I took a look at my life yesterday, and I have to admit, I did have to smother an impulse to laugh.
I actually live in the most ridiculous teen comedy ever. Not one of those feel-doog ones though. The weird ones, like the zombie teen flicks, where all of the protagonist's best friends turn into brain eating, photo shop weilding, twitter status updating maniacs who weild an axe of pure hysterical madness.
Okay, so I took the metaphor a bit far.
BUT it is ridiculous, and one does have to laugh - I guess. Though it can be disheartening at times to be surrounded by the undead little bitches.
MOVING ON.
G wants everyone to know that he is gonna get kicked out of school and end up as a wine-o cleaning the streets of Hong Kong as he missed his IOC.
I woke up super late today and ran all the way to the tube station(buses were all full) had a minor panic attack when the train wouldn't fucking move. Arrived in the middle of an EE meeting to the usual threats of pestilence and plague if work is not complete. Or if we don't tidy up our lunch, in respect to our dear, dear cleaning lady. Needless to say -
nobody cared.
Will probably not be allowed out for Hallowe'en, the mostly absent mother has suddenly started deciding to be there, almost too conspiciously. Drives me nuts.
Just beasted my IOC.
ta dah!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Che peccato!
Bonjourno all! I am currently writing from the town I am currently living, breathing... and thats pretty much it... in.
The town in question is Santa Marinella, its not even really a town. More like an oversized village with a very noisy railway running through it which wakes me up at precisely seven every morning. There is also a large contingency of fat, brown people here and lots and lots of olives, gelato and pizza.
The beach would be very picturesque if you could actually see the sand for the masses of oiled and bronzed italian bodies crowding every square inch. The water is clear, but suspiciously warm at times.
The nightlife is fantastic. For one hour between 11 and 12 you can sit on the steps leading down to the beach and smoke some weed with your greasy - but mostly friendly italian counterparts.
The culinary range is incredibly diverse, ranging from pizza to gelato... and back again. If you really are at a stretch for something new I know someone who owns a spear gun and you can catch your very own octopus (if it doesnt catch you first).
As for things to do, as any town resident will tell you, we have a library! A real life working library, complete with one computer and a rickety internet connection and say, oh, a dozen books. They are very sophisticated here.
Oh and the motoring! If YOU are interested in cars, boy is SM the place for you. We boast a wide range of Fiats, Peugeots and Fiats and.... Fiats! But thats beside the point. The point is the condition in which they are in. Lovingly smeared with mud, youths having used it as a free art space by scrawling "Duce!" with a swastika on. And the intricately ordered bumps and scratches, so that the car is so pimped out you cant even recognize what model it is! THAT is what I call good carmanship.
And the fashions! Oh my. The girls dress like beautiful peacocks, love handles spilling lustrously over their spray on denim jeans, t-shirts that end just short of their breasts, displaying a lovely expanse of dimpled stomach flesh. Combine this with ear rings that look like hubcaps stolen from some poor unfortunate soul's Fiat and you get the authentic Euro Glamour Puss look. The boys prefer to dress in imitation of Kevin Federline. This is not an admirable look for many, but the boys in SM certainly pull it off (actually not sarcasm intended there)
The only truly dispicable thing about this otherwise beautiful seaside town is the tonne of beautiful boys. Every where I look I get an eyeful of wonderful male specimen. This is such a hardship and I am not sure whether I can bear it much more...
Love, as always
Cassoo.
The town in question is Santa Marinella, its not even really a town. More like an oversized village with a very noisy railway running through it which wakes me up at precisely seven every morning. There is also a large contingency of fat, brown people here and lots and lots of olives, gelato and pizza.
The beach would be very picturesque if you could actually see the sand for the masses of oiled and bronzed italian bodies crowding every square inch. The water is clear, but suspiciously warm at times.
The nightlife is fantastic. For one hour between 11 and 12 you can sit on the steps leading down to the beach and smoke some weed with your greasy - but mostly friendly italian counterparts.
The culinary range is incredibly diverse, ranging from pizza to gelato... and back again. If you really are at a stretch for something new I know someone who owns a spear gun and you can catch your very own octopus (if it doesnt catch you first).
