Time To Find A New Favorite

Have you guys ever wondered if it's okay to go back to one of your favorite restaurants because the last time you were there you were completely hammered and can't remember if you did anything awful?

Yeah, me neither. But will let you know how tonight goes, regardless.

Don't Mind Me

This was Mardi Gras weekend in Sydney, which essentially means that everyone in the city (plus a million tourists or so) party for about 72 hours straight. Which made it extra sad that I headed home before 10pm on Saturday night before the parade had even ended, because I was tired and apparently needed some 9 hours of sleep to recover.

Fortunately I made up for this by following up yet another boozy book club session by organizing Sunday evening drinks at the pub. I have subsequently been blamed by Juice for the fact that he is still drunk at work this morning, despite the fact that I went home at a reasonable hour and definitely didn't chain him to the bar on my departure.

Detritus

Had drinks at my place last night that devolved into the usual tequila shots and the neighbors getting annoyed with the blaring music. Fair enough, it was Tuesday night after all.

Just wanted to share the lamest thing that's ever been left at my place after a party - Cold & Flu tablets.

Seriously, WTF guys. Step up your game. This is just getting embarrassing.

We Are Our Parents

I just had a brilliant weekend in Melbourne with friends, however it continued my ever-growing concern that I am turning into an old man.

Remember when we were kids and your parents would have people over, and you'd eventually go to bed wondering how it was possible that a bunch of old people could just sit around drinking and talking until well after midnight? Even in our early 20's, the night always ended with losing your friends at a club or being refused entry to a bar for being a drunken idiot.

Well, both my Friday and Saturday nights came to a close with me drinking scotch (neat, of course) while chatting to my friends about god knows what. And it was nice, but scary, to think that it is actually possible for me to drink for hours at a time and not find myself inebriated and doing something that would cause me to die of embarrassment if it ever made its way to YouTube.

The most shocking moment of the weekend, one that confirmed how old we are, is when a member of our group didn't know what Jersey Shore was. To be clear, I'm not saying she hadn't watched an episode, even I've never done that. But she's never *heard* of Jersey Shore. While I realize that we'd all be better off not having heard of Jersey Shore, the fact is that even my mother who lives in the French countryside knows what it is.

Needless to say, I am trying to help this poor friend of mine cling to whatever semblance of her youth she has remaining, and she has been sent various videos of Snooki, The Situation, et. al. as part of her education. We're not giving up that easily.

Weekend Away

As a bit of a random weekend, Hickster and I have decided to visit some friends in Melbourne, possibly the only other place in the Australia/New Zealand region that hasn't been decimated by one natural disaster or another in recent weeks.

Unfortunately, we've just missed the St. Kilda festival by a couple of weeks. I want to check out any event that turns up the following image in a Google search:

Food Hangover

Yesterday I found myself suffering from the rare but not impossible food hangover. After eating an absolutely insane amount of food at a dinner on Tuesday night, I woke up yesterday morning feeling full, nauseous, and exhausted. I even typed out a text message to my boss saying I needed a sick day, but at the last second decided that eating too much food was probably on the border of sick and retardedly lazy, and just sucked it up and went into work.

Needless to say, I will be eating a lot of salads in the coming weeks.

Genuine Concern

So I'm getting seriously worried about my lifestyle lately. While some people worry they are partying too hard, I have the opposite problem. Since around New Years, I basically haven't partied much at all.

Friends are quick to point out that even my version of a quiet lifestyle still involves more socializing, drinking and eating out than some 90% of the population. But still, the fact that I tend to want to head home by 10pm on almost any given night makes me feel like I need to figure out what's going on here.

Apparently the options include:

1) I partied too hard in November/December (known as "silly season" in Australia) and my body just wants to recover for a bit before I get back into it. This was more feasible in January, but we're quickly approaching March, people. How much recovery does one really need? Charlie Sheen apparently only thinks that you need a week to recover from a hard core addiction to hookers and cocaine. A few too many champagnes before Christmas should definitely be out of my system by now.

2) I'm just getting old, and this is my new life. I'd almost believe this, but considering how suddenly my new mood hit, I question that this is the case. Surely I would have been slowing down for at least a few months before I apparently decided it was time to learn how to knit while listening to jazz on my gramophone?

3) I have some sort of virus. Like what? Mono? It's not like I'm sleeping all the time or anything. Pretty sure that there aren't any diseases where symptoms include "Wanting to binge drink for only 6 hours instead of 12". (I will be highly amused if you can show me otherwise.)

In the end, I think I just need to ramp it up. Hickster and I are heading down to Melbourne this weekend, and while I don't think for a second that it will be a weekend of madness, at least a change of scenery might inject some energy into my otherwise lethargic party genes.

