Labour Day. Otherwise known as no public holiday for unfortunate university students who have to struggle through classes while their parents, who supposedly work full-time, go on wine benders.
The weekend has been an interesting one, characterised by a freak storm that flooded half the city and flattened houses and cars with hail the size of tennis balls. This meant no public transport, which is more than a slight annoyance for a group of twenty-somethings who don't drive (we live in the city okay! we actually don't need to drive, everywhere worth going is a walkable distance or a 5 buck cab fare. besides, H has a car. not that she drives us anywhere). It also meant that pretty much all of the usual hang-outs were flooded and not suitable for human presence. Excellent. This equalled the first Saturday night spent at home in at least a year, drinking mugs of tea (chai or earl grey) and discovering that Foxtel was offering the movie channels for free this week.
B and K (and R) were lucky to miss the wacky weather as they were making their more-frequently-than-annual trip to Sydney. It should have been a weekend of drinking and debauchery and...well...it was. B and K remember little of it thanks to the bottles of tequila and vodka they consumed. A slab of UDL doesn't go far when B's around. Perhaps surprisingly, K was up for a good time and never once brought the mood down. She even found a cute Sydney guy willing to take her number. He hasn't called yet and she's none too pleased but really. You have to give them at least 3 days before you even consider checking your phone. B's trip was less pleasent although just as memorable. No one had informed the Sydney friends that B and R had broken up and they were forced to share a room together. B spent the weekend trying to ignore R, but soon ended up in a massive fight with him. She told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him out of her life, and expecially out of her house once they got home. Because he seems to have an odd way of dealing with confrontation, R ignored the argument and simply switched rooms with K. B was furious at his attempt to brush the problem away and spent most of the trip either seething silently or acting very passive aggressive towards R. If he doesn't make any attempt to look for his own place in the next week, she's vowed to gather up all his stuff and kick him to the curb. Literally. It's unlikely she'll uphold the promise.
J, H, A and L headed off to the Future Music Festival on Sunday. They spent the entire day front row on the bar, screaming the lyrics to Franz Ferdinand and The Prodigy. It alternated between being stinking hot in the belting sunlight and storming with rain. J made the perfect wardrobe choice or a rainbow bikini. A, a long-time hater of idiots in mosh pits with backpacks and/or sombreros stole a guy's bag and threw it into the crowd. He tried to start a fight. She won, managing to get him crowd-surfed out. L was a surprising survivor of the mosh pit. Usually the one seen spiralling backwards through the crowd, beginning a set in the second row and ending it in the fifteenth, she held her ground. It was a good bar to hang on to. H got involved in a bitchfight with a slutty girl she knew from uni. The girl went home with a rather large cheeck gash. No one could swear for sure where she got it from.
The weekend has been an interesting one, characterised by a freak storm that flooded half the city and flattened houses and cars with hail the size of tennis balls. This meant no public transport, which is more than a slight annoyance for a group of twenty-somethings who don't drive (we live in the city okay! we actually don't need to drive, everywhere worth going is a walkable distance or a 5 buck cab fare. besides, H has a car. not that she drives us anywhere). It also meant that pretty much all of the usual hang-outs were flooded and not suitable for human presence. Excellent. This equalled the first Saturday night spent at home in at least a year, drinking mugs of tea (chai or earl grey) and discovering that Foxtel was offering the movie channels for free this week.
B and K (and R) were lucky to miss the wacky weather as they were making their more-frequently-than-annual trip to Sydney. It should have been a weekend of drinking and debauchery and...well...it was. B and K remember little of it thanks to the bottles of tequila and vodka they consumed. A slab of UDL doesn't go far when B's around. Perhaps surprisingly, K was up for a good time and never once brought the mood down. She even found a cute Sydney guy willing to take her number. He hasn't called yet and she's none too pleased but really. You have to give them at least 3 days before you even consider checking your phone. B's trip was less pleasent although just as memorable. No one had informed the Sydney friends that B and R had broken up and they were forced to share a room together. B spent the weekend trying to ignore R, but soon ended up in a massive fight with him. She told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him out of her life, and expecially out of her house once they got home. Because he seems to have an odd way of dealing with confrontation, R ignored the argument and simply switched rooms with K. B was furious at his attempt to brush the problem away and spent most of the trip either seething silently or acting very passive aggressive towards R. If he doesn't make any attempt to look for his own place in the next week, she's vowed to gather up all his stuff and kick him to the curb. Literally. It's unlikely she'll uphold the promise.
J, H, A and L headed off to the Future Music Festival on Sunday. They spent the entire day front row on the bar, screaming the lyrics to Franz Ferdinand and The Prodigy. It alternated between being stinking hot in the belting sunlight and storming with rain. J made the perfect wardrobe choice or a rainbow bikini. A, a long-time hater of idiots in mosh pits with backpacks and/or sombreros stole a guy's bag and threw it into the crowd. He tried to start a fight. She won, managing to get him crowd-surfed out. L was a surprising survivor of the mosh pit. Usually the one seen spiralling backwards through the crowd, beginning a set in the second row and ending it in the fifteenth, she held her ground. It was a good bar to hang on to. H got involved in a bitchfight with a slutty girl she knew from uni. The girl went home with a rather large cheeck gash. No one could swear for sure where she got it from.
