Back To My Old Tricks

So I was basically drunk for the last 5 days and for some reason I'm feeling rather functional. Which is a sign of actual alcohol addiction, but I won't worry about that until I need a major organ transplant. I'm clever like that.

Friday was the usual drinking with coworkers, followed by hanging out with my actual friends (just kidding, I love drinking with my coworkers, they laugh at my jokes because most of them work for me). Ended that night the best way I know how -- shoving massive amounts of Indian food into my face (seriously, it could have fed a family of 4) and passing out smelling like curry.

Saturday was pretty much awesome. One of the things I love about the lifestyle here is that it's never too early to start drinking. I personally think it should wait until after 12 noon, so I scheduled an afternoon drinking session with friends starting at 2.30. Ellen and I split about 5 bottles of white wine between us, and a few of the guys wanted to catch up and figured they would order double Jack Daniels and Cokes for most of the evening. While this ended in an unfortunate number of people spewing their guts out well before 12am, I'm going to classify this night as a hit. This is of course excluding hearing for the 5th time about how a certain someone was caught by his uncle having sex with his cousin. Ew ew ew ew ew.

What I love about drinking early is that if you have the good sense to head home before midnight, you wake up feeling not too bad the next day. Sunday started out innocent enough, seeing a midday showing of Pirates of the Caribbean II. However we quickly found ourselves opening up a few bottles of Carlton Draught before 2pm, and back at the previous night's bar by 4pm. Which of course left me in stunning form for Monday morning at work, but it's nothing they haven't seen before.

The only other thing I feel obligated to mention is on Sunday when we were at someone's house, and when one of our hosts asked the other to get him a beer, the second responded with "When did your last black man die?", clearly forgetting he had a certified negro sitting in his lounge room. Naturally we capitalized on this later by calling him a racist until we had him in tears, in the middle of a bar. I literally laughed so hard my jaw was hurting. I love being evil.

When I told someone else about this, he didn't bat an eye -- apparently it's a rather common saying?? How did I miss this? And of course I'm the only person who hears a racist expression and is less upset about the racism than he is about not having come up with it first.

Okay I Suck

It's Friday and I've barely posted. All I can tell you is that I am on a mission this weekend. Apart from the fact that I'm still in the office and just finished a game of drunken foosball (I won, but only because I threated the guys on the other team with additional clients if they beat me), and we're now off to the pub.

In addition there are plans for tomorrow to start drinking before 3pm, god knows where that will end up. So just hang in there for some tales of debauchery by Monday or so.

Excuses, Excuses

Towards the end of June I was doing a pretty good job of blogging almost every day. Then, my real job got in the way.

Anyone familiar with my usual work habits will find this shocking, but I have been working my ass off for the past week and a half, and there is no end in sight. What caught me off guard is that it coincided with a rather large pay increase, and as far as I've always been told, the amount of work one has to do is supposed to be inversely proportional to the amount of money they make. Unfortunately for me, it's like someone told my entire company and all of our clients that I was now expected to work harder to earn my new salary, and everyone has been more than happy to do their part. At one point this morning I actually had to shut the door to my office for an hour just so I could get through some crucial stuff. I can promise you that any friends or former coworkers who just read that last sentence are shocked and appalled.

So it's been over a week of this level of work and I've started to evaluate the pros and cons...

Cons:

• Much less time to surf the my favourite sites on the web
• Absolutely no time to run personal errands etc. (I want a new watch and haven't had time to run downstairs and get one)
• I actually (as in literally) want to beat people who ask me stupid questions that waste my time, instead of just rolling my eyes at their ignorance and moving along with my day
• During the first week I would literally wake up in the middle of the night thinking about things I had to get done the next day

Pros:

• I no longer feel guilty every time I'm handed my pay stub
• Similarly, when I lecture my staff about productivity, I no longer feel like a massive hypocrite
• The day literally flies by -- what do you MEAN it's 4pm already?
• I still find the time to respond to silly email chains between groups of friends
  

So that's about it -- random musings on attempting to develop a proper work ethic, but also some kind of explanation for why I may go for a couple of days at a time without a post here. Let's hope it's just a phase.

Living In A Material World

I generally don't consider myself a materialistic person. I love fun new gadgets as much as the next person, but I'll spend my money on a big boozy weekend or an exotic overseas holiday long before I insist on having the badass new speakers for my mp3 player that everyone's talking about.

The same has generally applied for mobile phones -- I won't get the cheapest phone in the store, but I also don't need to spend more than $200 on one since god knows I'm going to drop it 8 times within the first week of owning it.

However I was in a certain mood last week and decided that since I have extra spending cash I may as well treat myself, and instantly fell in love with the new LG Chocolate phones as soon as I saw a picture of one. Even though it breaks my rule of not needing a phone to be a camera, mp3 player and who knows what else at the same time, it was just too pretty and I couldn't help myself. Naturally it will be months before I figure out how to use it properly without accidentally calling people via the touch-sensitive keypad, but at least I look hot holding it.

Of course getting them to successfully port my number from the old phone to the new one was easily more of a hassle than getting a 4-year work visa to remain in Australia. After the first two completely failed attempts, I actually went through about 36 hours where some calls were going to my old phone and some to my new phone, and believe me, when you're a black guy with two mobile phones the drug dealer jokes never stop. I had to call my old service provider and break up with them, since apparently signing a contract with someone else wasn't enough of a sign that it was over between us. I think we're both moving on now though, and we'll be better off for it.

Anyway that's it, just bragging about my new toy. And of course I'll want a new one in 3 months when every idiot and his dog has one of their own. Ah well. I think I'll go accidentally delete vital files from it now.

And It's Official...

Last night was trivia night again, and we had a good showing but didn't win it this time. Came in second or so, and won a pitcher of beer. Good enough, I suppose.

But what really concerns me is that I'm apparently an even bigger geek than I thought. There were all kinds of questions about history, pop culture and sports that I was completely stumped on. The one question that I was the only person in the bar to know, almost off the top of my head? "How many tires are there on a Boeing 747 airliner?" The fact that I was able to visualize a 747 and count that there are 18 tires pretty much means I now have a stamp on my forehead reading "DORK". I will never live this down. (Probably doesn't help that 3 of my last 5 posts are about something trivia-related. God I need a real life.)

I Am So Smart! I Am So Smart!

Had a mostly quiet weekend. That is if you don't include the 12 hours of drinking on Saturday, which obviously doesn't count because the first half of that was just supplementary to our game of Trivial Pursuit.

As anyone who has played almost any game with me would know, I get annoyingly competitive during these things. So imagine my dismay when after the first two hours I still had NO wedges and my two opponents (another dropped out because he was doing as badly as I was) each had three.

But apparently cheap white wine is my brain juice, because guess who won the game after two bottles of the stuff? That's right, you guessed it. And these poor people who have never seen my sore winner side now have to put up with the endless gloating, until we play again and I lose miserably.

And naturally after two bottles of wine, why would you stop? Went out and acted like a moron, but it's all the usual crap so I won't bore you with the details. Just think about how smart I am instead.

In Other News...

...could my bosses 14-year old son not be walking around the office drinking his second beer??

Beer O'Clock Strikes Again!

...because I actually don't remember the last time I ate dinner on a Friday night. Enjoy the weekend.

Americans, Dumb? No, Just Really Loud.

Last night we did something I hadn't done in a while -- went to a trivia night at a local pub. Because something like 7 of the 10 people there were Americans, we named ourselves Team America. This actually made me a bit nervous at first, since we were then responsible for representing our supposed nation. Funny how that manifested itself though, as we were quickly getting dirty looks from everyone in the bar for the following:

• yelling/singing "FUCK YEAH!!" every time we got an answer right (me)
• chanting "USA! USA!" when we got an obscure one correct (The Flattie, who isn't even American but loves to create bad will between the US and nations around the world)
• telling the team "Shhh!! I think those Australians are stealing our answers!", loud enough for them to hear it (me)
  
• completely creaming the competition in the final scores and winning the $50 bar tab

The $50 was quickly spent on jugs of beer, sangria & Pimms, and we've decided to make this a semi-regular event because it was so much fun. I'm thinking next week we may call ourselves "The USA Could Blow You Up If We Wanted To", just for that extra special touch.

Along those lines, I've analyzed what should be considered the ideal demographic makeup for a pub trivia team (because you care):

• Several girls (to recognize pointless celebrities in the photo questions)
• A gay guy (for song recognition questions and anything about musicals)
• A straight guy (sports, and songs the gay guy wouldn't know aka Billy Joel, and singers along those lines)
• Someone over the age of 50 (because that's how they get the younger crowd, with silly questions about the 60's and what not)
• Me (to make sure everyone is steadily liquored up, and to piss off all the other teams)
• Someone hot (for me to stare at since I won't know the answers to any of the questions)
  

Who the...??

Had one of those moments this morning where I was walking down the street and all of a sudden someone in a car started honking at me and waving frantically. I smiled and waved back, and then continued walking, and now I'm left to wonder who the hell that person was.

