I woke up this morning and looked at my hand where I wear my thumb ring and it was gone.

I checked the bed. And the bedside table.
I went to the bathroom to look at my face in the mirror, but there was no round imprint on my cheek like that time I’d taken it off in my sleep and slept on it the whole night.

Holy fuck.
Where was it?
Had I lost it at the pub?
In my friend’s car?
Had street kids stolen it?

A mild panic set in.

Then I looked at my other hand. The thumb on my other hand. The left hand. Yep. There it was.

Idiot.

I’ve been Closing Timed from two bars is the past three days.

Rock on.

I got a bit of a shock at the first pub gathering late last week. It was a leaving party for a couple of people from my team. It was upstairs.
When I got upstairs I was shocked to discover Wheelchair Dude upstairs, standing up. On his legs. No wheel chair.

I fucking knew he was faking.

Then when I called BullShit on him, he invented some affliction to explain whey he could walk, but needed a wheel chair.

Spina bifida, I think he said.

Shameful.
People like this give real crips a bad name.

Ha. The funny thing though, was he got so drunk (or “legless” as we like to call it) that he had to be carried out of the pub at the end of the night.

Classic.

Last night was an awesome result of a night.

Except for the bit where I left the pub and had one cop car (then another) tail me for a few kilometres, and they kept getting right up behind me and pretending to act like they were going to undertake me. They were driving like they were drunk and it was pissing me off, so I stopped, got out, and kicked them in the nuts.
But they probably think it was my friend that did that, seeing as I was taking my friend’s car home because he was meant to be my ride, but then gave me his keys to drive myself home because he thought he was going to score with some hot chick, and who am I to stand in the way of such things.

But he didn’t end up scoring with some hot chick, so I had to wait at a service station while another friend dropped him off a mere 15 minutes later.

While I was waiting, outside, leaning against his car, this girl gang of street kids tried giving me shit for refusing to go in to the service station and buy them cigarettes.

So I kicked them in the nuts.

An awesome result, because the other two members of the “Pseudo band” I’m in, are actually keen now to record enough songs to put together an EP and then play live, probably early next year.

This terrifies me.
This excites me.

I’m in.

You know what I love about NZ having smokefree legislation?

Going home at the end of the night and not having your clothes smell of stinky exhalation.

I had to rush the little redhead to A&E this afternoon.

She was fighting with her big sister over whether they were going to watch a Barbie DVD or a My Little Pony one, and she ended up falling onto the glass TV cabinet door and gashing her eyebrow.

Another scar for her. Good thing she’s tough.

I think the doctor thought it came from me beating her though.

So I kicked him in the nuts.