Hubris.co.nz

I have been reading my journal from 1999, spurred on by stumbling across Shakespeare in Love on TV and deciding to find what I’d written about it, and realising what was going on with my life at the time, but anyways, I fucking wish I could be that honest and upfront right now. I mean, yes, in the olden days I did write my secret thoughts in the source code, but at least I wrote them. In the past couple of years, I’ve become so boring and sheltered and so fucking cafeful. I miss pre-google days when you could write about how fucking stoned you got with various people and call them by their names.

But I don’t smoke pot anymore, of course, and man, I so fucking miss that. Did you see the parts in my journal in 1999 when I used to be in my pyjamas, and someone would call, and my flatmate would be in love with them so I’d put on my grandfather’s silk dressing gown and get driven across town to go smoke with them and then go home? Good times. I wish the world was that simple right now.

Yes I know that I am full of “oh I wish that things were still that way or that way or whatever it is that I want”. And yes, I realise that might make you think that I am unhappy with the way that things are right now. I wish I could write and explain the things that are causing me drama. I have layers of privacy written into this journal, and I could make posts on different levels, or write in different spaces, put in linked footnotes, or be really obscure, but I don’t want to do that. I wish I could tell you what I dislike about my job, very specifically, but I am reduced to saying “government can be a little bit slow-moving”. I wish I could tell you what the problem is with my homelife, but I will sumarise by saying that Kat and Kane are moving out in February to go to Tauranga to be nearer to Kat’s Mum, and you can’t argue with that. But oh yes, of course it doesn’t actually matter when they’re going, as much as I love them and will miss them so much, because oh yes, that’s right, I’m BEING EVICTED. They’re terminating the lease on this house that I love so much on February 3, so I will need to be gone, and find somewhere new. I left a note for Smoo telling him about it and saying that I hoped he would come with me when I set up a new house, because I love living with him, but he’s gone to Hamilton for Xmas, so I don’t know what he’ll say and I’m a little bit scared that he’ll be all like “oh you know what? Done our dash at this flat, time for me to move on”. But I suppose if that’s the way the road goes, that’s the way the world goes.

I am trying to be very calm and very philosophical about everything in my life right now. It does not help that I have failed to go to the gym for a couple of weeks, that my alcohol intake has increased exponentially with the season, that I can’t remember the last salad that I had, that there’s a full moon and most significantly that I am down to a pill a day, if that, because apparently it is far too too hard to find five minutes to cut them up and fill my seven-day box.

So there have been more than a few tear-bouts. Like when my car got towed from the carpark near work that I’d only parked in because I’d failed to sleep and was running an hour and a half late, and that was all the coins I had. I didn’t know who to call and I didn’t want to bother anyone with my drama, but as I later suggested to my counsellor, if anyone was in my position and they failed to call me, I’d want to punch them in the head because of course I’m always there for them (so I have resolved to treat myself like I’m actually my friend, so that I will see that I am actually important and special and deserving of cherishing and nourishment – the way I view my friends but have difficulty seeign myself). So yeah, I called Shirley, and cried and cried, and through a series of navigational mishaps, we ended up driving out to Petone. I had a big panic attack – or is it an anxiety attack – in her car. My heart rate went out of control, my entire body tensed up to the point where my left side felt like it was a heart attack, my flesh tingled, and I had the most disgusting metalllic taste in my mouth. I was more successful in fighting it because I was in someone else’s company than I normally would be. And we wen to the beach, and I stood ankle deep in the cool water and tried to unclench my body, which had of course gone into total survival clenched mode.

We wandered down Jackson St forever, trying to find a place for dinner that was open which would fit us in, and finally we came across Gusto, down the opposite end from Wanda Harland. Yum! We had a cheese plate which had a brie that gooed everywhere, and antipasto with four kinds of preserved meats. The service was a little new, but very well intentioned. And after we had retrieved my car from the towing yard, $180 later, I stopped by quiz and was so upset and stressed out about my workshop the next day I hardly even noticed when the Quizmaster hugged me.

The next day I had a huge big challenge organising an interactive workshop on wikis for 50 people. I panicked and doubted myself and thought I’d fucked up room bookings when it was of course some people overstaying their time in rooms, but other than that, it went pretty good. And then after work I got drunk over dinner at Longixang with Karen and Kowhai and Lisa, and we drove out ot Martha’s shop opening and I drank more champagne and bought presents for Anji and Karen, and a bear-shaped rug that I am SO going to fuck someone on, while my fire-place video plays on the TV. Maybe I will add in photos some other time.

I didn’t write about the Wellingtonista awards yet either. Such an amazingly good night. I can’t believe that things went as well as they did. It was such a stressful period leading up to ist, but on the night, it appears that we pulled it off quite well indeed. My dress was pretty, and that;’;s what’s most important, right? and OH MY GOD Blam Blam Blam were so astonishingly good,a nd I jumped up and down and up and down and dancd and danced and then I hugged them and the whole time I was dancing I had the biggest grin on my face going “BLAM BLAM MOTHERFUCKING BLAM ARE PLAYING AT AWARDS I FUCKING HELPED ORGANISE!” (although props for the actual night must go to Mitch and Russell) and it was just so fucking lovely to know that 678 people voted, compared to 57 from last year. The Wellingtonista have filled my social calendar this year and I love them all dearly, even when they don’t read their emails properly.

