Hubris.co.nz

A rediscovered fragment that should have been in 101 Stories if I’d remembered about it, that I found tonight when I was looking for a story I wrote about The Gathering to send to Ali.

The sex I used to have made me feel like a bystander in my own life. He would move my legs around, hoist them over his shoulder, turn me on my side, or whatever he wanted, and I would lie there compliant, thinking “it’s not him”. It was only when he went to hold my hand afterwards that I felt that something was wrong. I am not in love with you, please don’t try to force intimacy on me. I am fucking you precisely because you are not him.

And it felt weird, someone different touching me in different ways, in different places. His cock was totally different, of course, and the feelings involved were different. It was easy to spell them out in this case: I am drunk, you are not him and I need to be with someone who’s not him to prove that I can be with someone who is not him. That could be the mantra of each thrust into me. I.am.not.the.man.you.are.in.love.with.I.am.not.your.whole.world.I.have.not.left.you.for.your.best friend.

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

I’m not sure of the words we said to each other or anything, only the look that he gave me; the single dirtiest look in the history of one night stands EVER. It wasn’t a “I want to fuck you” look; it was a “I’m going to fuck you in this position and this position and this position, and you’re going to love it, because you’re a dirty whore and you want nothing but my cock inside you” statement. And of course he was right.

If only it could have been simply that simple. He was a mystery, a boy of extreme contrasts. He was sweet and charming in conversation, but he had my clothes off the second we got in his bedroom door. He didn’t call a taxi as soon as I said I’d go home with him because he said that would be presumptuous, but straight away on his bed he told me he had a treat for me and rolled on a spearmint condom. For a nice guy who told me that he hadn’t had sex outside a relationship before, he still managed to fuck me in half a dozen positions, transitioning seamlessly between them. He played me Jeff Buckley, and then a song he wrote named after a girl with the same name as me, but also wanted to fuck me in the ass.

That’s the first time, of course. The second time is a year later, when he’s had a chance to get back together with his ex girlfriend and then break up with her again, and I’ve had a chance to realize that running out while he was sleeping because I thought I was in love with someone else and terrified of developing intimacy with him and using the excuse of not having a Connection was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. There were two beers each in a pub, conversation where we talked about our families and how bad Sex in the City was, and we really seemed to be on the same page. I was able to say that I wished I had got to know him the year before, and he smiled at me. It felt really nice, but I was still completely surprised when he said “How about I come over to your house later with a bottle of wine?”

Then when he kissed me on the street outside, my legs felt like they were going to buckle underneath me and I ended up walking down the street in a total daze. At home later, I watched videos with my flatmate in an attempt to keep calm – after I’d changed my underwear, of course. He arrived, shyly knocking on the front door, we opened the promised wine. My flatmate stealthily retreated as soon as the movie ended, and him and I were left together on the couch. So, alone, not at a party, or a bar, or a cafe or any of the places I’d seen him since we went to bed. Over the course of the conversation, my legs crept up onto the couch so that our knees were touching. Our tastes in music were dissected to find places where we were compatible. And finally, we put our glasses down on the ground and he took my hand and we kissed again, this time for much longer than the pavement encounter earlier that night.

If I had melted into him at that very moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been on my mind in various guises for a year – first in sweet nostalgia, and then in regret for leaving, and then in “I WANT HIM AGAIN NOW” capacity.

I wasn’t talking to her. He wasn’t talking to me for that reason, and it all stemmed from the same thing – good lovers making great enemies and best friends falling out over a boy and all the usual cliches. And there they were at the bar that I was at, and I’d been drinking beer, bubbly, and more beer. As soon as I saw them I sunk shots of Green Chartreuse to hide it, but it didn’t work, I still knew they were there. And why should they get to run me out of every bar in town? Plus, I’d run out of money for liquor and I knew that they had large bank balances. I stumbled over and plonked myself down in their line of vision. I was hot and knew it, after all. My boobs were on display for the entire world to see and it felt really nice.

