Friday, September 30, 2005
Hmm, ponderous
For the first time in a really long time, I have absolutely no plans for the weekend. How nice is THAT???
I think I might do some painting, something I've not done for a really, REALLY long time either
*And clean my car. That'd DEFINITELY be a good idea
*sigh* How boring is my life?? :)
posted by Bug @ 1:16 pm   3 comments
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Cec's and Bug's AFL Grand Final Saturday Night, From Cec's Point of View
1. Doing the fun girly make-up getting-ready-to-go-out thing at Bug's house.
2. Choking on a shot of tequila and burning my throat out (very amusing from Bug and Boo's point of view I'm sure).
3. Learning a new drinking technique from Boo in order to assist me down the much-hated but sorely needed Redbull (focus on a poster or something on the wall and think everything you can about it in order to take your mind off the disgusting drink).
4. Being tipsy after 1 1/2 shots of tequila (again, Bug and Boo found this amusing).
5. Seeing this bloke called Mark that we went to school with at Irish the pub and I hadn't seen in about five years. He was soooo out of it on something and the daft grin on his face as his out-of-focus highly-diluted pupils slowly focused on me with dawning recognition was hilarious.
6. Mark being nowhere near as tall as I remember. I swear he's shrunk, because I sure as hell haven't grown in height.
7. Mark is dating a girl I work with, Zara. She (and quite a few other girls in the Hobart area) think he's very sexy. Well, I suppose he is a bit, in a rugged dark-haired way. I realised (and Bug supported me) in horror that HE LOOKS LIKE MY DAD!! Well, a younger version, anyway. In 25 years Mark will look just like my dad does now, only he has acne scars and dad never got pimples (now why didn't he pass those genes on to me?).
8. Being chatted up by gross shearers from Victoria, who repeatedly asked 'where are you from?' Avoiding gross shearers after this.
10. Dancing on the jam-packed dancefloor at Irish to Ethel the Frog beside this couple who needed to GET A ROOM! Or even a bit of space in a darkened corner of the Wharf. ANYWHERE other than a crowded dancefloor. Serious make-out session with lots of lurching about crashing into people.
11. NEARLY GETTING INTO A REAL, HONEST TO GOD BITCH-FIGHT!!! I have never physically had a 'scrag fight' with other female. An exciting moment for me! And I was ready and raring for a bit of hair-pulling. Mark and Zara were dancing beside Boo and I (Bug was visiting the ladies). I think Zara bumped into this ugly dark-haired girl who resembled a bull-dog, knocking bull-dog girl's drink on the floor and onto her. Bulldog went crazy, and was yelling at Zara (not that you could hear on a packed dance floor with a very loud live band about 4 metres away), while her weak-looking friends muttered loudly. Mark was such a gentleman and put himself between bulldog and her five female mates and just kept dancing on, his back to them facing Zara, but bulldog started pushing him, so he turned around, still dancing and Zara was behind him, kind of looking on in disbelief as I was. Bulldog was still yelling, and reaching over Mark's shoulder to push Zara several times, who I had my arm about while I attempted to look very butch and tough and menacing. But then for some reason Bulldog just backed off. Must have been my menacing expression. I so could have taken at least two. I had visions of getting in a real-honest-to-god girl-rumble and being pulled apart by bouncers and thrown out only to continue fighting outside until the police intervened.
Moral of this story: Obviously, don't take a drink onto a crowded dancefloor and complain when it's knocked out of the glass. Oh, and Redbull does 'give you wings'.
12. Going to the toilet at Irish and while waiting in line having a girl's head emerge under the toilet door like something from The Exorcist then disappearing again.
13. Having a very nice drink at another bar called Barcelona that Bug recommended that tasted like lychees. This was because it was made from lychees, Bug informed me.
14. Having to leave Barcelona because it was closing. New experience for me.
15. Going to Isobar the bar and heading onto the dancefloor to dance to another live band and then realising that the couple frantically pashing while bumping into everyone else were the same couple from Irish!!
16. Being chatted up at the bar by a footballer from Geelong (in Victoria) with nice blonde dreadlocks (I have a 'thing' for professionally done, well-kept dreadlocks that aren't too long). Then freaking out when he attempted (very gauchely may I add) to buy me a drink, telling the bartender that I would get my own drink, then taking my drink and running while leaving dreadlocks boy at the bar paying for his own drink. I am so out of my depth with the whole bar scene.
