archives thing. When I am a famously rich and sucessful author (its only a matter of time) then this blog shall be read by millions. Hundreds of millions, quite possibly. Perhaps I should do a crossword while drinking wine. But then everyone will know the exctiement that is my life. Doesn't it just make you weak at the leg joints with anticipation? I know it do me.

Alrighty, time to do stuff. To things.

Charlie

First of all, because lately my life seemes to be influenced by people much more that it used to be (or I have admited to) I have decided to give all my readers a quick cast list of all the people involved with me and a summary of their position to me in life. Please not that none of these names are the peoples real names, as according to my personal beleifs about the anomity of the internal net, and are rater psudenoms that have absolutely no relevance to the peoples real manes. Really. If you dont beleive me, then find your own name on the list. If you a reader of me rantings, then you should be on the list, and I would be interested to hear if I have, but some unconsious corralation, allowed you to be identified by your psudedonum alone. (Am I spelling "psudonum" correctly? If so, then go me! I canne spell for bejezus. Looks right to me anyway.)

Cast of characters:
Flan Hyperbole: This is me, the guy you see in the top right hand corner looking rather tired. I often look rather tired. You can be pretty certain that is infact me, because if I was to put in a fake photo then I would have put a photo that looks more like the offspring of Scarlett Johansen and Jonny Depp than the oafish, drunken, surly individual that is protrayed there.

Calvin Shine: A very good friend of mine. For full details on Calvin, see a post of not long ago.

Faustus Mc Jello: Another very good friend of mine, and lead guitarist of out band "The Crazy". I have known Faustus for more years than I can remember.

Promethus Hobbs: Usually referred to as just "Hobbs", Promethus is in fact a relative of mine, a good friend and I have even lived with him. He can draw, animate and whishes he could play guitar.

Wendy Hawthorne: Faustus Mc Jello's current partner. I met Wendy even before Faustus, when she was living in the same hostel that I was. Needless to say, see has seen more of my drunken and pantless self than more people should ever, ever want to.

Lilith Meditrate: Lone time friend of Wendy. Lilith came to my attension through Wendy, and we have become friends since.

Spasm von Terros: To be fair, this is not a name that I have invented, rather a persona that this long time friend of mine has invented for himself. He now lives in O-blackie, which says alot about him, although he is trying to move to Wellington proper.

Imogen Underscore: Ex of Spasm's and the only person I know who has decided to break up with someone by arragement.

Jesus Malvain: Jesus Malvain lives in Auckland now, which is almost grtounds for using his real name. But Jesus has been another good fried of mine for much time, giggling with me drunkenly as we watch the disturbing animations of David Firth.

Jacob Creek: The "coffee guy" from work who I get on quite well with. How did he want to be mentioned? As a freind who is more freindly than strangers but not too freindly or something. I dont know. My memory. Full of holes.

Insane coffee chick who has recently begun stakling me: I don't think this name really needs any embellishment.

Charlie *****: I really haven't decided on a last name for Charlie yet. Possibly because I am really not certain where we lie in relation to each other yet. Even thogh these are fictional names, I cannot cerment them until I know how they stand in relation to myself.

Now, Ignoring all the rules I had set myself about blogging while slightly drunk, here is a blog about my woes with the opposite sex. The opposite sex being Charlie. I have been giving the cold shoulder to Charlie receintly, as I really do not know what the hell is going on, and txt messages such as "how u been" have not helped. This "cold shoulder" buisness has been rather beyond my character, and in previous relationships I belevie I was kicked around like a sack of old potatoes. (I say "believed" becuase, as we all know, my memory is utter, utter shite) but at this time I dont really want that to be the case. I dont know what is happening, but I should rather like to. Being "messed up" is one thing, but simply not knowing where the light switch is in a darkened bar toilet is completely another. And I was seriously considering leaving the barthroom and assigning it to the "what man was not meant to know" catorgory and partonising Burger King with the waste products of my being before I got this txt:
"Im sory if ur angry at @ me ws ny my intntn 2 upset u perhaps we shud hang and talk @ sum point!wheas my shape crakr pal?"
This might seem not to revalatory to many. And in fact it isn't. If you take away the reference to the shape crackers. I didn't mention it in my previous post about Charlie, but we ate shape crackers just before the other, more exciting things happened. Is this a coincidence? I think knot. Really, this sort of marlarky just makes me angry. How dare this woman make numerous references (for there were more than that txt) about shapes crackers to try and intice me back to her? Do not get me wrong. I am still very muchly smitten with Charlie. If she were to call again at this moment and say that she needed a friend then I have no doubt that I would be to her side as quickly as my unfit body could carry me. But I really do not apreciate this kind of game she is playing with me. Am I supposed to appear at every inuendo like a well trained dog? I think not. What I really want is to be able to talk with Charlie, sober and alone, and tell her once again what I fell, and find out what, exactly, she feels. Because really, what the fuck does "I don't want to mess you up, lets just be friends" mean? Is it simply an excuse to fob me off to the wayside? Or does it mean that she actually has feeling for me and is too scared to act on them? Or even, the outside bet, that she actually do have feeling and actually do beleive I could be messed up. The first option is probably the more likely one, but also the one I hope does not eventuate.

