Still Globetrotting

My ridiculous journey is almost over, which I'm more than grateful for. As much as I love travel and adventure, I've discovered that jetsetting from one country to another for an entire 4 weeks can actually get kind of old. Not to mention expensive and exhausting.

Clearly I had to put my blogging duties on the backburner for a couple of weeks while I continued my attempt to hang out with everyone I've ever known around the world within a short month, but hopefully things will get back to normal when I'm back in Sydney next week.

I'm not even sure if I should bother telling any of the random stories here, since I will hopefully document them well enough in my photo album. I will however say that a highlight of the last couple of weeks was spending some time with my 96-year old grandmother in Yorkshire for a few days, which was the first time I'd seen her in 3 years. I can't even begin to tell people how immensely proud I am of my genetic heritage from a woman who consistently tells us how blind she is, and yet is more than capable of rattling off a quick list of who in the family needs to lose some weight, including those who have recently given birth. Bless.

Anyway, I got into San Francisco last night, so I'm going to spend today relaxing by the pool and/or napping, followed by a few drinks tonight, and perhaps a little sightseeing in the city tomorrow if I feel so inclined (which I very well might not, after the last few weeks). Here's hoping I at least catch a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge.

When I Grow Up

The trip continues, and as exhausted and hungover as I increasingly find myself each day along the way, it's all been far too good a time to want it to be over quite yet. (I may have a very different opinion in a week's time).

Either way, Paris ended up being a blast, not least because we met up with Vix and let her show us her version of a good night out, which was surprisingly similar to our usual, except that innocent bystanders would have not understood quite how obnoxious we were being if they didn't speak English.

I still don't have enough time to blog properly, but here's a taste of the evening with a couple of selected photos:

...For All The Bitches Out There...

I'm about to head to Paris for the night, and then London tomorrow (hopefully), however I couldn't leave the continent without providing some new euro trash for you to snack on.

The clear gem of the collection this trip is by someone calling herself "Discobitch". We're still not sure where she's from, as she 'sings' in both French and English extremely poorly, but between the trashy video and the retarded but catchy dance track, we are in heaven:

Other winners include the latest from Mylene Farmer (decent track but brilliant video) and the new one from Eric Prydz, which has a great beat but wins extra points for inaccuracy and insensitivity regarding the Native American culture.

No Respect

Well I'm currently in France, mostly relaxing, and drinking enough that I would normally consider it partying, but in a civilized manner and with cheese that somehow means we're just being really sophisticated.

Nothing much to report, although we do have some great pictures already that will be posted at some point. Amsterdam was a blast, and as seen in this photo that recently surfaced, I still have no respect for even the most sacred of cermonies and cultures...but I'm not the only one:

More to come eventually, if i can drag myself away from the French wine and Russian vodka...

Seriously? Did You Say That?

Still loving my holiday, and Sri Lanka was amazing. Between great food, playing with elephants, and getting some serious sun by the pool, there's not much to complain about.

But as always, I can think of something. The first night in Sri Lanka, Emla and Presto decided they were going to have a big night. I was exhausted from the travel and the jetlag, and shuffled off to bed around midnight. The two of them, on the other hand, decided to keep going until around 6 in the morning. And they still managed to meet me for breakfast at 9.30am. Impressive.

Emla put on a good face, but by the afternoon she was feeling ill. That's expected, of course. What annoyed me, however, was that she committed one of my top alcohol-related crimes -- at one point during her suffering, she actually said "Ugh...maybe it was something I ate."

Um, no. I'm guessing it's more likely it was one of the 1) 8 pints of beer you drank, 2) 6 glasses of whisky, or 3) 5 hours of sleep you didn't get. To suggest it might have been "something [you] ate" is almost an insult to the very power of alcohol, and I personally won't stand for it.

2-minute Review of Singapore

I flew in around midnight, went straight to my hotel. Overslept, cutting into the time I had planned to use to take a stroll around the city. Was about to finish breakfast when I saw that they were setting up an omelette station, so weighed seeing a new city against my new option, and chose to wait for an omelette. Yes, really.

But from my 5 minute walk around the block, it's officially the only clean and orderly Asian city I've been to, and the absolute lack of poor people in public makes me want to considering moving here in my later years.

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

Another quick one, since my flight doesn't board for a few minutes -- I was sleeping on the flight from Sydney to Singapore when I woke up to the sound of an arguably male flight attendant yelling "Miss! Miss! Are you okay?! Miss! Are you okay?!". Guessing from the fact that the woman in question was sprawled out unconcious on the floor, I'm guessing the answer to that was probably "no", had she been in any condition to answer.

The whole situation annoyed me for several reasons. First, can't a brotha get some sleep on a long haul flight? Second, the flight attendant's voice. I can't stand Asian accents (call me racist, I don't care) and overly flamboyant gay voice isn't acceptable. The combination, and at a loud volume, was aggravating at best. And finally, I don't believe in fainting. It's the kind of thing that happens in movies. Or to overly dramatic people who want some attention. I'm guessing her husband was more interested in the latest Cameron Diaz movie than talking to her, so she decided to put on a show. Whatever, lady.

Here I Go Again...

So it's the day I leave on my month long trip around the world. For those who didn't already know, the itinerary includes:

• Singapore
• Kandy, Sri Lanka
• Colombo, Sri Lanka
• Chennai, India
• Amsterdam, Netherlands
• Brittany, France
• Paris, France
• London, UK
• Yorkshire, UK
• NYC, USA
• SF, USA

...and then back to Sydney.

My flight is in a few hours, so naturally I have not only failed to finish my laundry and pack, but I haven't even bought the suitcase I want so that I can travel in a little more style. This all occurred to me yesterday, but I still decided to spend my entire evening in a bar throwing myself farewell drinks instead of taking care of any of that.

Gonna head off and do it all that now, but if I'm quiet for a few days or even a couple of weeks, there's my excuse.

So Much For Professionalism

As much of a douche bag as I can generally be when I'm out partying, I tend to tone it down just a touch when I'm with work people, believe it or not. Make no mistake, I am still completely offensive and most people would never say half of the things that come out of my mouth if they were in professional company, but I'm nowhere near as bad as we all know I can be.

I continued to behave on Friday night when I was in Melbourne and drinking with a few people from our Sydney and Melbourne offices. We'd been in a boring workshop all day, and needed to let off a bit of steam. For me, this meant having a few cocktails and telling a racist joke or two. For one of my Melbourne colleagues, this meant she should get completely sloshed, spend half the night insisting that she is my new best friend, and then get frisky in a bathroom with the friend of one of our other coworkers.

This was the conversation that we endured in a taxi going from bar #2 to bar #3:

Melbourne colleague: Oh my god, he was so hot. And such a good kisser.

Zander & other coworker: Uh huh.

Melbourne colleague: And you would not believe how quickly he got my shirt off in the bathroom. I didn't even know what had happened!

Zander & other colleague: Nice.

Melbourne colleague (to cab driver): Oh my god, I'm not offending you am I? I don't want to, like, offend your culture and stuff.

[cab driver remains silent, probably calling on Allah to strike her down in a fit of rage]


To her credit, she did drink and dance with us until almost 3am without dinner, around which time we left her standing on a curb with her love interest for the night while we headed back to our hotel room to die a slow and painful death. Needless to say, I thought she was fantastic and can't wait to hang out with her again.

Exhibit A

Some photos have surfaced from Thursday night's fashion party thingy. Conclusion: I am still an asshole.

On A Roll

I had told myself I would take it easy in the final stretch to my world tour, however it is now Thursday, I am about to head out for another fashion week party that will be my third night of drinking in a row.

This is all sure to be something I will regret tomorrow morning at 7:30am when I'm boarding a flight to Melbourne to sit in a workshop for 6 hours, only to drink even more once the sun shows any sign of going down, and come back on Saturday feeling even worse...and just in time to meet friends at a pub.

