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.

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.

Christmas, chocolate, women, band, pants...

...21 year old wine, more chocolate, a ham the size of your head, books... there have been alot, and I mean ALOT of things that have happened since the last time I got off, or onto my, as the case my indeed be, lazy ass and posted. Christmas was a big one. After many many months of a liquid diet I have put more food inside me than the Pope has the Holy-ies. And the Meat. So much meat. So many different varieties of meat. SO MUCH MEAT!!!
SO I ahve had a very good Christmas, what with the gorging and whatnot. I also, just yesterday, drank my 21 year old bottle of wine. It was Red Wine and Red Wine which is old is a very interesting thing. You cannot, for example, drink it straight out of the bottle. Not only is it one of those social foo-pah things (i can barely spell in english, you want me to learn to spell in other languages too?) but also it tastes like, and in this instance smells like, poo. Now dont get me wrong, I a mquite partial to poo, because it is funny, but even I expect my $6 wine to have some sort of palatable flavour to it. If it doesn't I still drink it anyway, because its alcohol, but that is beside the point. No, if your red wine is even more than 5 years old, you should decanter it, which is pour it into a big flat bottomed jug thing so the air gets into it. Taste a bit so you can tell it hasn't gone off (it will tase kinda like leaves and cork if it has. Really musty.) and then keep on tasting it at 15min intervals. It took my wine 45minutes to stop tasting like poo and start tasting like the kind of Heaven that wakes you up with drool on your pillow. Damn it was good.
Anyway, enough about my Wine.
Next on the agenda is my Band, The Crazy. We now have a website! Its on Myspace! Yes, I know, but I blog all the time, how much further can I fall?
Don't awnser that.
Anyway, if you feel like it, and you do, you should go to www.myspace.com/thecrazy.nz and watch the movie clip of me dancing with tongs. Soon we should have some recordings of our actual music up, which will be nice, wont it?
In other news, I got a pay rise at work. Huzzah! I now get paid $12 instead of $10.50. AIR THRUST! Thats more wine for me, and less..ummm...
But now onto the main interesting part of my life that has been happening since I last posted. This is so momentus that I might even have to break it into it's own seperate paragraph.

The thing that has been happening to me is...

Duh duh duh duh duhDUH duhduhduhDUHDUHDUHdee dah dah duh dah dee DEE dah deh duh dah DUH DEE DAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

Pants.
And especially how my pants react when in the presence of a certain woman.
Of course, in the age old tradition of Highlyflannable, I will not mention her by her true name, and so shall call her Charlie.
Well, myself and Charlie have not known each other for very long, but we have hung out together a couple of times, and a little while ago I invited her to a party. We drank copious amounts of wine, and walked home together. I asked if we could hug. I didn't think it was the best pick up ling in the world, but as the song says, we started making out, and she took off my pants and:
"No"
"What?" says I. I had been enjoying myself for the last few moments. Alot. This one word was very much the proverbial bucket of ice cold water.
"You don't want to get involved with me. I'll mess you up"
Now, as any regular reader of my life knows, I have been messed up before. I've gotten through it. Sure, Im scarred and what not, but it has been a while since I have had any messing, good or bad, and so I really don't mind. I try to tell her this, but Charlie insists that it is for the greater good that we remain friends for we have to spend some amount of time together. Alright. Cool. Im fine with that. Put back on my pants and buckle up the effile tower (*sigh*, I wish, more like the leaning tower of some really small thing) and go to sleep.
In the morning deja vu. (How come I can spell THAT?). We make out. Pants hit a wall, I wasn't paying attention which one, and again, that single cold shower of a word.
Oh well. Worse things have happened, yes? Rang Charlie the day after just to make sure that everything was good between us. She said it was, and I was releived, cause I actually quite like her.
Then, at 2:30am the next morning I am awoken by the phone. It is Charlie.
"I just need to talk to someone. Talk. Not sex. Just need a friend. Not sex. You should come over."
So thats what I do. Because Im such a nice guy. And because I am a guy. anyway. In my experiance, "friends" do not fall asleap in each others arms and try to keep eachother in bed even though they have to go to class or fail another paper. Nothing of a pantsless nature occured, but damn, if I didn't have that class I would not have left that bed.
Because I am smitten with Charlie.
This is a new experiance.
Of course, since I and Satomi broke up (I can use her real name cause she is in RUSSIA, Japan not being far enough away, apparently) I have had crushes, but nothing like this. This feeling is something I have not had in a while. Your thoughts being interupted by feelings or remeberances, you touch the palm of your own hand and remeber hers... I tell you, this is the most annoying, confusing and ejoyable state I have been in in quite some time. Stupid juxtaposition. How am I supposed to be able to say how I feel.
Perhaps like this: This is going to be a major downer, and I mean a MAJOR downer if this dont work out right.
And it aint gonna be easy. Apparently, Charlie, who is one year my junior, doesn't want a relationship. I don't want a one night stand. I had a one night stand once. Its about as satisfying as masturbation, except after masturbation you dont have to go get a STI test. So might say our base interests conflict.
Apparently it would be easyer if I was a bastard.
CUE: "Nice Guy Finish Last" - Greenday, and the worlds smallest violin.
WHAT THE HELL? What do women think? What do I think? Where is the instruction manual? I just don't know what to do.
I'm just going to keep on trying, me thinks, either until Charlie relents or she becomes convinced that Im crazy and I hit the bottle again. Im betting on the latter, but sometimes you just have to try.

