Hubris.co.nz

The story behind this? I am too fat to play Wii Fit, apparently. Even though I’ve totally played it before. Whatever, cunt, fine, I’ll lean on a chair , fuckhole

When I was having sex with you, sex with you was all that mattered. And by that I mean it was this terrible, terrible thing to do, and by contrast any other thought or action or feeling I had no longer seemed to exist. It wasn’t “girl who fucks drunk to cover all her insecurities”, it was YOU ARE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE’S HUSBAND. It wasn’t a “Is this the best you can go for or are you selling yourself short?” – it was a I MUST HAVE HIM HERE AND NOW AND EVERYWHERE AGAIN AND AGAIN and the really awesome thing about those capital letters is that I felt that you were feeling the same way about me.There was one comment, about how you’d trimmed your pubic hair and had I noticed, that made me feel like I’d done something wrong in having hairiness, and an untamed vaginal bush, but at least that was centred on one area. I’m a fat girl, I hate everything about myself. But the side effect of fucking you,which I never expected, was that I would hate myself so totally and utterly, and therefore that I would forget to hate myself piece by piece and just hate thewhole idea of me. And yes, my counsellor was all “you can’t changethe past but you can try to move past it, so maybe I forgive me for what I did, and I look forward to the futture. But really, why would this have to happen in the months when my fingers are down my throat most of the time already?

Stupid like community and shit.

I’ve got a week’s sick leave, so tomorrow, I’m off to a bach I’ve booked for myself in Otaki. It looks fabulous. Two nights by myself to read and write and home-spa. And the time off over Easter has been grand so far. There has been cleaning, and chilling, and millions of episodes of Nevermind the Buzzcocks. I’m very excited about my wedding to Noel Fielding. I just worry though that my hair won’t look nearly as pretty as his.

I saw the doctor last week, or the week before. He was new to me, and I won’t be going to see him again. He wrote down that I was very insightful about my depression, and I was like “well yes, this is not the first time that this has happened” and he was like “I won’t mention you’re overweight” and then made me get on the scales. Huh? I mean yes, we all know that being healthy helps with your mental age. But then he went on to suggest that maybe I have poor body image and that’s why I’m depressed. Thanks buddy, I’m so glad that you were able to make an assessment like that after five minutes. Of course that’s it! Cured now! But he gave me my increased prescription and waved away my concerns about getting nauseous from the increased dosage. Of course, I spent the next couple of days wanting to throw up. Now I take my pills last thing before I go to bed, to try and cut back on the tiredness that they give as well.

But yes, they’re working. I’m functioning again. My site launched at work, and it seems to be going pretty well. Our washing machine is still broken, but now I have Bambi’s microwave to save having to get mine fixed. The house is clean and tidy and ready for a flat inspection tomorrow. I have new projects on the go (shoosh, don’t tell my counsellor because I promised her I’d wait to start them), and many many places and things crying out for me to spend my money on them. So I think I will instead buy a new vibrator. That’s more important than paying off the IRD or Land Transport, right? Although that reminds me that I need to renew my Bust subscription and buy one for Kat. Hmmm, I think perhaps I should stop spending so much time with the Wellingtonista. They are expensive friends to have. Even if they do give good footrubs.

So yes, that’s my updates. So looking forward to two nights completely and utterly by myself. I’ll be taking my cellphone but I’ll turn it off. I’m aiming to do a lot of writing, but even if I don’t, I’ll do a lot of reading, and chilling and chillaxing, and that’s what’s most important. Wahoo! See youse later.

In the time that I’ve written lately, IK really should have given some shoutouts to Harvestbird because a couple of Saturdays ago, Lisa and I spent some awesome time in her company.

Oh yes, that’s right, did you enjoy that link? Cos it’s going to get more linky. So linky. Like when I talk about how we went to Bic Runga and it was so much more awesome than Alan’s experience, like Lisa’s photos will no doubt show you. Highlights include Bic stopping to point at a man peeing in the bushes. SO AWESOME! SO Intimate. We got seats RIGHT AT THE FRONT and enjoyed them mightily until some fuckwits came and sat in front of us drunkenly and talked and talked and oh man, I wanted to bottle those fucks. In fact, the ten dollar venison burger was plenty tasty but didn’t fill me up so I could have eaten those dumb fucks. Oh yes. But, as I said to Alan tonight, I wanted to retract all the things I said about kids befre, cos they were so much more awesome than the stupid fucking drunken grownu dicks. Oh, and I must give mad props to the girls (ummmm Georgie and Lindsay?) who came up to me and asked if I was Jo, Jo Hubris, and said that they loved my website, and made no mention of my blog or of Next (unlike the cleaner at work, and the woman behind the counter at the gym). Hurrah!

That was Saturday. Friday night was the gorgeous Peti’s 30th at the Southern Cross, and that was much much fun. D&D were actually rather drunk, as was Miss Fur, who was somewhat of a sad panda, and while I would hope that I’d never take advantage of that, I totally took advantage to stroke her hair and cuddle her like woah. Perhaps the boys were drawing off me in their insanely handsiness – apparently my Mary-Kate and Ashley locket is a total magnet. And yes, I will take some responsibility for like, the total hottness of my boobies, but like, woah. WOAH. Heh.

