Hubris.co.nz

So apparently if I want to talk nonstop all night and all the next day, I should do what I did on Friday again, which is accept Cinta’s challenge at work to stick a berocca in my mouth and let it disolve. I don’t understand why NZ has a P problem – why aren’t all the kids just doing this shit instead? Man I can fucking babble, and talk a lot of shit, as I did all the way through Havana, and Scopa and Good Luck. I mean I know I normally talk pretty much nothing but shit, especially I’m drinking, but not usually with quite that much speed or lack of ability to stop myself even though I could hear my talking in my head. On reflection though, I know I brought up at least a couple of intelligent conversational points. I just raced through them very quickly. I’d sent out a couple of texts about gaxy and a lack of shine, and then the gaxy made me feel even older when she was like “oh, I remember listening to this song (‘Forgot about Dre’) when I was 15″ – it came out in 2000, right? And then that was compounded when she was like “so have you finished your degree yet?” But then she called another girl a whore and I realised that we weren’t so very different after all and I laughed at myself a whole bunch. I also laughed when we were at Scopa and the boys went out to smoke, and I looked up to see one of them stopping the tourists who were trying to come in and demanding to see some ID. Drunk boys are hilarious (*).

On Friday I’d ordered the weather to be sunny, so I wasn’t too surprised when I woke up on Saturday to see that the weather was glorious. I still managed to have entertainers’ stress outs though when my phone started beeping with people cancelling, or saying they’d be late, or that they’d meet us at the venue. But I went and picked up Brad, and got changed into my outfit and started peeling kumara while he said he was finishing off my birthday party. He then ahemed me and I turned into the lounge to see him standing there IN A FUCKING BEAR SUIT and when he told me to turn off my music in the kitchen, he started up a Spiderbait song and performed a dance he’d choreographed especially for me, although it had some basis in his class assignment to create something you’d want done at your funeral. He danced and he danced and i just about died from smiling and the sheer total fucking awesomeness of it. And like that I was giddy all over again and I knew that the Caribbean would be awesome – and it truly truly was.

People showed up in various states of dress, and the boys who weren’t piratey enough were made to wear headscarves. The McLeod’s Daughters, meanwhile, were tarted up to all excellence:
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We had some RUM and some other forms of GROG, which mostly consisted of PIRATE BEER, and then Katy put my boots on for me when I discovered that I couldn’t put my boots on without revealing pretty much all of Mary-Kate and Ashley, and I felt like an incapacitated drunk, instead of a tipsy giggly pirate, and now on reflection what I should have done was just taken my boots to a different room. But nevermind. We loaded ourselves into the good ship Insanity, which in a previous life had been my parents’ van, and passed around more cans of pirate beer to those who wanted them. I have photos from the van, but no laptop, so therefore no photos. But I do have photos from pirate mini golf to show you though, from my parents’ camera:

My mummy and daddy, who enjoyed themselves hearrrrtily, I think. And who are also crazy.

Myself and Brad

Two thirds of the revellers (2/3 of the KKK and the other Jo were exploring the mega centre when we got there)

Par for the course. Heh.

So, it turns out I’m as bad at minigolf when I’m drunk as I am when I’m sober. I still got a hole-in-one out of the castle, but on some I got sixes. Nevermind. It was very hard to stop saying “yarr!” so I gave up and just continued to spit out terrible pirate jokes and say inappropriate things. I found also that zipping up my hoodie kept the twins under a little more control so I got less distracted. Minigolf is awesome. You should all go.

Then we drove back home, waving our cutlasses at Ash’s car, and I started cooking my Caribbean feast of “goat” curry, blackeyed beans, candied sweet potatoes, jerk chicken and yellow rice. I am fucking awesome. We made daquiris and other rum-based concoctions, and Mike and Chrisana and Lisa arrived. People rather disturbingly started deep-throating a cutlass handle. General revelry and rumbustification was had. It was fucking awesome and radness. And due to the amount of mangos in the daquiris, and staying up late playing records, I wasn’t that hungover the next day, hurray!

Instead I spent my day laughing at Bart and Smoo who’d been on a different, shinier eyed journey the night before, and cooking a roast family dinner (yes that’s right, I roasted a whole family), and rereading Microserfs and doing dishes and laundry. Clean, dry laundry! Oh happy day!

Then this morning I got up to watch the soccer, because Dave had a $50 bet on Italy and they won, and that was yayness. Although my whole view of Italians has been shaken by the revelation that my favourite hospitality person is apparently younger than me, went to Onslow and actually went out with LisaB. I was like “what? he’s so beautiful, how could i not have seen him around before?” so I am obviously going to have to find my yearbooks and do some investigating.

Auckland in two sleeps’ time, yay!

This whole not having a computer at home thing is pretty sucking. I mean, I can check my emails on Smoo’s computer (which is actually my old one), but it’s at a funny low table, and the monitor is 14 inches, and I asked him if I could rifle through his panty drawer while I was in there, and he said he didn’t have a panty drawer; he has a panty floor. So you can understand why I might not be so keen to do that.

And I’ve been crazy-busy at work too! On Monday and Tuesday I went to Moodle Moot 2006 up at Vic Uni, which is every bit as geeky as it sounds, but parts of it were actually interesting, and important for me to learn. And I got sandwiches. And felt like puking when I went into the Student Union building (and then I laughed because I spent so long wondering why some of the people there didn’t like me, until I realised that actually, maybe it had something to do with me actually not liking them, actually). For the past couple of months at work I have made the mistake of saying “I need some more work! I need some more work”, and now all of a sudden I’ve had four projects dumped on me. One of them involves becoming an expert in Moodle pretty much last week. Awesome. Another involves me actually project-managing various things. Luckily most of what I need to manage is myself, and I’m crap totally awesome at that. Honest. You should see how on-to-it my project plans are, if by that I mean “what project plans?”. Come back Peti, all is forgiven! Even if the temporary scheduler has declared that I am her favourite project mananger on account of how I’m not asking for any resources ever.

Current things apart from Moodle that are high on my list of things in my brain right now is about a thousand tons of MSG from lunchtime yum cha with Cinta and Dave (“Oh, they’re white people, well I suppose we’d better bring out the deep fried stuff”), a thousand tons of bad pirate jokes for Saturday, and a bunch of anxiety about the weather and the likelihood of playing mini golf not being very high, and also stressing about whether or not people will actually come to the Caribbean, and thinking about how much cleaning I have to do before then, and how much money and time I’ve spent on food for the event and oh oh oh, I’m just typing way too quickly now because I need to have this entry finished in four minutes so I can make it home and put on my pjs and do some cleaning and also rejoice in the glory that is Rockstar being back on TV.

I had other things to tell you, no doubt, but I can’t remember for the life of me what they were. Oh yes, I’m going to be in Auckland on Wednesday-Sunday, and I’d like to hang out. I’d also like someone to go to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs with since Lisa can’t make it. I mean, I can go by myself, of course, but it’d be nice not to have to.

Oh, and one of my other new workmates knows Annabel. Damn small world.