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.

Two different 2amish entries

Friday

I wish I:
A. Didn’t listen to people/took more responsibility for my actions/wasn’t such a stupid little miss doubter
B. Lived alone when I come home at 1am and the front door and all the windows are wide open, and Dawn of Azazel or some such is blasting out at some kind of crazy volume, and they’re playing poker in the dining room so that I can neither watch The Gilmore Girls or go straight to sleep like I’d like to
C. Didn’t have to go to my mother’s tomorrow morning to look after the house while she has an open day
D. was married to both the boys from Boulot
E. had workmates and ex-workmates who talked about more than the things that make me yell “SO, what’s your favourite fact about monkeys?” at all and sundry in hopes of changing the channel, although I do appreciate having drinks and dinner bought for me.
F. Had the ability to time travel, but like, controlled-like, not all making me cry at 3am in the morning when I finish it Timetraveller’s Wife like.

Other than that, and my right shoulder being SO FUCKING SORE, life is pretty sweet. Oh, and my friend texted me tonight to tell me that she’s become a umm, I can’t remember the word, so I will use the word “Fuckerware Demonstrator”, so if there are any ladies in Wellington who’d like to have one, let me know.

Saturday

I don’t remember the background music in Go being like this, and I saw it a bunch of times. We even had the motherfucking Go banner in our dining room, and I know that cos I was watching the Garland video again tonight. Welcome to my saturday.

I should probably point out that this entry is brought to you by the new Placebo album, which is (in theory) so new that it still says “title TBC” and it’s all one of those official “ELISABETH EASTER, I AM WATCHING YOU, DON’T YOU DARE RIP IT” versions. But anyway, my point was, and I’m sure you’ll still buy the Pulp and read this for yourself, that the albums, in order are: Hedonism, the comedown, feeling lost, reflecting on life and now the new one is: getting on with things, admittedly with meds to get you through the day. It won’t play in my computer at work, so the first time I heard it was around 9.35am when I got into my car this morning and it made me want to cry on the way to Ngaio. I was, of course, as you would know from the top half of this entry, on my way to help my mother with her open day. When I got there, there was no one else there yet, so I had raisin toast and coffee and chocolate peppermint slice, and she said “is there anything I can do for you?” and I said “can you fix my pants?” so I took them off and she fixed them and oh, it was like magic. And then my daddy came home from Dunedin or wherever he’d been andhe talked all excitedly about this processing place, and the Chinese he was showing around, and how he showed them something and how they asked for something and he showed them something else, and I was like “wow, it’s so cool how great you are at your job and how excited you are about it” and he ignored me becaue he was only paying me attention when he said “and then they got off their plane…” and I was like “got off, heh heh” and he’d laugh, and then he’d go back to talking and I’d be like “meat packing heh heh” and he’d go on and ignore the compliments.

So I decided to leave, so I texted Karen and asked her if she wanted to go to brunch somewhere on the Southern Coast, and she said “should I bring my togs?” and despite the wind, I was like “yes!” and so we went swimming at my favourite secret beach near Scorching Bay, squealing all the way cos it was cooooooooooold, and then had lunch at Chocolate Fish (haloumi and eggplant stack on sour dough). And then we went home and hung up my washing, and put on sneakers, still all salty-like, and then Miss Lisa Fur kindly came and picked us up. We got to Waitangi Park, and it was 2.20pm. I was thinking that the Phoenix Foundation were playing at 2.30pm, but there was a chalkboard saying that the Warratahs were playing at 2pm and the PF would be at 3pm. Well, we’d made jokes about how the Warratahs were like, totally down with the kids cos that wacky rap music was playing and we could see some kids breaking, so i was like “I bet they’re breaking… their HIPS” badoom chish, so we were like aaaaaaargh omg they haven’t even started yet and we’re still feeling those hands on our hearts, holding us, so we ran away to the Paramount for the best ice creams in the Courtenay area, and I had a triple chocolate ice cream, and it was accidently chocolate dipped, so like quadrupale chocolate, and holy crap, it was like an orgy in my mouth, except without the cocks and the semen and the stretching. But it was amazing ice cream. Yeah. And we went back, and sat on the ground, and the Phoenix Foundation played, and fucking oh yeah they were awesome. They didn’t play ‘Nest Egg’ for Lisa, but for me (yes, for me) they did ‘Hitchcock’ and a very rocking ‘The Drinker’ and ‘Forty Years’ and also (of course) ‘Slightest Shift’, and Karen got the Bruce Springsteening, even though she says he has no good songs, and sitting on the ground hurts my back cos I have no core strenght, but nevermind. And then I went home for nap and shower and de-salting.