And there are other things that are lovely in my life. Kat and I may have finished our Veronica dates, but the other night on our girlie date night we watched Dirty Dancing and then The Breakfast Club and I know that even when they’re gone in February, they’ll be coming back all the time for wrestling. And fuck, I so don’t want them to leave. Do you know how amazing our vege garden looks right now? I don’t want ot have to leave this house, it’s just not fucking fair. This is my home. How dare they “consider their options”? Shirley’s consoling words have been all about promising me that I’ll find a place with a better kitchen, but how will I find a house big enough to fit in all my crap? I have so much crap. My aim over the holidays is to throw out three things a day, but I dunno if I’ll get that done. Yesterday I was hungover all day from end of work drinks, with Tom buying Bollinger at Arbituaguer, and then much sake at Hede, and teapots at Alice, and more wine at Hawthorn, and today I had half a dozen people (Karen, Tom, Kowhai, Shirley, Frances, Lisa, Kat & Kane) over for drinks in the sun, which of course turned into drinks with candles outside and everyone wearing my hoodies and wow, I’m so fucking huge. My idea of spontaneous entertaining starts with texts at 10am, and then there’s bratwursts and frozen samosas and a trillion cocktails. We’re having Xmas at Mum and Neil’s, even though their deck isn’t finished (I am SO dreading the mess already) and so Karen and I went entree shopping this morning. And I have already finished the white rum, apparently. D’oh!

What more did I have to say? I am so fucking craving some physicality. I want to devour the world. So let’s end it there, yes?

Bullet point lists make the world go around, right?

• The everscrumptious Miss Heather has switched over my site design for me, so bear with me while the kinks are ironed out. My semi-secret RSS feed seems to have temporarily vanished, and of course Twitter is blocked at work, so I’m not sure if that’s feeding in properly, but now at least if you run my site through a validator (don’t!) you should only get four or so errors and not sixty like the old one. Goodbye to the hump though, sadly.
• If you receive a text message from me that sounds a little strange, it’s because I no longer have an ’8′ key on my phone, so therefore I have no ‘t’, ‘u’ or ‘v’. It makes things like giving directions to Superfino read “On Ghznee s, opposie Bdg Cars, by Bicoria S”. That makes perfect sense, right? Also, do make your way to Superfino, please. We spent a very pleasant Friday night there. I recommend the Pear & Vanilla Punch especially, but not reaaaaally the Blood-Orange and Cinnamon Martini.
  

• We’ve taken to going to the Quiz at the Southern Cross on Tuesday nights. By “we” I mean sometimes some Wellingtonistas, and sometimes my sisters & Bambi. I am, just for a change, in love with the Quizmaster. You know how I fancy people who know more things about something than I do (music, depression, computers or – in the olden days – drugs), that rule of course applies to someone who has the answer sheet on quizes.
• Before you come up to the Cross for the quiz, I’d like to recommend Le Metropolitain for dinner, and I’d say that even if I hadn’t been called “Madame Jo” on the phone in a hot French accent that I discovered was attached to a hot French waiter. He brought me the wine list when I was waiting by myself instead of making me wait, and was efficient, friendly and good. Everyone’s favourite public servant blogger might not approve of their cassolet, but damn my cow face (read: beef cheeks) were tasty, and since Bambi ordered snails I got to try them for the first time. They tasted like mushrooms, while the mushrooms that they were served with tasted like garlic and cream.
  
• You might have gathered due to the increase in the number of photos that I’m displaying that I’ve taken to carrying my new camera with me everywhere. That’s because the batteries don’t fall out, and it’s got a 1 gig card in it. And I like taking photos, of course. I’ve started to take a series of portraits of people with ‘my eyes’:
  

  

  

• I’ve been watching Season One of Veronica Mars with my lovely new flatmate Kat. She guessed who the killer was correctly, which I didn’t manage to do the first time I watched it. She’s a smart one, that girl. I love watching shows with big reveals that I know are coming up with others, although her little shriek when the killer was in the back seat was nothing compared to Lisa on finding out who killed Laura Palmer. Kat’s fiance Kane is a pro-wrestler! How awesome is that? It means he has no fear of cavorting around in tights, which he demonstrated in his costume as a ballet dancer at Country Club: Back in the USSR on Saturday night.
• I haven’t downloaded my photos from Back in the USSR, but once I do, you’ll be able to see a steady progression from tipsy into disturbingly intoxicated, despite all the food – I made pierogi, and potatoes, and sausages, and Frances and Karen both brought blini, and there was caviar as well, and chips, and really disgusting solid rye bread, and kisial – which was of course vodka jelly, and Moscow Mules, and by the end of the night there was white rum as well. Some people had splendid costumes – Anji brought along a bear so I had to hump him. I also gave lap dance versions of the panda dance to the boys who were complaining about the poor service at Dream Girls that they’d got the night before. My heart bleeds for them. The party was lots and lots of fun, and I was stoked with the turn out. I gave someone a big long speech about how I am not what they need, and how they really shouldn’t fancy me. I thought it was a pretty convincing speech, and it was the right thing for me to do, so I was a little disturbed when I woke up next to the speech recipient. I would be later more disturbed to discover that somehow a glass of water had managed to get knocked into my underwear drawer, leaving me with moist panties everywhere. It was a much nicer discovery, when I finally got up at 6pm on Sunday though, to find that the whole house had been cleaned. WOO! And then last night over flat dinner I heard that people had been spraying my new Cinderella Coconut Bathroom Cleaner into their mouths as it is billed as being so very non toxic. Disturbing!