Speaking of Crazy, I went to the doctor person and told them about my twitch. They told me to try some things, but I dont think they are working. But then again, me parents havent noticed while I have been home even though I have been twitching, so perhaps its all im my head. Many things are.

Shizzle and Nizzle.

Two days ago I had another band gig. It went really well, thanks for asking. I earnt $10, which is pretty good for a band to earn. So now all I have to do is gig 40 times a week and I will be able to live as a professional band person thing. Yes. That'll happen.
Urgh, what is going on? I don't know. just spent 3 hours in a kitchen making samwhiches. lots and lots and lots of samwhiches. But it wasn't that bad, bascially because once you know how to make one samwhich, you know how to make them all. You don't have to think. You just stand there and sing your little samwhich making song which has one word and that word is stoat. It makes sense when you think about it.
Tonight I am going to a Barbeque. I like Barbeques. They have the meat. It's a pitty Wellington spring still looks like everywhere else's Autum. Its all grey and overcast ooutside, but I like it like that. Sun hurts my eyes and makes me sweat, flying things proporgate in the warm weather and fly into my face or eat of my tender flesh meats, leaving small dots that itch and annoy. My ideal world would be a world that is plauged by nuclear winter, and I would make a living as a penguin wrangler, traveling from ice flo to ice flo on my trusty pet Walrus Malcom, helping penguin farmers round up their stock ready to be processed. Tasty, tasty penguin burgers. Also, I would be given special powers from the nuclear fallout, and woould be able to make cheese at will. Unfortunately, the radiation would also have caused everyone to be lactose intolerant, so I cannot sell my cheese, but during the slow months at the penguin farms I would be able to use my abilities and become an assasin for the government, infultraiting the lairs of know criminals and causing them a slow death through cheese-poisened foodstuffs.
As you can tell, I have not much to talk about. My weekend is going to be filled with computer games and cheap wine as I sleep on a friends fold out couch. All will be scotsmen.

Fear my mighty Scottness. Fear it veriily.

Next time on Highlyflannable: His Story 1! Flan takes a break from yabbering on about his pathetic life and tells you about someone elses slightly less patchetic life. So tune in next time for the adventures of Calvin: Unemployed with a degree in Philosophy! Gripping stuff!

Gah! Blimey!

Ten days have passed since I last posted. Where does the time go? On 8 and a half hour shifts at the soul chrushing factory thinly fronted as a "Cafe". Well, realy, work isn't that bad, but if you are going to complain you might as well go the whole hog. It just isn't as entertaining if you say "Well, today was really just like every other day: Got up, worked, ate, drank, shat, peeed. Met noone entertaining. Went home and watched "Home and Away" before getting an early night.
See? I almost feel asleap just typing that.
So what really happened in my day was that I woke up in a gutter, went to my workplace, currently located inside the seventh circle of hell, ate, drank, shat and found it hurt when I peeed. Met astronaughts, the KKK and Micheal Jackson. Went home where I found that everything had been stolen except my TV, so I watched "Home and Away" before crawling into a barren corner of the living room to shiver the night away.
Ok, ok, bollocks aside. I have been basically doing the same things that I always do: Drinking, turning up to a class that wasn't there (Yes, I did it AGAIN. But I found out that the start date had actually been changed on me, so I am quite glad that it wasn't just my hole-y brain.), and of course, working. The reason why I am working so much is because I broke my 8 year old cell phone. I am so very gutted. That cell phone has been like an ugly, pocket sized friend that can only comunicate with beeps. So I am sad. It also happens at the worst time, near Christmas, when I am supposed to be buying useless and unwanted things for other people instead of desperately needed things for myself. But really, can you justify hanging out with your familly at christmas and saying "Hey, yeah, I would have bought you all Christmas pressies, but instead I bought this phone that takes shitty pictures so my friends can TXT me and tell me to come out on the booze."

It just doesn't seem to be in the tradition of the Christmas spirit happy. But damn, I really want a phone again. Think of all the hot georgous women trying to get in contact with me! Why would they only call now, when my cell phone is broken?

WHY???

Its far too early for this.

The dissapointing thing is, of course, that it is 3pm. I have only just managed to drag myself out of bed. And my legs are sore from all the running that I did yesterday. Because, after I had my run in the morning, I had to run to catch two seperate busses. I tell ya, running just simply is not healthy. But band practise went good, we put together a new song and we have a gig at the Valve on Wednesday week. Huzzah! God I am tired. Why? WHY I ASK YOU! No? No reply? Funny that. Really got to stop expecting an awnser.

I am making salmon avacado rice, with hollandnaise sauce. Huzzah!

My cat dreams of spatulas.