I'd ask someone to knock some sense into me, but I'm having way too much fun.

Surely There's An Award For This Sort Of Thing

Just wanted to share my shining moment from the weekend -- on my "quiet night", Saturday, I was at a club around 2am, talking to some friends at the bar. I was so consumed by my own hilarious story that I didn't see the guy walking behind me with a tray full of drinks, and definitely knocked all of them over, although he did manage to save something resembling a rum and coke that ended up swimming in cheap beer.

You'd think they would have banned me from the more popular nightspots by now...

My Night With The D-List

After being so well behaved for the beginning of the week, I decided I had earned a few drinks by Wednesday night. The event I had been invited to didn't start until 6.30, and so I harangued a few colleagues into killing some time at a bar near work with me. None of them had really wanted to come, and I promised to let them leave after 2 drinks, so considering I left before 7pm, I was surprised to hear that two of them ended up partying until after midnight, and now blame me for leading them astray. Pussies.

Anyway, the highlight of the night was a fashion week party at Cargo Lounge. I had primarily wanted to go because there were free drinks, and the host is one of the main personalities on Australia's Next Top Model, so I'd hoped they would be filming the new season of the show at the same time, and maybe we'd get to see some of the new girls trip and fall off the runway.

The result was even better -- I spent the night surrounded by girls from the last couple of seasons of the show. I also may have dropped and broken a champagne glass on one of their feet while talking to her, but considering I think she's weird and alien looking (the one on the right in the image below) and never should have gotten her own show, I actually didn't feel that bad.


The night ended with me sharing a taxi back home with a couple of very drunk Irish people who I'd met at the party and happened to live on my street. I may have plans to attend their BBQ on the weekend, as they've texted me already. If only I could remember their names.

Can't Wait To See The Wedding Photos

I'm only reinforcing my official Bitch status with this one, but when I got this in the mail last week I simply had to take pictures and email them to various people around the world, and now I've decided to blog about it as well, because this sort of tackiness can't just slip under the radar.

After some 10 years or so of doing as close to nothing as should be possible if not an actual paraplegic, my lovely cousin in Jamaica has decided to get married. It makes sense, considering getting married and squirting out babies has been a chosen method of legitimizing women doing nothing for centuries. (I'm only kidding ladies, don't get all feminist on me now.)

Anyway, regardless of how much free time a girl might have to come up with unnecessary wedding expenditures, I still don't consider it an excuse for this:



In case you are blinded by the cheap gold packaging (it took me a few minutes to process what I was seeing as well), it actually opened up to contain a plastic scroll with the wedding details on it. I assume that's some sort of reference to religion, since the original wedding announcement kept saying something about how they met through God, which is pretty much the opposite of how I ever meet any romantic interest, unless by "God" they actually mean "a bottle of Grey Goose and a case of beer", in which case I am so on the same page. Or should I say scroll.

Reactions to these photos have ranged from sheer disgust to giddy and emphatic insistence that I attend the wedding and take photos because "if this is the invitation, can you imagine how awful everything else about the wedding is going to be?!" Needless to say, they will be lucky if I purchase half a set of coasters off the registry.

I'll probably go to hell for this blog post, but I figure I'll write it anyway based on the fact that:

1. Nothing that interesting really happened to me this weekend (other than a friend getting kicked out of a club after we drank about 3 bottles of wine - who could have seen that coming)
2. I don't think anyone in my Jamaican family reads this blog
3. Going to hell would probably still be a better option that actually going to this wedding.

I Would Never Wear Those Shoes

Well there have been more updates on my antics from Saturday night, a.k.a the greatest night of my life that I don't remember (the highlight being that I apparently got an entire birthday party of 25 people kicked out of a bar where we had a reserved area...something about "strip dancing"), but I've decided not to dwell on such things as they're all in the past.

Instead, just thought I would share a quick announcement that Google Maps has finally started up the Street View feature for Australia this week, and we are already able to appreciate the subtle nuances of the Australian lifestyle:


I should probably be a little more concerned by the fact that when I sent this out, every single person to respond asked "Is that you??", but once again, I won't dwell on such things. Everyone have a lovely weekend.

Facebook Message Of The Week

"Hey Zander! Really great to meet you on Saturday night. Never met anyone who knew all the words to every R&B song ever haha. How did you end up? Trashed I hope."


What my new BFF here doesn't seem to realize is that was already trashed beyond belief by the time I got to my second party of the night, and even after looking through as many Facebook photos as I could find, I still don't think I could recognize this person or anyone else from that evening with a gun to my head.

It All Evens Out

After having such a ridiculous Thursday night, I forced myself to head home after only 4 beers on Friday night, even though I had gotten a second wind and probably could have kept going. Being at home on a Friday night still utterly depresses me, but the knowledge that I would be starting early on Saturday helped me hold on.

And Saturday did not disappoint. I met up with Marina to stop by the bottle shop and head to a BBQ in Paddington, where the host was serving the most dangerous sangria I think I've ever encountered. Despite tasting like fruit punch, it apparently contained red wine, vodka, rum, tequila, and banana liqueur, and after about two glasses I was already light-headed.

I don't remember much beyond that -- I stopped into a friend's place for a glass of wine, and then headed to someone else's birthday at a bar, before we all went to his place and danced and acted like dickheads until a time in the morning I would be hard-pressed to identify. I also have a vague recollection of chugging white wine directly from a bottle, but since there are no photographs to prove it (just yet), I might just pretend it never happened.

I didn't leave my apartment on Sunday, and 94% of my time was spent laying on the couch and ignoring phone calls. And after about 12 hours of sleep, I'm feeling quite fresh again, and considering stopping in for "just a couple" with Busty this evening. It's all about the rebound.

Signs You're In For A Painful Hangover

• The bar you're in has a Thursday night special that gets you a meal and a 40 oz beer for $10
• None of the wait staff blinks (or even hesitates) when you order your 7th bottle of wine or champagne, even though you can barely hold yourself up at the bar
• In a room of 200 people, you and your friends are the only ones dancing...wildly
• You wake up with a woman's change purse in your coat
  
• The following mementos are in your pocket:

For the love of god, someone let this day be over. I can barely see the computer monitor anyway.

Money, Cash, Hoes

This is purely a post to gloat about the fact that I went and got my taxes done the other day, and while hoping for a return around the 5k mark, it actually came in at about $7,000. I tried to conceal my glee from the accountant who gave me this fortuitous news, however I have never come so close to dry humping someone whose name I couldn't have remembered with a gun to my head.*

It doesn't actually leave me with a ton of cash to play with, but at least it spares me the image of myself begging for spare change in the office so that I can afford lunch when I get back from my month-long vacation..

*This statement is an absolute lie.

Shut Up And Die

Okay, I think I need to make a confession. One that may make me somewhat unpopular here on the interweb. But I have to say it -- I can't stand Rihanna. That's right -- despite the fact that the entire world has been sucking at her teet for every single bit of pop crap that might dribble out, I just want to punch her in the face.

This confession was so much harder to publish after being intimidated a few weeks back by Cristin's "Ode To Rihanna", as I like to call it. That is easily one of my least favorite Rihanna songs (I have tried several times to listen to it the whole way through and simply can't do it) and yet there it is, at the top of the charts, along with everything else she even farts on.

I even had so much trouble attempting to find a truly bad picture of this girl that I had to settle for a doctored one that mocks a facial flaw so obvious (her "fivehead") that it seems pointless to even mention it. Either there is a team of chimps that has been trained by DefJam Records to constantly prowl the internet for unattractive photos of Rihanna and somehow remove them, or she actually looks that good all the time. How irritating.

I didn't always harbour such a dislike for her -- I absolutely loved "Pon De Replay", her first song, even when it seemed like it was destined to be a one-hit wonder. And anyone who claims they didn't think "S.O.S. (Rescue Me)" was a fantastic party song is most likely a terrible liar, and at least this I know Cristin would probably agree with.

