Hubris.co.nz

So apparently, according to everyone and also me, I haven’t been writing here very often. That kinda sucks. It means that my writing is pretty much restricted to stupid little snippets of everyday banter about what I’ve been watching on TV, or endless melencholy about people that have touched me (literally) that don’t get aired much. Well, maybe I can change that. I could write a bit long piece here, or I could publish dirty snippets that I must stress are not related to one another, nor are they chronological. Maybe I’ll do both.

For a nice guy who told me that he hadn’t had sex outside a relationship before, he still managed to fuck me in half a dozen positions, transitioning seamlessly between them.

Yeah! This is going to be fun. Plus this way I get to pretend that I’m still hot and desirable instead of sitting around wearing old jeans in desperate need of a decent haircut and some proper shampoo.

So, Jo’s life as of November 25th. Well. Still searching for the perfect job. Still not sure how she’s going to pay the bills. Still questioning the meaning of life. Making sure she takes her pills regularly every morning and never lets doctor&pharmacys fuck her around again so she ends up going ten days without them.

Other than that, what ho? Hmmmm. Sebastian went AWOL for eight days, causing me no end of worry. I pashed a hot boy who looked like he was from The Strokes, but he was British, and British boys NEVER come home with me. I don’t know what’s up with them. What’s up with you Brits eh? Are you all prudes? (Actually he had a girlfriend. Whoops). I need two flatmates. I moved my bedroom furniture around. I may move the lounge furniture around although now that La’s gone I no longer have a willing helper monkey. And that’s it. That’s all that’s happened to me in the past shit, nearly two months. Fuck.

So it doesn’t matter that he seems like he is a sexual deviant. It doesn’t matter that he rejoices in my hairy legs that he takes the time to rub his cock up and down. It doesn’t matter when he licks my armpits, or tries to fuck me in the morning when he’s still wearing the same condom. He is no one. He is nothing. It doesn’t matter.

I don’t have new things going on in my life which is kind of a problem given that I need constant stimulation to keep me going. I feel very out of the loop now that I no longer receive free movie tickets and cds. I haven’t left the house in ummmm two weeks to go anywhere but the shops. No work and no play makes Jo a dull girl. No work and no play makes Jo a dull girl. No work and no play makes Jo a dull girl. You get the general idea. So right now I’m trying to correct that, in the sense of downloading free mp3s from NZm to see if I can find a great new NZ band I can love and hopefully I’m going to a show tomorrow night. Must. get. out. of. the. house. Of course, all donations of mix cds, tapes, old books and magazines will be most gratefully accepted.

I also should be creating more than I am. Maybe I oughta do my portfolio site. In fact, there’s absolutely no maybe about that at all. A few more job applications wouldn’t go astray either. I’m bloody sick of rejection letters though. If only the dole paid about $50 a week more – or my flatmates were able to cough up for their bills instantly – life would be so much sweeter. I could go out! I could do things! Oh yeah, did I mention that my car is totally dead? That kinda sucks some ass too.

What I need I think is a makeover. Maybe the Fab Five could come over and laugh at my clothes (“you have HOW MANY bonds tshirts? and they’re all tight on your nipples like that?” “What are these shoes? Silver plastic? Are you from the Jetsons?” “Christmas lights? Tack city! And what’s with all the saris?”) and change my life. Already half the time I think I have Joss Whedon doing commentary over my life (“And in this scene, Jo’s watching TV. Again. The empty dishes piled at her feet adn the newspaper opened to the ‘Situations Vacant’ are there to really drive home the loneliness she’s feeling, while soon the demons she’s battling will come back cos we’ve cut off her cipramil”). I think maybe instead I need less TV in my life. But Heather Havrilesky is the best thing about Salon, and if I never watched TV again, how would I know what she was talking about?

His hands are on my head, pushing back my head to secure his view and to make sure I don’t move my mouth away. I can taste his tang and it’s all I want for now, all that I could ever want, but there’s a knocking at the door, and he says that it’s her.

Oh yeah, crack out the porn, Jo. I do think that I’d probably have a good career in Erotica writing. I just need to get me a laptop so I can be more savvy about it. How exactly does one become an Erotica Writer? Or rather, a Writer of Erotica Who Makes a Living out of it? Perhaps even An Erotica Writer With A Shiny Laptop AND an Aeron Chair? An Erotica Writer with a Shiny Laptop and an Aeron Chair Who Can Afford to go see Her Hairdresser Again And Fill Said Hairdresser With Accumulated Scandals and Gossip, And Who Can Also Find Another Pair of $30 Jeans from Farmers That Fit All Lovely Except That Now They Have Big Thigh Holes And Are Thus Rendered Useless. Yeah, that’d be sweet.