If that fails, then the final test is three weeks in Europe coming up in April. Should things not go my way even when I'm surrounded by my hedonistic friends in London...well, maybe it's time to look into a retirement village.

Hard Times

Last night, I saw a guy get busted for shoplifting. From a supermarket. More than anything, I found this incredibly depressing. I mean, at least Lindsay Lohan shoplifts jewelry that's worth more than most of us make in a year. That kinda makes sense. But to try and steal a bag of frozen peas? That's really sad. Good luck with life, dude.

Thanks For The Short List

I often think about what other countries I'd want to live in after Australia. As much as I love it here, I can see myself spending a year or two somewhere else, followed by living between Sydney and New York for the rest of my perfect life.

In any case, I often think Paris sounds quite appealing, although I did absolutely fall in love with Buenos Aires when I was there a couple of years ago.

Fortunately, sometimes advice comes along in the form of random reports in The Economist. Such as, this map of global alcoholic consumption:

So clearly I'm on the right track with France and Argentina, but apparently it's time to do some exploring in Eastern Europe. What I'd really like to see is a report on how the hell any of those people are even alive.

How Not To Celebrate Black History Month

When I Grow Up

Another weekend, another Monday spent wishing I was at home laying on the couch instead of expected to sit at my desk and pretend to do work.

And now it's Tuesday and I just typed the phrase "GO GO GADGET PENIS!" in an instant message conversation with Juice.

I wonder what adulthood will be like.

How Could I Forget

Miss Jessica has kindly reminded me that it is Black History Month!

Unfortunately when I moved to Australia, I didn't take into account the fact that BHM isn't celebrated here, which means I can't stagger into a bar and demand free drinks because it is Black History Month and I've decided I'm black at that point in time. Not saying this worked most of the time, but it was fun. Maybe I'll see what I can get away with this weekend, just for kicks.

World's Worst Student

I would have made an update sooner, but I've spent the last three days in a training course. Normally I'd pay absolutely no attention and use the time to blog more often than usual, but this one actually came with an exam at the end that results in certification for...something. Not quite sure what. But yeah, it meant that other than a few plays in Words With Friends and making sure nothing crazy was happening on Facebook without me knowing, I actually had to have at least a bit of a clue what was going on.

The experience has been a flashback to my college days, and this was just a reminder of how amazed I should be that my ridiculously poor work ethic and impressive inability to pay attention to anything for more than 22 minutes at a time allowed me to complete a bachelor's degree. It also confirmed for me that I probably won't bother going back to school for an MBA anytime soon, unless someone assures me that it's one of those programs where you spend 100% of your time socializing "networking" and doesn't give out failing grades.

In any case, it's almost over, so more pointless and feeble-minded blog posts coming your way. Aim high, kids!

Near Death Experience

I had another relatively quiet weekend, with the highlight being dinner with friends at a restaurant I hadn't been to in well over a year. Their food and cocktails are simply awe-inspiring, and as expected we had a fantastic evening.

At the end, as we were ordering dessert, I figured a round of Cafe Patron shots were in order, especially considering we had a few virgins at the table.

We downed the shots, and as I finished mine I felt what I assumed was ice against my lip. I looked into my shot glass and saw some very oddly shaped ice. I pulled it out, and it turned out it was a massive shard of glass from something other than my shot glass. Better yet, there was a smaller piece of glass underneath it.

I've never considered myself an overly dramatic person. (I'll give you a moment to stop laughing.) But this was pretty shocking. I just sort of stared at it, while we of course reported it to our waiter. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how ridiculously horrible that whole situation could have ended up.

In any case, the staff were horrified and crazily apologetic, and I have abstained from spreading the name of the restaurant to everyone as I really don't think it's characteristic of their level of service. And hey, I'm still alive and unharmed.

Most importantly, the round of shots was free.

Feral

Some of you will be disappointed to hear that I actually had a rather chilled out weekend. While there was a lot of socializing and drinking, I intentionally avoided being drunk or hungover. As such I have no scandalous stories to tell you about myself.

So I'll tell you one about someone else. This person will not be named (or even nicknamed), but no it's not Juice (or me, for that matter).

A couple of weekends ago, this person was out partying, and blacked out somewhere between one bar and another. This is quite standard for this individual, and tends to be how all his nights out progress.

However this time, his first memory post-blackout was not waking up in bed with a terrible headache, but standing in a strange apartment with someone he didn't remember meeting saying to him "I'm sorry, mate, but you just peed all over my kitchen floor. You have to leave now. It might be okay if I knew you, but..."

I'm not really sure there's any commentary required for this one, it simply serves as one of those tales that makes you feel so much better about even the most humiliating of your own drunken moments. Gotta love those.

(There's also perhaps a side discussion on if it really would be okay if you did know the person who had just peed on your kitchen floor, but I suppose that's a personal decision.)