Well, yes. Went to Kumera. Danced like an idiot. Fell over and hit my head. Have a small bump there now. Had Kebab, went home. These are all things you just have to do sometimes. At somestage I broke my cell phone. Well, not completely broke- it still works in certain areas of town, like the libary, museum and church. Basically, anywhere when I would not like to be embarrased by the noise of TXT messages hitting my phone, that is where my phone will now decide to work. This is a bit of a bummer, because I am very attached to my cell, and have been for a good eight years now. It is a working relic, and my hanging onto it was something I did as a way of saying "up yours" to technology, the A-bomb, Indians and everything else that plauges us in this world where we are expected to keep pace with life, not the other way around.
Speaking of technology, I have my laptop back. I am o frisking happy. I have just been chilling to me beats for the last hour while checking up on websites and eating chicken avacado and tomato samwhiches, or CAT sammies for short. To be truthful I did have mayo, but I just couldn't put the "M" into the acronym without sounding retarded.
And that's how exciting my life is.
Well, this morning I did go for a run. This is because I slept in and since my phone wasn't working I couldn't txt the girl I was meeting for God-damn-this-is-early brunch and say I was late, so I ran. I haven't ran for a very long time. It actually felt better than I was expecting, but part of this was that my new shoes are like walking on clouds and I still wasn't completely sober. But "brunch" was good. I have Eggs Florintene, as discussed elsewhere in this site thing as my favourite breakfast ever.
Then I did stuff around the place. As you do.
In other news, I didn't get into my writing course for the summer trimester. Oh well, no biggie. Teach me for being so over confident. Karma, thats who. Be mean or up yourself, and Karma says "Hey, look over there!" then giggles uncontrolably when you don't look because you've heard tha one before and you are much too smart to fall for such a trick and you are just about to tell Karma this but you cannot because Karma has just kicked you in the balls. Yes, the ways of Karma are strange and unknowable, but it's nice to know there is something up there with the sense of humor of an eight year old looking over everything.
Anyhoo. Like I say, no biggie. with this change of events, I may simply wait until first trimester next year to finish off my degree rather than stress and stuff the summer full of papers.

Not much else to report. I had better get my game face on and get ready for band practice.

Going to the Kumera...

...Gona dance like an idiot. Well, I don't know weather I actually will end up at the Kumera tonight, but it's what my horoscope said, and those things are always right. ALWAYS. Yes, it's a little known fact that God has decided our destinies via the simple fact of which month we were born in, with slight variances depending on you chinese zodiac animal. So, all you librians of the year 1985, I shall see you tonight, hyped out on red-bull vodaks and singing along to Bon Jovi.
Well, to be completely honest, my horoscope didn't say The Big Kumera specifically, it just said "A tradgic Bar." And we all know what that means.
Speaking of tragedy, I slept in until 11:30am today. Some of you might not be able to see the corrolation between tradgedy and me sleeping, but that is because you are gumby. No, what is really a tragedy is that I was fully planning on doing that for pretty much the rest of the week, but unbeknownst to me, the whole world has suddenly decided that since I have one whole week of nothing planned it would try and put as many demands as possible upon me, especially in the morning. So tomorrow I have a brunch wit a girl, although "brunch" is pusing it a little, as I think that 8:30am is too early for fricken breakfast. Then I go to work, probably to wash dishes, then to band practice. Other people also want me to have ballroom dancing lessons, and other people are convinced that I am having secret love affairs.
I simply find it Ironic that I have been wanting to do all these things for ages, but the only week that I get when I can sleep past 7am is when everone else decides they want to do them too.

Oh well. It is a sunny day. The birds are singing, my clothes will be dry. And Scru bs is on tonight. Sweet, sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet Scrubs.

the brains are scrambled eggs.

Which is why they are so appealing to Zombies, I suppose. Why, in a empty libary full of unused computers, did some complete muck-tard money-tugger decide to sit next to me? Perhaps its egg time.
well, I am going insaner. I thought I had a counciling appointment today at 9am. Nope. It's at 1pm. I thought I had class today from 10 till 12. Nope. Its in a fucking fourtnight. This is as bad as the time I got the idea that the pips in Jam were fake. Where did I get this idea? Who knows. I don't even eat jam.
so now I have to decide what to do today. I have to go out to Woo-town (thats Newtown with a sarcastic "Woo") today to drop my laptop at some place so they can fix it and I in turn can get my fix of music and pron. I have band pactice, and at sime time I am going to need to poo. Yes, it doesn't get much more exciting than this. Blah. Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear and all that jazz. Seriously, what the hell am I going to do? I hate Woo-town. Everytime I go there I end up doing somthing downright stupid, and it smells funny, proabably because of all the bogans. Millions and millions of bogans. I wish black would go out of style sometime. Jesus died because noone wears anything with colours in it. dreary bastards. Put some colour back in the world, people! It doesn't hurt, I swear. It's the reason why 80's music videos were so damn cool.
And with that statment, you have all just realised I am simply finding a way of putting farts through the keybord. Too many eggs for me I think.

How far can you push a metaphor? Too far me thinks. Brains = Eggs = Farting? What the hell am I talking about?

And its winding a bloody gale outside. Fun.

Toasties are god.

As you may have been able to tell, last night I was drunk. In fact, I was so drunk I cannot remember posting that surprisingly cohenrant rant against the world.
The sad thing is, I would like to say it was the booze talking, but really, I agree with every word that I typed last night, especially the expletives. And yes, im still a little drunk now. And yes, I am going to get drunk again tonight. I plan to be drunk for the rest of my life. This is what happens when you come off the rails. Oh well.
So what has happened? Apart from the drunk, that is. Well, I have been stuffing what the you doing when they come around the germans. I was a t a park with the Germans. The best part in the world. It has flying foxes. In the dark, flying foxes are brilliant. They are the best thing in the world.

Oh well. Poo.

All is the under estimation but the era is bad.

Wow. Could I be any more drunk? Could I have been any more dunk for the last three days? I just dont care any more. Why d you care? some sort of damn stupid thing when you do stuf and the stuff that happenes all not good inconhensirable stuff damn shit. Whoo cares? IO do not anymore. Fuck all of everything. SWeee ya, my faithfull readers.

