Hubris.co.nz

Okay, so I’m kind of cheating this week. The drinks weren’t free. But I could say that I paid for the entertainment and the prospect of finding true love, and the booze was additional. So with that in mind, this week (two weeks ago, fine) the free drinks came courtesy of:

VINO EROTICA!

TUESDAY NOVEMBER 27th

Now this tasting is purely by customer demand (it has nothing to do with us).
Strictly limited to 24 people – this is a night of speed-date-wine-tasting.

Each person booking in for this exclusive tasting must be single and bring a
single friend of the opposite sex with them
(to ensure a high calibre, you understand).

Upon arrival you will recieve an aperitif, and then be sorted into random teams
of 6 people to answer multi-choice questions on each of the wines you will be
tasting. At the end of each round of wine – 3 people must move to the next table
for the next wine and a new bunch of people!

A night sure to be filled of intrigue, adventure, hilarity, erotica and romance!!!!!

$30 PER PERSON
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 27th
6.30pm

PLACES STRICTLY LIMITED – Remember singles only and you must include a friend
of the opposite sex with your booking!

I like wine. And I like my friend Tom, so I went along to chaperone him. Because obviously as an old cougar spinster, I am the ideal chaperone. However, the best thing was that upon arriving, I didn’t feel at all like a cougar. I was at least five years younger than all the other women there. Hurrah!

Actually, that’s a lie. The best thing upon arriving was the glass of delicious bubbly that tasted like it was Italian and prosecco-ish, but was in fact an Australian bubbly chardonnay. We drew numbers out of big jars for our table places, and after another glass of the delicious bubbly, we sat down in groups of three men/three women, and had to announce our star signs. Simple, I’m a Gemini. No one else at the table was, to the best of my recollection. We were poured tastings from a bottle in a brown paper bag, and had to answer three multichoice questions about it. I knew straight away it was a Sav, and I was pretty sure it was from NZ, and Marlbourgh at that. Yay me! But we were assisted in our blind tastings by Nicola’s explanations of what the regional differences were like, had our glasses topped up, and smiled and nodded.

The boys moved over to the next table to be replaced by a new lot, and the question we needed to answer to get was “what kind of car would you be?”. I said I’d like to think I was some big brash mustang convertible in some fantastic colour, but I’d probably be a white prius – not the best kind of hybrid available, and like, so last year in trends”. One guy said he’d be a concept car, and I said “Like Homer’s with the giant cup-holder?” and the table went completely silent and I watched tumbleweeds roll past. Really? REALLY? Not even that basic a Simpsons reference could get recognised? Woah. Tough crowd. And a tougher wine. I think it was a viogner. I can’t remember. Nice work Jo. Perhaps Tom could post if he remembers what the wines were.

In the next group, we had to say what our favourite word was. I thought of a long-gone friend’s long letter to me, and claimed ‘succulent’ as my own. I got to use the word ‘onomatepaia’ in my explanation, which luckily was out loud so I didn’t have to spell it. Someone said “you’ve practiced this answer”. I said “I work in communications”. Other than that, there wasn’t much talk of work. One guy said that his favourite word was ‘Orb’, and I said “so do you like The Orb?” and he was like “well I like the planet earth” and I was like “huh? I meant the early ’90s techno band” and he stared at me like I was crazy, so I was very happy when the guy across the table was like “I like The Orb” and named some of their albums. Finally someone understood me! I wasn’t actually talking crazy after all! In fact, that guy was probably my favourite of the night. He laughed at my jokes, and seemed normal, and didn’t have a mo. I could have put down at the end of the night that I wanted his email address, but that would of course have opened me up to the possibility of rejection, and god forbid I should ever take any chances! We drank some red wine. It was delicious. That’s all I remember about it. Perhaps it was Italian. Or Argentinian.

In the next group, we had to give examples of the best or worst pickup lines we’d ever heard or used. I offered up “Your curtains scare me – can we go to your room?” as laaaaaame (although that worked), and as possibly the best ever, “I’d buy you a drink but I don’t buy girls drinks because they use me too much” as most powerful, because it got us talking, made me buy him a drink to make up for all the other girls, and introduced the user as a wounded flower who obviously needed someone to take care of him. At least three times that night. Heh. We also drank more red wine. There was a girl at my table who was getting most of the wine questions right. The other girl at the table was not very forthcoming with answers. Some of the guys weren’t either. One of the guys in the previous round had said he didn’t have a favourite word. I told him his new favourite word was ‘banana’ and he had to use it in the future. I suspect this meant that he would have had to tell every other group as he went around about it, but somehow I doubt he would have. Shy people freak me out. People at the table talking about how hard it is to meet people when you’re in your thirties and don’t like bars also freak me out a lot. Thank god for being 27.

