Hubris.co.nz

Some fucker stole my golden lampshade out of the garage. You’re a fucker, fucker. How did it get there in the first place? Well, that’s a good question. On Friday, I bought a chandelier for the lounge at a store called JoJo that’s on the corner of Victoria and Manners St. I could have bought the same chandelier for the same price in that little store full of shiny things in the Duke’s Arcade, but the scary woman in there scares me too much. If I had a camera, I’d take a photo of it to show you, but of course you know that I lost my camera a couple of Fridays ago.

There wasn’t really a chance for me to have lost my camera this Friday though, as it was terribly civilised. I hiked up to the Herd Street Bra after work to meet up with Tom and Che and MG and their respective partners for a drink. Karen came along and we headed off to New World for dinner supplies and to be picked up by Miss Lisa. We shredded roast chicken and tossed it with chickpeas, feta, avomacado, cashews, red capsicum, spring onions and coleslaw fixings and ate it in piles with walnut bread. And then we watched Captain Tightpants some more, woo hah. I suspect sometimes that I should find a new expression other than “woo hah”, because while it is awesome, it is definitely overused.

On Saturday, I went and had my alonetime brunch at Elements. On my drive there I noticed a filing cabinet inside the Salvation Army op shop in Kilbernie, so on my way back I stopped in and bought it for $35. There was a bit of fanangling to get it into my teeny tiny car, especially since there were still boxes of pottery lying around in it, but with the help of the young guy from the shop we got it there in the end. And I managed to drag it out of my car and into the garage at home, because I am Superwoman. I went to the Meditteranean Warehouse in Newtown to buy a bottle of Amaro for Tom, and also a can of silver spraypaint. Then I had to sand the fucker down, and scrape off old stickers. Hurrah for having turpentine in the house. I am so fucking crafty; craftly like a MONGOOSE. I ran out of silver paint on the third side of the cabinet, so I switched to gold for the handles, and then I spraypainted the round white paper lampshade that’d been hanging in the lounge until I put up the chandelier. But now some asshole’s taken that. Boourns. The cabinet is looking stunning though, with another couple of coats of paint that I raced to the store to buy today after work despite feeling sick sick sick.

Saturday night I got glammed up and hopped on a bus to Sandwiches for Tom’s birthday dinner. They had no pork belly so after Che’s discussion on veal I opted for the vege cannelloni. I sent an update to twitter that said “Last time i was here at Sandwiches i was having the best pashes of my recent years. I miss Shiny! I look even hotter tonite than then though.” Dinner and conversation was very civilised, but I did get an odd look when I suggested to someone that they could fill their attic with dead bodies instead of pink bats as insulation. Apparently that’s not the done thing. When we were leaving, someone grabbed me and hugged me, and it was Bart with Blair, so I made a split-moment decision to go with them instead of going up to the Hawthorne Lounge. We went up to Richard’s apartment on Cuba Street and read catelogues from the Danish Sex Museum and drank and talked shit, then we went to the Southern Cross and wrapped ourselves up in polar fleece blankets cos it was fucking cold outside. When that shut we went to Frindigo, but that was closing a couple of drinks later, so we ended up at Club K, where we did shots of jagermeister and I got dragged onto the dance floor by some girl. Then after Bart and Blair sang a couple of Fall Out Boy songs (haha!), I somehow found myself warbling through ‘Like a Virgin’. I think they turned the microphone off on me, I was that bad. But it was fantastic! And I got home some time after 4am, fell asleep on the couch and then woke up in my bed still wearing my clothes. Needless to say, Sunday was a write-off.

I thought I had more to say today, but I guess I don’t, so I will watch the last two episodes of Season One of Deadwood instead. Tomorrow I’m going to Eagle Vs Shark, and on Thursday is the Great Blend, hurrah! And I’m still looking for a flatmate, grrrrr.

1. Some photos that the lovely Miss Fur took on my request.

My sexy new filing cabinet, all painted up and installed in my room and full of bed linen

My sexy new Sharondalier. Sort of.

(oh okay, she hasn’t uploaded them yet, but when she does, I will edit this)

2. I went to the Great Blend last night. Beforehand, Karen and I met up with Alan and Tom at the Port Cafe where they didn’t have any of the fishes that Karen wanted to eat, but her eventual decision of Bluenose and my Groper were fucking awesome. Their food is so yummy, their decor is so crap. Oh well. At the Great Blend I found the scrumptious Miss Kimberley and she came and sat with us at the back on leather couches where I could drink and giggle and whisper to my heart’s content without bothering so many people.

