Well, it certainly has been a while since I last posted here. (According to my login page, approximately nine weeks.)

I've been doing some things, I went to sea for a bit, came back, went back out. have come back in, went on leave. Went to Assembly, went partying and chilling, went out AGAIN, tore my calf, flew home, got TMU'ed for a week, stopped a ship from sailing, got sent back on leave and have sat here letting my leg recover while I've gone on a massive creative spree. I've been writing, designing new parts and areas for a game I play, and just playing a few RPG's in general.

And for the record, working with the USN /sucks/. Totally and utterly, crap, especially when you have to do it for a month. But thankfully that exercise is over. Came back for maybe a weekend, then went out for a week to support a ship for their Work Ups. Worst job ever.

Then the good bit, went on leave the day we got back in, ended up down in Melbourne and caught up with Alex, my best mate from when I was like 5 years old, I hadn't seen him since I joined the navy. We went and got drunk... then ended up back at his place.

I kicked him and his girlfriend out of their bed about mid-amorning to sleep in a proper bed to recover from my hangover.

Then we all got ready for Assembly. Heaven. Around 3  to 4 girls per guy in the club, a higher ratio if you took out the gay guys. And they were all dressed up in whatever resembled school. So the vast majority of them were dressed up as schoolgirls. One Hundred Percent Fetish!

I spent the next few days catching up with mates, chilling, relaxing, before moving into the city, staying in a hotel room, going out from there and stuff. Went to Heresy that Friday, along with Sunset.. the opening of a new club.. and tore my calf. It was UNFUN. Much unfun-ness. I heartily recommend not ever doing it.

But I caught up with my parents for brunch, then lunch Saturday morning, and they took me to the airport to catch my flight home. I managed to limp up to my room, whereupon I did not move until I had to leave for work Monday morning. My leg was still fucked, even then.

Went to the medics, and got made medically unfit for sea. Just a temporary thing, thankfully, because at the time of writing this, it still pains me but I can walk up stairs, wander around, but I just can't run or bounc up and down for long. BUT because of the amount of people in my department who got injured on the weekend, the ship went below critical levels.

So instead of going to sea, the place that holds people like me simply sent me on leave for a week. Fun! And for the benefit of those who care, the past 4 days of doing absolutely nothing mean that my calf has almost healed up fully, it's still a little sore, but it's workable once more!

Current Mood: amused

Firstly, now that I have managed to recount the entirity of my rants from when I was at sea, I have decided that I shall number each post. Number continuity is such fun. Really, it is.

A lot has happened over the past week or so.

Aeryn came up to Sydney, we went clubbing and dinner and stuffs. It was all very fun. I had to go back to work at the end of it. Never a fun thing to do. But still, there was Hellfire in the midst of it. That was the clubbing we went to while she was up here.

And my god was the dinner excellent. I took her out to the Blackbird Cafe, down on the waterfront at Darling Harbour. I had the Kangaroo Fillet, rare of course, in a delicious plum sauce. So very very tender. She had the Chicken and Avacado Risotto, it was also very nice apprently.

It was fun, although, as many would know from my conversations with them on this topic, the one downside to having an open door policy to anyone wearing the right apparel at that sort of occassion is the much older men, alone, wearing nothing but a g-string. It's both an ugly look and a depressing concept. Hey I don't care if it's a couple, of any usage of the term, but please, single men, we do not want to see your hairy, swollen bellies as you go on the prowl for someone to whip you.

But what the hell does any of this have to do with the title of my post? Well, nothing really, but I am back upon the Berocca. The problem is, that it keeps you awake, far too awake without enough energy to really do anything with it. Of course, the lack of energy could be the apathy of being back at work after a really great weekend. Watched a lot of Nip/Tuck in the process too.

And on the way to work. Saw the new model cop car that's kicking around in Sydney. This weird metallic, almost gold coloured volkswagon beetle. Yes, that's right a VW Beetle is the new cop car. Tough isn't it. I wonder how well that thing would do in a high speed chase. Not very well is what I'd think, unless they totally replaced the engine... and like, the entire car.

Current Mood: awake
Current Music: Sidewinder - Crystal Method & Prodigy

Segueing...
 
Well now, what an interesting time it has been. For the record, before I
break your hearts with my sudden disappearance, this is my last night at
sea for around 6 weeks, we go into a short leave period, so I shall not be
sitting in the commcen, bored and urged to write my soul out in a digital
medium.
 
It has begun, the weird cycle of defence watches has started to influence
my brain, it should be noted that we work in what's called "7's and 5's".
What this entails is 5 hours on during the day, 5 hours off, 7 hours on
during the night and 7 hours off. That sounds like a lot of time asleep
doesn't it? A whole 12 hours? Unlikely. For a start, we get up 45 minutes
before we have to start watch. That's 1-1/2 hours off, so we're down to
10-1/2 hours sleep. Still significant. Then there's at least 30 minutes
prior to getting to sleep where you've got to eat, shower, change etc.
9-1/2, still a lot. But then you split it. Your brain doesn't get the 6
hours of steady rest required to reset, so you start having strange dreams.
 