1. Some photos that the lovely Miss Fur took on my request.

My sexy new filing cabinet, all painted up and installed in my room and full of bed linen

My sexy new Sharondalier. Sort of.

(oh okay, she hasn’t uploaded them yet, but when she does, I will edit this)

2. I went to the Great Blend last night. Beforehand, Karen and I met up with Alan and Tom at the Port Cafe where they didn’t have any of the fishes that Karen wanted to eat, but her eventual decision of Bluenose and my Groper were fucking awesome. Their food is so yummy, their decor is so crap. Oh well. At the Great Blend I found the scrumptious Miss Kimberley and she came and sat with us at the back on leather couches where I could drink and giggle and whisper to my heart’s content without bothering so many people.

My text to Martha: RB namechecked me in his opener – “We moved venues so that Jo of Hubris has a better place to swim” I’ve fucked at least 2 ppl here. I was pleasantly surprised it was only two people. I was expecting up to four.

My text to Robyn: Russell Brown just gave you massive shoutouts, woo! xojo

I hadn’t hung out with Alan very much previously, so it was awesome that I got a chance to last night, and hopefully I didn’t make too much of a drunken nuisance of myself with my hilarious commentary – and my yelling anger when the guy from TVNZ showed a total lack of understanding about egovt guidelines (I’m gearing up for my new job already, obviously) although later when he said he was the boss of the captioning division his lack of knowledge made more sense. Alan was shocked when I announced my intention to hit on Damian Christie (He likes banging fat chicks! I should be so in!), and told me I could do better, which is sweet, but awww, poor Damian, haven’t we bashed him enough? At the bar Kowhai Montgomery introduced herself and we had a good talk, and she was awesome. I also saw CJ who used to do the job I used to do, and who’d been on the Silverstripe bowling team in the Wellingtonista league, and so now she is totally my WBLTMNBFFIMDAHTRFL (that’s ‘would be like totally my new best friend forever if Martha didn’t already have that role for life’ in case you’re not down with the kids’ slang). It was funny watching Karen’s face during the talk, because she’s not overly internetly inclined, and she doesn’t even own a TV. Plus she had to drink Chardonnay. I told Tom from TVNZ that I hope that they show all three alternative endings to the Shortland Street serial killer (incidently, I am so loving it – I was totally shocked when Claire showed up dead – really didn’t expect that, though I keep getting Meg confused with the new MILF character so I didn’t care about her, and I knew Jay was going to die when they gave her a long, lingering goodbye) and then babbled something about Idol slash and something more about how awesome Robyn is. He and Damian kept going outside to have cigarettes whenever I went to talk to them, so my seduction plan totally failed.

Eventually someone yelled out that a taxi was leaving, so I ditched Karen totally and ran off with Russell and CJ and Tom TVNZ and ummm someone else was in the cab – maybe Kowhai – and we went to Mighty Mighty. Of course. More drinking was done, and I saw Luke Buda there, and decided it would be an awesome time to congratulate him for his costume in Eagle Vs Shark (which is great and you should see it) – if you’ve seen it, you’ll know that he is in a bear costume in one scene, which is hilarious on so many levels because a) I love me some Phoenix Foundation and b) I love me some bears and c) I love me some people in animal costumes and d) I love me some pretending that Sam Scott is a giant bear, and so therefore e) Luke Buda dressed up as Sam Scott! So awesome! But he failed to see how awesome it was. Strange that, I mean I always love it when drunk girls come up to me and slur at me and act like dicks. Also he said he didn’t get to choose his costume and sounded a little grumpy about it. So luckily there were other people there for me to talk more shit to, and so I proceeded to do that at great length. Yeah.

3. I still haven’t found a flatmate. I don’t understand why not.

So apparently if I want to talk nonstop all night and all the next day, I should do what I did on Friday again, which is accept Cinta’s challenge at work to stick a berocca in my mouth and let it disolve. I don’t understand why NZ has a P problem – why aren’t all the kids just doing this shit instead? Man I can fucking babble, and talk a lot of shit, as I did all the way through Havana, and Scopa and Good Luck. I mean I know I normally talk pretty much nothing but shit, especially I’m drinking, but not usually with quite that much speed or lack of ability to stop myself even though I could hear my talking in my head. On reflection though, I know I brought up at least a couple of intelligent conversational points. I just raced through them very quickly. I’d sent out a couple of texts about gaxy and a lack of shine, and then the gaxy made me feel even older when she was like “oh, I remember listening to this song (‘Forgot about Dre’) when I was 15″ – it came out in 2000, right? And then that was compounded when she was like “so have you finished your degree yet?” But then she called another girl a whore and I realised that we weren’t so very different after all and I laughed at myself a whole bunch. I also laughed when we were at Scopa and the boys went out to smoke, and I looked up to see one of them stopping the tourists who were trying to come in and demanding to see some ID. Drunk boys are hilarious (*).

On Friday I’d ordered the weather to be sunny, so I wasn’t too surprised when I woke up on Saturday to see that the weather was glorious. I still managed to have entertainers’ stress outs though when my phone started beeping with people cancelling, or saying they’d be late, or that they’d meet us at the venue. But I went and picked up Brad, and got changed into my outfit and started peeling kumara while he said he was finishing off my birthday party. He then ahemed me and I turned into the lounge to see him standing there IN A FUCKING BEAR SUIT and when he told me to turn off my music in the kitchen, he started up a Spiderbait song and performed a dance he’d choreographed especially for me, although it had some basis in his class assignment to create something you’d want done at your funeral. He danced and he danced and i just about died from smiling and the sheer total fucking awesomeness of it. And like that I was giddy all over again and I knew that the Caribbean would be awesome – and it truly truly was.