But then came a few painful songs, including the absolutely awful "Unfaithful". I generally think that any song I know I could improve upon must be complete crap, and the vocals a recording of someone murdering an old cat. And most importantly, I saw Rihanna in concert -- for someone who was just establishing herself as an artist, I was pretty sure she could have made a little more of an effort to a) sing live and b) at least PRETEND to be somewhat humble, a.k.a. not look at everyone around her, including the audience, like we were a stale collection of turds.

I also think everything from this new album is kind of generic crap, including "Umbrella" (annoying), "Shut Up And Drive" (painfully stupid), "Take A Bow" (whiny), and that song with Ne-Yo which sounds like every other song that Ne-Yo has ever done. I almost wanted to like "Don't Stop The Music", and might have succeeded if it weren't for the already unoriginal and overused "mama say mama sa mama coo sa" which makes me want to slap various songwriters silly.

And so, you can imagine my annoyance this week when I realized that I might genuinely like her new one "Disturbia". I still have no idea what she's talking about and I'm afraid to look up the lyrics in fear of suddenly hating it, but it now resides on my current iPod playlist, and will remain there until I either get tired of it or find a reason to despise it along with everything else she's done lately.

Rant over.

Half The Man I Used To Be

This weekend was really just another reminder of how old I'm getting.

I made sure to take Thursday night off from drinking, as I knew I had a lot going on Friday and Saturday.

Friday night I started drinking in the office, per usual, and then went to dinner with my colleagues before a bunch of us headed to a small agency party with both free beer and an intimate acoustic performance from Faker, who is currently one of the more popular Aussie bands on the charts.

Not one to be starstruck, I generally talked and acted like a dick throughout the entire set. This included a clapping competition with a coworker, arguing with the coworker over if the lead singer was checking me or him out (most of the band is gay), and when they got ready to perform their biggest hit and everyone else clapped and cheered, I decided to yell out "NEVER HEARD OF IT!" even though it had been stuck in my head all day.

This was followed by drinks at a bar and then dancing at a club, where around 2am I decided 10 hours of drinking was just about enough, and I grabbed some pizza and headed home.

And thus, I ended up feeling absolutely horrible on Saturday morning, but had already committed to start drinking at lunch. I lasted around 10 hours, but come midnight at my former flatmate's 30th, I hit a wall (no, not literally) and couldn't even imagine drinking more beer or even having to talk to my friends anymore, and I went home.

This just reminds me of the days when we were all 22 and could party all night and then go to work with barely any sleep and look and feel pretty close to fine. Now I can't even go to 2am without whining about it for 3 days. Somebody euthanize me.

Must Be Funny, In A Rich Man's World

I had hoped to have a relatively quiet weekend, but I suppose it goes without saying that I didn't manage to do anything of the sort. There was one birthday and 4 bars on Friday night (according to reliable sources), a dinner party and then birthday drinks on Saturday night, and more birthday drinks on Sunday.

As I walked home on Sunday, I felt like I finally had just a glimmer of understanding of how a fat person's mind must work. Despite telling myself that once Belle left Australia, I was going to go on a financial diet, I either found excuses to spend unnecessarily, or simply got too drunk to care. And there's the feeling that once you've started, you may as well keep going. Minus some $400 later, all I was left with was the shame and disgust. With the prospect of 3 more friends celebrating their birthdays this weekend (clearly October is a popular time for old people to decide they want babies), I doubt my ATM card will go unused for more than a few hours at a time.

I've never been one to be overly concerned with money. There always seems to be enough there, and although I haven't checked it since I moved to Australia, I imagine that my credit rating is close to perfect.

However, the last few months have been excessive, even for me. I was spending large for the first half of the year, even though I managed to avoid international travel until June, which is usually where most of my money seems to go.

And then, it was June. Between airfare, shopping, drinking, eating, taxis, and whatever else, I imagine that I spent around $4000 on 10 days in NYC. A couple of weeks later, Belle arrived in Sydney, and apart from taking her to some of my favorite bars and restaurants in a desperate (but successful) attempt to impress her with Sydney, we also took a few days to fly up to Port Douglas, which would have cost me another $1500 or so.

In what I wish was my last act of idiotic spending for the year, I spent almost $4500 on a round-the-world ticket for 4 weeks in September, two of which I am required to take without pay. And over the next couple of weeks I will have to buy one more flight, plus 4 sets of train tickets. This doesn't include the hotels for Sri Lanka and India, the car rental in the UK, and of course all of the shopping, eating, and drinking in all 6 or so countries I currently plan to visit. It's safe to say that I will be returning from this trip completely destitute and unable to carry on my life in any recognizable fashion.

Fortunately, fate has stepped in and given me a few helping hands. Earlier this month, I received a check for about $600 from my insurance company, because they've been purchased by some other company. I don't really understand how that entitles me to anything, but I was happy to deposit it into my account.

And then a few days ago, I actually received a $300 stimulus check from the US government, despite the fact that I haven't lived there for almost 3 years now, and haven't paid any tax as a result.

Combined with my recent raise and a hopefully similar Australian tax refund to last year of around $5000 or so, I can only pray that I can keep my head above water long enough to learn how to budget starting some time in October.

In the meantime...can you help a brotha out? (PayPal account for donations will be set up shortly.)

It's Never Too Late...

I absolutely love to read. Unfortunately, it also takes me an extraordinarily long time to read any book.

I have plenty of excuses for this. I'm not actually a slow reader by any means, however the amount of time I manage to devote to reading is embarrassingly tiny. If I'm at home, I find it hard to sit down and read a book when the TV and internet are right there, and I often try to read a bit before I fall asleep at night, but I generally last about 2 paragraphs before I can literally do nothing to keep my eyes open any longer.

This means that the only time I read is on the bus. And only in the mornings, because my brain tends to shut down around 4pm and becomes available exclusively for insulting people and talking about myself (and then only with constant infusions of cheap Australian beer). To add to the pressure of completing an actual book, I also have to read my Time magazine each week. And so, this person who "loves to read" ends up spending 30 minutes a week reading, at most. (The actual amount of time reading might actually be less considering I have an unstoppable need to check out and evaluate each and every person who gets on the bus, rather blatantly as well.)

Given all of the above, I should have foreseen issues when I started to read The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. Even if the book wasn't heading for 700 pages long with tiny font, I had been told by several people that it was "such a good book, but the first 500 pages are kinda boring".

I started reading this book in April. So when I found myself still trying to make my way through the same book in early July, I started to get a very real complex about the people on my bus route actually thinking I was mentally disabled. Granted, I'm pretty sure most of them seem to be satisfied with staring at a pole each and every morning, and have probably never even attempted to read anything more complex than Famous Weekly, but that did nothing to make me feel better.

And so, the reason for this rambling blog post is that I am oh so proud to announce that after a concerted effort during my few days in Port Douglas, I have actually finished The Blind Assassin. At this point I don't even care if it was good (I suppose I found it entertaining overall, although I had determined all of the supposed "twists" when I was still in the first boring 500 pages), but it's no longer my mark of shame in the mornings and I'm not sure any words can describe my sense of relief.

As a mental break, I've now started reading the latest from David Sedaris, which I am sure I will not only find amusing, but will probably be a very light effort in the reading department. Now I only have to worry about laughing to myself at 8am in the morning, and I will take insane over retarded any day.

Really, He's Just Another Creepy Guy In A Hat

I am thoroughly annoyed these last few days, mostly due to the "celebration" of World Youth Day here in Sydney all week. I use quotes around "celebration" because I'm not sure how appropriate that word is for what has to be the most unappealing and boring half million people that have ever descended on what should otherwise be a raucous and drunken city.