My text to Martha: RB namechecked me in his opener – “We moved venues so that Jo of Hubris has a better place to swim” I’ve fucked at least 2 ppl here. I was pleasantly surprised it was only two people. I was expecting up to four.

My text to Robyn: Russell Brown just gave you massive shoutouts, woo! xojo

I hadn’t hung out with Alan very much previously, so it was awesome that I got a chance to last night, and hopefully I didn’t make too much of a drunken nuisance of myself with my hilarious commentary – and my yelling anger when the guy from TVNZ showed a total lack of understanding about egovt guidelines (I’m gearing up for my new job already, obviously) although later when he said he was the boss of the captioning division his lack of knowledge made more sense. Alan was shocked when I announced my intention to hit on Damian Christie (He likes banging fat chicks! I should be so in!), and told me I could do better, which is sweet, but awww, poor Damian, haven’t we bashed him enough? At the bar Kowhai Montgomery introduced herself and we had a good talk, and she was awesome. I also saw CJ who used to do the job I used to do, and who’d been on the Silverstripe bowling team in the Wellingtonista league, and so now she is totally my WBLTMNBFFIMDAHTRFL (that’s ‘would be like totally my new best friend forever if Martha didn’t already have that role for life’ in case you’re not down with the kids’ slang). It was funny watching Karen’s face during the talk, because she’s not overly internetly inclined, and she doesn’t even own a TV. Plus she had to drink Chardonnay. I told Tom from TVNZ that I hope that they show all three alternative endings to the Shortland Street serial killer (incidently, I am so loving it – I was totally shocked when Claire showed up dead – really didn’t expect that, though I keep getting Meg confused with the new MILF character so I didn’t care about her, and I knew Jay was going to die when they gave her a long, lingering goodbye) and then babbled something about Idol slash and something more about how awesome Robyn is. He and Damian kept going outside to have cigarettes whenever I went to talk to them, so my seduction plan totally failed.

Eventually someone yelled out that a taxi was leaving, so I ditched Karen totally and ran off with Russell and CJ and Tom TVNZ and ummm someone else was in the cab – maybe Kowhai – and we went to Mighty Mighty. Of course. More drinking was done, and I saw Luke Buda there, and decided it would be an awesome time to congratulate him for his costume in Eagle Vs Shark (which is great and you should see it) – if you’ve seen it, you’ll know that he is in a bear costume in one scene, which is hilarious on so many levels because a) I love me some Phoenix Foundation and b) I love me some bears and c) I love me some people in animal costumes and d) I love me some pretending that Sam Scott is a giant bear, and so therefore e) Luke Buda dressed up as Sam Scott! So awesome! But he failed to see how awesome it was. Strange that, I mean I always love it when drunk girls come up to me and slur at me and act like dicks. Also he said he didn’t get to choose his costume and sounded a little grumpy about it. So luckily there were other people there for me to talk more shit to, and so I proceeded to do that at great length. Yeah.

3. I still haven’t found a flatmate. I don’t understand why not.

Apparently Russell doesn’t read Next. If he did, he’d know (because somehow apparently it’s easy to miss on Hubris, because it’s only like OH I DON’T KNOW, THE TITLE OF EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PAGE) that “Joanna McLeod doesn’t like the word ‘blog’”. In fact, that’s the first sentence of the piece, entitled ‘Blogging On’, on page 34 in the March issue. And then you can stare at the picture of me and reminisce about the time that the photographers came to my house instead of thinking about how my cheeks swallow my eyes when I smile. Must remember not to smile so hard. Which is easy to remember today since it’s Tuesday, and Tuesdays mean counselling day. But back to the article, I’m pretty sure that I told Danielle that I was one of the first people in New Zealand to write an online journal, not in the whole wide world ever, but Lani has the broadband cord right now, so I can’t check in my emails. But once I can, maybe I’ll post everything I said, so that I can pretend that it’s a whole article just about me, without any references to LonelyGirl15.