Do I actually know you? Maybe you just got me confused with one of the other 6'4" half-black men strolling around Sydney. Are you a friend, or just a random acquaintance I met one time? Have I slept with you? Do I want to sleep with you (again)? Are you going to text or email me later so this mystery can be solved? Because god knows I won't be able to get any work done today unless I can get my mind off this. Yeah, that's gonna be my excuse...

I Really DO Know Everything

Last night I had a nightmare that I ran out of chocolate Nesquik and was unable to make a proper chocolate milk for myself, as I do every morning. I clearly do not lead a stressful life.

However I had completely forgotten that 6 months ago I actually was a bit stressed. I mean granted, I was drinking almost every night and my biggest dilemma was literally "should I take a nap so I have more energy for drinking tonight, or should I go to the beach and work on my tan?"

But of course the big decision I had to make was: am I going to start making plans to move back to NYC, or do I find a job here in Sydney and stick around for a decent amount of time.

So, on a whim, I went to a site someone had sent me at http://futureme.org and wrote a letter to myself 6 months in the future, which ended up being today. And not that my complex about always being right needed reinforcement, but I rather accurately predicted where I would be at this point in time. But it was also pretty interesting to remember my state of mind and how different it was just 6 months ago. And now I think it's totally nifty, and am going to write letters to myself every 6 months and just see how it turns out.

Anyway this post is really just to share that link with you guys, cause it's kind of a cool time capsule sort of idea and it's fun if you're a self-absorbed geek like myself (and since most of you are bloggers, you qualify). I chose 6 months because I figured anything less doesn't really leave enough time to make progress, and something like a year is a bit too long. Or you can send emails to yourself 30 years in the future, but getting it would rely on several factors:

• that you're still alive
• that the nuclear holocaust hasn't occurred and you still have access to email
• that you still have a job that an eggplant could probably perform, and still spend massive amounts of your day screwing around on the internet with shit like this
• that you'd really want be in your 50's and open an email from yourself 30 years ago when you were still young, hot, healthy, and having more fun than should be legally allowed

It's that last one that would probably encourage me to quickly locate 2 bottles of vodka and some valium. (Mmmm, vodka.) So yeah, I'm sticking with 6 months.

Oh Yeah, I'm Supposed to Blog

Sorry it took me so long to get around to this, but it was a crazy weekend that involved me being drunk by 6pm on Friday, Saturday AND Sunday, so hopefully you can sympathize. Or something.

Not gonna go into a long detailed explanation of it all. Sufficed to say, being awake for over 24 hours on Friday (damn you, World Cup) and being drunk for the last 8 hours of that is apparently just the right combination of circumstances to turn me into a drama queen bitch by 2am on Friday night. Ah well, I never claimed I wasn't high maintenance.

Saturday seemed to be headed towards an opportunity to allow my organs to breathe without being suffocated in alcohol, but that dream died by 4pm. Fortunately other people were so smashed already on scotch and wild turkey (eww) that I don't remember the last time I felt so sober on a Saturday night, if only relatively speaking. I will definitely say that if you find yourself having a drunken sing-along to "Eternal Flame" before 9pm on ANY night of the week, it's time to re-evaluate the wisdom of trying to continue the evening on any level.

And Sunday was supposed to be the quiet one, where I met up with Becs and Jenny for Yum Cha (Dim Sum) at 11am, only to walk directly into the bar next door afterwards and end up slurring badly by 7pm, and shoving Indian food into my face a few hours later to the point where I had trouble breathing.


So that's my weekend. In other news, a couple of people have noted in the comments here that Australia lost to Italy last night which would have been more upsetting, except I was lucky enough to only wake up for the last 20 minutes of the game when all the drama happened. At the risk of sounding far more masculine than I actually am, can I just say that the refs have SUCKED for this entire World Cup, and all need to be terminated immediately. No, not fired -- TERMINATED. Arnold style.

And now I'm left with a dilemma as to who to support the rest of the way. Would love to see Ghana kick some ass, partially because I love an underdog and also because they are from the motherland of Africa. I also have a financial interest in seeing France win because then I get $100 out of the office sweepstakes. And finally there's England, who I guess I should support because I am half British after all, but good lord they are so cocky. And we know how I can't stand arrogance. Because I'm so modest and all. And religious. Right.

Sheer Brilliance

Okay so I think we can all admit we knew Vicki was a funny bitch, but her new blog making fun of this guy shows that she is a seriously funny BITCH. Right up there with the chick from Hated New Guy, who apparently is no longer annoyed by that bastard (or maybe he finally moved) cause there hasn't been a new post on that blog in ages.

In other news, someone sent me the link to this MySpace profile today. The best part is that he went to my high school and apparently graduated from Harvard Law School recently. But this profile is genius enough that I could believe that.

Anyway...enjoy. It's Friday at 5pm here, I've got my "suitcase full o white bitches and I'm ready 2 party."

Ghana???

Okay so I realize this is the first time you've ever seen me mention sports on this blog (and after July you shouldn't expect it for another 4 years) but the only athletic event I ever get remotely interested in is the World Cup.

This is even more relevant this year because the Australians (their team quaintly known as "the Socceroos") has made it to the World Cup after a 30 year absence or something ridiculous. Naturally this is yet another excuse for the average Australian to tie a flag around their neck and go get trashed, and therefore I love it. The game this morning between Australia and Croatia (at 5am, for crying out loud) was a seriously entertaining affair and will be worth me feeling like crap before the clock even strikes 9pm in whatever bar I will be in.

But that's all irrelevant, because I have actually been awake since before THREE in the morning. Why, might you ask? Because I had some kind of faith in the American team, god knows why. The world recognizes that football (soccer) is one of the few sports that the U.S. can't even attempt to dominate, and yet losing to the Czech Republic last week was still a bit of a stinger. So for the U.S. to get knocked out of the game by GHANA of all freaking countries was just embarrassing.

I'll save all the rude and un-PC jokes this time, all I'm going to say is that I want my 3 hours of sleep back, and I mean BEFORE I pass out in a bar tonight.

Fuglia Stiles

So on Sunday evening I was coerced into going to see The Omen, that stupid "6-6-6" movie that looked silly from the second they started advertising it.

Now I can deal with stupid horror movies. And I'll tell people it wasn't really scary, but I did a jump/muted yell thing a couple of times. Then again one of those times was when my phone vibrated in my pocket, so it's not like the movie can take all the credit.

But by far the most horrifying thing about this movie was the fact that Julia Stiles was in it. How's that for a nasty surprise.

Just for the record, and in case anyone wasn't aware, I think Julia Stiles is HIDEOUS. I'm sure she's a wonderful girl who is down to earth and gives back to the community, however one look at her face can only confirm that she must be one of the most obvious cases of undiagnosed down syndrome ever to fug the silver screen. I have no idea how she ever scored any of her starring roles, but I'm sure it's some Tori Spelling-type situation. Somehow I find Tori Spelling more bearable because she probably knows she's ugly and talentless and shouldn't be famous in the first place. I think Julia still needs to be clued in.

Even more aggravating is finding the rare rare person who think she's kinda cute, which happened the other day with one of my coworkers. He can't actually name an attractive feature on her pug-like face, which leads me to believe she's the actress that guys go for because she's ACTUALLY attainable. Like she's rich and famous, but it's not like Jared Leto is gonna go for her, so maybe my coworker could snag her. Kinda like that.

So yeah, I sat through this movie and have rarely wanted an "innocent mother" to die more than the demonic devil spawn that was supposed to be the bad guy. Now can whoever keeps putting her in movies please STOP.

That is all.

Notes From A Messy Weekend

Because I'm too lazy to recount it all properly...

• Going to someone's farewell lunch/drinks and telling them you're drinking champagne because "I can't think of a better reason to celebrate!" is not generally accepted behavior.
• Irish potato famine jokes never get old.
• Tying the potato famine and the holocaust together in one truly offensive remark is what makes me that special kind of asshole.
• As any self-respecting jerk knows, dating someone who doesn't speak English very well is awesome because seriously, it's just SO easy to make fun of them, and all of us can join in.
• Telling people "You look kind of homeless with a beard" is not constructive criticism.
• Zander + tequila = Catastrophe for everyone involved. Honestly that shit is so reliable at this point they should start teaching it in high school math classes.

I'd also like to thank Ellen and her cousin for the following comments:

"Does it annoy anyone else that all Asians don't speak the same language? I mean, come on."

"I'm American, I don't use chopsticks. Someone get me a fork."


Thanks ladies, cause we needed that refresher on why people keep thinking of ways to blow up the good ol' U.S. of A.

I Still Heart Personality Quizzes

And this one is the best of all! It's actually something that one of my company directors talked about at a management training session a few months back, and it's called a Johari Window, where you can see what you think of yourself, as well as how much people agree with that, and what else they think of you.

