Category Archives: play

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Sun, Rum and a lost Kiwi…

Veradero, Matanzas, Cuba

Unless you can fully go undercover, looking and sounding like a Cuban, the best option for travel is to just get a taxi. After yet another struggle getting there, we spent the whole day at the beach in Veradero a tourist town located on the north coast of Cuba. The section of the beach we hung out on had a bar where the beers were $2 and the mojitos $4, you beauty. If your staying at one of the resorts the chairs and drinks are free which I guess if you have the ability to consume an excessive amount of alcohol could be worth it! The first half of the day consisted of Volleyball and swimming, the second half of drinking. Zag disappeared in the afternoon with a guy he met on the beach to go buy cigars and rum and we made friends with the lifeguards and police who were more then happy to share the rum with us. 

   

   

As the sun set, the lifeguard told us about a party happening about 5 mins out of town at the amphitheatre. We were all pretty sauced up at this stage so decided to head for some burgers before going. Kim also wanted to go check out some accommodation in this town as we all agreed that it was better to just stay here rather then in Matanzas. Kim was on the home stretch of her journey and so became our ‘wallet’ consistently on the hunt for a better offer. The last we saw of her she was stomping down the street headed god knows where but she ended up loosing us and getting a ride back to the Casa by herself after arguing with the employees at the bus station for an hour. She would later admit that she protested to the overpriced bus by pulling out her beach town and setting up a make shift bed in the middle of the bus station office and refusing to let them close. 
   

   

Meanwhile, the three of us boys had notified the police that we had lost Kim, only to be reassured by an officer that she had been seen getting a lift in the direction of our town. Our worried minds were put at ease at the extremely accurate description of her so we jumped in a taxi and headed to the amphitheatre. The place was packed when we arrived and we ended up paying some random guy in a suit to get us in quicker, which basically consisted of him grabbing us and pushing our way to the front of the line. Turns out the band playing that evening were extremely popular in Cuba and there was a crowd of around 6000 Cubans and us boys in our board shorts and thongs. Tonight would be the first time that my phone would get stolen although I must add two points. The first, it was hanging out of my loose boardies kinda asking to be taken and secondly I was given the opportunity to purchase the phone back for the sum of $35CUC. I stomped back to where the other two were and warned them, snatching up our belongings like a paranoid lunatic. The response from the two boys was exactly that “You’re being paranoid,” however Tomas would return home that evening without his phone and without the opportunity to buy it back. 
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Today I…

Woke up grumpy again. Get off me.

After an un-expected but amazing date night in Carlton watching Yves Saint Laurent we’d gone to bed – seriously SHUT THE FUCK UP HEAD MACHINE*.

Eli goes to work and I wake up in his bed again after pressing the snooze button 5 too many times. “I’m only working a day shift today and then I get to go to my screen writing course” I say to myself as I force myself out of bed and outside awaiting my taxi back home. Taxi comes and I get in, I tune out and pray that he isn’t one of those chatty drivers. I’m in luck he’s not and i get to listen to talk back radio all the way home until I stumble half asleep into my house. Past the lounge room I notice a yellow envelope on the bench with TOM written in black permanent marker. I get excited and open it to find an invitation to Bianca’s baby shower before throwing it on my bed as i’ve seen it before and the usual excitement of a baby shower is lost on me.

Checking the time as I get out of the shower I notice I’m running late so the pace picks up and before I know it I’ve stepped over my long overdue laundry and into ‘Coin Laundry’ my local cafe to pick up my “I’ve just missed my train and I have time to get a coffee, coffee.”

Arriving at work I hear the news about my managers heavy day the day before and also come to the realisation that I’m now working a double shift and will miss out on uni tonight. Devastated I rush downstairs in the middle of lunch service to send my lecturer and email joking about how the young bearded lad who says nothing in his class because he’s too scared to say anything won’t be there tonight. I make a point of letting him know how much I’m enjoying his class(highlight of my week is the exact describing phrase I use) and ask him to send me notes. Then out of desperation to escape I book flights to Perth..and New Zealand.

When your day starts off that rocky it can only get better. I had one of the best nights at work I’ve ever had. One of the guys called in sick and the whole team pulled together and helped each other out. I felt really proud of myself(I can’t lie) because every person running around that restaurant(except for one) had been hired after myself and to see they all have come so far, whether it had anything to do with me, or not…it was just pretty amazing to see how well they all worked together and helped each other out.