I literally dreamt of riding through the country side, while on watch,
looking for chocolate eggs and having meetings with elves. There was even a
castle. What're they doing to me? Gods knows, but we will in time.
 
What else could possibly go wrong? Well now... lets see, I am Mr Fix-it in
the commcen, I have yet to receive a handover this week where SOMETHING
wasn't broken. Made record time tonight though. 15 minutes and everything
was back to being fine.
 
That's apparently because I'm awesome. And Buff.
 
What do I have planned for today? Well I get to pretend that I'm an illegal
immigrant, whereupon I sit on another boat and play all rebellious and what
not, get all into the part, and otherwise drift around the ocean being as
lazy as possible. Which is good, considering I'm going to be awake an hour
and a half longer than I should be. Yes, I do not deny it, I love my sleep,
as little as I get of it with my current job.
 
Alas, this is no doubt, not nearly as amusing as it could have been, but
rest assured these rants will not be forgotten for the next 6 weeks, merely
their method of delivery. Some of you may be aware, I sit upon MySpace a
fair bit while I'm alongside, and that shall be the method that I shall be
using to deliver them. If you have MySpace, and are not already upon my
friends list, you will know, send me an e-mail to either here or my hotmail
account (SsehKalai@hotmail.com) and I shall add you, then you will be able
to receive the bulletins that I post.
 
Aidan.
I am Aidan. I am. Perfect.
 

Current Mood: reminiscent

Segueing...
 
Greetings once more my fellow denizens of this fine and wholesome world. I
come to you with a public service bulletin, on the requirements of learning
how to read a watch. As some of you may be aware, the military uses a
twenty-four hour time system. What this means is that each time, for
example 1115, only happens once a day. Now, that sounds really rather
simple, especially when eleven o'clock at night, is referred to, and read
as 2300.
 
Then kindly enlighten me why the people who have to wake me up for my next
shift can't understand this? Why do I get woken up 30 minutes prior to the
time written on the board? Needless to say, I am unimpressed with this, it
has caused a great deal of irritation and disturbance of my sleeping
patterns. This is not complex people. You work in a highly trained and time
aware job and you can't read a damn watch? I think you might need to go
back to school.
 
I suppose I should stop ranting about that now, especially seeing as I have
nothing else to say. At least on that matter and it gets it off my
perfectly formed and muscular chest. So, it's been a busy night, fixing the
previous watches screw-ups, getting things nice and orderly so I can lean
back in my chair, rest, close my eyes and relax, or write e-mails. You see
the suffering and sacrifices I make for you all, my loyal readers? I should
hope that you understand this and are duly appreciative.
 
How has this trip been? Once more I have held onto my stomach, which is a
great deal more than I can say for a couple of the people I work with. The
constant need to go to the toilet to empty their stomachs into the toilet
bowl, due to the unconventional rocking of the ship, I at least, find
amusing. But at least they weren't incapacitated.
 
On another amusing note, I have one of the people on my watch, whose name
is 'Tongue'. No doubt you can imagine the sorts of amusing comments one can
make when there is such a name present.
 
"I don't feel comfortable with my Tongue going somewhere I'm not sure
about" or...
"How did the Tongue get in here before me?" And the really bad, late night
humour continues.
 
But at least I'm not that angry a man, except when De Luca is involved,
that useless good-for-nothing should have been drowned at birth. Especially
when he tries to get up in /my/ face all angry and 'intimidating'. People
really shouldn't do that, especially when they really aren't scary, no
matter how tall he is.
 
Interesting story from the Wednesday night that I was down in Bendigo. I
was out drinking with one of my best mates. We hit this sports bar at
around 3am, after the bar we'd been at (and he worked at sometimes) shut. I
went up to the bar itself, turned around and asked the barmaid we'd dragged
along what she was drinking, then turned back to order the drinks. This guy
was at the bar next to me, and he says something, it was totally
incomprehensible. I was so totally like wtf are you saying man. He
continues and this repeats about twice more until I can finally make out
the words. "I already know you hit your wife, so why don't you be more
polite before I hit you?" HUH? WTF? WIFE? ME?
 
That was possibly the most reeling thing that he could of said to me. Since
when is the Aidan married? There's enough issues here to last a lifetime
without adding a wife into the equation. We know this, we ALL know this, so
I was confused, I furiously denied that she was my wife, and eventually he
stopped and shut up. Then suddenly she was married to my mate. He was aware
of the way the previous conversation had panned out and wasn't taken nearly
as much off guard as I was by the word wife. (In addition the fact that he
can hold down a relationship with a woman that isn't already married to
someone else could possibly have had something to do with it.)
 
The resulting confrontation was entertaining to say the least, the guy was
absolutely massive. height wise at least, he was rather scrawny. Now what
brings this up? De Luca also thinks that he's likely to win fights due to
his height. The amusing point that all these tall people have in common is
the simple basis that taller does not mean bigger. Just because your eyes
look down at someone doesn't give you advantage, especially when the
smaller person out weighs you in both experience in combat, and sheer
muscle mass. Now, I'm not exactly a small guy, and my friend isn't either,
we have a lower centre of gravity and we both tend to hurt people when we
fight.
 
