*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.