Its pretty horrendous when you take a snapchat selfie of yourself and realise that you haven’t put your phone on silent. Now I’m tipsy and in a taxi on the way to Brunswick. Howler to be specific, funnily enough it was really windy. Met up with Candice and Tania. Tania was back to her old self. I could see it in her eyes. We talk of art galleries and movies about fashion designers and long days at work and we hold hands. Its windy and the lights in the building reflect on to the trees and then the Irish bartender who we’ve made friends with tells us to get the fuck out in the best way.

The girls are in a cab and I’m getting a kebab. Mixed thanks, with cheese, garlic sauce AND hot sauce. Cabs fly by but I decide to get an Uber for two reasons. The first being, I’m not finished my kebab yet and the second being…its an uber.

Back in the south side, lying on my bed. Listening to music and trying to articulate my day. I text a few people and ask for their email address so I can subscribe them to this. Text Zag my drunken words of wisdom. Text Zsuzsa confirming my yoga session in the morning. Text Eli. Hit Publish.

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There’s a time for sloppy drinking…

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It’s called (never) when you arrive in the city and realise that your decision to not wear a jacket as you were hating on everything in your wardrobe …was a bad choice. Bring on the booze blanket!

I’m torn with this new campaign. Whilst working in hospitality and having eyes has allowed me to come to the conclusion that it’s a great idea and definitely necessary in our grog loving country, the inner sloppy drunk can’t help but feel offended and type cast.

I had a look at their Instagram between Richmond and Flinders Street and was pretty impressed with their creative graphics and use of the work f***. Perfectly in context if you ask me, as I’m guessing the demographic that they’re aiming at aren’t shy when it comes to profanities and it’s important to get on your target audiences level.

They include pictures with captions describing ‘grinding on inanimate objects’ and ‘hugging the toilet bowl’ as signs that maybe you’ve had a few too many. I guess the reality is that, especially in my case, these scenarios are all too familiar and not always a vital component in having a good time. Whilst appreciating that many are incapable of finding such a thing I think the most important aspect of drinking is balance.

Case in point; right now I’m balancing in my chair as I write this and if I can get up and balance my way to the bar, avoiding the drunken suits who are arguing with a bouncer in front of me, I shall purchase another beer. See?

Putting aside my ego driven offence I doth my cap to this How to Drink Properly campaign. Recommend you all check it out and fully intend to look more into it tomorrow…After I’m done with the toilet bowl that is.

Instagram: @drinkproperly
Web: howtodrinkproperly.com

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Now arriving at Aspendale

Aspendale.

I was at it again. Day four of my bender. If it weren’t for my one dry day last Wednesday I would’ve now been hitting the piss for a whole week straight. Meeting up with a friend I haven’t seen for a while, we headed down the familiar side alley to our usual haunt. I knew I was tired but as I sucked down my third old fashioned I didn’t seem to be concerned about how early I had to be at work the next day.
We made the sensible descision to kick on after the bar closed sometime around 3am. Being a Sunday night and sufficiently smashed, options were limited and we ended up at one of those glamoureious Pokie venues that are open 24/7  buying pints of who the fuck remembers what.
By the time we called it a night at stumbled out of the joint we notice a tram go sailing by as a cheeky indicator of how late we’d stayed out. I remember Candice getting in a taxi. I remembering buying a newspaper and getting on a train. I remember reading a few articles before throwing it over my shoulder in disgust of the average display of journalism in my drunken opinion.
Then I woke up.
Fuck. Peeled my eyes open; “Mordiallic Station” the LED sign read.
Fuck. “Is this train going to the city!?” I yelled out to whoever wanted to hear it.
“Nah mate! Its going to Frankston!” a kind stranger yelled in reply.
“FUCK” this time out loud.
I flew to the door and unsuccessfully pulled at the door with whatever ferocity I could muster. Then stood their looking and feeling like an idiot for however long it takes to go further away from the city to Aspendale. Off the train I get, around to the other side of the platform I go and there I wait. It must have been quite the sight for all the 9 to fivers: me standing there in my ridiculously purple, fern leaf coloured shirt, reeking of booze and ciggies on a Monday about to hop on the 6:46 train to the city.
I could barely see straight and didn’t even notice the judgemental looks being shot in my direction until I made eye contact with a  blonde haired young man sitting on the other side of the train amongst the suits. I could tell by the cheeky look in his eyes that he knew exactly what I’d done from his own experience.
I walked in the door at 7:30 and collapsed onto the bed. My clothes were still on, the sun and my housemates were up, I had an hour and a half to be up for work.
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The Best Plans

December 31st 

1999. 
 