Tuesday was pretty painful, with so many Catholic pilgrims walking down the street outside my office that I was actually concerned I might snap and tackle several of them to the ground. It's not their religion or faith that bothers me so much. And I haven't loved the constant singing and religious chanting, but that hasn't been the clincher either. It's surprisingly been the absolutely awful way each and every one of them is dressed. Seriously people, you haven't seen this many pairs of tapered jeans since the early 90's, and paired with the hideous orange, red and yellow backpack they've all been equipped with, it's all just a little too much for my only somewhat fashion conscious eyes.

And so, since today is when the Pope himself will be getting off a ferry and walking down the street right outside my building, while all 500,000 of these asshole groupies follow him all afternoon, I have opted to "work from home". As of 1.37pm today, this has consisted of getting out of bed late, going for a long swim, sitting in the sauna for a bit, and then splitting my time between eating and cleaning my apartment. My company definitely got its money's worth today.

Now I'm off to a boozy lunch with a colleague who has found herself in a similar situation, but if I'm home before my dinner plans this evening, maybe I will use all this free time to post again on my somewhat neglected blog.

Life How It Should Be

The weekend in Port Douglas was pretty much perfect. As much fun as New York was, there was pretty much nothing truly relaxing about my time there, so a weekend of minimal partying was just what I needed.

After arriving there late Thursday night, we spent Friday morning on the beach, before heading into town for some food and then drinking ourselves silly all afternoon. My big mistake there was not taking into account the fact that Belle a) isn't used to Australian style drinking and b) is about 3 feet tall. By 7pm she was too drunk to make sense of anything going on around us, and we had to grab her a coffee and head back to the hotel room, where she passed out by 8pm.

Saturday was spent on the reef where we snorkeled, ate tons of food, and made a few friends, including a chick from London who lives in Sydney. She joined us for dinner and drinks that night (along with a friend of mine who happened to be in town) but we managed to keep things civilized.

On Sunday we'd had a mild inclination to head to the rainforest nearby, but it essentially came down to choosing between that or a couple of hours at a spa getting massages and facials. I'll let you guess which option won out.

So now I'm back in Sydney with even less motivation than I had last week, which I didn't think was possible. I'm also in the process of booking my next vacation, which will involve being in 8 countries on 4 continents over the course of 4 weeks. Because why do anything half-assed.

Yes, Another One

That's right, despite just getting back from NYC around 2 weeks ago, I'm going on another vacation -- flying up to Port Douglas this evening with Belle, who is visiting from LA.

Not that I've been blogging with abandon lately, but at least this time I have a valid excuse. See you in a few days.

Huh? "Dignity"? What?

I knew the weekend wouldn't be particularly respectable when I had this MSN conversation with a my work friend at 3pm:

Coworker: i'm bored

Zander: same...i'm officially not doing anything work-related until monday

Coworker: pub?

Zander: pub.


Needless to say, we were both drunk for the 4.30pm Friday meeting (where we drank more) and in fine form by the time we finished up at another bar around 8ish. Fortunately, it still ended up being a quiet-ish night.

Saturday, not so much. I started at 1pm at a lawn bowls birthday party, stopped into a bar for a couple of hours with some other friends, and ended up at The Retro from 8pm onwards for a friend's farewell bash.

The Retro is one of those ridiculously tacky places that plays 80's and 90's music (or basically, anything you should be embarrassed to love), so I spent the whole day beforehand telling everyone how I was totally just going to stop in to show face and then leave as soon as possible. Naturally, I ended up singing and dancing along for hours, have absolutely no recollection of how or when I got home (although the time I can figure out from all of the unintelligible text messages I apparently sent), and woke up still drunk and wearing a glowstick band around my wrist.

The photos have begun to surface on Facebook, so I may as well share one here before retreating into myself for a few days before the stench of shame has faded:

Ouch

Easily my favorite moment from all of Saturday night was around halfway through, when I looked up and saw my coworker Chrissy dancing on the stage, across the ballroom. I took off my glittery silver hat and waved it in the air to get her attention.

Upon seeing me, she waved back, clearly excited...and then dropped out of view. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in a room full of 2,000 of our colleagues, she fell off the stage.

At first I was a bit shocked and concerned, and headed straight over to where she would have fallen. Not seeing here there, I went to our table, where she was sitting at a chair while another team member asked if she was okay. She was a bit bruised, but mostly fine, not including the fact that one of the straps on her dress had completely broken when she apparently fell right into the middle of a circle of people dancing.

And so, I did what any concerned manager would do in that situation -- I literally fell down on the floor and laughed until I cried. All while she sat there glaring at me. Later on, after she'd recovered a bit, she said to me "Zander, of all the people who could possibly have seen that happen to me, you definitely would have been my last choice. I hate you."

She totally meant that in an endearing way, though.

While you ponder if I'm deluding myself or not, here are the pictures from Saturday night.

*Sophistication not required

This Saturday was our annual ball. Last year we were really able to let loose with the Gotham City Black & White Ball theme, which is probably part of the reason we ended up with a bit of a boring theme this year: Sparkle & Sophistication.

I personally chose to dispense with the sophistication and focus purely on the SPARKLE, and I think I did pretty well considering I purchased my accessories only hours before the event:




To add to the obnoxiousness (is that a word? I feel like I should know the answer to that), I also bought a small container of glitter, and once everyone was drunk enough, dumped it over a couple of my colleagues. Needless to say, we've all since been picking glitter out of our hair, clothes, and beds. And everyone hates me. Per usual.

NY Style

I have long maintained that despite how much of a drunken moron I am in Sydney, I was much more of a drunken asshole in New York.

Of the many times I displayed that character trait over the past 10 days, I'm pretty sure that Thursday night was my shining moment.

After drinking far too much vodka in a short space of time, I met some friends at a bar where there happened to be a drag show on that night. A friend ended up on stage, so I pulled out my camera to take a picture. Upon seeing this, the drag queen yelled at me to "Make [her] look pretty!"

Without missing a beat, my mouth responded with "It's not a magic wand, sweetheart.", to which the entire bar went "Ooohhhhhhh", all prompting the drag queen to completely flip out, come through the crowd, grab me by my collar, and spit in my face.

I don't claim for a moment that I didn't deserve that. I'm more amazed that NYC seems to bring out some untapped reserve of bitchy comments that seem to remain at least slightly concealed when I'm in Sydney. Seems a bit of a waste, really.

Pictures from New York coming soon...

How Am I Still Alive?

Sometimes the amount of energy I'm able to drum up to keep partying amazes even me.

My flight landed a little before 6pm on Friday, and after a quick shower and a change, I proceeded to go to dinner, drinks, and then party until 5 in the morning. And even though I was the one who had just gotten off a 24 hour flight, it was all of the New Yorkers who were dropping like flies. In the end it was only me and Jaya, who always puts in a good effort, but when she went to put down her drink on the table and missed by several feet (essentially dropping it in the middle of the dancefloor, and on someone's foot, no less), I knew that our night had ended.

Saturday was more of the same, and we ended up in Hell's Kitchen dancing like idiots and taking stupid photos.

And Sunday managed to be just as ridiculous, as we decided to hit up Libation for their $19 brunch special that now includes three premium cocktails (usually worth some $15 each) before moving on to a few more bars, including Porch in Alphabet City which apparently turns into an afternoon dance party - with free dumplings. Ah, the randomness of NYC.

As usual, Jaya and I were the last ones standing (or maybe 'swaying' would be more accurate by that point), so we made our pilgrimage to Tribe and ended up dancing at a packed Le Souk after 1am, which was around the time Jaya remembered she actually had a job to go to the next day.

From the looks of it, today (Monday) is the only day I'm here that has even the potential to be a relatively quiet night involving less than 10 alcoholic beverages. Wish me luck.

