Negotiating Social Situations

After running into Shannon on Friday night and feeling the unique feeling of a hand twisting handfuls of my internal organs, very hard, Saturday night social event negotiation occurs. I'm allowed the goodbye party for Jeremy at Bex and Al's house, and I figure that this means that he gets the next social event that might mean we run into each other. But this opens up difficulties: What About Bars? Custody battles for social situations. At least not acrimonious.

So last night: moral support for Bex against the Suspected Hordes of Bogans (at the last party a stripper set fire to Jeremy's chest hair before some girl vomited all over the carpet and a pugnacious friend of J's picked a fight with Al). In actuality, not that bad at all, very civilised dancing to blues band in the lounge and meeting the flat of travellers from next door, one of which described Newtown as having a lot of "local colour" - meaning, one suspects, the brothel across the road and the tinny house next door. Salubrious neighbourhood (she says from her eyrie in Thorndon, squintily regarding the city below with a hayfever sniff). Listened to Depressed Mark list his tales of woe, an impressive list. Strange that I fell back on all the irritating little 'nuggets of wisdom' that drove me NUTS when I was depressed. I didn't drink very much because I was still nursing my hangover from the night before, although Ye Olde hair of the dog was quite impressive in it's effectiveness.

Is all really. Bex has a new hair cut that looks very noice.