I'd pretty much forgotten about it until I came across it again on a blog I've been reading lately and Ben had linked to an interactive version. Naturally the idea that I could prompt people to spend even 27 more seconds in a day thinking about me than they already do got me excited, so I sent out the link.

According to my results so far, both myself and others strongly agree that I'm "confident" and "extroverted". That's not-so-secret code for arrogant prick. And then there's the list of words that I didn't pick for myself, but others did. I love that so many people think I'm "witty", and since everyone else has said it now I can admit that I totally wanted to pick that one for myself, but then I thought about how obnoxious it is when someone refers to themselves as witty, and went with intelligent instead. SUCKERS.

Oh and people also said I was "self-assertive" and "bold". Two more words for arrogant prick, or perhaps pushy asshole, whichever you'd prefer. And of course there is at least one person not taking this whole thing seriously (how dare they) since I see "complex", "dignified", and best of all "modest" on the list. Although I was quickly told that picking that last one was an accident, which made me breathe a little easier since for a second there I was worried I'd have to talk even MORE about how awesome I think I am, which just sounds exhausting.

You can see my full results here.


And finally there's also a Nohari Window, which is the same thing but with all negative traits. Let me tell you, I consider myself pretty self-aware and able to take criticism, but I took one look at that list of words and decided there was no way in hell I wanted to see my friends and family describe me as any of them. As a consolation prize though, here are the words I imagine would show up if you had been allowed to choose them for me:

• childish
• boastful
• impatient
• loud
• insensitive
• self-satisfied
• smug

Hopefully that saves you all the trouble of compiling your own lists behind my back, and yet somehow I doubt that's the case. Ah well, as long as you're thinking of me!

Yeesh, I Was Just Sayin'

Zander: You know, Kylie Minogue just isn't quite pretty enough to pull off that short hairstyle.

Flatmate: Oh my god, she had cancer!!

Zander: Yeah I know, but is that really an excuse?

Flatmate: YES! Asshole.

Best. Google Ad. Ever.

Last time I published the blog I scrolled down a bit to see what Google ads were appearing, and clearly God is thrilled about how much I'm drinking this week because this is what greeted me:


I've put a lot of thought into who they are actually trying to target with an ad like this, and these are the only three explanations I could come up with:

• Single people with anger issues who enjoy dating self-acknowledged losers with ridiculously low self-esteem. Because if you're bitter about life, there's nothing better than being able to emotionally abuse someone who thinks they deserve it.
• Mean-spirited individuals like myself who jump at the opportunity to ridicule the less fortunate looking in the world.
• Mature and sensitive individuals who can look past a person's outward appearance and love them for who they are as people.

Oh wait, that last group doesn't actually exist in real life, much like leprechauns or eskimos. So I guess I only have 2 explanations, feel free to let me know if you can add any to the list cause I'm stumped if one of those isn't correct.

Just How The Queen Would Have Wanted It

Ah, gotta love a long weekend. I was essentially drunk for about 80 hours straight, and loved every blurry minute of it.

LuLu's birthday coincided with the Queen's Birthday Weekend (how appropriate) so we were all out on Saturday night drinking in his honour. As usual I was way drunker than the actual birthday boy, and all I can really remember is hitting a wall around 1am (I'd been drinking since 6pm, before you think i'm a total pansy) and thinking to myself that I had better stop drinking at that very moment or something terrible would probably happen. So I put down my half-finished beer and walked out the door. I think I should get points for self-control.

Felt awful for most of Sunday, but pepped up when it was time to meet Ellen and her cousin for drinks at the Civic. Three bars later it was about 5am and I'm pretty sure the cab driver was not impressed when I couldn't quite remember where I lived for several minutes.

Which all brings us to Monday. If you're thinking that I might have used the extra day to recover from all the binge drinking, you are so so wrong. Despite whining all morning about how much pain I was in, it was barely past 3pm when I ended up at the first bar of the day, and about midnight when I finally stumbled into my apartment and pissed off The Flattie who was trying to watch the Australia - Japan World Cup game. I unfortunately was in no condition to understand the rules of a basic sporting event and promptly passed out, missing what must have been one of the best 8 minute stretches of a World Cup game ever.

And now I'm at work and my hands have literally been shaking all day because my body doesn't understand why I've suddenly started drinking anything other than beer again. Oh, the horror. Even better -- I have plans to drink every night this week through the weekend. My liver just handed in its resignation.

It's No Harry Potter, But I Love The Free Champagne

Probably the best reason to get into a job where you deal with clients is the random perks that you get as a result. Actually make that the only reason that putting up with their bullshit is really worth it. Oh right, and the "challenge" and "quality experience", in case any prospective employers ask. Point is, this is how I ended up at the Opening Night of the Sydney Film Festival on Friday night.

My dates for the evening were JuJu and Ayesha -- JuJu because she's hot, and Ayesha because she has an uncanny ability to know EVERYONE wherever we go. So we strolled in, starting loading up on the free champagne, and promptly got trashed well before the movie had even started.

The movie was an amazing film called Ten Canoes, "a beautifully poetic, multi-layered film that is sensual, humorous, tragic, intriguing and utterly unique." It might as well have been called Forty Winks cause I was fast asleep within minutes. Better yet was Ayesha who was asleep before me, but was gracious enough to wake up when her phone started ringing and ANSWERED THE CALL.I'm sure the actors and director sitting a few feet away were highly impressed. As if I wasn't mortified enough by all this, the folks sitting behind us made an astute observation: "She's pissed." (That's 'pissed' as in the British/Australian way meaning wasted, not the American meaning of 'angry', which would have more accurately described everyone sitting around us.)

Once that was over it was time for the real reason we had even showed up for the movie in the first place -- the after party! Ayesha and I managed to wake up at the prospect of an open bar, and she introduced us to all kinds of characters, most of whom were as drunk as we were. Always a good time for rude and inappropriate conversation at the expense of others.

Eventually though I was full of free food and booze, and it was time to grab my gift bag and head home. That's about as posh a party as I'll probably be at anytime in the near future, I can now go back to my usual partying at trashy bars. Whew.

Anyway it's a long weekend here (Monday is "the Queen's Birthday", whatever the hell that's supposed to mean), so I'll stop here and get back to my Sunday drinking now. Pardon me.

Ouch

Barely slept Tuesday night and was hungover for most of Wednesday, so it's obvious how I needed to spend Wednesday night -- out drinking until 4am. Clearly.

I'm at a point where I guess I don't feel that bad, so it must be adrenaline that's keeping me going despite 5 hours of sleep in the last 2 days and enough beer to knock a baby elephant out cold.

Which is all fantastic for my brand new employee, since I'm sure she's never heard anything as reassuring from a new boss as "Uh yeah...not actually sure when we get paid...uhhhh my head hurts..."

Am I Manager of the Year yet??

Still A Fat Asshole

Met up at the Civic last night for Ellen's birthday drinks, and apparently the following are not always recommended:

• Eating 2 tacos before going for drinks may seem like a responsible move, but probably won't keep you sober if you intend on drinking 12 schooners of Toohey's New.
• Upon seeing 'BBQ Baby Octupus' on the menu, it's perhaps not so appealing to either the people at neighbouring tables or people you've just met to exclaim "Mmmm! Everything tastes better when it's made with babies!"
• After the tacos before drinks and the food during drinks, it is NOT necessary to warm up a massive plate of pasta bolognese with a loaf of garlic bread upon arriving home. That isn't how people get fat. It's how people get really really really fat. (See photo in previous post.)

That was it I think, which isn't so bad when compared to my average night out. Snaps for me!

Gazing Into The Future, Yet Again

I forwarded this picture to a few people earlier this week:


It was then brought to my attention that I shouldn't send out pictures of animals of African origin that are supposed to be tall and skinny but end up being really fat, because it will just remind everyone of what I'm going to look like in 10 years.

Screw you guys.

The New Paris Hilton Song

Meaningless lyrics? Check.

A singer with a generic voice and a reputation as a vapid whore? Check.

A melody that could have been accidentally tapped out by a 3-year old Jamaican child with some steel drums? Check.


Obviously this song deserves to have been on repeat on my mp3 player for the last 20 minutes. Now I'm just waiting for the Aussie debut of the video, which I honestly truly hope is simply her home sex video in slow motion with the song playing over it. Pretty please?

My Version Of The Pulitzers

Based on the events of the last 72 hours, I'd like to present some awards to all the people who made this weekend what it was:

The Seasoned Stalkers Award goes to Anita & Karen for dragging me and The Flattie along on a ridiculous goose chase to a bar on Friday night where their coworker MAY have been (and wasn't). Because I've always wanted to blow all of my cash on unnecessary cab fares to Bondi. In the pouring rain. Thanks ladies.

The Award for Fastest Best Friends Ever goes to the girlfriends of two coworkers at a housewarming party on Saturday who met each other at 2pm, and were rolling around drunk on the floor together (yes, literally) saying how much they loved each other by 6pm. I'm pretty sure both of your boyfriends were absolutely horrified. I, meanwhile, loved every second of it.