People showed up in various states of dress, and the boys who weren’t piratey enough were made to wear headscarves. The McLeod’s Daughters, meanwhile, were tarted up to all excellence:
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We had some RUM and some other forms of GROG, which mostly consisted of PIRATE BEER, and then Katy put my boots on for me when I discovered that I couldn’t put my boots on without revealing pretty much all of Mary-Kate and Ashley, and I felt like an incapacitated drunk, instead of a tipsy giggly pirate, and now on reflection what I should have done was just taken my boots to a different room. But nevermind. We loaded ourselves into the good ship Insanity, which in a previous life had been my parents’ van, and passed around more cans of pirate beer to those who wanted them. I have photos from the van, but no laptop, so therefore no photos. But I do have photos from pirate mini golf to show you though, from my parents’ camera:

My mummy and daddy, who enjoyed themselves hearrrrtily, I think. And who are also crazy.

Myself and Brad

Two thirds of the revellers (2/3 of the KKK and the other Jo were exploring the mega centre when we got there)

Par for the course. Heh.

So, it turns out I’m as bad at minigolf when I’m drunk as I am when I’m sober. I still got a hole-in-one out of the castle, but on some I got sixes. Nevermind. It was very hard to stop saying “yarr!” so I gave up and just continued to spit out terrible pirate jokes and say inappropriate things. I found also that zipping up my hoodie kept the twins under a little more control so I got less distracted. Minigolf is awesome. You should all go.

Then we drove back home, waving our cutlasses at Ash’s car, and I started cooking my Caribbean feast of “goat” curry, blackeyed beans, candied sweet potatoes, jerk chicken and yellow rice. I am fucking awesome. We made daquiris and other rum-based concoctions, and Mike and Chrisana and Lisa arrived. People rather disturbingly started deep-throating a cutlass handle. General revelry and rumbustification was had. It was fucking awesome and radness. And due to the amount of mangos in the daquiris, and staying up late playing records, I wasn’t that hungover the next day, hurray!

Instead I spent my day laughing at Bart and Smoo who’d been on a different, shinier eyed journey the night before, and cooking a roast family dinner (yes that’s right, I roasted a whole family), and rereading Microserfs and doing dishes and laundry. Clean, dry laundry! Oh happy day!

Then this morning I got up to watch the soccer, because Dave had a $50 bet on Italy and they won, and that was yayness. Although my whole view of Italians has been shaken by the revelation that my favourite hospitality person is apparently younger than me, went to Onslow and actually went out with LisaB. I was like “what? he’s so beautiful, how could i not have seen him around before?” so I am obviously going to have to find my yearbooks and do some investigating.

Auckland in two sleeps’ time, yay!

So after a disappointing Friday night that involved too much liquor by myself, I was feeling slightly seedy when my parents came to pick me up at 12.30pm the next day, although I did feel good having watched the tape of America’s Next Top Model and learning that the girl I wanted to win had won. In Petone, I tried on a huge pile of clothing at The Carpenter’s Daughter, and ended up with a grey stripey skirt that’s in a knit fabric and it’s knee length and has a really good fit around the top of it, and also a black open knit cardie that will go great with the top that I have yet to wear because it needs a kind of shrug with it. And I will wear it to my party, dammit! And I will have a party! Possibly the week after next. But I need to establish if Karen is having a birthday party then. Uh oh, I just remembered that I dreamt that I was back in hospital with a woman saying “absolutely the worst thing you can do with those cysts is touch them. It’s going to grow back again”. But no! I WILL HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING PARTY! AND YOU WILL COME ALONG! AND I WILL DRESS UP! OH YES I WILL.

We had lunch at Flax in Petone, and I thought my roast veges and pumpkin bread and halumi was really good at the time, but it was a bit too garlicy and it stayed with me and made me feel really sick eventually, so i had a nap on the couch when I got home. Then I found out that my old workmate that I was supposed to be going out with was too tired from her daughter’s slumber party, so I was gutted all over again. But then I remembered that I’d borrowed all three seasons of Black Books from my parents, after talking about it with Miss Ratpony in between making highly inappropriate and poorly executed animated gifs, and so I invited her over to watch it. She made me dance a jig for her, but there’s no pain that beautiful crazy Bernard can’t fix. Will someone please buy me a bookshop? I do believe that owning Black Books would be very compatible with my prefered lifestyle. And while I am speaking of Miss Ratpony, can I please point you here to where she talks about the songs she loves? It’s pieces like that which make me go “oh yeah, that’s why I want to be a music writer, so that I can learn to capture the feeling of a song and its related memory that strongly”.

