Near Death Experience

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

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

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

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

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

Most importantly, the round of shots was free.

Feral

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Not To Do This Weekend

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

Still Life In The Old Man Yet

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

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

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

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

Professional Time Wasters

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

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

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

Latest opinions on British Airways

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

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

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

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

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

Not To Be A Downer, But...

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

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

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

"No, she's too fat."

While trying out her first walking stick:

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

On being told the name of her first great grandchild:

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

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

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

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

Why, Hello 2011, You Look Familiar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank You, Interwebs

Due to a lack of sleep related to an overwhelming combination of drinking and stress over the weekend (probably more the former than the latter), I had that annoying eye twitch thing that sometimes happens when you're really run down.

After a couple of days, I figured I would look it up on the web and see if there were any little home remedies I should try.

Unfortunately, the first website I found has advised that I may have Tourette's Syndrome.

So yeah, there's that.

If I Must

Although I am quite the self-proclaimed Grinch, I am at least willing to hope that everyone enjoys the next couple of weeks of festivities. I expect stories for the blog, if nothing else.

Guess We're Done Here, Then

Had a brilliant night out with the gang on Saturday, where we started with a dinner that was meant to be the focus of the night. We finished off what little food we intended to eat for the evening, and headed off to the trashy bars around Bondi Beach to get right into it.

Eventually we ended up at a bar called White Revolver, apparently one of the most exclusive clubs in Sydney. We've all been to a place like this - where you have to find the secret, unmarked doorway, and know that the secret password is "dolphin teeth" to be allowed entry. (That's a true story. In this case though, you had to be, or be with, a member who was holding a specific key and know that the entrance to the club was behind a revolving door.)

Turned out to be a brilliant bar playing awesome hip hop for hours on end, and I decided this was easily my new favorite spot in town.

It's a shame, then, that on the way out, Neels had a misunderstanding with the "lady" at the entrance, and called her a "miserable fucking bitch" as we left.

Totally fine. I didn't want to hang out there anyway.

DamnYouTequila.Com

Last night we went to an event where all of the beer and wine was free, the DJ was brilliant, and because it was sponsored by a swim wear company, we were at all times surrounded by hot people in bikinis and speedos. Pretty awesome Thursday.

Of course, not content with enjoying our free booze and having a bit of a boogie, we started in on the Cafe Patron shots from early in the evening.

Juice ended up pulling his first Irish Goodbye in quite a while, and when I texted to ask if he'd gone home I got this response:

"City girls just seem to find our early"

He has subsequently claimed that it may have been a lyric to a song he was listening to at the time. An explanation that makes no sense because a) how would that answer my question and b) even as a song lyric it is still random and nonsensical.

Needless to say, he can't blame this one on auto-correct.

Ugh, This Again

As many of you know, I'm basically a mixed race version of the Grinch. I am annoyed by Christmas music, despise Christmas decorations, and in particular, hate exchanging gifts.

It's not even the religious stuff that I can't stand - I don't believe in that part of it either, but if there are people out there who want to believe that a baby was born to a virgin in a barn and didn't manage to pick up even one bacterial infection in the process, they can knock themselves out.

It's more the commercial bullshit (most of which centers around ridiculous Pagan rituals and mythology and has nothing to do with Christianity) that really grinds my gears, to borrow a phrase from my spiritual leader, Peter Griffin. I'd rather celebrate Thanksgiving two months in a row than have to listen to generally terrible Christmas carols while surrounded by glittering Christmas decorations made out of material even a Russian woman wouldn't wear.

And of course, there are the gifts, which tend to fall into three categories:

1) Generic/pointless - Oh wow, thanks for this gift card. So not only did I have to brave holiday shopping crowds in some horrible department store to fulfill my obligation to purchase something I thought you might like, but now I have to go back to said awful department store to get myself something because as it turns out, you don't even know me that well.

2) Crap I didn't want in the first place - Shit, how did you know I was dying to own the latest Enrique Iglesias album? That is some mighty fine detective work considering I hate that song by him that they won't stop playing on the radio, and I haven't actually purchased music in over a decade. Way to go, Nancy Drew.

3) An incredibly cool/thoughtful gift - This happens like less than 1% of the time, so let's not even spend time discussing.

In the end, the best gift I get each year at this time is a solid amount of money from my mother, who knows that if we are going to honor silly traditions, we may as well be practical about it. Shame I'll probably have to spend that money on presents for you lot.

Brush With Fame

It was a boozy weekend, but that goes without saying in Australia at this time of year.

