2003-02-16 at 7:19 p.m.

Wow, am I tired. If I start rambling or becoming incoherant (well, more so than usual) please understand this is because my brain and I are not communing so well right now. My brain is pissed at my body about the lack of sleep, and my body is pissed at my brain about the lack of sleep. (The rest of my thought processes crawled under the bed two hours ago, and have since refused to come out, even when coaxed with Chicken Pot Pie).

So!

Last night was Jordan's 21st birthday party. Of course, Jordan had to told it in Tamworth, didn't he? This meant a four hour drive into the heartland of Australia's 'Country Music' region- a place where even the bold fear to tread.

So, after a harrowing four-hour drive (well, harrowing for Evan, who drove; not quite so harrowing for Laurel and I, who just sat there) we arrived at Jordan's house. The party had already begun, with a few other Con people dancing to Smash Mouth, a row of Jordan's Tamworth friends along one side of the garage getting progressively drunk, and Jordan's folks trying to marshal a barbeque and a backyard full of twentysomethings at once.

We found ourselves drinks, and went around introducing ourselves to the Tamworth folk. One of Jordan's brother's friends came over to me, out of the blue, and said-

'Hey! You must be Michelle!'

I was, of course, thinking 'How the bloody hell do you know that!? I've never seen you before in my life! Have I really made that much of an impression on the world?'

'I've heard you're exactly like Jordan!' he continued.

'Um... thanks?' I replied.

(Note- this was not the last time I heard that particular comment at the party. Far from it. I've yet to decide whether it's a compliment or not).

Anyway, eventually the time rolled around when friends and family could get up and tell embarassing personal stories at the expense of the Birthday Boy. I opened the storytelling with a little tale I have frequently threatened Jordan with, and which I entitle-

A year and a half ago, Jordan and I were travelling home from performing for the Australasian Liszt Society in Sydney (an event that sounds far more impressive than it actually was). We had a three hour train trip ahead of us, and decided upon a way to make the trip much faster and more enjoyable-

Get stinking blind drunk.

So, we went to a nearby liquor store and purchased three bottles of Passion Pop.

(For those of you unfamiliar with Passion Pop, let me explain- it is the type of alcohol that underage teens buy because it is very cheap, very sweet, and very intoxicating. It is passionfruit flavoured death. Drink at thine own peril).

So, we sat on the train, drinking our quality beverage, which we'd cunningly disguised by pouring it into a Burger King cup before drinking it. After about two hours, all three bottles were empty, and we were completely smashed.

Due to track work, the train didn't continue through to our stop, but instead terminated about an hour away from home, and we were all taken the rest of the way by coach. About ten minutes into the coach trip, Jordan leaned over to me and whispered, very drunkenly-

'Michelle- I gotta pee'.

'Well, there's no toilet on the bus, Jordan. I think you're stuck'.

There was a very drunken pause.

'Got a bottle?'

And so it was the Jordan wound up sitting about three rows in front of me, quietly filling a 600ml coke bottle with urine. Thank Christ it was a fairly empty bus. After, um... discharging his necessary duty, he came back to where I was sitting, extended the now-full (but thankfully capped) bottle towards me, and uttered the immortal words-

'Touch it, Michelle! It's warm!'

Sadly enough, I was actually drunk enough to do it. He was right. It was warm. In an immensely creepy kinda way.

At last, we were getting close to our stop. But what to do with The Bottle?

Jordan, of course, had a solution for that one, too. We were sitting on the back seat, so we simply wedged the offending container between the back of the bus and the seat. Not an easy place to get the bottle into, and a damn near impossible place to get it out of. It's probably still rolling around back there to this very day. One hopes, however, that it's cooled down by now.

After this little tale, there were a few other stories from Jordan's family and Tamworth friends, and the story of The Pact. Then we had cake.

After a few hours, Jordan's brother had attempted to score with every woman at the party, several fights over the music selection had broken out, and the beer supply had been completely exhausted. By this point, myself, Jordan, Ev, Catherine, and Jordan's friend Ben were also completely exhausted. Not so everyone else- they all wandered off down to the pub, to continue their flirting, fighting, and drinking.

I guess it wasn't too great a loss, though. As Jordan put it, all the friends who really mattered to him had stuck around, and that was the important thing, really.

We chatted, drank, and watched several episodes of Family Guy. At this point, everyone else came back from the pub, very seedy and tired. We all decided to call it quits, and fell asleep/collapsed in the lounge room.

This morning, Laurel, Catherine, Ev and I awoke at the bright and cheery hour of 10:30am, struggled out of our sleeping bags, and reluctantly greeted the not-quite-so-new day. (Everyone else had buggered off earlier in the morning). We breakfasted on the leftover party food, got changed, then left for the long drive home- a drive during which we yawned a lot, and periodically fell asleep (except Ev, thankfully).

And that, my friends, is why I'm so damn tired.

I hope this has been an enlightening experience.

*yawn*