The next group, with a delicious bubbly shiraz was all about the “naughtiest thing you’ve ever done”. Both Tom and I, comparing notes later, were very much like “Seriously? WTF?” about people’s “naughtiest” stories, which consisted of things like “knocking a book out of a teacher’s hand” at age five, or their boss – not even them – throwing up in a cab. My story was of revenge in a toilet stall. It got shared in front of the whole group. Awesome. At least I was happy to participate. I’d had Lominger Competencies earlier in the morning at work, and had been pissed off then too by people who wouldn’t talk and join in. What’s the point? So I had some more wine, and then ran off to Quiz Night where the quiz master told me to shut up because I was drunk. Heh.

EDIT: Tom says “The second one was a Pinot Gris from Argentina, there was a Malbec there somewhere, plus a Negroamaro from somewhere in southern Italy (Puglia, I think).

Your description of the night was bang on. All I remember was getting drunk quickly and acting too loud and inappropriate for what was pretty much a bunch of wallflowers.”

Of course, he could have commented that for himself, but oh well.

Auckland is always such a city of contrasts. I got to Wellington Airport with much time to spare, so I read the paper cover to cover, perching preacriously on a stupidly slippery stainless steel stool, after surrendering my armchair to an army of annoying angry women who surrounded me and chatted incessantly and loudly. Of course being there early meant my flight was late coming in, and so in a hurray I decided to take a shuttle to my hotel instead of the airport bus. $26 bought me a seat with nine others, a long trip through Grey Lynn past Heather’s house and Canton where I was due for dinner, and I was the last person to be dropped off. Dammit!

But there was no time to fume. The Quadrant’s lobby was stark white and filled with scented candles. I rolled my bag down the long white walkway through the bar area and into a lift that had an embedded TV screen playing Juice. My room was tiny but functional. I discovered to my perverse joy later that I could sit on the toilet, blowdry my hair, drink vodka and watch TV all at the same time. What more could anyone want? A quick shower later, I was in a corporate cab from the Hyatt next door on my way to Kingsland. The sun was setting and reflected in all the shiny new architecture along Symonds Street. It was a beautiful view, but holy fuck, $18 for that distance? That amount would have got me to Greenlane in the olden days!

I grabbed two bottles of wine from Weta Wines, pleased it was still there and still open, and headed to Canton. There were still people at the table I’d booked (bastards!) so I went and stood on the street outside. Bopha came up and left to get cash and wine. Amy & Ross came along and left to get wine. Then came Martina and Heather. Robyn and Heather’s b/f Ben eventually completed our party, since Clay and Nige flaked.

I had been salivating over the prospect of dinner at Canton since I booked my tickets up to Auckland, and while the large group and noise of the place made converastion difficult, the food didn’t disappoint. As usual, I was appointed/appointed myself chief orderer, so with some deference to Martina’s vegetarianism, we had: black bean hapuku, sweet & sour pork, sizzling venison with ginger & spring onions, crispy roast pork, special black chilli chicken, sizzling vegetables and egg noodles with fried veges. YUM! Two people took doggie bags home, and with tea and dim sum and rice and corkage, we each paid $19.25. So good!

Afterwards we were going to go to Ruby for more drinks, but it was too loud, and so we settled on the Kingslander for a couple more bottles of wine. There were television screens EVERYWHERE, it was most distracting. But good to be able to converse. I like my friends. I cabbed back to the hotel eventually, and debated ordering porn from the in-house video system, just because I could, but it was $17.95 per movie, so I settled for watching Wild On: Naked instead. Genius.

The next morning, I set my alarm for 10.30 so I could wake up to meet Heather who was coming to the hotel at 11. We discovered that breakfast stopped being served at 10am, so tragedy of tragedies, we had to go straight for bubbly and cheese. As we sat in the sunny courtyard and I started to burn, we heard someone playing an electric guitar, and the sound bounced off the building next door. Given that Heather’d spotted John Toogood and Phil Knight in the lobby, we were happy to think that it was Shihad playing in our hotel, but it sounded pretty terrible, so maybe it was Grinspoon instead, who were due to be opening for Muse that night.