I’m not sure who was more surprised – her or him. I guess we’ll say Her, because I did sometimes talk to him, even if he’d been ignoring me as of late. “Oh my god,” they said, “Joanna’s talking to us”. I suggested to them that they owed me a drink or two and she scampered off. More Corona with shots beside. I told them how no one liked me anymore. I was leaning forward to talk to them, my arm resting across his knees. They knew all the names that I was mentioning; they asked me over and over if I was okay, if I was really all right. They genuinely cared about me. I leaned forward more. She moved off to talk to other people and I took her seat. All of a sudden we were kissing each other with more fierce intensity than we’d felt in three years. Hands were all over each, in places that shouldn’t be in a nightclub. If it had been possible, we might have devoured each other whole. But instead, I was across his lap, whispering filthy things in his ear, rubbing his cock through his trousers in what I thought was a covert manner, promising him pleasures beyond what we’d ever experienced together before. I don’t know where his wife has gone, but really, it doesn’t matter as I follow him into the men’s room. He has me pinned to the wall and his hands are so rough in what inside my jeans that I have to tell him he’s hurting me as my top is dropped on the floor and my bra is pulled up. Our mouths are dissolving into one another, his hands are rough on my breasts and all I can do is tell him how much I want to fuck him. Always responsible, he asks me if I have any condoms, but of course, my bag and my jacket are somewhere back out in the bar, stashed under the seat where we first started getting dirty, and so that’s a no.

He has a solution for this of course, and he shoves my head down to his crotch, telling me to suck his cock. I do this gladly, reaching into his jeans like I’ve done a million times before. I want to show him how good I am, how much better I’ve become since he left me, and why he never should have left me. I do the best I can, and it’s not long before the pre-come is dribbling into my mouth, the salty taste turning me on instead of grossing me out. The fact that we’re in this barren concrete space makes the whole experience that much hotter. This is illicit near-fucking, and my god that’s a turn-on. His hands are on my head, pushing back my hair to secure his view and to make sure I don’t move my mouth away. I can taste his tang and it’s all I want for now, all that I could ever want, but there’s a knocking at the door, and he says that it’s her – his wife.

A couple of weeks ago my bus went past this guy walking along the street, and I thought ‘hey, he looks vaguely familiar’, and then I realised who it was, and it was someone that I slept with two years ago. As a matter of fact, he’s the guy that I slept with who I always forget about whenever I try to match up names with the number of people I’ve had sex sex with (sex sex as in penis-vagina. Sometimes I consider it to be sex if he goes down on me. But not always). This would be like another total “so what?” if he was just a one night stander, but he wasn’t. I wonder how my brain manages to shut off memories of him so often when it used to be that I talked to him every single day at great length and thought that without him as my best friend I wouldn’t survive (*), and we had a whole wealth of injokes and phrases and to this day I can’t remember if Paul Schaffer was my arch nemisis or his. I conclude that my brain is dumb.

My brain is dumb because when I was stuck in very slowly crawling traffic through the Terrace tunnel today and I was in a car piled to the gills with boxes and thinking about how at some stage I’m going to have to disassemble my bed (and while I might think “ooh, Daddy can do that for me!” last time when he assembled it, it took an hour and was SO MUCH HARDER for me to do bits of rather than doing the whole thing by myself in half an hour), and there was a honda civic in front of me and it made me think of a boy who once told me that his whole bed could be taken apart and folded up to fit into the back of his honda civic, and then I thought about how icky that boy was, and how stupid I was for sleeping with him, and then I thought about why I did that – because I’d just sold my ex boyfriend’s bed and used the money to pay for a party with a LOT of booze, and then I remembered all of that, which was about five years ago exactly and how fucking horrible it all was, and even though I’m still like woah I’m all good now, but then there was already a ten year anniversary this year that threw me for six (is that a real expression?) and that was pretty fucking crappy and aaaaaaaargh oh the pain the pain the pain that is my brain that just doesn’t shut the fuck up.

So in real world news, last night Brad came over for dinner and a pile of junk food, and The OC, Team America (fuck YEAH) and Bad Santa. I am in love with Therman Merman, I want to bake him in a pie. At my request Brad drank more beers than he could drive on and camped out in the guestroom. Today we got up in time to watch an hour of Home and Away before I had to take off to go to Oma’s. I love that my new place is five minutes walk away from him. Well, sort of – there’s a couple of hills in between, so it’s varied, I suppose. I went to Oma’s to meet up with Anji and Karen, and ate the fondue, and then loaded up the car and van before eating Crepes Suzette. Mmmmm heartattacky. Then it started to pour. I hate driving in the rain. I also hate shifting furniture and stuff in the rain. How do I have so much stuff? I wish I was like Ani di Franco says that she is. I of course also wish that I had some love letters to treasure, of course. At least now I will have my box of memory treasures back now (which, if you’re oldskool you would have seen in that mega big flash file I used to have which has now vacated my computer to somewhere else). Not that I need trinkets to remind me of things when my mind so obviously works overtime. Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

Have I mentioned to you that you need to be marking off June 18th in your diaries for my birthday / flatwarming party? Please to do so. I’d like everyone to come along, even if I don’t know you. That way it can be all awkward and stilted and I can feel bad when my guests don’t mingle! Heh.