As for things to do, as any town resident will tell you, we have a library! A real life working library, complete with one computer and a rickety internet connection and say, oh, a dozen books. They are very sophisticated here.
Oh and the motoring! If YOU are interested in cars, boy is SM the place for you. We boast a wide range of Fiats, Peugeots and Fiats and.... Fiats! But thats beside the point. The point is the condition in which they are in. Lovingly smeared with mud, youths having used it as a free art space by scrawling "Duce!" with a swastika on. And the intricately ordered bumps and scratches, so that the car is so pimped out you cant even recognize what model it is! THAT is what I call good carmanship.
And the fashions! Oh my. The girls dress like beautiful peacocks, love handles spilling lustrously over their spray on denim jeans, t-shirts that end just short of their breasts, displaying a lovely expanse of dimpled stomach flesh. Combine this with ear rings that look like hubcaps stolen from some poor unfortunate soul's Fiat and you get the authentic Euro Glamour Puss look. The boys prefer to dress in imitation of Kevin Federline. This is not an admirable look for many, but the boys in SM certainly pull it off (actually not sarcasm intended there)
The only truly dispicable thing about this otherwise beautiful seaside town is the tonne of beautiful boys. Every where I look I get an eyeful of wonderful male specimen. This is such a hardship and I am not sure whether I can bear it much more...
Love, as always
Cassoo.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm BACK!
So I have really been not so great at keeping this up.
HOWEVER, I have renewed my resolve, and decided to start blogging again. Mostly because I am lonely and my only contact with human life is through my beloved new computer game, Sims 3.
Possibly the most terrific life-substitute anyone could ever ask for, in my mind!
Did you know, I spend so much time playing Sims 3 that I only blink about twice an hour so my eyes turn red and I have difficulty seeing/brushing my hair/petting my dog (just the other day he was mistaken for a cushion - not that surprising until you find out my cushion is blue). My dog has been resembling Jesus Christ a lot of late but you know, less holy and more brown and furry. Still, he does insist on wrapping himself in blankets and proclaiming himself the Messiah.
Enough with the ramblings. Since I don't really feel the urge to completely update y'all (isn't that what the kids are saying nowadays? - as my great friend RWP would say) on my life, I shall just talk.... and talk and talk.
We're on transition week right now, which nobody seems to actually know the point of. We do a lot of sitting and listening, or in my case sleeping, in the darkened recesses of the school. Today I was enjoying a particularly pleasant nap in... - well I don't know what it was 'cus I was sleeping! -and I was awoken by a sharp bang on my desks. I got very annoyed with the boys as I was having a dream about playing Sims 3 (that didn't sound so sad in my head). I also spent some time doing some vaguely impossible test, which we are all meant to do to prove the KGV teachers aren't teaching us a load of rubbish. This hypothesis was sadly disproven as Year 12s all across the SSC (the crude watering hole with peeling linoleum floors and the lingering smell of vomit and dead skin that they try and pass off as our senior common room) scratching there head it pure WTF-ness. WTF-ness, adj, in the act of being befuddled and distressed at the fact that your teachers haven't taught you anything and your finals are coming up.
'Am currently in the process of writing a document which is called a personal statement. Since I haven't the foggiest what this 'personal statement' is, I do not know how to write it, will not write it, will write in my blog instead, drop out of school, catch swine flu and die - or so they imply!
Talking of our beloved porcine disease (the fact that it does not come from pigs, but from Mexicans instead troubles me greatly in terms of racial stereotypes) Hong Kong government has declared an all out war on it. I don't particularly know why, as it doesn't seem particularly life threatening to me (though it would be slightly disconcerting if I grew a snout and suddenly had an affinity for taking mud baths), but I am quite enjoying the Armageddon atmosphere the government and media have created by over reacting to the 'pandemic'. A very serious form tutor has informed me that schools may close down on friday, I felt like grabbing said serious tutor and doing an Irish Jig with him, but I am afraid he would have locked me up, where I belong.
