Lapi* is in a stable condition

*I know it's a really unimaginative name - I am not so good at naming inanimate objects. Andrea is. She called her toaster 'Poppy,' which is freakin' awesome


Just got back from 10 hours of stocktake! I think supermarkets play a lot of Coldplay so that people get depressed and want to buy stuff to cheer themselves up.

Here's a story about how I sassed an old man.

OK so quite often when we're stocktaking, shoppers assume that because we're standing about with little scanners we work at the supermarket. Fair enough.

So today an elderly gentleman with a large nose and rheumy eyes toddled over to me and declared in a cantankerous wheeze that there weren't any Ready Salted ETA potato chips. "Pardon?" I said, because I wasn't quite sure I'd heard him (or in fact that he was talking to me). "I said" replied the elderly gentleman, revealing that he had been a crusty old man all along, "there AREN'T ANY READY SALTED ETA POTATO CHIPS!"

"That's interesting." Pause. "I don't work here."

FUCK YOU, OLD DUDE.

Also, a small child (overheard: "Mummy, Mummy!" "Eww, cover your mouth when you cough." "No!") ran around my feet as I scanned things, then asked his mother what "that man" was doing. To be fair, I was wearing a beanie & no makeup, & the child was little. This put me in mind of other times I've been mistaken for a young man, usually when out caroling in my mannish band uniform, with short hair & hat on. ("Go on, dear, give the money to him...oh, to her...to...oooh.")

It also reminded me of the time I got in a fight over a girl. Want to hear the story? Yeah you totally do.

So I was at this party in Paraparaumu (pronounced 'pram') which is, for those who don't know it, a little seaside town about an hour out of Wellington. It was a birthday party, and it ended up lasting for 36 hours; I think I arrived about 8pm Friday and went home at 12pm Sunday (on the train, it was traumatic) and the party was in full swing when I arrived, and really only stopped about 7am Sunday morning. (Actually, the full story of the party would make a ripping yarn, in the style of TLDOML. If you guys are keen for another one of those four-part stories let me know & I'll do it when my laptop's better.)

I didn't know anyone except the host, so I wandered about joining in random conversations and meeting people and making friends and generally enjoying myself. One of the people I met was a girl called Bree. We got along well & ended up sitting outside on some steps having an intense, emotional and very pissed conversation about something which I no longer remember but which meant a lot to both of us at the time, and then a very drunk guy lurched outside, lit up a cigarette, and sat down next to Bree in a very purposeful fashion. To be fair, she had been dancing with him earlier in a fairly shall we say sensual way, but then it was that kind of a party.

Then the drunk guy, who I should probably mention was a huge douche, put his hand on Bree's leg, and 'suggested' that I leave the two of them alone. Bree was pretty drunk, and I didn't want to just toddle off & leave her (the party was in the country, and there were many convenient spots to pop off to for a quick shag, or so I was told) so I said asked her if she wanted me to go. "No," she said, "don't go." The guy glared at me and told me that Bree was fine, and that I really should go. Threatening glare and all. Then Bree made the surprise announcement that actually she wanted to make out with me and not the drunk guy, and launched herself at my face.

The drunk guy reacted to this plot twist with a mixture of disbelief & arousal, and made some noise which was more or less "hurr hurr fnarr fnarr wait til I tell the guys about this threesome I am about to have" then a bit of that noise people make when they're pretending to be French. Alas, he did not realise that he was the only person in the conversation who wasn't thinking "what a douche." I was about to politely ask him to leave when I accidentally smirked and told him to fuck off. Bree echoed this sentiment and added an inappropriate hand gesture, which really helped.

So the drunk guy accused me of cockblocking him. I told him it wasn't my fault that I was hotter than he was.

He punched me in the face! There was a brawl! I had a black eye for the Monday Morning Team Meeting! What a badass.

Good story eh. And that was only one of the 36 hours.


I might have to start a "Next, on Today Is My Birthday*" segment.

Next, on TIMB* - The Longest Party Ever, Part One (and/or This One Time, at Band Camp...Part One, in which I take you from behind on a magical journey through the world of brass banding by recounting my experiences*). Stay tuned. Do not adjust your dial.**


Also, I'm thinking of renaming my blog, but I don't know what to. I had a slogan and everything, but I forgot it. (zach - can you remember what this was? it was maybe in the same conversation as 'sort of but not quite' for sleep500. andrea - I probably told you in a fit of excitement? Or maybe I thought of it when I was talking to you, not zach? man I gotta write shit down, and also not hold private conversations in blog posts.)

Actually now that I've realised the acronym is TIMB* I'm not going to change it at all, I'm just going to start referring to my blog as TIMB*aLand and shout TIMB*er! every time I post.


*the funny ones

**probably just one of those phrases would've been sufficient