I love meeting internet people in real life.

If only to confirm that they really are real, and not just another friendly imaginary delusion in my deluded head.
Or some mass conspiracy to play with the D-Man’s deluded head, in some twisted social experiment…

Jennifer (aka Piehole, aka the Professional Drunk Blogger) had no trouble spotting me.

“Well, you said you’d be the tall one standing out in the crowd, looking like a giant penis”.

What with all the having to shave scalp and goatee for that photo shoot.
(I really don’t have much of a come back when people call me Dick Head at the moment. Must grow beard back, quickly.)

In hindsight, we should have just gone straight to an airport bar, instead of trying to squeeze a tikki tour of this sprawled out city (AND go to a bar, of course) into the 2-and-a-half hours that she was stopping over on her way to the South Island. Which is the island south of the North Island.

In the end there was only time for squeezing in one beer in an inner city café.

Then I remembered that I’d forgotten to pay and display when I parked the car.

I thought I’d been towed.

Then I remembered that I hadn’t actually parked where my car was not, and we found the car, and it had not been ticketed, and I did not have to do the embarrassing unthinkable and rush Jennifer back to the airport in a taxi.
Hoorah!

She is as much fun in person as she is in the pretend world of Internet Land.

She also got a few practice runs at remembering that over here the passenger door is on the left hand side of the car.

She left with a couple of bottles of the D-Man’s special home brew.

That may be the last we ever hear from her…

I had a hearing test this afternoon, to see how the D-Sease has affected that side of things.

It took an hour.

It was pretty hard. The fact that the voices in my head wouldn’t shut the fuck up the whole time while I was doing it, didn’t help matters much.

My ability to hear certain levels of speech was below average.

Like when D-Missus asks me to take out the trash.
Or people ask me for money.

But the doctor said it’s too early to tell whether the fridge-hum in my ear is permanent or not.
I’ll be rechecked in about three months.

The palsy has been getting better.

I can flare my nostrils now.

And I can whistle.

Which means I can now answer “yes” when I’m singing, and someone butts in and asks whether I can whistle.

Before adding a “Fuck you”.