Jigging into the sunrise,
Cass
HOWEVER, I have renewed my resolve, and decided to start blogging again. Mostly because I am lonely and my only contact with human life is through my beloved new computer game, Sims 3.
Possibly the most terrific life-substitute anyone could ever ask for, in my mind!
Did you know, I spend so much time playing Sims 3 that I only blink about twice an hour so my eyes turn red and I have difficulty seeing/brushing my hair/petting my dog (just the other day he was mistaken for a cushion - not that surprising until you find out my cushion is blue). My dog has been resembling Jesus Christ a lot of late but you know, less holy and more brown and furry. Still, he does insist on wrapping himself in blankets and proclaiming himself the Messiah.
Enough with the ramblings. Since I don't really feel the urge to completely update y'all (isn't that what the kids are saying nowadays? - as my great friend RWP would say) on my life, I shall just talk.... and talk and talk.
We're on transition week right now, which nobody seems to actually know the point of. We do a lot of sitting and listening, or in my case sleeping, in the darkened recesses of the school. Today I was enjoying a particularly pleasant nap in... - well I don't know what it was 'cus I was sleeping! -and I was awoken by a sharp bang on my desks. I got very annoyed with the boys as I was having a dream about playing Sims 3 (that didn't sound so sad in my head). I also spent some time doing some vaguely impossible test, which we are all meant to do to prove the KGV teachers aren't teaching us a load of rubbish. This hypothesis was sadly disproven as Year 12s all across the SSC (the crude watering hole with peeling linoleum floors and the lingering smell of vomit and dead skin that they try and pass off as our senior common room) scratching there head it pure WTF-ness. WTF-ness, adj, in the act of being befuddled and distressed at the fact that your teachers haven't taught you anything and your finals are coming up.
'Am currently in the process of writing a document which is called a personal statement. Since I haven't the foggiest what this 'personal statement' is, I do not know how to write it, will not write it, will write in my blog instead, drop out of school, catch swine flu and die - or so they imply!
Talking of our beloved porcine disease (the fact that it does not come from pigs, but from Mexicans instead troubles me greatly in terms of racial stereotypes) Hong Kong government has declared an all out war on it. I don't particularly know why, as it doesn't seem particularly life threatening to me (though it would be slightly disconcerting if I grew a snout and suddenly had an affinity for taking mud baths), but I am quite enjoying the Armageddon atmosphere the government and media have created by over reacting to the 'pandemic'. A very serious form tutor has informed me that schools may close down on friday, I felt like grabbing said serious tutor and doing an Irish Jig with him, but I am afraid he would have locked me up, where I belong.
Jigging into the sunrise,
Cass
Sunday, March 29, 2009
ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVENS!
So I am currently sitting in school, hungover to the teeth, wishing that I had skived my one measly lesson.
So this weekend was possibly the highlight of my life (which isnt that amazing considering the lack of life that I have). The rugby sevens in hong kong is considered the highlight of the sports calander. Not being particularly into sports, I was glad, as always, to find fellow alcoholics who consider it the highlight of the drinking calendar, respectively.
The fun and games start on friday, where it poured with rain which is usually not such a good sign. Spent the day at school with FAB designing our witty home made t-shirts proclaiming that we were 'breast friends'. We left them in the art room and probably gave some year sevens brain aneurysms (which I feel like I have right now). We then proceeded to bail on last period in order to get good and ready for the intolerable amount of alcohol which was to soon line our stomachs. We met in Central, me being a little late due to the pouring down of a torrential rainstorm - did not deter me in the slightest, but made it quite hard to walk downhill. We then proceeded to epically fail on our journey. Starting with our MTR ticket failure (we were both meant to use he same ticket to cross the barrier, unfortunately, FAB being the genius she is, forgot this fact and proceeded without me, leaving me stranded.) and I had to jump over the turnstile, proceeding to drop the contents of my bag onto the grimy, chewing gum ridden floor. As if people weren't looking at us enough, FAB then managed to drop her chewing gum out of her mouth mid-sentence. I then realised I had left my ticket at home, so FAB had to give me her cherished spare, which she was going to sell for lots of $$. Thanks FAB, sorry I'm so mentally ungifted. We then dashed to the lovely bathrooms in lane crawford, paint dripping off our homemade tshirts and onto our already wet handbags, and started to smear red paint on our tshirts. This sounds smarter than it was as we then realised it was quite difficult to wipe off, and we ended up with red hands like we had some kind of rare skin disease. This all happened while a group of immaculately dressed young ladies with chinese dresses looked on at us in disgust while they fixed their makeup. We took solace in the fact that they would no longer look so clean when they went into the downpour outside.
