The Pitch: Two Puds And A Wedding

In our series “The Pitch”, the Puds take on suggestions on what we should write next.
The Pitch: Two Puds And A Wedding challenge was for Matt and Sam to write out how they think the other would act when they would hypothetically be at their first friend wedding.

‘I’ve finally reached that place in my life…” Sam thinks to himself. “That place where my friends get married. How did I get here? Yesterday I was making fart jokes with Matt, and now we’re both here at this wedding. Does that mean I can’t drink cask wine anymore?”

Sam’s inner monologue is louder than the women crying at the first friend wedding he’s attending. He doesn’t know how he should act around the many new faces. Some of the faces are older. Aged. Wrinkled faces, each line demonstrating one profound line of wisdom. There are people who would be called grandmas, nanas, gagas and other pet names children arrogantly but adorably give to their parents’ parents. He wonders what their life was like when they were younger. They probably lived through wars. They probably don’t believe in divorce. They probably will die in the next few years. They probably have a hot granddaughter.

There are children running around while the bride and groom are sharing their vowels. Why aren’t the mothers looking after their offspring? Is that a misogynist way of thinking, assuming that these sprinting brats have mothers? What if they have two dads? Should he not assume that any child has any kind of paired-up parents? Should he assume that all children are orphans until proven otherwise? Are orphans even called orphans anymore? What happened to the English language in the past few years?

‘Shake it out, Sam. Shake it out. Focus on the beauty. The bride looks really pretty. No… beautiful. She looks beautiful. She looks really, really beautiful…”

Sam realises that this train of thought will lead his mind down the boner railroad, and that’s something that is definitely not allowed at weddings. He might not know exactly how to act at these things, but getting a hard-on for the lady in white is certainly a no-no.

Before he knows it, Sam finds himself at the reception. It’s his seventh beer of the day, and he’s feeling nothing. The big breakfast with the boys this morning is working through his system, but he’s determined that he shalt not poop at the wedding reception. Those toilets are meant for vomiting, not for dropping a penguin-suited deuce. Sam can’t quite shake the feeling of aging. Marriage is for old people and church-goers, not mid-20s derelicts. Perhaps he’s not a derelict anymore… perhaps he’s vicariously growing.

Looking around, Sam thinks of the future and what it could entail. His future wife could very well be here. She could be dancing with that big jock on the dance floor. Do women like it when the nerdier looking guy comes along and asks for a dance? Do people even ask for dances anymore? Isn’t dancing just fore-foreplay? What are the ratios of post-wedding drunken hook-ups?

Eric sees that Sam is clearly having a Zach Braff moment by the angle of Sam’s head tilted up – his eyes fixate on something but nothing at the same time. Eric finds this the perfect time to introduce Sam to his friend’s younger sister. She’s an artist. She’s an introvert. But three glasses of bubbles and one wedding that’s been described as “beautiful” by 17 different people in the last 11 minutes gets a girl wondering. Clearly it’s got Sam wondering as well, but wondering and wandering are different things. Eric tells the two to wander and wonder together, thinking himself the suave instigator who watches his playthings walk off onto the grass field under the summer moonlight. Uncharacteristically, Sam obliges and takes the 23-year-old brunettes elbow with his own.

Maybe it is time to grow up after all. 

Fun Notes Matt Finds In His iPhone

A Tuesday in May, 8:28pm
I was having so much fun I forgot to poop.

*I can’t wait to show everyone what I was so excited about that my needing to poop didn’t even factor into my tiny man-brain.* 

Saturday Night

A short story about acknowledging your escapism, starring Kevin.

I don’t know how to act around these people. They’re all so… different. That’s unfair. But they are. They’re not me. They’re not me and mine. Why do I judge them like this? I can’t help it. I know it’s a defence mechanism. But I can’t help it.

These guys have delicately trimmed beards. Their suits fit well. They’re colour coded to an arrogant point. It’s not fashion, it’s more… trendy. White shirts. Blue shirts. Pointy black shoes. Freshly shined. Hair so perfect it looks like it’s made of Lego. They’re shouting. I shout, I know. But their shouting seems to come from a place of arrogance and testosterone-fuelled intent. They’re hugging each other carelessly, falling over each other and pointing at the scantily dressed girls.

