In the best journalistic tradition, I spent today and yesterday (when I could actually log on at work) rewriting press releases. But then again, it is kinda PR cos it’s for our publications offering stuff. I think I’m rully rully going to love this job eh. I get to be creative, and I feel like I have my finger on the pulse, and all the ideas I’ve had so far have got the go ahead. YAY. I deserve good job karma.

Ammy came up to me tonight and put her arms around me and thanked me wholeheartedly for making this flat work, and that was just totally sweet of her, and it’s just really cool here and nice and stuff, and yay. Even if we still don’t have a tv (or washing machine) which meant I had to go to KateH’s last night ot watch SS. Not that that’s any hardship of course (well at least not for me). And then I met Ammy and Darren and Megan and James in town and saw LOTR again. I texted Tom right before it to say hi, but told him not to reply cos it’d make me vibrate. He replied a couple of hours later saying “Now if I can just time this to be at the same time that Aragorn opens the doors, won’t I be the man?”. He got the timing wrong but still, I appreciated the sentiment!

Mazzy thought that I would write about how she told me that she couldn’t come to my party but then showed up as a surprise in a “bear” mask, but she was wrong. My skin is peeling off in big chunks from everywhere – it looks particularly gross around my neck. I have too many boys on my mind right now and I can’t figure out which ones I’m using as an excuse not to fancy the other ones, and it’s driving me crazy, but not must-find-cash-for-Kalpana crazy. What else? We have a “staff development day” at work on Friday which means a talk, and then lunch at a bar, and then early home. Asskicking. Just as long as they don’t try to make me wear a polarfleece. My god but it’s hot in Auckland! And I have finally been bitten by mosquitos here. Oh well. Also I’ve made the disturbing discovery that Jonny plays the bagpipes. We’re planning on getting him to march up and down in front of the houses across the street playing them, since we figure that one of them must have called Noise Control on us.

Tomorrow I am doing a market survey on soft drinks. Crazy.

xojo

I woke up, and realised I was lying on like the extreme left of my bed, almost over the edge. Okay, I do often tend to favour the left side (that’s left when I’m in it), but never quite that close to the edge. It kinda freaked me out. I was like “okay, I’m wearing pajamas – that’s a good sign.” So then I thought a little more, and remembered that there were only reaaaaally skeggly people left in the house when i went to bed. That gave me the courage to stick out my arm, and cautiously check the other side of my bed for bodies. No one was there. Phew.

I mean, I hadn’t been THAT drunk, but I wasn’t thinking too straight. After all, it was morning. Like, really early morning. Must have been like 7.30am because Gail said she was going to be leaving then, and that noise probably would have woken me up.

Then I heard my cellie ring at 10.30am, so I had a babble to Clare for a while, trying to fill her in on all the gossip and stuff. So that was cool. It was weird though, cos Heidi sent me an SMS page, and that cut me off with Clare. Bizzare. Nevermind, she rang me back.

Our phone kept on ringing, but every time I refused to answer it, cos I knew it’d probably be for Clayton. And so it was only fair that he got out of bed to take care of it. It was fucking annoying though. I kept drifting in and out of dreams.

But anyways, yeah. The house is such a mess. Simon and I threw out all the empty cans and bottles, and took stock of what we’d been left with. I think the final tally was seven bottles of coke, about half of which were open, but not flat, a bottle of wine, and an can of beer. Score! And there were still like bags of chips and wedges and stuff, so that rocked. Barbeque chips for breakfast.

We hassled Clayton a bit (yeah, like he could get away without being mocked) but no one’s really done much in the way of cleaning. Si and I set up the wings on the dining table again, and brought out my computer. Such net withdrawl, man! I had lots of emails which was good.