Off we traipsed to the stadium, me having lost my cigarrettes for the second time that day, and picked up a couple of beers and free inflatable things. Got to the stadium only to find that they were apparently not allowed in(our inflatables, not the beer, strangely enough) and had them put into a formidable looking bin. We met up with a bunch of keen early arrivals and proceeded to drink ourselves abso fucking lutely stupid. Didn't actually manage to watch any rugby, but came out of the stadium looking like a depleted crayon with paint running down in rivulets all over my face/bag/clothes. Headed home to get ready for the afterparty, armed with a legion of pot noodles (which I neever managed to properly consume without spilling all over the floor) and was soon informed by box box that she was crashing the one man party at my house. Got ready real quick in a dress that no longer fits me properly due to an inordinate amoutn of growth in my breasts (read: I had the chest of a twelve year old boy before, it has now evolved to that of a twelve year old girls, which makes it difficult to wear any of my old clothing). With my dress busting (literally) at the seams, I headed to Wanchai avec Box box to find RWP, who was admiring C's bartending skills (not) at Maya. Bored with Wanchai, we headed back to invade the after party, where we found that the queue was longer than one of my blog posts. In an attempt to kill some time we headed to Zinc to pole dance and grab attention(who doesnt like attention seeking?) with Jello S. Jello S had an inordinate amount of energy and was leaping and bounding everywhere with her usual abandon which is always amusing to watch (and join in with - of course). Boxbox soon got bored and went to the afterparty - skipping the queue and the paybooth, leaving jello S and to continue with our debauchery.
Saturday morning, was beginning to feel quite shitty due to shots/beer/pimms that I had consumed the night/day before. Drinking for more than two days can really take its toll on you, despite being a veteran drinker. AH FUCK THIS MY HEAD HURTS TOO MUCH WILL WRITE MORE LATER.
So this weekend was possibly the highlight of my life (which isnt that amazing considering the lack of life that I have). The rugby sevens in hong kong is considered the highlight of the sports calander. Not being particularly into sports, I was glad, as always, to find fellow alcoholics who consider it the highlight of the drinking calendar, respectively.
The fun and games start on friday, where it poured with rain which is usually not such a good sign. Spent the day at school with FAB designing our witty home made t-shirts proclaiming that we were 'breast friends'. We left them in the art room and probably gave some year sevens brain aneurysms (which I feel like I have right now). We then proceeded to bail on last period in order to get good and ready for the intolerable amount of alcohol which was to soon line our stomachs. We met in Central, me being a little late due to the pouring down of a torrential rainstorm - did not deter me in the slightest, but made it quite hard to walk downhill. We then proceeded to epically fail on our journey. Starting with our MTR ticket failure (we were both meant to use he same ticket to cross the barrier, unfortunately, FAB being the genius she is, forgot this fact and proceeded without me, leaving me stranded.) and I had to jump over the turnstile, proceeding to drop the contents of my bag onto the grimy, chewing gum ridden floor. As if people weren't looking at us enough, FAB then managed to drop her chewing gum out of her mouth mid-sentence. I then realised I had left my ticket at home, so FAB had to give me her cherished spare, which she was going to sell for lots of $$. Thanks FAB, sorry I'm so mentally ungifted. We then dashed to the lovely bathrooms in lane crawford, paint dripping off our homemade tshirts and onto our already wet handbags, and started to smear red paint on our tshirts. This sounds smarter than it was as we then realised it was quite difficult to wipe off, and we ended up with red hands like we had some kind of rare skin disease. This all happened while a group of immaculately dressed young ladies with chinese dresses looked on at us in disgust while they fixed their makeup. We took solace in the fact that they would no longer look so clean when they went into the downpour outside.
