Unnecessary

Had a boozier weekend than I've had in a while, more than enough to remind me why I don't tend to do that any more.

Friday was a friend's surprise birthday drinks, which was supposed to lead to dinner until I apparently hijacked the night and said we should all spend the evening binge drinking instead. Genius, I know.

Saturday was even worse - after having a ton of people over to the new apartment, I decided that 11pm was a great time to buy another bottle of wine and swing by a dinner party I'd had to miss earlier in the evening. After stumbling around for an hour and alternating between boring and offensive, I grabbed some Indian food and cabbed it home. I'd sum up the end of the night as a completely ridiculous way to spend $100, and don't recommend it to anyone.

And so, Sunday was recovery, which involved not leaving my apartment complex and falling asleep on the couch around 8pm. I'm an old, old man.

Ridiculous

The title of this blog post refers to a few things. First, that I'm working more than ever even though I've resigned from my job. That ain't right. Second, that I just had such a quiet weekend that I'm still a bit scared about what it means for my life going forward when I'm mostly sober for all of Saturday *and* Sunday. Third, that even when I'm a boring teetotaler, that Juice still manages to end up like this:



Let me be clear - this isn't actually Juice. However, it not only looks just like him, but this is actually how he ended up on Saturday night. His face is now something that you expect to see on a woman who "fell down the stairs", knowing full well it means she probably overcooked her husband's steak.

Movin' On Up

Looks like I've forgotten to blog for over a week and a half. But in all fairness, I've spent the last week moving into a new apartment, and I even resigned from my job yesterday, so I've had a lot going on.

The new place is shaping up well, and we had our first round of sunset drinks last night resulting in 12 beer bottles, 2 vodka bottles, and a wine bottle having to be discarded this morning.

And in case you were wondering, the best conversation last night by far was the following:

Juice: I know it's a bit morbid, but have you ever thought about what you'd want to be buried in?

Junior: A Snuggie!!!

Zander: That was disturbing for several reasons. First, that you clearly had thought about it. Second, that you were serious. And third, the excited look on your face when you said it.

Junior: But they're so comfortable!

Zander: But you'd be dead.


Something tells me our balcony is going to see many similar conversations over the coming years...

Escalation

Several years ago, while living in my last apartment on the second floor of a building in a leafy neighborhood of Sydney, I walked into my livingroom and found a huge spider on the wall. Shortly thereafter, I moved into a 9th floor apartment. Until this week, I have lived a blessedly spider-free existence.

Last night, my flatmate showed me a huge spider he'd found in his bedroom. On Monday, I move into a 43rd floor apartment.

Listen, Mother Nature - I know I've never really been a fan, but I'm willing to respect your existence and keep my distance if you're willing to do the same. Please don't have a flock of birds fly into my windows or something. Because, honestly, I'm not sure what I will do next, but it may involve investing in oil companies. And neither of us want me to do that.

Ah, That Explains It

Went to a birthday dinner last night where I only knew about two people at the table. This generally isn't something I mind, as I love a fresh audience. However my rigid inability to remember the names of anyone I'm introduced to unless I've met them at least three times tends to cause a problem. My current method of learning new people's names is receiving friends requests on Facebook and then scanning their profile photos until I've plowed through my faded alcoholic memories of recent nights to remember who they are.

As I was saying, Friday night was yet another example. The sad part is that I was sober and trying to give off the semblance of tact, and yet this is the type of conversation that ensued:

Zander: Do you have an accent? I know your name is Ryan, but it sounded different when you said it.

Guy: My name is Graham.

Zander: Oh.

*Akwardness ensues*

Class. Act.