Tag: drinking with workmates


Pictures to say a thousand words

January 5th, 2011 — 1:48pm

Since the last entry was short and boring, I figured I would use some pics to help tell better stories about what I’ve been up to for the past month or so. Most of these pictures are from my cellphone, which doesn’t take very good or big pictures, so just grin and bear it, okay?

Mouse Rat have a song about sex hair. I have the real thing.

In fact, if you really want to see the proper damage from that one, then you need to see it from behind (lollerskates!):

As Kat said, "So, clearly he's right-handed then". Yes. And kinda pushy.

So after Xmas Party shenanigans, it was time for actual Xmas.

Instead of an Xmas tree, I put lights into the lime tree I was giving Anji

On Xmas Day, Karen and Tom came over for an international sandwich degustation. Spellcheck suggests that word should be “devastation” instead which is close to accurate.

The first sandwich course was German Hot dogs

boob and rose

The Framingham UNSTABLE ROSE was a perfect colour with my dress. Not that you can tell in this pic.

We finally got around to drinking the expensive champagne I gave Tom for his birthday, with ginger coconut ice cream sandwiches

BAMJI came over and gave me can of MORTAL TERROR amongst many other presents

They bought it at the Ministry of Stories, because I’d tweeted about it right when they happened to be going to Hoxton!

There was an awful lot of debris leftover after Xmas!

Thanks to fuckyeahmeangirls.tumblr.com I finally found a mantra to write on my chalkboard that I bought at Wanda Harland

Then I went away to Waiterere for five nights over New Year’s. I forgot to take my camera, so these are the only two snaps I have.

We got really dressed up on New Year's Eve.

I prepared a lot of food that the boys cooked on the bbq

And I’ll just steal one photo from Kim’s magic ones on Facebook to sum up our holiday, which was THE BEST TIME EVER:

Group shot with bonus tackle on the back lawn.

Oh wait, there’s an ANIMATED GIF! Watch my boobs bounce around as I smile and unsmile! Thanks Jason!

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A boring post about an eventful month

December 27th, 2010 — 8:30pm

Jason opens his Secret Santa present

December is the usual social whirl, and time of increased anxiety, both about everything in general, but also with rape apologists online. There have been people from out of town in town, which means more going out, as well as an assortment of other times that meant I had to go out and be witty and charming. Heather came to stay. The Wellingtonista Awards happened. Kat and Kane came to stay. There was a work Xmas party, and gossip that I deserved, and things that I didn’t. There was crying into Megan‘s bosom after the Lovehawks said something that I’d been unwilling to say until that point although I was thinking it but covering it up with jokes and statistics since that’s how I cope. Megan helped me to write an extremely difficult email, and then Thomas helped me with the reply to the reply to that, because even though I am a writer, occasionally words fail me. There was Lovehawk Xmas with Secret Santa presents (I got a brooch in the shape of a heart that says ‘Bite Me’ on it). Then there was real Xmas, in which Bad Tom and Karen came over here for an International Sandwich Degustation, and Anji and Bambi came later and spoiled us.

Kate opens her Secret Santa present

December is exhausting. For New Year’s, Rocket Queen is going to come and stay in Casa Sans Hosen to look after Seb, and I’m going to Waiterere with the Lovehawks and Stacey and Mike. I am excited about getting away from the internet for five days, but I am a little worried about living with six other people for that long, even if they are very much amongst my favourite people in the whole world. I’m sure it will be excellent though. I took Kim, Kate and Jason to the airport on Xmas Eve, in the biggest gale ever, and while that was only three days ago, I miss them all already. Luckily I get to go pick up Kim tomorrow anyway. Kelly is gone for three months now, and I hope everything is going smoothly for her from now on.

Kelly opens her Secret Santa Present

I’m sorry I don’t have more stories to tell you. I thought I did when I picked up my computer, but perhaps I am saving them all for when I do my annual year in review. I’ve been feeling like an idiot since Thursday night, because I was a cunt to someone after they’d been especially lovely to me and helped me sort out something kinda serious, so I’m all introspective and kinda self-loathing. That could also be because I’m pre-period, of course. Not to mention that I’ve been drinking far too much. And eating far too much cheese. Mmmm, cheese. In fact, there’s still some peppered havarti in the fridge, so perhaps that should make its way into my stomach soon. Especially since Australia is a pretty terrible movie, but I needed a break from The Walking Dead and Misfits.

B opens his Secret Santa present

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Reclaiming my empire

November 28th, 2010 — 11:24pm

The Yaz is gone, and I am me again. It is a glorious feeling. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t spend a large part of last night bawling my eyes out, but let’s get to that bit when we get to it.

