the first rule is – don’t talk about it

Wednesday, November 17th, 1999

Wednesday morning meant sleeping in, and then hanging out a whole shitload of washing. I hate hanging out washing. I’ve always hated it. It just takes so fucking long. Plus, I have like underwear problems, or rather problems with people seeing my underwear, so I have to construct elaborate ways of hanging out clothes so that people sitting in the lounge or porch are not gazing at my knickers. Yes, I am a freak. I think I can cope with that.

What else? Umm, I did the dishes with Brad, and discussed his plans for the evening – which was going to Justin’s, then doing improvey stuff at the Classic at night, so I asked him to wait for me until 11.30pm that night so that I could get a ride home with him, and he agreed. Then I made myself look gorgeous (hey, there are at least three magic wands lying around in this house, I’ll have you know) and jumped on a bus to go into town to meet up with Thomas.

We saw ‘Fightclub’, which was really really excellent. Before it, I was fully like “Brad Pitt is SO over”, but mmmmm, I have changed my mind now. And Edward Norton was just brilliant, and so was Helena Bonaham Carter, and etc etc. I was giggling the whole way through, the way you’re supposed to, but I did feel a bit bad. The sound effects were great. I love stuff that makes me cringe. Sometimes.

After that we had Indian from the food court, and went for a drink at Murphy’s. But apparently there were too many scary people there, so we left after one drink, and searched fruitlessly for a new watering hole. But we had nothing but indecision, so I was going to go home. Walking up to my bus stop on Symonds Street, however, I suggested we try the AIT Blue Room, so we did, cos it looked open. I dunno if it was a private party or what, cos there were only about 10 people in it, getting down with their bad selves to all sorts of crap R&B. But that’s cool, we had drinks and sat on sofas watching Juice on a big screen, just without the sound. So basically, it was just like being at home, only less messy and worse music. Then it seemed like they were wanting to close down, so we went to the Classic for chocolate vodka instead. Only they didn’t have any chocolate, so I had to have passionfruit and then Hazelnut instead.

Justin drove us home then, taking an extended route so that we could hear all of a song on his Travis CD. I was kinda drunk, and splayed out on the small back seat, because I am that classy. Brad had offered me shotgun, but I said I was used to the back seat of Justin’s car, and winked at him, because I was feeling bored. When we got home, we decided that we wanted salty snacks, so we got some, and watched half of an Errol Flyn movie, “The Seahawk”. Brad’s never heard the word “Swashbuckler” before. But YOU have, right? Please confirm this. Thank you. And sign my guestbook sometime too as well, especially if you’re not someone I know. Or even if I know you intimately. I just like to know that there are poeple out there.

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