10,957

I've been on this earth for approximately 10,957 days, give or take a few. There were a couple of leap years in there that I can remember and it's not quite my birthday, but as an approximate, it's a pretty impressive figure I think.

As a suitably depressed adolescent (emos weren't invented back then), I have to say I couldn't imagine myself making it to the grand old age of 30. Immortality was a given at the age of 12, and 30 was a very, very, very long way off. If only I knew it was only going to take another 18 years to get here, I may have tried a bit harder to achieve something ... anything ... with my life. Alas, I did not.

It's not all bad though. I've learned some stuff I think. Y'know, like how to cross the road properly, it is actually impolite to pick your nose in public and beer makes you fat (I learned the last one the hard way!)

It's been an interesting life so far. I was born in a country that no longer exists, moving here when I was just a chubby little cherub with big blue eyes and blond hair. Luckily for me those very traits secured me a fairly hassle-free time during the schooling years, although my correct use of the English language (having not learned Aussie slang as a wee one) and the fact that my parents were "foreign" made life a little difficult. But learning how to deal with small-minded country fuck-wits is something that every kid should master at a young age. It comes in pretty handy when you reach adulthood.

A couple of people have informed me that they didn't cope particularly well with the whole process of turning 30, that they cried and generally had a bit of a meltdown. I can happily say that the only thing that's worrying me is that I said that I would give up cigarettes when I was 30. My loophole is that I didn't say when I turned 30 so technically I don't have to give up on Saturday. Phew! But I'm sure the boy would like it if I gave up, and I don't like not keeping promises so I may just have to give it a real go. I used to not smoke, I'm pretty sure I could do it again. But it may mean not drinking for a while. Or perhaps drinking more so I can get used to drinking and not smoking!

Otherwise, I think it will be fun. Now when I get knocked back for not having any ID, I can scream that I'm 30 and it'll sound more impressive than 28 (the last time it happened ... and possibly will ever happen!) It's a good, round number and I, for one, will be lying about it for many a year to come ...

Happy Birthday to me!

September ...

It seems September came and went in a flash.

No post ... too busy, I guess.

All I really remember was Father's Day and buying my Dad, who isn't a big drinker, a bottle of Chambord because A. I like it, and B. It comes in a pretty bottle that I thought would look nice alongside all the other 50-year-old dust-encrusted bottles in his liquor cabinet.
The 30-year-old South African Cane spirit is what I really want to get my hands on, I'm pretty sure it'd be as potent as rocket fuel at this point and I'm gagging for it!

Other things I remember are free beers at Workshop (yes I finally made it back there), Favela Rock XVII (ever-so-vaguely), far, far too much unpaid overtime at work, the Doze Green exhibition, AFL day with Strorbz and the best souva I've ever tasted (probably not, but after a 10-hour drinking stint, I'm gonna stand by my claim), a multi-weekend hangover retrospective of CHiPS (I volunteered to write a review of it for work so I could get my grubby little paws on the DVD set) and a lot of hangover-induced sleep.

Perhaps October will be more memorable.

*Clearly the photo has nothing to do with this post. I just like it.*

Nowhere ...

Well, it's the last day of August and I realised yesterday that I haven't posted anything since last month, so I'm pretty much due for an update, seeing as how it's usually a once-a-month gig.

The only problem is, I don't really have anything to write about. I've pretty much been living the hermit life, except for a few exhibitions here and there, and Fav Rock, of course.

My social life has waned in direct proportion to my bank balance and despite the promise of three pairs of sweet kicks at the end of my dismal financial rainbow, it still hurts when you have to say no to the weekly piss-on with your mates ’cos you gots no dough. Although goon nights always go down well, the one and only I managed to arrange with Strorbz of late didn't happen ’cos I got mega-retarded at Aeon's exhibition the night before and somehow locked myself out of my house at 2am. Had to spend the weekend in the Berg til I could raise a housemate to let me back in two days later.

No money, coupled with doing stuff with the Boy, means I've been a no-show nearly everywhere I used to be a regular. I haven't been to Workshop in over a month (I'm starting to miss the dardy barman) and Section 8 is where, again? Not to mention Pony. Oh, how I miss Pony. Drunken swerve to classic ’80s and ’90s rock seems like so long ago. And I guess it was.

But, with the advent of Spring, followed closely by Summer, I forecast a resurgence in the Miglet social calendar.

Hopefully!

It's all about me ...

Well, it used to be all about me, and I guess in a way it still is (at least on here, anyway). But recently there's been a rather massive change in the world of the Miglet. It's a good change and it's happened rather easily, I must say, but it still makes me wonder ... how the fuck has this happened?

Somehow I've gone from being a single, carefree, booze-hag and Pony picker-upper, to a not-so-single, still pretty carefree, booze-hag, who wouldn't dream of drunkenly picking up Pony randoms. It's quite disturbing, but in a good way. And that disturbs me even more!