The What Have You Been Smoking Award clearly goes to Andrew (of "Who's Nelson Mandela?" fame), who managed to essentially trash a Thai Restaurant (food everywhere, broken wine glasses) but couldn't possibly have been that drunk at 7pm or whenever the hell it was. I can only assume he smoked some bad crack. Thank god we had the good sense to send him home.

The Award for Best Irish Goodbye goes to Justin, who walked into The Colombian with us, said something along the lines of "I'll be right back", and clearly walked straight out the back door of the bar, never to be heard from again. Fair enough, we wouldn't have let you leave without a fight.

The Enabler Award goes to Derek, who seems to delight in watching me make an absolute fool of myself, evidenced by the number of shots he insists on giving me every time we hang out. Dude, you are SO lucky I have a good sense of humour, even with people who are clearly set on having me deported before the end of the year for being such a drunken asshole.

And finally, I'll have to present the Most Vomit Inducing Text Message Award to Ellen, who seriously made me gag on Sunday morning with the simple words "Wanna do drinks this afternoon?", which makes me a bit nauseous even now because it's Monday and I'm still kinda hungover.

Oh wait, I seriously almost forgot this, don't ask me how -- the Holy Crap That's So Ridiculous It's Hilarious Award goes to my staff member who was supposed to be back in the office today after her holiday, but instead emailed (not even a phone call) to let us know that the earliest she can get back here is...wait for it...JULY 18TH. (Would have made a great phone call though: "Hi, I'm gonna be a little late to work. About six weeks late. Is that cool?") We'll be laughing about that one in the office for months, I assure you. You wouldn't know that because you just got a long overdue termination letter. Via email, of course.


And that's just the major highlights & lowlights, although honorable mentions would be Danny and Ellen getting to see my morning bus crush and encourage my harassment even further, and Tom Hanks managing to ruin The Da Vinci Code by being ugly and annoying.

Because We've All Been There...

...I'd like to thank Vicki for passing this one along, I just saw at least 30 minutes of this morning evaporate, which is just what I was looking for.

Actually I think this one deserves a place in my links section, because I will certainly be reading it every day. And everyone say goodbye to Truecraig, who has a great blog but apparently is distracted by his other writing projects and now updates once a presidential term.

Always Remember What's Important

Sorry for the delay in a new post here -- yesterday I just kinda got sick of being in the office, so after I'd finished interviewing a potential new staff member, I left the office "sick" around noon and headed home to get a haircut, eat a big lunch, take a three hour nap, and generally do nothing. It was fantastic.

Along that same line of professionalism, I have the overwhelming urge to tell you all about the candidates I've interviewed so far for a designer position at work:

Candidate #1: One of those too-good-to-be-true situations. You have amazing designs, you're young but you seem mature and really friendly. And most importantly when evaluating a potential employee, you're totally hot. Now before you go calling me superficial and whatever else, please keep in mind that every office needs some eye candy. It motivates others to come to work in the morning, and it just brightens everyone's day in general. So naturally, you have a catch -- you need sponsorship because you're an immigrant like myself. I hate to sound like a hypocrite, but that could be a bit of a pain in the ass, so we'll have to see if we really want to get into all that. Ah well, you're still on the table. (I just had various dirty scenes run through my mind while I typed that last sentence)

Candidate #2: Dude, you're 28 and you look like Uncle Fester. How does one even accomplish that? (And please don't say heavy drinking and an unhealthy diet, cause then I might be screwed). I hope I didn't cringe when I first walked into reception to meet you. Not only that but you seem a little "slow" and your designs are just a bit crap, and I'm being generous here. Of course I still tried to stretch the interview out for a few extra minutes so it wouldn't seem too obvious that you were eliminated the moment I laid eyes on you, but anyone with half a brain would probably have seen what I was thinking. I'm betting you didn't.

Candidate #3: Oh sweet jesus, it gets worse. Seriously, I'd rather sit through a long and painful second round interview with Uncle Fester than have to look at you for 20 minutes. Make that 15, that's all I can take. If Skeletor became a hippie, I imagine he'd end up looking something like you. How OLD are you anyway? You must be at least 40, and I can't imagine your dream job involves being told what to do by an obnoxious twenty-something like myself. And could you please not try to bond over both being Americans. Actually, could you go back? I'll confiscate your permanent residency card myself, thanks.

Candidate #4: Nothing that interesting to say about you, really. You've got good designs, you seem normal and I'd say you have potential, and we'll probably end up hiring you. You're no hottie-and-a-half, but definitely not a certified uggo like the last two, so let's consider you a happy medium.


Wow, just re-read all of that. Sometimes I'm so shallow it hurts. But in a good way. And let's face it, most people think that way when hiring, so cut me some slack.

The Logic Of A Future Fatty

Earlier today...

Flatmate: Crap, it's already 8am!
Zander: I know! And I just woke up!
Flatmate: Uh...why are you eating ice cream?
Zander: I didn't have time to make pancakes.

Aussies Just Don't Understand

Now that "winter" has set in here in Sydney, and even though I've been one of the people bitching about how cold it is, I keep things in perspective. The sky is bluer than it's been since I moved here, the sun is shining 6 days of the week, and the only reason I wore a jacket to work today is because I think I look pretty damn good in it. The coldest month in Sydney is July, with an average high of 62F (17C), so really when you stack that up against 36F (2C) in your average New York January (which sounds kinda high if you've had to suffer through it in person), and the fact that I'm pretty sure it never gets below freezing here, this is NOT a winter. Granted we're allowed to be somewhat bitter that there are 3 months out of the year here that we're not really able to lounge around on Bondi as comfortably as usual, but genuine complaining isn't particularly warranted.

But the main thing that has me intrigued is Australian winter dress. Since some point within the last few weeks, I can guarantee that each time I leave my apartment or office, I will see some idiot walking around in a t-shirt and shorts, and even flip-flops & sunglasses...topped off with a big warm winter hat. Like the kind with ear flaps on the sides that researchers probably wear on Antarctic expeditions. Best of all is the even more common girls in flimsy shirts, short skirts, open-toe shoes, and...wait for it...a massive SCARF.

Ladies, I would love to know -- what, pray tell, goes through your mind when you assemble such an outfit? Yes, I realize the importance of keeping certain parts of our bodies warm over others in order to prevent sickness, but let's think things through logically. Fine, your neck is cozy and warm and you won't have a sore throat in the morning. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure there's a steady breeze blowing up your fallopian tubes, and there's a good chance your ovaries now have pneumonia. Way to go, dumbasses. Maybe a little consistency is in order?

In the end, I suppose such is the reality of being in a country that doesn't actually know what a real winter is. But I'll be damned if I'm not going to comment on it...

Moments Of Inspiration

Okay, well I won't bother to give you my whole weekend this time (mostly because I don't want anyone to die of boredom) but I do fortunately have photographic evidence of what was probably the highlight:


In case you're wondering, this is an 85-year old man in a silly hat and glasses. The photo of the front of his sweater didn't come out at all, but it read "BIG HOT AND SWEATY", and the back of it which you can see here said "SHE LIKES IT LIKE THAT".

You know I'm not sure I've ever known what I wanted to be when I grow up until that moment. Sir, I salute you.

As Promised, Shanghai Photos

Okay, well, I've recovered from my post-holiday funk just long enough to throw together the photo album from Shanghai.

Comments as usual so you can follow along with my A.D.D.-inspired photos. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the pub for a long beer-soaked lunch.

Back Down Under

Not sure why I'm bothering to post right now considering I'm in a really foul mood. Got irritated at work and yelled at my boss, the sales manager AND one of my staff within about 3 hours, and I'm tempted to go start screaming at strangers just to get it out of my system without getting fired.

Anyway, other than my pity party, I'm back in Sydney and Shanghai was seriously brilliant. I am aiming to have my pictures out within 24 hours, I figure if work pisses me off so much then the least I can do is preserve my sanity by completing personal projects during office hours.

So yeah, pics coming soon. Now I better go curl up in bed before I cause any serious bodily harm to any innocent bystanders.

Shanghai Surprise

Well, not so much of a surprise seeing as I've had the tickets for over a month now, but I'm about to pop up to Shanghai for about a week (as foretold so long ago) of hanging out and checking out the city known as The Whore of the Orient. It's also known as The Paris of the East, although thanks to Ms. Hilton the words Paris and Whore are synonymous, so I guess they can drop at least one of those nicknames.

I'll post if I get a chance, otherwise expect pictures etc. in the near future (and yes, I am aware I never delivered on those NYC pics...what are you gonna do about it?)

Hits A Little Close To Home

Thanks to Jessica for sending this link through:

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/videos/extreme-drunkness.html


I was laughing hysterically until about halfway through when I realized that there's probably similar video of me out there from any given Friday night. Although perhaps set to the ageless melody of "Tipsy" by J-Kwon, since I'm oh so black.

