You bought me a girls bike, you idiot!

I'm the type of guy who'll wish you well after he tells you to go fuck yourself. So maybe having a blog would be hilarious and dangerous to the ears of idiots.
This year, one of my regrets was not heading to the snow. There were a great deal of factors that inhibited my goal of punishing the cold crisp slopes with my snowboard named “Woodrow Wilson”, but in all reality, it was inevitably my own fault for not being proactive in following my own needs and desires at that moment in time. Sure, you might think; “hey jerkface, get over it!, it’s only the snow! It’s cold, wet, hard when compacted and a waste of money!” and my reaction to that would be two things; 1) amazement of how specific your thoughts are and 2) how you couldn’t be any more wrong! Last year a few friends and myself embarked on a snow trip that was later to be recalled as epic, and even further than that, maybe possibly recalled as the best trip to date! The snow fields of Thredbo were constantly fresh with powder and amazing runs, where I felt my skill level get shaken up and improved quickly and easily. I felt like I was in my element, just like everyone else. The group just clicked so easily; each good day of sweet snow action was followed by hilarious fun nights. Who can resist nights of drinking, playing UNO and sass talking with no regards to anything at all? I don’t think any reasonable human can. So this leads to the final night of the epic trip, which had your humble narrator speaking in tongues and walking around like a zombie, it was a night I would like to call: Peach schnapps and the 9 foot curtain battle. A wild draw four was hurled down at the table, followed by a hearty yell of “drink motherfucker, you got fucking owned!” this came from a young grrrl by the name of Montana, who was sitting next to Dans Pies and Eds. This yell was aimed at me, as this night my luck with the cards ran out and I had a whole team of friends wanting my head on the chopping block. Maybe it was my own fault, since every night before this one I won a fair amount of games and avoided the punishment that came with coming last, a double shot of peach schnapps. Maybe it was the sight of a sober Spanish punk each night of the epic snow trip that made my good friends team up and destroy my ability to remain sober. Either way, I was in trouble. Round after round of UNO was played, and each time I met the same fate, a double shot of sickly sweet peach schnapps. It was going to be a very long night indeed. Eventually we stopped playing cards and figured out what we should have for dinner, and since it was the last night we were at the snow together we thought about heading out into the cold to the local RSL club to enjoy a steak. Montana, Dans Pies, Eds, Ceydaaaa and myself all loaded into two cars and rolled to our destination, by this point my face was truly numb, I was loud, accident prone and hilariously drunk. We arranged to meet up with some other friends while we’re there and settled in for a few hours. We ordered our meals and made trips to the bar, getting more evil spirits to fuel the rocket ships of our boozer buzz. Inside this large establishment was an indoor BBQ, next to the arcade machines and near large windows that contained larger curtains. We positioned ourselves here for convenience, warmth and a chance to kick ass at Daytona USA. I kept jumping up and checking out the food that was getting cooked and playing a few rounds of Daytona, whilst then returning to my chair. My chair at this point kept sliding underneath the 9ft tall curtains and each time I sat down I could feel strain from the curtains that were constantly drifting over my seat. And in my drunken state I thought, “FUCK! HAVE TO MOVE THIS FREAKING CRAPPY CURTAIN!” and instead of just pushing it aside, I decided to pull at the curtain and rip it from its rails… this went on for an hour. So imagine between bites of my brilliantly cooked steak, sips of my beers, loud rants to friends; I was pulling at this huge freaking curtain permanently damaging it from its rails! And all this was about as quiet as a riot in a prison block! My friends at this point were beginning to be a bit concerned that security will be called and we would have to pay for damages, so we all just up and left back to the lodge, leaving behind a large curtain system strewn across the floor disconnected from its rails up above. So this epic snow trip ended with drunken destruction. I’m sure the bar staff eventually found the damage and cursed the day that they handed some schnapps to a Peruvian beanie wearing punk… but in the end, it was a brilliant night, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe my hatred towards those curtains.

This year, one of my regrets was not heading to the snow. There were a great deal of factors that inhibited my goal of punishing the cold crisp slopes with my snowboard named “Woodrow Wilson”, but in all reality, it was inevitably my own fault for not being proactive in following my own needs and desires at that moment in time. Sure, you might think; “hey jerkface, get over it!, it’s only the snow! It’s cold, wet, hard when compacted and a waste of money!” and my reaction to that would be two things; 1) amazement of how specific your thoughts are and 2) how you couldn’t be any more wrong!