Do tall, scrawny people have 'small mans syndrome'? Seriously, they are the
most aggressive people I've ever met, except for short scrawny guys.
Although it must be noted that petite girls are hot. Not exactly a fan of
girls that are taller than me, it's all sorts of inconvenient. Especially
when it comes down to certain anatomical alignments. Guys should just be
bigger than girls, things slide in better that way. Trust me.
 
Aidan.
Reporting on social situations since 1785.

Current Mood: reminiscent

Segueing...
 
Ladies and Gentlemen, eager readers all of my fine publication, you will
become aware in these growing days of distress and trauma that my once
steady, sometimes acerbic and narcissistic, sometimes humorous, always
clear-eyed and perceptive literary ramblings have come to a rather abrupt
halt. Yes, oh yes, I have received complaints, more curious wondering's
really as to why they have ceased.
 
The answer for this is rather simple. It was Easter and I went home. (Or as
I like to call it, thanks to the influence and inspiration of one of my
friends, who shall remain nameless. Good on the Romans Day, and Bugger, the
cheating fuck respawned Day.) Due to the shockingly disturbing laws of
physics, which are so incredibly annoying and limiting, I am incapable of
checking my work e-mails, or even sending via it, when I am located
interstate.
 
Thank you however, the eagerness with which you have jumped upon my
literary works inspires me to write further and more expansive diatribes,
to encompass the world as we know it, and make it as brilliant and all
pervasive as possible.
 
An additional thanks must be sent out to Romney and Aeryn who put me up,
and up with me. Showing me such a wonderful time in Melbourne. Cyberball,
the dinners and just the whole experience was awesome. Tyffyny, thank you
for the invite to your birthday, I enjoyed it, apart from the chick who
REALLY tried to buy me a drink. Those who know me are aware that after a
certain point, after I've been dancing, all I'm interested in is dancing.
It was so like GO AWAY. No I want WATER. Nothing else. Water. No panties,
nothing. What a stalwart and honourable man I am.
 
So as you may have already gathered, I am back at sea, living a life of
moving luxury. I walked onboard this morning, the sensation of reflux
burning my chest from lack of sleep. I had been literally eaten alive by
the mosquitos which caused me to wake up constantly all night, the lack of
sleep prior to that having its effect. Back in the realm of LHOW. Doing
rather well at the moment, even if I do say so myself. But then, it's me,
and everyone knows just how incredibly modest I am. So self-effacing that
the light of angels shines in my face. It is a trial being this pure and
innocent. Yet I try, I struggle against all the odds and somehow manage to
maintain that enviable purity that will leave me a virgin until marriage.
 
I pity the poor girl who has to induct me into the realms of sex, I shall
be knowledge-less and clumsy in bed, forced to learn how to pleasure her,
or something. Because the whole world knows that I am a hideous and ugly
creature. See Monster! It's truly shocking, ahhh well, at least I shall
live forever, eventually I'll find something.
 
Ahem, enough of that. That sort of talk seems to make me sick to my stomach
(eg, ugly people aren't allowed to have sex. Pleasure her? What? Huh? It's
my pleasure, anything she gets is lucky for her. Lalalalala.) So we're back
at sea now, escorting Parramatta in their Unit Readiness Evaluation (URE),
keeping us at sea from Monday to Friday. No doubt I'll pull a duty at some
point this weekend, because I had that wonderful 10 day weekend. It's
great, I really can't complain, except in jest and are left here. Currently
we don't have anything much going on. At least in the commcen, everything
is working, everything is going great, and I am able to relax enough to
write this e-mail to the lot of you.
 
And for those who are horrified by me and my absence, be steadied, I shall
be aboard the ship for quite a while yet, I don't think I shall be taking
leave until much later in the year, when I plan to travel and experience
some sights and pleasures.
 
Aidan.
Lord of the Universe.

Current Mood: reminiscent

And now time for the final four parts of this ongoing saga...

Segueing...
 
As many of you are aware by now... I have this inexplicable addiction to
writing, and as such must engage you all, my loyal readers, to the antics
that I must endure at the hands of this ship. For those of you who are in
the navy, and have watched my career with such bated anticipation, the
indrawing of breath at how long it would take me to be trusted with a
higher responsibility.... Ahem, apparently that is it. Take a look at the
signature I've decided to leave on this lovely piece of literature.
 
In addition, how have I managed to be at sea for a whole two days without
managing to send an e-mail? Well my newfound responsibilities have kept me
remarkably busy, considering that everything has literally gone to shit,
whenever possible. The vast majority of problems being the other ship,
mainly because they have the men in green onboard who decide to turn things
off on them. Which in turn sets our ops room off, we've lost them, we've
lost them.
 
They're inconvienient. And remarkably, nothing entertaining has been going
on, no one has been a festering pile of pestilence, no one has fallen down
a ladder bay, I haven't been crushed, burnt, broken, fallen, or otherwise
injured myself (A whole two days at sea, injury free, it's a new record.)
 
But luckily I don't have to go onto the bridge, indeed, I haven't even seen
natural sunlight in days, it's overrated. But then again, people have
managed to get the lovely personality that is known as waking me up early.
It involves a lot of swearing, giving directions, telling people to go
places and then systematically rolling over and ignoring them until they go
away.
 
