When last we spoke, I was venting over the obvious misfortune of having my laptop removed from my possession. Since the aforementioned laptop is not in its homeostatic location (i.e. my lap) right now, I chose to walk down to the lab at 130 in the am, so that I could inform you vultures as to what was happening in my life, you know, what Ian's up to these days. While it is 20 min out of my way to come here, it goes by in the blink of an eye after yopu've been drinking, it's like sleepwalking, really. Why would I come down here? To inform you vultures as to my happenings in a developing nation (I'm only one man, but my correspondence will have to suffice) But, without further ado, let us take a trip down my week-long-memory lane:
tonight we went out to celebrate the birthday of one of the phd students here in the laboratory; since this is australia, the celebration included alcoholic beverages, many of them. Remeber what I said about people dancing in australia? Yes, well, it's all true. Irregardless (regardless?) of that, tonight there was a point where our group (comprised of all male humans) was in a circle surrounded by other gyrating humans whilest beats were broadcast in a repetitive fashion over the audio system. Sans females, it was straight out of Dane Cook's bit on dancing. However, one of the party's members, a 37 year old computer programmer may or may not have been dancing like Janet Jackson (now, since he is an IT guy, he will in all liklihood view whatver I post on here, because the www is his playground; so I say to you: thank you for the shots, and not to worry, it more resembled Janet from the days of yore, such as during the Rythmic Nation video, and not, as she spiralled downward, as the time when she started looking like michael, such as in their duet, "scream").
As I stated last week, I attended a party at which I was the only person that I knew. While this may seem strange given my lack of social-butterflyitude, keep in mind I otherwise may not meet anyone. So through an online roommate finding profile I had used to attempt to find an apartment, a young lady, Kate, emailed me saying I would make the perfect roommate for her quaint apartmenthold. Of course, I had just signed my lease in my hole of the hell variety, and informed her of such. No bother, though, I said I knew no one here, so we should still get together for a be-ah, and she invited me to her birfday/housewarming party, saying she had trouble finding a normal rommate. I thought this was code for "no one normal wants to live with me" whereas others seemed to think this was evidence of her coolness. Either way, I headed down to her apt. last friday, and -lo, I was the only male human in the joint. Of course I was. The 10 women in attendance included her mother and little sister. Who's normal now? Now, I would obviously never stoop to the point of using my good looks as justification for appraising the appearance of another, but let me put it this way; if I had chosen to live there, it would not be because I was attracted to my potential roommate. In all honesty, and fairness, though, I had a really good time, a few guys showed up and evened the balance between good and evil, and everyone was really easy to get along with, I'll proably hang out with them again. The place was really cool, too, unfortunately she's filled the room with a french chef-- I can't really compete there. Now that I mention it (to myself) I may as well start the online search again. In any instance, we all got shattered on cheap champagne, and all was good (until I realized I can't order a vodka collins at a bar, they have funny names for drinks here - I bet the girl next to me it would take me 4 tries of different ordering techniques before getting something out of the bartender - I was right, and still only ended up with vodka and sprite, and a lemon)
Now I don't think I've informed ya'll about my housemate (we'll call him Ben, because that is his name) who was home when the robbery was performed. He was still passed out drunk at 130 in the pm when this occured. He has a penchant for the wine and the THC. When I caught up with him, smoking a fattie (phattie?) in the backyard, he asked me what I was up to:
"Nothing really"
"Oh that's really cool"
"Umm, ok - I just got back from doing laundry"
"Nice, far out man"
"No, it's not nice...LAWN-DREEE"
"Sweet, totally"
Seriously, it's like talking to Forest Gump on barbituates. Such behavior is acceptable when it's not an excuse for failing to hear someone kicking in 4 bedroom doors. Shit. Continuing, he has a girlfriend that lives with him (read the rest of what I say under the pretense that she actually is very nice). She is 24 and has a 5 year old kid. Ok, fine, I'm cool with that (the kid does not live in our international house, it lives with her parents). Now, though, they were discussing plans for new years (ben and his gf, michaela, not michaela and her daughter), and having trouble choosing between popping pills (most likely of ecstasy) or dropping speed. Are you kidding me?! Don't you just want to grab some people by the shoulders and shake the shit out of them sometimes? You have a kid! You're gonna be a grandmother within 10 years if you keep this shit up! Won't that make for fun Christmas holidays, enabling theives to take your granddaughter's cigarrettes that she probably stole from your purse, while you sleep off the previous night's drug-fueled buzz. Shit.
One more brief anecdote before I stumble home (you'll get more later, vultures; don't forget, I will have nothing good to say about this country until I experience some form of aussie euphoria). So I decided to do some belated christmas shopping, and by that I mean hawk the post-christmas sales for stuff for myself (by the way, I've decided I will succomb to paying more money for an easily attainable good or service, because I have no patience anymore for rifling through tables upon tables and racks upon racks of sale items). Anyway, I am in a nifty little boutique today, attemtping to purchase some designer jeans for my beautiful legs, and the sales associate gentleman picks them out for me. After telling me what would look great on my figure, he pretty much touches my butt in the jeans I was trying on (I foiled his grope, however, by placing my wallet in the back pocket for more "real-world" fitting). Of course he did. He said the jeans looked "sexy as" on me, and asked if I could go a size tighter. I politely explained that, no, recovering from surgery my legs were still growing, and so I was able to stop him from forcing me into a pair of jeans better suited for Christina. However, I was not able to stop him from conjuring up images of me in my sexy as tight jeans, feeding him grapes while he lounged clad in a purple and gold tunic. Needless to say, I bought the jeans... I'm a sucker for compliments. And gay men have discerning tastes, right? So I should feel flattered, right? The American accent works every time. Not to worry, Christina, I think it only works on dudes... though there was a girl, deborah, working in one store who said she loved american accents and kept asking me stuff so I'd reply and apparently say funny things. But she was 13 feet tall with cankles and said she often watched DVD's by herself. I told her I would watch DVD's on my computer but my computer's not here anymore, now is it? Then I fumed out.
Should I be less judgemental of people? I should be less judgemental of people. I feel like I come across as an arrogant prick. Oh well, maybe next time. As my boy Mike P says, by this time next year he "will be experiencing the sights and sounds of urban warfare, fighting so that I may have the freedom to continue acting like an obnoxious American tourist...Hooah."
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