Once the sun got to be a bit too much, we tried to pay our bill, which took forever (the staff were friendly but not highly competant), and we got changed and went into the spa. Hurray! Yeah, a spa on a hot day after drinking caffiene and alcohol might not be the smartest idea ever, but it was loooooooovely. And then it was quite obviously time for lunch, so we strolled down to the Art Gallery, hoping to have lunch there, but found it was shut. Luckily Rueben at the New Art Gallery was open, so we parked ourselves on one of the balconies there, I had an average lamb salad, Heather had amazing french toast, and we had a totally unnecessary but very happy bottle of Deutz as well. Mmmmmm indulgence! And then just to show that we’re not totally cultureless, we went around the art gallery too. Upstairs was an exhibition called Making Worlds, which was really bloody cool. They had a seven minute animation loop called “City Glow” going on in a darkened room, which I totally could have watched all day. Although it made me feel far too Jessica Simpsony lame and pointless when I saw it was produced by Takashi Murakami and I was like “He did those brightly coloured Louis Vittion prints!”. Like I need to know that.

Eventually Heather and I parted company, and I went back to the hotel for naps and snacks, before KateH came to pick me up in the evening. We went to her beautiful house which is down by the water, and had a few drinks while we waited for the Checks and Grinspoon to get off the stage. Drive-thru burgers from Wendy’s ensured that our timing was perfect to actually get a park by the Waitakere Stadium, and we’d only missed two of Muse’s songs. We’re both so old now that we didn’t mind that at all. When did I stop queuing for things hours before they began? Was it around the same time that my knees started to go? But anyways, the gig was AMAZING. So good. When they played ‘Hysteria’, I had an auralgasm of the kind I hadn’t experienced since Dimmer. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Totally matched up to my dirty dream that featured it prominently in it. And we saw Amanda and Darren, which was nice, and left when they turned on the lights. And then we were naughty and had an after-hours spa back at the hotel, which was fantastic for sore feet and knees, especially since it was merely lukewarm. Best Friday EVER!

The next morning was Saturday, and I slept in, loving the bed, before I decided it was time to drag my ass out into the streets. I strolled down to Gloria to have breakfast, where my French toast wasn’t as good as Heather’s, but the coffees were nice and I read the paper cover to cover. Then I got on the link bus to go to the museum, but I started feeling all nostalgic and weird, because of all the memories of the route (which are detailed in ‘Link’ in 101 Stories that I want to tell you of course) and so I decided to just stay on the bus and go all the way around the city. Well, I got off briefly in Ponsonby to buy vodka and bread, but you know what I mean.

Finally it was time for me to meet Martina and David and also Karl at the Queen Street bus stop to go to the Lynfield YMCA for the wrestling. Oh yes. I went west, life is peaceful there. I went west, people had terrible hair. The ride on the 257 was pretty full of nostalgia too, given the two flats I lived in on/off Dominion Road. It was also interesting hearing other people’s stories, like where they lost their virginities. And drinking vodka from a ginger ale bottle made me feel like a fourteen year old again, and who doesn’t like that? We got to Lynfield with some time to spare, so we hunted out food for the boys, and I sang the YMCA song a lot with the actions, and we took this photo in front of the vets. And now I might just revert into a photo montage to sum up the awesomeness of the wrestling, and my brand new boyfriend with a spectacular ginger mullet.

After a cold long wait for the bus, we all started falling asleep on the back seat. Nevertheless, Martina and David came back to my hotel room for a while, and helped me polish off the remaining food and vodka, and I stayed up late watching E! again. Good times.

On Sunday I was expecting to have brunch with Bopha and Clayton, but she was stuck out west somewhere, and Clayton made other plans, so after checking out at 12 and leaving my suitcase with reception, I returned to Gloria to have a very very long breakfast by myself with the Sunday Star Times. Finally it was getting near time to find myself an airport bus, so I went to get my suitcase, and I asked them where the airport bus stop was, and they told me down on Symonds Street. So I rolled my case up to a stop in the hot hot sun, but couldn’t find any markings on it to indicate that the airport bus might stop there. I rang Maxx, and they gave me the number for the airport bus company, and I couldn’t find a human, but it did mention the route, listing the Hyatt which was right next to the Quadrant, so disgruntledly I rolled back up to the Hyatt, and the doorman told me the stop was right in front of the Quadrant. Cheers clever desk staff! So I was hot and stinky and smelly then, and worried that I might not make it to the airport in time, when a shuttle pulled up in front of me and told me he’d drive me to the airport for $15, the same as the bus, since he was going that way anyway. Yay! That shuttle totally redeemed the shuttle in. And so that was the end of my time in Auckland. Very good fun indeed.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. My free* drinks last week were supposed to come courtesy of the seminar I attended – Social Media’s Impact on Communications at the posh old Wellesley Club. But my cow-orkers left straight after the seminar, and it was so damn hot in the room that when I saw the bar wasn’t even fully set up yet, I hightailed it out of there to pay for a glass of wine at Plum (and trick Tom into buying me one) instead. Just as well then, that we had $100 in Southern Cross bartabs to drink that night then.