How old are these girls? I can’t tell if they’re in their late 20s and look 18 or if they’re 16 and trying to look like they’re 30. They’ve got nice legs. They’re wearing a lot of makeup. They have hair that still smells of hairspray. They’re dancing in that way that they’re trying to look casual and sexy at the same time, but their attempt at achieving an air of nonchalant is far outweighed by their body language.

Jesus, that’s so unfair. They could be really nice. That guy with the blue jeans, black blazer and half-arsed designer t-shirt could be a really friendly guy. He might have struggled in his life. He might have had some trauma. What makes me think that he’s had everything handed to him? And even if he has, why should that impair his morality?

That girl might not be a complete and utter bitch. She could be broken inside. She might need saving. She might not just be out here to look sexy in an attempt to feel better about herself. She’s not as hollow as I think she is. Probably. Her thoughts may not just be about lipstick and dudes and how her female colleague gets better treatment than her. She might not have thoughts that I find irritating and ignorant. But she also might.

This all comes from a place in my brain that I try to keep at bay. It’s so easy to hate these people. To try and dissect what makes them tick. To say that just because they’re at this bar and this time on this night wearing those clothes and dancing to this music… putting all of those pieces of assumed information together and calling it a judgement on their personality. I’m here, after all. And it’s not that I’m here out of “irony”. That’s a bullshit excuse. Saying that I visit a club because of irony when I have no idea what that even means. Irony is an outdated concept that’s become pathos unto its own demise.

Great, now I’m thinking too much. And that sounds awful as well. Everyone thinks. I’m standing here at this bar by myself skulking away, judging all of these strangers for no reason other than they intimate me. That’s the honest truth. But it’s accompanied by the other truth. That I truly can’t stand them.

This negative train of thought is an offshoot of some kind of my own hyper or anti vanity in some ways. Judging their personal appearance and bringing them down. Thinking of myself as more of an individual because my tribe’s aesthetics and uniform is at another area in town. I’m stuck here waiting for my friends who can’t stand the place either. Why did we come here? To try and mingle? To make new friends? I hate these people. I knew I would before we even got here. Admitting this to myself is nothing new. I know that I’m the negative bastard with a chip on his shoulder, hypocritically judging these strangers and basing their beliefs on my understanding of what I think their mass opinion is.

Why can’t I not be like this? Why do I have to not like them? Why can’t I just be friendly?

Tips for the Unemployed

Times are tough right now, even people with meaningful degrees in important subjects like Fine Art and Creative Writing are struggling. If that sounds like you, then remember, it’s important to stay positive! If you’re unemployed, don’t waste your day looking for work. All that’s going to end in is disappointment. Be smart about your time, like this:

Clean The Refrigerator
Hey, you know how sometimes you’re putting that box of cheap South Korean beers in the fridge at lunchtime on a Wednesday—if you’re unemployed that’s when the weekend starts—and notice that your Westinghouse smells like a room full of teenage boys? You do? Good. That means you have something to do today. Cleaning the fridge seems like it’s going to be a total pain. It is. Unfortunately you’re going to have to do it, just in case that girl you stopped seeing nearly a year ago who still texts you occasionally drops around with a bottle of wine. But you need to do it. Nothing turns a girl off faster than a quagmire of rotting vegetables in the crisper.

Work Out
Just because you’re unemployed doesn’t mean you have to spend your sad lonely day in the apartment watching Dr. Oz while you cram uncooked Mi-Goreng noodle cakes into your face. You can do that—sometimes you should for humility—but you’re much better off getting up and doing some good old fashioned exercise. I hear you ask, ‘Don’t I need fancy equipment and a personal trainer?’. No. All you need is your body and the realisation that no-one is ever going to be able to love you unless you’re physically fit. Making an effort-induced noise when you get out of a chair isn’t appropriate for a 24 year old.

Go Into a T-hole
Ever done ketamine? Well neither have I. I’m scared of anything made for horses, which, amongst other reasons, is why you’ll never find me wearing a leather saddle. If you take too much ketamine, you end up in a K-hole. Essentially you disassociate your mind from your body, suffer memory loss and have vivid hallucinations. There’s a really easy way to get these same fun effects without having to meet a guy named Dave in a dark alley. Just spend all day on Tumblr looking at the impossibly large amounts of tacky shit people post in an attempt to synthesize a personality. You’re head will be rolling around on your neck in no time.

