Wellington was awesome! I love Wellington.
On Friday night I did my makeup on the plane (went straight to the airport from work and more or less straight to the party from the airport (second airport at the other end, not same airport)) and mentioned to my seatmate that I was not a nutter, just a person going to a party, which she took as a cue to chatter on about Life and Children and Dreams and Careers and Youth for the duration of the flight, while I went "uh huh," and tried not to poke my eye with the mascara (we had some turbulence). At the end of the flight, seatmate stood up to reveal that for the entire flight her sizeable arse had been resting on my phone. It wasn't broken, though. Just horribly warm. It was only after I had entered the terminal and placed my phone to my ear that it had probably been farted on. It made me feel :( but she was a nice lady and I was in Wellington (yay!) so it was kind of ok. Also, I had some wine in the departure lounge.
Got all boganed up, which made me feel :) again! (Will try find a photo & add later when am not at work.) I wore blue tank top with netting on it - the top itself stopped under m' boobs, but the netting - which was silver - continued to hip level, creating an effect called 'ham in a string bag' (thank you, Sarah, for bringing this to my attention). Topped it off with black pants, heels, and a lurid red & purple bra peekin' out from under the ham top. Then I teased my hair! I looked so tacky (and, during the hair-teasing process, not unlike Russell Brand.)
This is where the photo will go.
The party itself was great - we sat outside around an open fire, drinking wine from the bottle (and eventually bourbon from a can), listening to Metallica and generally being white trash. The best thing, as someone pointed out, was that somewhere else in the city the same party would be taking place, but it would not be ironic.
Went out for breakfast the next day (the hungover, 2pm kind of breakfast) and saw a small child eating bacon as if it was sucking up a strand of spaghetti. Wasn't even using its hands! Awesome Bacon Child (ABC). When I have my circus child, that is how it will eat its bacon.
New party on Saturday night - one of the flatmates had a book full of thought-provoking questions, like "If you had to be the sex slave of any historical figure, who would you choose?" and "If you could get rich doing something you don't currently do, what would it be?" and "If you could lock someone in a room for a day and torture them, who would it be, and how would you go about it?" and, while that was highly entertaining, it turns out that if I don't think before blurting out my answers I come off as mildly psychopathic (for example, the torture one is meant to be an ethical challenge, not an exciting opportunity), so everyone learnt a little more about me than they needed to. And then we talked about my toenails, and everyone learnt a little more.
Bathroom of the flat we partied at on Saturday had a hand towel dispenser (which was mildly odd in itself, but that is not point of story). It had "DO NOT USE THESE HAND TOWELS THEY BLOCK THE TOILET" (or something similar) written on it in landlord-handwriting, but below that, someone else had written
doo doo do do
can't flush these!
and it made my night; also in night-making territory, I heard the alphabet burped for the first time! I was far too impressed. How did I get to be 22 and never hear someone burp the alphabet? Deprived childhood. When I have my bacon-hoovering circus child, it will burp the alphabet.
Today, making an ad for Beaver Landscaping and trying not to giggle.
EDIT: When I came home from work and told Mum about Beaver Landscaping, she reminded me of a Blenheim company owned by the unfortunately-named Mr Butt (whose son I