I can’t remember what else I wanted to write about. Things I talked about today included how worked up I got when we talked about the thing that I don’t like to talk about, and later when we talked about something else she was like “your hands seem to have calmed down now” and we laughed, which was important because of course I am still trying to keep her entertained, even if she doesn’t actually exist outside of that room, as she said. We talked about things that do or don’t define me, and my homework is to try and come up with a definition of myself(*). I told Lani that when I got home today and talked to her for way too long despite the soreness of my jaw (more about that later) and was like “Oh man, if only I could stand the word, because then I could be all “Joanna McLeod, Blogger”. Lani said she thought I was creative and inspiring because of the cake I made my mother and the story I wrote and illustrated to explain her present, and apaprently also because of the curry I made for Flat Dinner last night. Well, the curry’s not hugely creative, although it had cabbage in it for the first time ever, but the bathroom sure is clean and sparkling, as is the kitchen, and I bought a new shower curtain with gardenias on it. It’s clear, which is rad cos it lets in more light. And isn’t mouldy (and yes, I am still celebrating small achievements). When I showed it to Smoo he was like “well, I kind of wish you’d got one with dragons on it.” Smoo makes me laugh a lot. When I asked him what the proper ettiquite was when gentlemen callers have left their panties (okay, perhaps just underwear, but panties is so much more of a fun word, and wouldn’t it be amusing to think that I did someone who was wearing women’s underwear who wasn’t a woman? Yes) behind and you don’t think you will be seeing them again, he suggested starting a trophy wall. I could hang them between the pictures of STDs hanging on the lounge wall. Heh. What do YOU think the correct thing to do would be?

Anyways, today I felt bleh and also nauseous and then full of mysterious stomach pain, and then the buses didn’t happen, but finally I made it out to O’Bay, and had a swim with Karen out to the raft. Afterwards I sat dripping water on the decking and debated about whether to go home to my house like I really really wanted to do, or to go back to Karen’s to try on the dress she’s altering for me so that I have something to wear on Friday to the Tiki Tiki Party. The sewing won out in the end, via the supermarket so that we could have steak sandwiches with spinach pesto. I cooked the porterhouses rare, so they were succulent but soooooo chewy, and Karen made a mountain of super crunchy coleslaw, and so I chewed and chewed and chewed. Then when she was sewing, she told me to sing to her, trying to distract me from Q, and when I asked what, she said “Ten Green Bottles”. So I did. And she didbn’t ask me to stop, so I kept on going, for about 20 minutes. People should know not to have that kind of stand-off with me, because oh yes, I will be calling your bluff on that. So now both my jaw and my throat hurt. At least the muscle in the inside of my thigh has stopped aching, because man my sisters laughed at me as I limped around on Saturday. I told my parents it was a swimming injury, but it might actually have been a gym thing. Perhaps.

Fuck, I am exhausted. I had big ideas about what I wanted to write about, but mostly now I just want the cord so I can get online, post this and then lie down and vege. It’s 11pm already. Where did the time go?

Upcoming events: Craftwerk on Thursday, Tiki Tiki on Friday, Harvestbird on Saturday, then Fia’s birthday next Friday and Country Club: Australia on Saturday 24, not to mention Shirley and KateH both going to be in town next weekend. And then it’s Peti’s the week after and Bic Runga, and then two weeks after that we’re going to Martinborough and then it’s practically my birthday and Dead Rockstars, and then I must get out of town for New Year’s Eve…

The awesome side of having depression is that when you start to get better, it’s like, so fucking awesome. Yes, this is pretty obvious, but when things have been bad, and you take steps to make them better, and all of a sudden you feel good, you can feel this amazing sense of inner peace and feel like you’re glowing, and everything, just everything is fine, and it’s so fucking good. I’ve had this recently while watching the sun set at Lyall Bay, and when I had Lisa and Brad and Bart around the table for the flat dinenr roast on Tuesday night and my face was starting to ache from smiling, and today while floating in the ocean tryng to pretend that my toes weren’t going numb from the cold. And I know it won’t always be like this, that there are going to be more ups and downs all the time, but you know, let me have my moment in the sun. I deserve it.

And yes, there have of course been ups and downs. I had two days off work last week because I was dizzy and nauseous or just wanted to hide under the covers all day, but the good news is that my blood tests came back clean and when I went to the doctor’s to get a half-hour long blood pressure test, it turned out that I’m down to 118/74, so they didn’t even bother doing the whole half hour thing. Wahoo! I saw my counsellor for the first time on Thursday, and she’s going to make me an appointment with their career counsellor as well as she was quick to discover that I get depressed when I’m bored. She ventured a theory that I rely too much on other people to validate me, and I was like “well, since you said it, it must be true”. Heh. And then I cried when she asked me what I was good at, and what the ideal me would be like. One thing that I’m not good at is talking about what I’m good at without tagging on caveats to everything I say, like “I’m good at writing – but I don’t do it often enough”, “I have a tremendous capacity to love and be compassionate but there are many people that I think I have let down”. I like big buts and I cannot lie. And I talked a lot about feeling like I was 12 years old again and she implied that I was hanging out with a bad crowd and I laughed. The one way that I thought she wasn’t as good as Kalpana who I used to see in 2002/03 was that it was obvious she was looking at her watch all the time, wheras Kalpana had this tremendous ability to guide conversations perfectly in the available time without feeling like anything was rushed, and finding perfect ending places. But that’s okay, I’m sure it’s something I’ll get used to.