The eleventh commandment.

Don't go to the Big Kumera. Ever.
Honestly, that place must have more mass than Fat Simon, because everytime I get a bottle of wine in me I seem to unable to escape the place, much like how light cannot escape black holes and you cannot escape YOUR EVENTUAL DOOM. But yes, yesterday I had an exam, and then I went to my friends house, as I do on a wednesday, to drink and watch Scrubs, and when they went to bed I went looking vainly for a kebab. God knows how I missed the Kebab shops, becuase there are plenty in Cuba street, and God knows how I managed to find, and completely lose, the only kissing contest in town. Yep. apparently Wine+ All the red bull and vodka you can buy for $40 = Flan enters into some damn stupid competition in front of a lot of stupid drunk people stupidly stupid stupid. But oh well, I got to hook up with a chick, even if I was voted the worst. Then again, she voted a girl the best. I guess you just had to be there.

Do not go to town by yourself. It is a depressing, depressing experiance.
I weigh 79.4 kg and am 182cm tall. It's not every day you weigh and measure yourself. Oh, and my blood pressure might be 110. I don't know. But its good anyway. Hurrah! I forgot a long time ago how tall I am . Do you know how tall you are? When was the last time you looked at the back of your hand? When you wiggle it, do your veins roll over the tendons? Do I need more sleep?

Yes. Yes I do.

Time, it's on my side...

Where have i been for the past month? Well I have been shut your damn trap i dont have to explain myself! Ahem. Excuse me. While I have been away, I have been possesed by the demon Azazel, I have joined a cult of UFO worshippers, I have been anal probed twice, once by Aliens and once by the cult of UFO guys. I have eaten free pizza. I have been deep sea diving in the depths of the Atlantic and I found my virginity and sold it again to a bottle of rum to some pirates. Only one of these things is true. And it wasn't the anal probing. Either of them. I think.

This is why i keep this blog, or try to. Because my memory is so full of holes that I cannot actually remember what I have been doing over the last month, probably due to drunkeness, but I do remember that it was all very enjoyable. Now I have to get my life into some sort of semibalance, and thats just plain boring. Signing up for classes, deciding what im doing next year, getting my damn laptop fixed, paying my 'protection' money to the mob... I swear, one day I am going to wake up so sick of all the trivial little things I have to do that I will simply walk out my front door and aprentice myself to blanket man, and after I have learnt the secret of how to make meths drinkable, I shall rename myself Baxter the Second of France nee Banana Hammock, fashion a box into a mobile home powered by sweat and feces and travel around new zealand, writing things and preforming sexual favours to not too young women in return for grog. All will be peaceful and great untill I save up enough empty bottles to exchange for a plane ticket where upon I shall fly to America, where only after a week I shall be raped and shot, not nessicarially in that order, by genetically engeneered marsuipials from Australia over a misunderstanding, as they will only be able to speak Old Norse (don't ask me why, I didn't engineer those damn koalas), a language that I am understandably a little spase in.

See this is what happens when I don't post for a long time. I save up little bits of crazy inside a "magic box" inside my belly untill it is churning away, and then I vomit it forth onto this page. Aren't you glad?

In other news, I have oone more exam to go. I have already sat two, but this last one will be the hardest of all. Thats why I am watching scrubs tonight and drinking wine. This tactic has never failed me yet, and I continue to get good marks, so what the hey. After friday I shall drink some more, becuase you have to after an exam, and then I get a whole three days of holiday before my summer trimester starts. Oh so much fun. But on the plus side, I do get four day weekends every weekend.

One day soon I shall shave off my beard. That will be fun.

It IS almost over...

Today is the last day I am Twenty. I don't even get much of twenty tommorow. As lengend has it, I was birthed at 2 minutes past midnight, only just meaning that it is not my birthday today. But that's cool, because twelve is a cooler number than eleven. Twelve has a "w" AND a "v".
But this also means that soon I will be losing my innocence, if I hadn't already lost it while under the influence of god knows what to a shapley bush when I was fifteen. But still, another golden year will have past as my youth fades to become just a legend that I go on endlessly about with my false teeth out so noone can understand what the hell I am talking about.
"Back in my day, we had to wait two whole minutes for our noodels to be done!"
"Oh, come off it Grandpa!"
"No, I'm serious! And the minutes were longer in those days. We didn't have any of this metric-time bollocks, there were sixty minutes to an hour, and thats the way it should be. Where did they get the extra fourty minutes from, I ask ye? From Satan, thats who."
At this time my son will take the wiskey bottle from me and tell me to go home. No-one respects the elderly these days.
So yes, what the fuck am I rambling on about? Who knows. Who cares? I care. Looking over my previous posts, I can see that my life has been becomming steadilly more boring. This time last year I was unemployed, living in a cupboard that smelt like smelly damp things and scrounging enough money from my student loan to by bottles of wine and tins of chopped tomatoes. Now, one year later, I work in a cafe every week day for money, I sleep in a room on a real bed and I have cut down the amount that I drink and opted for a deit that does not consist soley of "whatever I can get from the food bank plus an onion."
Some people would call this progress, and congratulate me on getting stability, a clue and a life. I call it poo. Oh for those hazy days in which I wagged lectures and sat on our porch in the sun drinking cheap bubbly and playing poker. Woe on these days of stuff. So to make sure this wont happen again, I shall immortalise here a list of resolutions, and at the end of this next year I can check them off with satisfaction:
1) Live by myself. Gosh Darn Fuck I want to live by my self. no offence to all the people who want me to live with them, for I am a popular and well endowed man, but I just want to come hoome from my day of doing whatever the hell, dim the lights, put on some barry white and then walk around my house nakie. I am pretty sure noone else wants to partake in this.
2) Get some mode of transportation. To do this i firstly need to get my learners drivers licence, and then save enough money to buy a scooter. Both these things are at the moment made impossible by the fact that I am oh so lazy. This week I managed to save $40 from my last paycheck. It is the only money I have been able to save, ever. And where is it going? On booze tommorow. Oh yeah.
3)LIVE LIFE TO THE EXTREME! Well, for me extreme living will be finding a job in a cafe that allows me to make coffee all day which dosent interfere with my studies and gives me enough money to both pay the rent and get drunk on weekends. Boy, I aim high with my dreams!
4)Buy furniture, especially a double bed. I am sick of my stinky single bed, lack of (Holy shit, there is a panda looking at me) lack of coffee table and lack of couch. I want something to put my beer on. I want something to fall asleap on while watching late night soft-porn on sky one. And I want a big bed for asthetic value.

