It's rare that I will refer to myself as 'old', even more seldom as a 'codger', but I feel like one today. I'm all creaks and groans and I have dropped things on the floor and left them there because I am just not doing any bending today. I'm not even talking heavy shit: I blew my nose and missed the bin with the tissue. Yup, I'm that gross. And sore.
So, in true Robyn (narcissistic) style, I take this opportunity to welcome myself back to my own blog from the murky depths of my honours thesis panic. I call it the thesis madness of 2011. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I did honours, and I'm not trying to say that it's the hardest thing in the world to do. Bazillions of people do it and way harder stuff like expel a tiny human from their hooha or climb a freezing mountain and return sans several toes, but for me, in my life, it was hard. I had to juggle the thesis madness of 2011 with continuing sickness and a break-up also. I was not in the least surprised that I left it until the last possible minute that I could - after all, I have done that my entire degree. But, whoa, the relief when I handed that sucker in! So, that's done and now I can return to the world of writing for pleasure and hopefully one day, pleasure AND money. Dirty, dirty word money.
Ok, so that done, let's talk about the Grand Final double header. From my personal point of view, I had a bit of a tough season. I never got to the fitness level I wanted to, injured my knee over and over and was sick constantly. I did not play to my potential in our game. I call it the great non-event of 2011. From a team point of view, we had a bit of a rough start too. We managed to get ourselves into the Final, buuuuuuut...
The Salty Dolls (who we played) were undefeated all season, and were on fire. They came at us like a bull at a gate, and we came at them like a sloth at a tree. Like usual, I can't remember a lot but I do know that everything we talked about, everything we practiced basically got left behind in the changeroom and we just populated the penalty box with pretty much two blockers per jam instead. The Dolls never missed a beat, capitalised on every jam and left us at half time trailing 87 to a pathetic 19. We had a pretty good chat in the changeroom and came out for the second half ready for some action. If only it mattered who won halves, because we outscored them 61-59 in the second. Just that pesky 68 point defecit from the first half killed us... That, and penalties. Bride of Skatan: ejected. Violent Krumble: ejected. I've never been caught behind so many walls in my life.So. Without doubt the better team won on the day, on the track. The afterparty is another story...
We began at the Ed Castle. I was sitting with friends and my girlfriend Mercedes. One of my oldest and best mates Tash was there, and Tash and I have a running joke/game of punching each other in the vajayjay. Punching each other lightly/playfully, not actually hard blows. Really mound punching, not, you know, underneath. So we were all chatting, laughing and generally being jovial and then Mercedes called me over. I thought she might be going to pinch me on the arm skin so I said 'no, you're going to pinch me', to which she replied that she wouldn't. I made her promise. I strode confidently over, thinking I was going to get a cuddle, and walked directly into her fist smashing into my box. It dropped me to the floor like a sack of shit, in front of everyone. I didn't cry, but Thor's hammer did it hurt!! I was in shock that she would do that. She was in shock that it connected so well. According to her, she didn't mean to do it that hard. Tash had told her to do it. My poor punani was in shock and I briefly considered an ice pack but then decided to just kill it with booze. I call it the great junk punch of 2011. The pain gradually subsided and the table talk moved on from speculation over why my own girlfriend would punch me in the mermaid's purse. Then, a little while later... comeuppance. I wasn't planning any revenge, because Mercedes clearly felt terrible about it, so this happy accident led me to believe that the universe itself just wanted her to know that punching your girl in the junk is just not on. I had just gone and fetched drinks for us and she had a brand new pint of cider in front of her. I got a little animated (as I do) and brought my fist down on the table to emphasise whatever point I was making. The cro-magnon table punch promptly tipped the cider directly into her lap and she wound up with frozen junk and looking like she wet her pants. I call it the great cider caper of 2011.
From the Ed we went to LaSing and, well, that's when shit got weird. Vader and I did our usual duet, this time to Built This City, and we all kept drinking. The spring rolls flowed like wine and at some point I snagged myself some Pad Thai (I think) and was feeding it to people. Somehow I had made myself two new friends, a guy with a wicked mohawk and wearing a Road Train Rollers T shirt and also a little gay guy who kept telling me I had a great rack. I do. I then let him feel it and he, in return offered that I could cup his business. Never one to be rude, I had a little feel. I couldn't discern any bulge to speak of in his baggy jeans, so he undid them and showed us all his undies. He then explained the advantages of that particular underwear, in that they lifted his belongings up and out, so as to present them better maybe, I don't know. I then poked him on his junk and left it at that. We stayed at LaSing until the lights came on and then I got myself three meat patties from Hungry Jack's and went home.
The Grand Final for 2011 did not play out as we had hoped, but we partied hard nonetheless and, as usual, won the afterparty. Today, I'm covered in bruises, still have a sore jootz and am still giggling about spilling that cider, so it wasn't all a loss.
Hey, p.s. now that I'm finished Uni I need a job. Anyone got one going? I will work for any currency but bananas.