Last year a few friends and myself embarked on a snow trip that was later to be recalled as epic, and even further than that, maybe possibly recalled as the best trip to date! The snow fields of Thredbo were constantly fresh with powder and amazing runs, where I felt my skill level get shaken up and improved quickly and easily. I felt like I was in my element, just like everyone else. The group just clicked so easily; each good day of sweet snow action was followed by hilarious fun nights. Who can resist nights of drinking, playing UNO and sass talking with no regards to anything at all? I don’t think any reasonable human can.

So this leads to the final night of the epic trip, which had your humble narrator speaking in tongues and walking around like a zombie, it was a night I would like to call:

Peach schnapps and the 9 foot curtain battle.

A wild draw four was hurled down at the table, followed by a hearty yell of “drink motherfucker, you got fucking owned!” this came from a young grrrl by the name of Montana, who was sitting next to Dans Pies and Eds. This yell was aimed at me, as this night my luck with the cards ran out and I had a whole team of friends wanting my head on the chopping block. Maybe it was my own fault, since every night before this one I won a fair amount of games and avoided the punishment that came with coming last, a double shot of peach schnapps. Maybe it was the sight of a sober Spanish punk each night of the epic snow trip that made my good friends team up and destroy my ability to remain sober. Either way, I was in trouble.

Round after round of UNO was played, and each time I met the same fate, a double shot of sickly sweet peach schnapps. It was going to be a very long night indeed. Eventually we stopped playing cards and figured out what we should have for dinner, and since it was the last night we were at the snow together we thought about heading out into the cold to the local RSL club to enjoy a steak. Montana, Dans Pies, Eds, Ceydaaaa and myself all loaded into two cars and rolled to our destination, by this point my face was truly numb, I was loud, accident prone and hilariously drunk. We arranged to meet up with some other friends while we’re there and settled in for a few hours.

We ordered our meals and made trips to the bar, getting more evil spirits to fuel the rocket ships of our boozer buzz. Inside this large establishment was an indoor BBQ, next to the arcade machines and near large windows that contained larger curtains. We positioned ourselves here for convenience, warmth and a chance to kick ass at Daytona USA. I kept jumping up and checking out the food that was getting cooked and playing a few rounds of Daytona, whilst then returning to my chair.

My chair at this point kept sliding underneath the 9ft tall curtains and each time I sat down I could feel strain from the curtains that were constantly drifting over my seat. And in my drunken state I thought, “FUCK! HAVE TO MOVE THIS FREAKING CRAPPY CURTAIN!” and instead of just pushing it aside, I decided to pull at the curtain and rip it from its rails… this went on for an hour. So imagine between bites of my brilliantly cooked steak, sips of my beers, loud rants to friends; I was pulling at this huge freaking curtain permanently damaging it from its rails! And all this was about as quiet as a riot in a prison block! My friends at this point were beginning to be a bit concerned that security will be called and we would have to pay for damages, so we all just up and left back to the lodge, leaving behind a large curtain system strewn across the floor disconnected from its rails up above.

So this epic snow trip ended with drunken destruction. I’m sure the bar staff eventually found the damage and cursed the day that they handed some schnapps to a Peruvian beanie wearing punk… but in the end, it was a brilliant night, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe my hatred towards those curtains.

Oh it wasn’t staged at all, I was beginning to get exhausted and needed to lie down. But it is a fav too. Great day. Great job @inaninstant! inaninstantphoto: This one was slightly staged…either way it’s a fav.

Oh it wasn’t staged at all, I was beginning to get exhausted and needed to lie down. But it is a fav too. Great day. Great job @inaninstant!

inaninstantphoto:

This one was slightly staged…either way it’s a fav.

Curse you social norms! Rant of the day:

I just got ‘busted’ by a car full of dweebs singing along at the top of my lungs to ‘Santeria’ by Sublime in peak hour traffic. They gave me this look, the “you’re an absolute basket case” look. I just shrugged it off, turned up the music and sang even louder! Fuck them! I’m a various gods damning individual, for fucks sake!!

Where has society gone wrong, where a dude is enjoying an awesome sing along to one of his favorite tracks at the tippy tops of his lungs and vocal range, that it’s considered fucking weird? So what if I’m not going along the social norm, by not being quiet and making the most of a boring situation. Frankly, I was following the norm by being in peak hour traffic, so then acting out in this way was just my venting system! What’s the other option? Stewing and getting mad at other motorists whilst flooring my car into the rear of the car in front? Not likely pal!