It's about expectations, I think. And I don't really know how to deal with people who have expectations of me. My parents never really did, or if they did, they never really expressed them ... except for the usual, be a good person and don't take the Lord's name in vain. The latter, too easy. The first, not so easy.

But I digress. It's a strange phenomenon to have suddenly let someone into my life after spending years not worrying about anyone but myself. I struggle with letting friends in, so anything more than that is, well, fucking massive. I find, however, that I kind of like it. I like that my 2am drunken text messages are met with a smile and not a grimace. I like that my weekends are semi-planned with someone else beforehand, because I want that someone else to play with me, too. I like that there's someone who will buy me water when I'm drunk, naively thinking that I would be responsible enough to put down my bourbon and maybe save myself from an almighty hangover the next day (which we all know will never happen). I like all of it and more.

I like it so much it scares me.

(In a good way ... of course).

It's called swerve, is it ...?

Well, it's been a while since my last post and I have to say that not much has happened in the land of Miglet. I mean, the usual is still happening. The usual being work, booze, swerve, and the like. But nothing really of note.

I have to say though, that last Friday's booze x swerve-a-thon at First Floor (Mr Thing) proved to me how influential the Miggy swerve can be on other drunken fools. It takes a few hours and I'm assuming a whole lot of alcohol, but I find that a lot of people approach me in the wee hours of the morn, either to dance with me, or just to talk to me ... to tell me they know me from such-and-such a place, or they've seen me around, or I've actually met them before (which is usually kind of embarrassing cos I have a terrible memory).

I had a stint at Pony where random crew would see me and say, "Hey, you're that chick from last week!" which prompted me to give Pony a miss for a few weeks, cos as polite as they were, it was a little confronting to realise that people actually remembered the way I danced. It's kinda funny, really, cos my ex paid out on my dancing once and then I pretty much didn't go dancing for six years (the duration of our relationship). Occasionally I would, but only if he wasn't around. And I don't think I had a definitive style yet, either.

I know this sounds like a serious post, but it's not. I just find it fascinating that other people have a reaction to the Miggy swerve. The way I dance is a bit of a joke, really, but I can't help it, it's just the way I dance.

Miglet's mid-week adventure

So, the story is that I went to the doctor on Monday because one of my internal organs has been giving me grief. I suspected it was my liver and upon being poked and prodded by said doctor, I received confirmation that in fact my liver was inflamed. So, I think, well that's it then. No more booze until it's fixed, or at least that was the plan. The problem is that I'm not very good at saying no to alcohol.

Last night, I was dragged along to a "meet and greet" with the other publishing crews that work in our building. By the time I finished work, and we got to the pub, there were only two people still there. I didn't want to look like a pussy so I had a beer. I figured one wouldn't really hurt. But then these two nice lads invited us to another pub where they were meeting other people. Being the adventure-seeker that I am, I said okay. My other workmates bailed.

So, while watching one of the lads drink Shiraz like it was red cordial and discovering the world is indeed a small place (one of the other guys at the pub is second cousins with a guy I went to high school with), I received a phonecall from Jamie. "Where are ya Migs? I'm at Workshop, you comin' down for a drink?". How could I not, especially as he threw in a "Cobee's here," as well. So I bailed on Drunky McDrunk and co. and headed for Workshop.

There was a Fu-Tang sighting which is always good. There was bourbon ... bad. There were Canadians (they're like Perth crew, they just keep coming). There was a stop-off at St Jeromes, some photos in the Myer mirrors, and then on to Lounge. Upstairs was open and there was no covercharge, so we went in.

And who do I find on the dance floor? My hate-dance-partner-in-crime, Tim. So it was on for young and old. There was a lot to hate. Especially that chick that tried to pick me up. And I mean, literally. She grabbed me around the waist and tried to lift me off the ground. I ran away quick-smart. Anyway, there was more bourbon, too many smigarettes, a cheeseburger and a 3.30am walk home.

Awesome.

Why I like Wednesdays ...

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I'm a mentallist. I get mental about lots of things ... stabby as well. Things like boys, my job, plebs, my housemates, the guy that works at my local IGA with the "Soul Glo" do, that Quizmania show, ugly backpackers, people who walk too slow, bar owners that don't give you cheaper drinks even though you've been drinking at their bar everyday for 12 months (stingy cunts, you know who you are!), ex-bf's, kool kids, boys (yes, they get mentioned twice), titty chicks, people who leave coffee in the sugar, the pizza delivery guy who brings me Coke instead of Sprite, and the list goes on ...

Generally after a big weekend of getting my booze and swerve on, I tend to get my emo on. And God help you if you call me on a Sunday cos you're gonna hear about it. But the one thing I've learned is that it takes two days to get over two nights of drinking. So, Wednesdays are usually the day when some semblance of normalcy returns to my brain, and my mentallism subsides (you'll note that Sunday isn't counted in those two days cos that's reserved for emo-ness).