17. Going upstairs to Isobar the club and seeing people that Bug has been talking about for ages but I'd never met. They looked nothing like I had pictured them.
18. Going to Syrup (a nightclub) where I was flattered ridiculously by a bald bouncer (I swear at least half the bouncers in Hobart are bald) to which I had no idea how to act.
19. Bypassing the line thanks to Bug's bouncer connections and entering Syrup for the first time ever. Seemed like fun but very claustrophobic due to the massive amount of people. It was near impossible to force yourself through on the first floor. Can see how people get trampled to death. Realising that I have to do a whole lot more gym work and give up all foods that aren't green before I can dance happily on the second floor, the 'trance' floor. Acknowledge that this will never happen and sadly give up on any notions of returning and dancing here.
20. Bug very kindly agreeing to go home at about 3.30 with me despite her not wanting too.
21. Shaking non-stop in Bug's brother's bed (no he was not in it people! He's like an adoptive brother to me!) despite having already added a massive doubled-over furry blanket. Getting up, raiding the linin cupboard and adding another doubled-over blanket, and some socks, and pulling the covers over my head. Still shake, and cannot sleep.
22. Creep out of Bug's house to drive to my own house, while praying that there are no over-enthusiastic cops about doing random breath-tests early on Sunday morning, it being the day after the Australian Football League Grand Final, and a massive day of partying.
23. Continue to shake while trying to sleep in my own bed, despite having the electric blanket up as high as it will go and putting the furry little hot-bodied cat in bed with me. Decide that I am 'coming down' from Redbull, as I cannot possibly be cold, and I shook after the last two times I went out and drank it.
24. Give up on all thoughts of sleep for at least three days until the Redbull has worked its way out of my system. Decide to tell the whole world about our fun night out!
With a bit of an add-on from Bug
* The bald bouncer, who is very nice, if a little moody sometimes, TOTALLY fancied Cec (understandably, since she's cute as pie). It was groovy
* I have a DREADFUL crush. He's SO sexy and he's a bartender (of course, being me) and he's my friend's brother which seems like a NOT good situation to me. Besides the fact that I have LOST my ability to FLIRT so I'm utterly USELESS around a crush-worthy, babely type!
* I suspect that Cec is being too kind and that I sighed and acted put out when she wanted to go home. I hope I didn't but if I did? Sorry, my love
* It MUST have been the Red Bull making Cecilia shake and not sleep since it was HOT in my house last night (well, this morning, really!)
* Mark recognising Cec was VERY funny. He was FRIED! Moral of THIS story: don't do drugs. They're stupid
* Cec will be going back to Syrup. I'll be making sure of that
* Lastly, and most importantly, ETHEL THE FROG ROCK!!!!!
posted by Cecilia @ 1:48 pm   4 comments
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Instant boss, maybe?
So my team shares our office with another team and the OTHER team is losing staff like no-one's business. They've had 4 people quit in just under 3 months. Pretty sucky, if you ask me
Anyway, they have this new girl who started 3 days ago and today, on her 4th day in a brand new job, she's wearing jeans and a turtleneck. And it's not like it's a black turtleneck and dark jeans (which could JUST about pass for casual office wear). It's a beige and blue striped turtleneck and baggy grey jeans. Yes, that's right, GREY jeans. Gross
She's also sitting at her desk chewing gum
Maybe I'm being mean and judgemental and picky, but shouldn't you wait at LEAST a week into a new job before wearing boggy clothes and munching away on Hubba Bubba??
posted by Bug @ 1:37 pm   3 comments
Sunday, September 18, 2005
There's cool and there's not cool
Not cool
Having a friend who's in a perpetual bad mood just now take it out on you for absolutely no reason and with absolutely no apology
New friends. Particularly ones who seem to usually hang out with me when I'm drunk, so tolerant ones!
Not cool
Having random and perplexing vague symptoms of SOMETHING and a constantly aching tooth
The fact that I just do not get pimples. I love it
Not cool
Grilled oysters in chilli and lime marinade. I TRIED to like them, I really did!
That the time is coming when I'll be eating summer salads every single day - YUM!