Which brings us to Sunday, which was officially (by me) declared to be Jo Day. This meant an hour and a half brunch at the local cafe with the puke-filled paper (OH MY HOLY FUCKING GOD I HAVE so MANY THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THE POLICE RAPE THINGS), and then a swim at Lyall Bay in which the waves were over my head and there was so much sewaweed it ended up in my togs when I was showering, but the insane dunkings were kind of fun. And then I saw Ash in the supermarket so she came over for a beer in the sun, anad we talked about oh, you know, being crazy. I’d hoped to have a BBQ but of course that didn’t work out, so I fought off the associated “OMG EVERYONE HATES YOU” feelings in favour of a “wow, it’s entirely possible that one day someone will die from food poisoning as a consequence of you, but meh” feeling.

Monday was very very meh, and pretty much the only highlight was my parcel from torrid.com, that included patent wedges with 4.5 inch heels that are SO FUCKING HOT all capital letters-esque, but you know,the practicality of actually walking and existing in them had me trying on many outfits (well, okay, two) for Lani and Smoo’s thoughts. Naturally we ignored what Smoo had to say, because he’s a boy, so of course he’s going to go for the red dress. Which meant of course that tonight found me wearing my brand new purty suit, for which I spent much of the evening giggling and chuckling at my pretense of actually being grown up and professional and all. Of course, that’s frequently like totally not true, although I did do a fuckload of work today, despite spending two hours stuffing envelopes. Apparently if we get another 300 people on our mailing list, we get to outsource the job, so are you keen?

But yes, so I went to the Paramount for Webstock Mini all dressed up and pretending to be a grown-up. I was of course there to support Sue and to support Martha, but I was also interested in what the speakers would have to say. Naturally I found myself giggling like a norty school girl in the back row, with other Wellingtonistas, but I felt I redeemed myself when someone (actually a sort-of client) was trying to introduce me to Skank, and I was like “oh yes, I used to know her” and he as was all “but she’s here tonight, you should meet her!” and I was like, wow, what’s the best way to put the emphasis on Iused to that would make it clear that I kind of wish I was 8 so I could scratch out her eyes. Do eight-year-olds do that sort of thing? Well, I suppose they don’t go to jail for it anyways. But blah blah. I’m pretty over people who are all “yes, we met before, I was there when you went swimming, remember?” because clearly I DON’T remembver, as well. I cheered loudly for Martha when she spoke, and when they asked if anyone else wanted to get up and talk about how the internet had changed their life, I knew exactly how I’d start, and it’d go a littl elike this: “Recently I got an email from a Canadian. this isn’t that unusual on the interweb, of course, but the fact that he told me that I was the reason that he stareed taking his bi polar medicine is pretty fucking special”. And the speech would go on to talk about the online community, and how in many ways you get the same giggling cliques (ie: the Wellingtonista giggling before Martha spoke), because of the bigger numbers even the most outside of the outsiders could find a place. Yeah!

But instead of saying that, I just talked to Martha & Glen and Sue, until they left and I still had a glass of wine in my hand, so I ended up going to Sweet Mother’s Kitchen for dinner with some people I knew and some I didn’t. we of course couldn’t get a table straight away, so I was drinking margaritas in an alleyway with the postboxes, and when we could sit I talked to our sort of client – or are we their sort of client? – about how their presentation was hilarious because their page of doodles included a couple of doodles of jizzing cocks, and umm, hi, inappropriate, but HILARIOUS. and it’s okay cos two of the Comms team are married, so they explained it to us. I had fish tacoes but I think almost no one got the “heh heh heh” of the title, and I got bored whilst eating and someone else finished it off for me. And then at the end I had another margarita and things were cool and fun, and I was talking ot a handful of people, but then the boy that I fucked a couple of weeks ago was all “so is your insulin level the way it is cos you’re fat?” and I was like “What the FUCK?” and got really angry, and stated loudly for the record and also for me that umm hi, my insulin levels are actually really fucking awesome (I have been tested many times and do not have diabetes), as is my cholestrol and my everything, except for, you know, my blood pressure in December. And that just made me so rarked up, like, oh, so the whole time that you were fucking me and I was feeling good cos I thought I was all like, good times and confident and awesome, you were all “wow. your. diabetes. is. like. amputatative. And. I would. like. to fuck. your stump. hole. ” and he wouldn’t step away from it, and I got so angry, because yes, I’m fat (okay, you didn’t notice?) but hi, I go to the gym at least three times a week, I go swimming at least three times a week, excetera, excetera, there are so many ways to be in which you can be worse than mine, and I always thought that my fucked-up part was my mental health, not my physical, so I left with the whole “Okay bye, nice to meet you”, “nice to meet you”, “nice to meet you” “wow, you’re a fucking cunt and I thought you were actually a nice guy” goodbyes and laughed at the “ooooh”s. So I took a 14, and got moody, and ended up crying at the foot of Smoo’s bed (or mattress) while he sat there not entirely knowing what to do but offering sound logic instead of hugs instead. Poor Smoo. It was just about the how things that make you feel good about yourself can sometimes backfire, and that’s dumb, and boo. And also, one of the guys tonight who did his two minute talk about how the interweb changed his life had talked about literal life-saving in the Balklands, and that’d made me want to cry at the time. Like, for serious,yes. Blah blah. Waaaaaaaaay too tired to write more now.

