I spent the greater (perhaps the greatest) part of July and August in windy Wellington, New Zealand Â shacking up with my squeezeÂ (she’s 6 feet tall). Â Now it’s becoming more and more a rarity for me to venture out of my hometown much less my state, much much less my country. Â Needless to say I was somewhat unprepared for the 15+- hour lapse of time spent on 3 different planes each way with 3 different shitty chicken or fish dishes and 3 different shitty catalogs of shitty movies. Â Shit.
I suppose the payoff was well worth it. Â
So anyway, I write this for the curious worldly types who wish to get a gander at that which is New Zealand and learn of its Kiwi culture. Â
4. Kiwi’s like to drink / hit the piss. Â
5. Behold the renowned “Kiwi Big Breakfast“ – tried it twice, safe to say I’m definitely not yet down with the Kiwi interpretation of the breakfast sausage but I suppose I’m not as big a sausage connaisseur as some other people i know…
7. Kiwi birds, the feathered, flightless symbol of New Zealand lays the largest eggs comparable to their body size. Â Once juiced and strained the resulting product is quite bitter yet deliciously refreshing.
8. Blessed with the power of retard strength, even the sturdiest of Wellington’s embankments were no match for my American ass.Â
9. Order an ice coffee – receive this : what I perceive to be a mocha with 2 scoops vanilla ice cream plopped in. Â Fantastic. Â
10. Minus 5 Ice Bar – I’m into 2 drink minimums and spending 25 minutes in a -27 degree room comprised of nothing but teh ice. Â Ice formed from nothing but the natural artesian springs of New Zealand herself. Â Slap it on your checkout list.
11. What does not belong?
Saint Patties Day ’07 was a bit of a bust, despite my best attempt of being green and mean the night will be remembered as the night I failed to celebrate my heritage coming home with unbruised knuckles and as many brain cells as I left with.
The same can’t be said for the evening at lovely Courtney‘s. The boys and I warmed up at Umpy’s house as a prelim. Brotha dawkness did what he does best, and faced the consequences dished out by the vengeful homeowner. Luckily his penis shielded most of the blow. We walked the streets in the cloak of night and into the pad of Courtney where everyone felt the need to pop shots elbow to elbow in the kitchen. I was quick to assemble with the fellas and strike a quick pose for the room full of adoring womens. Compare this pic with this one. Things started gettin nutty as the night progressed; Dawkness tried pinnin the tail on the Jenny and Dylan seized the role of the noise nazi.
Then there was Sasha’s, my favorite Russian chic. For this occasion I felt it necessary to come dressed with my favorite accessory, enjoy that corniness. she looks cute as a damn button there too. I fair well. So I spent the majority of that night bleeding profusely from the crater of the once proud pimple I tripled sliced with my fuckin Gillette Mach 3 turbo
emo pain expression device razor. Half a roll of toilet paper later I was back in the game, beads of sweat clinging to each one of my ass hairs in the kitchen. It even looks sweaty in that picture. Sweaty Jimbo balanced shit on his head. Adam hosed puke off Sasha’s doorstep.
So I guess I never posted to the world about the aftermath of bambi colliding into my Celica, well it’s still in the family and I picked up a 1990 Toyota Supra, white, turbo, 5 speed, targa top, with about 105k miles. So I rock that pretty hard, its fast, its a tank and I love it.