First Class Comes To Me

One thing a lot of people comment on when I say I'm flying from Sydney to NYC and back is the 24 hour trip each way. I generally don't mind it too much, partially because I've always loved flying, and partially because it's all part of the journey to me. But of course, I like it a little better when I'm able to upgrade and fly in luxury.

Unfortunately, the airline I usually fly decided that I wasn't allowed to use my points to upgrade to Business class because I had supposedly bought the ticket on sale. I'm not sure when an airfare to anywhere that costs more than $2300 started to be considered a bargain, but I figured I would just deal with the situation and save my points for another day.

But then fate stepped in to lend a helping hand. I still ended up in Economy, but the woman checking me in was good enough to get me an exit row seat, and even tagged my bags as Priority just to help me get to the bar a little faster once I finally got to NY.

I also ended up sitting next to a pretty cool guy for the entire trip. I didn't talk to him much on the long first leg as I was busy catching up on movies and taking naps in between, but ran into him during the LAX layover and was a bit friendlier for the LAX to NYC leg. More importantly, an older and ridiculously gay (not to mention hilarious) flight attendant took a liking to him. I almost wanted to be offended that I was completely overlooked, but in all fairness the guy did look a lot like Matt Damon, and was insanely nice (he looks after his down syndrome brother when he's home in Australia, and was on his way to teach kids how to swim at summer camp in Maine), and while I am pretty full of myself, I didn't really ever think I could compete with a guy who seems like a character out of some dippy romantic comedy that tends to set women's expectations of "real men" way too high.

So, the flight attendant started bringing us stuff from first class. This included:

• Fancy desserts
• An entire cheese and fruit platter
• Bottle of port
• Half bottle of Dom Perignon
• First class headphones (supposedly valued at $450, still in my possession)
• Travel kits

He even offered to steal some bottles of booze from Duty Free for us, but at that point we had to decline, since that sounded a little too sketchy.

The one good thing about being the wingman in this situation was that I didn't feel like I personally had to return any favors (not that any were involved, that I know of), since I was just benefiting from association.

And now I'm in NYC, unable to describe how thrilled I am to be here, and have already had the greatest night of dinner, drinks, and dancing, which will likely be blogged about in a few days. Greatest. City. Ever.

Finally...

As mentioned in my last post, work has been ridiculous for the last couple of weeks. My client seems to be getting steadily more demanding AND idiotic, which is a truly powerful combination of traits to have to deal with on a daily basis.

For example - yesterday, I had a meeting to review some creatives with the client. My designer and I had already decided which one we preferred and would recommend, so of course as soon as we pulled the two designs out, my client says he loves the hideous one that we would never want to take credit for.

A ten minute discussion ensued that focused only on the colors used in each design, with him advocating the use of the one that combined an awful orange and light blue theme, while we argued for the simple and striking design.

And after all of that, he actually leaned back and said to us: "Well, I'm actually color blind, so I shouldn't have an opinion." He went on to explain that he actually can't tell any dark colors apart. I found the entire situation so ludicrous that all I could do was attempt to hold in my laughter at how such a person could even get to a mid-level position in marketing.

A few weeks ago, that situation would have sent me over the edge, and I would have returned to the office fuming and ranting. But it doesn't matter. It really doesn't affect my life simply because I am flying out to New York this morning. And no half-witted marketing peon is going to ruin my mood. Updates coming shortly...

Once Again...

...the blog was forgotten. This week has been completely insane, since we had Monday off for a public holiday, and I am not working tomorrow because I will be on a plane back to NYC.

However, this weekend did have a few highlights. Friday, I was exhausted after only a few hours of sleep, but give myself a pat on the back for drinking through my last conference call of the day, polishing off half a bottle of wine at a bar, and then heading to a friend's place for a beer and probably a few insults before going to a friend's birthday dinner.

Once there, I asked some guy I'd never met if he was dating a girl at the table. Turned out they were brother and sister. So much for first impressions. I eventually knocked over and broke a glass of wine while teaching people what "The Spiderman" was in sexual slang, and even went to Trademark for a few beers and a couple of tequila shots before quickly leaving when I realized that I was likely to topple over at any second.


Saturday was pretty low-key -- drinks in Newtown for a few hours, followed by a birthday party at Arthouse, and I got myself home and in bed by around midnight.

And Sunday was probably the most interesting. It looked like I was going to finally have a quiet evening at home -- and it was depressing me to the point of tears. Just when I'd decided I had given up, and the next person to invite me to something that evening was going to get an affirmative answer, I had a call from friends drinking in Paddington, and got to the pub in 20 minutes. Turned out we were celebrating the fact that one of them had been arrested for drunk driving (which they annoyingly call "drink driving" here), but by the time he got to the station and took another test he was just below the limit, and was released.

Once the drunkest of the crew went home, LuLu and I decided to hang out with her friends at the pub, who happened to also be the owners and managers. Far too many free beers and tequila shots later, we got the hell out of there when it became apparent that a couple of lesbians were about to instigate World War III, and didn't care who was caught in the crossfire. Still, I'm a firm believer that free shots and lesbian drama are key ingredients for a perfect night.

And Monday was just more drinking from 2pm onwards. My poor liver.


So now I've just had the craziest week, while barely having 5 minutes to plan who I'm going to be able to meet up with while I'm back in NY after the first time in 16 months, and while some friends have been more than accomodating, others have been less than helpful, which just gives me visions of people giving me shit about not spending enough time with them -- and me not caring.

And although I sound like a bitter jerk at the moment, I am actually ridiculously excited to spend 10 days in NY after so long, so much so that the antics of my Client From Hell are purely amusing at this point. I need to go away more often...

Alive and Kicking

Apologies for the blog silence lately. Apart from a drunken dance party at a friend's place on Saturday after I was finished at work, and then offending a friend's mother at lunch on Sunday, I've actually been pretty quiet.

Last night was my first night being out and social after the weekend. We actually started at lunchtime at Opera Bar for a farewell, moved to our local work pub, and stopped into a Korean BBQ joint for dinner. I made the very wise decision to go home after dinner and turn down karaoke, which I'm thanking myself for having seen the condition of several of my colleagues. One has already admitted he is still drunk and literally looks like he is about to pass out on his desk.

Meanwhile I've got plans tonight and tomorrow, and we have a long weekend coming up, so there may be some stories, although I'm trying to keep things relatively low key, as I should probably be saving my energy (and money) for my trip to NYC next Friday. Fat chance, I know, but it's good to have goals.

Professional Slacker

Fry and Duff flew in on Tuesday night to spend a few nights with me before they headed back to NYC. I somehow managed to ensure that I had not one meeting on Wednesday, so I called in sick, and we decided to take a long boozy lunch at Cafe Sydney, possibly my favorite restaurant here.


This all would have been a little more enjoyable if, while sitting on the bus to the restaurant, I hadn't looked out the window and seen my main client standing directly in front of us. I'm still not sure if he saw me or not, but I figure we can maintain a don't ask-don't tell policy and avoid making things awkward.

Once I was over that, we had a fantastic lunch for a couple of hours, did some drunk shopping, and then headed to the Dolphin to keep drinking wine, making it a 10 hour binge session. Combined with showing up late and leaving early on Thursday and Friday, I don't think I'll be winning employee of the month anytime soon.

And as some sort of sweet revenge from my client, I will definitely have to spend a few hours in the office today to get something ready for a 9am meeting on Monday. Considering I've spent so little time in the office this week and not working on a weekend in months, I'll just get over it. And I'm thinking the ready supply of free beer in the office will help.

Top Form

I can't even bother to try and fully describe the madness of the last week, so here's my laziest attempt.

I flew down to Melbourne on a "business trip" on Thursday night, for one meeting on Friday morning. At the last minute the client tried to tell me that I shouldn't bother, but I'd already made plans to meet up with friends for drinks, so I insisted that I be there for such a valuable meeting, and got on the flight anyway. The client probably wasn't impressed when I showed up hungover to the Friday meeting, having been out drinking and dancing until 3 in the morning, but it's so hard to care at times like that.

