World's Best Invention

For those who haven't seen it yet, the Scottish have earned yet another claim to fame in this world - creating the World's Strongest Beer (again): http://www.news.com.au/world/worlds-strongest-beer-guaranteed-to-dent-your-wallet-if-not-your-liver/story-e6frfkyi-1225895855686

I'll let you read the article, I just love that it starts with a bulleted list of reasons that this needs to be top of mind for anyone who can't figure out what to buy me for my birthday.

Beer 55 per cent alcohol

Bottles cost $855 each

Presented in stuffed animal

Only about 4 months to go, folks. Better start saving.

Fountain of Youth

Now that the weekend is becoming less shameful of a memory, I think I'm ready to blog about it. Saturday night, in particular, was one of those nights where you wake up the next morning, look at the photos, and think "My god, we are far too old for nights like that." In other words, awesome. As long as they don't happen more than once every two months.

Of course there's not much in the way of dignity that you can really expect from a night that essentially *starts* with tequila shots. The entire evening was a shit-show from the moment it commenced, and we quickly found ourselves in this condition:

The last thing I remember is being asked to leave a bar around 3am because I was hanging out in the women's bathroom, chatting away to friends and strangers alike. Fair enough, really.

Idiocy in Action

After an absolutely ridiculous time last night (more on that later), Juice just called me this morning and said he was coming over to my apartment.

He came in and said he had just come from the Four Seasons, because he had lost his keys and ended up getting a room there for the night. Let's not even go into the logic (or lack thereof) that must be behind the Four Seasons being the hotel one chooses when they're locked out of their place. This is the same guy who keeps the locksmith industry in business because he refuses to keep a spare set of keys at a friend's place.

So he contacted a locksmith and then started telling me how he had looked everywhere for his keys and a spare key he even keeps in his wallet. As he shakes his wallet, the spare key falls out. People, I don't think I would have believed it if I hadn't seen it. But it happened.

And then, he went out on my balcony for a cigarette to ponder his stupidity, and as he looked for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket, he found...yes, you guessed it...his original set of keys.

He sheepishly headed home soon thereafter, mentally tallying the hotel expenses and taxi fares that will mean he's spending the next few weekends on the couch.

I Has Ideas.

I recently read about a new dating website, Alikewise, that matches people to one another based on the books they like.

It's generally a clever idea, however I could never use it for myself. I tend to read books that are far more serious and intelligent than I am, and the site would probably match me with someone who thought I was a vapid, superficial drunk. And they wouldn't necessarily be wrong.

So that started me thinking about other ways you could match people. There's music, of course. But once again, wouldn't work for me, as I enjoy a lot of the music I listen to in an ironic way. Or at least that's what I tell myself in order to preserve at least some modicum of self-respect.

And there are always the few people who love movies. I'm not one of them, and given my tastes I imagine I would be matched with a rifle-toting vampire, or someone who thought they were a rifle-toting vampire. Either way, that's not good for much more than a terrible first date story.

The only thing that occurred to me that might actually work for someone like myself is matching people based on their drinking style. That way I'd be more likely to be paired with someone who enjoys sitting around in the afternoon sharing a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, as opposed to someone who drinks cheap gin and starts fights with lamp posts (which I haven't done in years). I'd probably call it ThreeSheets.com or some other lame play on words that sounded much more romantic than a way for alcoholics to find someone out there to enable their bad habits.

Fortunately for any potential competitors out there, I'm usually too lazy/drunk/hungover to do anything entrepreneurial, so feel free to steal these brilliant ideas. Maybe I can at least use your website one day.

Keeping To Form

Just a moment ago, and not long after informing me he was very hungover and didn't remember the end of his Wednesday night, Juice alerted me to the fact that he'd found a cigarette burn in the back of his shirt. Possibly obtained while attempting to adjust the strap on his bag on his way to work this morning, which resulted in his cigarette being flicked into his jacket.

All. Class.

Australia's Next Top Punching Bag

As yet another added perk of working at a major media/entertainment company, I was able to take an hour out of my work day yesterday to go to a preview screening of the first episode of Australia's Next Top Model - Cycle 6.

I've never found the show to be as entertaining as America's Next Top Model, partially because the girls are much younger and whiter in the Australian version, and maybe also because the Australians seem somewhat genuinely interested in turning their contestants into global fashion models (one winner eventually ended up working all over the world, and on the cover of Australian Vogue a couple of times).

One thing I do enjoy on the Aussie version is the judges:

These people are a pack of absolute bitches, and I love it. Between mocking the models to their faces ("It's modeling, not brain surgery, darl.") and joking about Botox ("She's a bit short. I'd raise my eyebrow if I could."), they clearly don't have all of the PC nonsense that Americans have to worry about, and they make up for the fact that a bunch of 16-year old girls simply aren't going to have much to say that any of us will give a shit about.