Friday night was meant to be quiet drinks with a few people at my place, and ended up as a chaotic binge session with far too many people and red wine casualties. Apparently I eventually got drunk enough to tell everyone to get the hell out of the apartment, but fortunately 90% of people were far too drunk to actually remember the incident. Thank you, alcohol.

Saturday was a pub lunch with the family followed by a white party at a posh house of a friend, however given my inadequate recovery time I only lasted a couple of drinks before it was time to call it a night.

Sunday was a long ago scheduled lunch at Bondi Icebergs with some friends, where we thought we'd spend the afternoon pretending to be wealthy and fabulous in the run up to Christmas. While the cocktails and food were all great, the only slight disappointment was the fact that we'd apparently missed Oprah by minutes, and she'd even occupied the table next to us shortly before we sat down. Needless to say, that brief contact with a seat that had recently been in contact with Oprah's ass was enough to make me wonder where my free car was.

Merry fucking Christmas.

This Is How We Do It

This time of year is always a truly brilliant reminder of why life in Australia is so good.

After last Friday's work Christmas party, we're about to head to our third long lunch of the week, and it's not even mid-December yet.

And that is essentially my excuse for not blogging any more this week. (Funny how both drinking and not drinking both end up being reasons not to post here.)

Still Learning

Just because I'm now "in my thirties", doesn't mean that I can't still take on board the occasional lesson in my later years. For example, from my birthday celebrations over the weekend:

Lesson #1

Just a few sips of some awful colored slushy type drink is always a bad idea, and if done directly before taking a photo will result in the appearance that you may have just finished sucking off a leprechaun.

Lesson #2

When you order shots and the bartender pulls out plastic medicine serving cups instead of actual shot glasses, it's time to go to another bar.

Lesson #3

I look hot with tattoos.

Shit List

So today I participated in a charity run that was meant to involve me running on a treadmill in the middle of Sydney for a specific 30 minute time slot.

The run itself went well, and I achieved my goal of running at least 6km in 30 minutes. At that point we were all told to turn off our treadmills and pass over to the next person from our company who would be running for the next 30 minutes.

Except my replacement wasn't there. She just didn't show up. And since my company is the primary sponsor of the event, I basically had to turn the treadmill back on and run for ANOTHER half hour.

I have run for over 10km and I am now sore and nauseous. I also have to attend the work Christmas party in a couple of hours, and will have to summon every last bit of self-control to not throw my drink in the face of the woman who did this to me.

I make no promises.

Fatter By The Minute

Happy Thanksgiving!

Just wanted to check in and assure you that not only did Thanksgiving in Sydney go ahead as usual this year (devolving into a mini-dance party ending after 1am, sorry neighbors!) but we even managed to demolish a bottle of Patron XO Cafe within well under 30 minutes.

We were musing the other day about how a half Jamaican half Scottish New Yorker throws a Thanksgiving dinner in Sydney, attended by mostly non-Americans, to eat food that includes a stuffing recipe that I obtained from a Japanese friend, and then everyone ends up dancing to awful European house music by the end of the night. Drunk on alcohol from New Zealand, Russia, and Mexico.

Imagine how pissed off the Pilgrims would be.

Alcohologic

I met up with Newman for some drinks after work yesterday, and we decided to be responsible and grab some food to go with our beer and wine.

We stopped into a tapas bar, had some great food and a bottle of good French wine. Except once the bill came, we noticed they'd only charged us for a glass, and we may have forgotten to bring it to their attention. Oops.

Instead of appreciating our good fortune and heading home as planned, we applied what I like to call "alcohologic" to the situation, and decided that we clearly had to go celebrate our good fortune by spending the money we'd saved on more drinks at another bar. It made perfect sense at the time.

It's quite similar to the reasoning behind pretty much every night out, where I say I'm going to call it a night and someone negotiates with me, saying that they're going to a bar between our current location and my apartment, therefore I should come along for one more. Forget the fact that a bar being "on the way home" has nothing to do with actually being at home, in bed, and not consuming more alcohol. It's all the rationalizing I need to extend my evening.

So what I'm trying to say is, alcohologic is a beautiful thing, even if it is an ugly word.

Opportunity

I just over heard the big boss say that she's on leave from December 2nd to January 7th.

Guess who's "working from home" for a month...

Avoiding the Hoi Polloi

In an attempt to participate in the snootiest and most obnoxious event happening in Sydney this past weekend, some friends and I went to watch the polo being played in Centennial Park.

While this was my first polo event, I am more than happy to make sweeping generalizations based on my single experience, and explain how these things go. Basically you dress up pretty nice, pay a silly amount of money just for entry to the event, and then overpay for cheap champagne while sitting with your back to the game and judging every single person that walks by. Ridiculous tan lines are part of the package.

Can't wait to do it again next year.