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.