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I feel used, dirty – the kind of dirt that doesn’t wash off.

Here we all were having a nice time writing stories about nothing, generally entertaining the world then BOOM! Nothing. Not a sausage. No boobs, no banter, just the empty feeling static on the radio gives you that reminds you that you are all alone.

You doubt yourself. You turn to alcohol as your friend, knowing that this friend will take all your money, and end up making you feel worse in the long run. This depresses you more.

I’m a fan of WIRB. I like seeing what my colleagues have been thinking about. I feel educated on all things awesome. Alais, it has gone dead. Tumbleweed is The gaping hole in my day now has to be filled by work.

The rot started to kick in the weekend of the Wellington Sevens.

Take your mind back a couple of weeks. The website was a ray of sunshine, a pillar of strength. Jagerbombs coupled with far to many Tui beers took its toll, and that was just the Friday.

In a whirlwind of booze, bouncy castles, bus rides and bombs into Wellington’s Harbour, a crazy carousel of after thoughts and hazy memories halted all brain activity for myself and my colleagues.

Goings on in the girls restroom during the Sevens

The Sevens created a micro environment where emotion (good and bad) ran high. Much like Christchurch, the landscape changed, not for better or worse, it just made it different. The website, like any good friend had become the bane of our existence due to spending much time with it.

Realising it was a take-take relationship, I like the others needed a time out.

My retreat took me to the wonders of New Zealand’s South Island. The natural beauty grounded me again. Mother Earth and Maui reminded me that petty arguments mean nothing in the long run. Standing atop a mountain gazing at stars in Lake Tekapo ironically bought me back to Earth.

Whilst pondering my relationship with WIRB, I found myself wandering the streets of Queenstown. The party capital of NZ’s timing was uncanny.

Over-hearing a conversation between most proberly the only Kiwi living there and a tourist he goes on to say:

“…… and when I was in Rome….. bro, I met the hottest chick I have ever seen in real life…… (sigh)…….”

So WIRB, I hate you, I fucking hate you….. I love you. Maybe our relationship isn’t as crazy as it seems. I can change you. Let’s get back together. It will be better this time. Don’t leave me. I don’t care if you want to still hang with Verbal Kent, Holy Hukanui, Mr B. Bird, Bill Jobs, or even Awellrespectedman. I know you have a couple of others you see on the side, it’s cool.

R.I.P. COB

Please show me more boobs, educate me, entertain me. I hate it when you go quiet like this.

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