shake that cola drag

The office-block persecution affinity.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Lawrence and Vanessa have New Zealand's most pleasant and well-organised house. Their CDs are alphabetised! (Mine were. Once. Long ago.) They have no animal-hair all over everything! They have groovy round knobs on their kitchen cupboards! They have a well-trimmed lawn and a vast expanse of pristine deck upon which to barbeque! They have a badass espresso maker! They *rinse* their dishes before washing them! They actually made me want to take a week off and rearrange our entire house based upon 'the LV principle' (as it came to be known).

Additionally, they fed us *superbly* (I am still teary-eyed about the mint-yoghurt salad dressing, the chocolate fondue and the little profiteroley things) and they, personally, rock. Yay them.

In an odd twist, after returning home, Brent got the shakes and broke out into a rash. (No, it had nothing to do with the fondue.) I, as the Queen of Overreaction and Worry, took him to the A&E, convinced he had meningitis. He didn't. He just had a viral infection and they gave him antihistamines, which made him kinda dopey and cute. (Note: isn't it cool that I could drive him home? Driving! It rules!)

Now I'm all tired because I never caught up on the sleep I missed on Saturday. I can't stay up until 5am anymore. Certainly not without artificial stimulants. I'm old. I'm old and I eat healthily and I hardly ever drink and I like singer-songwriters and soon I will have a mortgage. Roll on, 30th birthday...


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