In short, people are alot of effort. I am glad I do have some very good friends who can helo me through things, but at the end of the day, I really want someone I can wake up with.

My Guitar

For some reason I feel, right at this moment, like writing about my guitar. Not about Charlie, not about the excellent long weekend I just spent at Calvin’s place back in Hawkes Bay drinking wine and swimming in the sun, not about anything I have been doing since I last blogged, but about my guitar. I don’t know why this is. At the moment I am halfway through a semi-biography about Silvia Plath (a poet who I don’t like, but the biography is halfway interesting) because soon I have to write an essay about it. Who knows why I have this sudden urge to write about my guitar, perhaps it is because of some difficulties one of my friends, lets call her Lilith, is going through, but an idea of my guitar keeps on popping into my head.
Anyway. The guitar I am writing about is not my old and faithful, beat up compainia semi accustic “Tuesday” which I play on in my band “the Crazy”. No, it is my electric, red bodied, heavy as hell guitar “Tomi” with the floating bridge that makes it a bastard and a half to tune. It is no longer in mint condition: the action on the fret board is a little high nearer the bridge and I haven’t played it for the longest time for it has been at my friends house, the one I am in the band with, for that is where my amp is, and my effects pedal is, and it is damn stupid to have an electric guitar hanging around with none of the equipment to make it sing. I suppose I am thinking about it because I am to be forming a new band, while continuing with “The Crazy” with two other friends, one who is Calvin, the reluctant drummer, called “My Spine.” As the name of this band suggests, it will have a different agenda than “The Crazy”. Really, our band names tend to be pretty transparent.
However, thinking about my electric guitar “Tomi” presents problems. Tomi was a half present (meaning someone paid for half of it) from my ex-girlfriend Satomi (this was the reason for the name of the guitar. And I still hold the right to name anyone who leaves my life with their true name). So you can see why Tomi might be a problematic subject for me. Satomi was a major part of my life for many years, and although not exactly a raw wound now, it is still a disquieting topic.
I guess it all comes down to photographs.
I only own one photograph. It is of me. I am wearing a sheet and a paper crown and holding a home-made sceptre in celebration of “Winter-een-mas” (the week long celebration of all things to do with video games that just happens to be this week). That’s all I have. Except perhaps, back home in Waipuk where I have a group photograph of my troupe at Outward Bound. As ardent readers of my blog will know, photographs have a very profound effect on me. They can jog memories just like this journal can and help this threadbare and holy mass that I call my brain feel slightly more whole and normal. Why the hell don’t I take more photographs? Of things other than myself? It distresses me that I can barely recall what Satomi looks like now (I used to have a photo of her eating a carrot but I threw it away) but I can call with perfect precision what my guitar looks like even though I haven’t seen that in months. Do this make me a bad man? I hope not.
Anyway, it’s now a quarter past midnight. I should really be reading this damn book. Or sleeping.

I have dark rings under my eyes. My candle was a ball, so I couldn’t burn it at both ends, but it certainly ain’t spherical now.

Work.

It's poo. At the moment, work should be really quiet. No one is really at uni. But for some reason everyone decided to turn up and make me work for my money. I hate working for my money. But since I just got a pay rise I suppose I had better. But still. The first couple of days back at work after the gourging, drunken ceremonies that are the Christmas Hollodaies (What? I should be able to spell that- BUT I CANT! WHY> CAUSE MY BRAIN IS MUSH!!) should be nice, calm and ease you back into the soul debilitating, eight hour a day regime that you had become used to. But no. It was busy. And I am tired. I don't want to, but I have to go there again tommorow. I really just want to stay in bed all day and read the seven books I got for christmas. But fate wont let me. Cause fate is a bastard.
In other news, I completed and sent away my enrollment form for this years uni stuff. This feels nice, because I woke up with a small panic attack sometime last night when I realised my life was going nowhere and my biological clock was ticking.
BABIES!
But this is nothing compared to sorting out my shit with Study Link is going to be, or as I like to call them 'Stop Desecrating My Manhood, I Don't Have Much Left' Link, or "FUCKERS"link for short.