Apparently this isn't conducive to the well being of their thoughts. It's
all, is he going to come, is he not? It disturbs the poor children. But
they will survive. I have no doubt that it will make them better people. If
it doesn't, maybe the concusive violence I shall be performing upon their
head if they continue to fondle my feet when I'm asleep shall.
 
Anyway my children, I shall be off, my rack is calling me, and sleep is of
the essence when we may go to Action at any point in time.
 
Aidan.

Current Mood: reminiscent

Segueing...

Well, what a week it has been. I love work. I do. Just listen to the enthusiasm in my voice. I had the joy of working as a supervisor for the whole department, making sure that work was getting done, and persuading, read lynching, people into doing their jobs. Now as many will know, I have no problems with being in charge of things. What some people don't realise that I have a major issue with incompetance.

If you're an incompetant fuck, look out, I will be ripping you a new arsehole. There is nothing more I hate than a person who can't do their job. Especially when I know exactly how difficult or easy said job is. Your incompetance makes me look bad. I do not appreciate looking bad. Such a thing is unconscionable.

So when I was forced to take charge of the department, without them actually being told that I was in charge... Things got rather interesting.

Especially when one of them decided to try threatening me over the phone. Notice that they do it over the phone, not to my face. They make sure they're multiple decks and sections away from me. When I tell them any time they want, I can take the rank slides off and teach them what violence is all about.

Violence solves every problem. If it causes more than it fixes then you have one of the following issues. You're either not doing it correctly, or you're not using enough.

And then they had the nerve to say that nobody likes me.

OH NO. Stop the press. I didn't realise I'd gone back to primary school. Next thing you know, they'll be using insults like 'loser'.

Note, I would have said 'Douche-bag' but that is simply cool for its awesome retro-ness.

But it's not true, I have more than enough friends onboard, and the majority of people who are ambivilent at least respect the fact that I can do my job... unlike the rest of the incompetants in my department...

Now, talking about friends, I have decided to list my beliefs on how a person should be judged on the whole.

Not on a social scale and deciding whether you like them and want to be friends. But properly judging them. Taking their life and deciding what type of person they are.

First. Do not look at their accomplishments. Those are merely opportunity and resources. We want to know what type of people they are multiple people can conquer nations... it's been done throughout history, some good, some bad, all different. Don't look at the people they call friends, nor the people that call them friends. That just means that they're nice. And being friends with nice people isn't that hard, nice people like others. That's what they do. Any moron can make friends.

You must judge a person on what type of person calls them an enemy.

Are they hated by the stupid? By the ignorant? Do they strike inferiority complexes into those who are too lazy and stupid to stand up and drive themselves forward into greatness?

Being the enemy of ignorance and imbecility is always a noble and worthy accomplishment. So if there's a horde of stupid people baying for your blood, that's a good thing, you should revel in such an occassion. Being liked isn't that important.

Now, conversely there's also one other occassio where an enemy is a good thing, a thing that proves that you're worthy of things. When you are working for something, and an intelligent, cunning and possibly manipulative person counts you as an enemy and still respects you. This is the instance where the reason where two people are enemies based on ideology, or purpose. Should things have been different and they were on the same side, all things considered, they probably would have been friends. This is the greatest judgement of men of greatness. Do their enemies, respect them, acknowledge their prowess and have to work to get what they require.

Segue...

I was talking with a friend earlier, about how Ireland is a wonderful place... and how the irish are a wonderful, progressive and stubborn people. No. I'm not being sarcastic. Those of you who know me, obviously know of my heritage, and my views on my ancestry. I'm sure nearly all Australians of my age would recall the primary school or early high-school jokes of 'What is the irishmans latest invention?' Ha. Suck on it punks. Time has proven that the irish are decades ahead. Solar powered torches? Got them. Helicopters with ejector seats? Only in the latest and most advanced of helicopters. Everything else isn't irish enough.

Now, how did the ENGLISH of all people manage to conquer even a part of Ireland? Well, I blame the Catholics. In particular Patrick. Before he became a saint.

Yes, to me, St. Patricks is a day of mourning.

Remember, according to the legend, he came to Ireland, pranced around and got rid of all the snakes, then converted everyone to christianity. (What an abridged version.)

Now, they converted, then a while later, the english came in, fought and somehow managed to get a foothold. This is an island that laughed in the face of roman expansion. That for centuries ravaged the coast of englands shores. That taught the filthy poms what it was like to feel pain. They painted their shields in human blood and put the skins of virgins across the faces. These were not a people to be easily beaten.

Then St. Patrick got rid of all the snakes. And they became soft worshipping a dead god, a religion designed for women and slaves.

BAD IDEA. Worst idea EVER.

So multiple centuries later, irish bread theives and petty criminals were packed onto ships, along with irish colonists and a few english guards and governers and sent to Australia to make a country for themselves. And that's what they did, however, it was a land full of snakes, spiders, creatures that can eviscerate you with a single strike. The plant-life itself was deadly. This sort of engenders either a certain outright terror of your environment resulting in overcautious behaviour, or the ability to look after yourself.