So the car full of dweebs are like someone who comes across a drum kit and says, “I’ve always wanted to play!” They then are handed a pair of sticks, which they then use to tap so softly and silently at each drum that its almost an insult to the nature of the drum itself! It’s meant to be played loudly, lose that mental limit, launch yourself into the abyss and drum the fuck out of that kit!

That’s beside the point. That’s just an example. What I’m getting at is; why does it seem if someone really is enjoying themselves, why should it be frowned upon? Where do these rules stem from that makes folks forget the desire to have fun? To forget the desire to laugh out loud? To forget the idea of singing loudly to your favorite song in the privacy of your own car?

So, here is your homework: look for a social rule, and casually break it. I’m not endorsing things that may be criminal, but if you find an unspoken social norm rule, question it and have fun breaking it. I’ll start with a suggestion, the next elevator ride you’re in, sing along to the crappy music or better yet, turn to face the strangers on the elevator and start a conversation!

Go! Do it now!

Oh, and will you tell me about it?

Sydney traffic is very similar to getting blood taken by a student nurse; painful, draining and there is never a chance to escape that torture without losing ones mind!

—Seb Alvarez, memoirs of a traffic veteran, 11th December 2010

FML rant of the day, part 1

It’s a strange summer this year, one day it’s your typical brilliantly hot, passionate, sexy beach weather moments that Australia is certainly well known for (especially among screaming Oprah fans) and the next is boring, dreary, wet and cold weather that Australia is never known as! Yet there is an apparent constant among all this, and that is the mosquitos. What the fuck are their purpose, and why the fuck do they find my skin and blood so fucking tasty? Do I emit a scent that detests people but welcomes flies? Is it my B positive blood that is slightly sweeter due to it’s sunny disposition? Could it be that my blood has the secret formula that counteracts aging and the flies feel they need to steal it? Tell me, because I’m dying to find out!

I get absolutely destroyed by those annoying buzz emitting vampire pests each time I step out in short sleeves, and it’s not just one bite, it’s close to 40 or 50 in one sitting! Jeez! I can understand if they want to preserve my awesome DNA for future generations to use (seeming to be the only use I can conjure up for those blood sucking savages), but at the rate they are going, there will be no blood at all to share around! Motherfuckers!

And you know what’s embarrassing about it all? Either getting bitten on the eye lid and explaining to people that you weren’t in a fight or that your eyelids don’t droop that way, or getting bitten a few times through clothing on your butt cheek and having to fight the urge to scratch your ass in public!

If only there was one massive mosquito that rules over them all, like one the size of a VW beetle, I would go toe to toe with it, defeat it’s scavenging ass, drive a hose into it and suck it’s blood out whilst maniacally yelling “how fucking annoying is that shit?! Huh?! How you like me now?!”

Yeah that will be the dream! But for now, I’m just going to resist the urge to scratch itchy mosquito bites on my fingertips and slowly plan my ultimate revenge…

The past year has been great musically for me, I went from the beginning of the year with no performances and idea of what to do, to the end of the year with three bands playing fantastic gigs and four headliner bills. Not bad at all! And as a result I’ve been clipping bill posters from free music publications and preserving them, as a reminder of the progression, and maybe a stern guide of where it may lead. And here is where it gets hilarious, this Saturday the 11th of December, my band EVERYTHING’S COMING UP MILHOUSE is doing a headliner spot, and the promoters for the Lewisham Hotel misspelt the name! It kind of saddens me to know that there is a few folks out there who have forgotten Milhouse VanHouten’s plight against his flood pants, I just want to go round to those folk and give them a hug, whisper “it’s ok” in their ear whilst they sob uncontrollably into my bosom for having not lived with the Simpsons in their lives. There there poor soul, it’s not your fault at all, and I forgive you. Now on a different note, for one night only, catch the destructive power of EVERYTHING IS COMING TO MILLHOUSE at the Lewisham Hotel on Saturday the 11th of December. I hope you won’t be disappointed at all, as we are best described as a hand grenade in a maternity ward, destructively cute!

The past year has been great musically for me, I went from the beginning of the year with no performances and idea of what to do, to the end of the year with three bands playing fantastic gigs and four headliner bills. Not bad at all!

And as a result I’ve been clipping bill posters from free music publications and preserving them, as a reminder of the progression, and maybe a stern guide of where it may lead.