Neither cool nor not cool but just a thought
Coloured contact lenses are FUCKING HARD to put in! For GOD's sake - STICK TO MY EYEBALL, STUPID THING!!!
posted by Bug @ 6:16 pm   5 comments
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Random somnambulism
So I woke up this morning and went to have my shower. I noticed when I got to the bathroom that Dad’s red-brush-that-never-leaves-the-bathroom (yes, that’s what he calls it) was NOT in the bathroom. Hmm. Weird
Then when I took off my jammies to get in the shower, I noticed that HANG ON, they were NOT the jammies I went to bed in. Hmm. WEIRD
Going back into my room all squeaky clean, I saw the red-brush-that-never-leaves-the-bathroom sitting on my dressing table. Next to MY brush. HMM. WEIRD
Then I realised that I must’ve been sleepwalking like I do once a year or so
I called my brother when I got to work and asked him if I’d talked to him overnight. He said that yes, about 1.30am there was a massive bang from outside and then I wandered out into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, shut it and wandered back up the hallway
Utterly, totally and completely fucking weird!
Also, my LEGS are really sore today! Why the hell would my legs be sore and my jammies be changed and Daddy’s hairbrush be stolen??
I am WELL discombobulated
posted by Bug @ 12:12 pm   2 comments
Monday, September 12, 2005
It's like a different language
I realised recently that my friends and I have a WHOLE set of words that NO-ONE else uses (or understands). For example:
GOBBLE - gossip. Cec and I have used this since Grade 5, but it’s still only the two of use who remember what it means, so when we say "let’s go and sit on that couch over there and have a gobble", people look at us a little strangely!
A GOOD FUN - when my sister was 15 (and you know, still talking to me), Boo and I took her out on the town (I KNOW she was underage but it was FUN) and she had a leeeetle bit to drink. So when I rolled her into bed at the end of the night and tucked her in, she grinned up at me blearily and said "I had a good fun, Beckles" and it STUCK. "A good fun" is the BEST time possible. A good time is good, but a good fun is EXCELLENT
KNOBBIT - a dickhead. I have NO idea where that comes from
VERBS - it’s both a question and a statement, as in "verbs?" means "would you like some chips?" and "verbs!" means, "I want to SEE that movie, that looks AWESOME!". My brother remembers the story behind it, but I’m not sure. I think it came about on a drunken night
DOUCHE BAG - I mean, I’m assuming you know what a douche bag is, but we use it as another word for a dickhead. It’s another word that makes people look a little, shall we say, bemused?
A MERRY PLATEAU – when you’re pleasantly pissed, cheerfully unable to drive, but not rip-roaring drunk. Probably the nicest way to be, I think
SKURFIE - a surfie skank; the skinny blonde girls who fuss around the surfie boys (I do live in Australia, remember - LOTS of surfies)
MING-WAH - a nasty piece of skank. I think this is our take on "minger" and it’s NOT a racist word, although I know it kind of looks like it
ACKNOWLEDGED/VERIFIED/DENIED - actually, this is not strictly something that my friends use, it was a thing my friend DJ MC (long story) and his friends said, as in "hey boys! Check HER out!". The friends would then say "acknowledged" to show they were looking, then either "verified" or "denied" depending on what they thought. Boo and I adopted this though - it always makes us giggle
LAY-BY - a cute boy who is MUCH too young for us to be perving on but who we’d TOTALLY be interested in if he was older. It’s usually reserved for actors and singers (since perving on a REAL underage boy is a little creepy) – for example, Draco Malfoy? Total lay-by
Do you have strange words you say? Let me know cos I’ll adopt them. I’m unimaginative like that :)
posted by Bug @ 9:33 am   6 comments
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
On Killing Your Soulmate
So, how to kill your soulmate. The person that's been there for you for the past 18 and a half years, pretty much all your remembered childhood, formative teenage years, and those early young adult years. The one individual who loves you unconditionally and no matter how awful you have been to her will still return to you time and time again, waiting for you, loving you. You receive a phone call from your father, telling you that if you're not busy you need to come home. Your Best Friend in the Entire World isn't too well. At All. But don't speed, drive carefully. And you know what this phone call really means, and you drive the half hour home sobbing. And enter the house, sobbing. And hold your soulmate close to you for about 45 minutes, sobbing into her fur for the very last time. And test twice to see if her backlegs will work. Just for you, please, please stand for you. And because your soulmate has always done everything you've asked of her, it's with disbelief that she can't stand, even for you. But she looks just like normal, snuggling up to you. It's just that she can't actually move her body to snuggle up to you herself. And as your father makes that final phone call to the vet, you want to feed her icecream, her favourite treat that she only gets a few times a year. But your brother ate the last of it only 15 minutes ago.