I normally would have stayed in Melbourne for another night, but I flew back to Sydney for our work quarterly event, which was salsa dancing lessons (while drinking endless amounts of sangria) followed by tequila shots and cigars. I unfortunately headed off to another bar just before one of our senior managers was sitting on a couch, leaned over to get something off the table, and simply keeled over onto the floor, to the utter shock of anyone in the vicinity.

Saturday was deceptively quiet until I went to some farewell drinks around 7pm, where everyone was about an hour ahead of me on the bottles of wine. After everyone insisted that I accompany them later to a dance club, they started dropping like flies around midnight, so I grabbed my friend Rina and headed to crash my coworkers sister's bachelorette party nearby. I give myself points for not stripping, but I don't actually remember getting home.

And on Sunday, I was close to death, but still managed a few beers at a BBQ before going to a Eurovision party to celebrate all of the weirdness and tacky shit that is Europe and their taste in entertainment. Potentially a proper post coming on that one later.

Anyway, it's now Tuesday, and even if I hadn't had an awful day and want to murder my main client, Fry and Duff are flying in tonight to stay with me for 4 nights, so I'm calling in sick to go drinking tomorrow. Life is good -- my liver, not so much.

Ungrateful

Forgot to mention this before, but as I was so ridiculously hungover last Sunday, I didn't get around to doing much. This included calling my mother for Mother's Day.

And so, I woke up on Monday morning to an email from my mother, to both myself and my brother, with the subject line "Happy Mother's Day" and the message "Thanks for nothing."

Anyone I've told about this simply responds with "Your mom is awesome." I, on the other hand, thinks the woman lives for these moments.

I promptly followed up with an apology phone call and painfully expensive bouquet of flowers to be delivered the next day, with an essence of guilt included.

(My brother said he had mailed a card, which eventually arrived at my mother's house on the other side of the Atlantic having been postmarked for one day before Mother's Day. When this was mentioned he promptly denied that he had waited until the last minute to send the card, which I find hilarious since there's hard evidence to the contrary.)

Isn't It Great...

...how going over to a friend's new apartment to check it out and have a glass of wine can turn into a drunk two person 90's dance party in the blink of an eye?

Ouch.

Left Just In Time

I was rather proud of myself for not drinking for an entire 4 and a half days last week, before realizing that if that's considered an achievement, I might actually have a problem.

That all left me not particularly in the mood to drink during the weekend, but I still managed to drag myself to a couple of bars on Friday night, and then out for what I knew would be a big night on Saturday. You know you've taken a wrong turn somewhere when a girl you literally met a couple of minutes before is telling you about the aftermath of the first time she tried anal sex. It takes a lot to leave me speechless, but I simply had to end that conversation with "I'm sorry, but I am not discussing this with you right now.", and headed back to my friends.

I hung out with that marginally more civilized group for a few more drinks, moved onto a seedy club in the Cross, and then decided it was best that my night come to an end, since I was spending the next day with my family and didn't want to show up looking too awful. (I still ended up taking a two hour nap on their couch though.)

The highlight of the night that I'm actually thrilled I missed, however, was that apparently just after I left the group of girls I was with, one of them decided to get a meat pie (it's an Aussie thing), and another one reacted so badly to the smell that she started spewing everywhere. Even better, she informed me of this a couple of days later by writing it on my Facebook wall. And I thought I had no shame...

That Other Dirty Word

I mentioned to my colleague that I was trying not to drink for most of this week due to my ridiculous drunken behavior over the previous weekend. And he had the nerve to tell me that I should try...DETOX.

I cannot stand that word and what it implies for so many reasons, some of them being:

1) I fail to see the point. Oh wow, you get to feel and look great for a few days. And then you go back to your old habits, and look and feel like shit all over again. Rock on.

2) I absolutely hate it when otherwise fun and boisterous friends decide they are going to detox, therefore depriving me of a drinking buddy. It's just utterly selfish, really.

3) In my professional medical opinion, it's just as unhealthy as going on a crash diet. Unless you have the ability to maintain it as a lifestyle (and therefore sacrifice the things that make life worth living), then once you start up again it will be even more of a shock to the system. Just call me Doctor Zander.


Anyway, I had made it FIVE days without drinking (I actually don't remember the last time I did that) and was thinking about holding out until Friday (tomorrow), but now that I've been provoked, I plan to drink as much as I damn well feel like tonight, and feel like crap tomorrow. That'll show 'em.

Unnecessary

My weekend started out alright on Friday night, where I found my way to bed by midnight, and woke up on Saturday feeling quite alright.

So naturally Saturday descended to a level of drunkeness that I have since deemed totally excessive and unnecessary. I woke up on Sunday in a condition I haven't experienced since possibly my 21st birthday, with absolutely no recollection of how I got home. I also had no ATM card, but I'm guessing I just dropped it on the ground somewhere.

I actually don't remember much after around 8pm, which is probably the most appalling part. But I was definitely out partying until after 2am, by all accounts. Apparent highlights include:

"Do you remember when you fell down the stairs and hit your head on that metal pole and you said you were fine but you decided to lay on the ground until the taxi showed up?"

"You almost walked into a tree on Oxford Street, much to the amusement of everyone sitting at a cafe nearby."

"They wouldn't let you into the Colombian so you came and had a slice of pizza and then tried to get in again...and they actually let you in!"

"I don't understand how you got into Iguana..."


Yeah, awesome. I am actually going to try not to drink until Friday. Wish me luck.

Help Needed To Risk Losing My Job

Okay, so this is a cry for help. We've just received confirmation of the theme for my firm's ball this year, and it's apparently Sparkle & Sophistication.

I find this extremely boring. Last year the theme was Gotham City, which resulted in some of the most entertaining costumes I've ever seen at a party. And my main concern is that without proper costumes, people will get boring and just try to look good.

Screw that. As we know, I am completely incapable of taking a party theme seriously. Please refer to my recent wearing of female genitalia on my head at a wig party.

So...what should I wear? A few options have crossed my mind. I could locate one of those Bedazzler things from the 80's and attach cheap plastic rhinestones to an old suit, and look like a tacky jerk who is trying to be sophisticated. Or I could just go completely in the opposite direction, and show up in rags, with a shopping cart and perhaps a strange and hard-to-identify odor.

Suggestions are welcome. And mandatory.

Analysis of a Weekend

For some reason, I feel like doing one of my time line rundowns of my weekend. Keeps things short and punchy, and it's also a lot easier than trying to write full paragraphs.

FRIDAY

4.37pm - Begin drinking in the work weekly meeting.

5.29pm - Leave the meeting a bit tipsy, as usual, and head to the pub with a few coworkers.

8.04pm - The only one left at the pub with the big boss. Get boss drunk and interrogate her about the details of her dating life. Swear not to tell anyone else in the office about it all.

10.12pm - Realize I've been drinking for almost 6 hours on an empty stomach, which is a bit much for a quiet night. Head home, but not before reminding the boss that I now know all sorts of details about her personal life, and it might be in her best interests to ensure I get a good performance rating in the upcoming reviews. Throw in a totally not genuine "Just kidding!" at the end of my warning.


SATURDAY

4.11am - Wake up at this ungodly hour yet again due to my awful insomnia.

6.03am - Decide to go for a swim.

6.48am - Blog about awful experience at the pool.

8.58am - Finish cleaning every inch of my apartment (probably some manifestation of my psychological need to cleanse myself after previously blogged traumatic experience) and decide that it is the last productive and responsible thing I am doing all weekend. Begin plotting ways to balance out all this responsibility with some sort of shenanigans.

10.40am - Make plans to meet Muthy for lunch at the Grand National.