So there it is. In this comming year I aim to have more money, more material things, and more sweet sweet naked Flan time. It will be good, and of course, all adventures will be documented here on "Highlyflannable: Why the fuck are you reading this?"

Seriously. Why?

And you thought it was all over!

Yes indeedy, I am not dead faithful fans of this here page! No, I am meerly getting old. On thursday, I am going to turn 21, an age that warrants a might, mighty piss up. Previous resolutions aside, medication nonwithstanding, I am not entering into the next phase of my life (entitled "Adulthood: Why It Hates You") sober in any sense or form. If you think this is quite right, then come to B4 on thursday from 3pm onwards. Or if you think that my liver has had far too much sweet sweet alcohol, then you sould come along to try to prise the beer from my hands. You will fail, but you can try.

As far as my life in the intrem between when I last posted and now, life has been tiring, and I have been working much. I have written an essay. I have had coffee with people. I have done so many everyday and commonplace things that I will not bore you by relationg them here. And I have only been drunk once. But that was because it was after the Worst Day in Mine Or Anyone's Life, Including Job. I know it is quite a big claim to say that I had a worse day than the man who God the all powerful deliberately messed with, and perhaps I am overexagerating, but feel safe in the knowledge that it completely warranted the two bottles of wine.

Off to do things which include Milton's "Paradise Lost". It is long, but I have almost finished it...

It's all about the candy.

What candy? I have no candy. None. do you have candy? I would like some of your candy. Yes, life sometimes seems like that everlasting quest for candy, much like the quest for the holy grail, except sweeter. What the hell am I thaking about? You tell me. You "im-not-sharing-my-candy-with-you" BASTARD!
As you can see, everything is going well with me. Yesterday I received an essay mark back. I got what I expected: An A-, because although my essay was short a brief in both content and proof and only took me a couple of hours, I managed to sustain a nice metaphor thoroughout that complimented my argument. And after someone has read many an essay with poor gramma, punctuation and verbosity, something that is written in a half decient fashion automatically gets a high mark. Sad but true. There are three ways to get yourself a good mark: write a good essay, cover up your deficiencies with words like "cacophony" and "elucidate", or bribe those in power with candy. And as we have already established, I am far to lazy for the first option and too candy-less for the second.
Do I have anything else to report? I think not. Soon I am going to find out is a certain thing I reciently did will either work or just end up in a burning wreck of molten crap. This thing, which I will not divulge at the moment, may just result in candy. Or at least something sweet.

And I am all about the sugar. Cryptic, no?

Cold Turkey

PUT THOSE SPORKS AWAY! Yes, I know it has been almost a week since I have posted, but I have a good excuse: I am Lazy. Well, it sounded better in my head. But anyway, since of the complete lack of posting that has been happening, you are now to be treated to a super-turbo-alpha-xtreme-plus post of mammoth proportions! Are you ready for this?

Righty ho then. I suppose the most importaint thing that has been happening to me over the last week and a bit has been the fact that I have been going broiled chicken from the booze. I am going salted pork rind from my alcoholic habits because of the pills I am now consuming in the morning to make my brain better. The brain better drugs don't actually mean that I have to stop drinkingaltogether, but since I have a very poor record when it comes to trying to moderate myself, I thought it would be a better idea to just forgo ethanol completely and go stuffed doormouse. For any of you who have not gone wet donkey before, I tell ya there are a few things that happen when you try to ween yourself off an addictive substance. No doubt it is different for different people, but I had some major headaches, cravings, and the strange experiance that is waking up un-hungover, possibly hungunder or level-hung. Seriously. I had not been to work on a Thursday completely sober ever, I think, as Wednesday was my drink to get through the rest of the week day. It was interesting having a body that was completely functional. None of that crazy unable to focus, direct hands or stand without leaning on things. Nope, I was a completely functional human. In some ways it was good. In other ways, it was damn annoying. I don't know quite how to expain such a happening, but work is a lot more fun when you are not quite with it. You know, they say that one of the steps to getting rid of an addictive habit is admiting and accepting the fact that life on booze/coke/ground up M&M's will never be as fun as life sober. I quite fail to see how that helps, but it is very true. I mean, why else would anyone do such things? Cause it feels good, thats why.