In the evening I picked Brad up and saw his new house, and we came back here for drinks, and old photos – so many AUT stories to tell each other, and then the video, and sometime after midnight we headed off to Atomic, but wow, it just felt weird and strange. When they played ‘This Charming Man’, I was like “oh ho, really? But they didn’t play ‘love will tear us apart’ first”, so I thought maybe they’d swapped, but then they played the Cure’s ‘Inbetween days’ and I was like woah, parallel dimension and THEN they played ‘Love will tear us apart’ and seriously, what the fuck’s up with that shit? Also, the crowd were weird – they were waaaaaaay more Courtenay than Cuba, and Kristen wasn’t behind the bar, and I didn’t know the crowd, except for Jimmy who is apparently still alive although you wouldn’t know that from the interweb, and he said he was working on a top secret project and if I was the type to gossip I’d say the hot girl he was with was his project, but I don’t gossip. And again, I saw no one I knew, except for that really annoying “oh let me get up on the stage and dance, because I am like so awesome in my vinyl skirt and oh I’m on Suicide girls and oh I’m a drunken goth” girl who is there all the time, not that I dislike randoms that I don’t know or anything, oh no. Anyways, when we were dancing, Brad and I had an aweeeeeesome time, and just fun fun fun, but it was HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT, and so crowded, and my tummy hurt, so some time after 2am I left, and came home, and Mark was watching Go, and that brings us back into a complete circle, and the one thing I think that I’ve forgotten to mention was teh number deleting ceremony. Awesome.

I got less than five hours sleep last night, but I’m still feeling very very chiper. Chipper? Cheaper? You know what I’m talking about, anyways. I’m also listening to Madonna. Again.

Heh. Fuck I am so so classy. Oh soooooooo classy. None of you would believe quite how classy I am

Webcams are fun, except when they stop running smoothly, which is probably a good excuse to turn them off anyway. Oooh, I can see where my lack of sleep is starting to affect me now, in this crazy rambling mess. Shall I have some banana quick and peanut butter toast? I think that’d be a firmly logical solution. Okay, hang on while I go and get me some. (heh).

Fuck I’m so going to have to think of another word to put in when I say something mildly innuendoish. ‘Heh’ just doesn’t cut the mustard. Of course, I guess I could just stop talking in innuedoisms, and just say what I want to say.

Hmm. I must ponder these things. The Quick was called “Cool Bananananas” which was choice, but I dunno if the food colouring had such a good effect on me. I feel really really wired, like worse than last night when I drank disgusting alcomapops that Shirley brought over with her, because no one in her flat would touch them. Her and Kate M came over for dinner, which was cool because Brad and Clayt were at work, and Si was in the ‘Raunga. I made them stroganoff, and it was really yummy. Brad came home half way through Dawson’s, but he hid in his room until it was over, cos he’ll watch it later. We made Shirley be Andie, which she didn’t mind, until I told her that there was no Pacey, and if there was, I’d be shagging him. Abby was in fine form this episode, which was good, because it’s always nice to be appreciated.

Not that we’re too over the top with our Dawson’s obsession or anything, eh. No no, never ever trevor. After dinner was over, and Clayton had come home and eaten too and related stories of running down Queen Street in his undies, Kate and Shirley did the dishes. Brad and I kept on watching and singing along to Juice, and decided to always have guests on fridays to do our housework for us. Juice turned up some real gems, and some real bad shit. I decided that I was determined to stay through ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’, and I managed, just kinda gritting my teeth big lots. Ugh. Not pleasant memories associated with that song.

Ummm where am I? Oh yes, today, being Saturday. I’m under attack from wasps. I’ve killed seven of them so far. Evil fuckers. And of course, the problem is we can’t call the landlord in until we’ve mowed our lawn. We’ve neglected our garden and truely are paying the price now.

ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!

Sacha’s 21st is tonight – yay free alcohol and dancing goodness. Oh shit, what am I going to wear? Oh deary deary me. I’m also hoping that going to sleep around 7am-ish today will not catch up and pull nasty suprises on me.

HAH!

I just got back from the supermarket with Brad. We bought carbonated beverages and more fly spray. Non allergenic stuff this time. Bring it on!