Night of the Living Dead
2 May 2005, 08:40
Birthday Zombie
My theory is that once people hit 30, they go all potty. In a good way. Our friend, let’s call him “Nick”, hired a sprawling 8-bedroom ranch in the middle of nowhere (well, on the outskirts of Daylesford, but still qualifies) and threw a “Night of the Living Dead” party for 20 of his closest friends on Saturday night.
Sadako
It was a Who’s Who of the ghoul world – Sadako, a Stacy, evil schoolgirls (apparently from Melbourne High), Dracula’s missus, a bevy of garden-variety bogan zombies and some brave zombie hunters (including a rather feisty cardinal). Quite an esteemed circle of friends. Many who patently had done theatre at school, university and most likely at work. Not only did the (dark and rainy) night bring out our inner zombie (everyone has one) but our thespian tendencies. Groovy.
Coffin Cake (and 100% gluten free!)
There was a coffin cake, vodka jelly shots with eye balls (actually licorice but I think I’d have preferred eye balls), zombie hunt games, Nosferatu-grade latex wounds sprouting from everyone’s face, weapons of wraith – destruction (a miracle no-one poked an eye out) and of course, no Night of the Living Dead party is complete without a zombie pinata.
Stacy lays it on the pinata
Thanks to “Nick” for a spectacular night that only pictures can do justice (so check out the Night of the Living Dead gallery). Can’t speak for the morning though, given an unusually dire hangover (I could have sworn 3 Coopers Vintages and a bottle of champers never did that much damage before) including much riding of porcelain bus.
It was ridiculous how much effort “Nick” made. Now I have to come up with a bang-up idea for Husband’s 30th next Feb to top it…
Any ideas?
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An episode at “Nick”’s party marked #3 in the “bad luck comes in threes” charade…
Firstly, during the day on Friday my bicycle got stolen from the foyer of our apartment. It was locked around the wheels, but not to anything (under the stairs so there’s nothing to lock it to) so we reckon it was an inside job. SO annoyed. Not like it was an expensive bike, but fuckit, people are such assholes. Not much I can do about other people being assholes, though.
Second, on Saturday, Husband pointed out a nice big dent in the side of our car. Don’t remember hitting anything, so probably happened while I was parked and someone backed into it. AAAAAAAH. Hit. And. Run. Assholes.
Finally (and we had been waiting for it), at the Ranch, Husband was playing silly buggers and started playing zombie outside the bathroom window. He rapped on the window and next thing you know, crack. Broken window. The next day we got a quote for someone to fix it – $190. Being as broke as that stupid flimsy frikkin’ piece of glass, we managed to get some glass cut and picked it up in Ballarat (!) for $60. People are such rip-off merchants. Assholes.
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