What is the moral of that little story? Buggered if I know. But I feel quite good in life at the moment, and my liver and his close friends Mr. and Mrs. Kidney are having quite the "thank god he's stopped putting poison in us" party, complete with non-alcoholic beer and spinach samwhiches.

In other news, last night I had a gig. It was at my friends house, who also happens to be the lead guitarist/co-singer of the band. It was good. We packed that livingroom out. Seriously. Standing room only, people boogieing out, a whole lot of "borrowed" apms giving us the much needed vocal volume to get our lyrics heard enough that I saw one or two people mouthing along. Good times, good times indeed. Of course, I fucked up, my hand cramped up halfway through on of the new songs so I had to play like a damn retard and actually stopped at one point, and I munted up me strumming hand pretty nice. Blood all over the place. But really, I think I am going to be one of those pedantic people who are never completely happy with their performance. When I am on the global tour that we wil be on in 10 years time, no doubt I will come off stage after out 35 song set and beat myself up for not enuciating properly or something. But still, the kind of energy you have afterwards is amazing. I got out of there onto the open air balcony and was trembling and had a slight stich (some of our songs you just don't get a rest from. It didn't help that we had to shout pretty hard to get sound out of the bass amp we were using as a PA either) and even though it was pretty much just a happy little gig performed to our friends and aquaintences, I still had a very major high.

Alright then. In other other news, it is my Birthday in Twelve Days Time. I shall be turning Twenty One. Can't you just hear the Gongs of Mortality building up to a creshendo? Just like my 20th birthday, I feel like I am reaching the end of an era, and soon I shall be thrust out into the 9-5 work day, with a bank account that doesn't have an interest free overdraft. What am I going to do? I live in my overdraft. I haven't technically had any actual money for a year. It has all been borrowed from the bank. I am going to be sooo screwed when I finish studing at the end of next year. Not to mention all the stories that will be told at my 21st. Why did I pick this year to do so many stupidly drunken things? And my past isn't exactly bereft of material either. Oh well, que serra serra. As a quick end note, It is also my good friend Spasm's birthday today, but he is an ancient old man, so please send him your good wishes so he will remember his dentures and not choke on his tofu at the vegeterian BBQ he is attending by way of celebration of his steadilly ascending age. No wonder I worry about birthdays. I deal out far too much crap to other people.

And that is it. I should be getting back into the swing of things post wise now. In the comming weeks: Essay: 3000 words of tourture and Work: The slow distruction of my soul.

Sweating like a sex-addict in d-vice.

FOR WHAT NEED IS THERE FOR FISH TO SING, WHEN I CAN ROAR AND BELLOW?

Going to the doctors soon to get my head figured out.

Panadol is the world's greatest invention.

I have just finished reading the book for which I have an essay due tommorow: Kate Atkinson's Behind the Scenes at the Museum. Notice the way I used Italics to reference a book? That is because I am an english dweeb. Soon I will start the essay, where I shall be discussing the significance of the books title to the content. I will not finish it tonight, but even though it is late and I have work tomorow morning, I feel the need to start it now, while it is fresh in my mind. Besides, tonight is not a good night for sleeping. The air is restless with helicopters, dogs and my Phantom Clock (there are no batteries in it, but I hear it ticking often). Anyway, I have four hours to do this essay after I finish work tomorrow, which is more than enough time for a 1500 word essay of this level.
This weekend, thanks to a deposit of suplus monies from the flat account, I have been able to drink and eat, and most importaintly, buy panadol. I never used to rely on panadol for hangover cures, perferring rather to be stoic in the fact that the headaches and woozyness was somthing self inflicted and so I should roll with it, and I have even had, on occasion, hangovers that have been more enjoyable than the drinking it took to get them, but you cannot be productive during a hangover, ejoyable or not. So enter panadol, which gets rid of most of the symptoms of hangovers, and allows me to at least read books for classes. Wheather this discovery shall breed within me a new found desire to further my alcoholism by taking away any deterant or shall simply help me to become a better functioning member of society (all those mornings at work I have spent hungover! why didn't I pop a pill?) remains to be seen.
As you might be able to tell from reading this I am in a much better mood than I have been lately. I am on the up cycle of my by now sickenly familiar depression cycle, and so know that payment shall be extracted later, probably at about 9am tommorow. As you also might have noticed, I have been doing alot of this new-age emotional namby-pamby mental musing crap, but as I have noticed, it is actually uite helpful for me to be able to look back on my life in this form to see what has happened, becuase I simply cannot keep all that memory inside my sive-like head. So what I am saying, in essance, is that you just have to deal with it. HAH!

In other news, Behind the Scenes at the Museum is actually really quite good. It pretty much gets added to my own personal hall of book fame along with On The Road, Dear Miffy, and anything by Murakami or Kafka. So read it.

To yesterday and beyond! A great pile of Fish? Yes.

