Yesterdays hangover was totally manageable though.  I didn’t spew and my head was all good after some high strength Nurofen… which doesn’t generally work but it did this time.  I think the switch from wine to beer has really made a difference in lowering the intensities of Suicide Sunday.  Or Monday.  Whatever.

The point is, it was Labour Day weekend this weekend which means we got Monday off.  It’s just occurred to me I have no idea what Labour Day is for.  I will wiki later.  On the Sunday night was the Rugby World Cup final, something I generally never give a shit about and despise just a little.  Except this year it was hosted on our little island and hey… we actually made it all the way to the final game.  It was impossible not to get caught up in the country’s excitement.    Somehow I’d gone from someone who had no intentions whatsoever of watching any of these games to someone who knew the players names (well, the hot ones) could speculate on gameplay (probably badly) and watched like, 5 games over the season.  Who am I?  Who’s life is this?  How do I stop doing that falling asleep at my desk thing?  The coffee, it does nothing.

We had an awesome night out, I got to catch up with my beautiful girls from school which then turned into a big town session which saw us get home at about 5am.  Hell.  Have not had a bender like that in a long time.  After a few drinks I’d quickly undone all the good work with the not smoking that I’ve accomplished lately.  I found a full, unopened packet of cigarettes in my handbag and I know for a fact I didn’t buy them.  Who’s are they?  Anyone?  Why are my forearms bruised?

I guess I’m on full detox again, no meat, cutting out diary and taking vitamins.

This week Battlefield comes out and a few people at work, and actually Jase as well, are taking days off so they can power game.  I just want to take days off so I can sleep.  That’s not true.. I might preplan some time off for Skyrim.

WRITE THE DAMN BALI BLOGS.  OK.

Wondering if they’d let me have a go on what has to be the smallest digger I’ve ever seen in my life.  Knowing they’ll say no.

Burning my toes in the shower while I wait for the cold water tap to do its damn job.

Spending money when I know I can’t afford it.  This one holds hands with my Amazon obsession.

Trying to wipe away the smeared grey makeup from under my eyes then realising it’s not makeup, I just look like shit.

My haircut.

The fact that it’s currently impossible to dress according to weather, due to London loving to switch between YAY SUMMER and JUST KIDDING, WINTER AGAIN, LOL within the day.

Surprise anxiety which is caused by nothing.  Does not let up for at least 6 hours.

Finishing a book in two days when it was meant to last me the week.

Trying not to over text my friends about going out.  The waiting game.  TEXT ME.  ARGH, THE GAME IS TOO HARD, I JUST WANT TO BE DRUNK, OK?

That is all.

This post is going to be a disaster. I am sorry, English Language.

Last night we went out clubbing in central London and I attempted, midway, to do my sneaky run off and go home without anyone trying to stop me routine.  I didn’t get very far when I realised my wallet was missing out of my bag.  With all my cards, ID, Boots reward card and £70 of wages in there.   Spurred on by alcohol, I cried and cried and cried as my friends bravely put the call out to my NZ bank for me to cancel my credit card and then to HSBC to cancel my London card.  The wallet itself was a Nightmare Before Christmas collectable, given to me by my parents.

I was so miserable about this this morning, not to mentioned embarrassed by the crying like a 3 year old drama, hey – it’s been a tough week ok? that I didn’t actually turn my computer on till about 4pm.  Sitting in my Facebook inbox was a message that would have actually got me out of bed happy had I read it earlier.

“So yea i found what seems to be your Purse last night. it still has all the cash in it and cards, I work in soho if you would like to meet up and collect it just send me an email.”

Hurray for Londoners who are awesome.

Balls that I’d already cancelled my cards.

In other news…

I watched the Nintendo press conference at E3 yesterday.  I have to say, their games ranged from Sort of Average to AWESOME and back again.  Very, very excited about the Donkey Kong remake and the new Epic Mickey which looks really odd but fun.  I had planned to get an iphone once I head back to NZ but priorities have changed now.  The Nintendo 3DS is my new reason to live.  SO EXCITED, must have one, must have one NOW.

Oh my god there’s going to be one in purple.

My life is not complete until I have one.

Xbox kinect looks stupid.  Just saying.

