Indy party ... lol
I must say, yesterday was quiet a busy day; I feel somewhat accomplished. We cleaned the flat almost from top to bottom, and it feels a lot larger now that the mountainous piles of rubbish have disappeared (both inside and out!) Fuelled by a generous donation of ritalin from my flatmate I scrubbed what I could until it was time to bus to Hugo's parent house to get... drumroll... FIREWOOD! Our house is so much nicer when it's warm!
At Hugos house, Anthea filled us full of toasted sandwhiches, chrisps and a delious cake called Kindergarten Cake, (called so as it's exceptable for anyones palet, being just a simple cake) and we also met Mataos? I think that's how it's spelt.. Mat for short anyway. He's an italian exchange student who's been in the country for three weeks and can barely speak any english. He was nice though, and helped up load up firewood into the trailer. Ahh, I also got my table back, how I've missed it. Well, I say my table... it's actually Gino's. For some bizarre reason he left it in the back garden of Gracefield Ave when he moved out .. we didn't realise for a while, but when we did - SCORE!
When we got home everything was locked up, and of course I let myself, went back outside to unload the wood and locked us all out. It's a very unsatisfying feeling having to spend half an hour trying to break into your own house without trying to damage anything. Clearly this didnt work so I ended up having to yank apart the french doors. They gave way disturbingly easy. After the wood waas put away we piled rubbish into the trailer to be taken to the dump. Thank fucking god.
My parents gave me a mattress! We no longer have to sleep on a mattress representing the Himalayas! The plan is the drag the old mattress to the park and set it on fire. I plan to do a tribal dance around it! I also plan to be drunk!
Bahah! Speaking of things my parents gave me, they donated a sack of mens clothing to the flat, the most entertaining item being a PVC-ish designer skirt that states it's from London, but was also made in Italy. It's disgusting how much it actually suits Adam!!
So we drove off to Anthony's flatwarming. It was bizarre, there was quite a few people (INCLUDING JOHN, NIKOLAI!) but they were all indy kids, and I only met 1 person that could actually handle her liqour, not to mention the fact that she was constantly handing me g and ts in a margarita glass. Clearly, the best of both worlds. Patrick Waikuku was there and he caused the hugest, most entertaining, longest scene I have seen for a while. Actually, no, it happens at our house every other week, but the indy kids were obviously new to Patrick. He arrived in a blazing glory of too much Teachers whiskey with a gang of Waikuku boys (which was hilarious in itself) and proceeded to remove most of his clothing and fling himself around in front of the live band. At one point he stole the microphone off the poor indy kid and started singing. Patrick, I love you. It was a bit of a crying shame when he dropped his whiskey bottle and then started rolling around in the broken glass though, the fucker bled everywhere, lol, and then he proceeded to give himself concussion, a causulty of the concrete. Half of the party hated Patrick, and the other half kept coming up to us (Me, Hugo, Adam and Laura) and telling us how much of a legend he was. Some guy on acid shouted me a session though, which was appriciated. I was actually too poor to buy my own liquor, so remained almost painfully sobre the whole time, apart from the occasional g and t and stolen beers (thank you Patrick, you never realised!)
And now I'm here, at Northlands fucking Mall wasting my life away behind this small counter explaining to a man twice my height how exactly to kill and skin a sheep. Oh and if you were wondering, no he didn't buy the knife.
A want a lift plus.
At Hugos house, Anthea filled us full of toasted sandwhiches, chrisps and a delious cake called Kindergarten Cake, (called so as it's exceptable for anyones palet, being just a simple cake) and we also met Mataos? I think that's how it's spelt.. Mat for short anyway. He's an italian exchange student who's been in the country for three weeks and can barely speak any english. He was nice though, and helped up load up firewood into the trailer. Ahh, I also got my table back, how I've missed it. Well, I say my table... it's actually Gino's. For some bizarre reason he left it in the back garden of Gracefield Ave when he moved out .. we didn't realise for a while, but when we did - SCORE!
When we got home everything was locked up, and of course I let myself, went back outside to unload the wood and locked us all out. It's a very unsatisfying feeling having to spend half an hour trying to break into your own house without trying to damage anything. Clearly this didnt work so I ended up having to yank apart the french doors. They gave way disturbingly easy. After the wood waas put away we piled rubbish into the trailer to be taken to the dump. Thank fucking god.
My parents gave me a mattress! We no longer have to sleep on a mattress representing the Himalayas! The plan is the drag the old mattress to the park and set it on fire. I plan to do a tribal dance around it! I also plan to be drunk!
Bahah! Speaking of things my parents gave me, they donated a sack of mens clothing to the flat, the most entertaining item being a PVC-ish designer skirt that states it's from London, but was also made in Italy. It's disgusting how much it actually suits Adam!!
So we drove off to Anthony's flatwarming. It was bizarre, there was quite a few people (INCLUDING JOHN, NIKOLAI!) but they were all indy kids, and I only met 1 person that could actually handle her liqour, not to mention the fact that she was constantly handing me g and ts in a margarita glass. Clearly, the best of both worlds. Patrick Waikuku was there and he caused the hugest, most entertaining, longest scene I have seen for a while. Actually, no, it happens at our house every other week, but the indy kids were obviously new to Patrick. He arrived in a blazing glory of too much Teachers whiskey with a gang of Waikuku boys (which was hilarious in itself) and proceeded to remove most of his clothing and fling himself around in front of the live band. At one point he stole the microphone off the poor indy kid and started singing. Patrick, I love you. It was a bit of a crying shame when he dropped his whiskey bottle and then started rolling around in the broken glass though, the fucker bled everywhere, lol, and then he proceeded to give himself concussion, a causulty of the concrete. Half of the party hated Patrick, and the other half kept coming up to us (Me, Hugo, Adam and Laura) and telling us how much of a legend he was. Some guy on acid shouted me a session though, which was appriciated. I was actually too poor to buy my own liquor, so remained almost painfully sobre the whole time, apart from the occasional g and t and stolen beers (thank you Patrick, you never realised!)
And now I'm here, at Northlands fucking Mall wasting my life away behind this small counter explaining to a man twice my height how exactly to kill and skin a sheep. Oh and if you were wondering, no he didn't buy the knife.
A want a lift plus.