Lifting yourself up off that bed from where you are cuddled up with her to carry her into the car is the most difficult thing you've ever done. But you have to. And in the 5 minute trip to the vet, she lifts her head up from your lap to try to look out of the car window, because she loves car trips. At the vet, she sits on your lap as y ou wait in the car (you are not going to wait in a crowded waiting room), her head resting under yours as you sob into her fur as you have done so many times before. You know that this is the last time you'll spend with her in this life, but some little part of you is hoping for a miracle. That she'll be okay, because you just don't know how to live without her. After half an hour, a cheery red-haired vet you've never seen before comes to get you, and takes you straight through to the examining room. And if you thought that carrying her to the car was hard, it wasn't a patch on having to carry her into that room, and put her on the examination table. The vet examines her, explaining that her legs have given way, there's a growth in her belly that is a ruptured tumor on her spleen probably causing internal bleeding. Basically you have only one option, like you knew. No miracle. "Do you want to stay with her?" he asks. Of course I do, she's stayed with me my entire life, it would be like a massive traitorous act not to stay with her till the very last. "I have to let you know what to expect," he says. "Some people don't want to stay because it can be unpleasant." You don't care what to expect, you just know that you have to stay. Your father can't stay, he can't do it. He leaves crying like you've only seen him crying twice before - once at your nan's funeral, once when he had to have killed his own little buddy of 7 years. The vet returns with a big needle filled with green liquid, and an electric shaver. Instruments of death. And shaves a little patch off your best friend's front leg. He fetches the vet nurse, who holds up the shaved skin as he rams that massive needle up her little leg. She lies in your arms, and lets out a whimper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry it hurts", you say. Your head is on hers, and you watch both her eyes and the level of drugs in the needle as he pushes it into her. "I love you so much, wait for me in heaven" you tell her again and again, waiting for her eyes to close. The vet is finished. You hug her to you for a couple more minutes, waiting for her eyes to close. "Would you like some time with her?" the vet asks. "Is that all?" you ask. Her eyes haven't closed, they're still half-open. You don't think she's dead. "Yes, that's all, she's dead," he replies. "She was dead before I'd even finished injecting her." And you feel betrayed that he hadn't told you this was going to happen, that she didn't hear you last heartfelt whisper of love in her ear.
The vet takes you out the back way and you go, leaving her limp body abandoned on the table behind you. And you feel so guilty, like you've failed her, just leaving her there like that. But you just can't stand the thought of her body rotting in the back garden, like the two cats. You throw yourself sobbing into the car, and just cannot believe that she is dead after all this time, that that is the end of it, yet you're sobbing because you know the truth. You bawl your eyes out onto your bed, the bed that was previously 'your bed'. What is even more painfull is that every single time in your life when you've been upset, when your precious fluffy cat died, when you've fought with your parents, had massive disappointments in life, when your friends have let you down, you've cried your tears into her thick black fur. You're dreading going to bed because she sleeps with you every night, and has done as far back as you can remember. Except what you're off travelling or spending the night at a friend's, and even then your last thought is for her, wishing that she was there with you because you always sleep well with her there. This morning, even half an hour ago you had your soulmate, now you don't. You find every single photo you can of her dating from the past 6 years. It's in disbelief that you realise that this is all you have left of the very best thing to happen to you in your entire life.
You don't want to stay at home, because she's not there, but you don't want to leave because you can't stand the thought of coming home and her not being there. And you know that when you do leave and return, it'll be like losing her all over again. But it's still with denial that you think of her death. Even as you write this screed outlining the last three hours of her life, and the last hours of your life as you knew it, there's a part of you that thinks she's sitting in her spot on the end of the bed, and if you just turn around and look through the bedroom door you'll see her sitting there. And you sob even harder, because you know it's not the truth.
She wasn't your dog, you were her human. And now you just don't know how to continue without her, because there's never been a time when she wasn't there.
Don't ring for at least a week Bug, and when you do please, please don't mention this because I just can't stand talking about it. I'm glad I'm now part of this blog though, because it helps telling anonymous people. God I'd love to go back to yesterday, when my only issue was how to keep my head up at work despite gutter peeing.
posted by Cecilia @ 7:46 pm   4 comments
Sunday, September 04, 2005
On Breaking the Seal
Greetings to the potential millions of people I am addressing for the first time!!!