Edit: this morning my breasts are totally glassy, so ooooooooooh, I’m premenstrual! Aha! It all makes sense now.

I’ve been on a big Bic Runga kick this week. This is because I got Drive from the Smoke CDs sale for NZMM to replace my copy which Horrible Gay Jonny stole, and because it was the place in the fortnightly timetable where I have to upload the magazine which means literal hours of copying, pasting and deleting carriage returns at the end of every single line, and Birds goes so well with that (although of course being the album of last year it goes well with everything, especially lying on my bed staring at fairy lights and going “holy fuck, this album is unbelievable”). Then there was the very brief “OMG SQUEE, Bic Runga wants to be my myspace friend! She obviously didn’t think I was too much of a dick about her tights then!“, before I realised that it was of course Jessie. And then through her myspace page I saw the video for ‘Say after me’ and it’s a thing of beauty, and more importantly, I realised that parts of my hair are now the same colour as Bic’s, from Karen putting in blue black streaks very hesitantly for me on Tuesday, although I assured her that it’s impossible to fuck up my hair because it always looks awesome, assuming it’s clean and combed anyway. And to finish up with my Bic Runga links, it’s my birthday in two weeks and one day, so if you’d like to order me the vinyl, that’d be fucking awesome. And finally finally, how was the Brighton gig? As beautiful as you expected, or a severe let-down?

To contrast totally and utterly with the wonderfulness of Bic, on Monday I took Miss Lisa Fur and Anji and Karen and Bart to what is quite possibly the worst movie ever made in the entire history of the world – Poseidon. I hate people who talk in movies and at gigs and everything, but seriously, I’d had a half-bottle of wine very quickly before the movie, and it was just so fucking atrocious that I had to whisper stupid things in Lisa’s ear the whole way through, when I wasn’t falling out of my chair laughing, that is. Everyone should go see it. It’s like, totally awesome. And it cost $160 million. Puuuuuuuke. The next day when Karen came over to watch Serenity again and dye my hair, we commented that Joss Whedon managed to put more character development in the first five minutes of that movie than Poseidon had achieved in its entire length and the subsequent thousand sequels, if you know, they actually made them, which God willing they never will. And then I cried a little on the inside thinking of how many more adventures Captain Mal could have had if Joss had been given that $160 million instead (answer: at least three more), and then I died a little on the inside when I realised I was starting to think about what Poseidon would have been like if Joss had written the script. And now I realise that I am a total geek. Cos I’ve never had that revelation before, of course…

Today Heather is squeeing at me because I sent her flowers for her birthday, and she’s also quoting the text messages I sent her last Friday, which is making me laugh out loud so much I had to tell the girl I sit with. Stupid gaxy boys indeed.

I had a hot chocolate at Shoc yesterday when I caught up with my lovely Hubrette Frances, who is ex work, and oh boy, I must squee about that. It was pretty much pure melted dark chocolate with cardomon, and was like omgwtfpolarbear amazing. Sure, it cost $5, but my mouth hasn’t had so much pleasure in quite a while.

What else do I have to tell you? Oh, I remember now. You know that I didn’t join the gym with the active goal of losing weight because I didn’t want to get to a point where I was freaking out about not losing grams or whatever, well after I had that big “you’re shrinking!” speech from one of the trainers, I went in on Tuesday and got weighed, and I’ve actually put on seven kilos since I started in November. Cue the “it’s muscle!” speech, but meh, just as well my reason for exercising – keeping my mental health in better condition and sleeping better – have proved to be such total successes. But she measured me up all over, and so now when I go back in six weeks time for another go, I’ll be all like “holy fuck, I put on another 20 kilos of solid muscle and my buttocks are 2cm smaller”. Radsville. Exercise is funny. My pants are falling down, and I’m presuming that’s a good thing.