Speaking of short, I shall finish this post here, after the two mammotheleian posts that I put you through the last two times. One of them wasn't even about me.

God of New Years.

Why isn't there a figure head for new years? Christmas has Santa, Easter has the Bunny and the dead guy, Halloween has Jack Skellington. I think it is time we had a figure to put on cards to send to each other in the New Years, because we dont have enough to spend our money on as it is. Perhaps the best card whould be one that simply had a mirrior on the front, so that when you got it on new years you could fully appreciate how shit you look. Why must we insist on passing every benchmark in life with a horrendus piss up? I think we are just too afraid to go into the great unknown that a new year brings without three bottles of wine inside us.

Anyway, since I am still getting over my bloody hangover, you now get to read about Calvin, who I promised to share some insights into the life of last year. yes, a year ago. But I still remember because my memory is immortal. And cause I put it on this site.

Name: Calvin ShineSex: Male
Age: 20 (b.21/1/1986)
Star sign: Aquarius
Relationship to main character: Mate
Do they live with anybody/ any pets: Lives with maybe three girls and the psychotic cat Nutkin
Neighbours: Don’t know them. Might be Lawyers and bogans. Perhaps both. (He seays he’s not Emo, but he is).
Three physical attributes: Scar on right calf next to the fibula, dark hair he likes to spike up with copus amounts of hair product and striking (also amazing) blue eyes.
Clothing: Favorites, Dislikes, Work and Casual Etc. (remember shoes): Jeans, usually blue and in tatters, with large cuff which hide his shoes. Feels uncomfortable if people can see his shoes. Sports a range of hand made tee-shirts, and neer wears long sleved shirts without rolling up the sleves, even in artic weather. Wears many “Mangles” (Man bangles) and other “bling”, mostly homemade rings. Sometimes wears a hat. Doesn’t work, so has no obligations in that area, and his attire dosent change much even in formal situations. Will sometimes don a jacket or tails if feeling especially posh. Enjoys dress up parties.
Love life: Active and awkward, has many “potentail” parters but harbours misgivings about abilities of people to commit or find meaningful compainonship.
Colour of bathroom: Cream. It is strange, aynd has a window looking into the toliet from both inside and outside. Is covered with old newspapers from Gisborne.
Eating habits, a typical eating day: BreAKFST IS THREE WEETBIX, with half a cup of milk and tea spoon of sugar. Rations milk like a nazi. Lunch is two pieces of bread with either tuna, baked beans or egg. Dinner is a strange conncotion made in a pot, based around either pasta, tuna, chicken, or all three.
Occupation: Unemployed even with his BA in Philosophy and Media studies. He often wonderes why we are not surprised about this.
Transportation: Legs. Or leg, since he sliced himself.
Typical evening: Music, of which he has an abundance, cards and booze if friends are around, otherwise sits and works on his many miscellaneous projects or just sits.
Weekend: Flan tuns up. Music. Cards. Booze. Miscelaneous party, hangover, speculations on the world, insanity, life and love, Black Books. Invader Zim.
Two daily habits/idiosyncrasies: Strictly organises music collection (CD’s must be in correct order)
Bad/ Unappealing/ Destructive habit: Chuckles indiscriminately when winning at games.
Good Habit: Piracy. Personal secret: “Secretly a little naïve.”
Fear: Busses
Received Gift: Sushi kit.
Made Gift: Spray painted newspaper for wrapping paper
Personal happy thing: Music
Spiritual/ existential belief/ background: Calvin is god. A can manifest things at will. We are all figments of Calvins imagination. However, Calvin is ignorant of his abilities, and therefore dosent do anything cool like make mony, just gets really good hands at poker/ spoons and constantly finds four leaf clovers. Has found over four hundred to date.
Philosophy: “Im insane, the world is going sane around me”
Obsession: Hair
Memory of being in a car: Lying in back of van and poping up to scare cars behind.
A trip: UTJ (Ultimate Train Journer)
Best/ Worst Birthday: When he got the Spongebob cake (18th)/ Grandmother died on birthday (10th)
Embarrassing moment: Haley Rodder. Less said the better.
Favourite colour: Blue
Sleep habits: Start on my side, then shif to left hand side, finally falling asleep on stomach with head under the pillow.
What character thinks about Boss/ Teacher/ Landlord: Landlord: “Is pretty cool, she pays me money.”
Favourite/ least favourite animal: Oscar, an old pet dog/ Billy Goat Kids.
Favourite/ least favourite band: Blindside/ Missy Eliot.
Computer?: Yes. It has music on it.
Special Talent: Limbo.

Man, how cool name is Calvin Shine? A whole lot better than Flan Hyperbole, I tell ya.