There’s been an awful lot going on at our place, hence my blog-absence over the past couple of weeks. We now have a housemate living with us, which is actually pretty awesome, although our place has turned into a bit of a frat house. Since Ken moved in, we now have under one roof: two gigantic TVs, four videogame consoles, two BBQs, lots of beer, and a daily metric tonne of farting.
University may also be on the horizon for me. Thanks to some discussions with Josh, I’ve submitted an application for a writing diploma next year, so I can learn to write gooder ‘n that. Hopefully my latest attempt at higher education won’t descend into the ridiculous stoner lifestyle I led when I last “attended” university ten years ago. It’s going to take a long time to complete a diploma studying part-time, but it’ll be worth it. At some stage I’d like to get into freelance writing a little more seriously – so once I’ve tended to my fairly atrocious editing skills, this should help me along.
Besides all that, it’s been a remarkably busy month. Living with a housemate means there’s always something to do, watch or drink. We’ve been eating out a lot at local pubs for dinner, and riding our bikes home in a drunken S-shaped pattern most of the time.
Last week, I forgot to wear a shirt of decent length during a particularly chilly evening, which was a rather stupid decision when we had to cycle home. Adam and Ken were giving me no end of grief of it. “WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING A SHIRT? WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING A SHIRT?” they tauntingly bellowed at me during the entire pedal home.
As we rode down Port Melbourne’s busy main street, amid the parroting cries of “WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING A SHIRT?”, a slightly terrified, wide-eyed woman alighted from her Barina and froze in her tracks. “I DON’T KNOW!” she wailed with horror, with a look of genuine confusion.
This cracked us up no end, and caused us to realise that pedestrians may indeed answer any question which is drunkenly screamed at them by passing idiot cyclists. I’m currently compiling a list of questions to scream at passers-by as I next pass through the streets of Port Melbourne after a night at the pub:
- WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THAT RASH CHECKED AT THE CLINIC?
- WHERE IS MY ALIMONY?
- WHY DID YOU MURDER LARRY EMDUR’S CHILDREN?
Other suggestions welcome.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
“WHAT FOR YOU KICKA MY DOG AND CALL HIM SHADDUP?”
Actual quote from loud argument between two old greek men next door. Gold!
Hi. I really like the image of the cap and diploma. Can you tell me where you got it? Thanks.