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.

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.

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.

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.

So, yeah. How about those 20s, eh?

In that time I’ve been to three tertiary education institutions, had three jobs, owned three cars (and that’s where the triplets stop). I’ve lived in 12 different flats, been to seven foreign countries, been on the dole twice, written two shitty novels, walked from one side of New Zealand to the other, and painted my bathroom shelves pink.

I’ve probably done more than that, but due to my spinning head, I’m going to spend my last few hours as a 20something asleep rather than drinking Vodka Cruisers, pashing girls, listening to Ashlee Simpson, or whatever it is that the youth of today do.

Au revoir, vingt. Salut, trente.

I also explored the scrapbooking supplies shop, which has intrigued me for the last year. It was disgusting and appealed to me, so I must never venture there again.

I had cashew chicken Otto Woo udon noodles for dinner, because that’s one of my favourite things. There was a fortune cookie in the bag. I cracked it open and my fortune read:

This insert has a protective coating

Oh wait. Wrong side. Sorry.

You will advance the careers of your friends in your climb for success.

So when I become a famous R&B singer, I’ll have an entourage of all my homeboys and -girls. Cool.

I have no present tally to report. The package my mother sent on Wednesday hasn’t arrived yet, and I don’t appear to have been given anything else by anyone else.

A couple of my international interweb hizoz PayPal’d me some spare change, though, and that was nice.

Only one year until I’m 30. This is good, because I thought 30 would be all scary and grown-up and mature. It looks like it’ll be like 18, but with more wrinkles and a bit more wisdom and street skillz.

And thank you to everyone who wished me happy birthday in the comments of my last post. That was really lovely!

* Two wooden salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats, complete with googly eyes. When you tip the pepper cat up, it makes a noise like a cat would make if it was really sick. The salt one doesn’t make it, probably because it’s broken.

* A wooden mortar and pestle. Which is cool, but wood doesn’t seem like the right material for a mortar and pestle to be made out of. Possible solution: use the bowl for pot pourri and give the pestle to a special friend for Christmas but pretend it’s an exotic sex toy.

* A wooden box with a blue tile lid. It’s quite nice. I’m not sure what to put in it. If I had some cigars I could keep them in it. But I don’t have any cigars. Perhaps I should buy some?

* “Incidental Furniture” a book published in 1953 about how to make all those incidental pieces of furniture around the home. I think I need to make a radio cabinet.

* “The Autograph Man” by Zadie Smith. I’ve been wanting to read this. Hooray!

I had dinner at the OLC with Dylz, LL Cool R, Jakmes, and that other guy. Actually, I just made up all those nicknames five seconds ago. I don’t actually call them by nicknames. Sometimes Dylan is called Trixie McLicious.

Dylzno gave me a CD with a video selection of me talking about the goddess. It was at the Basque Park festival in early 2001 and my hair is short and blonde. It’s quite funny, and Dylzno has threatened to shrink it down to a small size so I can have it up on my web site.

Finally, I drove down Franklin Road. There were so many people driving down there to check out the Christmas lights that traffic was crawling. But it was ok. the slow traffic meant I could see everything. There were heaps of people walking along the footpath too. The locals were hanging out on their front porches, someone had a stand selling coffee (yeah, yeah, it’s becoming commercialised, totally selling out. T-shirts next year, perhaps?), but there was a really good vibe to it. A song by Nesian Mystik came on the radio and everything felt right, like this is what Christmas in Auckland in 2002 is meant to be like.

