Saturday was good. We helped celebrate our little mates 10th birthday at the Centenary Lakes in Cairns (and my only trip to the shops was to buy him a prezzie!) and then we headed up to Wongetti Beach, stocked up with good food from Rusties Markets, to visit my good old mates Mick and Karen, our biker friends, who I love to bits. On the way up the coast we did a little nostalgic drive-by past the townhouse where I use to live with Izzy all those years I was at Uni. I loved that place so much, it was perfect for us at the time. We had great neighbours and friends, we were one street away from the beach, our rent was really reasonable and didn't increase the entire time we were there. Karen was my walking buddy and we'd yack, yack, yack all the way around the streets of Trinity Beach.
They had some other friends 'round too, so we met some lovely people. We had a great night cooking up a barbie, having a jam and a sing-song and catching up on news. There was one chick there who has worked at the Croc' Farm for about 15 years and she had some hilarious stories about dressing up in a kangaroo suit and trying to do the croc feeding shows without being mistaken for the croc' food. She cracked me up.
But Sunday was shit. I think I dropped the 2 kilo's I've put back on recently, spewing my guts up after a few too many of Greg's moonshines. (Charming hey?) Man, what a miserable waste of a good Sunday. I woke up Okay, probably still a little drunk from all the frangelica and lime juice but then I became steadily worse. The cheesy smell of the empty chip packet I spewed into, on the drive back into the city helped matters along, as did the 7 or 8 massive round-abouts we had to drive through. Later I drowned a bug in my vomit as I watched the kids in the park, it was on it's back kicking away with it's legs in the air, scorching in bile, I spat on it for good measure and because I'm all class. Then I had to endure the 2 hour drive home sick as a dog, but once home, the rapid transition I made from bringing up plain water to feeling much better and gobbing down three pieces of cold pizza bordered on miraculous.
You might think I'm a total alcho' but seriously it takes barely anything for me to get a huge hangover. Ask anyone. I think I'm actually alergic to alcohol. On the rare occassion I actually feel like a drink, I think two's going to be my limit from now on. Anyway in this book I'm reading these two heroin junkies are trying to go through a home-detox, having that hangover yesterday made me more sympathetic to their horrible sick and miserable state of being.
As for the kids. Izzy has become the manifestation of Guitar Hero and lost 2 teeth on Friday. He's going to spend the first half of the school holidays hanging out for his Dad to come and visit. Bubby is constantly asking the question "Nat noise?" and we dutifully fill him in "that's the chooky laying an egg", "that's the sound of the fridge Bubby", "that's the culew-birdie singing out", "that's the garbage truck coming", "that's Mummy spewing into the cheezels bag". And then he's always asking "Matter Mumma?", "Matter Daddy?" and we reply "Nothing, it's all good Bubby", or "You just threw a truck at my head is the matter Bubby?" etc.
Please disregard the entry below. I'm not always a whingeing brat.
1 comment:
Cold pizza on a hangover? That makes me ill just thinking about it. The headache is the worst for me, I can handle the vomit (maybe not into a cheese chip bag though!).
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