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?
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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.