anton

19 is such a ludicrously boring birthday. It's nothing. It's blah. It's the one caper in your salad. It's the ATM card you left at home when you need cash money. And it's not like rain on your wedding day.
In other - disconcertingly irrelevant - news, I'm impressed that the Australia group here at SG is having their Sydney meet Blackbird, where I had the best steak in the history of the fuckin' world last week. I'm rueing the day I didn't join this site earlier so I could Blackbird it up with the SG kids. I'll deal somehow (possibly by drinking - the odds look good).
Dinner with parents tonight. Should be ok. They're a bit...not talkative (to each other), but I deal. It's irritating mainly because it forces me to be genuinely interesting to sustain any sort of social uh, flow. My mum got me eau de toilette and looked briefly like she wanted to openly weep when I mis-pronounced that. Actually, I think I want to beat myself for my lack of savoire faire in pronouncing French words. (Note how clever I am; French word in a sentence about not pronouncing French words. Chalk one up to Anton).
(Token pirate). Rock 'n' roll