PS: my hubris mail went down for a couple’o days, so if you emailed me and didn’t get a reply, try again. Cheers.

It’s Thursday, it’s the 2nd, it’s October, it’s 10.55pm. And if you don’t know it’s 2003, you’re more fucked than me. Dear god I am SO FUCKING BORED. I’m about to chew off my own arms and legs in the hope that the doctors will at least give me some codeine or something after that, because hey, that’s something different and new, and maybe it’d stop the fucking dreams (yesterday morning: being 12 and raped by four different guys and no one would believe me or take me to the police station so I could get DNA testings done, and then this morning it was Iraqi soldiers torturing me, pouring carbolic acid in my mouth and over my breasts. My head is not happy on the inside).

Pay for me to fly to your city and I’m yours. Unemployment fucking SUCKS. And you’re like “eh? last time we heard from you, you were busy working on a paper and having some sex”. Well yes, but that was well over a month ago, right? So since then there’s been the “Well this is nothing to do with the quality of your work, but we jsut want someone more experienced” two day notice kiss off. And so yes, unemployed, not yet able to go on the dole but completely run out of money. Life pretty much sucks. You know how you think that when you have a whole lot more spare time life would be a lot easier? You’d be more tolerant of other people’s crap, and would have more headspace to deal with trying to work out people and all that, etc etc. That’s so not true. Being bored has made me even more intolerant and less willing to put up with being dicked around. Although I was never very good at giving up on flogging dead horses. Etc etc.

More self pitying, more whining. More self pitying, more whining. More self pitying, more whining. Rinse and repeat.

If Winz had been nice and started paying me from the 6th of October like they originally said they would, then I wouldn’t be so worried about money. As it is, my holiday pay is all gone on a dvd player and buffy dvds and the usual extravagent spending that I’m so good at in vain attempts to pass the time. This means I will have to borrow from my parents, which means that I can’t ask them for money to go to Chch or Sydney or San Fran, which fucking sucks cos dear god I’m bored in Auckland. BORED BORED BORED. And if you email me suggesting that I clean my room or something else mundane like that, please to be expecting a big bitchout. I want excitement like strangers on motorbikes fucking me in alleyways or something similar. Nothing else will do. Okay, maybe without the motorbikes. And the alleyways. But just something, some way to let off steam. It’s all bottled up. If I was a piece of kitchenware, i would be the pressure cooker Ammy used to prepare chickpeas for hummus – before she blew up Lance’s blender, that is. Speaking of Lance, he’s been away for a fortnight with only a small stop-through in the middle, so that may add to the boredom. Luckily I still have Iva to watch Buffy with. I’m praying she will bring me home potato chips, but of course she won’t know thsi, since I lost my cellphone at Gilmours and it got pinched, so I reclaimed my old one off her. I still have the same number, but I don’t have my old sim card, so everyone if you have me in your phone, text me your name please so I can have your numbers. Thank you. Andrew is also staying with us which at times is entertaining. Him and I had Wine&Cheese the other night, and we even managed civilised conversation some of the time – I explained in detail why I didn’t like 1984 and how it didn’t work because all of the characters were so inhuman it didn’t seem real and therefore wasn’t frightening, wheras the reason that Margaret Atwood’s grim portrayals of the future were so much more poignant is because you can get under the characters’ skins and become them and it’s pretty fucking terrifying. See, there’s more to me than everlasting jokes about sodomy. Well, a little more to me anyways.

I’m just really really super lonely. I want someone to sleep with – someone who’ll cry when I cry so our tears mingle and I forget where I start and they begin, or someone who’ll make me feel like their arms are the safest place to be in the world because they’ll never hurt me, or someone who’ll hold me so tight that I almost can’t breathe, like I’m totally precious to them. Sebastian snuggling into me will have to run a close second. I adore him utterly, but he bites me if I ask for too many cuddles. And sure, I want sex too, and jesus, unemployment is majorly bad for the OOS, what with all the extra time for the Internet and also the wanking, but most of all I crave what – intimacy? Perhaps. Foreign scary concept for me. I’m so special, I’m so super, I’m so DEEP. Whatever.

Saturday the 12th of December

Saturday. This makes two weekend nights I’ve been home in a row. No wonder I’m depressed. EVERYONE is either busy tonight, or too tired to go out. Jen Troup told me to come to this d&b rave at the James Smith, but I don’t wanna go if I can’t go with anyone. Sigh. And there are like a thousand movies I wanna see and all, but yet I’m just sitting here at my computer. I’m really trying to finish off my Gathering story, but it’s hard. It was nearly a year ago after all, and it was just so… I dunno. Very intense.

