There is a restaurant in Chinatown which has poisoned me twice. Why then, did I go back? Well the last time I ate there and developed a splitting headache which made me hurl violently and publicly I'd put it down to serious eye strain and consumption of alcohol. About ten minutes after I walked in last night I realised that it was the same place that had caused me to die in the arse so severely a year before (watch out for the footage of me on the ground in Toorak Road having a nervous breakdown, surely they'll play it on Funniest Home Videos any day now), but given that it was all put down to that crazy eye strain I didn't think anything of it.
So, we ate and it was lovely. No arguments from me on that front. Off to the movies to watch The Bank Job. 45 minutes into the sub-Lock Stock heist film my head suddenly feels like it's being squeezed in a vice and my body temperature goes through the roof. "Here we go again", I thought, "it must be my eyes". So I sit there through the second hour of the movie trying to decide whether I was going to need to leg it out the door before I even more publicly disgraced myself in a packed cinema. Luckily I managed to hold on until the end before I realised that the same thing had happened to me in exactly the same way it had the first time I ate there. The bastards had gotten me again. I did a runner the moment the film finished and staggered off towards home, too scared to catch a taxi or tram in case of disaster. At least this time I made it into the Treasury Gardens before.. Well, you can see where that's going.
So after tearing my contact lenses out halfway through the gardens in a vain attempt to get some relief from the feeling of being pulled apart by two horses (hint: this doesn't work, it just means you can't see anything) I finally made it home in time to stagger into bed, close my eyes and hope for the best. And here's where the funeral comes in. I had my Creative Zen Vision W (FUCK THE IPOD!) in my pocket, took it out and put it on a table and went to walk away. Unfortunately the headphone was still caught in my pocket and it came off the table. Looked fine at the time so I went to bed, slept for ten hours and have almost recovered from the ordeal. I wake up this morning, turn it on and the screen is shattered to buggery. Presumably Creative can fix it, though good luck finding a phone number to call on their shithouse website, but who knows what it's going to cost. I'm already preparing for an extended period of life with only a shithouse phone to listen to music through.
I'd name the restaurant but I've got no idea what it's called. However I do wish several curses and a massive building collapse on them instead. Now, I googled the symptoms of these two fiascos and it turns out to be textbook reactions to MSG. Isn't that shit illegal? Or don't they at least have to tell you that they're serving it. Should I lag them out to the council? Can you get some kind of crimestoppers reward for taking poisoners out? Or would I just be contributing to the death of small business just to make myself feel better? Sounds like a good idea to me.
This has been the worst weekend ever. The only thing that can possibly console me is if Melbourne beats North this afternoon, and as we're more likely to lose by 250 points I'm not sure that anything is going to salvage this slopfest. Roll on Monday morning? Well, I wouldn't be that excited.