I had a quiet week at work, which was well-needed because I’ve been working very hard and doing lots of things and stuff. Friday wasn’t so quiet, because we had All Rap All The Time Afternoon, and then we had a work cocktail challenge. I led the S&M team, although we were calling ourselves the Bucaneers (we’d had a pirate-themed week, because that’s what you do when you get sent funny pictures of your cow-orks dressed up at conferences), and we made a chargrilled pineapple margarita served in a pineapple, and then a Yo Ho Ho & a Damson Plum, which I based on my McKenzie training at Cupcakes & Cocktails. Turns out that was a mistake, and our drinks didn’t win because they were “too perfect” and “well-balanced”. What a travesty! An outrage! We also got called “middle of the road” which is probably the first and only time I’ll ever be called that. Luckily, we had to finish off all the rest of the ingredients, and so a very enjoyable night was spent playing Foozeball (We’ve started a Women’s Foozeball League, because we play slower, and squeal more), and sitting on bean bags on a balcony high above Courtenay Place. I ended up smoking cigarettes because people kept giving me theirs to hold while they went in for more beer, ugh. And my phone fell out of my bra and into the toilet. Whoops! Luckily Kim has given me her old one. I ended up going home via the Hawthorn Lounge to drop off their nomination in the TAWAs, and they knew who I was and gave us a discount. I am totally the Empress of the Internet.

The next afternoon I somehow managed to drag my rather under-the-weather ass into Monterey to eat their delicious brunch and gossip with Kelly. Once again, I had TAWA-business to take care of, and once again, knowing people paid off. We sat there for a couple of hours because we weren’t allowed to get pie until I had finished the sudoku, and I was seriously impaired. It took me approximately ten minutes to check in on Foursquare using Kelly’s phone because I was such a mess. The table squeaked like a kitten under my elbow and we giggled our heads off at that, and also at my ridiculous story of hilariousness, and also many other things.

I rediscovered this week how nice it is to kiss a boy, instead of the usual girls, and now I’m hoping for a groping. Someone feel me up, please?

Saturday night I spent at Lisa’s, making cheeseburgers in my slip because it was so very hot, and watching Community. She said I overhyped ‘Modern Warfare’. I don’t know how that’s even possible. Nevertheless, it was a very pleasant way to spend the evening. And then I came home to this:

Bloodstains all over my porch

Not the best picture, but suffice to say that the table on my porch had been knocked over, and there was blood ALL OVER the steps and dripping off the wall. My first thought was that it wasn’t blood, it was plum syrup, but the smell, it was intense and disgusting and terrifying. I actually was afraid to walk into the house, wondering if someone had decided to put a hit on me or something, and then I saw the cat fur all over the the place and started to panic. Sebastian usually comes running to meet me when I’ve been out for a while, but he wasn’t there. He was nowhere in the house, and didn’t come when I called and called. I totally freaked out and started bawling. I tried to call Karen since she was the nearest, but my phone wouldn’t connect the call. I started freaking out all over Twitter instead, until I heard a mewling, and Seb was at the front door. He was covered in blood and was acting really funny, so I tried to clean up his wounds as best as possible, and tried to calm down, after crying some more in relief that he appeared to be okay. But he was way lethargic, and was hyperventilating, and there was so much blood all over the porch. Some internet checking made me terrified he was going into shock, so I decided to take him to the after-hours vet – except of course I couldn’t call them. Luckily, Daniil was online and he rang them for me, so at 2am I loaded Seb into his cat cage and drove him out to Ngauranga. Seb didn’t meow once in the car, but I was crying enough for both of us.

The vet was grumpy with me, which seems a bit ridiculous, given that’s his actual job and heaven knows I paid enough. His computer wouldn’t start properly, and he wouldn’t even look at Seb until he’d filled in the form, so I stood in reception crying, Seb breathing way too fast under my hands, hoping he wasn’t going to die while the horrible man took his time with formalities. Finally we got into the examination room, where the vet put clothes pegs on Seb’s scruff to keep him calm, and we shaved off a bit of his fur so the vet could look at his chest wound. “He brought this on himself,” said the vet, “he clearly started this fight”. His bedside manner was somewhat lacking. It was 2.30am in the morning, I was clearly extremely upset and panicked, and I did NOT need to have my cat blamed for the fight. I tried to explain how much blood there was, but the vet was all “oh, it probably looked like a lot because it might have sprayed everywhere – an artery has been nicked, but it’s probably not very much at all”. Um, I cleaned up the clots of it, buddy, yeah, there was a lot of blood. Anyway, he gave Seb a shot of painkiller, and some antibiotics, and some pills for me to give to him for a week, and I paid $249. I was supposed to keep Seb inside for 24 hours but he slipped out while I was in the bathroom. I was awake til 6am worrying. Of course he’s fine today. I am never having kids.

Today I cleaned up the spare room cos Heather’s coming to stay, yay, and made righteous mac’n cheese and fuck yeah slaw and rhubarb pie for the LoveHawks. Kim gave me a recut of my Hubris necklace and wouldn’t let me pay her for it, proving once again that I win at life sometimes with the wonderful people I have met on the internet. We watched FoxFire which was DREADFUL, and kind of awesome at the same time. Jason claims he wrote it when he was 16. I’m so glad those crazy kids have moved to my neighbourhood. I love my weekend rituals.

This week is going to be crazy. Last week I saw a huge part of my recent everything played out in a slideshow, and now on Friday is the Fifth The Annual Wellingtonista Awards. Woah! You’re coming along, right?

