Gayzed and Confused

     "I love watching you run around in circles trying to figure out our culture."- Becstasy (the flatmate). It's true. I have been so bewildered and  perplexed since I stumbled onto this island. Somehow waking up 8pm on a Wednesday covered in glitter and sharing a bed with a girl, boy, and a hair dryer is completely acceptable. And last Sunday was no exception.

     Ah yes. The "Sunday Session". I was invited to experience this miraculous occasion last weekend. I was on my way to the library when I received a call to get my ass dressed up and head over to the Manor. Now wearing a button down, sunnies, and jeans while strolling down the local main street at noon is a ritual I like to save for my walks of shame either from UV or the IM fields during Sportsfest, but yet I was able to whip it out for this occasion. So after my flatty held me down and told me to close my eyes and swallow, I was on my merry way six pack in hand and wasted before noon on a Sunday. In Tennessee you can't even buy

alcohol before noon on the holy day, but there I was doing cartwheels on a tram...alone.

     Now flash forward to being inside a club at 2pm dancing your white ass off with boys drugged on everything from cocaine to birth control. The only remembrance you have to it still being light outside is when you emerge into the courtyard to catch a breather. It seriously is like Dorothy stepping out into OZ except the

munchkins are drunk, shirtless, and hot.  And Glinda the good whore was absolutely there, but she was pole dancing and handing out free drinks. Next thing I remember I'm buying cholesterol at McDonalds scaring kids at 7pm. Somehow I manage to make it home to bed. But it was short lived as an hour later I was rung again and told to be ready to go out in thirty minutes to continue the night. 7 hours later I called it "early", picked up my Hungry Jack's chicken cellulite supreme, and went home for the second time. Thank you Australia for putting the hospital in hospitality.

     Last night I ventured out with my flatty. We couldn't find a bar that suited our needs, so we crashed a house party. But really. We legit found a random house that sounded like it had a lot of people partying and snuck in. While Bec was scoring beer from the fridge, I was finding out the gist of the celebration. Apparently it was someone named Tim's going away party. So it was only appropriate that after drinking all his beer that we found him and told him how much we were going to miss him and then let ourselves out.

     And later on in true form Bec picked up the bouncer at a gay club while I was busy in my fascination with one of my mate's friends who had a beard. I chased him around screaming Gimli and trying to dwarf toss him. I make such good impressions. Only confirmed when I was approached by an unknown who said "You're Maclean McAlister aren't you". Trust me. That is something you NEVER want to hear at a gay club. Turns out he worked somewhere where I applied for a job and handed over my resume. I really hope he was turned on by illustrious career paths at the UM bookstore and World of Coca Cola.

Life is good, and I could not be happier. And god speed to John Nolan and his endeavors in Texas. You were successful in having people care WAY more when you crossed states than when I crossed an ocean. Can't wait for the camera to put on even more pounds...