On Sunday Anji put purpleish streaks in my hair, except that there was enough dye that she did most of my head. And it’s browny purple, nothing too exciting. But it looks good. I lazed around for a while until I realised that I was supposed to be going to Grizzly Man that afternoon with Brad, and so I got ready and he picked me up and we drove there. Hurray for an exciting narrative! Anyways, the Paramount was mostly full, and we got crappyass squished in seats, which nearly had me screaming in pain, but the documentary was cool. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s about Timothy Threadwell, who spent thirteen summers filming grizzly bears up in Alaska, until him and his girlfriend were killed and eaten. He was a total fucking nutbar, his monologues to the camera were just fruitloopy, it was great. One of helicopter pilots interviewed about him said “i think the bears mostly left him alone because they thought he was mentally retarded”. Someone else said “I think half the time he thought the grizzlies were actually just people in bear costumes”. Brad and I almost wet ourselves at that image. The baby foxes were very cute, but the way Threadwell kept going “I love you, thank you for being my friend, I love you so much” was a little creepy – not least of all because perhaps I talk to Sebastian like that – a lot.

Later that evening, after The Gilmore Girls and NZ Idol, and a delicious curry and several cocktails based around feijoa stuff and then leftover coconut cream, I blowdried my hair to volumey perfection, and glossed up my lips, smoked my eyes and pushed up the twins. It was time to go out. My taxi driver asked me to tell him an interesting fact, so I attempted to dazzle him by telling him that male bears sometimes eat the cubs to stop mummy bears from lactating, so that they can continue to get their fuck on. I don’t think he was particularly interested, but since he’d asked, I kept on talking.

Katy was late for her own birthday drinks, so I had a cocktail. For those of you playing along at home, it was a Librette, which meant it was apple and passionfruity. I also had a Bees Kiss (rum and honey and cream), and a Singapore Sling (Gin. Grenadine. Cherries. I wish I could tie them in a knot with my tongue. That would make my life complete.), and a Passionfruit Pavlova (42 Below Passionfruit Vodka, passionfruit, cream, soda. It did indeed taste pavlovaish), a Shaolin Apple (cinnamon vodka, apple juice, drambuie) and probably something else as well. I also had a beer, since Blair was buying, and getting people who aren’t drinking cocktails to buy you cocktails is rude. Well, according to me it is, anyway. Good times were had by all. I was certainly quite giggly, when I wasn’t being left sitting by myself because they were all filthy smokers. Most of the people there worked in movie theatres and were movie geeks, which makes a nice change from hanging out with music geeks. Most of them were all Filmfestivaled out. Incidently, have I mentioned that Grizzly Man is the only festival film I’ve seen? I suspect part of this is because a) you have to pay for film festival tickets and b) fuck I hate being uncomfortably seated for hours. You people who are skinny (or at least normal sized) – do your knees not suffer too? Anyways. I love Goodluck’s service and drinks and yeah, it was about 1.30am when Katy decided to go home and crash, and I contemplated staying but instead went and got takeaways with her and taxied home with them to drop coins in the gutter and write poetry(*).

If I have “drinks” on August 5th, will you come along?

My letter to the Editor of the New Zealand Herald about this story

“The day before Parliament is set to hold a conscience vote on the Prostitution Reform Bill, the Herald runs a front-page story about a convicted rapist visiting a brothel. This isn’t news. The story isn’t about police catching Michael John Carroll red handed committing another crime (remember that under the double-standard current law, prostitution isn’t actually illegal, just solicitation). This isn’t a serious debate about whether or not he should have been paroled. The story is just an absolutely sickening editorial attempt to sway the vote away from law reform. By linking sex work with rapists, the story intends to imply that sex workers are entirely responsible for the moral decline of society. The front-page placement of the article, despite its lack of newsworthiness (it happened “some time”, not yesterday), clearly demonstrates the editorial position the Herald has taken on attempts at law reform. If prostitution remains illegal, the Herald will have more opportunities to publish those “12 year olds sell themselves for a can of corned beef” moral panic stories that it so dearly loves. Heaven forbid that such a conservative paper should actually support a bill that would improve people’s lives instead of scare mongering to raise sales.” 200 words only

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So it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, when did you last hear from me and what did I say then? Ahh June 12, the night before my birthday party. That was a jolly good night, with people dressed in bear costumes (!), much gossip and scandel and me lusting after not one but two gentlemen. I had so many friends there, I wasn’t able to talk to anyone really. That was a shame. Oh well, a good time was had by all, except for Kara, but really, why is that such a suprise? It’s not. The following Tuesday (the 17th) I had my dinner at Canton, and that was lovely dovely, except for losing my wallet and feeling like no one cared about that fact. It was found later, and of course people cared, as I am constantly reminded.Yes, people care about me, I get that. I just feel really isolated a lot lately, and have discovered that it’s far more convinient and possibly a little more mature to push bottle caps into your arm so that they leave marks for a couple of days rather than scarring up with hot knives in hidden places. I’ve been questioning my current meds a little bit too because I feel sometimes like I’m at the stage where I can’t be bothered with people at all (re: Clayton being upset at Kara’s storming off at my party), while at the same time I’m feeling lonely and scared and freaked out. I guess it’s just generally weird when you hear Live on the radio or get books about monkeys and it brings to mind “You took advantage of me. I don’t know why I bother with you”.

It’s not all that though, there’s also gigglestyles at boys in bands who I saw play on Saturday at the Kings Arms for the ‘Here Come The Bulletholes’ release party who I have crushes on and I get to email them and say that they look sexy on stage. And then there’s that I got to talk to Tom McRae last week (thank you soooooo much darling!) and he was absolutely lovely. English people should be banned from saying “erm” instead of “um” because it’s just SO DAMN CUTE. I sounded like a fawning sycophant in the interview, but oh well. How could I help but be anything but?