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The return of the rant

January 26th, 2007 — 8:48am

So I know that I have yet to write about my Big Day Out weekend, but I’m hoping I will do that tomorrow because quite frankly, I am too damn tired to do it right now, because it will be a lot of effort, and will require flickr links, and pillaging Lisa’s photos and all that sort of complicated stuff which I don’t have the brain capacity to do right now, but suffice to say that a good time was had by me.

Monday was of course Anniversary Day, and I’d realised the night before when I was starving that Anji still had my car, so I got her to come over and pick me up and we went to Elements for brunch. After dropping her off in Newtown and grocery shopping, I spent too much time fucking around at home reading the paper so that by the time I got my ass out to the south coast the sun was hiding and the wind had come up something fierce. Nevertheless, I plunged into the ocean and spent 15 minutes or so kicking and flailing frantically to keep my legs and hands from going numb while floating up and down on some pretty fiercesome waves. It was fucking fun, but ohmygod so fucking cold.

I can’t remember the rest of the day, which suggests that it wasn’t all that. I do know that there was spinach & cashew pesto involved somehow, and perhaps a steak, although perhaps that was the next day. And celery! I’ve never prepared celery before (because wow, it’s so hard topping and tailing it and vaguely stick-ifying it!) but I felt like a salty treat and thanks to Jane‘s article about better foods to crave during a hangover or PMS (that is the awesome thing about Jane – it’s not all “boiled egg, wholemeal toast, steamed lettuce” diet, it acknowledges that you’re a human being and will drink until you puke – and then gives tips for how to feel better in the morning) I knew that celery was salty.

The next day, I was supposed to go to work again, but after sitting on the edge of my bed for half an hour being unable to reach out and grab the clothes that were an arm’s length away because I just couldn’t, I had to give in and text my manager and tell her I needed a mental health day. In fact I ended up feeling really fucking nauseous anyway. I did have a counselling session at 1.30pm, so I kept that, and holy fuck, that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I found that I was talking without cohesion, and that really annoyed the narrator in me, because while I was throwing out a series of ideas about things that may have been linked, I didn’t feel like I was making the links clear, but I think she knew what I meant. We discussed the semantics of things again, with me not knowing the word that I thought I should use, and she declared it without a second of hesitation, and I was like aaaargh, and then I laughed at my body language, the tension in me, and we were laughing at the end at something completely inappropriate, but fuuuuuuck, it was a hard time. And part of me doesn’t even want to write about it here, even this obliquely, but i want to keep it as a record. And why do anything in private? If only I hadn’t left that mp3 player on the plane, I could podcast my counselling sessions. Heh. Wow, that’d be comfortable for all parties involved. And yeah, you’d get to hear me cry some more.

I was worried after my manager’s text about needing to talk the next day, but of course I shouldn’t have been, because when I told her what was going on, she was lovely (as of course a sane person would have realised anyway), and I said that I expected to be straighted out and normalised by the end of the week, but what I needed most was more work to do. As it happens, I seem to have actually achieved a lot this week, making many changes to the website, and taking on new projects, and also making my cow-orkers laugh quite a few times. Today I helped three people set bookmarks in their browser, which made me go “Really?” but I suppose not everyone has a tertiary qualifcation in Multimedia.

When I got home on Wednesday Smoo had cleaned the house and I nearly cried at that, but instead I decided to tackle the huge pile of dishes, and then scrub the bathroom. Briar helped me by drying, and it’s nice that she’s moving out so amicably to go and flat with her brother, and that while she’s taking her bookshelf which fits my books perfectly, she is leaving me her blender because she has another brand new one, and she knows how often i use it, so hurrah for that!

Yesterday I went for dinner with Karen and Anji at Siem Reap and we plotted Mum’s birthday present. We were going to send them to Martinborough for her birthday weekend, but we might send them up to the Wairarapa Food & Wine Festival instead on the 17th of March, except that it sounds like so much fun we’re looking at booking a house that can sleep five and tagging along on their romantic weekend. Heh.

Today after work, much to my disgust I went to the Loaded Hog to meet up with D&D, because Dave’s cow-orker was having goodbye drinks there or something. There was no sun so it was cold outside on the balconey, but coronas were two for $7.50, and when I only ordered two and was polite the bartender said that he loved me and that I was his favourite as it was crowded with stupid rude demanding people. Then when we went to Boulot Gabe welcomed us with happy new years and cheek kisses, and addressed me as “Pretty”. Awww. Bart and Blair joined us for a bit, and pizza was eaten and shit was talked. You know, the usual kind of Friday stuff. When I left I got a taxi with a green sign, and made sure that I repeated the name of the company – Amalgamated – to myself several times. I didn’t talk to the driver either, even though that felt somewhat unnatural, but it made me really fucking angry last week when I was telling my friend about how a taxi driver had groped my leg as I was paying right before Xmas, and the friend was like “were you flirting with him?” and I was like “NO!” but the point was that even if I had been, which I wasn’t, he still had absolutely no right to do that, and I wasn’t to know that I was putting myself in a bad situation when I thought I was taking the safe option home. My counsellor agreed with me that it’s okay if I decide to only use Combined from now on and call one if there’s not one on the rank, and I decided that as long as I try to make sure I don’t discriminate in other areas, the number of bad experiences that I have had with a particular kind of taxi driver means that am I well justified in trying to avoid them. That said, my cab tonight was only $8.70 when it’s usually like $13. Go Amalgamated! And if I remember to call them on 3888 4000, then I can call and complain should I need to as well. I know I am ranting, so I will return to my 90210 dvds now. But I will say that tonight I am in love with Cold War Kids’ “Hang me out to dry”, and if you have perhaps been living in a basement worried abotu an atomic bomb for the past 35 years, look up “dick in a box” on Youtube. That is, of course, mostly a suggestion for D&D who apparently actually read my journal and I never knew until tonight. Party.