Anji reminded me last night when I was at her house for dinner about how my pants have also totally fallen down at Boulot, but like, not in the way you’re probably imagining, unless I already wrote about this, but rather because the bit in the button in between the two holes split, so off came the button and down came the pants when I stood up to go to the bathroom. Luckily I was wearing a skirt over the top, and was able to just discreetlyish kick the puddle of pant under the table. She made me and her friend Delwin vegetable lasagne and boysenberry apple crumble. Yum. My belly was about to pop. Her house is pretty, but I still think I like mine better because I have a dining room. And couches. Mmmm couches. Speaking of which, I haven’t cleaned the house properly in like, a couple of weeks. But don’t you worry, by the time 8pm tomorrow rolls around bringing it with Japan at the Country Club, it will be all shiny again. Honest. I spent ages at A-Mart yesterday picking up all kinds of wacky Japanese snackies. When I was rereading Number 9 Dream which is set in Tokyo, I found myself actually missing the city, rather than wanting to throw up at the thought of it. Perhaps this is what growing up means. That and I can laugh at the profile of this guy on Myspace on whom I used to have a massive crush on, but who was (of course!) part of the people who made 7th grade a living hell for me. Ha ha. Sucks to be him. Rocks to be me on a sunny day like today with my skin smelling all clean and good, and my boots currently rocking my universe.

My daily dialogue – both aloud and in my head – is currently peppered with the phrase “suck a fuck, you ass hat”. It’s great. It makes everything seem better when you can call the people who wrong you (rightly or wrongly) an ass hat.

You’re sitting in my favourite seat on the bus? Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

Or:

Oh, so you decided to stop reply to text messages because you’re seeing someone now, and you thought hey, passive rejection of someone who’s been passive-aggressively pursuing you is awesome? Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

Or:

You’ve got a new job which means there’ll be even fewer people to hang out with here? Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

Or:

My new boots are going to take a couple of weeks to come into stock? Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

Or:

It’s been three weeks now and what, I don’t deserve it? I know you got my last email, I typed the address on it perfect. Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

Or:

You drank my gingerbeer? Suck a fuck, you ass hat.

In the last case, I should take it back, because I later found my gingerbeer further back in the fridge. And of course, the awesome almighty power of the phrase, much like that of the panda dance, should only be used for good, not evil, and it mustn’t be abused.

Discoveries of the past week have included that fact that gravy on fries is super super tasty after all, and that Tiffany was Canadian. Apparently. We played Headbands at Canadia, and I was like “Okay, so I’m Canadian, I’m not a musician, I’m not an actor, I’m not a politician, I’m not a sportsperson and I’m not really a comedian, what the hell am I famous for then?” and then I laughed and realised who I was and laughed heartily. We didn’t watch a movie because the store didn’t have Southpark. Instead we just ate pancakes that took me an hour and a half to make because it was a quadruple batch, and a quadruple batch of chocolate mousse, and poutine(ish). Mmm poutineish. I have to say though, that I am still constantly surprised and disappointed by people who don’t tell me that they’re not coming. I mean, it takes 30 seconds to send a text message, and it’s free, so I don’t get what their excuse could be. Unless it’s me sending back nasty replies, but I don’t do that. Much.

The Phoenix Foundation were awesome later that night, but my belly was so full of Canada still that I couldn’t dance to the Mysterious Tapeman, and then my feet were screaming in agony leftover from the pancake-making, and I just wanted the gig to end. Luke Buda at Caberet on Sunday night was lovely and sitting down though, along with a $45 banquet from Chow. I took Mummy and Daddy along, as well as Lisa of course, and they enjoyed themselves thoroughly, which is grand.

What are my other things that I’ve been up to this week? I cried and cried and cried watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition because it was a really political episode (yeah I know, random huh?) so along with the usual chick crack thing, I was crying for soldiers who aren’t Jessica Lynch and who therefore don’t get all the attention and cash-in, and I was crying about social injustice and I was crying cos the kid was so very fat,and how the hell does a kid get to be that fat? I mean, I was overweight, but I ate nutritiously at least. It wasn’t until we moved to Japan that I really porked up, and that was me making my own choices (“hey, at least food will be my friend…”). That kid was like six. Oh well. I prefer my chick crack to be much simpler and less of the making me think variety please.

Haha, did I really just write a paragraph about Extreme Makeover: Home Edition that didn’t also include the sentence “I’m due for my period soon so…”? I guess I did. Who knows where my period has gone. I’m pretty sure I’ll be giving birth to the anti-Christ any day now. That might explain why I’ve spent so much time on Myspace recently, including starting a group for the Country Club which you should totally join.

Right now I am full of lunchtime yum char with workmates, which was surprisingly more yum than I had been expecting, and full of plans to move tonight’s drinks from Ponderosa to Red Square, using the excuse of the weather but primarily because I always have a bad night if I go to Ponderosa, so frankly it can suck a fuck. And that brings us around in a nice circle, so I might sign off from this entry.

For Kate (Kate, do you have another name? There’s already too many damn Kates!) and Noizy and Llew, and for me, since this is all rattling around in my head right about now.

Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. Which (if any) have you broken? Give examples.

Lust:
The example that first springs to mind when I hear this word could probably very well also fall under ‘wrath’, given the history involved, and how in that stall in the men’s room in a skanky goth bar I used to go out with the guy who was there with me, and also how I’d also fucked his wife who was banging on the door, so maybe I should wind the tape back to about four years before that, when I’d only pashed two boys, and I went to the movies for the first time with the gentleman in question. Just sitting next to him, our arms touching was so unbelieveably arousing that when I went to the bathroom and wiped, I was so wet that my hand slipped and I nearly punched the back of the toilet bowl. That was very unexpected for the girl that I was then.