A century passed, then the world war broke out, and Australians were called upon to fight, the majority being of irish descent, the rest having an irish ancestor long the line somewhere, they readily answered the call to battle and were engaged in the trenches, taking the battle to the enemy on the other side of the world.

Australians are the only people in history to ever defeat a tank charge. With Bayonets. In World War 2, we fought Rommel, and made him feel pain. Tobruk was the rock that broke Germany in Africa. Australians, those with the irish blood flowing through their veins, became what the irish once were, before being cursed into christianity, when once again they were in a land that was dangerous, had creatures that preyed upon others, caused death in mere minutes.

If I could go back in time. I would have assassinated St. Patrick before he ever got a chance to ruin the bloodline of possibly the greatest people in history. The things the Irish could have brought to the world if they hadn't been converted.

Aidan.

Current Mood: irritated

Segueing...
 
It has been a long time coming, indeed I dared not hope that this day would
come, on the off chance that it wouldn't and I would be forced to endure
enforced savings in my bank accounts. Luckily they allow us to direct
deposit cash into the ships canteen fund so we can draw out money for the
basic essentials... like chocolate. The never-ending requirement for
endorphins and legalised feel-good substances is an essential part of the
diet.
 
The day I speak of is the return to Sydney. (It feels like a port visit, we
don't spend nearly enough time there to justify it being a 'home' port.)
Let all of my loyal readers rejoice, for you shall have nearly unfettered
communications with me at your leisure. Because I can clearly understand
how distraught my absence has left you. Now, what have we been doing since
I was an inebriated wreck in Hobart one might ask...
 
We have been at War! War!
 
Sidenote: A day without war is like a day without sunshine.
 
Well more specifically we've been playing wargames around the east coast of
Australia. Basically the rundown of the matter is history went a little
different after world war two, there is no Victoria, instead there is
Avalon, Greater Avalon and Tasmania is New Avalon. Through southern New
South Wales at some point there are the Beuhlans and the Hesperidians.
Apparently Beulah and Hesperidia are entirely incapable of self-defence,
and Avalon at least one of them is a highly militant state with larger,
scarier ships than the RAN, that also happens to be highly aggressive and
claims half the oil platforms in any Australian waters.
 
Now I seem to have a problem with this, because I may have read a bit too
much King Arthur in my time. To me Avalon represents defending the old
ways, protection from conquest, and holding Britain's greatest king against
the day when he's required to return, to defend the people. This doesn't
seem like a wise choice for a fictional group of people that make their way
through war alone.
 
Admittedly the town of Beulah in Victoria is a rather small and weak
community, which could explain why they were chosen as a people that
couldn't do anything to help themselves. Which if you ask me means that any
war crimes perpetrated against them are all in the interests of fair game.
 
And all this excitement... means I have just had a lot of irritating things
happen to me, like having to remain on the bridge for multiple hours at a
time doing exactly nothing. Or watching other ships doing nothing JUST IN
CASE they might start sending me light. (One of the mediums we still use in
the navy for communications between ships, usually at night or extended
distances, especially if for whatever specific reason we're not allowed to
use our radios.)
 
And they have the nerve to send me approximately 6-7 times the amount of
signal traffic so that during the day there's no chance to actually get a
break, unless you're a dirty smoker, in which case you whine about needing
a smoke until people get fed up and let you go for 10-15 minutes.
 
But since then, we've managed to get ourselves detached from the games to
go escort and fool around with a Spanish ship. And does it ever look
modern. Moving parts? Not visible on that baby. Where we have rotating
radar and the like it has these awesome phased arrays that don't move and
can target like a million and one different things. Am I giving away
anything? Not really, it's all able to be found out on the net. It just has
this silly huge mast, that's all, but it's definitely a major step in
modern anti-air warfare. Planes don't stand much chance against that thing.
Not with it's capabilities.
 
And yes, strangely enough as a member of the navy, I do appreciate a
beautiful ship. So you'll have to stick with me and bare it. Trust me, this
is the last time for months.
 
AND GOOD NEWS, for those Queenslanders amongst you, I have confirmation
that I'll be spending around 5 days in Brisbane and then another 5 days in
Mackay later in the year. The XO came out and said that it had been
confirmed at this point in time. Unless we have to go on a major deployment
because the world has hit the shit of course.
 
Now onto the good personal things. I spent three days without sleep for
some obscure reason, not because I was being forced to stay awake, but
simply because I was in a weird place. I think my head may have been going
a little loco. I was almost manic-depressive depending on the level of
energy I had, going from crazy run around headless to dropped over in my
chair telling everyone and everyone to fuck up and/or fuck off. It was
great, I was right on the verge of starting to see things from
sleep-deprivation, and then somehow I managed to collapse out for three
hours. Then I took some motion sickness tablets (always a good way of
getting cheap sleeping tablets I've found) and then slept another 4 hours
that night. I'm positively over the moon and almost over-rested.
 
