finding my way through the years

Happy birthday to me,
I'm twenty-two and three.
I look like a munkey,
But I can't climb a tree.

Hullo hullo.

On Friday night, Oli and I made the trek up to Kallista for Mr Mikey's 60th birthday dinner at Genie's. It was a bittersweet event, with much hilarity and good cheer, but with a twinge of sadness, for this was the last time I would be seeing Mother Gomes and Mr Mike for at least a year. They are off to Japan to teach English! Very exciting! So there was much hugging and almost a few tears, ahead of their departure on Tuesday. I then trundled home to the abode of patermunkey to spend the night in Electroboy's very comfortable bed.

After laying awake long into the night contemplating life, love, the universe, and my ever-aging existence within it *over-analytical munkey*, I slept in late on Saturday morning, before finally dragging myself out of bed to confront my birthday. Yes, lovers and dreamers, mindlessmunkey is now a mind-boggling twenty-five years old. I seriously have no idea how I suddenly became this old. I still feel nineteen, seventeen even. However the day was sunny, and so was my outlook. What the hell does twenty-five mean anyway? A number. Over it.

Patermunkey brought Electroboy home, and we had the giving-of-gifts ceremony. Then I put on my systems-administrator hat, helping the family come to terms with the joys of using my brother's MP3-player via the new computer, before enjoying lunch... complete with a birthday candle stuck in a chocolate-jam doughnut. Fun fun fun. Ms Andrea dropped in to do the happy birthday fandango, before I headed back to the munkey-pad.

I picked up Mr Ryan Mac from his abode-of-many-housemates, and we spent a few hours watching Panic Room and generally bludging, before it was time to head to Fitzroy for some more celebrating. We arrived at the Night Cat in Johnston St at about 8, to be there ahead of the 8.30 invite time I had told people... only to find that the establishment does not open its doors until 9pm. Ooops. This is why munkey should never be left in charge of organising ANYTHING. So Ryan and I wandered over to Bar Open, then to the Black Pearl for a few preliminary drinkies. I had my fingers crossed that most people would be fashionably late enough to render my stuff-up harmless. Phonecalls to my mobile allowed Madame Mu and Cousin Glenn with his lady-friend Ms Leanne to find us at the Black Pearl and when 9pm finally came around, we headed back to the Night Cat to let the proper proceedings begin. Many of my beloveds turned up - including many who I haven't seen for FAR too long - and I was lavished with pressies and fun, as the music pumped, the liquor flowed and the conversation and laughter danced in the smoky air. The one beef I have is with the venue: for charging $10 cover-fee for a band that STILL hadn't taken the stage when the last of us departed at 1am. What the fuck is with paying cover-charge FOUR HOURS+ before a band even plays. Bastards! Aaaanyway, that aside, it was a marvellous evening, and there was some much-fun dancing at the end of the night... even if it wasn't to the accompaniment of the promised live band *grumble munkey*.

Dragging ourselves out of bed on Sunday morning, I deposited Mr Ryan back home, before hauling myself again back out to Endeavour Hills for Mother's Day fun. Of course, my recent lack of a Mother was something of a dampner, but there are still many wonderful mums in my family, even if they don't happen to be mine. So off we went to Aunty Sheila's for a fine afternoon tea with the fam, including Grandma Ashton and an appearance by Cousin Mark, brand-new-mum Ms Annie and their wonderful new baby Mr Jett. I stayed the night again at patermunkey's, before heading off bright and early for the start of the working week.

The week of office-working dullness has been punctuated by our regular West Wing shenanigans on Tuesday night, and a lovely drink and chinwag session with Mr Chris Mac on Wednesday night. Both evenings consisted of white wine, good company and fine entertainment. Tomorrow I'll be having lunch with Dr Dave Goo, before - all being well - heading off for a peaceful weekend in the country with Mr Ryan.

Oh and in pop-culture news, after the unwatchable tedium of last year, I must admit that this year I am finding myself hooked on Big Brother once again. It may just be my identical-twin fetish coming into play, but I'm seriously intrigued. Here's hoping Logan-The-Bogan can pull off his tricksy tomfoolery... I wanna see those kids crack the shits when they find out they've been played like rusty basoons!

~~~~~~~

Last night, while driving home, the fragments of a new song began appearing in my head. Where did this come from? I have no idea! I'm not traumatised or anything! A most pleasant surprise. So while I should have been tidying my flat ahead of Mr Chris's visit, I instead picked up my recently-much-neglected guitar and strung together some lively, folk chords and turned the floating fragments into the first song to have been written on the munkey-towers premises. For anyone who's interested, here are the lyrics (don't ask me what it's about ~ whatever you think it's about, that's what it's about):

NAVIGATING

There's a silent conversation sings
Between the soil and leaves.
There's a hidden destination safe
Between the floors and eaves.
There's a poem in an ancient tome
Writ plain for you to see.
There's a path that leads
Beyond the broken village to the sea
...the sea ...to the sea.

North of here there is a fairy-tale
Where princes roam the land.
In the South there is a war-zone
Where boys' blood perfumes the sand.
Looking West you see a rich man
Rue the night his flesh grew old.
But the East reveals a waking morn
Beneath a sky of gold
...of gold ...sky of gold.

Between the fingers and the thumbs,
Between the beggars and the bums,
Among the rights that fade to wrongs,
Among the sinners and their songs.
When my ship upon the high seas
Lacks a star, I look to thee.
When your compass needs a turning-point
I hope you'll turn to me
...to me ...turn to me.

~~~~~~~