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Thursday, December 30, 2004

Chris does New Zealand

Yesterday was karaoke night again, but with less success than last time. We got there a bit later, since I got off of work later, but we still successfully sang a couple of songs, including the must-do duet of "Love Shack" by my sister and I. I sang 2Pac's "California Love" much to the snickering of the audience, which was fine with me, because I nailed it, and I wore a yellow tennis hat with an enormous bill while doing it. Karaoke, in general, is most certainly more showmanship than technical prowess. There were some truly good big fat Maori guys that sang the first time I went to this place to do karaoke, but was anyone paying attention? Was anyone dancing? That's a negatory, good buddy.

Also, I met a girl that could potentially be interesting. I was this close (a small space between my thumb and forefinger)to asking her for her number, but then she approached me and asked me if I would be there next Wednesday, to which I said yes. I suppose I could have gone for it and just asked her her number anyway, or asked what she was doing tomorrow (New Year's Eve). Instead, in what has come to be known as my true form, I pussed out and made what I thought was a charming comment and walked back to the car in the rain without her number in my pocket.

I woke up this morning much earlier than usual in order to help my boss organize some stuff in the "lock-up" which really means "storage unit." Instead of doing that, we put together a shelf, put a bunch of random stuff on it, loaded eighteen kegs of beer into the "chiller" (which really means "cooler), and ate a "meat pie" (which really means "beef pot pie without the vegetables"). I'm supposed to go to the gym later today, but I'm kind of tired at the moment. I'm supposed to do some looking into several albums including but not limited to music by Average White Band, Tower of Power, and Elton John's "Tumbleweed Connection", which will help me gain a more vast knowledge of pop music, but won't help sculpt my muscles into the form of a Greek God.

KB2= A Measure of taste

It's about 3 AM, and I'm having a hell of a time getting the links fixed, although I did get the image on the homepage working. For some stupid reason it'll update the index/homepage quckly, but the other pages apparently take longer to upload. The most important thing to me at this point is that the porn page get uploaded, since it's the fullest page so far. Since I have virtually no knowledge of web design or HTML, I'm learning as I go along, which isn't conducive to getting things done quickly or efficiently.

I wanted to leave work every five minutes today to come home and write notes on the biography and work on the site. We have a relatively new manager, who has it together a lot more than the owner does, in that she has some background in the industry, and is working on taking inventory, minimizing extra labor hours (which isn't good for us, but at least she (appears) to know what she's doing), etc. So now every Monday we have to take inventory, which seems unnecessary to me, and we have to count every bottle of booze, every glass, every soda bottle (they don't use the more efficient and only slightly less tasty gun), and every keg.

On a positive note, my sister and I bought each other Christmas presents, which was really nice. I bought her a bunch of clothes, which she seemed happy with. She bought me The Clash's "London Calling" re-release, which I really wanted. She also bought me a fake moustache and a box of Cadburry's chocolate, which I ate all of today. We also finished watching The Godfather II yesterday, which of course, ruled. We have to start the third one tomorrow, which will not rule nearly as much (update, 12/30/2004: see my review of the movie here).

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Numero Uno

This is my first entry into the "blog" section of the site. If you're interested in seeing my past entries into a blog, go here. I try to keep out the more weepy aspects of my life in order to set it apart from other livejournals, so it's not all that bad.

At the moment, it's 12:30 PM, and I'm sitting at the kitchen table in my house in Nelson, New Zealand. I'm about to go to the pool. Following that, I'll come back and work on the site, read, and get ready for work (which I'm scheduled to do at 8 o'clock tonight for some stupid reason. Which leads me to a brief complaint about my job at the moment: I work at a pub that just opened in this area, but somehow I'm not enjoying it as much as I was when I bartended in Houston. We don't get tipped, so we're dependent on an hourly wage (much like the stupid retail industry, which I avoid at all costs), which sucks, because no one gets enough hours. They have us come in at around five or six o'clock, and we generally close at around half eleven or twelve on weekdays. Any way you add it up, working five days a week doesn't equal forty hours. More on why my boss is a fuckwit later.