Off we traipsed to the stadium, me having lost my cigarrettes for the second time that day, and picked up a couple of beers and free inflatable things. Got to the stadium only to find that they were apparently not allowed in(our inflatables, not the beer, strangely enough) and had them put into a formidable looking bin. We met up with a bunch of keen early arrivals and proceeded to drink ourselves abso fucking lutely stupid. Didn't actually manage to watch any rugby, but came out of the stadium looking like a depleted crayon with paint running down in rivulets all over my face/bag/clothes. Headed home to get ready for the afterparty, armed with a legion of pot noodles (which I neever managed to properly consume without spilling all over the floor) and was soon informed by box box that she was crashing the one man party at my house. Got ready real quick in a dress that no longer fits me properly due to an inordinate amoutn of growth in my breasts (read: I had the chest of a twelve year old boy before, it has now evolved to that of a twelve year old girls, which makes it difficult to wear any of my old clothing). With my dress busting (literally) at the seams, I headed to Wanchai avec Box box to find RWP, who was admiring C's bartending skills (not) at Maya. Bored with Wanchai, we headed back to invade the after party, where we found that the queue was longer than one of my blog posts. In an attempt to kill some time we headed to Zinc to pole dance and grab attention(who doesnt like attention seeking?) with Jello S. Jello S had an inordinate amount of energy and was leaping and bounding everywhere with her usual abandon which is always amusing to watch (and join in with - of course). Boxbox soon got bored and went to the afterparty - skipping the queue and the paybooth, leaving jello S and to continue with our debauchery.
Saturday morning, was beginning to feel quite shitty due to shots/beer/pimms that I had consumed the night/day before. Drinking for more than two days can really take its toll on you, despite being a veteran drinker. AH FUCK THIS MY HEAD HURTS TOO MUCH WILL WRITE MORE LATER.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Stop hanging out with vultures.
'Had a mostly pleasant day today.
'Had philosophy first, which, as usual, was a waste of time and which I, as usual, slept through. It was Duddy's fault, he made me take the against side of gay marriages, and he knows how that upsets me so. I also did a few nice drawings of nothing in particular when he woke me up. Dick. I then proceeded to make up an excuse for not having done my homework (the old "my dog ate it" line doesn't seem to quite cut it) and skiddadled to film studies, to have another failed deadline. YAY!
Film was much more dull than usual, members of my group were trying to make me work (which in itself is a travesty) and to get off facebook (assholes) so I could write their script (writer's block). I hate school. Moran was yelling at my to get off facebook too, HEY LADY i'm the only one in our class who likes you, cut me some slack, yo.
Went for some fresh air with FAB and headed to Central to meet W, who was late, but I forgave him - a sign of my infallible grace. I showed him the various sights of central (well, Lan Kwai, but whatever, those are the only sights worth seeing) all the while keeping up my usual charming conversation (notice the irony?) and constant annoying commentary. Who wouldn't want to spend the day with me? We also bumped into C's dad while walking around. I do so hope he does not report to my mother that I was skiving school and wondering around with a strange boy (Not that you are a strange boy W)
W then had the idea of going to watch Frost/Nixon, which is an excellent film (though a little sympathetic towards Nixon - who I am not a big fan of, but the film made him positively loveable), and I recommend you all to go see it immediatly. I was literally LEAPING out of my seat haha poor W. 'Felt quite nice doing normal things like going to the cinema, after my previous life of teenage delinquent. Note to self: stop being such a sociopath, and make some friends to go to the cinema with.
Not that anyone would let me watch what I want, they would probably rather watch confessions of a kleptomaniac or whatever that film is with the advert of the girl getting out of the car with tonnes of clothes. Luckily W wanted to watch what I wanted to watch, or there would have been major trouble.
I spent the rest of my afternoon uselessly procrastinating. MUST DELETE FACEBOOK/YOUTUBE/FMYLIFE/POSTSECRET/MSN IMMEDIATLY, so I can stop pretending to have a social life and actually start on this pile of work that is slowly crippling my soul.
