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?