Isn't insomnia great! I love it, no more than 4 hours sleep at a time, a
fucked up sleep pattern, we'll see how I do when I get back to Sydney. I
might be able to get a full nights sleep. Although I just realised that I'm
probably going to have to wash my once clean sheets back in my cabin. I can
just imagine a coating of dust an inch thick on it. Like breaking into a
Pharaohs tomb, the stale air and dust will surely have settled and require
breathing apparatus to survive in for the initial few minutes. And another
thing, I'm going to have to get used to carrying keys around with me again,
I haven't had to touch them or had a place to call my own for over two
months, I might get lonely for company. I guess that's what the bar down
the road is for, eh.
 
Ahhh but at least I can finally contemplate what I'll be doing when I get
back to Sydney, along with potentially having the chance to finally
organise my finances, due to banks being open and time being available for
me to actually buy my new motorbike. I've been hungering for it, although
without having touched a vehicle for months I'm going to be as rusty as
hell. I think I need to muck around for a bit on a cheap bike on a deserted
road to remember what does fucking what. It's times like this when I think
that I might want to bother getting my car licence, at least it's difficult
to just fall off a car while driving. Not so hard to crash it, but meh. My
problem is I can never estimate how wide the thing is and think of myself
as the width. Things don't fit quite that way. I'm going to suck at
driving. At least I have good reflexes. And if there's one thing that video
games have ever taught me... it's that no matter how many times you flip a
car, you can always right it and it won't even get scratches on the
paintwork.
 
On the other hand, I don't think I really want to test that theory out.
Probably because I know what it feels like to slam into something at over
100kms an hour. NOT PLEASANT. Of course, that's like describing the
hangover from one of my previous e-mails as 'mildly discomforting.' Or a
hurricane as 'a bit of a gale'. Etc. Understatement is essential in the
complete scheme of things.
 
Now I intend on avoiding work as much as possible for the next five and a
half hours, so if you are awake in the middle of the night, or are in a
foreign country, send me a reply so I can feel loved. I like love. I try to
get as much as possible. And I'll love you long time.
 
Aidan.

Current Mood: reminiscent

Segeuing...
 
So. Now that I've managed to drag myself from the insomnia and alcohol
driven mental lethargy that had enveloped me at the time of my previous
communiqué to you all, I've had time to think... Scary I know...
 
Aidan Drinking Council Resolution 1502: The being subject to the name of
Aidan shall limit himself upon the return to his native city of Sydney to
no more than one night a week out drinking. To excess amounts. Such will be
constituted as not exactly being able to remember how to place one foot in
front of the other at will, holding little in the way of self-possession or
dignity, and being so drunk that sexual opportunities are missed entirely
(Mainly due to a distinct lack of comprehension of ANY language known to
mankind).
 
Reasons for this motion having being passed. The person known as Aidan has
had significant episodes of extreme and intolerable after effects of such
nights out, including nausea, headaches, lethargy and severe financial
changes.
 
Methods for ensuring that such a resolution will be kept: Enabling Aidan to
go out anytime he wants, with no more than three scotches, or other
whiskey's on non-party nights. Other forms of alcohol, especially those
found in the shot variety are strictly prohibited.
 
The one night a week that Aidan is permitted to go out and drink to excess,
he is to ensure that the following day he is not required for work or any
social function before 1500, and the place that he ends up is to have
adequate facilities for hangover recovery. Such includes the use of heavy
blinds, the blocking of sunlight, comfortable bed, with adequate room for
all occupants, and something warm to keep me company.
 
The last is optional.
 
And anyway. Enough on that. You know, in the mess tonight, the concept of
Real Dolls came up. Did I ever mention how amusing these things were? Why
were we talking about a sex doll, well, as some of you may be aware, I am a
Nip/Tuck addict, and well there's the Kimber doll. Which, while highly
amusing in itself got me bored and I decided to do a search on them on
watch. Besides, they're artistic. And a Kimber doll would be like the
ultimate show paraphernalia. Never touch the thing, but some people collect
posters and other on set items. I want a Kimber doll. People Christmas is
coming up for me. It's ALWAYS Christmas in Aidan-land. And seeing you can't
get me a boxed set as I already have them all, you may as well get me a
damn Kimber doll.
 
Segue...
 
Ow. Just got back from an impromptu boarding that we got to do. For those
of you who don't know what I'm doing at the moment. We're playing wargames
with half the Australian fleet. WE just got to pretend that one of the bad
guys was crossing the de-militarised zone so we had to go on and check that
they weren't weapons smuggling. It was night, pitch black, heavy rolling
seas, freezing cold and I was loving every minute of it. That is until I
tried to climb back down into the RHIB (Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat) from
the sweep deck of the ship we'd boarded. One second I was over a meter
above the rhib, the next the sea had carried the rhib up to even with my
knees and started crushing my leg into the metal hull. Not pleasant. At
all. Sidenote, I'm now on medication for pain relief, I got the joy of
staring at a wall for 30 minutes, which left me going WoW. Keanu Reeves
style. I was baked.
 
Of course, me being indestructible to all things apart from CS, that wasn't
overly bothering me. I'm more disappointed that I didn't even get a cut on
my body as a war wound. Pain killers but no cuts. Fuck. Damn. Of course, we
got to watch the Boarding officer (Boardo) climbing down the same ladder
after me, then get stuck with his toes on the rhib and his hands on the
ladder being stretched out like spaghetti, the only thing joining the two
craft which were otherwise a meter and a half apart.
 