It's Cecilia here, not Bug. Rather than doing all the boring introduction stuff (and it would be boring because I lead a singularly uninteresting mundane life consisting pretty much entirely of uni and work) I decided to launch into an account of my antics last night.
For starters, I Went Out. Now, considering that I'm 22, this may not seem like a big occasion. But trust me (and Bug will definitely reinforce this), it is. I never really got into the whole 'going out' scene. I just felt out of place and ugly. I didn't even go to a nightclub until I was close to twenty (legal age here is 18), and then my visits were few and far between.
The fact that until recently I worked every single Saturday at one job from 8 am until 5 pm played a pretty big role in my lack of going out too, plus I have another waitressing job (which I'm still at) where I work pretty much every single Saturday night, and quite often Friday nights too. So I really didn't have very much opportunity to go out, drink lots (which I MUST do when I go out in order to dance unselfconciously) and have ample recovery time (alcohol normally makes me really ill - not just hangover symptoms but nasty I-must-stay-near-the-loo symptoms). But even on rare Saturday nights off I wouldn't go out. I think I went from January of 2004 until November without ever going out.
Then I went to Japan, lost at least five kilos in a week, then went on a Contiki tour around Europe. If you're not familiar with the Contiki tour, basically it's a tour for Aussies, Kiwis, Poms and Yanks (and yes, it is definitely necessary to use the nasty nationality abbreviations in order to fully understand the kind of tour I'm talking about) between the ages of 18 to 35 where you jump on a bus and party your way around the globe.
Away from the restrictive air of Hobart (we have only 3 decent nightclubs and you are guaranteed to run into people you know at every single one) and feeling pretty confident about losing the weight, I became a bit of a party gal. And then I returned home on Christmas, got even fatter than I was before, and didn't go out to a club again until I think the end of July.
Now I didn't actually intend to ramble off into all this background info, but I think it was kind of necessary in order for you to understand how momentous it is when I Go Out. And I didn't go out without my nice safe Bug and Boo, who know how lacking in confidence I am in the whole nightclub scene and babysit me accordingly, I Went Out with most of my favourite Banquets girls (I work in the Banquets and Conventions department) because it was one of their birthdays - Belinda's*, and some of Belinda's friends, and her absolutely fantastic boyfriend Adrian*.
I mean, not only is this bloke in his last year of law at uni, he's nicely tall (yet not too tall), nice looking, well spoken, kind, generous and has a social conscious. Oh, and he knows his Tasmanian forests, very important to me as I'm a definate greenie. And he dances if given enough alcohol. I hope Belinda knows how lucky she is!!!
So the night began at an Italian restaurant where I had beautiful food, great company, and my favourite drink of tequila and redbull (minimum hangover and lots of dancing energy) at the bargain basement price of only $7. Then we went next door into this very cool cocktail bar that I didn't even know existed. Great decor and a kind of underground vibe. It reminded me of this place I went to in Berlin. I'm surprised I haven't heard you raving about it Bug - it's definately your kind of place.
I had a lovely drink entitled 'Sex in a bubblegum factory' which I could not bring myself to ask for. Luckily one of my girls had just ordered one before the barman turned to me, so I was able to say 'I'll have one of those too'. The Banquets girls found my prudishness hilarious. But as I told them, I can ask for a 'Cocksucking Cowboy', a 'Screaming orgasm', or even a 'Long, slow screw up against the wall', but not 'Sex in a bubblegum factory'. It just seems wrong. Bubblegum makes me think of round-faced little American children blowing bubbles on Seseme Street, and orange Ooma-loompas, and those things definitely do not go with sex.
Then Belinda, all her non-banquet friends and one of the banquet girls went down to Isobar the club, and the remaining girls and I jumped in Katie's* car as she was the only one of us driving. The plan was that she would go leave the car at her house, which was pretty close, and her brother (who owed her massively for all the times she'd dropped him out) would drive us down to Isobar, which is at Hobart's waterfront. Unfortunately when we got to Katie's her brother had already gone off to a party himself, so Katie decided just to drive on down and leave the car parked near the club overnight and catch a taxi home, because she wanted to drink up. She was trying to drown her sorrows over the loss of her own car.
Katie is a really striking looking girl - tall, slim with really thick beautiful long red hair in a gorgeous shade of red that cascades down her back and refused to be controlled. She hates it, and everyone else loves it. She often goes a couple of days without brushing it because she's so busy and prefers to try and grab some sleep rather than worrying about such things as showering and hairbrushing, yet her hair still looks fantastic. She's very kind, warm and intelligent. She too is studying law at uni, but she hates it and has decided to leave uni next year and not complete her final year that would see her graduate with a law degree.
