Saturday, July 11, 2009

they only want you when you're seventeen, when your 21, you're no fun.

My 21st 'dinner party' turned into a more-fucked-up-than-most Thursday at NEXT. We recovered slowly throughout the day only for me to pull 'a Hemingway' (read: shot an entire bottle of Southern Comfort, write madly by the Yarra at 4am, and attempt to sleep in my bathtub) Kirra decided to refer to herself as 'the reclining Buddah' and instructed us all to throw money at her. Twenty-ish people were crammed into my small (read: SMALL) aparment. The police came largely due to mine and Kirra's terrible singing. The weekend was not a boring one.

Maybe we should go out tonight?


  1. Aww it looks amazing. I hope you had a good birthday sweetheart, can't believe I missed it, i'm so shit. I've been running around London like a blue arsed fly all weekend sorting out a house/job so hopefully have a house now! Hope you're ok sweetheart. I love Ladytron. xxx

  2. The last time I went to Melbourne to try and finish writing a book I decided to become an alcoholic, started to steal again, made my ex girlfriend bring me old scripts of Rivotril and Xanax over from Perth, smashed my friends windows and pissed out of them onto Victoria St pedestrians, got my head jumped on by detectives out the front of Collingwood police station and interviewed squatters on Gertrude St.
    I finished the book but I lost some friends and a good 4 months of my life. Then when I got back to Perth, a flatmate stole half of my notes and poured bin juice on them.

    That blonde girl is cute.
    I'm coming over to see GZA in September so you should make her come with me.