Why Americans "Work" So Much

One question that a lot of people have asked me about being down here is "What's it like working down there?" And of course I generally tell them the fun (and true) version -- everyone isn't as uptight and PC, people just seem friendlier with each other on all levels, and we drink in the office on Friday afternoons. How can you not love it?

Of course there's one more major difference between any office job I've had in the US and what I've noticed about my coworkers and Australians in general -- when Australians are in the office, they actually do work. What I mean by that is Australians actually focus on what they are supposed to be doing. Generally when I walk through my office, almost all of my staff are coding HTML or working on designs or whatever else it is that they are being paid to do at the time. They focus. In the end they spend less time in the office just because they're simply more productive and efficient.

Now I think anyone who is completely honest about things knows that isn't how we do things in the US. Back home I can witness someone respond to all of their personal emails, check their usual blogs, make their own blog post, maybe even go to get a coffee (not from the office machine, they actually make a 15 minute trip to pick it up from Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts), and shoot the shit with everyone in the immediate vicinity, and THEN have the nerve to follow it all up with "Oh man, I have SO MUCH to do today. I am just swamped." Uh yeah champ, that's cause I just watched you liquidate a solid hour and a half of your work day. And then the same person wonders why they have to put in an extra 2-3 hours at the end of the day to make up for all of that.

In NYC I would send out an email to a bunch of friends and just watch the responses roll in. Didn't matter what that person was supposed to be doing -- editing a soon-to-be best-selling book, making high risk investments, performing brain surgery -- everyone just HAD to chime in with their two cents and a witty comment within 2 minutes of the original email going out. And god knows I loved it.

Down under, most people could get the funniest thing they've ever heard in an email, and you'd be lucky to get a response back before the work day is winding down. Most will just comment on it the next time they see you. Even with a certain group of friends that does have the periodic email chain, you have people responding with "Can you take me off this please." That NEVER happened to me before I came down here. Weirdos.

In the end, especially since I'm a proper manager down here, I appreciate the Aussie work ethic over the American A.D.D., just because people get things done and I can leave at a reasonable hour. Even if it means I'm the only idiot sending out pointless links all day.

Oh Right, Happy Monday

Jonathan sent this one to me because it reminded him of me.



I love it when I see things like this and it actually recalls a specific conversation I've had with someone very recently.

This Should Be Getting Old By Now. Shouldn't It?

Someday I will be able to appreciate a Saturday or Sunday morning and not have to struggle to regain my humanity through the dark cloud of a ridiculously painful hangover. But from the looks of it, that day is far far away. Here's another weekend recap that I may as well have just copied over from a couple of months ago, cause god knows it's the same old shit.

FRIDAY

Met up with The Flattie and crew for more than a few Carlton Draughts. After a few hours they apparently thought it was time to have dinner, which was my queue to head to another bar (Eating is cheating!) and keep hope alive. Hope of developing early cirrhosis of the liver, anyway. Ended up at the usual bars, intermittently dancing and commenting on how gross everyone is (although I doubt anyone thought I was looking so hot after 9 hours of drinking on an empty stomach) and decided it was time to put down the beer when I hit "The Wall", when you know that taking just one more sip of that drink will result in either vomiting or doing something stupid and getting kicked out of the bar. Stumbled into the apartment at 3am or so (that's an extremely rough estimate) so I could wake up on Saturday and do it all over again.

SATURDAY

Actually managed to stay away from the booze until about 5pm on Saturday. At that point I went over to a friend's place to "help them move". Thank god they know me so well and weren't too offended, since my version of "helping someone move" is sitting there with the two bottles of wine I bought on the way over and talking about myself while they unpack boxes and slide heavy furniture from one side of the apartment to another.

Eventually made it over to a dinner party about three hours late so I could drink more wine and be conned into even more tequila shots by people who were apparently entertained by my performance last weekend. Promptly passed out on the couch and had to be woken up and sent home at god knows what time in the morning. At this point I'm pretty sure they won't be engraving "WINNER" on my tombstone after I die.

SUNDAY

Can't remember another day where I spent so much time in bed. I got up only for lunch and the pizza I ordered for dinner, because even when you feel like life isn't worth living, it's still important to shove inane amounts of junk food into your face just in case you change your mind later.


Speaking of which, it's now Monday and I was trying to figure out why I feel so crappy, and then realized that eating ice cream, leftover pizza, and drinking a huge cup of chocolate milk for breakfast at 7am probably wasn't the best way I could have started my day. Go figure.

Wanna Be On Top? Be A Twat.

So, after a hiatus where Ellen and I were unable to watch America's Next Top Model together for various little reasons (me being on another contintent, me being drunk, me being hungover, etc.) we were finally able to pick up where we left off last night for the latest episode to air down here.

This is the one you guys in the US would have seen about a month ago where Tyra pretends to faint/collapse. Oh wait, I'm sorry, she was "acting". Now even the people I was watching the show with who didn't know it was fake started laughing as soon as she got her "pained" expression on her face. It was terrible. The only contestant on the show who was genuinely fooled (and subsequently burst into tears) was Furonda, but I think we can all agree that until Furonda gets a real name and starts speaking proper English, her opinion that "Tyra is SUCH a good actress" is rather irrelevant. Now don't get it twisted folks, I love me some Coyote Ugly, but if Tyra is ever paid good money to be in a real movie for more than 7.2 seconds, I will be highly annoyed. She makes Jennifer Lopez look ready to receive a Lifetime Achievement Award, in comparison.

As you can imagine, I was rather appalled when her picture popped up while I was reading Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People yesterday. Really? Is she the best you guys could think of?? I guess what truly bothers me about Tyra Banks is that she is SO FAKE with EVERYTHING she does. She would clearly sell her mother's soul to the devil if it meant more attention. Or she would make a big publicity stunt about turning down Satan's offer, if it meant more attention than that. She so desperately wants to be a not-fat Oprah, but her attempts to relate to people with issues are just so lame.

Other person: My stepfather raped me and hacked my entire extended family to death right in front of me before walking into a day care center and detonating a bomb.

Tyra: Oh girl, I know just how you feel. This one time I had this blue car and it totally didn't match with my dress...


Now granted, that actually sounds a lot like someone trying to have a real conversation with me. But at least when I'm being self-absorbed and insensitive, it's more of a personal hobby, a not-for-profit activity if you will. This silly bitch is making ridiculous amounts of cash off of this nonsense. And she thinks she's fooling people!! Her most genuine attempt at relating to another's hardships is to tell potential models how people call her "five-head" (instead of "forehead", for those of you a bit slow on the uptake here) because her forehead is so big. Um yeah, I'm pretty sure that I could take that with a smile and nod if it came with a check for 20 bazillion dollars. Actually for that kind of money, someone would be more than welcome to call me various offensive epithets while dancing on my ancestor's graves, and I'd still send them flowers. Not a problem.

In the end, Tyra has really driven home the meaning of the phrase "someone I love to hate", which I never really understood until about the 4th "cycle" of Top Model. I think she's phony, retarded and annoying, but god damn there would be a serious chasm in my life without her on my TV on a regular basis. (That statement might actually say a lot more about the state of my life rather than anything substantial about Tyra Banks, but let's not think too much about that, okay?)

Not Quite Madison Avenue, But It'll Do For Now

So as some of you may have noticed (but most of you probably haven't), I've subscribed to Google's Adsense program, where I place some silly text ads on my blog and get paid for each random person that clicks on them.

Now before there's any confusion, I am definitely not in it for the money. If the fact that I placed it in one of the least conspicuous spaces on my blog isn't evidence enough, I think I can count on no hands the number of times I've clicked on a random ad link lke that in my life, so at that rate it should only take me about 12 years to make my first $10.

No, it's more about curiosity to see what Google ends up considering 'relevant' ads for my blog. To be honest I've wondered what their magical formula must be ever since I noticed that all of the targeted Google ads they place in my Friendster profile seem to think that I have a burning desire to be an actor, and keep asking me if I want to sign up for acting classes.

So far I've been less than impressed with their choices. Here's a rundown of the ones I've noticed:

Amazing Chinese fat loss secret -- Probably because I'm always ragging on fat people. Fair enough, if I'm gonna bitch about chubsters all the time, I might as well have a resource available for them to cure their terrible terrible disease.

Tasty foods -- I guess this is for the fatties who, when criticized about their weight, decide to eat more instead of hitting the gym or eating a few less tubs of chocolate cake frosting. Something for everyone!

Drink recipes -- I suppose if someone reads the blog and feels inspired?

Apartment search -- Let's face it, when you drink like I do, there's a good chance you're gonna be asked to move out by your housemates on a regular basis.


That's all I've personally noticed so far. I think I'll be satisfied when one pops up for Alcoholics Anonymous, but until then I'll just have to wait with bated breath for that and my check from Google for 83 cents.

The Unsung Heroes of Saturday Night

So I have something to add to the weekend wrap up. You see while the rest of us were engaging in more innocent drunken activities like dancing and eating floor (haha man, that will never get old for me), there was a situation brewing towards the end of the night that I was warned about but didn't really believe would happen.

