Appropriately, last night was my first public outing as a confirmed teetotaller (wow that makes me sound like some kind of debutante nun!). Turns out it was ace. The venue was schmick with lovely views of the harbour and night city sky, the food was tops, and the photos were rad (especially this one by Niccola Phillips, my talented art director and closet crochet genius. It's of a giant crocheted squid called Walter. You should check it out.). There were also vats of good quality alcohol, of which I sampled none. And it didn't matter. I had good conversations with the good people who were there, and enjoyed just as many laughs as I would have tipsy. (Quality event = good time had by all.) Only difference was I was able to get up at 5.30 and go to yoga this morning, with not a single shameful regret hanging over my head. Awesome. One weird thing: I dreamt last night, really vividly, that I was absolutely hammered. Swooning around, slurring, crashing into things. It was mental. Admittedly, I did read two chapters of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas before I went to sleep. That could explain it. Or maybe my brain just isn't used to going to parties and not feeling freaky afterwards. Oh well, no hurry. It's still got 355 days to sort its shit out. Peace to the party.
P.S. If you're reading this for the first time, thanks for checking me out. You'll get the gist a little better if you read back a bit. I would suggest starting at the beginning (clever!). Day two gets a bit "serious" (sorry) but bear with me, and the "happy Monday" entry has an awesome link for pisshead indie fans. Woo! Please read, stop if you think it's crap, and constructive feedback from blog wizards (or anyone really) is entirely welcome. Cheers.