2. ICQ:
D: Big day tomorrow!
R: What’s happening tomorrow?
D: It your birthday isn’t it, or is it today?
R: It’s today, you fool!
D: Oh, sorry! I forget, it’s 2 days before xmas on the 23rd, or three days before on the 22nd.. :)
D: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

3. Present run-down.
- One card redeemable at the Newton Post Office for the package sent from my parents that didn’t fit in my post office box. It seems that New Zealand Post can deliver mail on a Saturday, but can’t have any staff working there to get my package.
- Nuts. Yes, I got nuts. My new favourite guitarist from my new favourite band and all-round choice guy gave me some nuts. Actually, I had to get him a packet of Marlboros and some Coke in exchange for the nuts, but it was definitely one of the better presents I’ve received. I even got a souvenir photo!
- $20 gift voucher from Borders. This was teh flatmate’s cheating present. Borders have been giving a $10 voucher with every $100 spent, so after a massive DVD and Christmas presents spend-up, he had two $10 vouchers and now they are mine, all mine! Cheap-arse bastard.
- Um, yeah, that’s about it.

4: About three weeks ago I stopped consuming stuff with caffeine in it. I bought a packet of Panadeine and went through all the headachy withdrawal. I got through that in a couple of days, but have spent the last three weeks feeling tired and cranky. Today I had a cup of coffee and hey, it’s nice to be back.

5. Isn’t “Thug Lovin’” by Ja Rule and Bobby Brown just the coolest song ever? I mean, I thought “Down Ass Bitch” was pretty cool, but “Thug Lovin’” is the shit. What’s going on? I mean, I used to hate Ja Rule so much. (I almost wrote “Jan Rule”. Yeah, I’d like to see an artist with that name).

6. I saw “Baise Moi” ALONE, ON MY BIRTHDAY. This might seem a tad pathetic, but it is not as pathetic as the time I saw that piece of crap that masqueraded as a romantic comedy, “Serendipity” starring John “Should Have Known Better” Cusack, ALONE, ON VALENTINE’S DAY. Anyway, the novelty of “Baise Moi” was seeing full-on sex scene (penetration shots, etc) up on the screen at my local multiplex. I guess it’s like how “Deep Throat” was the acceptable porno to see back in the ’70s. The plot: two women are dicked over by various people, they each kill someone then end up randomly meeting and travel around France having sex with guys and/or killing them. It’s the kind of movie where men in the audience unconsciously cross their legs and protectively place their hands near their nether regions. But then, it’s also the kind of movie where men in the audience shift from side to side and pull their shirts down over the top of their pants.

7. Ok, cheers, that’s about it. Damn, too much caffeine. Now I’m never going to be able to get to sleep.

He gave me an early birthday present: The Maxi Tools Powermatic Tool with Realistic Movements. This comprises of the following pieces of plastic fun:

• A saw – but with little wheels instead of teeth.
• A hammer – it rattles when you bang it.
• [One of those bolt tightening things where you turn in one way and it tighten the bolt, but when you turn it the other way the bolt stays in the same place] – it makes a clicking noise when turned.
• Pliers – and they seem the least toy-like and most practical
• A spanner – it’s one of those adjustable ones
• A, um, piece of wood type thing with three bolts and three nuuuuutz -deeez nuuuutz
• A really big phat nail – yeah, one of those.

Like the name says, they do have realistic movement. God knows what I’m going to do with them all. It’s too late to donate them to a needy children’s toy fund.

Actually, isn’t it getting near the time where a poor family has their home broken into and all their Christmas presents stolen (but the TV and VCR left alone), then they appear in the papers, on TV, “Our Christmas has been ruined!” etc, photos of sad-eyed kiddies, etc, etc, etc, and then some kind business donates a shitload of free (but crappy) toys and Christmas isn’t ruined.

Oh yeah, so Mike and I went out to Helensville and we got there and it was like “Woo! Helensville!” And we went to the Woolworths to buy some lunch except that all the food in the entire store was crap. I bought some potato salad (no free spoons, what kind of supermarket doesn’t give out free spoons to deli purchases?), a muffin, some ginger beer and some penguins. Mike got some bacon and sour cream flavoured chips and some honey mustard dip.

Ok, the potato salad was horrible, the muffin was even worse. I just had some of Mike’s chips and dip and the ginger beer and penguins. But most importantly, the checkout lady was crazy and Mike called her a cunt. I don’t think we will be welcome back there ever ever again.

Do you know I want for Christmas? I want that guy from that band, ok?