Just like I’ve got used to not drinking. Two weeks sober now! Who knew that was possible? Sure, dinner with my family on Friday night was a bit weird, but I’m going to blame that on the disappointly tiny portion of food that the vegetarian dish at the Manhattan Lounge was, and the fact that Horrible Gay Jonny was working behind the bar there, and that made my skin crawl so much that I got my parents to pay for my meal so that I wouldn’t have to talk to him. Brad brought over bubbly on Tuesday to celebrate him landing his first commercial, so I thought I’d have a half a glass to celebrate with him, but after a couple of sips Sebastian knocked my glass over, and so I figured that was a sign. And I tried to have a half glass of red wine tonight with my cumin gouda, but it just didn’t feel right. Of course, it might be that the wine’s oxidised or whatever it is that happens to wine that’s bad since I opened the bottle two weeks ago. I’m planning on drinking again when I get to Auckland, but until then, it’s a no. Did I mention that my doctor warned me to be careful if I do drink on the citalapram “because it lowers your inhibitions quicker, and then come the calls to your ex boyfriends” and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I’m now up to 3/4 pill a day, or I suppose 15mg. I was expecting to go from a half to a whole after a week but I think because I’ve been so nauseous she thought it would be better to take it slower with easing me on it.

I’ve been scatty and spaced out at work, but tonight I finished a thingie that I’ve been trying to work on, so I feel good about that. I also sanded down the other little bookshelf and spraypainted it gold. I bought magazine holders the other day, and sorted out my magazines today. My car is working again although I suspect a new alternator will be on the cards when I get my warrant in February. I found a new flatmate yesterday who I have a really really good vibe about – she works for the same ministry as me, loves Sebastian, wants a home not a house, said she was addicted to Buffy and smiled at my STD paintings. Now I’ve hung them, although they’re not straight. I feel like I’ve been achieving things, and that is good, even if it’s just doing the dishes, doing laundry, going swimming in the ocean. I found a headscarf to wear to the Big Day Out and I’m looking forward to coming in my pants at Dimmer the night before, and then again when Muse play, as long as they play ‘Hysteria’ which once featured in a dream of mine where I was making a porn movie with a guy who looked like Jesus, and we were timing our anal sex so that we’d both come right when this particularly impressive bit of guitar comes in in the song. And also I’m annoyed that I wrote two ‘in in’ together like that, because that’s so Danielle Steele with her bad writing skills being all about the “had had” and I fucking hate that. I also hate that I read two Danielle Steele books in a row, but I’m blaming that on the scattiness and blaaaaaaah of adjusting to my pills, like the proliferation of teen movies I’ve been watching. Much better are Jasper Fforde’s books about the Nursery Crime Division – The Big Over-Easy has Jack Spratt solving the case of who murdered Humpty Dumpty and the sequel The Fourth Bear speaks for itself. Sooo good. And full of word jokes which make me hot.

And that was far too long a paragraph, wasn’t it? Now all I have to do is tax returns for 2005 and 2006 because apparently they owe me money from 2001 (which is odd since Nicky did my tax returns for 2002 and 2003 and they said nothing then), set up a term deposit account and get my stuff back from everyone who has it (my camera is at the Aro house – I’m hoping I can sweet-talk Lisa into retrieving it for me) and reply to people’s emails and I’ll be like, totally on top of my life. For now. And that’s nice.

Yesterday was pretty much the first summer day that I’ve had all summer holidays, and so of course it was also the day that felt like I didn’t need to go back on pills. Nevertheless I took my half, as I’m easing onto them for the first week and headed off to Newtown for blood tests, and was somewhat surprised that the woman in the clinic didn’t wear gloves while she was doing it. Granted, it does seem all very clean and stuff, and maybe she didn’t want to disturb her manicure, and she’d obviously done it before because I hardly felt the needle go in at all, but still, shouldn’t she have worn gloves? Anyone?

