the noise that keeps me awake

I’ve really got to work on this overdoing the weekend thing I’ve got happening.

So Friday after work I stop at home briefly to pack some things (and clean the kitchen for good measure) before hooning down to Bunbury to visit my folks (and Gifford) and to see their new house now that they’ve moved in, and damn, that place is schmick. It’s huge, it’s shiny, the view is awesome… it really whoops the llama’s ass. Through some deranged turn of events, I ended up getting out of bed earlier on Saturday morning than I had on any other day of the week. It must be said that I am not much of a 5am person, but there’s only so much time I get to spend with my Dad, so we went out to meet another mate of his and played 18 holes of golf. Colin (the other fella we went out with) isn’t as good as my old man (but he’s a good sport about it), which made it easier on the holes where I ended up doing more groundskeeping in the rough than hitting the ball. On the upside, almost every shot I made out of the sandtraps was a pearler, the downside being that I was in there almost every hole. But seeing as how I hadn’t played in months and my grip still isn’t what it used to be, I went alright. It’s not like golf’s about scoring anyhow.

After some shopping, we spent the rest of the day hanging around the house and setting up a waterfall-rock-gardeny thing my Mum had (which turned out pretty cool), before I went to town to see the Denzel-ified remake of The Manchurian Candidate with Steve, Mother dearest and a friend of hers. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t really that great either. Meh out of 10.

After Church and lunch the next day, I headed back to Perth to hit rehearsals (which it just wasn’t my day for) before going home in enough time to gather some supplies before heading to Kingsley for a Birthday/Halloween party. The party went alright, though for a while there I was standing around like the whole thing was some joke I just wasn’t getting, but after a while I started yapping to a few people I knew, humourous dialogue ensued, you know the drill. It wound up pretty early though, around eleven, mostly due to the softness inherent in some folks and some excuse or other involving “work in the morning”. So the conscious remainder of us conspired to transfer venues for additional tomfoolery (and Starburst jellybeans).

As luck would have it, I resumed consciousness the next day after roughly ninety minutes sleep, in the house of some couple in Wanneroo. After my logic circuits warmed up, and realising that for all logistical purposes, I may as well have been in Geraldton, the bike was warmed up and I headed to my traditional place of shelter in order to invoke the wrath of the hygiene gods.

A shirt and tie later, I arrived to work in a state that could sketchily be described as “thoroughly wrecked”. However I was in good company, as my workmate on the Helpdesk not only arrived almost an hour after I did (when he ought to have been there an hour an a half before myself) but also particularly unkempt and with the devil’s own hangover. So even looking like the walking dead, I was the golden boy by comparison.

It’d be so much easier to cut down if I didn’t enjoy it so much.

As a result, in the tradition of Casual Friday, we’ve been considering adding prefixes to other weekdays in order to boost staff morale and encourage a greater feeling of community within the department. So far we have settled on Surly Monday (after stiff competition from Hangover Monday), and it’s looking like Sobriety Tuesday is almost decided on, which leaves us with a currently lacklustre Wednesday and Thursday. All suggestions appreciated.

This week will be another exciting instalment in life, as our house is host to a game of Musical Roommates. Departing: One 21 year old male student, tall, comes with own TV, answers to most any name you wish to call him. Incoming: One 21 year old full-time employed zoology graduate, female, blonde, brings the table itself to the table, along with matching chairs.

In other news, Happy Birthday to Steve, and to you miserable horses, damn you and your lousy midget jockeys to HELL for these Melbourne Cup shenanigans that caused the closure for today of the Garratt Road bridge, making my trip to work involve a detour that took me pretty much all the way to the freaking airport.

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