EDIT: so there I am feeling sorry for myself when I get a text from Kateb saying “This time next week we’ll be drinking cocktails on the beach”. WAHOO!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday July 27, 2002

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATIE!

The candidate I voted for, Judith Tizard of the Labour Party won her seat. The Green Party, whom I gave my party vote to got 6.4%, so they get eight members of parliment. I’m mostly happy – although I would have been happier if Laila Harre would have won Waitakere and got the Alliance back in, so yeah, it was a good election day for me.

While we’re talking election days, last election three years ago, I was engaged in ICQ conversations w T about whether or not he should move in, purely as my “flatmate”. While the count might not yet be back from the ballot box as to whether or not it was a good idea, I’d like to put out a preemptive statement and claim that I don’t regret it at all – because how can you regret anything that shaped and changed you that much?

Other anniversaries that are coming up around this date would be my decision around this time two years ago to start Fucking, as opposed to actually wanting meaningful ties with person (and sure, this coincided with the day that I sold the bed that I often shared with someone I loved, but that’s beside the point). If you’ve been reading me since then, you probably would have noticed a major switch in attitude and the calibre of people since then – with some noteable exceptions who genuinely were good people (you know – the ones who are few and far between. Actually no, I’ve had two this year, depending on what kinda mood I’m in).

AND! It’s almost a year since I on-the-spot quit my job at Foodstuffs as a result of them being so horrible to me about my OOS. I’m still amazed that I had the gall to do that then, although admittedly they had me pushed right to the very edge. It’s probably one of the bravest things I’ve ever done though, chosing my soul and physical wellbeing over $40,000 a year.

Plus, it’s the seventeenth year that KateB and I have got to wish each other Happy Birthday, and that’s just fucking tremendous. She’s my darling girl and I love her.

Because of blah blah blah, all you need to know about my past couple’o days is that last night Bopha made the best fucking lasange ever, and so tonight I made the best risotto ever and when I served it to her and KateH I warned them that generally I only ever make risotto for people when I’m trying to get into their pants (oh come on! you knew that at the time!). Also, then I made vegan waffles with caramelised fruit. Come to think of ti, the risotto was vegan too. Anyways though.

Oh, and I got my hair done again. I love my hairdresser.

I swear, I never drink alone though, eh. I wanna take hallucenogenic drugs again. I wanna go back to Sydney again! DAMMIT!

And now there’s enrique on the radio and I gotta dance alone be right back

Woah, I’ve never danced in my hall alone. I should have had brad there, or clayton. Odd. How do my flatmates have lives and I don’t? Oh wait, yeah, cos I’m SICK! Fuck you Health, I didn’t want you anyways. I’m home alone instead of beuinbg out on the town, and I’m BORED! I went to Cess’s party cos I was yelled at to go, but then everyone went to town and I knew I was too sick to go, so I’m home.

It’s really annoying, because I look so good tonight eh. Well, bored enough to turn the cam on Random anyways. I’m wearing a nice sari tho. Tho? Though. Okay, no fucking abbreviations for me!

It was Brad’s last night at Liquor King tonight, so he bought htis assortment of imported beers. I brought them home with me after Cess’s. The Sapporo was in the sexiest can ever. Then again, everything is sexy right about now. Well, almost everything. Oh Alcohol, how many marriages have you arranged?

I came home for the first time this week in daylight. Oh yes, I handed in my ID today, and it felt great. I got home at 4pm instead of 10pm, and that w as very very exciting. Then Kate B interograted me.
“Did you have someone over last night?”
“No”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No – why?”
“I’m just using my detective skills – when I got up this morning, there was a bowl of water with wax floating in it on the dining room table and a chair was missing, that’s all”
“Oh you mean the bowl with vicks vapour rub in it? and the chair I took because my desk chair is too low?”
“Well… yeah”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I figured you had someone over, and had some floating candles in a bowl to create atmosphere, adn then you went off to your room, and took the chair with you…”
“What the fuck did you think I was doing with the chair?????”
“I don’t know”
“who did you think I had over?????”
“(name)”
“Fuck you! no way!”
“well, i thought maybe you had a few more beers and said what the hell…..”
“there is not enough beer in the world!”

