Lap Dances & Kiwi Birds

What I love about the fashion industry is that no matter how many things they try to make for men, men will always stick to the basics. A suit for formal t-shirt and jeans for everything else. Easy, no amount of double collar shirts and weirdly cut trousers is going to change that. Women on the other hand will wear pretty much anything, even 'jeggings', which are great if I don't want to spend time imagining what that girl's vagina looks like. Auckland however seems to be the home of 'compression shorts', the kind of thing footballers wear under their regular shorts and the sort of thing cyclists wear all over because they like looking like a sponsored condom.

Pictured: A sponsored condom stuffed with drugs

In Auckland though it seems perfectly normal for men to walk down the highstreet with a tank top and compression shorts and nothing else, now I can not only see your girlfriend's genitals I can see yours too, do you even own a bike?

"Now nobody will think I'm gay."

Genitals aside, I went out last night to Globe Bar and then to Cassette Nine. Good stuff, although I almost didn't bother but I was peer pressured into going by a guy called Andrew, from Norf Landaan. I say peer pressured, it was more of a 'he asked once, I said yes' and it was the best mistake I've made in a long time.

At the time it didn't seem like a mistake, but today it did. I'm still hanging a bit now but it's ok, because I got a Kiwi girl's number. I probably would have got a lot more if her South American friend wasn't so drunk they had to leave quite early. I know what you're thinking, 'Ryan, no doubt you did something amazingly charming and chivalrous to acquire the digits of this fair maiden' to which my answer is 'yes, if by 'charming' you mean dressed in women's clothing and by chivalrous you mean 'gave her a lap dance''.

Andrew signed up to give a scouse girl we'd just met a lap dance on the promise that the best dancer (after an audience cheering vote) would get $50 of free drinks. Then the guy taking the names asked me to sign up and I naturally thought of a reason not to, the reason was 'I don't have a partner'. A hispanic accent jumped from nowhere to land in the ears of myself and a few others, 'She'll do it!'. 'She' was actually quite nice to look at, a bit shy, but she seemed keen (not something that normally happens when a girl is going to get a lap dance from me) We didn't win, but I got a bigger cheer than Andrew, so I won the 'South East England division'. We also got a shot of Jager each for partaking in what wasn't a very funny attempt at some 'crazy backpacker party shenanigans', mostly because we were all pretty good a lap dancing (I've done my research)

Ah, nice to see a youngster getting involved in such a noble tradition.

Cassette Nine was cool, cheap beer back packer night kind of thing. I got talking to the Kiwi girl by keeping her company in the smoking shelter (I'm not a smoker, unless I'm offered a ciggy from a girl), who I won't name because it's an odd name that sounds a bit 'chavesque', also because I don't want to get in trouble for telling you she was 36 years old. Thirty six? Honestly, she looked closer to 26, and now I think about it, an attractive 36 year old woman hanging and having a bit of a smooch and a dance with a 26year old English guy with a 'good personality'... Did I dream all this? Maybe she's a bit mental? If it wasn't for this hangover I'd guess I just made all of this up, but I didn't.

Andrew almost got laid too, almost. Still we had a laugh, met some new people and had a bit of a knees up. Good stuff. There are a couple of photos on my camera, but you don't need to see them.