Afterwards I came back home and sanded down one of my small bookshelves and spray painted it golden. Then I went to the beach! Yes, that’s how hot it was. I had my first swim of the summer – if you don’t count the night that I finished up at CWA – and I realised as I was in the cold water at my special secret cove (okay, so there is a concreted path and a handrail down to it, so it’s not actually that secret, but it is the perfect place to swim and yet is often populated only by two other people) that it was a really good way to describe the physical manifestation of the anxiety I’ve been feeling – like you know how when you get in really really cold water your breathing becomes really shallow and your heart rate speeds up? It’s like being like that all the time.Other things going through my head nonstop is the line from The Killers’ newish album which I have been listening to despite my total hatred of Brandon Flowers, and I am much enamoured of ‘When you were young’, so I’m all about the “you sit alone in your heartache / waiting for some beautiful boy to save you”, because I am still 14 and still thinking that Nuno should have been there and busted in and saved me and consequently I will always be expecting someone to save me from myself. And I’ve been so with the trying to figure out exactly where everything went wrong with my life that on New Year’s Eve if I’d had her number I probably would have called up my form one teacher, Ms. Petz, and asked her why she didn’t like me. Because I am teh crazy after all, and all of this stuff keeps me up at night and can’t turn off in my head. Except not so much yesterday, because as I said the sun was shining and that meant that I actually got things done. I did two loads of washing, hung them on the line to dry and actually folded them and put them away afterwards. I changed my sheets. I sanded down a bookshelf and spraypainted it gold, and then put coats of spray-on varnish on it. I installed new shelves in the kitchen. It was fucking amazing how much of a positive effect the sun had.

Today of course, the sun wasn’t out and so I stayed in bed for a couple of hours reading Danielle Steele before I managed to get my shit together to go to the warehouse to buy frames for my art – via the Maranui Surf Cafe, of course. And then I realised that I shouldn’t have taken my half pill on an empty stomach because I got spacey and nauseous, and I spent what felt like hours in the Warehouse, eyes glazed over in the DVD section, fighting impulse buy urges – I want to watch Deadwood but they only had the second series, I probably wouldn’t be that in to 21 Jump Street now that I’m actually old enough to stay up past 8pm and would therefore be able to watch it if it was on TV now, and then I decided that I didn’t need to spend $85 on Beverly Hills 90210 (and got it for $25 US from Amazon instead, natch). I did, however, come across The Breakfast Club by itself for $14, but decided to get the triptich with Weird Science and Sixteen Candles instead. The eighties’ movie fest continues. I felt sick for a couple of hours and weak and kitten-like, so I’ve been hiding under my duvet on the couch since I got home, you know, just for a change. Lisa came over and we watched The Breakfast Club together and made really smutty dirty jokes about the movie and also about a choice selection of NZ musicians. You know, just for a change as well.

I’m starting to feel a bit like Osama Bin Laden here. I mean, apart from the bit where he fancies Whitney Houston and plots to kill people, of course. Just that me sitting here, sending journal entries out into the ether as proof of my continued existence instead of actually talking to people. I am still ducking the phone, and I have emails from some nice people I should reply to, but oh man, that just seems like so much effort. I should talk to people and find out about what’s going on in their lives instead of just thinking about mine. And I will. Soon. It’s going to be sunny tomorrow, right?

Wednesday July 10th, 2002

I’m back! I’m here in Auckland. So why am I still supergrumpy and miserable then? I’m going to go with being pre-bleed, and also being annoyed that i missed people terribly and people are all busy now. Yes I know they all have their own lives and stuff. But meh. And also, Bops left for Wellington yesterday, so I won’t see her for like, two weeks and that sucks cos she’s so fucking great. Plus, she took her discman with her, so I can’t even listen to all the cds I got yesterday at Real Groovy.

All in all, my time in Wellington pretty much sucked more ass than an ass sucking machine. Mum drove me fucking crazy – I’m pretty sure that she has depression, or is at least going through menopause, but she doesn’t acknowledge depression as being anything valid at all; apparently it’s only events that make you sad, not chemical imbalances. But I will stop talking on this subject now. At least I got to catch up with lots of people and buy some kickass but very expensive pants.