Namely speaking, one of the members of Team America felt she had been ripped off by the bartender/manager chick at the Eastern. Apparently she had given a $50 to pay for a round of drinks, and was told she had only given a $20, and was subsequently gypped of her change. Now most of us might have stormed out of the club in anger, since there's not really much you can do in this situation. But no. Apparently it dawned upon our victim that revenge is a dish best served cold. Quite literally. So she waited until most of the group had headed home, walked up to the manager, and tossed a glass of ice water in her face.

As if that isn't awesome enough, she then went running for the door, and ended up being chased down the street by FOUR SECURITY GUARDS. She just made it to a taxi in time to make her getaway. This bitch has some balls. And to that I say...AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!

(I know what you're thinking, and I too am still in disbelief that this seriously happened. But there are supposedly witnesses, and until I'm told otherwise I'll stick by the story.)

Jose Gets The Best Of Me, Yet Again

Apparently not having learned my lesson about getting drunk before even leaving the office on Fridays, this night just turned into a bit of a mess. Not that I can remember most of it, but I do remember the first and second tequila shots. What I don't remember is apparently yelling at a friend, or how I ended up getting home. As a rule I avoid tequila (and gin, for that matter) since nothing good ever comes of either of them, and I do remember saying "Oh no! Not tequila shots!", but apparently I didn't object enough that I was able to stop myself from tossing them in the general direction of my mouth. Ah well, at least after whatever transpired following the shots will probably make that group of people think twice before suggesting tequila next time.

Despite feeling awful all day Saturday, I still managed to rally for the drinks at my place at 5.30 for Angie's bday. I told everyone how I probably wouldn't be able to party for more than a couple of hours that night, which is clearly why at 3am I was still tearing up the dancefloor at The Eastern after practically everyone else had gone home. Although props to JuJu for making me look not that bad when she turned to leave, tripped over her own heels, and got a face full of floor. Which left me laughing so hard I simply didn't have the strength to help her up. I am SUCH a good friend.

Sunday I had fortunately bought tickets to see Mission Impossible III moments before I got a call inviting me to drinks, since god knows where that would have ended. So other than sending JuJu a text message along the lines of "Morning babe, eat any good floor lately?", my day was generally free of too many asshole moments. Felt a bit empty, to be honest. Oh and possibly the only thing worse than going to the supermarket while hungover is going to a NEW supermarket while hungover. I actually had to call my flatmate to tell her I was lost and that I needed help getting out, it was tragic.

It's Like Kentucky, But With Funnier Accents

I just saw the most glorious thing on channel 7 news. It was a segment on neighbours who can't stand each other, and had the most ridiculous people I've ever seen in my life. Old Armenian women with thick accents who won't stop feeding thousands of birds in their backyards. Women with hair that would have looked silly in the 80's yelling at each other and calling each others daughters whores. Tall skinny men in leather vests with ponytails and no teeth slapping fat women who appear to only be wearing an XXXXL white t-shirt and nothing else. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

The world is such a magical place sometimes...

You Guys Sure About That?

So, word has arrived this week -- my Australian work visa has been approved, despite the fact that I violated the limits on my temporary work visa, my job doesn't fit into the pre-approved immigration guidelines, and the fact that we barely submitted the information required to complete an application.

Several people have expressed amazement that the Australian government would allow me to remain in the country any longer than I've been here already. I have a few theories for why this may have happened:

1) They want me to stay here because when you put me next to the average Australian, they actually manage to look less loud and obnoxious in comparison. This is much like how hot people always have that one fat friend who they let hang around because it makes them look better. Fair enough.

2) They didn't request my chest x-ray results. This is a good thing because although I don't have tuberculosis, they most likely would have noticed that my lungs (and all the other organs in my body) are saturated with beer.

3) Affirmative action.


In any case, it looks like I'm here for a while longer. The current plan is one more year, but who really knows how it will all play out. All this really means is that I have yet another reason to drink this week/weekend/month/etc., and I plan to take full advantage.

Intervention, Please.

I generally don't think of myself as having an addictive personality. As cool as smoking looks, I'm too practical to take up the habit. I've never had the slightest inclination to do drugs. Gambling isn't at all exciting for me, as every time I bet $10 on blackjack, I think about how that could have bought a couple of perfectly good drinks.

On that note, I'm sure many people are reading this and thinking "But you're drunk for half of any given week, enough to have an entire blog about your drinking habits. Doesn't that count?" Well not really, since I've never crossed over into the addiction stage of my love affair with booze. Getting drunk is fun and all, but it's not like I'm taking sips from a bottle of gin I have hidden under my pillow or anything. As sexy as that sounds...

Anyway, the point of all this rambling is that I have a new addiction, and it's starting to cost me. There's a video arcade downstairs from my office, and at least two to three times a day I'm slinking off into the elevator so I can play yet another round of Raiden Fighters Jet (I believe we can thank the Japanese for the butchered grammar in the translated name). If anyone is familiar with this game, it's one of those silly games from the early 90's where you're a plane and you have to shoot all the other planes. Intellectually stimulating, I assure you. And as if spending $3/day on this habit wasn't bad enough, the other night I woke up in a sweat because I was dreaming that I hadn't detonated my bomb in time to save my plane, or something equally geeky. It's like when we were in 6th grade and I would wake up at night because I was having some dream about being a plumber who needed to eat mushrooms to be big enough to save that whore princess from King Koopa. Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm losing sleep over this. If I had it in my apartment, I would never go to bed, as a matter of fact.

So yeah, it's a problem, and right now I simply don't have the willpower to fight it. And besides, who am I to deprive the world of my awesomely high scores?

I'm Not That Australian

Arrived back in Sydney yesterday morning, The Flattie made me a great breakfast, and we headed down to the local pub for drinks with a few others. Drinks on a Tuesday, you say? That's right, it was a national holiday. "Anzac Day", to be precise.

I'm still not clear on what was being honored here, since it's supposedly about the troops, but they already have a Veteran's Day. Either way, the apparent highlight of Anzac Day is that people play "two up" in the bars and bet money on it. Which turns out to be...heads or tails. Yeah, seriously. I was less than impressed, but at least it gave me an excuse to drink for a few hours.

Now it's Wednesday, my first day back at work, and I have a slight hangover to add to the jetlag. Adding to that, my mother is making an unexpected trip down to Sydney for a week and arrives this morning. Love the woman, but could have used a few days to prepare. Oh well.

Thank You, New York

So it's finally here, the day I fly back down to Sydney. My visit home was everything I hoped and dreamed it would be, and probably everything that civilized New Yorkers feared it would be. Some of the best things about the past week and a half:

THE WEATHER - It's like New York was trying to compete with Sydney for best weather ever. My entire trip here has been warm and sunny, with the exception of the last 24 hours. As Emla put it, it's simply New York crying because I'm leaving it all over again. Understandable.

THE FOOD - I wish I could explain how much NY pizza I've eaten in the past 11 days, but it would be mildly offensive. And it's not just the pizza. I'm pretty sure I will never visit a city in the world that has the sheer variety that New York offers. Just yesterday I was looking up a location for dinner, and the East Village alone had over 1000 places to eat, including several Tibetan, Afghan, and god knows what else venues. (In the end we went with an old favorite, Les Enfant Terribles -- French food with West African spices, spectacular.) Not to mention the $15 bruch special that includes great food and 3 brunch drinks, that a few of us will probably be doing again today. My mouth is watering already. For the booze, that is.

THE PEOPLE - Although being away from New York seems to have made me a little soft (I thought the people on the train were "a little too ghetto" my first couple of days back), you'd have to be a truly sheltered soul to not be able to appreciate the diversity in this city. It's because you can get on the A train and have a Wall Street millionaire sitting next to a guy who has been unemployed for 3 years that we have such ridiculous encounters every day, as chronicled in various places like Overheard In New York. To paraphrase that fake graduation speech from years ago, staying in New York might make you hard, but being somewhere that's a little too "nice" will definitely make you soft. And I'd much rather be kind of an asshole than a doormat, so expect me back sometime soon.

MY FRIENDS - All I can say is that I sincerely doubt there is a group of people I will ever meet that has as much fun as my friends here, to the point that part of me will have to keep wondering why I would choose to spend months away from them at a time. If only I could take you all with me, but then I'm not sure Australia would tolerate such massive amounts of assholery within their borders.


Anyway this is almost bordering on sentimental, so let me stop right there and simply pledge to get some kind of a photo album together for this trip, with maybe even one or two pictures where underwear isn't visible or someone's leg isn't around my neck. Could be tough.

God I Love Stories Like This

So on Wednesday, a bunch of us got together for a nice lunch at one of my favorite french bistros. The crew included Emla, Joe the Circus Chimp, Lojo, Belle, Cathy (of Team America fame in Sydney) and myself. We had our usual silly time, laughing and accidentally elbowing people at neighboring tables in the neck (or was that just me?) and all that, and somehow it took Cathy like two hours to tell us one of the best drunk idiot stories I've heard in a while.