Y’all are loving the “Joanna Is” form, aren’t you? Here’s a list of what I’ve recieved so far:

Joanna is:

• wonderful
• poculent
• never lost for words
• one of my favourite people in the whole entire universe
• too blunt
• slack with her journal entries
• mine
• yer a wee belter
• late posting to day

The “Joanna is Mine” one is a little bit disturbing. Sure, claim me if you like, but it’d kinda sorta help to know who you actually were, so I could know who I belonged to!

Wednesday 17; February, 1999

This is the invitation I made for our flatwarming. Obviously, on the original, my address and phone number aren’t blanked out. The thing is this – if I wanted you to have them, you already would. So there. And yeah, it’s invites only, I do believe.

Obviously the invites are made to be cut up into little pieces. I only gave one sheet of them to Leyton – he said he’s not going to be inviting too many people. Gee, I wonder why? Drying dishes while he washed tonight, all he could talk about was that if you don’t rinse the soap off dishes, it’ll give you cancer. Jesus Wept, boy – talking to you will probably give me cancer first. Either that or I’ll die of fricking boredom.

My arms hurt a lot today. You see, I walked up to the vege shop up the road, then I carried home a big and very heavy box full of vegetables. And my arms also hurt from making Risotto, since it takes so much goddam stirring. Still, it was nice though, and healthy. Too bad if the boys are having problems with a lack of meat. Leyton ate like 2/3rd of the risotto – it was truely terrifying. Then he cooked himself a steak and it smelt awful and made me feel really really nauseous. I hid out in my bedroom cos they were watching the cricket, and got my parents to call me for a natter. I’m such a dutiful daughter. I probably should have called Karen instead, but hey – she can fucking call ME someday. I’m so not made of money.

That’s about all. I’m missing Andeee and Amy looooooots – there’s like never anyone online anymore that I really want to talk to. Oh, but Heather’s back, which is a definate YAY. And that’s all I have to report. I lay on my bed for like half an hour today, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I like my eyes a lot, I’ve decided.

Sunday 14; Febuary, 1999

Kini: “I live for your journal”

Then we both agreed that she needs to get out more. I think that I do too. I slept in until 2pm, which was nice, only my feet still hurt when I woke up. I have this shocking habbit of picking loose skin from blisters and stuff. Mmm that’s nice. Next I’ll be telling you about squeezing my zits or something equally foul. Not that I have zits, mind you. My skin is perfect. I am perfect.

I’m also sitting in full view of every tom dick and harry that should happen up the neighbour’s drive, because I took down all the curtains today. Yeah, I’m going Japanese Minimalist at last. Either that or they’re currently sitting in the bathtub, soaking in bleach. Hopefully the bath is getting bleached too.

And no I’m not going crazy with the bleach just because I didn’t get any real Valentines. Hahahaha aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaarggggg. Kini said she was going to write my biography after I cark it. I guess there’s many a trajic wee tale to be told indeedly. Still, this time last year I was flathunting in Auckland, not knowing anyone at all, and was just days away from throwing myself on Tracey’s mercy and enduring 2 of the most hellish weeks of my life. I should be relieved (and I am, do believe me, I am) that I’m not homeless, and forced to share a lounge as a bedroom with Matty G again. Still, that was all character building, right?

MMMMMmmmmmm so time to move on, I think. The Hero Parade looked better on TV than it did in real life. I was sitting watching it, when I heard this thumping noise, and I nearly died of a heart attack and then Laytonthelurker walked in. He stayed for a while to watch TV, but it was up quite loud, so luckily I didn’t have to make much conversation. He just got back from Whakatane, but he’s back sleeping on the shore tonight. Phew. I hate it that he has a key to this house. Sure, he’s paying rent, but SO? Maybe he won’t be so bad when the others are around – I’m just tired of trying to talk to someone that boring.

Mark your diaries now for April 22nd. That’s International Give Stuff to Joanna and Kini Day. Hey – she has an 1000km penis, after all.

And mark in Saturday the 6th of March too if you’re my friend and in the general area – flatwarming party, baaaaaby!