xojo

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Ladies who lunch

October 6th, 2006 — 11:06am

Sorry Wellington, I blame myself. I promise I won’t write about summer again so prematurely. The hot water bottle tucked into my bed right now is a sign that I’ve learnt my lesson.

This week I have become a Lady Who Lunches. I’ve spent my time off still waiting for my security clearance (they must have found out about Mum’s communist background. Or perhaps googled me. Try it. I’m number one! I’m number one!). On Monday I went out to Petone because there is an abundance of clothing shops there for ladies who have an abundance to spare. All I ended up buying was a 1940s’ style turquoise short-sleeved blouse and an electric pink mesh hoodie though. Yes I know. And you’d probably hate it too, but I adore it so. Then I went to Martha‘s house and we had civilised conversations, coffee and her delicious, delicious ginger crunch.

On Tuesday I……. um… I must have done something. Oh yes, I went for a drive around the south coast to The Empire to see Katy. I spent a long time reading the paper and then Rolling Stone, and had a most pleasant time. On my way home I did the grocery shopping in Newtown, and purchased actual fruit and vegetables, which was very exciting. Then Bart and Karen came over to share in the bountiful flat dinner of kickass roast pork (one day I will master the art of getting crackling to actually work properly), apple sauce and all the goodness that many kinds of roast vegetables can deliver.

On Wednesday Smoo and I had hilarious hijinks trying to get Briar’s coffee machine to work, I spent a very long time making empanadas with lentils for Food Baby and I cleaned my room. Yesterday I went in to my new work to check out the offices, pick up a fuckload of reading material and decide when I want to start (Monday). Then I oggled ridiculously expensive clothes in the new Zebrano’s and went to Mummy’s house to set up her new laptop for her. I battled their weird modem (Telstra Clear drilled holes in their floor. Huh?) trying to get their new wireless router to play nicely with it, but I was hampered in my efforts by lack of another ethernet cable and also by the unbelievable amounts of mess piled around the computer. You know how some parents downsize their houses after their kids move out? Mummy and Daddy have just put in a new storage room under the house that’s apparently not for hiding Jews in, despite my best efforts, and they’re also planning on putting in an extension. I made “you’re overcapitalising and spending my inheritance!” type noises over lunch at the Ngaio Villas (So. Many. Children. Yelling. Oh. God. The. Pain) but she just laughed at me.

Then last night in the disgusting weather I made my carefully planned way to Kristen and Chrisana’s for Food Baby. They live in a pedestrian-only street in the middle of a big hill, and the only other time I’d been there, I’d walked up from the bottom when I was really drunk and’d had an awful day at work and was exhausted from the gym anyway and so I’d sat down halfway up and cried. This time I was cleverer and started at the top. I’ve been really dumb recently though and haven’t been to the gym in about two weeks, and my taking of St John’s has decreased in regularity as well, and I found myself feeling somewhat awkward again, and that makes me shitty with myself. I don’t know where my insecurities come from, there certainly isn’t any justification for it, as far as I can see. Bah, nevermind.

Today I am sobbing over Extreme Makeover: Home Edition as I dearly love to do, and tonight I will go out for drinks with the old workmates, no doubt. Well, maybe some doubt, but not very much of it. I’m currently gutted because I’ll be working during the Zombie March next Friday but maybe I’ll work my way up to go watch it, even if I can’t participate. Must. Eat. Brains. Now. Or go and make some tea to try and thaw out my fingers. Or maybe both.

EDIT: Oh, and apparently today is Catmas, therefore behold my four-legged hairy son’s tummy in all its glory:
cat belly

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In the summer in the city

September 26th, 2006 — 10:14am

On Thursday night I had my first summer ale and then yesterday I had my first swim of the summer. Around 1am. At Oriental Parade. In my panties. With my now ex workmates and Bart. It was awesome, and not very warm. Luckily the booze in me kept me warm.