Kate’s going on the 30th. So is the cat, I guess. This evening, I was home alone, enjoying actually being home, doing laundyry and cooking and tidying

Oh yes, Kate Morrison. I wnet and picked her up from Ponsonby, cos she was carless. I advised her on the wrong perfume – it wasn’t my fault. In gratitude for me picking her up, she bought me lemonade and chuppies. We came back here and drank vodka, and sat on the couch outside, and had a throughly decent gossip. She figured out who I ahd a crush on, and said we were suited. I giggled. We talked about other stuff too which made me giggle more. ZThen Maree rang up and yelled at me to come to Cess’s party, that she was coming in half an hour to pick us up, so I said “okay fine” although I was sick. So I got all dressed up and stuff, and we went over, and like, 15 minutes later, everyone was going to town. So Maree dropped me home, adn I was all bitter, cos I looked so good, and no one to see!

hehehehe telephone conversations with people more out of it than you are so amusing. Actually I can’t remember anything, and it’s only like 15 minutes later. that’s a bad sign, righft? i have a craving right now to light all the candles in my room, thanks to Olivia, but I believe Kate B has stolen ALL my matches, so i can’t. I just went and took a candle to my car and tried to light it off my cigarette lighter, but that didn’t work. Where oh where are those cretins that smoke in my room NOW when i need a lighter? Grr!

“You got nipple licking? I’m so jealous!”

We;re in some bar douwn int he viaduct and there’s me making oi5rgasm noises not that I’d really know what ythey were because Briamn Molko is on the buig screen they were playing KJuice tv and oh my god how much do my panties melt at the site of him? Change your taste in men.

Boy I met last nightwas very very hot and then he said those goddam magic words “back when I was depressed” and I was like noooo I want so meone different. But hge aws still sexy, I imagine I will go stalk marbecks now. Thast qwas at dinner last night some thai place the Green Elephant w e went there for our big night out i remembre. But today is today and not then becuase yeah then was all differenyt and my toenail wasn’t broken then, and goddam I miss being in love but hey yeah ajnyways, stuff is fine this way I think and was I too obvious? I think not.

Ohb my god bbay it’s 3am i must be lonely oh fuck off maqtchbox 20, I am so un eloquent really but you are stil l reading me anyways. Clayton’s 212st was tonight,. I had soooo much fin. fuin. fun. IO was all grumpy and shit before hand. Ckay took my car. XClay took my stereo. I got basil garlic aioli all over my thai silk skiryt opn the way in and setting up. But I k nkiocked back a qwhole shitload of red whine. I HATE cklay’s relies. What a pack of bossy big dorks. wER HAD everythingm all set up and shit at the movie theatre he’d hired and they came and moved it all around. No wonder he’s so fucking pussywhipped, it’s not my fault that I boss him around.

there was a disco ball and that was fun. I slaved all day making mushroom pies and quiches. No hesitation no delay you come omn just like special k. Just like I swallowed half my stash. Lots to drink. Stuff was cool. I hadn’t seen maree in so long. Or shirley neither. Kate Benton told me I was having a good tit day. Clayton agreed. It’s so this tshirt. I love my stativc shirt,. I like my trits too. Tits, not trits. Oh god, I’m hideous, I should just og to bed but like, I’m niot sleepy. so ui will ramble, and you will read it. Suckers. you’re all pussy whipped too. Okay and Kate came into my room this morning ior was it yesterady, and said I smelt all nice like sleep. What’s up witht that? Where the fuck am I? this is SUCH a bad narrative.

Okay yueah, so I was all grumpyu this afternoon, especially when kate rang me at 6pm wanting rescuingb and I had to hgo pick her up even whenb we were supposed to be leaving at 6.15. And then in the process of getting to the theatre, the garlic basil dip got all over my skirt and oh my god was I giving everyone evil looks over that fuck I’m cold.

Talk about guilty conscience, although technically I didn’t do anything wrong. IUnless you count pyutting a shaker in my bag, but I don’t count that. UIt was from thej viaduct after all. At the back of the theaterette were a row of couches, and clay reserved those for us flatties and our signigicicant others (ie Morrison and Kara). I was sharing a couch with kate and a bottle of red whine. When I was in the bathroom, maree was talking tol me althouhgj U dunno how she knew it was me, so she came up and sat with us. But then I went and was throwing aup and I think she disappearefd. Human Traffic was the movie – it looked amusing except the chick looked like Tamsin gfrom Shortkland Street whicjh was just disturbing.