One of the vouchers had actually expired the week previously (I’d left it at home accidently, so we had to pay that night, shock horror) but we calculated that the somewhat inept staff would fail to notice that, and we were right. Also, I should now direct your attention to this very gracious comment from the general manager, because it is very gracious. $100 + $10 bought two bottles of Five Flax Reisling (standard sweet reisling, quite drinkable but I’m getting a bit bored of drinking it every week, however it’s a big jump from its $30 price to $45 for Rose) and two jugs of Emerson’s Bookbinder for the boys. We got the right table-booth, and the Quizmaster was back from his knee operation so we didn’t have to resort to calling ourselves “Anus. Heh heh, anus” because my arch nemisis The Poo from 2004 (remember that horrible fashion show that I did?) was reading the questions. A good time was had by most (the numbers of people on our two teams did my head in somewhat), and we won $80 in bar tabs which we drank this week. Hurrah!

* Free to me, obviously, the seminar was paid for by my work.

I’m going to Auckland after work today. Tonight I’m having dinner at Canton, hurrah! Text me if you’re in Auck and I forgot to invite you. There’s a spare seat at our table. Then on Friday night I’m going to Muse. I’m up until Sunday, so please feel free to fill in my time table for me.

I have lots of stuff to write about but I haven’t got time, so very briefly:

1. The clever Alison Green has created an archives page for the Gathering (you remember that, right?) which you should definitely go check out and my story about long distance IRC love and bad acid trips can be found here.

2. Please go vote for the Wellingtonista Awards, and try to get into our Awards Night. I have a stunning pink dress to wear to it. I’m going to look damn hot. When you’re voting, I recommend voting for the poached pear punch at Superfino as the best drink, and of course for the Bowling/Quiz Leagues as best event.

3. I am so very in love with the new Q CD for the best of 2007, especially Hard Fi, Rilo Kiley and Jamie T – “I ain’t an abacus but you can count on me”. I’m pissy with PJ Harvey for coming to Auckland on the 13th of February when I’m going to be up there for the 8th. Err, presuming I get an invite to my cousin’s wedding, that is. Are you coming back for it, Cous?

Last week I was totally and utterly exhausted, so I planned to use the Quiz Night bar tab as my source of free drinks, but then I left the tab at home. Luckily Karen stepped up to the plate and told me about the book launch for Looking flash: CLOTHING IN AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND
edited by Bronwyn Labrum, Fiona McKergow, & Stephanie Gibson at Massey on Thursday. That fit in well with my later movie date, so I grabbed the lovely Annabel and we trekked up the quadrillion stairs to what used to be the museum, which is now Massey.

There was an intimitading-looking bouncer man posted by the revolving door who asked us what we were there for, but when we said “the book launch” he smiled and pointed us in. I guess he was just there to keep away people who were only there for the booze…

We arrived in the foyer and I was surprised by how tiny it was. I mean sure, it was jampacked with 50 people or so, but I was expecting it to be HUUUUUUUUUUUUGE. Perhaps my sense of spacial perception has changed a little bit since I was 10. Or perhaps going to the Metropolitan Museum in New York has ruined me for all other museums (which is probably true, because that place was sofa king amazing). We found spots on the coat rack, and managed to make our way to the bar for Totora Hills wine (I felt like white, but there was only chard, so I had red instead) before Dr Bronwyn Dalley, The Chief Historian for the Ministry for Culture and Heritage started speaking about all her fashion crimes. It was a really nice speech actually, funny and full of vivid imagery. Then one of the authors spoke, and we were encouraged to have a good time. I had another glass of wine and thumbed through the book which was pretty intellectual-academic looking. Plenty of people were buying it, which is good. We spotted a table with some food plates on it, but they were empty except for a handful of tiny tartlets. Sigh. So it was out of there and off to SMK for us. Buy the book, it sounds very interesting and the people involved in it are nice.

