Hubris.co.nz

I could do a post full of misery about how I did something really fucking stupid due to a miscommunication and while I’m always happy to stand up and take the blame for anything I do and accept any consequences, this impacts on someone else rather than me and that sucks so much. But I’m not going to because while that is keeping me up at night, I would rather make a list of things that are awesome.

• The Daily Show sending Rob Riggle to Iraq. Rob’s probably my least favourite corrospondent, because they’ve got Jason Jones to cover the stupid white man angle already, but the two posts he’s come up with so far have been brilliant. So brilliant in fact that perhaps Smoo might find tonight that what he thought was going to be an episode of The Sopranoes was in fact The Daily Show. Unless I can still pick up C4 on the TV without an ariel. We’ll see.
• The guy at the Victoria St Cafe who always greets me like a longlost friend – although he said today that he saw me walking past this morning and thought I was going to come in and said he was sad that I didn’t. I can’t figure out if he’s a) this friendly with all his customers b) has taken a particular shine to me c) I actually know him and just can’t remember where from or d) he thinks I’m someone else. Still, it’s nice to be recognised. The British girl downstairs at Wishbone recognises me too because she spilt my coffee two days in a row, but we’ve managed to break the curse now.
• While my red maryjanes are cutting into my feet something terrible today, Lani’s told me she’s got a stretching spray I can try on them, and my manager said that there’s a shoe-place nearby that will stretch them for me so I can go pain free. Hurrah! The soles in these shoes are really comfortable, and the bit against the archilles is padded, so it’s just getting the tops that go over my fatty meat plates to break.
• I’ve just booked flights ($108 return, thank you very much Pacific Blue) to Auckland to go to Muse in November. This will help me feel a little bit better about missing Bloc Party, and since they’re playing on a Friday, I’m flying up after work on the Thursday and only missing one day of work, hurrah!
• I have all the answers for a project manager today. That makes me happy.
• Tomorrow is Friday, and then it is Saturday, and on Saturday I get to see assorted Wellingtonistas out for Mr. Beard’s birthday.
• My counsellor comes back in September so I can go and burden her with all my head garbage instead of letting it fester inside me, woo!
• I get to go home to a clean house after work today after much vacuuming and scrubbing last night for a flat inspection. If we didn’t pass, I will be mad as a box of snakes.

Also, I’m still looking for a flatmate. Please hook a sister up.

My house is filled with the scent of oatmeal* chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven and the fridge is full of chocolate crackles. I forgot that ages ago I promised Kimpy some home-baking to sell at Craft 2.0, but she emailed me to remind me, luckily. I must remember to tell her tomorrow that she must give freebies to Martha and Sue because of all the hard work that they’ve done. Although of course, the beauty of the interweb is that I won’t have to actually tell anyone, since they’ll all read it here first. After I meet Kimpy tomorrow, I think that’s everyone in Wellington that I would have met (yes, EVERYONE. Not just the people on the interweb who hang out in the same communities as me), except for Homeperm, so more stalkage might be in order.

I wish my face mask would hurry up and dry so that I could put on my glasses and watch Watch This Space a little clearer. But my skin has gone all haywire, because apparetly I need yet another reminder that I’m due a bleed, because apparently the glassy tits, phantom stomach pains and intense grumpiness is not enough (this sentence is mostly for Peti, who thinks all I write about is my period. And yet her pussy is mad about me). I appreciate that this is not particularly interesting entry, but it can’t all be drunken harbour swims can it? Particularly not after that cold snap. So instead I will tell you about how astonishingly clean and tidy our hall is, after I spent a very long time taping modem cords up one wall and down the other, and coiling their remains inside crates, and ripping up old boxes for recycling, and crating up a big box of my Opa’s classical records that had spilt out. Incidently, does anyone want to buy some classical vinyl? Anji still hasn’t put them on trademe. Let me know if you’re vaguely interested and I’ll have a dig through and see what’s actually there.