Who says I have a soul anyway?
Vous m'adorez, ne dites pas le contraire!
x
'Had philosophy first, which, as usual, was a waste of time and which I, as usual, slept through. It was Duddy's fault, he made me take the against side of gay marriages, and he knows how that upsets me so. I also did a few nice drawings of nothing in particular when he woke me up. Dick. I then proceeded to make up an excuse for not having done my homework (the old "my dog ate it" line doesn't seem to quite cut it) and skiddadled to film studies, to have another failed deadline. YAY!
Film was much more dull than usual, members of my group were trying to make me work (which in itself is a travesty) and to get off facebook (assholes) so I could write their script (writer's block). I hate school. Moran was yelling at my to get off facebook too, HEY LADY i'm the only one in our class who likes you, cut me some slack, yo.
Went for some fresh air with FAB and headed to Central to meet W, who was late, but I forgave him - a sign of my infallible grace. I showed him the various sights of central (well, Lan Kwai, but whatever, those are the only sights worth seeing) all the while keeping up my usual charming conversation (notice the irony?) and constant annoying commentary. Who wouldn't want to spend the day with me? We also bumped into C's dad while walking around. I do so hope he does not report to my mother that I was skiving school and wondering around with a strange boy (Not that you are a strange boy W)
W then had the idea of going to watch Frost/Nixon, which is an excellent film (though a little sympathetic towards Nixon - who I am not a big fan of, but the film made him positively loveable), and I recommend you all to go see it immediatly. I was literally LEAPING out of my seat haha poor W. 'Felt quite nice doing normal things like going to the cinema, after my previous life of teenage delinquent. Note to self: stop being such a sociopath, and make some friends to go to the cinema with.
Not that anyone would let me watch what I want, they would probably rather watch confessions of a kleptomaniac or whatever that film is with the advert of the girl getting out of the car with tonnes of clothes. Luckily W wanted to watch what I wanted to watch, or there would have been major trouble.
I spent the rest of my afternoon uselessly procrastinating. MUST DELETE FACEBOOK/YOUTUBE/FMYLIFE/POSTSECRET/MSN IMMEDIATLY, so I can stop pretending to have a social life and actually start on this pile of work that is slowly crippling my soul.
Who says I have a soul anyway?
Vous m'adorez, ne dites pas le contraire!
x
Sunday, March 15, 2009
No one has any expectations for me, so therefore I can never disapoint anyone
Enough with the procrastination...
I've been doing it all day, and I really need to DO SOMETHING.
So I decided to write in my blog, who says I'm not productive?
I am going to pass a resolution that I will write in my blog more often, I know all of you are positively killing yourselves (or to put it in a way Gabriel García Márquez-esque way, walking around with you're steaming guts protuding from your stomach - YAY!) when I don't update, and I never have been one to want to cause suffering for anyone else.
So my life, the ever exciting entity it is, has been rather uneventful as of late. But hey - like it's ever eventful.
Friday I had the delight of watching Margeret Attwood speak on Friday. I was so excited the night before I could hardly sleep, it's sad that literary festivals are the highlight of my life. The day before I went and listened to Markus Zusack, a beautiful specimen of male, unfortunately married, and even more unfortunately Australian. Nevertheless both talks were rivetting.
Unfortunately, my real problem was when the poetry recitals came around. If you have never been to a literary festival, you usuall have the hotshot auther speaking, and then some wannabe hotshot poets talking afterwards.
It really was an excruciating experience. They agonized over words, using overly flowery embellishments, and uttering completely pretentious bullshit. It was rather horrible as it made the whole ampitheater vibrate with awkwardness. A shame, as Attwood herself was absolutely marvelous.
After the lecture, our Higher English class all headed for coffee at starbucks (inadvertantly missing 4th lesson which, no doubt, was the aim of the whole excursion) Ho and I discussed how utterly awful previous mentioned poets were, and made a pit stop at 7-11 before heading on the starbuck feuled expedition.
