Blow Offs and Blow Outs

I guess it’s finally happening; this time for sure…

After two failed attempts and countless thoughts of quitting (for reasons too multifarious to mention), my honours has reached the point of no return.  Last week culminated in the handing in of my last ever assignment – a 3,000 word research proposal.  It was a stressful affair, replete with upset stomach and dreams of content analysis and, although it is far from my best work, it is done – assigned to the bound and sealed annals of undergrad assignments and pointless assessment.

On the same friday that this concluded, my sister handed in her final piece of assessment for the semester and my brother in law – after 10 years, 5 years of marriage and 2 beautiful daughters – submitted his final research report and will surely graduate come July.

So what better way to celebrate than a blowout?!? It had been a while since my last and I finally gave my liver its comeuppance.  A dinner with loved ones and mussels to commence the weekend and an expensive hangover to wash it all down with.  A day of watching Storm slip into sexy and sophisticated costumes/lingerie/stuff as she enforced her own bender – of the shopping kind.  A saturday night of You Don’t Know Jack and beer, when even the most elementary of human movements such as manouervring around walls or dismounting stools become sufficiently difficult to result in war wounds and humility.  Poker rounds that ended at 5:30am with more war wounds and humility.
Sunday morning pancakes with friends – ice cream, custard, cream, fruit and every other unessential item of life – and a guitar jam to keep the mind off vomiting.  The laziest game of beach volleyball I’ve ever played sober followed by the purchase of speedos to show off my long and ganglies for the first time in 21 years.  Playing the role of spectator as my friends finally overcame Federer-Nadal win loss ratios to finally vanquish their arch nemeses in the mixed netball grandfinal.  Particular highlights included quarter time debates of unabated passion about countless nuances and intricacies of the sport between a hairy, grown man in a skirt and anyone who would listen and finding five cents on the ground.

To top off the weekend, steak and mash taties with zucchini and feta slices and then back to the pub for one last dose of alement with friends.  Blow out complete and assigned to the still unfinished and unbound annals of countless blowouts and irrepressible stupidity and annoyance, I can now move on to this week….and this weekend.

Liver…you’re fucked.

2 thoughts on “Blow Offs and Blow Outs

  1. Gally says:

    Sounds like a weekend that I’ve somehow been a part of. I feel like I was just looking through the cracks in the boards though.

  2. Jameses says:

    Better to be looking through the cracks in the boards than to be looking at your crack through a skirt… 😉

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