Sour Fruit, Interior Decorating and Sleeping Bags

Dear readers,
If you have not already realised this; I am completely and utterly insane.
So bear with me ...



Let's start with Friday night.

As usual on a Friday night, I had work til 9. And my housemate R came to pick me up with our friend Mickey (he is a little bit in love with her; yet will happily substitute her for groping me when she's not around... a behavhiour I DO NOT encourage); after work. I ended up finishing at 10 (crazy night at work + overly keen supervisor who still asks me how to run the place = late finish)... YET... being the lovely person I am I decided to still go out and have a drink with them.
"Just one," I thought to myself.
So we went to a club and waited in the line.
Mickey told us that his friend worked there and would get us in.
Fifteen minutes we were still standing out in the fucking cold; and then his friend (Sour Fruit) rang us and said that him and another of Mickeys friends (we shall call him The Short One) were on their way to another club.
So after about a second of considering just staying in the unmoving line we decided to trek on and go somewhere else.
"Just one drink, then I'll go home," I thought to myself again.
Half an hour later we were sitting in the upstairs of the club; knocking back our drinks with a little too much enjoyment.
I was pretty keen to dance a little and go home; so I could rest up and be beautiful for work the next day.

Then... R, Mickey AND The Short One all decided to bail. So I was left there with an increasingly drunk Sour Fruit.
"Fuck it," I said to myself, "I can just ditch him in a bit and get a cab home."
So we decided to go to my favourite club ever; the gay club (which will henceforth be known as Square).

And so we wandered a couple of blocks to Square; got drinks and took to the poles.
Approximately five seconds after we'd got to the dancefloor - the cops came in.
And shut down the club.
Needless to say I was SHITTING myself.
Not only was I totally underage.
I was with a guy I barely new (albeit a nice one); who was taller than everyone else by about a head, shirtless and quite loudly drunk.

Good.

After being drug-sniffed (by dogs... not the cops... sadly, as I quite like a sexy man in uniform) and videod half an hour later we were are allowed to leave.

At this stage it was about 2am.

"I'll go home soon..." I said to myself.

Then we went to some more clubs. And being a bartender, Sour Fruit knew EVERYONE in the existence of everwhere. Which basically just means free drinks. So basically - half my conversations went from well meaning brush offs ...

ME : I'm having so much fun, but I should really go; I have work in the morning...

to this...

SOUR FRUIT : Aww but I just got us more drinks...

ME : Okay... I guess... But after these ones I better go...

Also included in my night was almost getting thrown up on by a hundred drunk chicks dressed up in the most hideous tie-dyed outfits ever (I maintain it was the sight of eachothers clothes and not alcohol that made them need to vom...), getting told to 'be careful of Sour Fruit' by a girl dressed up as a cat (including ears, tail and nose) and Sour Fruit himself dragging me into a bus stop on our way past the interchange and lecturing me on the topic of true love and that it exists etc, for half-a-freaking-hour!
So one club led to another and I ended up getting home at 5:30.

All in all I got almost an hour and a half of beautiful luxurious sleep.
And let me tell you... and hour and a half of sleep is not nearly enough for someone to work an entire shift on.
Not even CLOSE!

Another beautiful thing about my car...  in this weather... apart from my starter motor going at the same time as my clutch and the cold weather not helping either... MY HEATING IS FUCKED >:(   >:(    >:(

This means that I cannot heat myself up, nor can I defogify my windscreen. HELLO! driving along in the cold, wet and rain with my windows down and windscreen wipers flat-chat so I can attempt to see out the front. Just forget about seeing through my rear windscreen... or the side windows for that matter.

Seeing as it is so cold, and my heating is so... well... nonexistant... I have resorted to an awful, awful means of keeping warm.

Ladies and gents, I must from now on; drive whilst in my sleeping bag.
It actually works suprisingly well.
I just unzip the bottom so I can actually press down my barely there clutch and brakes and touchy-as-fuck accelorator, and hey presto, instant warmth.

However, I'm pretty sure that driving around in the stylish purpley-blue sack of warmth has seriously damaged my street cred (ha ha ha...)... That is to say that I'm fairly certain a large percentage of the people who see me in or around my car assume that I
a) live in it
b) am a total bum
c) a crack whore
and probably d) can't even afford a sleeping bag that zips up at the bottom...

Well... desperate times DO lead to desperate measures...




On a slightly more positive note... I am FUCKING KEEN FOR FRIDAY NIGHT. I am not (for once) going out clubbing.I am in fact going to a friend's joint 18th (which is about 6 months overdue and should therefore be about 6 times more awesome than it would usually be... and if you know my friends that means PRETTY FUCKING AWESOME!).

I have spent the last 3 hours of my life starting to prepare the venue (one of the boys just sold their house, which the builder is knocking down; and they still have the key... did anyone say DEMOLITION PARTY!?!?!). Which basically involved cooking frozen pizza and eating icecream out of the tub whilst watching a whole lot of my friends put up plastic and newspaper all over the walls. This has the dual effect of both protecting the walls from any vomit/alcohol/other stains AND making the house look totally fucking awesome. Almost like a Haunted House Ride. But with less ghosts and more loud music and drunk people.

If it's not fucking amazing I will eat some of the 3 month old Butter Chicken sitting in my freezer.
And no one wants that... do they?