I’d like to think that Iva has settled well into our flat although I’m sure she finds my disappearing chequebook a little annoying. Our computers are intemittently networked, so I can access her huge amounts of TV and movies. Oh how in love with Bernard Black I am! In other flat gossip, I’m incredibly pissed off with Johnny for buggering off to Queenstown without paying his rent, leaving me almost literally penniless and unable to purchase tampons or painkillers. GRRRRRRRRRRR. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Daniel is coming out of his shell more and more, and although Lance’s fetish for bringing home white picket fence pailings is more than a little disturbing, I adore him, he’s very fun.

Other things going on in my life right now? I think my Masterplan is never going to come to fruition. I’m annoyed with my failing lack of ambition, and the fact that I just churn out shit at work – when I’m doing anything at all, that is. It’s more than a little disconcerting to think of all the people I told about my brilliant idea, and how supportive they all are, to know that that’s going to be swept away in a tide of self pity and bleakness. I think that it’s probably quite likely that I should be going back into counselling (so.much.anger), but the prospect of starting all over again is more than a little daunting.

I miss having people love me. Even if I don’t deserve the love – but surely everyone deserves love? I know this entry is more than a little pukefest, but just like Bobby Brown, that’s my prerogative. There were so many more narratives that I meant to include but have forgotten. Probalby something to do with vidoes. I watched ‘S.F.W’ which I fucking worshiped when I was 15 (people fucking to “Teenage Whore”, Stephen Dorff walking in slow motion through a mall to “Creep” – what’s not to like? Oh, and Amber Benson is in it! I adore Tara. Oh Buffy, how can you be coming to an end so soon?), and it made me feel very nostalgic for a time when I thought I had the right to be “angry at the system, maaaan”. I have no idea what the hell I thought was oppressing me back then, but I want it back. I wanna jump up and down and scream “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” in the mud again. But instead, I will just watch more videos and cry in joy at the end of “It’s a wonderful life”. Is this growing old? I guess so. Shit, I’m 23 now. Time to call out the knackers.

I’m wearing new Napolean mascara Karen sent me (although it’s weird – mascara? rather than eye shadow or lipgloss what I asked for? Surprises are cool.) and I feel like it’s making me open my eyes extra extra wide. That’s no bad thing.

Thursday the 11th of July, two thousand and two

So, chances are, I have let down someone a huge big lot. I have gone back on my word and failed to deliver something that I promised to deliver, although I had a month to deliver it in. So I’m sitting here drinking a dry martini with a twist and wondering if this makes me an evil person. Chances are, this may be the first time you’ve heard me talking about this particular writing task, which should give you some indication of how willign I was to do it if I wouldn’t even talk about it in my journal. I’ve had a growing sense of unease about my unwillingness to do this, and finally I realised that there was no way in hell that I would be willing to put my name to such a substandard piece of work, and so I had to resign – the day before it was due. Yeah, I should have done it earlier, so that it wouldn’t have been one of the things making my time in Welly so crap, knowing that I should have been writing that story. Arrrgh. I hate disappointing people; I know how shitty I get when someone lets me down.

So can we change the subject? I had my induction course this morning, or the first half of it anyways. In our break i talked to a vaguely cute guy with an English accent, but then I realised that the conductor had pointed out that we were all Level 5 or below payscale (ie under 51k) so what would the point be in hooking up with him? I think I must break out my gold digger styles and find someone to keep me in the style I’ve become accustomed to. Of course, before you start imagine me to be too stylish and cool, I must point out that I am wearing Sellotape ® fingerless gloves that Karen gave me, and since they’re fingerless, they make me feel like a bonafide Ruffian. Unity were given them, apparently, for buying so much product, so of course they were given to me. Several staff members growled Bear-Like at me last time I went in. Apparently I’m famous. Ooooh just while I remember – Nushka – congratulations! And also, you should consider the name Berrin. Or Joanna. Thank you.

Since my induction course was in a building on the corner’o my street (my organisation employs 5000 people, apparently, and is spread all over Auckland, and if you still can’t guess who I work for, obviously you’re a crap stalker), i went home for a half hour nap at lunchtime, then went in to my regular office afterwards. The day trickled by fairly slowly after I dealt with the 64 emails that had accumulated in my box whilst I’d been away (and meanwhile my REAL email account stays pretty much empty.

In the evening, Justin came over for cups of lemongrass and ginger tea, and catch up chats <!– he said stuff about the boy, like how he was cool if you kept him at a distance, and he was so right, and as I was explaining to him why I didn’t like the boy anymore, I finally realised that i totally made the right decision, so that felt weird, but good.  Also, as a side point,it really fucked me off that Clay was there trying to talk as well, cos lord knows it’s hard enough to get a word in edgeways with Justin as it is.–>. He brought me back a Jakarta Post from Bali, which is cool cos I dig overseas media. Plus apparently someone (KATEH!) told him that his other friend, is the fourth in a series of boys with the same names, so he was talking about him as *IV too, which was really amusing, cos people shouldn’t use nicknames that you have for other people, if you know what I mean. It’s like my dad calling KateH “Popular Kate”, and Mum talking about “Fatty”. Okay, well so maybe it’s cool.

Three days or so til I bleed, which is good cos then I will hopefully stop being so unseasonably grumpy and meatcraving. Also, if you notice that my personality seems to change over the coming months, please do let me know – I am a little worried about being on the pill again, cos I don’t want that femulen psychosis back. However, I have yet to lose my sex drive, so it could be that I have nothing to worry about.