The car Katie was currently driving was her parent's station wagon, which is for sale. They had already bought a brand new car, which unfortunately Katie was not insured to drive under their new insurance. Katie had been left her grandmother's old car a couple of years previously. It was an old maroon Honda hatchback from 1973 that was constantly broken down, wouldn't work in the cold and due to the dodgy brakes couldn't be driven in the wet. So not the perfect car by any means, but she Absolutely, Passionately Loved This Car. Maybe the fact that her nan had given it to her was part of that.
On Friday night, the entire banquets department worked at two different dinners until 1.30 am. I was at a dinner for the Malaysian Students Association of Uni, and Katie was over at a Liberal Party dinner that our Prime Minister attended (earlier that night I'd worked a Liberal party cocktail party and given John Howard our PM a mineral water - excitement!). We all had to work on Saturday, poor Katie at 6 am where she waited on the Prime Minister in her very tired, emotional state.
Her emotional state was because her father was up before she left for work, and told her how awful she looked and wanted to know if she was going to put on some makeup. My father would never dream of saying such a thing to me. He might say I looked tired or unwell, or suggest repeatedly that I head out into our gym (we have a mini gym at our house that I steadfastly refuse to go and be humiliated in) for a 'workout'. Admittedly, Katie hadn't had a shower, brushed her hair (just thrown it up an a ponytail) or even brushed her teeth (our department has a never-ending supply of mints, don't worry), but she still looked good, just had red, tired eyes.
When Katie arrived home from work, her brother comes out and tells her that her car isn't there. 'Where is it?' Katie asks, thinking maybe her father has taken it to be repaired, because her parents had told her it was undriveable. 'It's been sold', he tells her. To Katie's disbelief, and to the shocked disbelief of all of us banquets girls that Katie told that night at dinner, her parents had advertised her car for sale that day in the local paper, and sold it to an international student at the uni from Indonesia for $100. And they didn't even give her the $100. Her parents had lied to her, it still was driveable, because the student took it for a test drive. Katie is not from a poor family. They didn't need to sell her car or anything like that. Her family is very well off. They live in a big old house in a tree-lined street in West Hobart, an expensive suburb. Her father works for a large firm and is based in Melbourne, and comes home every second weekend or something like that. Her mother spends a couple of months of each year travelling around Europe on her own, and Katie went to the most expensive coed school in Southern Tasmania.
I just could not believe that any caring parents would do something so premediated and inconsiderate that they knew would upset their own child so much. It wasn't their car to sell. It belonged to Katie, given to her by her own grandmother. Not only had they sold her car, they hadn't taken all of her 'toys' out of the car. They had left a lucky charm she'd brought in Thialand and she was very attached to inside the car. When they sold it. Without her knowledge. I'm sorry, but I just can't get over this fact. It seems amazing. So, anyway, Katie wanted to get very drunk and forget about this massive betrayal by her parents.
So Katie drives us back into Hobart's nightclub 'district'. Isobar, the club Belinda and her friends had gone to, has a reputation for being completely shit now. This time last year you would have had to queue for an hour to get in anytime after midnight - now you can just wander in. It's gone out of fashion for some mysterious reason, and Club Surreal, another of Hobart's 3 clubs, is now the 'place to be'.
The other two girls with Katie and I wanted to go to Club Surreal, line up now while there wasn't much of a line (it was only about 11 pm) and get a stamp, then leave immediately and go to Isobar, spend some time with Belinda because it was her birthday night out, then head back into Surreal, bypassing the now anticipated wait of about an hour to get in because they have stamps. Katie and I saw the brilliance of this plan, and agreed, and we went and queued up at Surreal. The line was pretty huge, but it was moving quickly. Unfortunately, it was here that the point of this whole massive epistle of mine happened. I HAD to PEE right NOW!!!!!!
When females drink, they need to pee. A lot. This is a well-documented occurance. What all females also know is that it is necessary when drinking to put off going for that first pee as long as is possible, because once you have 'broken the seal' and gone for that first time, you need to go at least every hour. Often every half an hour, if you've been drinking lots of spirits.
I had broken the seal just before we left the restaurant, meaning that the minute we walked into the first bar the first place I went was to the toilet. I needed to go again a bit before we left the bar, but we left in a bit of a rush and it wasn't urgent, so I didn't go. At Katie's, we just waited in the car while she went to get her brother who wasn't there. In this line to get into Surreal I had to go so badly I thought I was going to wet my pants.