It was New Years Eve and we spent the night driving around with Mum going from party to party. I don’t remember any of the parties except the last one we ended up at and the only part I remember clearly is when the clock struck 12, one of the adults at the party flickered the lights in the lounge room on and off and I thought what a lame way to bring in a new century. 

 
Safe to say that the 9 year old version of myself sitting on that couch in a strangers house would be proud of me to say the least. I definitely made up for the massive anti climax of that night over the years. It feels pretty weird that I’ve spend today working out, cleaning my house and napping. I had absolutely no plans up until 48 hours ago when Klinton announced that he would be hitching from country New South Wales around 9 hours south to Bendigo. When Lisa finishes work tonight at 6pm the two of us are jumping in the car with out friend Kitty and road tripping it to Bendigo. 
 
It might sound crazy to some(especially people living in Bendigo) that we would leave the city on New Years Eve. Not even heading to the beach but inland to a country town where we only know one person. The 9 year old Tommy inside me is thinking ‘what the hell are you doing?!’ I say to him what I said to Klinton a couple of hours on the phone when he was excited trying to plan an itinerary for the night; Sometimes the best plans are no plans. 
 
Happy New Year! 
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The Rules of Snapchat

The Rules of Snapchat.

It was Tuesday night and our TV was not cooperating. My two housemates and I were forced to
entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way….conversation.

After the three of us tired of our usual topic of conversation(boys), Briggs brought up a
interesting point about the app some of us, including myself, have spent far too much time on these past few months :Snapchat. When I first began using it, it was all about sending unflattering images of myself; hung over mainly, to my nearest and dearest. It was perfect.
I got to fulfil my urge to take photos of myself(selfies) and they got a laugh, for three to six seconds depending on the horror of the content.

As the app grew in popularity and the ‘nearest and dearest’ I spoke of earlier turned
into a less exclusive list (Basically anybody I knew with a sense of humor) it evolved into
something more. After receiving a Chris Lilley inspired dictation shot from a friend
of my housemate, Erin, I found myself giving what I like to call ‘snapgobbys’ on almost a
daily basis. inappropriate. Childish. Funny.

Rule Number One: Don’t snapchat your acquaintances.
Not only is it awkward for them to find out what a freak you are, but its awkward for you, when they’ve been ‘too busy’ to reply to your texts, but have plenty of time to laugh at you. 

Now I honestly don’t know if it’s a case of me having a sick sense of humour, or if nobody can come up with anything quite as funny, but in the past couple of weeks my snapchat inbox has been filled to the brim with what I’d now like to call snapcrap. I feel like I’m going through emails after somebody has subscribed me to a hundred newsletters, I don’t have any interest in. Sure I think your kids are adorable, gee that pasta you just cooked looks amazing and well done with your progress at the gym, but I have to be in a very particular mood to find any of that worth looking at and when I do;

Rule Number Two: Keep your dogs, children and lunch where they belong…
On instagram. You can’t sit there and whinge about the content of what somebody is posting that way….you CHOOSE to follow people on the gram. 

Much like facebook is all about ‘keeping in contact with friends & family’ aka Stalking your ex.

“I was just stalking my primary school boyfriend and accidentally liked one of his photos from like 2 years ago. god dammit! Now he’ll know!”*

and that cute guy you met Friday night….

“sometimes I’m looking at one persons profile and from there I click onto someone else and then someone else and then half an hour later I’m like ‘WTF why am I stalking this person? How did I even get here?”* 

I use snapchat when I only have a very short amount of time to communicate my current mood/situation with my friends and thoroughly appreciate the 5 seconds amusement I get when receiving a hideous reply. The disappointment, when I’m after a quick pick-me-up at the expense of someone other than myself and I get a picture of your lunch is soul shattering.
There are plenty of other ways to feed our need to broadcast ourselves so lets keep this one as lighthearted and immature as we possibly can, which brings me to

Rule Number 3 Fellas…keep your dacks on!
That’s what grindr/blendr is for. The only penis I want to see on snapchat is the one, poorly drawn on my friends face.

Please note; video messages which are completely ridiculous but hilarious are also acceptable.