And here is where it gets hilarious, this Saturday the 11th of December, my band EVERYTHING’S COMING UP MILHOUSE is doing a headliner spot, and the promoters for the Lewisham Hotel misspelt the name! It kind of saddens me to know that there is a few folks out there who have forgotten Milhouse VanHouten’s plight against his flood pants, I just want to go round to those folk and give them a hug, whisper “it’s ok” in their ear whilst they sob uncontrollably into my bosom for having not lived with the Simpsons in their lives. There there poor soul, it’s not your fault at all, and I forgive you.

Now on a different note, for one night only, catch the destructive power of EVERYTHING IS COMING TO MILLHOUSE at the Lewisham Hotel on Saturday the 11th of December. I hope you won’t be disappointed at all, as we are best described as a hand grenade in a maternity ward, destructively cute!

Dye it black, and don’t come back!

All my life I was exposed to a great deal of knowledge, as my parents informed me of anything and everything my young sponge of a mind can take on. I ate up great amounts of facts, statistics, formulas, quotes, tales, theories and principles. This all created the being that I am today. But some forms of knowledge are useful to know, but others just make you seem weird to others.

I know anything and everything about sewing and clothing. My mother is a dressmaker, and her skill with material can easily be described as brilliance colliding with a school bus of ‘fuck yeah’. And ever since I was a young punk, my mother let me in on the ground floor of the textile game, and what is needed to make works of material goodness. This also makes people question who I am, like this next story which shall be called:

Dye it black, and don’t come back!

One of my jobs that I held was working a dry cleaner, it paid well, allowed me to read, listen to music and harass customers at will. The shop was located on the street level of a small shopping mall, and it had a fairly high flow of customers and enquiries. I really did like the job, since from the very first day the owner gave me the keys and trusted me with her business, and that dry cleaning chemicals when combined with lit cigarettes apparently creates mustard gas brought an element of danger that I did favour. So I really welcomed the job easily.

Though one moment made me question it and my knowledge of material. One afternoon I was closing up, running through the duties before locking the doors. I performed the checks but was stopped by some customers walking in; two girls who were both very attractive. One of them was a girl who I think worked a few doors down at a real estate, but I’m not the stalker type (girl no2 she will be known as). They placed down on the counter a really nice white dress with two black material stripes around the waist and asked what can be done to fix it. What happened was that the black material bled into the white material, causing dye damage.

Girl no1: So what can be done?

Seb: I can’t fix the material, since the black material should have been colourfast or colour treated before being overlocked and sewn to the dress. So…. Maybe you should dye the whole dress black? Because that would look hot.

Girl no2: Oh. That sucks.

Girl no1: Are you gay?

Seb: WHAT?! No!

Girl no1: Are you single? Because my friend is single.

Seb: Yeah, but you just thought I was gay! Is that your way of setting your friends up? Look for a dude who is good, question his sexuality and then make a setup? Good work on that! How often does it work?

Girl number one turned bright red with embarrassment as girl number two looked at her with dagger eyes. Girl number one then picked up her dress and walked out quickly, girl number two followed slowly, muttering the line “idiot!” whilst rolling her eyes.

So because of my extensive knowledge of material and clothing, women automatically assume I’m gay, good job parents…. That shit is totally freaking awesome. At least the moral of the story is to never assume and be ready to get an ego bashing when you do!

So this is my Korean Kustom. This guitar I have a love/hate relationship with, I love it, but it must hate me by the way it gets treated. I bought in mind to throw it around like a madman, it was fairly cheap and I didn’t care if it met with an early demise. The first month I got it, I tested it out with my band at the time, we hired some time in a rehearsal studio and I brought it along for the fun. It felt light, sounded mean and is comfortable beyond anything! So then I decided to get into the music that was being played. I couldn’t help it, I got carried away, I was jumping off the kit, leaping in the air with high jump force, kicking shit around like a deranged orangutan, and then I accidentally drove the guitar headstock into the wall. It dug in fairly deep into to the wall, to the point that the wall almost could support the weight of the guitar. I didn’t freak out and think of the damage that was created by an irrational punk, I just responded with a loud hearty laugh. So I pulled out my guitar from it’s housing in the wall, expecting to see damage so set in that it was a write off… But no, the Korean Kustom just had some dust on it that was brushed off and had lived to see another day. It proved itself to be tough as nails, and able to withstand insane amounts of torture! I love that guitar. Love it so much, I’m going to set it alight next gig and dance around it… I’m sure it will survive!

So this is my Korean Kustom. This guitar I have a love/hate relationship with, I love it, but it must hate me by the way it gets treated. I bought in mind to throw it around like a madman, it was fairly cheap and I didn’t care if it met with an early demise.