Tom posted on the Wellingtonista recently about the places to drink for free. Join me as I try to score free drinks every week until the end of the year.

By the time Friday rolled around and I hadn’t had any free drinks (partly because I was desperate to get some home time in to prepare for my party and to keep from going completely insane), I was getting kind of nervous. Would my challenge fall over in only its third week?

Of course it wouldn’t. I’m Jo Hubris, after all. I have my finger in many many pies. And so the lovely Anna from the Wellingtonista stepped up and invited us all to the opening of Any Suggestions at the Film Archive. Yay! I love the film archive but I hadn’t actually been there since that time I saw the editor of NME speak, courtesy of the British Council. So it was happily that I headed on down to the corner of Taranaki and Ghuznee after work.

The event itself

Companions: When I walked in, I was pleased to see a whole host of Wellingtonistas – Hadyn (and Wellingtonista PAG Amy), Tom and Kowhai, who had secured a table and were sitting contentedly around it chatting. Anna was also floating around.

Venue: the Film Archive lobby is a cafe/library-type place, all done up in white plastic like a futuristic 1960s set. It’s a very pretty place. There weren’t huge crowds of people, so it was nice to be able ot have a table to return to, especially to dump a heavy bag (BYO for dinner later), and you didn’t have to stand balancing your glass. It also meant you could peruse the exhibition at your leisure, and feel very very civilised.

Drink: the bar had a list of drinks available, which included Gisbourne Gold (nice!) and Monteith’s Original, and chardonnay and cabernet-merlot from Okahu Estate Shipwreck Bay. I made myself sound like a fucking twat when I went up and asked for a glass of Cabernet Merlot, and watched the girl pour a glass of the chardonnay, and when she handed it to me I was like “yeah that’s cool, but can I have a glass of the Cabernet please?” So I tried to avoid going to the bar after that, because who wants to be known as Douche Girl? Not me. I had three glasses of the red, and it was nice and mellow.

Food: our table had a bowl of delicious senbei/peanut mix on it, and that was constantly nibbled.

People: As well as the lovely Wellingtonistas, Anna introduced us to some people from the VBC, one of whom I had already met as he was my next-door neighbour growing up in Ngaio.

Scoring factor: given that I didn’t talk to anyone new, and that I was leaving by 7pm, zilch. Plus the presence of actual children can be a little offputting towards encouraging making knuckle-children.

Celebrities: None that I recognised. Unless you count a douche who’s had grafitti written about him in both the men’s and the women’s bathrooms at Mighty Mighty. And I don’t.

Overall: A very pleasant way to start a gentle Friday night. Thanks Anna!

As per usual, let me start off this entry with an invitation to a party:

We’re having Country Club: India on Saturday, and you’re of course invited. I must clean and make curries and try and make mini naans before then. What a busy girl I’ll be. As per usual. I suspect starting my free drinking challenge possibly wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made without being willing to cut down on the expensive events too. But nevermind. Luckily now that I have a camera, I can keep better track of the things that I have been up to.

And so let’s talk about Saturday October 27, which started off with a pony at the Houghton Bay School Fair that I wasn’t allowed to ride (I didn’t actually ask) so I settled for sitting in tiny little very sturdy seats in the kindergarten with my knees around my ears instead, hiding out from the freezing cold that my jandals and 3/4 length (actually on me they’re more 5/8) tights were not equipt to deal with. But man, when did school fairs become so fancy? I ate pad thai, and samosas, and there was all kinds of other posh food like falafels and morrocan curries as well as the usual sausage sizzle. In the car, Kat said to me “Me and Sebastian are becoming great friends since I feed him all the time. If you don’t stop going out drinking he’s going to think that I’m his mummy” and I actually cried. But then me and Kat and Kane and Kenna and Tavers moved on to a long extended trip to the Warehouse for costuming for the event that night:

What were we up to that night? Why, the MOTHERFUNKIN’ RASSLIN’, of course! Holy crap, it was exciting. I have a video on my camera of Purple Haze, who is, according to Kat’s sign “New Zealand’s sexist[sic] masked man” (it was only Tom G who noticed her missing e), wrestling the Condor, and you can hear me screaming my lungs out and it goes all jerky when I jump to my feet at the end of the match. SO MUCH FUN! And then at half time we got CORN DOGS! And I was dressed as a zombie bride! And then a Bush Wacker came out! And walked all funny! And there was SO MUCH CROTCH EVERYWHERE! SO SO SO AWESOME! And the kids in front of us, who’d previously been screaming for bloody genuinely started crying when their father got cut up for serious. And there was the most hilarious except for the racism and homophobia kid yelling behind us. And my insults were also very witty too. And Tom G giggles like a girl and was great company for RASSLIN’ cos he knows everything about it. Here are some more photos to show you the awesomeness of it all:

It’s good to know I already have the outfit for when I totally marry Chris DeLorean, whose crotch is pictured here. Sans the large errection that other wrestlers were sprouting.

