Row 1: Misha, BourbonBird, M; M's brother, Dan; M's best mate, Pete.
Row 2: M's workmate B & ex-missus, K; M rubbing bourbon on his balls; Misha and M.
Row 3: BourbonBird; M vogueing; Pete's mullet.
It's funny how some snootier Sydneysiders recoil at the mere mention of this establishment, claiming that it's rough and all that rot. Maybe it is, I'm not too sure, since it reminds me of Brisbane, and that place is generally a little rougher around the edges in comparison to Sydneytown. What I do know is that I can hold my own in a room full of backpackers and said 'rough' folk, and that it's a great atmosphere for what we set out to do, which was to drink and be merry. Whinging bastards.
Notables:
Misha has this thing for bloodnuts, and when I spotted one, I weaved myself over to him to ask politely if we could have our photo taken with him. That ginger prick said no, and he was pretty pissed off, too. I have NO idea what that was about, except that he was a fuckwit. I don't know if that was an exclusively bloodnut-type trait, but he was unneccesarily hostile. Dick.
Everyone patting me on the head like I'm buddha's belly. No, it's not better if you do it gently and in a steady, circular motion. The novelty of me being a short bird wore off, say, oh, fifteen years ago. Thanks for the reminder that I resemble some sort of sherpa-type thing. Oh! And guess what? I may have been pissed as a fart, but it still wasn't funny when people slumped to my height and laughed their tits off to see what it's like to be an Oompah Loompah.
Most of M's old mates came along, and it was good to be received in a nice enough atmosphere. I think I heard, 'If you and M didn't get along, I wouldn't be talking to you. *insert drunken weaving* ...because THEN, you'd be a bitch, you get me?' spiel one too many times that night.
M in a really great mood. M and I get on great now, but the fact still stands that I left him. I think it's commendable that he could not only invite his ex-wife out to his birthday piss-up, but that he was genuinely happy to have me and Misha there.
Pete's mullet. Pete is M's best mate of about 20 years. I have no words for this hairdo. Faithfuls know of the old 'molet' I once sported, but I don't think this is hypocritical. Some people just shouldn't have them. Misha loved it, though. Not really.
British backpacker spitting in M's mouth mid-conversation and backing her arse into his idle hand while he was buying her drinks. Those Brits sure know how to instigate shenanigans!
I had such a great night, and it was great to do the post-booze existential forum-type thing at Hungry Jack's afterwards with Misha. Our next due date for hijinx is June 25, when we go see the Stereophonics play at the Enmore. Whoop!