Otherwise still nothing happening, can't wait to get back to Sydney and
catch up with half of you, the other half will just have to wait with bated
breath. OH! My leave was approved for Easter and the week following so I'll
most likely be heading down to Melbourne/Victoria for around 5-6 days to
catch up with people. Tyf, Romney, whoever else is Victorian on this
mailing list etc. Unless we get some last minute changes to the ships
program but I don't expect that we will.
 
Later people, it's bedtime for me at 6:30pm so I can catch something
resembling sleep before I go back to work at 0030 in the morning.
 
Aidan.

Current Mood: reminiscent

Segueing.....
 
As some of you may be aware. Interpret that as all of you that bother to
read this wonderful burst of irregularly published literature. Which should
be all of you. I have just recently departed Hobart. Now it was an....
interesting visit. Indeed, the interestingness of the matter occurred
before we even reached Hobart, while we were still looking at the coast on
the other side of the state. Navigating around the bottom-most tip of that
feral land.
 
It can only be established that a wild, untamed place must be described as
feral. Especially when incest is rife.
 
But the incident! Drug searches. The whole ship was turned inside out
looking for drugs. Smuggled alcohol was given an amnesty. Turn it in and
you didn't get anything other than a tsk tsk. Porn. Immaterial. No one
cared. Only drugs. So I spent 5 hours in the Helo Hanger trying to sleep
instead of working while lockers were ripped apart, compartments were
searched. All in the interest of ensuring that our ship was clean of
addicts. I'll leave it to your discretion for you to decide if any people
were found of such an offence. I shant be saying a word on the matter.
Because apparently I'm a nice honourable person.
 
And then we pulled into Hobart. A nice gentle walk up over two kilometres
of hillside along a road. Past the Men's Gallery. (Clearly an establishment
of high class art. Probably with a sports flavour. I wouldn't know anything
about any other types of men' clubs. At All. Ever.) And to my Hotel. And
what a nice hotel room it was. I swear the bed was the same width as an
entire six-pack in the mess. For those of you who have never had the joy of
living in the lap of luxury that a naval vessel entails. a six pack is two
sets of three bunk beds facing each other with a walkway between. On an
Anzac, the distance between them is larger than the old primitive Adelaide
class ships. The room itself was this huge Victorian era, high ceilinged
creation of decadence. There were baths, even a kitchen... At this point, I
can hear you stopping and saying... Aidan. This isn't what we read your
e-mails for. Where is the funny. To that I say Fuck you. It's my story!
Mine. All mine. Like this world. It's all about ME. And I'll tell it like I
want to! Ahem. Anyway. The purpose of this is to describe the implied
service that this sort of hotel ensures.
 
So then, I've got everything down pat. Everything squared away and I head
out to dinner with a mate, have a nice pasta and such... And then we go to
the Casino. No, as many of you will know. To me money is nothing. It's
something that makes my life comfortable. Nothing more, which means that
gambling with it doesn't really excite me. I don't feel one way or the
other. Winning or losing. (Now, people's lives. Gambling with them is an
absolute surety. I mean, really what else can compare?) So I'm at a casino.
Bored out of my brain idly talking to one of the girls from the ship. It
had been her birthday the day before. Her 21st and she was about even on
the money she'd put down and trying to decide what to do. I was simply
watching one of the roulette tables. And occasionally sidetracking the
conversation with a number. And she was like. Huh what? And then I was
"Next number on that table yo." Sure enough, the number comes up. She then
looks at me and drags me over. We start playing roulette, her money on the
table, me telling her where to put it. Needless to say, when someone starts
predicting numbers and they start coming up and she has been putting bets
on, large amounts of money start to pile up. I got shouted lots of drinks
that night.
 
BECAUSE... DA DA DA... I went out drinking. WHAT A SURPRISE. I know.
Everyone here thinks that I am the very soul of sobriety. Never had a
drink, the purist of innocents. But I tried alcohol for the first time last
night. I did. Really. You've got to believe me, I DIDN'T KNOW. So we ended
up at the Irish bar, about a hundred meters from the wharf, somehow with a
small park between us and there I was drinking Scotch and Coke. Rather
cheap scotch, blended and stuff. I think it was either Johnnie or Black
Douglass. Is that one or two s's? I'm not sure. Really I don't care. So
anyway, people remember that after midnight, it became my birthday so they
had the wonderful decision of shouting me drinks. Scotch, Great.
Jagermeister. Bad. Tequila. Worse. Chartreuse. DEAR MOTHER OF GOD WHAT ARE
THEY DOING TO ME? MAKE THE BAD MAN STOP.
 
Oh. My. God. Needless to say I didn't pick up that night. Hell I didn't
even try, picking up in that condition would have been bad. Very very bad.
I wouldn't have wanted to wake up in the off chance of seeing what I'd
done. Luckily a couple of staircases later, that problem was solved for me.
So yes, went to a dance club and did stuff. You know, danced and crap. And
then went back to casino thinking sure, people'll still be playing, the
bars will be open and I can keep drinking. How wrong was I? There were only
pokies and the losers who live for them. It was enough to make a grown man
cry. Not literally. More in a figurative analgesusian sort of way. (You
know. I think I just made up another word. Analgesusian. What a concept.
Clearly this needs to be incorporated into the English vernacular as soon
as possible. Along with Lesbionic. And no, that is not  word for bionic
lesbians.) So I grabbed a taxi, went back to my hotel room and passed out
in the shower, waking up to ice water hitting me in the face. And then
stumbled into my bed.
 