Apparently she was in her friend's livingroom after a late night, and they were getting the sofabed set up for for the night, when the roommate's girlfriend staggered out of the other bedroom completely naked, and drunk out of her MIND. She was heading for the bathroom, but upon seeing Cathy and her friend in the livingroom suddenly stopped, covered herself with her hands and went back into the bedroom.

So okay, this is a bit embarrassing and maybe it could happen to anyone. But wait, it gets better. She comes back out of the bedroom after putting something on. And by 'something' I mean a pair of 4-inch gold heels. And nothing else. She then proceeded to walk to the kitchen, because she was lost trying to get to the bathroom. She eventually made it there, and when finished she made it back to the correct bedroom, leaving the heels in the bathroom.

And of course she woke up in the morning and remembered nothing. Made all the more hilarious by comments like "I just can't walk in heels." Oh yes you can, just have a few more drinks babe.

Sing Me A Song

Okay, while I have a minute I should really take some time to recap karaoke night on Tuesday. I unfortunately don't have pictures yet (as awesome as they are) but I can always post those later. Anyway, here was the program for my first karaoke night since August:


The Yin Yang Twins - "Wait (The Whisper Song)", performed by Zander and Emla

Not a clue how I let Emla talk me into this. It's clearly the most offensive song ever to hit #1 on the rap charts. What's even better is that I was off to a great start until I hit the second verse and realized just how vile the lyrics really are. Alas, I started laughing and was only able to sing the chorus for the remainder of the song. That would be repeating "beat the p***y up" over and over again, for those not familiar with this piece of trash. Way to set the tone for the evening.


Bill Withers - "Ain't No Sunshine", performed by my brother and Colin

This was the first of two songs dedicated to me (or rather, my absence) and I actually can't make too much fun because it was well done by these two karaoke kings.


New Kids On The Block - "Step By Step", performed by Zander and Jaya

I enlisted Jaya to sing this one with me because the last time I tried a year ago, she gave me shit about messing it up for weeks. Yeah, didn't go that much better this time. STEP ONE. Pick a song I actually know. Oh well.


U2 - "With Or Without You", performed by JoBo

Oh sweet jesus. The second song dedicated to me having the gall to live anywhere but New York, performed with mock earnestness by everyone's favorite reformed Jersey-ite. It may have remained within the limits of entertaining and amusing had he not ended the song yelling "AUSTRALIA SUCKS", "WHAT THE FUCK IS A WALLABY??" and "WHO THE HELL DRINKS FOSTERS ANYWAY???" repeatedly, which definitely ventured into the territory we define as absolutely fucking hilarious. Yet another song I will never be able to listen to again without picturing this man and laughing.


Journey - "Separate Ways", performed by Miss Jessica

Miss Jessica made a late appearance in the evening, and then more than made up for it by performing her signature karaoke song and as usual eliciting a standing ovation. Rock on.


Lindsay Lohan - "Rumors", performed by Emla and Zander

This was performed purely in honor of CStixx, who was unable to join us that night. Okay who am I kidding, we love this song. Too bad everyone else just stared at us because they had NO idea what it was. Doesn't mean Emla and I didn't get down to it though. The advantages of performing songs no one else knows is that they don't know how bad you are. Which reminds me that we also performed one by Kelly Osbourne. I bet those are off the list next time we stop in there...


Destiny's Child - "Bugaboo", performed by Joe the Circus Chimp

Joe, you are an idiot. Seriously, what were you thinking? You knew the words to EVERY OTHER SONG that people sang that night, and then you go and pick this random crap and completely mess it up. You spent about one minute at the end of the song shrieking about the lyrics on the screen being retarded. Believe me, something in that bar was retarded and it wasn't electronic. You moron.

Damnit

And of course I wake up the morning of the big karaoke night with NO VOICE WHATSOEVER. I should probably thank Colin and Adrian for dragging me to 4 bars and a diner last night, apparently that's their definition of "takin' it easy".

It Hurts.

Okay so I wanted to at least attempt to recap the past few days being back home in NYC, even though it's been a total drunken mess and I barely remember them.

Thursday was the day of the wedding, so I headed over to my brother's place in Queens first to meet up with him, his girlfriend and Emla to go to the wedding together. Showed up at the Soho Grand and immediately started knocking them back -- with a little help from the ceremony itself, where we all toasted to the bride and groom with champagne before they were allowed to kiss. Shocked the two British girls sitting at our table during the reception, and danced like morons with my three dates to every song that came on until it was time for me to head to a couple more bars. I think I got home around 5am but not quite sure...

On Friday I believe I managed to refrain from any hard drinking until happy hour, which left my sides hurting from laughing so hard within the first 30 minutes of everyone getting there. Joe was hilariously inappropriate, and once again left us wondering how he has yet to be stabbed by anyone on the street. Especially the people he touches even though he doesn't know them. Or maybe the random depressed looking dude to whom Joe yelled "It's okay, your father can't hurt you anymore!"

Woke up on Saturday feeling like death itself, but still managed to have a few glasses of wine at a family brunch at Aquagrill. Attempted to take a nap in the afternoon and then headed to dinner and then drinks, and then...more dancing like assholes, this time at Hudson Hotel Bar.

Sunday was hysterical -- met up with a few others on the Lower East Side for the best brunch deal anyone has ever heard of (awesome food, and 3 complimentary brunch drinks for FIFTEEN DOLLARS) where there was even a cameo appearance by Crispin Glover (random C-list actor, we think he was in a movie about rats and maybe in Back To The Future but we're not sure) who was looking mighty gay and holding a tiny dog. The highlight may easily have been JB telling us his latest random idea for how to screw up a child's life FOREVER. We love those.

So last night, feeling like a shell of a human being, I stayed in and watched TV while shoveling copious amounts of NY pizza into my face. Time well spent, I'd say. And now it's time to be drunk for the next 3 days. Pardon me.

Oh Sweet Jesus

This trip is turning out to be everything I feared it would be. As in, way too awesome. I've been back for 3 days, any moments of sobriety have been few and far between, and I've managed to spend well over $1000 with less than a third of my trip out of the way. Which might not be so terrible if I wasn't being paid in Monopoly money back down under.

Ah well. Off to a boozy brunch, maybe I can manage a real blog post tomorrow.

"Act Like An Asshole Pills", Now Available

Quick story for you. Was on the plane yesterday when there was all this commotion near us at the back of the cabin. Turned around to see this guy being held down by about 5 of the plane crew. He was struggling and kind of slurring his speech, so I spent a little time trying to figure out if he was retarded or really drunk, eventually deciding there wasn't enough of a difference between the two to really care.

Anyway, he was eventually led to the front of the plane in plastic handcuffs, looking totally out of it, and we had to wonder what the hell was going on.

So once we were off, we ran into some friends at the baggage claim in LAX, and asked them if they'd seen what happened. Turns out this idiot took Ambien or something when he got on the plane and clearly it didn't completely work. You would think with all the reports of people sleep eating, sleep driving, and even one woman claiming she murdered her husband while on the things, people would know better than to take one before being in a confined public space for 13 hours??

Best part is that he remembered NOTHING when he woke up wearing the handcuffs. I guess if you're going to totally humiliate yourself in front of hundreds of strangers it's better not to remember the whole ordeal.

Have The Authorities Been Alerted?

So this is it, I'm off to the airport any moment now for the 20 hour journey back to the greatest city in the world. There will be drunkeness, there will be hilarity, and if I can find the time or clarity of mind, there will also be pictures and blog posts.

Quiz-tastic

Not a real post, just some more quiz results cause I'm addicted to Blogthings at the moment:

What Temperament Are You?

You Have a Sanguine Temperament

You are an optimistic person who is easily content. You enjoy casual, light tasks - never wanting to delve too deep into anything. A bit fickle, it's easy for you to change plans or paths when presented with something better.

You enjoy all of the great things life has to offer - food, friends, and fun. A great talker, you can keep the conversation going for hours. You are optimistic and sure of your success. If you fail, you don't worry about it too much.

At your worst, you are vain. You are obsessed with your own attractiveness. A horrible flirt, you tend to jump into love affairs and relationship drama easily. You're very jealous - which just magnifies the craziness around you.

What European City Do You Belong In?

You Belong In Milan

Stylish and sophisticated, you want to enjoy a truly European life - away from tourists! Milan fits you perfectly. Great shopping, high quality food, lots of culture... with very little hype.

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"I dunno, press the button and find out."

What Kind Of Drunk Are You?

You're A Wild Drunk

You can't get enough drink. Seriously, you'll just go puke and start pounding them back again!

Keepin' It Gangsta

So Saturday night was the long awaited Snoop Dogg concert, OR the Annual Wigger Convention, whichever you'd like to call it.