I am not feeling good.
Looking back in my blog, I can see that I also wasn't feeling good at this time last year. A seasonal thing, perhaps? No. Last year I had a reason for not feeling good. Me and my long distance girlfriend/ fiancee were having problems, prolems that resulted in our breaking up. Two years ago, I was engaged. A year later I became single. This year, I have been single for twelve months. Even so, this should not be a reason why my soul feels like it has been split in half. Honestly, I was feeling so bad today I almost threw up. Well, I have made an appointment with a doctor for Wednesday. Perhaps we can nip this in the but. Heres hoping.
People who read this have invited me around to thier houses at times during this weekend in an effort to cheer me up. People want me to live with them. Unfortunately, It looks like I might not be able to do any of these things. This week I have to read a novel. An actual novel, and then write an actual essay on it. The essay won't take long, as it is only a 200level, 1500 word essay, and so I will be able to do the actual writing in about four hours. The reading of the novel, however, is goig to take me at least two nights. And as for living with anyone, I simply want my own place next year. I don't care about the price. I don't care that I might go stir-crazy. I need to do this alone, to see if I can at all. Adn besides, I am sick now of all that organisation/ cleaning/ rent splitting hassels that happen when you live with someone else. I want to do it alone.
Work today was poo. So much poo. Nothing good there. I just hung around spacey like, as co-workers conversations washed around me like so much unwanted citris-cola, making me sticky and lime-smelling. Not very plesant, as you can imagine.
Tonight I plan to go home, get into be and read untill I fall asleap. But what wil probably happen is that I will play guitar for some indetremined portion of time before I open my book. Guitar is good for me. Good for my soul. I shall rign some people so as I can plan my weekend, eat some toast, and then collapse into bed. Smelly bed. Oh well.

I have ten dollars. $6.50 of that has to go to a friend who bought me a pizza. So I cannot even get myself a bottle of wine. Gahhhhhh...

URRGH! ARGUH! UH>> I DON"T KNOW!!!

I think the title of this post says it all. Bugger everything. Bugger it all to hell. Hell, where I hear, they are rather found of buggering. So it can get buggered some more.
Really, all sorts of crap is really annoying. Work. Studies. Uni. Other people. Thinking. Books. Money. Sleeping. Eating. Waking up in the morning. Walking. Women. Cooking. Carpets. Mess. Essays. ALL OF IT! But don't you worry. Although this might seem like a rather macarbe post, smoe things are going all right. Like... (insert title of post here!)
Oh, people are annoying. Especially at work.
Customer: "Hey how much does that cost?"
Me: "5.60. like it says on the sign."
C: Oh, ok. What sizes do you do?"
M: This size. Only one size, I'm afraid.
C: Oh. Then can I have a medium?
M: No. We only have this size. This size bowl. I fill up this bopwl with food.
C: Oh. Well how about I tell you when to stop? I am not that hungry.
M: Alright. *I start filling the bowl*
C: Ok, that enough (The bowl, at this stage, is pretty much full.) How much will that cost?
M: 5.60. Like it says on the sign. like I told you. Like the sign is also telling you. It costs 5.60."
The only reason I wasn't scolding/swearing at/eating the customers face off was because I hear you can get fired for that sort of thing, and I need my monies.
Or how about this delightful fellow?:
C: Hey, how long away is that burger that I ordered like two minutes ago because I am really hungry and I ordered a burger and like it isn't here yet and like you do fast food and I have class and stuff and you know I paid for my burger so you know it should like be given to me.
M: Yes. Your burger isn't here. Because we start cooking after you order. Thats what "Made to order" means. And since it is a chicken burger, I suggest you let us cook it, unless you like that really scrumptious taste of selmonella. As for you class, you should have thought about that before you ordered a meal 2 minutes before it started. Because, while it is true we are a fast food restruant, we are not a MAGICAL WE HAVE A MAGICAL FAIRY OUT BACK COOKING MAGICAL FOOD WITH HER MAGIC WAND MAGICAL food place.

As you can perhaps guess, I didn't actually say that. but I was this close. THIS FUCKING CLOSE!

Anyway. scrubs is on tonight. And since it is wednesday, that means I can drink my woes away. With alcohol. Sweet sweet anger numbing alcohol.

Word Salad

Well, this has been a doozy of a weekend.
Start off by getting off of work, and trying everything to get my hands on some money. Student services, the food bank, hocking off food bank items to people, extorsion, even, *shudder*, Studylink.
"Hey there, I am in a bit of trouble. I need some money so I can get some meat to go with this bag of flour the food bank gave me. I heard you sometimes gave out food vouchers in dire situations."
"Well," Says Mr Studylink, "Why don't you have any money?"
"I don't have any work over the break. I tried to budget for this, but I fell a little short."
"Well, show me your bank statement."
I hand my bank statement over.
"Well, if you knew you were going to be off work for two weeks, you really should have gotten yourself another part time job to make up for the shortfall."
"Yes. Because two week long jobs grow on trees. Anyway, I just need $20."
"Yes, well, as I see it, you haven't exhausted every avenue. You could have sold an organ for money. But since you really need the money, I suppose if you can get me your tennancy agreement, your birth certificate, a signed note from your employer stating that you had no work for a week (that note needs to be verified by a JP, by the way) and a negative STI test then we can probably give you the money."

I hate you, studylink. So what I did was I did not pay my rent. It's ok, our flat account is far and above what it needs to be and I can make up the deficit before our next load of rent goes out. But still, I shouldn't have to resort to such matters. Services that are supposed to help people should, in fact, help. At least some of the time. Studylink is just bitter because we no longer have to pay them intrest on our loans. Well, boo hoo. Studylink also doesn't have to survive on caned Tuna.