The Next Morning....
 
Holy fuck. I had the hangover from hell. I don't care, most of you wouldn't
have endured a hangover of this magnitude. Lauri might understand though.
She's always hungover. But the rest of you. I was hungover to the point
where I couldn't sleep. How scary is that? Let me describe the sensations I
was feeling:
 
1. My head. There was no crushing sensation, that' a nice hangover, that's
a good hangover. That's  hangover you pray to have because you only feel
like dying at that point. My head felt like it have just been raped with a
chainsaw. With a railway spike rammed through it and someone was hacking at
it with a fireaxe. According to FHM, the key to a great orgasm for a woman
is tri-stimulation. Clearly the key to pure agony is three different
sensations simultaneously. And remember, I get migraines. They are nothing
compared to this hangover.
2. My stomach. There is queasy. There is sea sick, there is wanting to die
because your stomach i tied up in knots. Then there is the sensation of
your guts having been ripped out, stretched, curled around a spiked bar,
stuffed back in upside down, while some of them are hanging outside your
belly button playing the helicopter.
3. My eyes. Separate to my head, because that's how they felt, and burning
like I had capsicum spray drenched all over them again.
4. My limbs. These seemed like pure heaven compared to rest of my body, and
they were sore, tired, and lethargic. They were what my normal hangovers
are like, you know the one's where you wear sunglasses in dark rooms and
dislike loud noises.
 
So that is the condition I woke up in. And tried to go back to sleep in.
You know it's bad when you can't get back to sleep because you're too
hungover. So I got out of bed, pulled on the bathrobe they nicely supplied
and stared at the phone.
 
It took me five minutes to figure out the instructions and what I was meant
to do with the phone. And who to call. Let me give you a display of what
these instructions looked like
 
0     Outside Line            209   Reception
9     Operator          210   Duty Manager
204   House Keeping           211   Sauna
206   Room Service            212   Something I don't Remember.
 
1     2     3
4     5     6
7     8     9
*     0     #
 
It took me five minutes to figure out how to call for breakfast!
And when I did...
 
This is how the conversation went:
Her: "Hello, Room Service. Amy speaking how may I help you?"
Me: "Shhhh. Do you have pain-killers?"
Her: "Ahhhh"
Me: "Anything, anything at all. Panadol? Morphine? 9mm Lead Injections?"
Her: "We have Panadol sir, and Nurofen, which would you like? Are you
feeling a little delicate this morning?"
Me: "Nnng, Panadol."
Her: "Would you like breakfast sir?"
Me: "Nnnng ahhh, yes. Something greasy."
 
This went on for around five minutes while she explained what was involved
in a full breakfast and asked me whether I wanted something or not.
Eventually putting together a list. At which point we promptly went our
separate ways and I curled up on the floor like a beaten animal until she
arrived at my door with a large tray of fried eggs, bacon, mushrooms,
sausages, fruit, toast, juices and stuff. There was no way in hell at this
point that I would have been able to keep cereal with its dependance upon
milk down.
 
After the Panadol kicked in  and I was once again a functioning human being
I went out, did some shopping and stuff. You know, the usual. At which
point I promptly went to a distillery. Yes, a distillery for my birthday
drinks with the majority of the comms department. So there I was, drinking
Single Malt Whiskey which I have found is the best cure for a hangover, and
promptly putting myself back towards the condition I just came out of. I
kept drinking from 2 in the afternoon, the proud new owner of a laptop
until around 3 that night. absolutely blotted. Pick up? HA. Maybe myself
from the gutter. Then back into the bed.
 
And then I didn't leave my room. At all. Leaving was bad. room service and
take away deliveries. I couldn't move. I am so very very old. Eventually
checking out the day after. Then I was once again back chilling around the
ship for a couple of minutes before I was out there, shopping and buying
lovely purchases. You know. From the distillery. Oh yes. Allow me to list
what alcohol I shall be stepping off the ship in Sydney with.:
 
Johnnie Walker Gold 1ltr
Dom Benedictine 1ltr
Lark Single Malt Whiskey Distillers Edition 500ml
Lark Slainté 350ml (What the fuck is this? This is a liqueur made from the
Single Malt Whiskey married with exotic spices. It tastes DAMN good.
Incidentally it's pronounced Slon-jay. the Jay is more 'jeh')
 
Oh yes, a nice start to the small bar that I'm beginning to build in my
cabin back in Sydney then yeah. That was Hobart. Other people did touristy
things and I was like: Woo Chocolate factory. Been there and I really don't
want chocolate right now, I don't even want to SEE bodies of water. Let
alone go rafting on them. And as to climbing to the top of the mountain...
What view was I going to get from there? It was permanently shrouded in
clouds. And I was in NO condition to try going near mountains, let alone
climbing them.
 
So adios my children. I shall see you next time.
 
Aidan.