I think it can sometimes also be hard to seperate lust from all the other things going on in my life, like needing other people’s approval to feel good about myself, or drinking too much, or needing to feel alive to combat antidepressants, or confusing love with sex, or having an overly developed sense of irony, or whatever. I suppose another example that would be appropriate here would be the first time that I hooked up with my stupid flatmate Ben III, and the following weeks. He wasn’t my type of guy – I mean, when I say he was stupid, he was stupid, but one night, he just smelt really really manly (read: sweaty) and the pheremonal connection was like “badoinga!”

On a slightly less disturbing note (I think), the character of Evan on The Secret Life of Us is so exactly my type that it hurts to watch the show cos I want to jump his bones so much.

Right now my head is full of pretty much nothing but lust. I haven’t had sex in a very very long time. Y’all didn’t think that I got OOS from working at a soul-destroying job with a really really bad computer set-up did you? Oh wait…

Gluttony:
This one is probably most apparent to everyone as something I have a problem with. The question then becomes “why is it a problem?” Quite frankly, I can’t imagine anything worse than being the type of person who would become obsessed with denying themselves the pleasures of food. To not know the joy of wine and cheese (CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE!), or fillet steak, or fresh baked bread with butter, or even dhal with fresh coriander on top or avocado on soy & linseed bread is just freaky. I use the last two as examples of how food can be goooood and good for you at the same time, but I suppose gluttony comes mostly in the form of ‘bad’ food. The thing is though, if you’re going to eat the ‘bad’ food anyway, then why hate yourself for it? Why not enjoy it? I would like to stop mentally beating myself up for it. I have accepted the fact that I am never going to be thin – I was born huge, for starters – so I would like to enjoy my life. At the same time, partly because I so often don’t enjoy my life, I’m more than a little nihilistic – like, if I’m going to get hit by another bout of crippling depression and decide that this time I can’t get through it, then why should I have skipped the cake? And please don’t start in on the whole “but exercise and healthy food can make you happier” crap, because I know that. That’s why I went vegan, and that was great for a while, although half of my enjoyment of that was a big “Fuck you, dairy and meat! I don’t need you anyways!” defiance that wore off. There’s so much cognitive dissonance going on in my head at all times that I could easily present a seminar on it in relation to the LTSA ads. Oh wait, I did that already…

And of course, gluttony doesn’t just apply to food, cos there’s drinking too. I like to drink. I will probably drink more than you will if we go out together. I like the taste of the things that I drink. I like the social aspect of it. I also like the feeling of confidence it gives me, which is not even about the wine anymore, it’s about me. If one bottle is good, two bottles is better. And while I have a few friends who don’t drink, and some friends who aren’t very in to food, I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable around them if I was eating or drinking, because while I get it in my head, at heart I don’t understand why they’re not indulging in the pleasures.

Sloth:
Have you seen my couches? It took me a long time to find ones as big and comfortable as they are. I am happiest when I am lying down fully stretched out. I hope that when I am lying down on my couch I am in my pyjamas, and that it’s cold so I can have a duvet to snuggle under. I have no idea how people find enjoyment in tramping, or running. A leisurely walk in nice weather with an iPod and comfortable clothing might be okay, but I have bung-ass knees due to the gluttony section, and flat feet so long periods of walking are no fun. I like dancing, if the music and environment is right, but mostly if I go out I want comfy couches to sit on. Part of my perfect week off plan would involve a day spent watching many episodes of a favourite show on DVD. I <3 the Sloth. I feel no cognitive dissonance about it at all.

Wrath:
I’m a pretty angry person. I’d like not to be, but I’m really really not good at letting things go. Now, I’ve just been to look up the word, to try and figure out if being full of wrath makes you actually do things, because my only reference point here is 7ven, and I haven’t killed Kevin Spacey any time recently. Mostly my wrath consists of me not getting over things, and steaming about them for years and years. I have strict moral codes of things like the Two Year Rule, and if people break them, I get really really angry. I think more people should just suck it up and be miserable instead of hurting people. I am very very angry about people who hurt me and get to have their happy endings, because where the fuck is the justice in that?

Envy:
I am extremely guilty of envy. I envy people with pretty shiny possessions like houses, and DVD hard drives, and then I envy people without few possessions, who can pack up their lives in a matter of minutes. Mostly when I envy people I try to belittle them in some way – the phrase “skinny bitch” comes out of my mouth an awful lot, or when I see couples making out in public I’ll be like “get a room” when I am really thinking “I wish that was me”. I am envious of anyone who gets to hear someone tell them that they love them. I am envious of my friends who are having successful careers in areas that I want to work in. I am envious of people whose webpages get more hits than mine when they’re not even fucking real, Natalie. I am envious of people that I look down on for appearing to be happy with who they are. I am envious of people who seem to have taken the blue pill if we were going to go all Matrix comparison-y – is the blue pill the ignorance one? Well that’s the one I want. In a way, and this is disgusting to admit, I am envious of people with real identifiable trauma in their lives, and that’s something I spent a long time on when I was in counselling. I would like to be able to say “the reason that I am like this is because ___ happened”, and have it be all nice and easy like that. And if you think that I actually think that other people have lives that are all nice and easy, then you’re a dumbass. I’m well aware that the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s just that it’s often very hard to see what people would be envy about me.