My sign which hadn’t dried in time (too much glitter paint) said “Lazarus Volt, fast like a colt”. But obviously a quarter of the size of Trooper

H. Flame & Max Damage vs The Overstayers (in the shiny trousers)

After the RASSLIN’ was finished, Jimmy, Tom G and I strolled down to Mighty Mighty to meet up with Tom B and listen to the band of the fantastic Mitch. I was very very very amused when a boy came up, and invited me to join their stag night, on the basis that I must be on my hen’s night. I was like “what? Why would you think that?”, deciding to pretend that I wasn’t wearing a large veil, since he had obviously missed the sunken eyes and bloody mouth. When he said that it was the way I was dressed, I was like “what? But I just got up this way!” and pointed out that I was actually sitting with three guys and it would have been a rather poor Hen’s Night if that was the case. And then I leant back to show him the blood gushing from my wrong-sided heart (it’s hard when you’re not wearing a shirt to do the maths when applying fake blood stains,really! Especially when you’ve dyed your hands red and need to scrub them with detergent, a dish brush, turpentine and sugar and still fail to lift the stains), and he said it was obviously just red wine, and I was like “no no sir, I spent half an hour holding a hairdryer on this to set the stain” and then he went to suck my shirt, and I moved it away from my body. You know, he may have had a little bit of a stupid approach, unless that was his act, but he was very cute, as was his friend who came and started stroking my face later, so Ir eally need to drop my whole insulting people when they hit on me defence. Like, seriously. We drank many bottles of nice red wine, and had dances, and finally Tom G and I left and had a sizeable debate about whether or not we felt like going to a strip club. I suggested that the way I was dressed would not result in me getting free lap dances, so we decided to save it for another time, and went and got kebabs instead. Some girl overheard us talking about why you shouldn’t sleep with lesbians so she and her boyfriend came and joined our table, and we had a very strange conversation that I can’t actually remember. We left her with the parting advice of “remember not to sleep with lesbians!” and she sounded offended, all “my mother’s a lesbian” and so I was like “umm, that’s probably a really good reason not to sleep with her then”. Heh. Then in the morning, my hair looked like this, so it’s just as well that the turquoise Clairol shampoo is as de-dredging as its ads make it out to be!

So that was the Saturday. I think I stayed in bed for a lot of the Sunday. Possibly until 6pm that night. Or maybe I got up and did things. My memory isn’t what it used to be, with me being like a trillion and six and all. Oh no wait, I made homemade chicken soup for all my sick friends! Well, all the ones who were ill anyway. Here’s how I did it, it was bloody tasty:

• Brown some chicken wings all over in a frypan
• Dice two onions, a whole head of garlic and two thumbs of garlic, and lightly saute
• Pour one litre of chicken soup over the onions and bring to the boil. Add the chicken wings, and deglaze their pan with some white wine, adding that in too.
• Add the juice and rind of one lemon, and some chili if you have it. Bring to the boil, then turn down and simmer lightly for 30 minutes or so, until the chicken starts falling off the bone
• Pull the chicken pieces out of the soup with tongs, and strip off the meat, throwing it back in the pot
• Add three peeled diced potatoes, or alpabet noodles. Add in diced carrots, celery and red pepper. Cook until the veges are soft

Of course only Shirley was home to receive her soup, so Lisa and Dylan missed out on getting well again. And I made Impromptu Flat Dinner since Smoo showed up as well, having been away for a couple of weeks, and a good time was had by all. Monday was a beautiful night of veging in front of the television. Tuesday night was Quiz and we got the right table and so we won again, hurrah. Wednesday night was ummmm hmmm, perhaps nothing? And then on Thursday was the free drinks which I have already written about.

Which brings me to the glorious weather of Friday, and this series of photos.