What Not To Do This Weekend

Having said that, I thought last weekend was going to be a quiet one, and I ended up in a hot tub at one point, so who knows. Keep those cameras rolling.

Still Life In The Old Man Yet

Thought it would be a quiet weekend. Figured that since I had nothing planned, I'd spend most of the weekend relaxing in front of the TV or reading a book in bed.

Friday night started with some very civilized drinks (and food!) with Neels and Hickster, and somehow ended with dancing past 2am and Hickster chucking her drink in a guy's face.

And despite feeling a bit rundown on Saturday, I thought I'd at least be polite enough to swing by a farewell BBQ at a friend's house. I almost headed home around 9pm, but somehow that didn't happen. There may have been a hot tub involved around midnight.

Despite the fact that Sunday only resulted in a few pints of beer in the sun with lunch, I can easily say that Monday was one of the toughest days at work I've had in a very long time. Sad considering I had absolutely no work to do.

Professional Time Wasters

Early January is easily the least productive time to be in an Australian workplace. At least in December people are still trying to finish things off for the year, between Christmas lunches, parties, drinks, etc. (I know someone whose company gives them a SHOPPING DAY as a bonus annual leave day.)

But at this point in January, half the people haven't even come back from their Christmas breaks, which means the rest of us who are unlucky enough to have to trudge into the office simply don't have much to do.

While I'm lucky enough to have a TV on my desk and other bored people to talk to, the bulk of my time ends up being having the most inane conversations one can imagine with Juice, via instant messenger. Topics this week have so far included:

Latest opinions on British Airways

Is it okay to use coconut cream that has been sitting in an open can in the fridge for 4 days

Life in a minimum security prison probably wouldn't be that bad, if it was only for like, a year, and you met some really well connected people (Dependent on the assumption that there would be decent food and access to good wine.)

American "ain't" vs. Australian "arvo" - which one makes more sense than the other in it's respective context

Should Juice go drink alone in the bar downstairs from his office

Needless to say, no one will be crafting any university courses around these topics anytime soon. It's actually kind of a miracle that we get paid at all.

Not To Be A Downer, But...

My grandmother passed away on Christmas Day. Sad, obviously, but the woman was 98 and had an amazing life that anyone of my generation has to be in awe of. She was born in Scotland the year the Titanic sank, lived through two World Wars, and even in the last couple years of her life could still tell you what she wore to an officer's ball in India in the early 40's.

I could just tell you all those sorts of interesting things, but I figured a true homage to the woman (at least one that suits my blogging style) would be to list my favorite ridiculously bitchy things she said in her old age, since we all know that's the best part about getting old - you can say whatever you want.

After being asked if she wanted to put up a photo of one of her infant great-grandchildren:

"No, she's too fat."

While trying out her first walking stick:

"Well I suppose I could hit people with it..."

On being told the name of her first great grandchild:

"What? That's a dog's name!"

Shortly after claiming she was blind, discussing a cousin's pregnant girlfriend:

"She's getting fat, she is!" (upon being reminded that she was supposed to be blind, "Well, I can see shapes!")

So in case you were wondering where I get my pre-disposition for disliking fat people - it's genetic.

Why, Hello 2011, You Look Familiar

I went to great trouble to orchestrate a celebration for New Years Eve that would allow us to ring in 2011 with at least a little class and maturity.

Between the canapés I prepared myself (including stuffed mushrooms with feta, and shortbread tarts with lemon cream cheese filling), the avoidance of doing shots of any kind, and the fact that I intentionally kept numbers to less than 10 people, I was sure that we'd all toast to the New Year and everyone would head home shortly after midnight.

So let's look at the things that didn't factor into my vision of the evening, and yet managed to happen anyway:

1) Broken glass, everywhere - we're still not sure if it was a champagne or wine glass that broke first, or how exactly the bottles on the balcony got knocked over, but we can be sure that we will be picking tiny shards of glass out of our bare feet for the next few weeks, at least.

2) The police were called - not on us, but by someone at our party, to complain about the people across the street who were setting of fireworks. I believe the actual words we overheard were "they're shooting fireworks AT ME". In case we thought there was much left in the world that couldn't be taken completely and utterly personally.

3) People passed out - granted it tended to be in the form of disco naps on the couch, but considering how loud the music was and the fact that people were all around them having boisterous conversations at any given moment in time, I still find it impressive.

4) A bottle of vodka was dropped on my head - possibly my own fault for trying to get something out of the fridge while someone messed around with the bottle of vodka in the freezer above me. In the end I was more relieved about the fact that the bottle didn't break, and only as an afterthought considered that I should be grateful I didn't end up needing stitches.

So, yeah, come on in 2011. We've seen your kind here before, and we know how to handle you.