I was in Tandys today, and I saw the Gathering cd and I just about cried. I so so so want to go this year, but I can’t afford to, and none of my friends or sisters are going. Besides, I figure it’s time I moved on. I mean, I’ve been to the Gathering two years in a row, and while both times were very different, they were still the same location. I should get some more experiences. In 95/96, I went to the party where I met Ben. That was just a regular couple of parties, and that turned out great, so I don’t NEED to be up on a hill to have a good time, do I? Besides, if I go to the Gathering this year, I’ll just spend the whole time thinking about Matt, which I don’t need to be doing. It’s funny cos I went to Nelson in 96/97 so that I wouldn’t be thinking about Ben, which is when I wound up going to the inagural Gathering. The next year I went back with my sisters and to meet Matt. And now I think that it’d be a good idea for me not to go, so that I can move on with my life. Jo said that I could hang with her, which’ll be choice, if I can just relax and actually get comfortable with strangers.

Today was her picnic in Civic Square, which was cool. She has so many friends man! Just like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower is Our Jo. I just felt a wee bit out of place, because I didn’t know anyone, and I was really tired and not at all chatty. But it was cool anyways, I still had fun. It’s just funny how seamlessly she blended in with MY friends. I guess some people are just more outgoing than others. I’m just not so comfortable in large groups. Or in any enviroment that’s not my own. For example, on chat, I’ll be like the queen bitch, and totally dominate, but pretty much only in #left or possibly #mirc – rooms that I’m used to. That’s okay though, cos I know I’m so much more outgoing than I used to be. I wish that ASIJ held a reunion in Wellington, or my Onslow friends came to Auckland. I’ve got this real need for revenge, or to like, prove that I’m better now. It’s kind of sick I guess. If I still have that need, maybe I’m not better. Fucking hell! I’m thinking too much. This is the problem with staying at home and being bored. I watched ‘To Die For’ with my parents, but that only took up like two hours. Now I’m talking to some guy called Mark from the Vision project, and I’ve sent him some of my short stories that are going to be used in collabarative efforts. The only problem is that ‘Frozen’, one of my favourites, and the one he wants to use, is the story that Justine stole, and had published on reckoning.net. Bitch. I mean, it’s weird cos I don’t know her at all except from hearing a few things about her from Simon, and from her webpage, but I feel like we could maybe have been friends if we’d met a different way. That doesn’t excuse her stealing my whole story concept and claiming as her own, without giving me an inspiration credit or anything. I hate being petty, but it really does bug me that she did that.

While I have all this time, I’ll tell you a wee little story that i was just thinking of while working in the Bakehouse yesterday. No, actually I won’t. This entry is long enough already, and not everything needs to come out on here.

So it’s the last month of 1998 now. Shit, where did the time go? A year ago tomorrow would have been the Ball, the last time I saw most of the people from Onslow, but that feels like almost yesterday. It was such a fabulous night, too. So bizzare to be lost in the Botanical Gardens at dawn, then riding in a taxi with Kate to get the first bread of the morning from the French bakery, and devour it on the way home. Of course, I slept in until four pm and when I woke up, all I wanted to do was tell Matt about my night. NO! I so refuse to live in the past, but it’s sort of hard to do, cos I honestly feel like I’m back in last year again. I mean, it’s summer, and I do little all day except sit around on the internet and sleep. I probably should get a job. Maybe that’d refocus me on the present year. It’s like all the time I’ve been over him gets discounted by the fact that this time last year was when things started to happen. I can do a day by day breakdown of it for you, on the appropriate date if you like, because god knows I’ll be thinking about it.

It’s kinda weird knowing I’m writing for an audience, and furthermore, knowing who most of my audience is. I will never tell my parents where to find my webpage, but I did give Anji the URL, although I told her not to read my journal, but I know if she wants to, she’ll read it from her flat. So, “HEY ANJI!” . Oh yeah, and while I’m playing requests:

She alternates

between two seperate states

small town famous for a soft drink

its landmark so compliant

a model of the drink, a giant

and a

larger town famous for

absolutely nothing at all

“welcome to the waikato where the sheep are scared”

But she isn’t scared of life at all

Gil, are you ill?

maybe you should take a pill

I haven’t done a whole lot today. Does it show? Yesterday I shopped all day long, trying to find a suitable birthday present for Mark. What do you buy a boy for his 21st when his party’s going to just be a big giant mess? I found him something eventually, and it cost me $25 too, which is like, lots. I bought a cable to link my stereo to my computer, so that I can dub all my Tori Amos mp3s off for Karen – a cheap but very thoughtful xmas pressie. I’m not all that rich. But I’d love people to give me lots and lots of pressies. It’s the thought that counts, really it is. Ummmmm what other little things can I throw in? That’s all. I’m going to go now.