Today, consequently, has been rather slow. I spent a couple of hours at Elements in Lyall Bay eating, drinking latte bowls and reading the paper very very slowly. Now there’s been Thai takeaway and Fred Prinze Jnr movies on the television. And my laptop that I picked up from the shop last weekend is STILL ticking and overheating, but I know that htey must have done something to it because now it says ‘Packard Bell’ on the screen the second time I turn it on. It’s an NEC though. And I say second time because the screen stays blank the first time, every time. Good times.

What else should I talk about? I can’t start my new job yet because my security clearence still hasn’t finished. This is a good thing though because it means I get to have a couple of days off first, wahoo! I can go buy some fancy schmancy clothes to match my fancy schmancy new offices down Lambton Quay way. I’m proud of myself for running around in my underwear last night. It makes me feel more prepared for New Year’s, and it also reminds me of the good times skinny-dipping in KateM’s dad’s pool with not a care in the world, or the olden days when I was regularly doing bad things with bad people when I’d get up and walk around the house butt naked and go read magazines in the lounge – if I knew Clayton was out, of course. Or open the curtains if morning sex was to be had, for the benefit of people in the office building across the road. Heh. My self esteem has been very weird lately, I had some total wigginsing on Thursday night, even though I knew at the time I was just being a dork. If only I’d never gone to that damn talk about Myspace!


Now it’s Sunday, and today would have been Oma and Opa’s 60th anniversay. To celebrate, we got together at my parents’ house and scattered their ashes together around a magnolia tree we planted. That sentence does nothing to describe the comedy of errors that the occasion actually was, with the unmowed lawn all wet and long, and the bugs biting me. The containers with the ashes in them didn’t want to come open for a long long time, until finally Cousin Andrea cleverly pointed out that there were latches on the bottom that could be open and the ashes shaken out. There is something a little bit strange about shaking out your grandparents like salt and pepper, passing the containers around so that everyone could have some time with each of them. But the tree – once we managed to get it staked – is really pretty, and I think it was a nice thing to do. Afterwards, we watched super8 home movies that my parents, my uncle and Oma had all shot in the seventies. The clothes were fabulous, and we were all such fucking cute kids (yes, I wasn’t alive in the seventies, but I whined enough that we got out some ’80s footage too). Mum and Aunt Diz were running around in bikinis and looked hot. My dad was in a floral speedo and despite his womanly hips he still had a good body too. Also, eww, did I just say that? The whole effect was a litle bit like watching many many L&P ads. Or perhaps looking at current fashions. Or super 8 footage played behind the Phoenix Foundation…

I also grabbed Deuchlandriser, which is a board game in which you travel around Germany, and also some large beer mugs. Germany is on October 14, the day after Dimmer, and I’m so very happy because Jessie may be at it. And also I’m very happy that I will finally get to see Dimmer. Assuming that it hasn’t sold out yet. Woo!

Oh, and one more thing that I wanted to talk about was how nice the goodbye speeches for me were, and how genuine they seemed. And also, the best part about them was that they were surprisingly similar to my answers in many job interviews lately about what others would say about me – my ridiculously large banks of trivia in my head, my dry wit and my social skills. If I hadn’t put my card in Bart’s backpack along with my purloined coffee cup (shoosh!), I’d put in actual quotes. But yes, very very good times were had. And everyone who left their computers on will be looking at my face when they get to work as their desktop image…

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Keg-legged

August 11th, 2006 — 8:34am

There’s a $351 amount on my credit card right now from spending ten minutes on the phone this morning and a half hour researching on Monday. Why do I tell you this? Well because a 50 litre keg of Mac’s Gold will be delivered to my house on Saturday, and I need you to come and help me drink it. And pay for it. I’m a little scared that no one is going to come to this Country Club, because after all, everyone hates America. I don’t know why though, I mean, America is like, awesome. So you should come on Saturday, because there will be fraternities and sororities (you should totally pledge to Gamma Gamma Gamma), and American food, and illegal hazing, and vodka shots, and beer beer beer. And maybe Showgirls and/or The Breakfast Club. It starts at 8pm. Like, awesome!

This week I am all about being aware of my body. Partly this is because I’m about to get my first period since like, April, and I’m crampy as fuck, especially in the o moment, and my boobs are insanely sore. Stupid fucking cold weather. In better in touch with my body news, I can feel my stomach muscles! Apparently there’s muscles in there. Who knew? I mean, obviously you can’t see them, and it’s not like the blubber’s going to stop jiggling any time soon, but I can feel something working when I do my sit-ups or leg lifts or remember to lean back when I’m doing lat pull-downs. I’m astonished. It’s a good feeling. And now I will shut up about this crap after I remind myself that I’m starting boxing tomorrow and I really need to get a fucking sports bra like six months ago. Stupid small boob-to-back ratio.