School was mediocre - didn't really acheive anything as per usual. We established that our Young Enterprise venture was to be Fuzzy dressed in a bunny it selling creme eggs, we reckon we'll have a windfall. Who doesn't like creme eggs (or buff rugby dudes with inordinate amounts of chest hair in bunny suits)?
After school, I met up with Boxbox, went back to my house, threw on some clothes and headed back out to meet F.A.B outside the free-for-all (7-11) in central. After procuring ourselves some redbull and cigarettes, we headed to Langham to wait for the ever absent KELY ( hahaha kely support group) in the miniscule garden outside Langham.
Finally, KELY arrived, and we bundled into a cab to our school's rock concert. Once we arrived, it was clear it would be absolutely no fun at all, unless there was some form of illegality involved (it consisted of bunch of shy year eights, looking at each shyly other from underneath their eyelashes, and pushing each other around trying to make someone else dance first). Boxbox, Siu mai, KELY, FAB and I headed to the nearest free-for-all and sampled a few libations to improve our increasingly dour mood. Once back inside the concert, we were having the time of our lives. Shouting at the band members to remove articles of clothing, and dancing in an increasingly unhinged manner, was just one of the symptoms that we were having a good time. FAB and I managed to get the whole winning band to remove their shirts, which is probably going to be our proudest accomplishment in a long time. At the end of the concert (after yelling increasingly suggestive thing at the cute guitarist) we headed for the nearest watering hole (TST) to quench our thirst for more fun. We were soon joined by Muffin and Lloyd, but only had one drink as I had to go home soonish anyway, plus RWP was about to get in deep shit, which was killing Boxbox's mood,
Why, you may ask? Because she insists on telling stupid lies to her parents, and expecting everyone else to cover for her. I love her to death, but she has changed so much since C and her started dating, that I just get so angry when I see how stupidly she is behaving. She wants to be with him, fine, I get that, but you don't need to fall over yourself backwards in order to spend every living moment with him. I thought when they first started going out, I MIGHT have been able to deal with it, but they make it so uncomfortable for other people, don't they see it? It's like, OKAY I GET IT, YOU LIKE EACH OTHER A LOT. Stop emphasising the point by sticking your tongue down each other's throats every time you have the opportunity, regardless of what complany they are keeping. I have tried discussing this with her, but even though I told her it was pissing me off, she continues to do it, maybe she'll get the message over cyberspace.
UGH
sorry, rant.
Moving on. Saturday morning and afternoon, I was amusing horrible little children and eating a lot of procciutto (sp?) - I know, Cassi eating, whatthefuck. Saturday evening I met up with Aardvark and M at the Cricket Club. There was a wedding reception going on, that apparently forbade us to sit on our favourite perch (the pool roof) so we only stayed for a few beers and buggered off. M artfully persuaded my dear maman to allow me out, and we headed to my house to find me something decent to wear, and then to Aardvark's to do the same (Oh, and the boys needed to fix their hair, there is soemthing inordinately funny about watching two 17 year old boys stare transfixed in the mirror while spraying hairspray on their heads). We headed to Azure for drinks, M insisted on having a bottle of red wine, which he never finishes but always insists on buying, and aardvark and I sipped on the more conventional vodka redbull. The boys wanted to go off to Wanchai, but I bid them adieu, as something told me things might have gotten awkward had I gone. Walked around LKF for a while, watched the football while getting hit on by some Brazillian blokes and lied outrageously about my life, which is never as fun as it sounds (having had quite a lot to drink, I was forgetting crucial facts in my psuedo life, like how old I was and where I was from). As the match wound out, I wandered out of Zinc and down LKF (still by myself, which is more fun than it sounds) when I realised I did have a curfew and should probably leave soon. I asked this guy the time, and we got talking for a long time, very interesting guy, lets call him W. He was very funny and did not try to sleep with me, so I was much impressed, and enjoyed a fantastic conversation about everything from short term memory loss to speech impediments, all the while sitting on the ground near 7-11 like hobos.
That, my friends, is what I call an excellent Saturday night.
Today, I did fuck all.
Go me.
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