The first month I got it, I tested it out with my band at the time, we hired some time in a rehearsal studio and I brought it along for the fun. It felt light, sounded mean and is comfortable beyond anything! So then I decided to get into the music that was being played. I couldn’t help it, I got carried away, I was jumping off the kit, leaping in the air with high jump force, kicking shit around like a deranged orangutan, and then I accidentally drove the guitar headstock into the wall. It dug in fairly deep into to the wall, to the point that the wall almost could support the weight of the guitar. I didn’t freak out and think of the damage that was created by an irrational punk, I just responded with a loud hearty laugh. So I pulled out my guitar from it’s housing in the wall, expecting to see damage so set in that it was a write off… But no, the Korean Kustom just had some dust on it that was brushed off and had lived to see another day. It proved itself to be tough as nails, and able to withstand insane amounts of torture!

I love that guitar. Love it so much, I’m going to set it alight next gig and dance around it… I’m sure it will survive!

Lifesavers with nothing to do.

It was a bright summers day, there wasn’t a cloud in the blue sky and the idea of attacking the beach for sand and surf was ideal. I was at my parents place in Gosford with my sister, and we decided it was time to pack the towels and go for a swim.

We loaded up all we needed into my car and drove the small distance to the beach, sure; we could have easily used some bikes from my dads impressive collection, but it was so insanely hot that it would be a risk to even think about riding! We lazily jumped into my car and sped off.

The local beach at my parents place is beautiful, it is a long stretch of lush beachside that rolls along for blocks into the distance, next to large forested cliffs and native shrubbery. The only thing I disapprove is that the beach has no swell at all. The waves it does get are so incredibly small that there really is never any threat of being carted into the horizon by overzealous rips. And this beach is so sleepy and slow that the lifesavers are either kids who haven’t reached their teens, or older men and women of retiring age. So it’s a beach you can easily swim in with no risks at all.

We made it to the beach after the nano second drive, and found a spot to relax and settle in. I threw off my shirt and ran for the water in my rocking black board shorts, whilst my sister stayed behind to work on her tan and read up on a gossip magazine.

Yet before I can continue any further I need to fill you in on a large portion of information, both my sister and I are excellent swimmers. When we were growing up, we were enrolled every summer in swimming courses, which we diligently attended daily over the course of countless summers. So it’s safe to say that we’re confident swimmers, and also I would like to add that at one particular point in my life I considered a lifesaving career!

So carrying on, I ran to the water and spent a large amount of time just swimming and reflecting. I think after an hour I decided to go walk the beach in search for some waves (at all) and examine the talent. So off I went, leaving footprints behind in the wet sand and kicking up streams of salt water with my feet.

Later I was returning to where my sister was catching a tan, whilst still walking among the wash of the gentle waves. All of a sudden I noticed a lifesaving boat was heading toward the shoreline incredibly fast, and also that it was heading towards me. I just kept on going, and so did the lifeguards in their boat hurtling towards the shore. It sped quickly and drove into the sand banks of the beach, where the two lifesavers darted out and ran towards me;

Lifesaver 1: Are you Seb?

Seb: ….errr yeah?

Lifesaver 2: Are you ok?

Seb: Umm yeah? What’s wrong?

Lifesaver 1: Your sister believed you drowned and disappeared, since she couldn’t see you in the water.

Seb: Ha! Are you fucking serious? You couldn’t drown in this beach, even if you tried! Oh well, thanks guys, and sorry for the false alarm.

Lifesaver 2: So you are ok?

Seb: Do you see anything wrong?

The lifeguards looked disappointed. About as disappointed as a bunch of robbers cracking into an empty safe. I just shrugged at then, smiled and walked off whistling.

lifesavers

I met up with my sister and questioned her why a lifeguard wanted to give me the kiss of life and she instantly felt relieved that I was ok. I guess that made me overlook the embarrassment of the whole situation, but i made her laugh by letting her know that my disappearance was the most action these lifeguards had seen in a very long time!

Either way, enjoy the sexy summer, swim between the flags, give yourself some time after you eat before you swim, wear sunscreen and thank the lucky stars for the efforts of the brave lifesavers keeping you safe!

t0dieyoung-deactivated20120226 asked: thanks for the follow :)

Hey no problem, and you know what would be awesome…. following “You bought me a girls bike, you idiot!”

Because if you do, starving kids on other planets get a chance to grow wings and hatch plans to escape!