Gobble Gobble

Yesterday, after picking my brother up from the airport, I got to work cooking a massive Thanksgiving meal for my extended family, including a 9.25kg (19lb) turkey that I wasn't quite sure would fit in my oven.

Once everything was served, everyone ate and then was able to focus on the primary reason my family ever gets together - drinking.

As the night came to an end, my mother refused to stop dancing, and my godmother was asking me if I'd designed my bathroom (WTF?) because she wanted to take some photos of it.

Success.

You Know You Need A New Job When...

...year after year, your Secret Santa at work gives you an alcohol-related gift.

Stupid reputation.

You May Go Now

Thursday night was the only night I had a chance to catch up with Chip, who was in town from London for a couple of weeks, naturally while I was trapped in Perth on a work assignment.

Needless to say, we met up at the Colombian and went from there. Alas, upon arriving at the Colombian, we made the poor choice of sitting near a girl who almost seemed normal, only to find she was completely batshit insane. After showing us her domestic abuse scars and telling us about the impending custody battle, she ordered herself two Smirnoff "Blackouts" (I get nervous about ordering just one of those things) and shut up for 5 minutes. This left us to chat and naturally someone - probably me - mentioned that I was half black.

About 10 minutes later, when we were in the middle of a completely different topic, she suddenly pipes up and asks the following:

"Wait. If you have babies...will they be black?"

Once we'd finished laughing, I did what I always do when someone (even a good friend) is annoying the crap out of me at a bar. I told the bartender that she'd had too much to drink, and within minutes she was refused service and left.


I should probably note that the following night, I went to a friend's 30th birthday where a long-time acquaintance (who has hung out with me enough times to know my name without blinking) seriously asked me "Hey, did you get an accent? You sound American or something." I promised not to tell anyone he'd asked.

Oops.

25 Glasses Of Wine

According to this obviously reliable internet calculator, that's all that stands between me and certain death. I was skeptical about this figure myself, since I'm sure I've had more than that before, but apparently they are specifying that you'd have to drink this amount within a 3 hour timeframe, which makes more sense.


What I really need is a calculator that tells me how many glasses of wine it takes for me to make a complete ass out of myself and wish I had indeed died.

Hi Perth, Welcome To 10 Years Ago

Nothing fascinating to say (don't worry, I'll be back in Sydney within 48 hours), but I can't get over the fact that Western Australians were apparently the only people in the world who didn't realize that Britney Spears didn't actually perform live in her concerts.

No, really: http://www.timeslive.co.za/entertainment/article184132.ece

Glowing Reviews

As I assume I must have blogged about here at some point this year, I turn 30 in December. And I intend for the birthday celebrations to be over the top. Because really, if turning the big three-oh isn't an excuse to make everything about you and only you, then what is? (Some would argue that I already make EVERYTHING about me and only me, so how is this different? Well at least in this situation I would be mostly perfectly justified.)

And so, most of my friends and much of my family has had to listen to me harp on about my 30th birthday for months now. I've guilted most of my family into coming, with 6 of them flying in purely for my birthday. I was stressing about finding a venue back in June, and once I'd booked one in July, I then ensured that I would have a DJ. As a matter of fact, I have two.

One thing that I've avoided admitting to too many people (and no blogging about it is not incongruous with that approach considering less than 100 people per day seem to hit this blog and I'd imagine 75% do so by accident) is my canape spreadsheet that has a column for the name of canapes, how much each of them are, the number of them that I am thinking about ordering, and the amount for each. This is followed by various calculations telling me the total cost, number of canapes per person, and so on.

After all that, it was actually the invitation (inspired by the theme of "Sophistication") that elicited the most colorful of emotions from my friends and family:



Inspired by a Bond movie poster, it managed to evoke reviews ranging from "OMG u r hysterical!" and "This is your best yet" to "You pompous fuck." and "It's like you're getting married. To yourself."

At this point I figure the chances of me getting stabbed at my birthday party are pretty good.

Things I Didn't Need To Hear

I have no boozy nights to talk about this week because I'm back in Perth where my social life tends to consist of avoiding homeless people who try to talk to me between the office and my corporate apartment.

However I managed to find a few minutes to stop doing work and watch New Zealand's Next Top Model this afternoon, a show whose genuinely attractive contestants are outweighed by their awful accents.

It also didn't help that this conversation actually occurred:

Hair stylist: I'm going to give you a Mediterranean look.

Contestant: Oh, cool. Is that, like, near South America?

Hair stylist: Yeah.


It's bad enough that the girl asked that question, it's worse that I don't think the hair stylist was being sarcastic in his response.


(I should probably warn you that this is about as exciting as my blog posts are going to be for another week and a half. You're forgiven for not coming back until then.)

Logically

The other night was the annual Halloween in Sydney party that I host with my friend Jules, and I'd like to say it was fantastic but I struggle to remember the last half. In absence of actual memories, here are some photos of the evening.


Myself and Jules -- please note that she actually made her entire outfit. All of it. Sewing, gluing, etc. Insane, I know.


We also had no less than two Lady Gaga's, which made me feel just a little bad that I'd decided against putting any of her songs on the playlist because I'm a little over her for the time being.


I thought the "clouds" were the best executed random costumes for the evening.


And Anna Wintour (seen here with her boytoy) was disturbingly convincing.


Sulu here almost got kicked out of the party for cramping my style.


And in the end, I am always a huge fan of anyone willing to dress up in a huge and uncomfortable fuzzy costume for an entire evening. Rock on.