After the Easter long weekend, one of my housemates, who I've decided to call CanaDan (on account of the fact that he's from Canada and his name is Dan ... duh!), was a little concerned about me on Sunday, as I looked and felt like death barely warmed up. But I assured him that all would be well by Wednesday.

And it is.

(Except for some misbehaving that has left one Superfriend mega devo at me, but I'm hoping he'll forgive me soon and we can go back to mid-week reps and weekend shenanigans once more ... fingers crossed, cos I love him to death and I'm truly sorry).

Small world syndrome ...

Back when I was a youngin', growing up in the wilds of the Gon, there used to be this thing called the Valley Syndrome. Basically, the popular kids from high school would move away from the Valley to go to Uni or whatever and in less than a year (usually) they'd move back to the Valley cos they weren't getting the recognition they used to get at school. Fucking losers.

My problem is, I moved away and loved it so much, and still do, that when I run into people from high school, I want to run screaming in the other direction. Don't get me wrong, high school was okay, the Gon was okay, but anonymity rocks.

Recently, however, I have come to realise that my world is getting far too small. The next few paragraphs will be pretty random, but it's just the sequence that will come out of my head.

For starters, two friends of mine (Perth crew) recently moved to Cremorne. They now live directly across the street from the guy who was my best friend in high school. I met these two boys through one of my best friends, Strorbz, who is also from Perth. I met Strorbz through my other best friend Soph. Soph met Strorbz through MySpace. I met Soph at a bar we both used to frequent. I used to go to said bar because my ex-bf's friend used to work there. Are you catching on ...?

This year alone I have run into quite a few peeps I grew up with or crew I haven't seen in years. On New Year's Eve, I ran into a girl who used to go out with the guy I was best friends with in high school. I hadn't seen her in at least five years. She is now seeing one of my ex-housemates. I also ran into a guy who I went to primary and secondary school with. Much to my horror, he recognised me and a brief chat ensued.

A few weeks later, I was at the Builder's Arms on Gertrude St having some Thursday night post-work drinks with workmates. And lo and behold, another blast from the past recognised me. It took me a good 30 seconds to recognise him. Another primary/secondary school friend. He is in my grade prep class photo. I haven't seen him since his 21st birthday or thereabouts.

A couple of days later, I run into the New Year's Eve girl and my ex-housemate while walking down Flinder's St at 1am. I haven't seen him for about two years.

About three weeks ago, I went for beers with Strorbz and his housemate and some visiting Perth crew (they just don't stop coming) and we wound up at Workshop. I met a guy there, we chatted. On Australia Day, I went to First Floor, ran into the same guy and he happens to be friends with a guy who worked at the same bar that my ex-bf's friend used to work at.

Friday week ago, I went to an exhibition opening in Collingwood with my ex-bf's friend. From there we went to the Tote for more ales and I run into a girl from high school who was a school band geek like me (except I wasn't a geek). Once again, I didn't recognise her, she recognised me. I ran into her about three years ago at the same pub.

Speaking of the Tote, a mate of the Perth crew's band is playing there next week. They are supporting a Japanese punk band. The other band supporting is my best friend from primary school's younger brother's band. Are you catching on yet ...?

Sunday week ago, I was at Section 8 and I saw a girl I've known since I was about 9 or 10. She's pretty cool, we had a chat. She's still friends with a bunch of crew from the Valley. Her stepsister goes out with my ex-bf.

Okay, here's a random encounter. I was seeing this boy for a few weeks. I went on a Miglet adventure one night last year (which means I went and got drunk by myself and made friends with whomever I encountered ... it's pretty fun, you should try it sometime) and as usual wound up at Pony. I chatted to this nice punk boy who had just come over from Perth (I should've paid attention to this fact) and after about two hours of talking, I discover he's friends with said boy. Oh yeah, and said boy is one of the crew who lives across the road from my best friend from high school. The punk boy is playing at the Tote.

Do you see how this just keeps going round in circles. The latest example concerns another Miglet adventure on Saturday night. It wasn't a planned one, but I wound up by myself for a while so I started making friends. I met a nice young lad and his mates whom I proceeded to get drunk with. Walking home with the lad, I discovered that he knew one of my best friends through work. He works in a BMX shop, my mate is a pro-tec rep. And one of the BMX bandit's friends was at a BBQ last year that said boy and Perth crew had at Docklands.

More circles.

There are more random encounter stories, but these are the ones that I remember best, mostly cos they're the most recent and being the alcoholic that I am, I have an insanely terrible memory.

Anyway, now you understand why I need to get my jetpack on and fly away for a while. It doesn't mean I don't love the Burn, I just miss being anonymous.

In teh beginning ...

Basically, this will be a travel blog, if and when I get my apathetic arse into gear. It probably won't be all that interesting for most, especially nosey plebs, but it's not meant to be for just anyone, it's for the Superfriends so they won't miss me too much when I'm adventure seeking, or just getting drunk in another part of the world. And possibly a way to keep track of myself. So, stay tuned ...