****

Landlord:  “Right, uh, well, this is quite a serious problem.  I’m going to have to dig up the concrete to get to the pipe.  I can’t do this tonight, will have to be tomorrow morning.  I’ve turned the mains off so no water for tonight.
Me: “How do we go to the bathroom?”
Landlord:  “I…uh…the bathroom?”
Me (helpfully): “Yes, I need to use it.”
Landlord: “Um…well…”

10 minutes of blank staring later

Landlord: “Yes, um…”
Marcelo: “Perhaps we could all pee outside in the new pond on the concrete.”
Landlord is now clearly trying to agree this was a funny joke and not actually a solution.
Flatmate: “Why don’t you tell us how to turn the mains back on and we’ll have pitstops throughout the night.”
Landlord: “Oh, yes, great, good idea”.

ARRRGHHHH

UPDATE:

Just when I think I can no longer hold it in, I trek outside to try turn on the water mains.  I open the wee hatch thing and stare into a pitch black hole in the concrete, trying to get up the courage to stick my hand down there to turn or switch something I cannot see.  The BIGGEST and LONGEST worm I have ever seen in my LIFE comes slithering out and I watch it for a few minutes, dry retch, go back inside and consider killing myself.

Despite all that trauma, there was an amusing incident when the policeman walked into my room and said apologetically, “I’m so sorry, these people love to just turn a room upside down.  All those clothes on the floor, it’s a real mess.”
“Right”, I said.  “It um, looks pretty much the same as when I left it, it’s just my laptop’s gone.”

AWKWARD.

Anyways, after many a teary phonecall to my parents, the insurance company accepted the claim 2 days before my insurance was meant to run out and I am writing this on my new Dell Part 2.  Why did I get the same laptop?  I don’t know, I just wanted normality again.  I don’t think I’ve been without daily net access for ten years around abouts now.  I resorted to watching our neglected television through what we’ll call The Great Depression and it was only when the only thing on was the Gilmore Girls omnibus that I considered killing myself.

I don’t really sell pork for a living.  That was just that one day.  I’m a minimum wage waitress at a very swanky English pub.  I’m looking for a second job as this one just isn’t going to pay for life but I’m struggling through ok.  No, the tips are shit, thanks for asking.

I’ve also taken up pole dancing classes again and have an amazing purple bruise on my knee cap.  This time, it’s a full on course set up by a chick who was world pole dancing champion.  First rule of pole dancing:  No matter how much weight you thought you’d lost, you are an Elephant next to the instructor.  It’s heaps of fun though, despite the pain of repeatedly slamming myself into the floor and a solid metal object.

…

“Oh you’re right, it is Thursday”
“Fuck I thought so, good thing you checked”
“Yeah, oops, hur”

…

“Which airport are we leaving from?”
“Gatwick”
“Ok, we need to book tickets for the train to get there.”
“Sweet, we’ll get the Gatwick Express, 40 minutes!”
“Are you sure? Where does it leave from?”
“Clapham.  Yeah yeah, we’ll be fine, I’ve done it before when I went to Ireland”
“Ok, well, make sure you book the tickets.”

…

“So it turns out we’re leaving from Heathrow, not Gatwick”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yeah, whoops, ya know, I was wondering why I couldn’t find Air New Zealand leaving from Gatwick”
“grrrrr”
“Remember Georgie said it was weird we were leaving from Gatwick, Air New Zealand usually leaves from Heathrow”
“You almost ruined our holiday! I am handling everything from now on! Send me the itinerary! You’re BANNED!”

Heh.  Good thing I didn’t book those Gatwick Express tickets, they were hugely expensive.

Let’s take Katy Perry, Pink and scary pop twins, The Veronicas. (Why did that one dye her hair blonde? What was she thinking?)

Look, look.  Do you see the trend here?  Where is the straight-out-of-a-bottle Orange Glow?

Are the days of Tan-o-rexia over?  Can I rejoice now that it’s more socially acceptable to unleash my blinding white legs at the beach?  Will I now be able to wear a dress without stockings and have no fear about glowing in the dark?

*glee*

Too long, have pasty white females slathered themselves in smelly orange gunk.  Too long have we spent burning ourselves in sunbeds.   Streaky feet, orange hands, Oompa Loompa face (you know who you are), bedsheets destroyed.

In summer, I am always faced with a horrible dilemma.  If I shave my legs, I shave off my tan.  Hair or tan.  Hair or tan.  Hair or tan.  Why, why, couldn’t I be born naturally brown like my friends.  I stand out for all the wrong reasons in photos.  Why use a flash when you have Lilley McGlowLamp in the shot?

Even the brush on powders like Thin Lizzy that every one RAVES about, never quite work right on me.  In fact all it does is seep into the pores of my legs and I get home-made polka dot skin.  Useless.