1.07pm - Arrive late for lunch, make up for it by buying the first round of drinks. Briefly envision the downward spiral that surely lies ahead, but get distracted talking about myself.

4.17pm - Inform Muthy that in return for the last round of drinks I bought, I expect her to accompany me to a sex shop to buy something a little more interesting than a regular wig to wear to Brownie's farewell/birthday party that evening.

4.32pm -Agree that as drunk as we are, we could definitely use just one more round of drinks at the next bar we come across before we're ready for sex shopping.

5:02pm - After stumbling around a sex shop named "The Tool Shed" for far too long, and asking the cashiers "DO YOU HAVE ANY FAKE VAGINAS?!" and then after perusing their selection tell them "These are actually rather functional. I was thinking something more decorative." Happen to find the last strap-on latex vagina in the store, and happily pay $27.95 for it. (Bargain!)

5:43pm - Arrive home much later than intended, and rush through showering, eating, and getting dressed, only to inexplicably sit down and have a completely unnecessary beer on the couch before heading out.

6:28pm - Finally get to Brownie's place for the champagne toast and some cake. Everything tastes so much better when you're wasted.

7.30pm - Head down to The Golden Sheaf for the party with my rock mullet wig on, and as each guest arrives, reveal the fact that I have a latex vagina underneath.

9.02pm - Do a shot apparently known as a "Wet Pussy". How disturbingly appropriate.

10.46pm - Tequila shot.

1.42am - After dancing for hours and finally getting kicked out of the top floor, tell the bouncer to "hold on a second" and insist that the whole 2nd floor sings Happy Birthday to Brownie. Bouncer not amused.


SUNDAY

Not really sure what time I got home or woke up, but the odd part is that I felt 100% fine. I even went to a Swans game (some kind of rugby football thing) and totally enjoyed myself. Which means that Sunday was basically some oddity that will never happen again, where I am immune to hangovers and enjoy sports.


So yeah. Great weekend. And I'm not sure I can ever really top going to a bar with a vagina on my head, so I may actually just kill myself any day now since there's nothing more to live for. Just a quick warning.

Trauma

I suppose I should be blogging about being drunk, but other than getting smashed at a client dinner on Wednesday, or delving into the topic of wearing fake plastic vaginas on our heads with my senior leadership team from work last night, I've been really well behaved this week.

No, what I want to talk about is the traumatic experience I went through just moments ago. You see, I've had major insomnia over the last few weeks. This means that no matter how late I go to sleep or how much I drink, I wake up at 4am in the morning. It's awful. But more on that later.

So, I woke up this fine Saturday morning at 4am, and around 6ish I decided I should make use of this time and go for a swim, as I usually only do during the week. I headed down to the pool, swam a bunch of laps, and then decided that since I had all this time I may as well go to the sauna and relax a little. Might even help with my insomnia, right?

After about ten minutes, some fat 75-year old man walks in, wearing blue speedos with some sort of leopard print down the front. Uh, okay. Whatever. People make poor fashion choices, even when it comes to swimwear. I can relate to that. However, that excuse was no longer valid when he donned a little straw hat and some odd-looking gloves, whipped out some massive eucalyptus leaves, and started beating them all over his body. Not exactly the relaxing atmosphere I'd bargained for. But I figured, he'll be done any moment now. No need to look too rude and rush out.

And oh how I regretted that otherwise tactful decision when I looked over again and he was NAKED (except for the hat and gloves, naturally) and still beating himself with leaves. I'm sorry, but would it really have KILLED YOU to NOT brush eucalyptus leaves on your genitals until after I had left the room? Seriously? Is there even a description of how unnecessary that was?

At this point I knew I had to get the hell out, and so I got up to walk out and he looks at me and says in some thick Russian accent (I assume Russian because what other people could be so tacky and oblivious to others), "HOT?"

Um. No. Not hot. At all. Actually, I think my libido may be in hiding for at least a couple of weeks after this one, buddy. I might even suggest that advocates of abstinence take a video of this whole scene and show it to blossoming teenage girls. I don't even think I can eat breakfast for a few hours now. NOT HOT. You fucking weirdo.

Next Up: How Many Babies Could You Eat?

20

Oh, Really?

Surely someone out there knows it's inappropriate to text someone first thing in the morning to tell them that they will have to make a 30 minute presentation to prospective employees about the company?

I am consoled by the fact that this means 20 impressionable young minds will be mine to shape for those 30 minutes. Someone will regret this.

Mission Accomplished, Relatively Speaking

My goal going into the long weekend was to have a quiet one overall. And I have personally credited myself with accomplishing that. Yes, Thursday night was a mess, but that was kind of the plan -- go all out the first night, and chill out for the rest of the weekend. To the right you'll see the only photo evidence from this weekend -- I don't remember that picture being taken, or the name of the girl on the right even though I've apparently met her and hung out with her on more than a few occasions.

As I mentioned, I only had a few drinks on Friday night. But Saturday was interesting. I had one of those days were I only left my apartment twice, for 10 minutes at a time, to buy food. Otherwise, the only person I saw the entire day was my flatmate, who found it strange that I hadn't either gone away for the weekend, or chosen to obliterate my liver and kidneys in a pub somewhere. But it was interesting because it was the first quiet Saturday I've had alone in many many months, and I realized that I still have that college mentality of always having to be out somewhere doing something. One would think that as I rock up to 30, I might actually grow out of it. But I found myself sitting around feeling depressed and like a complete loser, and even made plans to meet friends at the Coogee Bay Hotel. The only thing that saved me from yet another night out was the fact that they didn't start partying until 9pm, by which point my ass had become part of the couch, and I found myself unable to move.

Anyway, this was just a bit of a sad revelation. Twenty-eight years old, and not any more able to deal with a quiet night at home than I was 10 years ago. I promptly compensated for it by heading to a bar for the birthday drinks of someone I'd met once, as it was an excuse to drink for at least a few hours before the weekend was over. If anyone has any idea when maturity will actually arrive, please let me know.

I Love Surprises

So, Thursday night was a complete mess. But I'd kind of planned it that way -- I had several parties to go to, and a crappy week, and wanted to blow off some steam.

My personal favorite moment was getting to the last club, De Nom, where I was meeting some friends. First of all, I walked into the wrong club (again) but at least I realized it was the wrong place before I paid cover.

And then, I arrived at the correct place, informed them that I was on the list, and got a stamp and went in. When I got to the top of the stairs, a girl was asking for money or for me to show my stamp. Which would have been fine, except I had completely forgotten where the guy downstairs had stamped me. I actually stood there looking all over my hands and arms for a couple of minutes, and eventually had to go back down the stairs and ask the bouncer where it was. I would have been more embarrassed if I'd been slightly less intoxicated.


We had Friday off for some memorial day type thing they have here, where most people start drinking around noon at the latest. Alas, I was far too hungover to even leave my apartment before 4pm, and didn't have anything alcoholic to drink until around 9pm. The highlight was probably this conversation:

Zander: Hey, Jono! I was actually at Lo's place for Passover dinner on Sunday night!
Jono: Uh yeah...you told me that last night.
Zander: I saw you last night?!


Which is why I was more than comfortable heading home after my fourth beer, and why I am not hungover at all on this beautiful Saturday morning, something that hasn't happened in many months.

Now to figure out how I'm getting smashed tonight...

Inappropriate Conversation for a Passover Seder

• Vomiting
• Merkins
• Cocaine

For future reference.

My Weekend, In A Nutshell

[Phone rings]
Zander: Hello?
Friend #1: Hey! What happened last night?
Zander: Last time I saw you was at the bar, but you didn't come with us to the club.
Friend #1: Oh okay. Wasn't 100% sure I made it to the bar. But anyway, I'm going there now to see if they have my jacket. We're gonna have a few drinks.
Zander: It's not even noon. And it's Sunday.
Friend #1: Yup. Come meet us.
Zander: No way. I got home at 6am, I have to start drinking at a BBQ at 3pm, and I have a passover dinner to go to at 7pm.
Friend #2: Oh come on, you have to come. That's all fine. The Jews drink.
Zander: Not enough. If the Jews drank as much as I did, Hitler wouldn't have had to gas them.

