My newest fake boyfriend

I just got back from our work Christmas party. By this I mean that I went downstairs, got a sausage in a piece of bread, and came back to my desk to eat it. I really thought when I took this job that a hospital would be a seething hotbed of gossip and hijinks, but it's just not Seattle Grace up in here.

Whatever, real life, no one cares about you anyway. Let's talk about GLEE! I've only just discovered it, by which I mean I've watched every episode in the space of the last 24 hours, and I'm delirious with love and lack of sleep and warm sticky feelings, and Cory Monteith and I will totally invite you to our wedding as soon as we settle on a date.

Goddd my issues with super tall ridiculous Canadians with like TEETH and EYES and REO SPEEDWAGON are just out of hand. AS USUAL. It's like the skeeviest bits of Skeet Ulrich got together with the greasiest, Canadianist bits of Tim Riggins, and they had a lumbering dancing bear of a baby that does SHOW TUNES in an effort to make my HEART EXPLODE.

This is very excitable.

I am eating an asparagus, ham and strawberry salad. OH SUMMER, YOUR FOOOOOD. Strawberry + ham + balsamic vinegar = A DELIGHT TO THE SENSES. Specifically the tasty ones.

I have just agreed to drive back from the Coromandel to Whangarei (4.5hrs) to visit my birth-father's fandam after new year. Thus! Wellington > Taupo > Whangarei > Hahei > Whanagrei > Wellington = 31 hours of driving in > 2 weeks. Thank golly my CAR IS FIXED! Although, since it has now proven itself to be a HATEFUL TRAMP more times than I can count, it probably won't be by then! (Sorry car! I love you! I didn't mean it! Don't hurt me!)

It is almost the WEEKEND! My coffee-making girl person complimented my hair! I am supposed to be making posters with humorous pig pictures! HUZZAH!

Wait, what was I going to say? DAMMIT MIND, GET BACK HERE.

The succession of hilarious calamities we call my life continues apace. My car is BACK in the shop (time out of it before fucking up: 48 hours) and this time I have a loaner (!), but I forgot to get my parking pass, so there's a note on my dashboard basically begging for my life. I bet one zillion dollars the parking Nazis ticket me anyway, and hilarity will ensue. SURELY I HAVE MORE TO SPEAK OF THAN MY CAR!

Dexter. GOOD GOD, DEXTER. That episode was INCREEEEEDIBLE. Holy shit. Also Friday Night Lights, never stop making me cry like a snotty baby. It hurts in the best way.

Okay no, I don't have anything to say. I work, I write, I drink obscene quantities of cider. I'm making a super awesome video of last Christmas in Canada/NY (only a year late!) to Rusted Wheel by Silversun Pickups, and hanging out for holiday fun times to commence.

My favourite face!

My car is ruining my LIFE.

Mechanic just called to tell me they can't get my car to misbehave. The only reasonable explanation for this is that it HATES ME and WANTS ME TO SUFFER. I hate my liiiife.

My ears are still blocked. When do I become concerned about this?

Being back at work is SAPPING MY WILL TO LIVE. All this STUFF happened while I was away, and now i am expected to CARE and to DO THINGS ABOUT IT. GOD.

At least today is not as sunny and delish as yesterday, when all I was capable of doing was sinking into black despair while gazing out the window... even if it's only two and a bit weeks 'til Christmas.

SO. I GOT OLDER. And jumped out of a plane! And lazed about in the ocean drinking cider and eating cake. (Okay, the cake was not technically eaten IN the ocean, just beside it.) And Pearl Jam BLEW MY MOTHERFREAKING MIND. And it's basically been the best couple of weeks ever. I would be willing to testify to that in some sort of courtroom, if pressed. On Saturday the gang and I traipsed over the hill to laze about in the sunshine at various vineyards eating steaks and creme brulee and supping delicious wine... and then we went to Greytown and lazed about in the sunshine eating tapas (mmm garlic and cream mushrooms, you complete me) and supping mojitos Then we went to Christmas in the park.

I love it. ALL OF IT. I've been feeling very delighted by being 27 thus far: I finally feel like I genuinely don't care what people think, and I'm totally happy with who I am and where I'm at. But then I overslept this morning and came to work with greasy hair and a wrinkled skirt and my bus broke down (because my car had to be towed due to further malfunction. YES. I KNOW.) and my tuna salad leaked all over my muesli bar and SIGH. WELCOME BACK, REALITY. At least this manifestation is now the exception rather than the norm. PROGRESS!

Ang and I are establishing the rules for the breaking of the universe. BEST EVER

Diving from the sky