Gobble Gobble

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

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

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

Success.

You Know You Need A New Job When...

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

Stupid reputation.

You May Go Now

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

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

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

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

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


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

Oops.

25 Glasses Of Wine

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


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

Hi Perth, Welcome To 10 Years Ago

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

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

Glowing Reviews

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

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

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

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



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

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

Things I Didn't Need To Hear

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

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

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

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

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

Hair stylist: Yeah.


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


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

Logically

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Texts From Last Night

Actual text messages from a female colleague that I woke up to this morning:

(411): Puking. In my mouth. Yes. It's true.

...and then, 36 minutes later...

(411): So drunk it's ridiculous.


Apart from being gross, I feel like the second text was rather redundant in the grand scheme of things. I mean, if you were vomiting in your mouth (and based on seeing you 2 hours earlier I can be pretty sure it was due to excessive amounts of alcohol and not some gastrointestinal issue), then it would be relatively safe to assume that half an hour later you'd be classified as hammered.

Just sayin'.

Oh, Maggie

Needless to say, the weekend in Margaret River (easily Australia's best wine region, for the uninitiated) was amazing. Great wine, amazing weather, fantastic food. I now have about $200 worth of wine sitting in my kitchen demanding to be consumed in a sad and lonely moment when I realize all my friends are on the other side of the country. Wait, did I say that out loud?

In any case, what I found amazing was that Junior and I were the ones on a wine tour from 10am to 5pm, and yet it was Jam and Chappy who had driven down that day who managed to be absolutely slaughtered during dinner. This included Jam looking like he was going to fall asleep in the middle of his own sentences, and Chappy dropped a full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on the table and watching a few pours go straight down the front of her dress before one of us put a stop to the madness.

Just blogging about it makes me want to go back, really.

Hurry While Supplies Last

I'd hate to go off on my weekend of wine tasting and fine dining in Margaret River without leaving you all with some very necessary information.

Smirnoff Vodka Mojito:



Go and buy this. And drink it. Now. That is all.

Should Have Known

That is, when my Chappy and Jam said they were going to pick me up at 1pm to go for "lunch" and then texted shortly before noon to say they were coming early because they were "thirsty", I should have known what would happen. But still, I threw on my swimming shorts because I was convinced that "lunch" actually meant a bite to eat and then a trip to the beach.

Even when I went downstairs and Jam, who was driving, walked out of the car with a beer in his hand, I still asked if they had any sun block because I'd left mine back in Sydney.

I started to get the hint when we got to their house at the beach, and instead of eating or walking down to the sand, I was presented with bottles of Smirnoff Mojito Cocktail, and told about the various sorts of wine and beer that were coming afterwards.

But I'd have to say I didn't really know what the obvious outcome would be until I woke up the next morning with little recollection of how I got home (thank god for taxi receipts) and dehydrated enough to drink about 4 liters of water before I'd even left the apartment.

Thanks, guys.

Best 10 Minutes In A Convenience Store Ever

Two posts in one day, crazy, I know. But it was necessary to share this one. When I first clicked on the link and saw that it was over 10 minutes long I figured I would watch a couple of minutes of it and close the window. But it was mesmerizing.

(My favorite moment comes around 8:20, if you're feeling impatient.)

Keeping The Toaster By The Bathtub Just In Case

Well, after blogging about it some 6 weeks ago, I've finally relocated to Perth for a couple of months, hence the reason I've been quiet all week.

If nothing else, the lack of a social life or pretty much anything to do means I can at least focus on doing things I usually can't be bothered with, such as exercise or work. I'm just trying to think about how fit and tan I'm going to be by the time by 30th birthday rolls around to stop myself from committing suicide, which is the official pasttime of Western Australians. True story.

Okay, Fine, They Make Me Pick Cotton

You know, I have spent a huge amount of time debating with non-Australians and trying to argue that Australians, despite initial appearances, are not racist.

Sure they perpetuate ridiculous stereotypes well after the rest of the world has decided that it's not appropriate to say such things, but I have argued that they just say what we're all still thinking, and as a result are much more willing to discuss their beliefs and change them than your average American. Generally, I actually find that preferable.

And then...everyone gets excited about the reunion of a sketch show called Hey Hey It's Saturday (which inexplicably aired on a Wednesday night, but I suppose that's besides the point) and this is what the producers decide is appropriate to air on national television:


And to think, this might have just slipped under the radar if it weren't for the fact that Harry Connick Jr. was one of the judges, and explained why he looked so uncomfortable while a bunch of guys in black face calling themselves the "Jackson Jive" yelled at each other in ebonics and danced badly.

(Having said that, Connick's explanation did sound a little weird, as it included the line: "I just wanted to say on behalf of my country, I know it was done in humour ... but we have spent so much time trying not to make black people look like buffoons that when we see something like that we take it really to heart." I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was that difficult to not make black people look like buffoons. But I guess we all know what he meant.)

Even if we look at it from the perspective of being a cultural misunderstanding (seeing as it's really only Americans that have such issues with black face from a historical perspective) you still have to wonder how the producers could have been so ignorant of this fact that they couldn't at least have asked an American for an opinion before sending this to air.

And so, to continue my defense of Australians -- I don't believe this was racist. Just amazingly, incredibly stupid and culturally insensitive.

All I ask of my Australian friends is that they help me out a little. Please. Good lord.

Like, Totally

Don't you guys seriously hate it when you're walking down the street and people keep looking at you and you're not sure if it's because you look super hot that day or if it's because there's a stain on your new shirt or something? And then you have to go walk by a store window with a dark background and pretend that you're looking in the window when really you're just checking yourself out?

Anyways, I have bought the answer...the best iPhone case EVER:

Now you can just pretend you're using your phone, when really what you're doing is making sure that everyone is just checking you out. For reals.

Overheard In The Office

Colleague: You need electrolytes.

Zander: I had a burrito.


That actually reminds me of a conversation I had last night...


Junior: The salad had spinach in it! good for your muscles.

Zander: Um, this is real life, not an episode of Popeye.

I Have The Dumbest Dreams

Seriously, though. I just had one that involved me (and a few others) being laid off from my company, and instead of severance pay my company offered us each a *really* good deal on a 2-year lease for an Audi.

Lame.

The Best Laid Plans

On Saturday, I woke up early, came into the office to get some work done, and then headed home to relax in the afternoon before a friend's birthday drinks. I was even sitting down to watch an episode of Jeopardy.

Then, Juice called. He wanted to swing by and pick up his backpack that I had borrowed months ago for South America.

Within seconds of him and Stranger walking through the door, we were all drinking vodka on my balcony, and hours later I was incoherent and embarassing myself on Crown Street.

You know you've had an unacceptable night when a female friend texts you the next day and thanks you for grabbing her crotch in public.

Sweet jesus.

Why Yes, Mr. Bowie, There Is Life On Mars

As I've Facebooked and Tweeted about earlier today, we all woke up in Sydney this morning to wonder if we'd been relocated to Mars without prior warning. It was kinda cool, kinda freaky.

Also falling into that category is this photo from the Texts From Last Night photo pool on Flickr that I didn't realize existed until now:



I will bet $200 and a Snuggie that this guy is English.


UPDATE: I've done a little research on "The Music Room" (as it appears that sign in the background says) and not only is it in England, but it's stumbling distance from the town in West Yorkshire where my family lives. Now emailing my cousins to see if this is a friend of theirs...