Take Up a New Hobby
Your pent-up physical energy is sorted out, your fridge is clean and you’ve developed a serious addiction. Now you’re going to need something to do when you’re between reps, meals or fixes. Personally I’ve taken to practicing my ability to Hot Dog. If you’re not familiar with Hot Dogging, it’s a new low impact sport. To play Hot Dog you’re going to need your slowly putrefying body, a comfortable surface (beds are great for this) and a blanket big enough to wrap around you at least once. Get comfortable, wrap yourself in the blanket and voila, you’re playing Hot Dog. The aim of the game is to be a Hot Dog for as long as you can. We recommend beginner Hot Dogs start their training in winter.

Appendix
Useful strategies for coping with unemployment boredom: crying, contemplating selling out and going back to Facebook to remind people you exist, masturbation, picking at open wounds, crying, thinking about past relationships, crying, baking, perfecting the medium-rare steak and crying.

Today I Learned

Today I learned that onions are like opinions. 
Without the p and i. 
Also they make me cry. 
Also I have none of my own. 
Also I think the really white ones are the worst.
Also they always end up with beef. 
Also I tend to have them both fried. 
Also Italians have them really strong.
Also Kiwis mix them a lot.
Also some American ones are kind of fake. 

Man, onions are like opinions a lot. 

Age Rage

At 17:

Jesus, that guy is 24? That’s so old, he must have done a lot in his life.

At 24:

Holy shit that guy is only 17 and he’s done more with his life than me.

Today I Learned

Today I learned I put the less in shameless.

And the shame in shameless.

Today I Learned

Today I learned that the real fire hazard is drunk people. 

Aye guys.

Things That I’ve Learned That May Happen When Sam Is Away For 36 Hours AKA Big Adventures Without Rex AKA Ponybear’s Last Hurrah AKA The Schnaus VS Bad Girls Club AKA Poodle’s Lament

It wasn’t a big weekend. Sure, there were parties, broken bottles, food thieves and overstayers, but the Palace is used to those kinds of shenanigans. But there were a few notable things that happened that I consider lessons. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve become wiser. But I also got some of that expected comeuppance I had a feeling was… coming up.

  • Don’t commit to making any plans on any Saturday. You won’t end up delivering on those promises you made.
  • If your cousin from Christchurch comes to visit, warn your female friends.
  • Some people believe it is acceptable to leave their bicycles at our house for an indeterminable amount of time.
  • Sam’s room can fit 30 people in it.
  • Sam’s room has nail clippers in it.
  • Sam’s room will often be occupied even if he’s not present.
  • Sam likes to put bookmarks in the first page of his books. There’s no need to book mark the fact that you’re on the “introduction” page. That’s usually where you remember to start anyway.
  • Sam can smell a Harry Potter prank from a mile away.
  • Eric’s hairbrushes can be used as bumpaddles.
  • People don’t like me using Eric’s brushes as bumpaddles.
  • If you don’t respond to getting hit with a makeshift bumpaddle on the bum, there’s a good chance your junk will take a hit in order to warrant some kind of response.
  • If delivered hard enough, that response can involve falling to the floor holding your groin for five minutes and looking somewhat paralytic.
  • Don’t expect anyone to help you if you’re in that situation. You inadvertently (and kind of purposefully) instigated it.
  • I will no longer antagonise Lia into punching me in the dick.
  • I will never antagonise Ayva. She will win.
  • Don’t buy a gourmet burger and chips and a pixie bar. You won’t end up eating all of it, no matter how sure you are that you can.
  • Not Another Teen Movie is only funny because of nostalgia, which is a sad fact.
  • I’m happy that Chris Evans made something of his life.

All Cantabrian poonhoundery and king dick hits aside, I feel like Sam really dodged a bullet this weekend in terms of room-fucked-with-ivity. Well played, my friend. Well played.

Fun Notes Matt Finds In His iPhone

A Thursday in September, 11:03pm
Count to three
Yawn when thinking
Argue profusely
Steal their whiskey
Smack nothing about the universe
Ignore religiosity
Discuss ex-girlfriends
Speak of carnal desires
Want for brilliance
Hug when we wouldn’t otherwise
Talk about fighting you
Crush on your lady
Stereotype the collars & blueshirts
Reference in jokes
Quote our favourite TV shows
Thank the old gods
Flirt your very best
Attack the others, them all
Smoke senility into our throats
Suffer in our statistics
Count to three

Make cool lists