Things that I have done recently included having martinis with some of the fine people from the Wellingtonista. It was terribly civilised, proper and grown up. I also traded 101 Stories with Martha for something from Babylicious which is Aotearoa-made baby clothes. It was all very civilised and grown-up, which was lovely, but when I snuck out to join my cows and ex cows at the Poon I was like “Phew, now I can say ‘vagina’ again lots”, and two ladies sitting on the balcony gave me dirty looks as they left. Hah! We then tried to have dinner at Sweet Mother’s Kitchen but it was fuuuuuuuuuull so we ended up at Boulot, you know, just for a change, prompting much discussion about how weird it was to be there before midnight. The pizza was as always still good though, but there was something weird going on with me because I stopped drinking around 10pm and was almost falling out of my chair with tiredness by midnight. Very very unlike me. As a postscript, I had lunch at Sweet Mother’s yesterday and they have fish tacos. Heh heh heh. I had beef ones though that were rather tasty, and I think the place has a lot of potential.

Saturday meant a cocktail party for my workmate’s Hens’ Party, thankfully sans stripper. It was held at the house of one of my company directors, who happens to my workmate’s mother, and everyone had to bring a bottle that was assigned to them. I stepped up to the blender and made many fantastic concoctions, including my first ever mojitos, not in the blender. Maybe I should become a bartender when I grow up. Or perhaps a mixologist.

Before I went to the cocktail party, I spent a very enjoyable day sorting through my newer CDs to decide which ones I wanted to keep (not many of them), then eating a leisurely breakfast with the paper at Coco, and then browsing Real Groovy for hours as they figured out my trades. For $2.75 out of pocket I bought Funeral new on CD for Karen (to go with Birds as her birthday present, although after I bought Birds I realised I had to keep it for myself because it had a DVD and Karen doesn’t have a TV, but luckily I was furnished with another copy, thanks doll), and then on vinyl I bought Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights new, and Beth Orton’s Central Reservation which is curiously spread across two records, but is nice to listen to while doing the semi daily yoga-ish stretches and it doesn’t remind me of 2000 anymore which is super good, and The Dark Side of the Moon and one of the Tour of Duty soundtracks. I <3 the trade-in, although that was like 16 CDs worth. I guess you get what you pay for. Or what you don't, in this case.

On Sunday we went to Capitol for Karen's birthday dinner. The girl serving us wasn't as fantastic as the usual staff, but the food was still all very good and I was well happy with the Jim Barry shiraz that we had after a pretty bland Mt Nelson sav. It turned out that the witloof in the chorizo, almond and witloof salad was really really bitter. I didn't see that one coming! Because apparently I am an idiot.

Last night we had flat dinner, although the idea of sitting around the dining room table was nixed in favour of sitting around the lounge table on account of that being where the heater was at. I thought the weather had got all nice and mild, but man I was wrong wrong wrong. Then the boys went and got out Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and it was just as good second time around. Movies that have their characters arguing with each other about adverbs while trying to solve crime and accidently killing people make me hot.

Today at work I am doing more phone support for this website that I now work on quite a lot, which in a “the internet is too small” twist, this young lady does as well, except from the other end. I’m also writing lists of things that I need to do but can’t really be bothered doing, and I’m trying to stay away from TWOP forums so that I don’t get any spoilers on tonight’s episode of Rockstar: Supernova. You can tell that it’s okay to be into Rockstar because Russell Brown said so. Sort of. And on that note, it’s time for me to go and get back to work. Awesome. But I will see you on Saturday, right? RIGHT?

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Castlepoint

July 23rd, 2006 — 5:14am

On Friday night, it snowed in the suburbs of Wellington. It also snowed in my heart. Okay, so that’s actually total and utter bullshit, but I did have a really crappy night, because no one wanted to go out or stay out, and I was like all “oh, but this is the last time in forever that the normal group can go out” but it didn’t happen, so I ended up at the fucking Malthouse with Anji and her workfriends, and then Karen. I did manage to get away with only spending $6 on beer and a bit more on some chips though, so that was the only highlight. Oh, and I took the bus home and so was on the couch by 10.30pm. Bleh.

Part of my grump came from thinking about how grumpy the weather was and how I’d have to drive to Castlepoint the following day, and I so didn’t want to (*). But as it turned out, the weather was fucking gorgeous on Saturday. I picked up Chrisana at 11, and then went to Katy’s to get her and Puck and her flatmate Jacob. Trying to fit all them and all their things in my little bittle car was interesting. After we went to the supermarket and loaded up on SO MUCH food, we had to unpack everything and get the boys to play tetris to fit it all in. That’s what boys are for, after all.

I filled my petrol tank all the way up for the first time since I’ve owned the car and my head went boggle at the fact that it cost $56, when it used to be $35. Many jokes were made about the Hutt as we drove through it. CDs were sung along to by me, which was unfair since I’d told Katy she’d have to walk if she sang. But my car, my rules. Heh. I was imagining it’d be like an hour and a half to get there, like it sort of is to Martinborough, but oh no, it was a solid three hours, splashing through flooded roads on the way there and considering whether or not to stop the car to change a sign in the field with an explicit picture on it from ‘This is a life, not a choice’ to merely ‘this is a choice’. We eventually decided to do it on the way home instead.