And then somehow Iwas at deschlers how did that happen? I don’t remember, butthere was live drum and base and simon w as dancing and ti was very amusing and stuff an do h my god was I really oh dear I worry me sometimes, and I talked to clayt’s frienmd Adrian who’s noce buit shy and also clay’s friemnd lucy who is a drunken slapper and his “friends’ romy and emily were there – nice look black bra dna white singlet fucking drunken sluts and they even called themselves that.

descblers became some walk downtownh after some big housekey scandel and i guess kate b let justin in after all unless he cli,mbed in our window whicjh would be easyt . some place downtown, was it providence? some name like that. $20 shakers, clay stole 4 shot glasses, I goty the shaker unbeknown to either one of us where hase si gone?: kate m dreove yus home. Providence had juice pla7ying on the big screen, but a different soundtrack. And yeah, we came home, and I was being tacky. Kate M was like “you’re on fire, we could ask you anything now and you’d amswer right? ” but the thing is I would anyways. Brad’s on lunch tomorrow, I hope it’s good.

I feel like a skanky slapper right now Only I am so muchb etter dressed. And my hair is better. As the flat would tease me, my hair is choice. a dn my nipples are amazing. etc etc. QWhy is it htat I let myslef be hassled so mch? I qwill keep my mouth shut in the fututre. Unless of course, I am having littl e black babies. That’s the rule kate m set for me.

Monday August 28th, 2000

Brad wrote on the whiteboard this morning “You did it all for the nookie!!! – did he sign a pre-nup first?” I voted against him for that, and then gave myself a vote too for good measure. There’s something very sordid about still being up drinking when flatmates get up to go to tech.

Around 8am, I got out of bed and went and jumped in bed with Kate, but she was just getting up so I couldn’t sleep there. Instead, I ate m&ms while she smoked her morning cigarette, and freaked her out because I’d had no sleep and was on an over-tired sugar rush, whereas she was very slow and fragile. She made me come to town with her in my pajamas, after I crept into my room for sunglasses and a bandana. I just sat in the car so she could doublepark to drop off her library books though, it wasn’t a major journey. Then we came home and she went back to bed – they were desk copy books so she had to have them back early. I was sugarhigh, so I washed the dishes and then flicked between infomercials and children’s television. It was kinda disturbing, because I found myself talking to the television more than I usually do – “yeah, it’s always a real pain for me having to push the bristle button on the vacuum cleaner” and of course agreeing with the monsters on Seaseme Street. I’m not a morning person. But it was fantastic to get to watch re-runs of Shortland Street.

Mmm, new placebo album.

Eventually I got bored with housework, so I went back to my room and turned my stereo on real loud and kicked someone out for not believing me when I said that I was going to marry Robbie Williams. Then I did some fun exciting tech work. I have to go in at 8am tomorrow, which will be so unfun. Kate’s got to do her seminar then as well so at least I won’t be alone. I think I will sleep very well tonight, guilt aside, although I did have a luscious nap this afternoon after eating Wendys. Mmmm hangover food.

Oh, it looks like Kara AND Kate M are both staying over tonight. Honestly, where have the collective morals of this flat gone? I mean, we endevour to eat more vegetables and spend quality time with each other, but I don’t think that’s enough, eh. Somehow I’m making the invites for Trudie’s 21st now as well. Well, not “somehow” – I know exactly how it happened – she asked and I said yes. I guess it’s all experience. I’m supposed to be doing a webpage for Momma, once she gets around to getting her content in order. I had this really horrible dream the other night that I had some kind of weird Cot Death kinda condition going on that meant I could die at any minute. Mum and Neil were going to take me to the hospital, but I stopped to shave my legs first. I was wearing my orange static tshirt and a green skirt, which just wasn’t a good look. But I was really glad that I had a chance to say goodbye to Neil before I went. I woke up before I got to the hospital, so I guess I’ll never know if I would have died or not. Hopefully not, cos dying in your dreams is some horrible shit right there.

You know, talking to Brad today, it occured to me that this isn’t my journal anymore. It’s ceased to be about me, and is now basically entirely about the Garland Gang as a whole. That’s okay though, I can just keep me inside my head instead. <!– and most of the time I seem so nasty that that’s probably the best place for me –> Hmmm, I just set my alarm for 6am, so that I can make it into town by 8am (I get out of bed and reset it for another half hour of sleep or so, and then maybe another half hour). That scares me muchly. I’m very not a morning person. Good England there, Joanna. When Kate and I were watching Rikki today (“My first interracial date”) I kept yelling at ads for using incomplete sentences. I think I’m wasted in my chosen field, eh. I should go work in some private British school, where I get to yell at children all day long and cane them for doing wrong. I should be somewhere very far away from all the crappy television I watch anyways. Although it was the wedding episode on Home and Away today, and didn’t Sally just look lovely? Lay one on me, Steveo!

I tripped over Kate’s real solid cloglike shoes before, and managed to knock them up so that they wacked me on that strange bone that sticks out of your ankle. Oww, oww oww oww! There’s a visable bruise from that now.