I met someone else at work today who remembered me from the Embassy in Tokyo which is weird cos it would have been a good 12 years ago, and I’d like to think I looked a little different. But I suppose there’s my dad connection too. And this particular person probably works with my Arch Nemisis – the girl with the same name as me. My manager is away at a conference in Germany now. A colleague emailed me to ask me about myspace. Good times. Meanwhile I picked up Lani at 10pm last night, and apparently her workmates were there til 3am. I think I’m glad to be in the part of the Ministry that I’m in as opposed to where she’s at. Yes.

I’m apprehensive about spending the whole weekend with my family in Martinborough for the food and wine festival. I don’t think that I will get enough personal space, and that’s going to be quite dangerous. I must remember to take my pills. And also to take them with me. I get negligent on weekends and then pay the price on Mondays and Tuesdays. But maybe I will get lucky and win the bedroom by myself. Perhaps. Anyways, now my face has peeled off, and my cookies are bagged, and Lani has gone to bed so I can resume watching Grey’s without getting grumpy about her talking through it. So now I will bid you adieu. And apologise again for the boringness of this entry. Perhaps I will up the drama tomorrow.

* Well, turns out that what I thought was a bag of rolled oats was whole-wheat flour, so there’s about a half a cup of rolled oats, a packet of instant oatmeal and a mini box of Kellog’s Sustain in the cookies instead.

Apparently Russell doesn’t read Next. If he did, he’d know (because somehow apparently it’s easy to miss on Hubris, because it’s only like OH I DON’T KNOW, THE TITLE OF EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PAGE) that “Joanna McLeod doesn’t like the word ‘blog’”. In fact, that’s the first sentence of the piece, entitled ‘Blogging On’, on page 34 in the March issue. And then you can stare at the picture of me and reminisce about the time that the photographers came to my house instead of thinking about how my cheeks swallow my eyes when I smile. Must remember not to smile so hard. Which is easy to remember today since it’s Tuesday, and Tuesdays mean counselling day. But back to the article, I’m pretty sure that I told Danielle that I was one of the first people in New Zealand to write an online journal, not in the whole wide world ever, but Lani has the broadband cord right now, so I can’t check in my emails. But once I can, maybe I’ll post everything I said, so that I can pretend that it’s a whole article just about me, without any references to LonelyGirl15.

I can’t remember what else I wanted to write about. Things I talked about today included how worked up I got when we talked about the thing that I don’t like to talk about, and later when we talked about something else she was like “your hands seem to have calmed down now” and we laughed, which was important because of course I am still trying to keep her entertained, even if she doesn’t actually exist outside of that room, as she said. We talked about things that do or don’t define me, and my homework is to try and come up with a definition of myself(*). I told Lani that when I got home today and talked to her for way too long despite the soreness of my jaw (more about that later) and was like “Oh man, if only I could stand the word, because then I could be all “Joanna McLeod, Blogger”. Lani said she thought I was creative and inspiring because of the cake I made my mother and the story I wrote and illustrated to explain her present, and apaprently also because of the curry I made for Flat Dinner last night. Well, the curry’s not hugely creative, although it had cabbage in it for the first time ever, but the bathroom sure is clean and sparkling, as is the kitchen, and I bought a new shower curtain with gardenias on it. It’s clear, which is rad cos it lets in more light. And isn’t mouldy (and yes, I am still celebrating small achievements). When I showed it to Smoo he was like “well, I kind of wish you’d got one with dragons on it.” Smoo makes me laugh a lot. When I asked him what the proper ettiquite was when gentlemen callers have left their panties (okay, perhaps just underwear, but panties is so much more of a fun word, and wouldn’t it be amusing to think that I did someone who was wearing women’s underwear who wasn’t a woman? Yes) behind and you don’t think you will be seeing them again, he suggested starting a trophy wall. I could hang them between the pictures of STDs hanging on the lounge wall. Heh. What do YOU think the correct thing to do would be?