I hadn’t been to Castlepoint since I was ummm 8ish, so I had no idea what to expect. As we headed out deeper and deeper into the countryside, our conversations became more and more focused on zombies, and survivalism. Castlepoint itself seemed like a tiny little place, and yet the hill we drove up to find our house reminded me of Churton Park, all new houses that seemed unoccupied. The place Katy had rented for us, Magic Thymes, was lovely though, in a very early nineties split-level kind of way. I grabbed myself a room and set off to laugh at and disobey the signs in the toilets that stated “if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down” and “if it’s pee, let it be, if it’s poo, flush the loo”.

Since everyone had been drinking in the car except for me, of course, since I was dridving, I quickly cracked open the cask of red, and we sat on the balcony, looking at the water tanks and the empty lot beneath us and out to the sea. Everyone decided to go for a walk, and I was tempted, but I decided to volunteer to stay behind to get eaten by the zombies first wait for Ash & the other carload to show up. There are worse places to be than on a balconey in the sun with wine, cashews, JPod and Black Holes and Revelations blasting out of the stereo down the right-of-way. After about half an hour or so I saw Ash’s car driving up the hill and going to wrong way just as we had done, so I stood up and windmilled for all I was worth, until eventually they saw me and I could give them strange pointy directions as to where they were supposed to be going. Ash drives the same kind of car as me, except hers is dark green. She parked it next to mine and we left them alone to make babies together. She thinks mine is the female car, because it’s white, but I know that hers is the female because it has a rack. Hehe, I am so hilarious.

Since I had done my duty and guided in Ash, Jo, Helen and Kartini, I was free to take my iPod, and roll up my trousers and trot up the little hill behind the house to take in this view:

Bloody gorgeous it was too. I followed a very very muddy little track around for five minutes and found a bench to sit on and listened to ‘In the backseat’ and had a wee little cry at the beauty of it all and also my remaining grr from the night before. Then I laughed at what I thought was Puck and Chrisana and Jacob scaling the top of the tallest peak because it was a long way up. It wasn’t the warmest of days ever, but I still wanted to get down to the beach. The only access looked to be a long way away though, and I wasn’t keen to scramble down the hill in the mud, strangely enough, although the two glasses of wine I’d had made for some serious giggling every time I slipped, so I went back to the house where we assembled a feast. A FEAST.

It seemed like everyone had brought along their favourite snack bits, and Katy is even more of an over-the-top entertainer than I am, so she’d bought six kinds of hummus (to be fair, she was staying two nights to our one). Platters of goodness were assembled, and Peaches CDs and various iPods were played. Have you tried peanut butter pretzels before? Holy crap they are awesome. So is wine. So is good company that just sits around talking and eating and drinking. That’s pretty much my idea of perfection right there. The boys started the fire, because that is what they needed to do to feel manly, and we drank some more. Eventually we split into four teams to play Scrabble. Katy and I won, despite the hardcoreness of some of the players. Me, I’m more along the lines of “well, if you can define it, I’ll let you make up words”. Not that I’m too easy-going or anything, honest. Puck and Ash pulled Who wants to be a millionaire? and Trivial Pursuit off their respective cellphones and we freestyled competition, although I tried to make everyone buzz in. You know who else liked their trivia under control? Yeah that’s right, the NAZIS. There was no 021 coverage at the house, so 8/9 people were cellphoneless. I don’t wear a watch, so with no need to keep my cellie around, I had no idea what the time was ever. We found Grease in the house’s collection of videos so we put that on and had a lengthy singalong.

Eventually everyone was outside smoking and looking at the thyme bushes around the door and checking up on the cars’ humping progress (they acted all coy when we were around), and I was like OMG HOLY SHIT look at the sky, and made people turn off the outside light, and it was just amazing, stars EVERYWHERE, so bright, and the Milkway arched overhead, and being (just a little bit, honest) drunk, I was like “wow, it’s like the Dukes of Leisure are playing and we’re at the star dome!” and I climbed up to look out at the back harbour again (*). More drinking was done. Gorgeous cake was eaten. Good times were had. More walks were taken in the mud, this time with handy cellphone flashlights. Good times.

In the morning, I didn’t feel quite so flash. In fact, once I finally managed to get a bathroom, I was sick for quite a while. Of course, I should have been happy that I wasn’t eaten by zombies, after a lengthy discussion had concluded that my being a virgin (ish) wasn’t going to save me. But instead I sat on the floor to put my clothes back on after my shower and considered crawling downstairs but settled for sunglasses and a duvet instead. I took my coffee and sat out on the deck and thought “wow, this looks just like an XP screen” and died a little more inside. It’s not my fault! I was raised in Tokyo, dammit! But while I lazed around on the couch drinking hot chocolate listening to Ryan Adams and Patti Smith, Ash and Jo went off to the carnie store for toilet paper and cooking oil, and most of the rest of the girls bustled around doing the dishes and cooking breakfast. Once again, the food array was dazzling, and heavily seasoned with magic thyme. We had mushrooms and potatoes and toast and avocado and bacon and kransky sausages and everyone else also had crumpets and salmon and eggs. After that I felt much much better. More lazying around was done until finally at 2.30 I was in a state to drive again, just as the second night’s shift showed up (*), so we scarped off so we wouldn’t have to do the dishes. Muhahaha. We chased Ash for a good while, until she went the wrong way, and then we got in the lead. They caught us up in Featherston when we stopped for a pee break, but since they were all about antiques and gelati, we won. And I made it home in time for The Gilmore Girls. Yay! Countryside is good. I like it a lot. I wanted to stay forever.