So I ask Katie if she could please do me a massive favour, and drive me down to the nearby service station so I could use their toilet. 'Of course hon,' Katie says, because she's such a nice person. On the very quick walk back to the car that was parked half a block away I concentrated with all my might on Not Peeing.
We got in the car, Katie took off and drove forward about two houses. 'Stop!' I yelled. I was worried I may actually wet myself, so I made her stop the car. I got out of the car, ran back behind a parked black car (very nice car by the way) ducked down behind this car in this darkened street, and peed.
In the gutter.
For simply ages.
Longest pee of my life, I swear. Luckily I was wearing a skirt, so this was accomplished with very little effort. Some loud people walked down the footpath on the other side of the road, but I was well hidden behind this car in a line of cars parked along the roadside.
Now, peeing in general doesn't worry me. It's a perfectly normal function, after all. If you don't pee, you die - fact! Being an environmental science student where the entire class heads off into the bush for the entire day I became perfectly comfortable with peeing away from toilets. I'm totally unembarrassed about heading off into the bush when we stop for lunch on a field trip, as other girls all around me are heading off on the same purpose. We even yell to each other 'don't come down here' when you hear another person approaching through the undergrowth.
I personally found peeing in a gutter a much more attractive prospect that peeing in a leech infested buttongrass moorland where you constantly feel your bum checking for the disgusting little bloodsuckers.
But then that's my environmental science group of people, who have no inhibitions about such bodily functions. There was even a small hardcore group of students in my year who'd get their gear off and go skinnydipping every opportunity they had on field trips, despite it being below 10 degrees on one occasion.
The witness to my humiliation last night was Katie, who although being a lovely girl would see what I did as being disgusting and unnecessary, as would everyone else in my department at work. And everyone else will definately find out and condemn me for it. Katie would have told the other two girls we were out with, and as one of them is a very judgement person who loves a malicious gossip, she'll tell everyone else.
After my little wee-wee by the roadside, Katie and I decided to bypass Surreal and head down to Isobar to be with Belinda, as it was her birthday after all. At Isobar, Katie then decided not to go in, but to go to Telegraph, a nearby bar, in search of her very good friend who was out for her 21st birthday.
I went up and did a lot of dancing with Belinda, her friends and the one other banquets girl left, and had a great time, despite Isobar being pretty damn deserted and there being some creepy old men, and some very forceful Sudanese men. Mel, one of Belinda's friends that I hit it off with, and I dragged Belinda up onto the stage where we danced for the whole of our stay.
When I headed home, I spent the rest of the night awake (due in no doubt to the four cans of redbull I'd consumed). I didn't get to sleep until about 9am. I just kept dwelling on my gutter pee, and the ramifications that is going to have on me at work. When I woke up at noon, not at all hungover and still buzzing with redbull-induced euphoria, I decided to lie to nice, kind, lovely sweet Katie. Because I am a bitch.
I am, there's no denying that fact.
I sent her a message saying that I'd had a great time last night, hope she'd had the same, and that early this morning I'd started peeing blood and freaked out thinking I'd done something to my stomach with all the tequila I'd drunk, and gone to the doctor only to be told I had a bladder infection.
I am such a lying, self-preserving, scheming bitch. Any girl who has had a bladder infection knows how damn horrible they are. I had two in three weeks a couple of years ago, and have never been the same since. They are awful. Now I've lied about having one, I think karma will punish me and I'll truly get one, or ten. And I'll deserve it too.
Katie, being the beautiful person that she is, sent me back a nice sympathetic message saying 'poor you, no wonder you had to pee last night'. I am wracked with guilt for lying to her about such a stupid thing, yet I don't think I could stand the behind-my-back gossip about my drunken antics on the weekend at work. At least when they talk about me peeing in a public place they'll say 'but she couldn't help it, she was getting a bladder infection'. It's a small thing, but hopefully it should mean I won't be too ashamed to hold my head up at work.
And so that's me. This absolutely mammoth posting has let you know me most intimately, with all my faults, and golly there's heaps. But I've told you all the truth, you faceless people, which is more than I told poor Katie.
Cecilia, for the very first time.
*just like Bug I've changed names. This state is just too small not to.
posted by Cecilia @ 2:32 pm   2 comments
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