After that disaster, Iwent to my friends flat to welcome their new flatmate. We had a few drinks and ended up at a twenty-first. Not alot happend there, I had a couple of cheap drinks and then we went back home. The next day I went to my other friends house where I was shanghied inside a car bound to Shannon.
If you aren't familiar with Shannon, you need to know that it is the one street hub of the rural district of Horowhenua, a distric concerend, like most of rural NZ, with sheep and rugby. The plan was to go and stay at a hotel in Shannon, pretty much for the fuck of it, and drink at the local bar, wake up in the morning, have pies at the very nice cafe there and then go back to Wellington. Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned. When we asked the hotel for a couple of rooms the hotel person said "URGNAH?" and banged her head on the bar repeatedly. Other patrons of the bar looked at us suspiciously and we backed away slowly so as not to entice them into what was only one broken jandal away from becoming a ruck.

So we went to Palmeston North. If you are not fammiliar with Palmeston North, you need to know that it is almost impossible to leave once you get into the tangle of it's flat streets with no land marks and that it's slogan is "STUDENT CITY". The sign with this slogan on it has a crude drawing of a Penis on it. We saw nobody around, and I ended up asleap in a friends place on a lounge chair after a few rousing games of drinking Jenga. The next day we went back to Shannon, and ate all the pies. (I had three. Between the five of us we had a total of ten pies.) And then we went back to Wellington, glad to have survived our ordeal and exdeedingly happy to see hills, buildings of note and people of culture.

I have only just gotten home. It has been one of those weekends where I just don't get back to my own bed. I have just been to see M. Night Shialaman's movie "The Lady in the Water." MNS's movies always sit in that little gray area for me between "Crap" and "Pretty Good" without passing through any of the imediatory steps.

In other news, I am finding that I am kinda in that grey area with my life. Things are really getting me down sometimes, and other times things are really really good. (Bet you didn't see this comming! Emotional rant after all that? What a mammoth post! Well, I don't have much else to do.) Having just 'asided' that I have nothing else to do, I have far to much to do. At the end of this week I have and assignment due, ditto with the start of next week. I have work. I have libary books that have to be returned. I have sleeping to do. Where the fuck am I supposed to fit in any kind of musing on existance and hopefully positive step taking to make sure I don't fall back into a pit of depression/ anxiety / stress from which there is no getting out of without a large ladder? People don't like that in your essays about Pope! And I don't own a ladder! Borrowing other peoples ladders takes time and patience and interation skills which I often find I simply do not have. So that is in part what this blog is for: expressing my emotions through horribly extended metaphors. I know it doesn't actually do any good long term, but it sure as fuck makes me feel better right now.

And right now I am going to go do some writting. All the ladder finding and /or essay writing can happen tommorow.

Too much dancing, not enough sleep.

Amn I hate my friends.
I go to their house to dirink wine and watch Scrubs on a TV that isn't all gay and fuzzy, andwhat happens? They force me into town, possibly with some kind of mind control device, in my work uniform, as I had not been home to change, gave me red bull, which unleashes my beast, and turned me loose inside the Big Kumera.
Even when they went home they made me stay. I got home at 3:30am. I have had three hourse sleep. I, surprisingly, don't feel that bad. But I only had one bottle of wine.

So yes, the moral of the story is "Don't Trust Your Friends." Because they make you do things.

Well, that was unexpected...

http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,20349560-661,00.html
Yes, thats right, Steve Irwin, the Crocidile Hunter, is dead. Imagine that. A man builds up his reputation by wrestling crocodiles and dangerous snakes, dangerous animals that no sane peron would touch with a pole on fear of death, then gets killed by a sting-ray. How very, very unfortunate. A sting-ray, for fucks sake! Really makes you think, don't it? You, as a person, invincible in everyday life, God of your destiny, you feel good and healthy, and then WHAM! Outta left feild come the Reaper, bearing not the expected scythe, but a bag of rice, and chokes you with it.

Really, sometimes life is bloody strange.

In other news, there is a strange ticking noise in my room. Either my clock, which has been without a battery for the last half year suddenly started working under its own steam, or someone planted a bomb in my room while I was away. I am guessing the latter.

Oh, the horror!

Had work this morning. Had a tutorial. Both were not particulaly good. I guess I just have to get back into the swing of things.
I seem to have developed a twitch in my right eye.
Well, I got back an essay today, and I got an A for it, so I suppose that isn't too bad. But there is so much crap I have to do soon. And I just don't want to do it. I want to stay in bed. Forever. Damn this outside world and all the things that I have to do in it. Except band practice, which I have tommorow. I have been looking forward to that some good yes. I have been woprking on new material, and cannot wait until our next gig, whenever that might be.
But since I have to wait, I would rather be waiting in bed. Its warm, yet smelly, comfortable yet a mess. I keep on waking up at night thinking I am back home. But I am not. Soon I have to go flat hunting. AGAIN. I hate flat hunting. and I have to get a licence. And a scooter. And I have to save some money. And I have no money at the moment.

Whine whine moan bitch. Yep. Goddamn.

Going, going, gone .

In two hours I go back to Wellington. This holiday has been much too short, damn it! I haven't done nearly enough sleeping, eating, cartooning or reading for pleasure as I want t odo. Seriously, where do you fit it all in? So yes, I will arrive in our countries capital at around 9pm tonight, and the rest of this weekend will be devoted to preparing myself metally for the rigors of work and the second half of the trimester.
Preparing it with booze.
Becuase i haven't been drunk since I left Auckland. I have been detoxing this week. Now booze, no cigarettes, and let me tell you something, I am looking forward to putting some alcohol and nicotine, a cocktail i like to call 'alcotine', back into my system. i might even get some Roti Chennai.

But still. Work. Sigh.