Tag Archives: birthday

Season’s greetings

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So, yeah, I had a pretty good birthday.

In the morning I found various birthday greetings left by people in different corners of the interwebs: here in comments, on Facebook, Twitters, emails, and also text message. It’s all very modern, and it was lots of fun reading them all.

Later in the afternoon, I co-opted a Christmas party I’d been invited to and turned it into my birthday party. Well, at least that was my plan. When I got there, I found myself having such a good time that I gave up on the “Hey, um, it’s my 33rd birthday!”.

Things were going well at the party – there was good booze and good food, but then things got even better when David Saunders showed up. He was in The 3Ds, which is my second favourite New Zealand band of all time. Part of me was being 18 years old and wanting to go “OMG! You are so cool!!!!!”, but another part of me was being all 33 and grown-up.

Then a bunch of partygoers went to the King’s Arms for their Christmas party gig thing, featuring Blam Blam Blam (yeah, them). So I went along to that and did something that I’ve never done at the King’s Arms before (that sounds ominous, but it’s not). The Blams were good, but I reckon the Wellington gig was better.

So now I can finally get into the whole Christmas spirit. Really, for me, the build-up for Christmas is two days long.

Now I’m with the whanau. It looks like one of the cats is anorexic or something. She won’t can has cheeseburger? She’s currently curled up next to my right foot, which is not an unpleasant thing.

Season’s greetings.

33 on 22

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Hey, guess what! It’s my birthday on Saturday. I’m going to be turning 33 on the 22nd, which has a nice sort of symmetry to it.

The Saturday before Christmas is one of those days that tends to get owned by the Yuletide build-up, so I thought I’d deal out a subtle (SUBTLE!!!) reminder this year.

33 is apparently one of those panic ages – you go, “OMG! Jesus was 33 when He died and look at all the stuff He achieved in His life! I’m 33 and no one capitalises pronouns when they talk about me! I suck!” But I think that’s kinda silly. I mean, the deal is that Jesus is perfect, so what kind of wretched life would you make for yourself if you tried to be perfect all the time. Mm.

But there is one thing that’s cool about 33 – LPs spin at 33rpm. And everyone knows that vinyl is really cool.

Anyway, if you want to give me a present, these are two things I like:

  1. Bad poetry.
  2. Postcards.

You can email me or post to PO Box 68 603, Newton, Auckland 1145. Merci.

With so much drama in the CBD, it’s hard being R.O.B.Y.N. G.

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It’s been a hectic week of Christmas parties, but thankfully they’re all over. Today the seasonal frivolity was topped off when I and one of my workplace homeboys started busting out some old school gangsta rhymes on the bus on the way back to work.

I was doing a bit from NWA’s “Fuck Tha Police” while my homie beatboxed and it was so awesome, as I’m sure it would have also been if we had both been sober. My rendition of Dr Dre’s “Bitches Ain’t Shit” didn’t go down so well (apparently it’s “sexist” or something), but we duetted on Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice” while rollin’ down Fanshaw Street not smokin’ on anything (though one of the bad grrls was sneaking a fag down the back), sippin’ on Lindauer. Laid back.

So with that over, now I need to remind y’all that my birthday is on Thursday. This Thursday. The 22nd. Three days before Christmas. I shall be 31.

This marks the 10th anniversary of my 21st. (I didn’t really have a 21st party. My flatmates invited the pothead metallers over and we sat around on the porch drinking beer and listening to Jane’s Addiction. Word up)

According to some dodgy website, the traditional gift for a 31st anniversary is a “timepiece”, but I think the time on my mobile phone and iPod work well enough that I don’t need one of those newfangled “watch” things. Or a cuckoo clock, for that matter.

But if you wish to send me a birthday greeting email on Thursday – especially if it includes bad poetry – then that will make me very happy indeed.

Peace.

Hormones

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Ah, thirty. Well, I’m glad to finally have made it here and for it to not be some distant looming menace.

My present stash was impressive. A big box from the whanau awaited, filled with such goodies as a keyring with an impressively bright light, a kitchen utility knife, and a hundred-year-old cooking book that will surely find many uses in my kitchen (Did I mention that I still don’t know how to work the oven?).

There was a celebratory fire alarm evacuation at work, which lead to a celebratory standing by the side of the road session. Hooray!

Soon after was the Captioning Christmas Lunch. Hell pizza was eaten, $10 presents were randomly given out (I got a milk frother, which is something I’d recently thought about buying. Score!), and a quiz was held. My team (Jem’s Bitches) won, but it was close.

Then out came the birthday cake. I’d bought a cake from Fraser’s cafe and some of the captioners had put some candles in it. I believe there were indeed 30 candles and they lit up the whole room. I managed to blow out the outer ring of candles, but the closely packed inner ring refuse to deflame. Instead they blazed brighter, spitting wax out on the icing and spewing smoke into the room, sparking fears that another fire alarm evacuation may end up happening.

But the lads came to the rescue, and plucked out Vulcan’s flaming spears of destruction and extinguished them in a glass of orange and mango Fresh Up. After the wax blobs were scraped off, the cake was eaten. It was good.

We played a boardgame called Cranium. It’s a bit like Trivial Pursuit, but with more interesting and fun bits. At one stage all three teams had to guess a word using charades. It was my turn to do the miming and the word was hormone. Other teams tried polite, ladylike “sounds like door” kind of mimes, but I wasn’t afraid to mime the first syllable.

As low-key as all this is, it’s strangely turned out more fun than my 21st was.