THERE'S NOTHING TO BLOW...

It was back to the Persian restaurant for another attempt in 2006. For all those that don’t remember or who was not conveniently invited I was dragged to this restaurant after arriving back home in 2004. Still pretty jet lagged I was convinced that we had to have me a welcome back party as I was out of action for half of the year.

Arriving at the restaurant I actually had to question where all my friends were. Instead I found out that night that this charity event thrown in my name was in fact for another cause. I was just being used and abused.

Back to 2006, we managed to arrive at the restaurant before Fred like real tradition. She struggled in wearing her 6 inches heels. When we arrived we noticed 2 huge tables with a big happy 60th birthday sign. We weren’t sure if Fred was planning ahead or what the hell was going on.

Luckily the waiter noticed how lost we were and we were lead to our table. Conveniently the same table we had in 2004. I think it’s the reject table. If you’re not Persian then you get the table furthest from the dance floor. Actually we didn’t even make it on the dance floor section. Our table was in a deserted area. The traffic started flowing in one after the over. Just as well as by this time I was starving to death.

Missing in action at this she bang was the "Fingered girl". The "Fingered girl" who has managed to score herself action 3 years in a row some how didn’t make it but that’s another story. And just for the record it had nothing to do with the photo’s I took of her in the shower!

The kebabs rolled out onto the table and some how Shazza started to cause a scene when the waitress decided to clear the table for the next round. For a moment I thought we might get some bitch slapping action happening but to my disgust the waitress stormed off.

Once the meals were served the Bosnian Princess was dying to throw herself onto the dance floor to burn off those kebabs. It was then that my eye caught the fabulous green jacket that the MC slash singer was wearing.

We hit the dance floor and before Fred could sink her 6-inch heels onto the dance floor I notice that the MC slash singer has taken the green jacket off. The Bosnian Princess and I make a deal. She seduces him while I grab the jacket and run.

Mr. green jacket tells us to sit down and before everyone makes it back to the table the cakes come out. This is when we notice Fred screaming "There’s nothing to blow". In fact she repeated this three times that we managed to get an Mpeg out of it. Our plans are to work with the best DJ’s in Sydney and get a remix dance hit happening called "There’s nothing to blow". I can see it being a hit in 2007. More details to follow.

We search for a lighter but conveniently no one on the table actually smokes. One of the waiters brings us a lighter and Fred gets to blow… the candles that is!

On this note Mr. green jacket decides to hand the microphone to this Asian chick who is celebrating her husbands 60th birthday. It was all down hill from here.

The Asian chick who has been in Australia less than a year who we figured married the old guy to get a passport into Australia started to ramble on and on.

If you thought that Shazza could talk you haven’t met the Asian chick whose smack bang off the boat for a passport. I think she spoke about her entire life, for a minute I was convinced she was going to tell us what her husband was like in the sack. For fucks sake woman get off the microphone already! By the time this woman finished and I’m not kidding when I say this but her speech went for a good 20 to 25 minutes followed by her practically having sex with her husband in front of us afterwards it was time to hit the road.

Man I needed a drink and I needed it fast. We jumped into the cars and headed for the city. Arriving at Darling Habour we decided to head to Bungalow 8 after the Bosnian Princess made an indecent proposal to me along the way. No not to sleep with her but to take her home for $20. As appealing as this offer was I think I would have done it for $25 plus coffee. Walking on the wharf the competition started on who would get their heels stuck in between. Some of us decided to cheat by taking the shoes off and running to the end.

We arrived at Bungalow 8 only to line up to hear that we need to be on the guest list to get in tonight. At this stage Fred was yelling "Don’t they know who I am". I think at that point, security was about to call for back up to escort us all out from the front door.

Luckily we made the safe move to hit the loft. Waiting at the front of the line where two guys got asked to leave for not wearing the right outfit the security guard asked us to line up to get in. We got excited that we made the cut only to line up to hear that the place is too packed tonight and they are only taking in VIP’s. For fucks sake what kind of an inconsiderate bastard gets our hopes up that we made the cut to enter and then tells us this. Why the hell couldn’t you tell us when we were at the front of the door instead of making us line up?

This just lead to more frustration and by this time the Bosnian princess decided to remind me of the Melbourne night we had. That’s another total story but trust me this was identical to it. That and my 20th birthday party, where we all rocked up to club and one of us decided not to pay the cover charge to go in. It’s beyond me why we decided to stay outside with him. I should have gone in.

What the hell was I thinking back then? Why the hell was I considerate? I’m never considerate! So after doing an entire lap of Darling Habour we decided to line up for Cargo bar. Within 5 minutes we were told that they were only letting people in from the guest list. So on this note we thought it would be best to head home and realize we need to fuckin get on a guest list.

PS – Fred Happy Birthday, Sorry DJ Mohammed couldn’t make it that night!