Pride:
Hello, have you looked up the definition of ‘Hubris’ lately? This links in to the wondering what people would envy me for. Being well-educated, raised upper-middle class and given the opportunity to travel the world before I was ten and having parents I can rely on to back me up? Sure, that’s lucky, but I don’t know if it’s something that I can take pride in, because it’s not something that I’ve achieved – unless we go “yay little sperm, nice work on hitting that egg”. I would like to take pride in overcoming depression, having friends, being a good writer, but it just seems like those are all things that come naturally, or are things that I have no alternative but to achieve, so that seems dumb. But yes, I am condescending. I am snobby. I can cook well, and sometimes am capable of carrying out a good stimulating conversation. I used to take pride in giving really great head, but since the throwing up on someone’s cock whoopsie, my confidence in that area has been shattered. I would like to think that Hubris the site is really interesting, and I’m proud of that, but it’s not like I’ve got a book deal or anything. So meh. Perhaps pride is my least sinny of the sins. Rock on.

I’m not going to tag anyone – when you presume that people want to do things, you make a press out of you and me! – but please feel free to riff off your own if you like.

EDIT: whoops, I forgot
Greed:
I think this is pretty much covered by all the other ones, isn’t it? I’ll just go with the Hole quote to sum this one up, cos I’ve already wasted too much time: “I want to be the girl with the most cake”. Chur. But actually no, let me change that to say that I’m well happy to pay as much tax as I do, because I want to live in a world where the people who aren’t as well off as I am can still have things like oh you know, housing and healthcare and education…

We got back the videos of our seminars today (I got an A) so I’ve been watching that tonight. Bopa and Emma say it’s real good, and I’ve even heard Emma reiterating stuff I said down the phone to her friend, but my mind’s so not there. In between thinking that I gesture too much, and watching the pen slowly slip out of my hair, increasing my hair-pushing-back gestures, I’ve been thinking “fuck, no wonder no one’s shagging me” thoughts. There’s nothing like watching yourself on TV for confrontational thoughts. It leaves me contemplating how sometimes I think that maybe I should just become morbidly obese and give up all hope of anyone ever fancying me, but then watching myself on TV I feel like I’m already there. And I hate this, because this generally isn’t me – I don’t tend to talk weight very much in my journal because the last thing in the world that I wanna be is one of those verdana girls, but arrgh! You know, I’d like to think that I’ve always had a pretty healthy relationship with eating, May/June 2000 and the whole stress related thing aside, but maybe that’s just me trying to talk bullshit to myself, and suddenly the reason why I’m sleeping alone just makes so much more sense to me. ( And then there’s a boy who enjoys calling me fat and pretending it’s just his way of being straight up, and while I try to excuse it as him trying to find out what buttons to push to piss me off I want to scream “YOU CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKER! WHY ARE YOU RETRACTING THAT NOW?”)

And the other thing that fucks me off is that I know how closely entwined my self esteem is to my stress levels, and I know that right now my stress levels are almost at boiling point (And I know it’s seldom that you read my journal, and you know that i love you, and that yes, I’m fucking worried about you now, and yes, it’s stressing me out a fuckload, but that’s only because I care so much about you). We won’t discuss that further, but I had a big talk with Joseph my lecturer today and luckily I got an extension on my last Com Strat assignment til Tuesday. That’s kinda relieving and stuff. Plus yesterday, I sorted out one of my issues – or rather the girl whom I’d very childishly not been contacting cos’o a spat emailed me (thank you so much for doing that, seriously) and we made cool. And I get to see my Katie this weekend (oh you know you’re ALL my katies, Kate, but in this instance I mean KateB) and that’s gonna be so excellent, as long as I don’t end up being overburdening.

I can’t remember what else I had to say. Probably not much. I’m due at work in less than eight hours, I should really go to bed. I’m really worn out (but if you’re reading this, please please know that I am ALWAYS here for you, and it’s not just you that makes me exhausted, and you’re not an unfair burden or anything, it’s just the way I feel, okay? and yeah, all that stuff which I know you already know). Plus 2 litres really isn’t as much as you’d think that it would be. But I took two herbal sleeping suplements so hopefully I can fall asleep real soon and then not have to spend tomorrow morning with my head under the covers trying to make the whole world go away. <!– I CAN’T HANDLE CARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE RIGHT NOW! like, there’s a primary, and a secondary, and a thirdly, and aaaaargh, and also, what the fuck’s wrong with me and where’s my compassion?) –>

