MrFriendly

Ok, so, I'll start the story here:

I rocked up to an Atomic meet. Atomic is an Aussie tech magazine that has spawned it's own community and a world to which I'm a part of.

Me, being me, rocked up in a nice three piece suit totally trashed.

To be fair, I had only been told two days before that my dog was being put down and that the company I was with was trading while insolvent and had no future, while also being turned down for a job I was really hoping for.

The real aim was to get fucked up and forget about my worries.

It was during the course of the night a total random girl came up as she left, gave me her number, and told me to ring her.

The decision later that evening to switch from beer to single malt scotch was regrettable. The next day was spent lovingly caressing my sisters toilet bowl and enjoying the taste of my own bile as it exited my body. It gave my stomach the greatest workout it ever had since I tried my first lead climb up a 50 meter cliff face. But in the confusing haze of alcohol poisoning and death, I managed to call this girl and arrange a date.

So, there I am, sitting on a train into the city. Already tense because the train was running late and my old man had raised me with a morbid OCD obsession with punctuality. But also because of my poor choice of meal before hand had caused the dire need to crap my pants. You see, IBS in an awful affliction.

The train finally pulls up at Flinders Street Station, I run out and bowl over people in an effort to get to the toilets. Flinders Street Station toilets are well known in Melbourne for being the dankest most disgusting toilets in Melbourne. All the actual toilets are being used, so I think "I can just have pee first, and use the toilets at the bar."

Never, EVER, trust a fart. There I was, trying to pee under pressure when I feel a fart coming on. I think "It's just a fart. Fart with pride!".

It's just that the Fart, wasn't a fart, and I suddenly found myself in the awkward position of still needing to fart, crap my pants, and piss like a race horse.

I found an unused cubicle. When I realised why it was unused I wanted to hurl great chunks of vomit across the land and drown the population in my disgust. But I had no choice. I had to shit here, I had to shit now, and I had to do it while dry retching and dispensing with my soiled boxer shorts.

After all had been done, I was exhausted, I was teary eyed, and all I wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. But no, I had to do this date thing. I've never ever had a date with a total random before. So I rock up to this bar, buy her a drink, and try to make conversation with her the same way a giant would attempt to squeeze blood from a stone. In other words, the date was awful.

But what it all made me realise was invaluable. I realised for the first time that I was happy on my own. That I didn't to be with someone unless I wanted to be with them. That I wasn't in it just for the sex.

In short, it's not until you're in the worst cubical ever, giving birth to a decomposing horse out your ars, that you really appreciate what is most important in your life.

Peace.

P.S. I'm quite drunk and celebrating a turn in my life. I thought I'd share a story with ya'll since I've been away for so long.

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