Tuesday July 2

You have to excuse me if i sound a little shitty while I write this – I’m in the lounge and Clayton is watching ‘Duets’. Yes, the Gwynnie movie. I know he has to do it for his work and all, but still. Oh yeah, and as to why I’m in the lounge, well, my landlady rang me up at 8am today to tell me that I was getting carpet laid between noon and two, so I must move all my personal stuff out of my room, but leave my furniture. Righto. She rang me later at work to confirm that I’d done it, and I had – well, Bopha did it for me cos I had to go to work, and Bopha is a sweetie and everything. I got home to find a note from the carpet layers saying we needed to move the furniture out and vacuum before they’d lay carpet. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKETY FUCK FUCK FUCK. Grrr. I was txting Brad angry things about my landlady, and he said I should put on a bear suit and maul her, and so I asked him if he’d do it for me, and he said sure, if I could get her to dress up as a salmon. Heh.

Work today was good, I did the clippings, wrote some stuff, killed some time. There were mini scandals, but nothing to do with me. I did maths! With a calculator and a ruler and everything, figuring out most efficient ad spend. I drew pictures in my report and impressed everyone. So that was exciting. I really must remember to take my muff in to work, cos my hands just about freeze off on the way home. Also, what, you think I didn’t see you lurking in that doorway? I may be blind without my glasses but not THAT blind.

KateH came over after work and we had Thai food together, sitting on the sofa together like the old days, although she couldn’t stay for travel.co.nz which she shoulda! So after she left, I went over to KateM’s instead, and met her new flatmate who was very nice, and kinda intriguing. Ligen ligen ligen. Heh, special personal message to you after all.

OH! Hot gossip scandal I discovered sometime recently…. ummm nah, I won’t break it yet. I’ll hold it in for a while. However, I am hoping that the person it involves will hurry up and get his ass back into the country, or how am I ever going to get laid again?

KateH complained that I hadn’t written up my party yet, but we agreed that by now it’s too late. Suffice to say, it was fucking cool, except for the landlady showing up cos she’d had “complaints” (plural) about the noise – of course our fucking neighbours couldn’t have come and knocked on our door and asked us to turn it down, oh no. And also, why are all Englishmen obsessed with nakedness? And how can people turn up empty handed and expect to be fed copious amounts of liquor at any occasion other than a 21st? But BALLOONS! And my ladies! And when I got up on Sunday, Bopha had already done half the dishes and cleaning cos she felt so bad about getting too stoned to talk. ANd then the next day there was the soccer, and Brazil won, and YAY. Yeah. That was all the good shit.

Dialogue just now: Me “So, who’s playing tonight?” Bopha, about to cry “don’t Jo! You’re evil! Absolutely evil. That’s the bad shit right there”. Soccer withdrawl has set in already. That’s why it’s okay that I’m going to Welly tomorrow.

Tuesday June 18th

Because it’s all about loot, and because you may be interested, and now I’m actually sober (last night was crazy), I will write you a list of what I got for my birthday, in the semi chronological order that I received things.

When I was just on my way out to work yesterday morning, I spotted a large parcel and poster roll sitting in the lounge that had been sent up from Wellington, and even though I knew I was running late, I took a little time to open a few of the things inside, which were:

• A poster of Antartica from Karen, with bears drawn all over it in various different styles, which was obviously a collaborative effort on the part of the good people at Unity Books in Wellington (after all, my height is measured on their door).
• One of the parcels in the big box was “Manufactoring Consent” by Chomsky from my parents
• The other thing I opened was a MUFF that Karen made from me, along with a long list of muff ettiquite. Fuck, I so can’t spell that. You know what I mean though. It’s all soft and brown and furry and has a bear face on one side. Hehehe. I like bears. She also gave me a can labeled “Batted Salmon” which on closer inspection is actually tuna. I like injokes. This is my muff:

Then I had to run away to work and I found out that Teri had broken her ass. Heh. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but she laughed at me when I told her the catching on fire story:

All day today I have been wearing my pajamas, cos I haven’t had a pj day in aaaages, and I really love my pajama top – it used to be my grandfather’s, and it just looks really good on me and it’s actually probably one of the bestly seductive items in my wardrobe. Anyways, this evening I was cooking dinner, and I leant over the stove to stir something on the back element when WHOOSH! My pajama top caught fire. I started screaming immediately, of course, and freaked out, but luckily, I had the good sense to pull it straight off and dump it in the sink. Then I stood in my slip and pj bottoms in the kitchen for ages laughing hysterically. So much for thinking it was a cotton top.

Bopha and Leo heard me screaming but they thought I was some random street person. Typical. Things could have been a lot worse, because the slip under my pj top is completely synthetic too. The way things are now, the bottom of my pj top is just charred and missing a chunk. Maybe once it dries out, I will consider whether or not it is still wearable.

Apparently Bridget was even gonna bake me a cake but she just didn’t. I did have a piece of someone else’s cake though. Actually, I haven’t had a birthday cake since my 17th birthday. Sigh. Anyways. Also at work I managed to finally finish my very first article and put it online. I’d give you the link but then you’d know where I work (because it’s SO hard to figure out right now).