We got back the videos of our seminars today (I got an A) so I’ve been watching that tonight. Bopa and Emma say it’s real good, and I’ve even heard Emma reiterating stuff I said down the phone to her friend, but my mind’s so not there. In between thinking that I gesture too much, and watching the pen slowly slip out of my hair, increasing my hair-pushing-back gestures, I’ve been thinking “fuck, no wonder no one’s shagging me” thoughts. There’s nothing like watching yourself on TV for confrontational thoughts. It leaves me contemplating how sometimes I think that maybe I should just become morbidly obese and give up all hope of anyone ever fancying me, but then watching myself on TV I feel like I’m already there. And I hate this, because this generally isn’t me – I don’t tend to talk weight very much in my journal because the last thing in the world that I wanna be is one of those verdana girls, but arrgh! You know, I’d like to think that I’ve always had a pretty healthy relationship with eating, May/June 2000 and the whole stress related thing aside, but maybe that’s just me trying to talk bullshit to myself, and suddenly the reason why I’m sleeping alone just makes so much more sense to me. ( And then there’s a boy who enjoys calling me fat and pretending it’s just his way of being straight up, and while I try to excuse it as him trying to find out what buttons to push to piss me off I want to scream “YOU CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKER! WHY ARE YOU RETRACTING THAT NOW?”)

And the other thing that fucks me off is that I know how closely entwined my self esteem is to my stress levels, and I know that right now my stress levels are almost at boiling point (And I know it’s seldom that you read my journal, and you know that i love you, and that yes, I’m fucking worried about you now, and yes, it’s stressing me out a fuckload, but that’s only because I care so much about you). We won’t discuss that further, but I had a big talk with Joseph my lecturer today and luckily I got an extension on my last Com Strat assignment til Tuesday. That’s kinda relieving and stuff. Plus yesterday, I sorted out one of my issues – or rather the girl whom I’d very childishly not been contacting cos’o a spat emailed me (thank you so much for doing that, seriously) and we made cool. And I get to see my Katie this weekend (oh you know you’re ALL my katies, Kate, but in this instance I mean KateB) and that’s gonna be so excellent, as long as I don’t end up being overburdening.

I can’t remember what else I had to say. Probably not much. I’m due at work in less than eight hours, I should really go to bed. I’m really worn out (but if you’re reading this, please please know that I am ALWAYS here for you, and it’s not just you that makes me exhausted, and you’re not an unfair burden or anything, it’s just the way I feel, okay? and yeah, all that stuff which I know you already know). Plus 2 litres really isn’t as much as you’d think that it would be. But I took two herbal sleeping suplements so hopefully I can fall asleep real soon and then not have to spend tomorrow morning with my head under the covers trying to make the whole world go away. <!– I CAN’T HANDLE CARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE RIGHT NOW! like, there’s a primary, and a secondary, and a thirdly, and aaaaargh, and also, what the fuck’s wrong with me and where’s my compassion?) –>

We got back the videos of our seminars today (I got an A) so I’ve been watching that tonight. Bopa and Emma say it’s real good, and I’ve even heard Emma reiterating stuff I said down the phone to her friend, but my mind’s so not there. In between thinking that I gesture too much, and watching the pen slowly slip out of my hair, increasing my hair-pushing-back gestures, I’ve been thinking “fuck, no wonder no one’s shagging me” thoughts. There’s nothing like watching yourself on TV for confrontational thoughts. It leaves me contemplating how sometimes I think that maybe I should just become morbidly obese and give up all hope of anyone ever fancying me, but then watching myself on TV I feel like I’m already there. And I hate this, because this generally isn’t me – I don’t tend to talk weight very much in my journal because the last thing in the world that I wanna be is one of those verdana girls, but arrgh! You know, I’d like to think that I’ve always had a pretty healthy relationship with eating, May/June 2000 and the whole stress related thing aside, but maybe that’s just me trying to talk bullshit to myself, and suddenly the reason why I’m sleeping alone just makes so much more sense to me. ( And then there’s a boy who enjoys calling me fat and pretending it’s just his way of being straight up, and while I try to excuse it as him trying to find out what buttons to push to piss me off I want to scream “YOU CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKER! WHY ARE YOU RETRACTING THAT NOW?”)

And the other thing that fucks me off is that I know how closely entwined my self esteem is to my stress levels, and I know that right now my stress levels are almost at boiling point (And I know it’s seldom that you read my journal, and you know that i love you, and that yes, I’m fucking worried about you now, and yes, it’s stressing me out a fuckload, but that’s only because I care so much about you). We won’t discuss that further, but I had a big talk with Joseph my lecturer today and luckily I got an extension on my last Com Strat assignment til Tuesday. That’s kinda relieving and stuff. Plus yesterday, I sorted out one of my issues – or rather the girl whom I’d very childishly not been contacting cos’o a spat emailed me (thank you so much for doing that, seriously) and we made cool. And I get to see my Katie this weekend (oh you know you’re ALL my katies, Kate, but in this instance I mean KateB) and that’s gonna be so excellent, as long as I don’t end up being overburdening.