Alas, I don't think there are preview screenings of every episode during work hours. Life is so unfair.

For The Children

Wilks is an ambassador for an Australian charity, so a bunch of us agreed to buy tickets for their annual charity ball which took place last night.

We started out civilized enough:

However it wasn't long before we were all hammered on the open bar and I was making bids I couldn't afford in the blind auction, while loudly complaining about the crappy food and mocking other people's outfits:

Needless to say, karma got the best of me and I spent most of today suffering through a terrible hangover that I have decided was brought on by cheap booze. I suppose some of the money has to go to the children with cancer, but surely this sort of experience doesn't generate a lot of return ticket buyers for the ball the following year.

Anyway, it's about 30 minutes until my book club arrives, and judging from the amount of wine we drank at our last meeting my headache should be back in no time.

All Grown Up

I don't know about anyone else, but I really feel like tax time is the adult version of Christmas. Except instead of going to sit on Santa's lap and lie about how good you were all year, you go to your accountant and exaggerate your "work expenses" to increase the size of your refund.

I'm about to head to my tax adviser and it probably doesn't help that I had a few beers at lunch. I'll probably try to claim my Indian-food addiction as research. I do sort of work in IT, after all.

WTF

Went to meet Busty and Juice for a couple of after work drinks, ended up finishing off about 4 bottles of wine between us and dancing (on an otherwise empty dance floor, I should mention) for a couple of hours before grabbing McDonald's and heading home.

Not only am I not as old as I have been complaining about, but clearly I'm still as trashy as I ever was. I'm also about to fall asleep at my desk.

If Young Me Could See Me Now

Alas, I'd apologize again for not blogging for almost a week, but to be honest it's rare these days that I have anything that fascinating to tell anyone about. Just the other day I was saying to a friend I hadn't seen in a while that I had truly mellowed out in my old age, and how the highlights of my week are more likely to be a new omelette pan or my upcoming book club meeting as opposed to the flight of stairs I fell down after doing too many tequila shots. Not that such things don't happen anymore, but they are certainly not as frequent.

In keeping with theme, it was a relatively mellow weekend, the key social event being a Christmas in July dinner. For those who aren't familiar, Australians like to celebrate "Christmas in July" for reasons that no one quite seems to grasp. Something to do with the cold weather, supposedly, but we all know it's just another reason to get drunk. And who can complain with that. Especially when it involves a grown man wearing a Santa bikini, and various sex toys that I'd rather not post much about here in fear of attracting the wrong demographic.

If this one bored you to tears, don't worry, I plan to find at least one school night this week to get Juice blisteringly drunk and embarrass himself for our entertainment.

Addiction

I recently came to the disturbing realization that I might actually spend more time playing Words With Friends (basically Scrabble on the iPhone) than doing anything else in my day, besides sleeping.

What started as something that I played with a couple of friends has turned into a full-fledged addiction involving some 20 or more friends, family members and acquaintances across a number of time zones and continents. I play from the moment I wake up, throughout my commute, during any gaps in my work day (amazing how many of those you can find when you want them), and into the evening.

I have missed my train to work. I have almost missed my stop several times. I am late to send important documents through to colleagues, and I consistently miss key plot points in my favorite shows because I can't stop trying to find a way to play the J and the F in the same word.

Many people find this whole situation ridiculous, and at times so do I. And then, I play a word that makes it all worth it. I give to you, my best play so far:

In case anyone was wondering, my favorite words are QI and ZA.

Desperate Times

Since I can remember, I have outright refused to bring lunch to work. I've always seen a weekday lunch as something to be enjoyed, and that includes some level of spontaneity that comes with deciding at the last minute which world cuisine my meal might come from.

I now work out in the 'burbs of Sydney, and my options are severely limited. There is a Subway across the street, but there are only so many foot-long meatball subs one can eat before boredom and obesity begin to set in. And there are a few little places across the street too, however one is an Asian place whose main ingredient seems to be oil, and the others are more the type of food that one eats when they are totally shit-faced at 2 in the morning and any concerns about your health and well-being have fallen to the wayside.

The one place that might offer some hope is one that I haven't been to yet - a shopping centre food court, which is not only a 15 minute walk away, but also refers to their food court as "infamous" on their website. No, really:

And so, I now bring my lunch to work, usually some Asian stir-fry or pasta dish that I had for dinner a day or two before. And as part of my constant need to still have people I can look down on, I'd like to make it known that I still have absolute disdain for people who bring in about 20 different ingredients in order to spend their entire lunch break assembling an overly complicated sandwich that still doesn't look particularly appetizing. Losers.