Anyways, finally I managed to get home and open the rest of my presents, and this is what I got:

• ‘Chemistry’ from my parents, which is a NZ book about a drug addict with kidney stones who goes to live in Timaru. I’m presuming Karen chose it and it will therefore be good.
• A 3M ergonomic mouse, which wouldn’t run off the proper port for some reason, but luckily it works off USB as well.
• Some bodylotiony stuff which I initially suspected Neil had just got at a hotel he’d stayed in.
• A jar of Mole sauce they got me in Mexico. There’s an accent or soemthing somewhere in there, it’s not actually potted rodent. I hope.
• A weird purple pen which just perplexed me, but apparently it doubles as a screen cleaner. Mum said on the phone that she felt like she had to get me something that wasn’t on my wishlist. (And of course I’m still going to put the link in to that, it’s never too late to buy me presents!)
• A book called “The 13 and a half lives of Captain Bluebear” from Karen. There are precious few books about bears at Unity. It looks good though.

And then after that, eventually Bopha and I went to Caravan Serai to meet up with everyone else, and this is the rest of the loot that I got:

• A Virtual Fireplace video from JeremyO and Renee. I put it on today and it was strangely mesmerizing and made me feel warm.
• Bright lime sheets from KateH and Maree, and also some body glitter. I’d actually been thinking I should buy new bed linen just hte other day when I saw it advertised but I physically restrained myself.
• A pez dispenser from James. It has a lion on it, but we all initially thought it was a bear.
• A big bunch of flowers and a book called ummm hmm crap, I forget and it’s in the lounge and I’m lazy from KateM. I’ve previously seen her sobbing over it before, so I’m not sure what she’s trying to do to me, but I’m looking forward to reading it. Plus, that’s like the 5th time ever in my life anyone’s given me flowers, so that was exciting. I am so spoiled!

The best present of all, which was the guy finally listening to me yelling and finally working up the nerve to come into the women’s toilets to go and get me someone to give me a screw driver so I could get the fuck out after I got locked in the toilets by a broken lock. Apparently everyone was like “where’s Jo?” cos i’d been gone fifteen minutes but they all thought I was just talking on my cellphone. Of course, if I’d had my cellphone withme, I would have fucking called them! Grr.

Anyways, so that was last night, or the dinner part of it anywyas – I hope I didn’t forget anything. Afterwards, Bopha and I sat around being dicks at home smoking cigars and basically being looney. Today we went out for lunch at Fire&Earth and she told me that she’d kidnapped my cellphone the night before and sent out text messages to various people trying to get gossip but since no one replied I can only presume that she fucked up and nothing went out. Phew.

Oh! Exciting news! I saw Marion in the downstairs apartment when I went to ask the builder to move his car so I could get mine out and apparently, I’m getting carpet tomorrow or the day after! Wahoo! Six months later.Tonight I watched a two hour doco on Robbie Williams. I don’t want a webpage anymore, I want a documentary done on me please. It’d be great. Plus, I think my dad is smoking crack. This is the email he sent me yesterday:

Hello Joanna It’s a long time since I saw you pop out, but you’re still my little baby. All the best for the day, that’s probably pretty well past, at your end. Here I sit in Singapore, waiting to go and sell people on the idea of electronic certification. What some peole will do for a living, eh? (Call it “living”?) Anyway, better do some work. Happy birthday, in case you missed the rerefence, Yer ole man

Actually, that’s kinda cute isn’t it?

Right, maybe I should go and try to sleep now, either that or read through my IMC notes. I’m a little annoyed with myself for my lack of study, but you see the thing is that I only need 9/50 to pass the paper. Sure, yes, I could aim high, but I guess it seems to me that there’s not really any point unless I was going to get the top score out of everyone, which I’m not going to, so why put in all the extra effort? It’s like “a C is a degree” and all again. Even if I am a ‘mature student’ now. Then again, I can probably pull marketing out of my ass quite well. And I have til Thursday morning anyways. Hopefully I can get my massage after that. I’m freaked out about my wrists and hands though.

Monday June 17th

Today is my birthday, my 22nd to be exact. Any and all of you who haven’t seen me, called, txted or email suck. That’s right, ALL of you. So there.

Work was long but hey, I was weraing my pretty new skirt so at least I looked good.

Evening was Bopha and Berrin which apparently means Little Bear so I love him yelling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and breaking like mad as soon as I walked in the door which was a little scary.

Evening was dinner on the pillows at Caravan Serai with Bopha and Jezza and Renee and Maree and KateH and James and KateM and Jody, and oh my god that was so cool apart from getting locked in a toilet stall and having to take the lock off with a knife as an alternative to climbing over the roof into the dust and air vents to get out, but maybe we’ll write about that when we’re soberer, cos I’m actually reaaaaaaally sleep so I migth go sleep and write up an inventory tomorrow. I had a kickass birthday, and it would only have been cooler if You had called. Ha, who’s that You? You all are, maybe. Also, I’m worried that you’re not going to email me again, after my last letter to you which I guess was a suggestion that you shouldn’t, but that’s not really what I want, it’s just what is obviously for the best. But fuck the best! I want the rest! Anji says I should go and leave the boy another note with my number and see if he wants to have coffee, but I’m so not even sure that I wanna see him, I think I just want SOMEONE to fancy. Meh. Think about it tomorrow? For now bed looks all warm and soft and stuff. ANd there’s no one left to drink with cos everyone’s gone to bed and I almost fell asleep in Bopha’s when I wenmt to wake her up for the soccer which she’s not even going to watch (I’m in shock). Yeah, so I’m cold and drunk and mostly really happy, bed would be good here.

Hey, do you think I’m grown up now? We’ll see. xojo.

PS – Did I mention that I set myself on fire yesterday? Whoops!