What you’re looking at is 1. the view from the cafe at the Archives where I ate some of the nicest corn fritters I have ever eaten, except they needed sour cream on the side. 2. A slightly suspicious-looking man on the tables at Zarbo that Tom B and I dragged out into the sun across the walkway with permission from the waiter. 3. The Mexican Wrestlers lining the coffee machine at Sweet Mother’s Kitchen where we ate mountains of food and they didn’t charge us for one pitcher of margaritas, and 4. Dylan’s ear at Mighty Mighty.

To elaborate more about my night, it started in the sun at Zarbo, and moved indoors when it got colder. The service was very very slow, but it was their first week, so perhaps it will improve. After that we went down to Sweet Mother’s Kitchen and ate hush yo’ mouth puppies, swamp dip, curly fries and I had Boom Boom chicken with bourbon potato mash, and we washed it down with a couple of jugs of margaritas, one of which they didn’t charge us for so I really must make amends. Mmmmm far too much food. Then we went up to Other Lisa’s party in her friend’s apartment, and she grabbed my boobs. Twice. Shock horror! I talked shit to Dylan for ages, and then I shocked Lisa’s friends by telling them a terrible joke and grabbing her boobs in return, but only because we were on our way out the door to Mighty Mighty where we danced to bad music and I had to leave because it was too fucking hot. I went to bed about 4am, but I hear that was much earlier than some people.

Needless to say, Saturday was spent largely in bed with Sebastian. Eventually I dragged myself up around 2 or something, and considered going into town to try and look for a sari, but then I realised that my hoodie was really dirty and I’d have to get changed, so I settled for pizza at the Med Warehouse, then supermarket shopping at Newtown New World which I’m loving for its tiny size but good selection. I cleaned myself up, had a nap, and then went into town to meet Karen and TomB and Yenping and Nick at the Oriental Thai for dinner. We were seated in the back room, which meant we had appallingly bad service – Yenping was extra to the booking, so they totally failed at bringing her a chair or a place setting, and when a glass of water got knocked over they laid another mat on top of the damp, finally, and requests for water glasses were ignored, but luckily all our wine was screwcap, and the chicken came served inside a pineapple, so that was all very well. Their Pad Thai was crap though. We had many amusing conversations though, and some very nice Reislings, and a Pinot Gris made out of the blood of an army of clones. Muahahhaa.

Then it was time to go up to the Party on the edge of the Hill, so Karen, Tom and I rocked on up there. There was much standing around in the kitchen. There was giving people sparklers to make new friends. And there was absinthe. Oh yes, there was absinthe. Behold.

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Karen and I thought that the Absinthe was disgusting, and yet we continued to drink it because it was delicious. Meanwhile Tom drank enough to start seeing the Green Fairy

The best thing about drinking Absinthe was that instead of events getting blurrier, they seemed to get clearer and clearer. While outside getting some air (it was HOT inside), Karen and I spotted a car parked with a beer bottle on its roof, and as there were people inside the car, we went through a long round of miming “there’s a beer bottle on your roof!” at them which they didn’t get at all, so eventually I went down to move it for them, and was thanked with a “Show us your boobs!”. Awesome, almost as classy as the guy who pissed in front of us. But there were actually some very nice, very cute boys, some of whom were a little bit handsy when they shouldn’t have been because it’s just not fair! I met a very nice French boy who may have actually kissed my hand and made me giggle like a schoolgirl, and we talked about how being 27 means it’s important to act like a dead rockstar. I had a desperate lust for any kind of man-flesh but ultimately settled for every fat girl’s fall-back – finding a gay boy to tell you that you’re fabulous and feel you up when you’re dirty-dancing.Naturally. It was a looooong night. I tried to call a taxi sometime after 3, but someone stole it, so I ended up sitting on the porch until around 4am, taking photo after photo, most of which have since been deleted, because normally I wouldn’t put up bad photos of my friend. But in retaliation for some atrocious ones of me that Tom took, let me show you this as a lesson in why Absinthe isn’t always your friend:

And now it’s today and I need to do some cooking and find a sari before Saturday. Hurrah!

Tom posted on the Wellingtonista recently about the places to drink for free. Join me as I try to score free drinks every week until the end of the year.

For the second event in my series, tonight I went to:

“The 2007 Annual General Meeting of Members of Young IT Professionals Network Incorporated trading as Unlimited Potential (the “Society”) will be held at the Wellington Convention Centre, 111 Wakefield Street, Wellington on Thursday, 1 November 2007, commencing at 6.00pm. Join us from 5:30pm for networking.”