Anyways, today I felt bleh and also nauseous and then full of mysterious stomach pain, and then the buses didn’t happen, but finally I made it out to O’Bay, and had a swim with Karen out to the raft. Afterwards I sat dripping water on the decking and debated about whether to go home to my house like I really really wanted to do, or to go back to Karen’s to try on the dress she’s altering for me so that I have something to wear on Friday to the Tiki Tiki Party. The sewing won out in the end, via the supermarket so that we could have steak sandwiches with spinach pesto. I cooked the porterhouses rare, so they were succulent but soooooo chewy, and Karen made a mountain of super crunchy coleslaw, and so I chewed and chewed and chewed. Then when she was sewing, she told me to sing to her, trying to distract me from Q, and when I asked what, she said “Ten Green Bottles”. So I did. And she didbn’t ask me to stop, so I kept on going, for about 20 minutes. People should know not to have that kind of stand-off with me, because oh yes, I will be calling your bluff on that. So now both my jaw and my throat hurt. At least the muscle in the inside of my thigh has stopped aching, because man my sisters laughed at me as I limped around on Saturday. I told my parents it was a swimming injury, but it might actually have been a gym thing. Perhaps.

Fuck, I am exhausted. I had big ideas about what I wanted to write about, but mostly now I just want the cord so I can get online, post this and then lie down and vege. It’s 11pm already. Where did the time go?

Upcoming events: Craftwerk on Thursday, Tiki Tiki on Friday, Harvestbird on Saturday, then Fia’s birthday next Friday and Country Club: Australia on Saturday 24, not to mention Shirley and KateH both going to be in town next weekend. And then it’s Peti’s the week after and Bic Runga, and then two weeks after that we’re going to Martinborough and then it’s practically my birthday and Dead Rockstars, and then I must get out of town for New Year’s Eve…

When I sat down and thought about a date to have my belated birthday party on, I texted the three people that form the core of my friendships in Wellington, to make sure that they’d all be free that night, and to reserve them in advance.

On Saturday afternoon, I got a call from one of them saying that he’d had to go to Auckland, and therefore wouldn’t be coming. Okay, two out of three is fine, and I was more concerned for his welfare. Then later, the second one called me, and said that surprisingly enough, complications had come up with something that was bound to get complicated anyway, and so he wouldn’t be coming. Righto. I’m aware that I’m being very much less than supportive here, and that makes me a bad friend, but when I hear through my SISTER about another friend being ***, when my sister doesn’t even know that girl, I get more than a little shitty. And this isn’t about the *** friend, it’s about the inevitable feeling of being replaced (ie: it’s all about ME. And also about the vicious circle of me becoming more pissy and less pleasant and therefore less desireable as a friend). At 9.30pm when no one had showed up and Anji and I had tired of taking photos of each other’s boobs (we were both in corsets, making us go “kaboinga”),

I decided that if the third person from that original trio didn’t show, I would move back to Auckland.

But then at 10pm there was a big rush and everyone (excpet for Karen) arrived within ten minutes of each other, of course. And then it was choice, and mostly very civilised, except for setting off fireworks in the backyard and forgetting that there’s a grannyflat with a very nice nurse called Eve who lives under us. Here’s a photo that doesn’t feature my boobs – or in fact, me at all:

Karen stumbled in very drunk very late and so I made up a bed for her in the study, and Al and Korina were the last to leave around 2.30am. I had a really good time, although someday someone’s really going to have to teach Joel that when you say “oh and this is my workmate”, the correct thing to say is not “but you don’t do any work, Jo, you just post on your site all day long”. Nevermind. There’s glitter on my sheets and also on Sebastian from my very good imitation of a pirate (everyone said I needed an eye patch – I said “I’m a good fighter and I’ve managed to avoid getting poked in the eye”). Miss Lisa Fur and I got to exchange Knowing Looks about something else too, and that was very amusing.

