You know you have a problem when...

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

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

Back on the home turf

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

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

Quickly! I have things to do!

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

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

It has been said before...

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

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

One down one to go.

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

Alright, time for the morning coffee. COFFEE!

Park Bench.

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

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

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

This is the winter of our discontent.

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

Just as the song says.

Halfway through an essay.

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

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

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

It Lives! It Lives!...Again!

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

I am quite excited. And so should you be.

I have a story in my head!

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

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

My Chemical Romance

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

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

Idiot

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

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

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

OH FUCK!

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

Damn damn damn. That date got me through yesterday.

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

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

Dating

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

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

Anyways.

Just a Quickie...

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

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

I just like saying FEEL really.

Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

Its damn difficult being me sometimes.

Its Thursday, so that means...

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

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

How disturbing would that be?

My Coat Smells Like Cheese

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

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

Happy again!!

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

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

Placeholder

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

But still. Countlesslyish.

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

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

Or five.

Big old drunk weekend

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

Dear God.

Last legs.

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

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

Ole!

Its hot and muggy

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

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

Dude... your hair...

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

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

Bored

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

incontinence is for the weak.

Kicked out o Kumera!

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

Early Morning Post!

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

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

So a good day ahead.

New? WHY?

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

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

On the upswing

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

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

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

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

ARSE

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

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

Done

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

A weekend of insanely drunken proportions.

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

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

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

Chow!

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

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

Later Days.

Some things have to be reported immediately.

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

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

And I don't have money till Wednesday.

My Weekend

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

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

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

Blue: Booze consumed, in standard drinks.

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

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

What to do, what to do....

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

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

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

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

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?