I’m in Auckland. But that’s not what I’m going to talk about. I’m going to talk… well…. write…. about my quarter-life crisis. Although I guess it has something to do with Auckland as I had beer/coffee with a lovely lady, who goes by the name of Ali, the other day and I was whinging about figuring out exactly who the hell I am all over again and working out this whole mother/full-time worker/single-20something-year-old chicko. Then Ali let me in on a secret: most 20something-year-olds also go through quarter-life-crises. I’m not terribly unique. Or overly screwed up. I just have the mother thing thrown in there to mix things up. Good times.
So anyway, that was a long winded way of introduction to a Friday night drunk story. Someone‘s drunk story. A drunken night that involved a failed drunken proposition that went something along the lines of “So, yeah?” “Yeah, nah.” “Oh. Yeah.” Then a not-so-failed attempt to move on from failed-crush in approximately 5 minutes. Followed being kicked out of a pub for excessive public display of something that couldn’t quite be called affection (can NEVER go back!), locking oneself in one’s bathroom, climbing out the window, getting certain visitor to let one in one’s own front door, slightly unclothed perhaps, and then neglecting to notice flatmate’s friends attempting to sleep in one’s lounge who may or may not have witnessed the toilet-locking-subsequent-escape-through-window incident and been polite enough to ignore possible nudity, and switching off absurdly early alarm after total memory blank of conversation from previous night where alarm was agreed upon to ensure arrival at a certain ferry.
Yeahhhhhh. There’s been a lot of revision of what “2009: the year of fun” means pour moi. I’m not entirely sure getting trashed and then enduring cringe-worthy memories is reeeeally all that fun. Not going to rule it out completely of course… but may take a different tact. Next try is “having fun with friends” and perhaps begins over Easter when I hopefully (hopefully! hopefully!) have a trip planned to hang with a be-dreaded Gisborne friend. Significantly less drunkenness and subsequent fool-making-of-oneself I imagine.
And in the mean time, I’m feeling a step closer to the end of my quarter-life crisis.
P.S. I want a Canon G9. Yep. It will happen. Somehow. Magically.