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Jamaican me crazy

July 15th, 2006 — 5:03am

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:
we are fucking awesome.

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!

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Birthed

June 21st, 2006 — 2:38am

While obviously every birthday weekend that is not spent with needles in your arms and lumps the size of testicles growing on your labia can be classed as a success, this one was particularly good. I didn’t go to a tremendous amount of effort in order to organise a party and have almost no one turn up because it was in Ngaio and I didn’t really have many friends anyway, I didn’t lose one of my closest friends because his friend told him what I’d been saying about his (now ex, yay) girlfriend, I didn’t get locked in a toilet at a Turkish restaurant, I’m not still hungover from my 21st or feeling happy for the first time in over a month either. All in all, I think I’m rather on top of things.

Last Friday I was about to get very frustrated and angry again, but some textage to Bart saw him come in as my wingman, and that was fucking awesome (*), and I ended up having a fantastic night, with $2 Speights drunk very very quickly first at the Establishment, then Red Square where I was able to prove that it wasn’t just that I was being a bitch about something, that it actually was a problem, and then to Boulot for pizza, and by that stage there were about ten of us around a table designed for six, and the boys were piling up the glasses and oh, we were just there for a long time. Then we went to The Tasting Room, and Smoo joined us, and when a couple of the boys started hitting on a taller-than-me-even blonde girl, I said, in a fit of awesome Girl Power-ness “You do realise that she’s a guy, right?” and they were like “how do you know? ” and I was like “girls just know these things. Besides, she’s totally got an Adam’s Apple”. Of course, she totally didn’t. But I felt like stirring. And naturally, I wasn’t the only one who felt things. Heh. *. But around 2am D had been kicked out for appearing to sleep on the table, and Shiny had disappeared to get food or something, and Bart and Smoo were hanging out to watch the soccer at 3am so I decided to go home so as to not be too hungover on my birthday.

On the Saturday itself, Daddy picked me up and we went for a family brunch at Capitol. I love Capitol, and so you can go and suck a fuck, Karl Du Fresne. Coffees and potato&mushroom cakes served with rocket and bacon, and bubbles and coffee and truffles and florentines = a very happy giggly stupid McLeod family. Daddy said something very obvious to me that I can now no longer recall, and I replied “Yes, nor am I an artichoke”, and that has been somewhat of a catchcry lately. I went home for nappage and bubbly, and then my old workmate Anita came over for a drink. After that Bart and I jumped on a bus to meet up with everyone at Cafe Istanbul, and by everyone I mean Lisa Fur, and Lisa B, and Katy and Kartini & Mike, and Anji and Karen. A bottle of Brown Brothers Everton, walnut bread and three kinds of meat for dinner put me in a jolly good mood. Kristen showed up, and we walked up to pick up Chrisana from her work, and then we went to Happy to see the Real Hot Bitches dance. Even though my throat was sore and coughy, I yelled myself hoarse at the awesomeness of their music and outfits and moves. I love that they’re all ages and sizes and that they prove that there is not a single person in the whole world who could ever look good in a leopard g-string leotard, and yet they all looked great. Yeah. And then there were more drinks at Good Luck, and then it was hometime.

I would put in a paragraph here about the awesome presents that I have received (Lisa gave me The Wall and Quadrophonia on vinyl, Jessie sent me the Bic Runga vinyl, Heather offered me a subscription to a healthy eating magazine, Karen gave me a POP UP PIRATE BOOK, Anji gave me an assortment of goodies including stripey socks and a knife, as did my parents), but while all of that stuff is truly awesome and well-received, I think what I appreciated most was the fact that people made efforts to be with me, or get in contact with me, and that they bought me things that they knew I’d love because they know me, and like, excuse me while I get all soppy, the fact that I got to be surrounded by the people I care about, who give me every impression that they care about me too, well that’s the best thing of all – people caring about me show that I am a person worthy of being cared about. Unless they’re all fucking stupid. But I don’t think that’s the case.

On Sunday, Mummy came and picked me up and we had coffee and planned out Daddy’s Animal Farm party which is next weekend. We bought much liquor for cocktails, and much foodage, and some more liquor and some more foodage. Good times. And then in the evening I went to a private screening of Labyrinth at the Paramount, which was grand, and was coupled with much gigglage by everyone every time the bulge was on screen. Awesome.

This week I have been coughing up first dry lungs and now wet ones. I took Monday off work, and yesterday morning and this morning. I also discovered that due to the selection of a new staff member, just like I can now say that I’ve seen a workmate naked (due to an accident at the gym), I can now say that I’ve had sex with a cow-orker. Even if I haven’t talked to him in the past two and a half years at all. If we were still friends, this would make faxing him pictures of monkeys much easier(*).

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