There’s also oh so much mess now. How can fifteen people trash a house so much? It just doesn’t make sense. And cleaning is something I’m pretty much very very over right about now, given that on Thursday night I broke into Mummy & Daddy’s house (oh okay, I used Karen’s key) and cleaned their kitchen and lounge for them as a nice surprise cos Mum’s been very stressed out lately. She rang me today and was very grateful, so yay, good times. And then I cleaned lots on Saturday to get ready for the drinks. Our house looked fabulous, by the way, with fairy lights and candles everywhere. Very civilised. It functions very well as a house for entertaining in, which is great even if my couches are so comfy that Al fell asleep for hours on one. So instead of cleaning yesterday, Anji and I camped out on the couches after a hearty lunch, eating leftover food (there’s still chocolate crackles and garlic bread and wedges if you’re interested, but sixty something jelly shots have been shot) and watching the last five episodes of Buffy Season VII, both of us crying our little eyes out over ‘Chosen’, of course. Keeping it spoiler-free, it’s the final speech that kicks back in as a flashback, with Buffy walking around in her living room wearing a fancy blouse that I can’t figure out if I love or hate, and then the girl with the bat and oh oh the tears they bucket out at that point, every single time I watch it.

I had a long conversation last night with Miss Fur about how dorky I am, in terms of how much trashy television I watch, and the Buffy obsession, and the reading of tabloids, but she says that my dorkiness could be endearing. Hmmm.

EDIT: Here’s another picture of me that Anji must have taken at the party and I rully like it. Please note the partial throwing of goats.

Saturday June 29th

So the Internet being what it is, someone has picked up on my Sellotape ® letter, taken the ball and run with it, and put it online. You can view it here. Also people tell me that similar letters have appeared in The Listener July 6-12 edition.

Last night Bopha and I were all domesticated. I cleaned the lounge, she cleaned the kitchen, and we did the supermarket shopping in preperation for the party tonight. She also tried to make Kumara Bread, which turned out incredibly heavy, and are now officially “Chinese Muffins of Death”. They’re okay cut into thin sliced and grilled with cheese and tomato, but we’re gonna keep half of them to throw at gatecrashers. Not that i’m expecting gatecrashers, or even large numbers of people. It’s gonna be a chilled out evening (if i can actually get my bedroom tidy in time) with good people and good music and yeah, I get to put on lots of eye shadow before hand. What more could a girl ask for?

So I’ll see you all tonight, right?

So, this is what’s up with me this week:

Is it asking too much to be able to get to sleep before 5am? I mean, really. So I missed classes today because I can’t function on 4 hours, or maybe just because I’m lazy and not as motivated as I should be. Maybe I will fail at PR too, along with every other major career plan. I’d make a good housewife. I cleaned the oven today, which hasn’t been cleaned since we moved in.

Face contact with the world today – a total of ooh about half an hour with Clayton. Also, there was the lady at Mercury Plaza who I think was suprised when I just got stirfried veges instead of something involving tofu and a lot of chilli. A one minute phone conversation with KateH who doesn’t think she can afford Grooverider, so I dunno what to do now, I guess I’m waiting on the word from the Welly Massive as to whether or not I’ll be attending. Two phonecalls for Clay that I had to make chitchat to, and also a lady calling me to say that her daughter had cancer and I had to tell her that I’m not that Joanna, and that she’d dialed one number wrong. I also watched a movie with Corey Feldman in it, and since him and I have such a special connection, I’m sure that counts as facetime too.

I don’t even get any email or talk to hardly anyone online anymore – that’s assuming that I can actually get a connection in to the Net. Which reminds me, I really must get a paid for account. And go to the bank to show them my student id so they don’t charge me fees. And call Greenlane hospital about my ultrasound. And buy a present for Kara’s 21st. Oh yay, these are a few of my favourite things.

Intermission while Joanna goes for a restless drive to Greenlane to give her computer time to connect and to get wine in the hopes that it’ll induce sleep.

Half an hour later, the supermarket yeiled:

Saturday 23; January, 1999

This is not South Auckland. I should become an architectural drafter when I grow up.

That’s my house. Do you like it? I do. Except that Thomas pointed out (this is something I should have known from ‘Trainspotting anyways) that the anti-constipation medicine I found in the wardrobe is quite likely to be related to heroin usage, which would explain the blackened spoons and the fact that my room is the only place in the house that never smelt of pot. So yay. Genuine junkies have keys to my house. The landlord doesn’t get back until wednesday, but he left a message on my answering machine (Hi, Joanna, Simon, Clayton and Layton aren’t home right now……) saying we’ll ‘talk about it then’. Hmmmmm.

