Curses

A brief, but 'cursed' insight into my preparations for my weekend in Stockholm..
'curses' to the Aussie BBQ I had the night before where beer is drunk in great quantities..
'curses' to trying to pack a bag while drunk
'curses' to the 4am start
'curses' to the taxi company who mean 25mins when the say the taxi will be there in 5min
'cursing' occurring when the taxi driver takes to speeding along narrow 2-way winding back roads at 90kmph (no joke)
'curses' to the technical fault that delayed my connecting plane in Amsterdam

But, I got to Sweden ok, and had a wonderful Swedish midsummers, with a sun that doesnt quite fully set. And how could you be mad with that?

I like the train, so many interesting people...

The following little episode took place on a train ride from Newcastle to London:The scene: two girls sitting ahead of me on the left. Young, but still about 16-17yo. Chatting about 'normal' teenage girl things (ie making fun of people).
A boy of about 17-18yo (and yes, 'boy', I'm old now, so they seem like little kids to me now) approaches. Conversation goes like this

Boy: Theres a guy out there who wants your number. Will you give it to him?
(Meanwhile I'm thinking, yeah sure, my 'friend' wants your number...)

Girl 1: what guy?

Boy: Dunno, some boy out there. I dont really know him, he's just too shy come and ask. So will you give it to him?

Girl 2: No, tell him has to come out here first.

Boy: Ok

Boy disappears, I go back to reading the crappy 'in-flight' train company magazine. It barely registers that someone has walked past me to the girls, and I only look up when I hear a voice say...

'so, can I have your number?'

I look up, and I shit you not, this boy was about all of 10. But, despite his 'shyness' he obviously thinks he's 'it'. He is dressed in the whole morning suit deal (no, this isnt because he some weird-ass kid, the train was full of people in this get-up due to the fact the Ascot races had been moved to York which was a station on the journey), and he is talking with the real posh pommy accent, so either a 'public' school boy, or from some posh area in London.But still, despite his witty (not) conversation ('do you like green day?' seemed to be the theme), which had the rather unfortunate effect of making him sound even younger than he looked due to the fact it was that energetic 100-questions-a-minute kind of monologue with pauses where he's been told people should talk back in.
The girls were clearly just humoring him (but who managed to keep the giggles under control until he was out of earshot). He didnt seem to notice or care.
All I can think is if this is what he is like now, imagine what he is like when puberty hits and the hormones are at their most rampant.
10 points for trying though...
(dont know if he did get the number...)

The boys are back in town....

It's about 5pm, and I've only been up for an hour or so after sleeping off last nights little adventure. It was the night out with the boys from work, a night that I wasnt sure was going to be a good idea. The last time I had had a 'boys night out' (ie I was the only girl) with the guys from work, was just before I left Oz, and that was a night that involved a lot of beer, a lot of shots, a triple-level piggy-back (actually not possible without injury) and the seedier end of Adelaide (and the less said about that the better). Considering my current work mates are waaay more blokey than the previous ones, I was a little concerned.
The night started out ok. A few beers in a place called the 'Hairy Lemon' (which I had hoped might have been a not-so-straight bar given its rather, hmm, odd name, but was sadly disappointed to find it was a fairly pretentious wine bar), and even that went along ok, despite the fact there was time taken out for dodgy donners/burgers and a number of tequilas. I was introduced to a new way of drinking called shotgun, which involves a technique that means you can more or less swallow a whole bottle of beer or whatever in one go (unless you do it wrong like me and choke on it).
Around this time the boys were talking about going to a nightclub, and I was making my excuses in an attempt to make my last train home. The boys had been saying I could stay with them at the hotel, but I a) wasnt really keen to share a room with 3 loud 'blokes' and b) well, a) again and I didnt have anything to change into for work the next day. However, the devil was out that night, and my boss who is responsible for signing my pay sheet swore that if I stayed out, he would sign my sheet so I would get paid, but that I could go home in the morning. How could I say no to that?
I have to admit, its funny watching the other boys on the dance floor. They practically gave themselves whip-lash everytime any girl went past that was remotely blonde. (I couldn't help making jokes about them being distracted by little sparkly things). There was also some seriously inappropriate dancing in the girls direction being done by one of the boys a la 'Shallow Hal'. I didnt actually think that anyone did that in real life...
Eventually we left the club at 2am when they closed and wondered the streets in search of a strip club. Well they boys did, I just followed hoping it wouldnt be open, and fortunately, luck was on my side, and they boys had to settle for a curry house (mmm, curry at 3am, just what I needed...not).
But the night had to be capped off in some unsettling manner. The four of us headed back to the hotel to go sleep for a few hours. The boys took it in turns to get changed in the bathroom. My boss (the other one) went in to do the same, and returned to the room with only a towel draped over his shoulder, which fortunately covered the crucial parts, but nothing else really. Eww.... we are talking one hairy boy. I cant believe he is in charge of me...
This was the followed by several hours of snoring and farting *cringe* (and not from me I might add...)
So I headed home to sleep the day away, safe in the knowledge that although some nights are really wrong, at least Jesus loves me.

Procrastination and boredom - a lethal combination

Sometimes being the 'independant' world traveller means you dont really know enough people to go out and have a beer with on a saturday night (or they all have lives of their own and cant be talked into it. Bleh). Which means you are stuck at home on a Saturday night waiting for Sunday when at least you can get out all your frustration on the footy pitch. Ok, well that might just be me...
Anyway, i'm actually in self exile (this just sounds better than being 'missy-no-friends'), because I'm trying to finish my application for a Masters course at Keele Uni. Who would have thought that it would be difficult to do an application for a post-grad degree?? Thankfully my Mum actually knows what she is doing with this sort of thing and has happily emailing me with suggestions, after an email I sent to her wailing about how I dont know how to write this sort of thing. I remember a time when I would refuse to let Mum help me with anything, and am slightly disturbed to find that the saying "Mum knows best" is actually, alarmingly, true. Damm it...
Anyway, in the attempt to not go mad on my own (and to help with the procrastination), I've been on the pc checking out my favourite comics (DTWOF) and other blogs. While doing this I came across QueerPenguins little piece on yet another excellent expose thanks to TripleJ. While I'm not familiar with 'Naomi', this is not the first time TripleJ has broadcast a tape of celeb's swearing. I think its the child in me that wants to say 'hehe, they said a naughty word'.
Oh well, its probably going to be another night of drinking beer and watching TV, so I might as well go for the childish...