Now, if something says that there’s “networking” at 5.30, you’d read that as “drinks”, right? So in that spirit, myself and a couple of of other IT-ish people (Tom and James) RSVPed and concocted a clever plan to go for the drinks and leave before the AGM.

Of course, that’s not what happened. James, Tom, Shirley and I showed up at a little after 5.30 (apparently there’s no longer an umbrella on the corner of Wakefield and Cuba – when did that happen?), we found a group of people standing around in the town hall, and while the ceilings sure had pretty moulded plaster ceilings, THERE WAS NO BAR!!!!!!!!! James left because he’s a good family man, so we cut out of there straight away, and headed to Finc for a bottle of Squawking Magpie pinot gris. For $39 it was easily dividable by three, and peary and delicious. After Shirley decided to go study, I made Tom go back to the Town Hall with me, out of determination to live up to my drinking challenge for YOU, my dear Hubris reader.

So back up the pretty tiled stairs we went, going “hmmm, it sounds very very quiet”, but when we saw the door to the foyer room place where people had been gathered was open (wow, how badly constructed was that sentence?) we thought we might as well creep in there to see if perhaps the bar had been set up while people were still AGMing. We stepped in, and we saw that it was, so I raised my arms in a great big “Woooooo…” but then, I saw him. The Wellington Convention Centre’s very own Clarence Weidman, complete with blue blazer and grey slacks. He was standing possessively behind the drinks table, so I changed course and headed to the badge table instead. Clarence muttered something and made a move to hold open the door into the council chamber, and so somehow Tom and I found ourselves sitting at the back of the AGM, me trying not to snicker as we came in the middle of a speaker that I of course took totally out of context when he was asked “So what did you say to him in the morning?” and he spoke about how he let the mysterious him talk about himself, totally like they’d hooked up, especially after he said “oh yeah he pulled out all the keys”. Everyone looked very serious and not sniggery at all, so I tried to take photos of the council chamber’s chandelier instead, but my camera battery was flat. I said “Aye” to some things, and hoped that someone would say no, and then the meeting was over, and the “networking” started.

The event itself

Companion: Tom, who I have been doing a lot of drinking with lately. He works in ICT as well, so he was a legitimate guest of the event.

Venue: The drinks were held in the foyer outside the Council Chambers in the Town Hall, on the first floor. I love the Town Hall so much that my very first post on the Wellingtonista was about it, so it was nice to see a new area. The Council Chambers were all wood panelling and leather, just the way you’d imagine someone evil like Kerry presiding over, and the foyer was lighter-coloured, but nice and old fashioned. The toilets had sensor-lights in them, which was appreciated.

Drink: The bar table had glasses already poured of now-warm Sav, Chardonnay and red (I didn’t recognise the brand, it was probably some side-Montana label), as well as Heineken and perhaps Tui? They topped up glasses if they noticed you bring one up, but then stopped attending the bar so it was grab-what-you-can.
Tally: 5 glasses Sav, approximately $35 in a bar, $12 at home

Food: There were two platters of antipasto stuff on two tables, with a plate of mixed bread on each. The selection of meats and cheeses and bits and pieces, was really good-looking, but as I said to Tom “You can tell that Kerry provided it due to an obvious lack of thinking and follow-through in terms of not actually providing us with knives with which to cut the cheese”. Of course, Clarence Weidman came out with them then, just to ruin my joke as well as make me attend an AGM. Bastard!
Tally: A whole bunch of stuff, but not a sizeable meal of it though.

People: I recognised a lot of people from Bar Camp, and I got to talk to Mike and Matthew about the olden days of the interweb (like, totally last millennium!) which was fun. I also am now apparently joining a women in ICT group, and if my bag was at my feet I’d tell you exactly what it was, but you know, my couch is too comfy to get up from.

Scoring factor: There were some cute boys, but I didn’t talk to them. A lot of people seemed to take off straight after the AGM, so I wonder where their priorities really lie…

Celebrities: There was someone there who is going to be nominated for Wellingtonista Person of the Year. But I can’t tell you who. Yet.

Gifts: None. Apart from the gift of networking, I suppose.

Total freebie value: It cost me $13 in wine while waiting around, and then 20 minutes of listening to the AGM, but I talked, networked, ate and drank for an hour, so I’d say I was $20 up (that’s serving myself at home prices), ultimately. Plus I got to do this entry, and that’s what’s most important, right?