Ciao ciao Amigos. 

I'll fill you in on every atrocity this event has to offer...

If...    you're lucky ;) 



Gay Bars, Groping and General Confusion (and a Phone Sex Operator?)

Still about to die, as my immune system totally disagrees with my love of clubbing ...

Anywho :)


I love gay bars.
The gay clubs continue to be the only place I have not yet been groped by random strange men. And I don't really mind being groped by random strange men every now and then. It's the ones that actually expect me to consider them acceptable suitors that disgust and scare me.

The main one in my city comes complete with fabulously gay bouncers and bar staff, and wonderfully drug fucked old gay men who dance like they're vying for a role in Saturday Night fever. It also is home to a UV light stage/podium area (trust me, when you've had a few drinks - your teeth glowing in the dark is FUCKING AMAZING), lounges, stripper poles and cages.

If I hook up in one of those cages (albeit with a GUY - I still remain entirely straight); my life will be complete.

Also; the generosity of Le Gays still continues to inspire and suprise me. Even though I am very obviously a girl (I tend towards the current fashion of short/tight/low-cut when it comes to clubbing dresses) - I will almost always get given lovely free drinks from lovely generous men.

I especially love the fact that I end up with the same amount of money I go out with because
a) I am a girl; therefore everyone pays for me
b) I am the youngest; therefore everyone pays for me
c) Even when I have money, if I hunt around in my bag whilst trying to find said money to buy shots for me and 8 of my friends in said gay club - the fabulous guys there still shout us all drinks (even though I insist I DO have the money in my bag)

... and they don't even try to put anything in my drink or attempt to put their hands up my skirt. They just smile (their gorgeous smiles), occassionally give me a peck on the cheek; and go and hook up with another beautiful gay man.

It's enough to make me a little bit jealous.

That being said - I have enough gay friends that I could definitley become a one woman gay dating agency. My friends call me the Fag Hag for a reason (they really are such pleasant people, my friends).



Speaking of which... I now have a room mate. And it's fucking awesome.

My bedroom is basically a jumping castle. There is not a single inch of carpet showing in the entire joint. It is literally a blowup mattress surrounded by my bed and chest of drawers. You can barely open the door enough for us to get out due to limited floor space. I love it! The only problem is that the jumping castle is un-jumpable as I'm preeeeeetty sure airbeds should not under any circumstances be jumped on.
LAME!


R moved in with me on Tuesday; and she'll be staying until she can find a house of her own. She may end up living with Crazy T (another one of my friends, who is totally crazy and has nowhere to live because his girlfriend of 4 years broke up with him and kicked him out of their house... after she told him she's been cheating on him for 6 months. Poor chicken). This is mainly motivated by the fact she is a poor Uni student (although she makes WAY more than most of my friends that work full time); and as Crazy T works for the Army, half their accommodation gets paid for by the government.

Lucky shits. Oh well, I guess I'll be going to A LOT of parties when they're moved in.

Have I mentioned they're BOTH crazy ?!?!
Fucking awesome, but crazy.

And the beautiful thing about living with R... she is my number one go-out-with friend. She is about 2 months older than my ID says I am - and totally up for dancing and drinking with pretty much everyone.

Which means, we can go out whenever the fuck we want - no real organizing involved. And we can both stumble into a taxi and drag ourselves into the house together - and complain together when we have to get up for work at 7 in the morning.

Also - we can lie there at night and bitch about the various things that are pissing us off. Usually men, money and work. It's beautiful. I almost don't want her to move out... except for the obvious advantage of floor space becoming available.


I hung out with N last night. You may remember him as the 20 yo in my alphabetical list. I sat on the bed with him for an hour and a half watching Superbad and eating Macca's sundaes.

Eventually we hooked up. The entire time I was waiting for a text from R to ask me to go home so I could unlock the door for her (she was with her new boy also). As soon as I got the text I gave him a couple more kisses and headed home. I think he got kind of upset to be honest...

I really can't decide if I'm attracted to him at all or not. He's pretty cute, and nice, and funny... but...

I guess I was just so attracted to Sparky that I still kind of wish I was seeing him. But I know that if I did; I'd get bored after a day or two.

I'm just a bitch like that.


Oh well... ner ner ner ner ner...


My brain is tired so I'm going to put it to bed.
Night little ones


~ UPDATE ~

I am now adding to the list of Sparky's cousins/friends who are still trying to get a bit of the action.

There's already his cousin who lives out of town who sings to me.
And of course his cousin's best friend Paintball Guy.
And now there's another cousin; with the same first name and slightly better bone structure. Let's just call him... Sparky 2.

Sparky 2 somehow got my number and started messaging me.

As did 2 Scary Old Roofing Dudes who left their number on my garage door a month ago.

And some random I don't even know. I swear to God my number must be on list for weird horny men to call. I just want to yell at them all

'I AM CLEARLY NOT A PHONE-SEX OPERATOR, YOU FOOLS!!!'

Also : Replied back to Sparky for the first time since the hotel yesterday. He invited me to his mate's free house on Saturday. Romantic, no?

Too bad there is NO WAY I would rather spend my night in bed at a strange guys house with someone I don't really like (except for entertainment purposes); than out with my roommate as we dance our pretty little asses off and drink beverages we didn't pay for.

Ah, boys are so naive... 
;)