remind me to forget the follwing details about this evening:

accidental rude comments to friends and strangers alike. (and too many rude comments that weren't distributed to the deserving)

freaking out in the ladies' because of the oddly themed cublicle wallpaper (who on earth thought that clippings about Yeats was appropriate toilet decor?). as well as being unnerved by the prospect of being perved on by a guy who's been dead for over sixty years, i was also inspired to emerge from the cubicle proclaiming "things fall apart, the centre cannot hold/mere anarchy is loosed upon the world" (it was either that or He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven -- can't remember any others).

our immensely crap effort at pool. i think some people waited nearly two hours for us to finish. (the slaggy girls kept giving us rude looks and the maori boys just kept laughing. we only realised they were waiting about an hour and a half in. then we kept apologising and offering them the table).

intense pool playing bloke with stupid beard and some kind of islander fetish. and his friend, sad bastard boy "i'm a single man with the place to myself, always got some beers in the fridge". i was in a horrible space between drunk and sober, so was unable to laugh or feign polite interest.

fucking friends fucking telling the fucking pub cover band that it was my birthday so i had to go up and play the fucking tambourine to a fucking Jet song. (but let it be noted that, unlike their previous tambourine girl, i can keep a beat while shimmying in front of a drummer.)