I can’t remember what else I had to say. Probably not much. I’m due at work in less than eight hours, I should really go to bed. I’m really worn out (but if you’re reading this, please please know that I am ALWAYS here for you, and it’s not just you that makes me exhausted, and you’re not an unfair burden or anything, it’s just the way I feel, okay? and yeah, all that stuff which I know you already know). Plus 2 litres really isn’t as much as you’d think that it would be. But I took two herbal sleeping suplements so hopefully I can fall asleep real soon and then not have to spend tomorrow morning with my head under the covers trying to make the whole world go away.<!– I CAN’T HANDLE CARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE RIGHT NOW! like, there’s a primary, and a secondary, and a thirdly, and aaaaargh, and also, what the fuck’s wrong with me and where’s my compassion?) –>

So, I haven’t actually finished writing my speech yet (and I have to do it tomorrow!) but I don’t really have any doubt in my ability to talk my way out of my own ass (ha, how’s taht for taking a couple’o cliches and muddling them up?) so I’m sure it’ll be fine if I take a little break and wait for this mask to set on my face and write my journal. Woah, that was quite a long sentence just there.

Today Maz came and talked to us in our PR Forum and at the end she came over to me and said “I’ll call you later” and it was so her attempt at being Carolyn Ryan saying hi to Nigel when she lectured us in Journalism second year (inncidently, why do all guys think she is the hottest news reader in the world?). After my lecture I tried to play some kinda weirdass Simon Says game in the quad but only so I could get a free LiftPlus. Students are such whores for free shit, even if it tastes nasty. Another lecture and then i went home and got stuck in on my speech again, until I got distracted by a nap.

My shoes from Willow Shoes got delivered today, yay! They’re the burgandy Mary Janes taht you will find on page three of that site if you’re really into stalking me that much. They’re lovely, and so are the people at Willow Shoes, who sent me a bath bomb as a free gift, and then wrote to me to tell me that my thank-you email had made their day. Awww. People who supply me size 11 shoes deserve all the love in the world. Yesterday I got a pair of new jeans, and they’re flared and soft and lovely, but maybe I should have got them in a size smaller because they sit reaaaaal low and they’re not supposed to. It’s weird, when I put on clothes that i haven’t worn in ages, they’re all looser too, which would suggest that maybe I’ve lost weight, but I look a whole lot fatter, and my skin is bursting with ugly pustuales, and I’m just generally unattractive right now and meh. My hair is looking good though! I did find it amusing that only KateM noticed i’d had it dyed.

My face isn’t quite ready to peel off yet though, so I will hold off on my Patrick Bateman imitations. My mummy is coming up to Auckland for a Potter’s Convention over easter, so I’ll drive back to Welly with her and her friend Paul and stay down there for a week. This means that I’ll get to go out with Ayna and Daniel et all, and hopefully get a chance to catch up with Fatty, who I haven’t heard from in a million years. You suck, Fatty. And KateB too, hopefully, unless she’s back by then, and she’ll say to me “have you lost weight?” and make me feel happy. And Tom too hopefully. I’m looking forward to the holidays, even if before then I have this 20% speech, and a 10% Com Strat, and then oh yeah, there’s that 50% IMC essay due next wednesday which I can’t yet even understand the question of. Guess who will be spending the day in Borders on Thursday buried in the Marketing section? I figure it’s only fair to use it as a library since it’s an evil empire and everything.

Why is hotmail so fucking slow tonight? Of course, i just realised that zFree is ending its service at the end of April so I’m going to have to actually pay for an ISP which means that I’ll be able to use a mailprogramme again, yay. Damn webbased mail, nothing but trouble! I saw my landlady today and she said that my room would definately be carpeted by the end of March, she was just waiting for the carpet people to come in to do one fo the apartments on the ground floor. She’s renovating the apartment of the motorcycle man who was killed in an accident. Last night I moved the dining room table into my room so that I have a proper working surface – you will of course remember that my desk is very dodgylike, and unlikely to survive an assembly then disassembly whilst the carpet is being laid. Of course, this does bring up the issue that when I have carpet again, I will no longer have any excuse not to put my bed back together. I don’t think I want to though! Having my mattress directly on the floor is really comfortable, and as anyone who’s ever even sat on my bed can attest to, it’s damn noisy. Squeak squeak squeak. Then again, since I have to put up with Kara’s MOTHERFUCKING GIGGLING all the time, so what if Clay has to hear my bed moving around, even if I’m just sleeping in it by myself very innocently? And I don’t care if I piss Ben off, because fuck, he’s pissing both me and Clay off more and more on a daily basis. I bumped into Bopa the other day, one of the lovely girls that I met on Boxing Day, and she’s living up here now and is unhappy with her flat. Clay’s friend Adrian is also thinking about finding a new flat, so Ben had better pull his socks the fuck up, that’s all I can say. Well no, that’s not all I can say. KateH offered to make me labels to stick on all my food to try and get him to stop eating it, so yes please dear,if you have time!

Maaaaaargh, I must take a break from my computer. Hurry up and call me, dick.