Would you like to come over and munch on my rug? It’s kinda smelly, but it’s newly laid. Okay, we can stop with that now, but suffice to say, I actually have new carpet! It’s very exciting. Right now my room is spotless (although admittedly, there’s still a lot of my junk in the lounge) and you did say you’d be curious to see what my room looked like once I’d actually got it sorted, so I think you should come round and see it. I need a poley thingie to mount my photo hanging thing on, but other than that, things are pretty much sorted – once I unpack my suitcase, and get all my posessions out of drawers they don’t belong in and unstack my books from my wardrobe where they are getting all damp. I could go do that now, actually. Meh, that’s boring. I oughta focus my attentions on finding something to cover up the window with. My landlady has taken my curtains to wash them cos they were horrible mouldy, and your guess is as good as mine as to when I’ll get them back.

It’s 18 past midnight now, so I won’t sleep for a couple more hours, but I have an induction course at 9am tomorrow. Stink. Actually, the organisation employs me is very large and varied, and there are quite a few young people working for it, so maybe there will be some hot young things tomorrow morning. I can only hope.

xojo

Monday 15; Febuary, 1999

Trudie: “Whenever I hear the word ‘stalker’ I think of you, Joanna”

Ten thirty am, the phone rings. I figure it’s either not for me, or it’s Shirley, so I drag my ass outta bed a little while later to check the message. I was right – it WAS Shirley. So I rang her back, and she told me that she and Trudie were meeting up with Dee in Mission Bay at 2pm, and did I want to come along? Of course I did! So she said that Trudie could pick me up on her way in – Trudie’s flatting with Shirley now, you see. So yeah. Since I was already up at that god awful hour, I figured I may as well be domesticated, so I did the dishes, and hung out the (still icky) curtains on the line. Man, it was so foul – something in them turned the water & bleach all yellow, so it looked like they were soaking in piss. How’s that for a nice visual?

So yeah, after doing all that, I went back to bed. But I couldn’t get back to sleep because it was so light outside, and there’s construction happening just up the road. I just laid down for a while instead. Last night, I couldn’t sleep either so I lay in bed and listened to the whole of Little Earthquakes. I wish that I could turn my brain off at night, so that I don’t have a billion and one thoughts racing through my head at all times. I wish I could various stuff in my life straighted out, cos it’s all so weird right now. I wish – well – I wish a lot.

Eventually, after I’d showered and asked Clayton how his night had been (including a “spare me details please”) I heard my cellphone ringing. It was Trudie, asking me where I live – cos she didn’t know, and Shirley hadn’t considered that. So yeah, cellphones are good because Trudie didn’t have my real number, and I think Clayton was on the phone anyways. So yeah, she came over, and just before she got here, Shirley rang to ask us to go BACK to their place to pick her up, but apparently, it was on the way anyways. Off we puttered in Buttercup, Trudie’s bright yellow old Honda Civic. I say putter, because she drove UNDER the speed limit the whole way, which is a concept that’s kind of new to me, given the kind of riffraff I generally hang out with.

Anyways, we met up with Dee eventually, and settled down in a cafe I remember from a year ago while frantically flathunting. Dee, being 20, popped around the corner to the bottle store, and so we had byo bubbly (apparently she got stuff that was like $20 a bottle too) and plates of food to share. And of course, a great big huge long gossip session. Maaaan we all can talk. I was kinda nasty as usual, but they all know I don’t mean it. They talked about CRICKET though, for fucks sake! So yeah. Then we went and got icecream. Then Shirley and Dee got Burger King. Mmmmmm and yet they’re still the tiniest people in the world. I feel like such a freak walking out with them, cos I’m about a foot taller – and that’s hardly an exageration.

So yeah anyways, we swung past Shirley’s so that I could liberate their fudge cake (they’d had too much of it) so in return I gave them half the huge bag of plums that Clayton’s granny had given us. We weren’t going to be able to eat them before they rotted. So yeah.

Make-Out Monday, veging in front of the TV. Clayton cooked dinner, for Layton the Lurker as well who’d shown up. Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh, because he did give me a mouse pad – one that even has wrist support too – Yay. But still, he’s just – I dunno……. weird. I can’t wait till Sisi gets back so there’s someone that I can be completely relaxed around about.

I have to go into town for Orientation tommorrow, and maybe do a little bit of stalking. We’ll see. Arrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggg I’ve got such a sugar rush right now, and I’m just going really mental and there’s like, no one online right now to talk to except for Heidi, and much as I love her, she’s not as good to gossip to as Andee. I misssssssssss Andee. Sure, she’s supposed to come and stay this weekend, but I need her NOW, dammit!

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!