I think this Christmas I will wear my Playstation Tan loud and proud.

I think I’ll start with the most bizarre night of the month. I dunno who’s idea it was to go to an Emo Gay bar but I’m sure it sounded like a good fun at the time. I have never seen such a massive group of flamboyant, eccentric people. Everyone had brightly coloured hair, some mohawks, there was a chick in a ballet leotard, a guy in PVC pants and a corset. I felt quite insignificant with my light pink striped hair.

There were £2 vodka jelly shots which proved a bit difficult to drink for my flatmate. I don’t think I helped matters by laughing hysterically and yelling SUCK IT HARDER across the bar.

Then it got weird. This guy dressed in rubbish bags and a makeshift gimp mask (made out of a teeshirt, for extra originality) and this other chick, got up on stage, grabbed some microphones and started screaming into them. They started roly-polying on the floor. It was amusing for like, 15 minutes. An hour later, everyone was still standing around with the classic WatchingATrainWreck expression.

Errrrrm what else have I done. Crashed another Uni party, didn’t have to sneak into this one though. The bartenders were horrifically slow, thank goodness my friend smuggled a bottle of whiskey in my handbag. We came home with a jolly moose Christmas stocking from that one.

Went to Camden with Alex and Marcelo, with the sole intention of getting piercings. Alex got her lip done and I got the little cartilage bit of my ear done. Marcelo didn’t end up getting anything done for various sport reasons, however beforehand, some big ugly drunk singled him out on the street, put his face in Marcelos ear and belched like a freaking trumpet. We figured then that maybe it wasn’t meant to be. I could not stop giggling for the rest of the day. It was the most hilarious revolting thing ever.

Yes, I realise I have a mutant ear. It’s only that one, the other one is normal.

There was also a random roller disco. Don’t ever say we don’t know how to party on a Saturday night.

It was Nats birthday this weekend so we celebrated by heading to G’s house and having her cousin cook us a beautiful meal. It was seriously the best food evah and I had sneaky seconds in the kitchen. We drank a lot of wine. I was quite keen on getting out ye olde board games but everyone else wanted to watch Tennis. How BORING, I texted Monty in Perth, as I sulked with my cigarette outside.

I drank a lot of wine. I wasn’t getting drunk. This is unusual, I thought. I should be at least making bad jokes by now. I had brought my gear I wanted to wear to town in a bag with me and was in a 15minute process of wrestling a tight boot on over my jeans. Then I realised I had brought two different left boots.

Getting called a Tard :(

Apparently this was hilarious for everyone else involved. After much pointing and laughing I sadly put on my tired old Converse whose pink clashed spectacularly with my red top. At least I was comfortable? :(
“You beauty!” Monty text when I told him, driving home the fact that he has clearly been in Australia for FAR TOO LONG. Boy, if you start saying ANYTHING along the lines of throwing shrimp on a barbie, start wearing thongs instead of jandels and claiming pavlova as an Australian invention, I will fly over and drag your ass back here.

We hit town and crashed a 21st party at Electric Ave. There was one of the most motley looking Michael Jacksons there, the man should have gone to that party as Slash at least. I drank vodka and Redbull. Still not drunk.
I would just like to point out, this alcohol block thing is very very out of character. I am a typical lightweight, I usually get drunk after two drinks. I got home around 3am, and woke up with the shakes. Tis not fair. I was hungover after not being drunk :(

I got to the hairdressers and got the usual disapproving stares. “My god, look at that home done dye job” their eyes were saying. “Disgraceful”.
My hairdresser sat me down. “Hrm. I don’t think it’s going to be a good idea to dye over it unless you want to go a brown colour, and a full blonde dye will break your hair. We’ll do a Shampoo Cleanser, it should take the pink out”.
Shampoo cleanser! Is that not just shampoo? You don’t think I’ve TRIED THAT?
She filled my hair full of foils to dye the roots. Then led me over to the basin where she launched a half an hour ATTACK on my head. The “Shampoo Cleanser” is clearly hairdresser speak for “bleaching the fuck out of it”. The smell of the bleach was quite potent. I amused myself with their massaging chairs.

3 hours later I was led back to the mirror for a blow dry. “Well”, the hairdresser said, “Its got most of it out”.
Its still pink. Clearly, pink hair is harder to shift than an overweight Rhino. My office mates call me pinky. Haha yea I know, I do this to myself. I told Georgie that next time I’d go a dark shade. A more magenta pink. “Wait, WHAT? Did I just hear a NEXT TIME?” She’s not impressed.