Unfortunately I didn't take my camera with me -- I'd hate to generalize at all, but basically all Snoop Dogg fans other than me and my friends are clearly a bunch of lawless thugs, and someone would have stolen my camera if I'd taken it with me.

Anyway, the concert was awesome, even though he came on almost 3 hours after the supposed start time. As I had to explain to my cousin, her coworker and his friends, black people are never on time for ANYTHING, even if they're getting paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for it.

I'd thought that "Drop It Like It's Hot" was going to be the highlight of the show, but it ended up being "Gin n Juice". Me favoring the song that has a type of liquor in the title, go figure.

Wish I had some wacky drinking stories, but other than a few drinks in the bar at the venue (where a massive fight broke out, including chairs flying through the air, thanks for that folks) I actually took it easy that night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Flattie and I had Team America over for lunch on Sunday, which was headed the way of last Sunday before I stopped drinking the wine and went to see V for Vendetta instead of damaging my liver any further. That movie is AWESOME, in case anyone was wondering.

So yes, a pretty quiet weekend for once. But really it's the calm before the storm when you consider I'm about to be drunk in NYC for 2 weeks. Booyakasha.

Is It Time To Admit I Have A Problem?

So yeah, figured I should take a few minutes out of my Saturday afternoon to blog about Thursday night. Now let me say that I was pretty sure it wasn't really just going to be a quiet birthday dinner for friends or anything, but I will say that I didn't expect to show up to work drunk for the second time in a week.

All I knew about the restaurant going in is that it was called "Yipiyiyo", which with the pronunciation in my head, I kind of thought was going to be some quaint little Japanese place. Turned out it's pronounced "Yipi-YAYE-o" (sorry I don't think that actually helped, but hopefully someone got it) and I knew I was in trouble when a drag queen came down the stairs and started singing Dusty Springfield songs. Technically I should have known I was in trouble when I finished my own bottle of wine in the first 60 minutes and started drinking everyone elses, but what can I say, I'm a slow learner.

Of course afterwards we headed off to a bar, where it never occurred to me that slamming down a beer every 10 minutes might end in me acting like a complete and utter jerk. Nonetheless, I woke up the next morning trashed yet again and genuinely wondering why anyone invites me to anything. Seriously, how do I have friends?

Fortunately my company directors forgot I was supposed to have my formal review on Friday, although they did call me out for being drunk/hungover at work again. In the U.S. it would be grounds for dismissal, but here in OZ it pretty much means you're due for a raise. Someone's gotta pay for the fuckin' beer...

Now if you'll all excuse me, I need to get ready for the Snoop Dogg concert. Hawt.

Unfashionable? Yes. Horror-Inducing? Not So Much.

Okay, so this is the last post inspired from this past weekend, but I had to bring it up because I thought it was so odd.

Now we all know people have irrational fears. A fear of heights is relatively understandable, and even my silly fear of cockroaches is pretty common (they're ridiculously ugly AND they crawl around, it just makes sense that they're pure evil). I would even understand a fear of obese people, cause god knows when they might get hungry enough to eat YOU.

But sometimes certain fears cross that line. I have a friend back in NY who is afraid of mannequins. Pretty strange considering you can't walk down a street in Manhattan without seeing one, but fine -- I mean, they kinda look like people, but they're not, and maybe that movie Mannequin back in the 80's scarred more people than we may ever realize.

However this weekend I found out that someone I know here in Sydney has a fear of...wait for it...corduroy. No, I'm serious. And not just "oh, corduroy is tacky, I would never wear it", I mean that if someone wearing corduroy were to walk up to him and try to give him a hug he would fling himself into moving traffic before allowing that person's jacket to make contact with him. If it gets too close, the thought of it touching him makes him want to vomit. I saw all of this in action on Saturday night, since we all thought it was hilarious and decided that chasing him around with corduroy was a good time. He even almost dropped an entire case of beer to get away from the big bad corduroy jacket. Do you have any idea how serious this has to be to get an AUSTRALIAN to drop a case of beer?

So yes -- that one definitely crosses my line of stupidity. It's a piece of fabric. Sure it's not really in fashion right now, but acting like you'd be willing to throw yourself off a high-rise before letting it touch you is a bit much, I think.

And would LOVE to hear if you guys know about people with weird fears, cause I find this stuff hysterical.

"Speaking of tripods..."

So one thing that happened this weekend was meeting the people who live directly across from my livingroom, bathroom and kitchen windows. To give you the backstory so that makes just a teeny bit of sense...

A few months ago, Cath (of Team America) was over, and a few days later she went into work and her boss told her that she had seen Cath IN OUR APARTMENT, because it turns out they are the people whose side apartment windows face ours.

That essentially made things a little weird -- it's one thing to think that you might pass these people in the neighbourhood or something like that, but to basically know each other means that you have to wonder what exactly they can see. But we just moved on, mostly ignoring this fact -- unless I happened to be drunk and yelled through the window to them, but that's to be expected, really.

So Saturday I went to birthday drinks for Cath's coworker, and who else was there but my neighbours. Of course I'd been drinking for about 6 hours already, so I immediately told everyone in the vicinity that they were my "peeping toms" and I was planning to file charges.

They played along, with the husband even joking that they had a tripod set up in the livingroom so they could have more material for their website about me.

At which point I said as loudly as possible "Speaking of tripods, I hear you can see me take showers!"

You have never seen such a quick combination of nervous laugh + stutter + look for an escape route. It was classic. It was around this time that Cath reminded me that I can be "a bit much" for some people, particularly while inebriated. I just think it means everyone else needs to drink more.

Anyway it's Wednesday morning now, and we've gone back to pretending to never have met each other. Which is cool cause I was worried that now I would have to wave hello to them every time I saw her sitting her fat ass on the couch, or him ironing in the kitchen without a shirt on, which could have been a bit awkward. Especially if I happened to be making one of my naked mad dashes through the apartment from the bathroom to my room because I forgot my towel...

Right On The Nose

Conversation Monday, with my boss, DURING the company management meeting where he caught me spacing out (because I was basically drunk):

Boss: Hellooooo. You with us?
Zander: Oh yeah, sorry. Just feeling a little under the weather. *Cough* I think there's something going around.
Boss: Um yeah, it's called alcohol.


Whether he thought I was actually drunk or just hungover, I didn't want to know. But it's kind of heart-warming that he knows me so well already.

"Zander doesn't throw up when he drinks too much. Zander throws DOWN!"

Wow. That's all I can really say after this past weekend. Actually that's not true, I have a LOT to say about this weekend. Not to mention the fact that it's Monday morning, I'm typing this at work, and I am still TRASHED. Here's how this all happened…


FRIDAY

Managed to forego beer o'clock for once, but I'd still started pounding down the beers by 6pm. Met up with The Flattie and crew for a couple of hours, as they were getting started on their 'Blood On The Dancefloor II' theme night (don't ask). Unfortunately I had to pass on that carnage to head to a 'Super Hero' party with my cousin and her friends. Despite my lame-ass 'costume' (a superman t-shirt underneath my regular clothes – Clark Kent!), there were appearances by Wonder Woman, Zorro, Catwoman, two Lara Crofts, that chick from the Matrix, Luke Skywalker, and even Duff Man.

Of course I had to head off after a couple of hours to ANOTHER costume party, where the theme was the 1930's. Now maybe I'm confused, but wasn't that the Great Depression or something? Wooo! Nothing like poverty to get a party started. Anyway it's around there that my memory starts to escape me, but I'm pretty sure I was awesome and hilarious for hours after that.


SATURDAY

This is where it starts to get ugly. Woke up feeling fine, mostly because I was still half in the bag. Tried to sleep it off a bit, but by 3pm I was being dragged to a bar already (against my will, I assure you) and by the time I got to birthday drinks at 8pm I was having trouble seeing straight. Even better that I showed up to these drinks late because "I would have been here earlier but JEM came on TV!" It's hearing words like that out of a grown man's mouth that make people cry. Ah well.

Anyway, kept drinking, told some new racist jokes, made some new friends, and then finally headed to a party I was supposed to stop by at 6pm. Better 5 hours late than never, I always say. Unless of course I show up empty-handed, drink their wine, and then pass out upstairs until I'm woken up at 3am and told to go home. Oops.


SUNDAY

Once again, woke up STILL DRUNK (gotta represent the blog, you know how it is), blew off lunch plans to try and sleep it off, and then finally agreed to meet up with Scooter for a game of pool. Naturally this led to a bunch of us at Audrey and Dom's place having an impromptu euro dance party while finishing off a bottle of vodka into the wee hours of the morning. In between that we were at the Coogee Bay Hotel, where we were so loud and obnoxious that security came over and told us to 'calm down'. To put this in perspective for those of you who aren't familiar with the CBH, it's constantly full of drunk Irish sports fans, and they told US to calm down.


And so…it's Monday at 10am, and I am sitting in my office wondering why the hell I came into work when I am clearly having trouble walking straight (I've bumped into two walls already) and thanking god I'm in Australia and not a real country where they would care about these things.