She's A Naughty Girl With A...Bad Habit

So, I hate to bring out my non-existent prude for a moment, but just thought I would comment on something that I'm just not sure is...right, for lack of a better word.

To give you a bit of context, there was a show that aired here in Australia last year called Summer Heights High, where one comedian plays three main characters at a high school. The show was brought to my attention because one of my colleagues told me that one of the characters reminded her of me -- Ja'mie, the private school girl who does an exchange and attends a public school for one semester, and says things like "I come from, like, a really different environment. We just don't have poor people. Or ugly people. And I, like, don't even understand why someone would even talk to a fat person." So yeah, that was reassuring.

Anyway, another character is Mr. G, a drama teacher who ends up writing and directing a musical about Jessica, a student who died recently from an ecstasy overdose, and the performance includes Jessica being a slut and chasing after massive pills with "E" on them. And the chorus of the song is basically "Ectasy, ecstasy, ecs-ecs-ecs-ecs-ecstasy!"

All well and good -- until they recently released a dance remix of the song, and a video that has fans of the song singing and dancing along. Which you can view here:



My issues with this video:
1) What parents decided it was okay for their 3 year old children to be broadcast nationally singing about drugs and sluts?
2) I'm pretty sure there is at least one person with down syndrome in this video.


I generally love how un-PC Australians are, and it's not that I've ever been overly concerned for the welfare of children or retards, but something about that just seems wrong. Am I just getting old and uptight (it could be part of the whole "gray hair" incident that we do not speak of) or what?

Screw This

I was ready to post something this morning, and then I found my first official gray hair on my head. I am no longer in the mood. Rot in hell, all of you.

Life Lesson #328

Just because "Tequila" and "Tuesday" kind of sound cute together, it doesn't mean the reality is actually attractive in any way. Just some words of wisdom for you guys. No idea what you'd do without me.

It hurts.

At Least I Didn't Sleep In A Park

Another weekend, another drunken mess. I'm actually starting to get a bit concerned that my partying ways have been far too excessive lately, but as long as I'm having fun I don't really see any reason to stop. I'm sure that policy has never backfired on anyone.

Quick recap though -- Friday was a coworker's house party -- they have a huge house, one of the flatmates is a really good DJ, and I was already completely trollied by the time I arrived. I actually wouldn't be able to tell anyone much about the night, but fortunately many pictures were taken, and I'm in around 70% of them. I wish I could guess what time I headed home, but I have no idea. All I know is that apparently a couple of bands that were playing at the Enmore next door came by after their concert, but the general consensus is that I'd probably stumbled home by then.

Saturday I met some friends at the Surry Hills Festival nearby, and then grabbed Brownie so we could head to Busty's "Single and Fabulous" party in Manly to celebrate her new singledom, or "life without a git in it" as she put it in the party invite. Cut to 4am, post much vodka, beer and tequila shots, where I may have been ranting and raving at innocents who just happened to be standing in the taxi rank with us. One girl made the grave error of telling me that she was Canadian to which I may have responded "You should just go back to Canadia! You're just lucky we haven't come in there and cut down all your trees!!!" So yeah, that's one neighborhood I won't be visiting again for a while.

My only redemption (sort of) from that evening is that I ended up better than Brett, who failed to make it back to his Navy base and ended up sleeping in a park for reasons that are still unknown to any of us. He wins.

Alas

I was going to write a proper blog post today...but then I got drunk.

Catch you next week. Or over the weekend if I manage to do something spectacularly assinine.

Didn't Think That Really Happened

I had a pretty crappy start to work yesteday. Came in, read some of the dumbest emails I've ever had, all from different people at the same client, and then dealt with them via the phone and in person, which left me ranting in the office and threatening to quit. Apparently it was just convincing enough that our PA went out and got me a cupcake to cheer me up, and then scheduled a meeting for me to talk to our firm partner, who I will be ranting at this afternoon. Can't wait.

But that didn't really compare to how I managed to finish off the day during a conference call with the same client. As with all conference calls I have in the office here, if someone is on the room with me, we tend to put the call on mute while we make smartass comments about what's going on, or just talk about something personal and completely unrelated. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

Someone had just started saying something shocking stupid, and I looked at my colleague and just said "Oh for fuck's sake." Imagine my unadulterated horror when I looked down at the phone and realized that she had UNmuted the phone moments before without me noticing. Since the client kept talking and didn't seem to acknowledge what had happened, we then had to mute the phone so that we could laugh hysterically for 5 minutes about what a dumbass I was.

It's the sort of thing that I thought only happened in sitcoms and it reminded me a little of a funny FedEx ad I saw recently, so I'm still a little in disbelief. In my favor, the client has yet to say anything about it, so either it's being ignored or it wasn't even heard on their end. Although a small part of me wishes it was...

Devil's Water

On Friday I didn't have any firm plans and decided to meet up with Scuzzy, a friend of a friend who's recently moved to Sydney from New York. All was well and good, and we were behaving like polite adults and all, until my former coworker CamCam finally made an appearance.

CamCam is always trouble, partially because she's naturally mischievous, and partially because she has a thing about ordering rounds of tequila shots until everyone (or at least Zander) is laying on the ground in a stupor.

And so the night continued as any night with CamCam does, with all of us getting smashed, befriending randoms, and then starting a whole new round of tequila shots with our new found friends.

Woke up feeling the pain on Saturday, and eventually went to meet Lou for a blate lunch before Fry and Duff's farewell drinks. Let me tell you, I don't remember the last time it hurt so much to attempt to drink a beer. I made it about 20% of the way through before realizing I might vomit everywhere.

I therefore did the responsible thing and started drinking wine instead.

However, after drinking for 8 hours, I was in that condition where you had so much to drink the night before that there's no amount of alcohol that will actually get you trashed, and so I gave up and headed home by midnight.

So now Fry and Duff, my best friends in Sydney, are gone. I find this thoroughly depressing, but somehow I'm thinking I will manage. Nothing a cold bottle of vodka can't cure...

When It's Time To Go Home

Friend #1: I'm bored of this place, let's go somewhere else.
Friend #2: Let's go to Oxford Street.
Friend #3: Eww, Oxford Street is full of poor people.
Friend #2: I like poor people. They're easy.

Stuff Drunk People Like

I woke up this morning slightly hungover and decided that what I needed for breakfast was a bowl of Easy Mac and a big glass of chocolate milk.

After some careful thought and analysis, I realized that being hungover is a lot like being pregnant. You feel sick in the morning, have odd cravings for food, and you are a little apprehensive about what might come out of your body.

This concludes my deep thought for the day.

Still Not Sure What The Theme Was

I went to some sort of a costume party on Saturday night and ended up dressed as....whatever it is I'm dressed as in the above picture.

The reason I'm so vague on this is because we didn't even start getting dressed until after a "lunch" at Icebergs where Muthy and myself had consumed a bottle of red wine (which I almost never drink) and two bottles of champagne, and then started on the half bottle of vodka I had left from the long weekend. You can just see the vacant look in my eyes, and I'm pretty sure that picture was taken before 9pm.

Needless to say, neither of us remembered much of the actual party, and I believe I got home by almost falling in front of a taxi in the middle of the street and then bribing the driver enough money to forget about the person he was supposed to be picking up a few doors down.

A few of us have pieced together the night as best we could, and Banx has been kind enough to let me know that I apparently "left three voicemails on my mobile phone between 11pm and 2am, each progressively drunker than the last." Why wouldn't you want to be friends with me? I don't know either.