But I’m getting more settled in. Sure, I stayed up to 4.30am last night so that I’d be able to sleep straight away instead of feeling nervous (didn’t work) but hey! Once the other two have moved in, it’ll be sweetass bro. The guy that came by yesterday wondering if we had an empty room came back again today. He left his name and number in case one of the flatmates ever decides to move out. He really likes the look of our house and the area. His aunt lives up the road. DOOOOOODGY. I wonder if we’re being cased by the Triads. Life is so colourful.

I scrubbed at the tub and tiles for like an hour today and they’re still filthy. Ah well, I can finish them off tomorrow I guess. We also went to the supermarket – such a domestic day. I can see that I’m going to have to teach Simon to cook. He’s threatening terminal baked beans if I make him do dinner ever. Hmmm the grammer in that last sentence was interesting, but correct, I do believe. His car wouldn’t start when we got out with the groceries, so we had to call the AA. The guy was wearing really short shorts. That made me laugh. But he solved it, so that was sweetass bro.

Did I mention that I watched the Wrestling? Well, half an hour of it anyways. I nearly shit myself laughing. GO GO GO tag teams! Yeah. Ummm. Oh, and play the ‘Where’s That Drink Taking You?” game. It’s really amusing. That’s all.

xoxoxx

Thursday the 24nd of December – Xmas Eve

If you have had reason to be in my address book, you probably recieved the above graphic already. If you didn’t, help yourself. Or if you just wanna PRETEND like I sent you an xmas card, go for your life, you tragic little puppy.

I’ve got three new people on my ICQ list now, and they’re all fanttttastic. Annette, Brooke and Heather. Go and visit their pages, and read their journals obsessivly like me. Except not Brooke’s, cos I don’t know whereabouts it is. But hey! She did the design for my “Frozen Lake” story so I love her anyways. (Instant friends with Vision!).

Today I woke up early (by my standards – ie before 11) and vaccumed, because Mommy had asked me to, and I’m a good little girl like that. What I didn’t vaccum, though I should have, was the floor under this desk, where Pixxie must have been playing with a bird, unless I’m malting feathers unawares.

I also made dessert – chocolate cake with lemon mousse inside it. I made a stencil and put pretty icing sugar stars on the top, and lemon zest. Someone should so marry me, man. Wow, that was a cool sentence. Double Alliteration. Mrs Turner would be so proud. Actually, all my English teachers, with the exception of Mr Mitchell and Mr Vigeland were proud of me. Mr Vigeland hated me because Beth and I always laughed whenever he walked past because he wore tight jeans and thought he was sexy. And Mr Mitchell knew I was smart but he also knew I thought he was a slack bastard, and that was the reason I did no work in his class (I still got an A for bursary though – but I guess I could have got scholarship if I’d ‘applied myself’ and hadn’t been on IRC all year). Annnnnnyways.

Granny came for dinner. I hid in here. Mummy was good to me, and gave brought me in a glass of bubbly. She understands how I feel, and so I didn’t have to resurface until dinner. Then straight after dessert, Karen rang, so I left to answer and never came back. I’m sure it’d be good to spend some time with her because, realistically, she’s not going to be around much longer. But I just have nothing to say to her, and I hate the way her false teeth move around in her mouth. So yeah.

The amusing part of the evening though was when I said something about Mum’s driving, and Leonie was sitting in the corner pissing herself, because she’d admitted to me that Mum’s driving terrifies her as well, only of course I couldn’t let on to that. So I sat there winking at her instead. It’s funny how I can get on with my aunts nowadays – like, as an adult. I HATED Leonie when she stayed with us for a couple of weeks back in Japan. My My, what a problem child I was (according to Mum anyways).

Amy stood me up for Midnight Mass. This makes her Brian. Happy Xmas and all that, people. Me, I’m going to be buried in stacks of pressies tomorrow. Or today even, given that it’s one am.