Gah! Blimey!

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

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

WHY???

Its far too early for this.

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

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

My cat dreams of spatulas.

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

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

Going to the Kumera...

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

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

the brains are scrambled eggs.

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

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

And its winding a bloody gale outside. Fun.

Toasties are god.

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

Oh well. Poo.

All is the under estimation but the era is bad.

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

The eleventh commandment.

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

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

Yes. Yes I do.

Time, it's on my side...

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

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

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

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

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

It IS almost over...

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

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

Seriously. Why?

And you thought it was all over!

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

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

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

It's all about the candy.

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

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

Cold Turkey

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweating like a sex-addict in d-vice.

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

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

Panadol is the world's greatest invention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word Salad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too much dancing, not enough sleep.

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

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

Well, that was unexpected...

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

Really, sometimes life is bloody strange.

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