Hubris.co.nz

So apparently, unless you want to lie away for a significant part of the night listening to your stomach making noises similar to that of Homer’s when he took many a cannonball to the stomach in ‘Homerpalooza’ (one of my all-time favourite episodes), it’s not a good idea to swig most of the bottle of cherry-vanilla robotussin over the course of a day when it says “may have a laxative effect” on the label. Why didn’t my parents teach me this when I was growing up? But I had to have that much cough syrup. I had to leave a lecture on accountability in the public sector twice because I was coughing so much, and the second time I coughed so much that I puked. Fun times. That’s when I ran away to beg a chemist for the strongest thing she had. Now I have to find a new chemist to go to cos my bottle is pretty much empty and I only bought it yesterday and I wouldn’t want her to think I had a problem. Of course the good thing now is that since I missed most of the talk, I can’t possibly be held accountable for my actions. This means I can go to the Dub Pistols’ myspace page and listen to see if it’s their version of ‘Rapture’ that I heard and liked, right? Wrong. I’m not that much of a badass.

What are some other things that I wanted to write about? I had my first Creative Wednesday this week, but I was so sick that I decided to let myself sleep in until whenever I woke up, which was 1pm, and then I just sat on the couch coughing until Brad went and bought me vodka and fresh OJ. Before I got stuck in to making myself feel better though, I paid a visit to the new Ezibuy shop to get a shirt for the lovely Hadyn and stunning Martha to screenprint for our Bowling League. My other achievement as a project on Wednesday was in finally getting that all sorted out, via many mailings to our mailing list. As I said about my shirt to the list today: “It’s pink! And lowcut! So people will recognise me! All my sentences are going to end in exclamation marks today! I am high on cherry-vanilla robotussin!”. Heh.

But today I am not wearing a lowcut top because I also bought leggings which are so much less of a pain than tights, so I’m wearing my short pinstriped dress and boots instead. Hurrah! And my nails are bright bright green, which I’ve decided will be my new trademark thing. Hurrah nu rave! Heh. Oh my stars, why am I being so vapid? I really must add more bad influence websites to my list of things to give up for Matariki, since that’s coming up soon. Also my main Matariki resolution is to wake up with someone this year and not want them to run away ASAP. That’s what grown-ups do.

And on that note about grown-ups, the divine (and crazy for walking 100km) Kimberley asked me five questions, as part of a fad which all the cool kids are doing, so here they are with my answers.

How many nicknames do you have? What’s the story behind each one?

I don’t really have that many nicknames, apart from a thousand variations on Jo (Jo Burger, Jo Blo, Jo Jo Jo etc). Before I left high school, I tried to keep Jo in reserve only for my friends, so people I didn’t like had to call me Joanna, or my father if I was shitty with him, and so on and so forth, but then when I started working and leaving phone messages everywhere, it was easier to call myself Jo than Joanna because I don’t talk very clearly. I will still write Joanna if I’m doing anything where I can’t sign off “xojo”. When I went online in 1997, I called myself Astrid, so I had nicknames based on that – Strid, Striddy, and so on. Also in order to seperate me from the other one (no capital letters) I became known as Jo Hubris to match my domain. To me these days Jo Hubris is the fierce, brave and outgoing side of me, my super hero identity to Joanna McLeod’s Clark Kent, if you will. I am Jo Hubris when drunk, Joanna when sober. There’s also a Canadian who calls me Trouble but I’m not entirely sure why.

What is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life? How did you feel afterwards?

Everything when it happens feels like the hardest thing EVAH (moving to Japan, moving to Auckland, that horrible drawn-out fucked up relationship and subsequent horrible drawn-out fucked up break up), but now I will say having Depression is the hardest thing ever, because once you’ve got to a place where you don’t want to be alive anymore having to claw your way back from that to not just a place where you’re surviving but where you’re actually thriving, well, I think that makes me pretty fucking awesome. And I say this as Jo Hubris, not Joanna, of course.

Have you ever forgotten to put on underpants?

How could you forget something like that? I’ve had to wear shortshorts instead of underpants at primary school when I ran out of clean ones, and once I left my skirt behind at a guy’s house when I ran away in the middle of the night (I had pants as well) cos I couldn’t find it in the dark and had to go back the next day to get it, but I’ve never forgotten to wear underpants, no. If it’s terribly terribly late in the laundry cycle, I might not be able to put on thunderpants though, despite having ten pairs…

Where/ with whom was the last kiss you had?
My last kiss would have been after the Great Blend in my bed, with the ginga who turned out to be an asshole (damn my weakness for English accents!). I don’t know if we’d actually kissed at Mighty Mighty, or in Cuba Mall or in the taxi before then or not. It was the hottest day of the year, we were sweaty (despite the late night swim) and bloody noisy. And I had the Killers on repeat because I couldn’t find any of my records (they were in the lounge).

I think that was my last kiss anyway. I do drink an awful lot.

What thing about yourself do you like the most?
I like that I am such a giving and accepting person. I can validate that statement too with things that others have said about me too. In fact, I spend a lot of time discussing it with my counsellor when I’ll be all “oh I am so selfish, I am so caught up in myself, I let my friend down this one time” and she’ll be all “so you let them down once and that means all the good things you do are wiped out?” and I’ll be all listing things and she’ll be like “hello, duh” and I’ll be like oh this is why I pay you, for that validation. Heh. No but seriously, I’m pretty confident that if you are someone I care about, I will accept anything about you, and I will do whatever I can to be there for you in whatever capacity you need me to be. And that’s awesome. Wahoo!

EDIT: Questions from the fiesty Miss Heather:

1. If you had the chance to wake up with a completely new personality, what would you be careful not to change?
I would make sure that my openness was still there – the way that I will accept people for who they are, the way I try to be completely honest with the way that I’m feeling, and my willingness to take on board new ideas.

2. Desperate for a shag, or frigid?

Seriously? Does this question even need to be asked? Did you not read the part above where I slept with a ginga? So to most people, I would be desperate. To a couple of poor lads who were around at the wrong times though, I suppose I may have appeared frigid.

3. On girls: greying, or dyed? Worst option for dyed? On boys: balding, or wig? Comb-over? Facial hair?

Greying or dyed is fine, but I’m not a fan of platinum blonde on most people. Balding is okay, but is best when shorn real short. I like to rub heads with short haircuts. Never a combover, generally never facial hair. A little stubble’s okay, unless you’re making out with it.

4. What do you think are the seven cardinal sins of blogging? Obviously this doesn’t apply to you, since you’re not a blogger.

Writing “Here’s a link and it’s funny”, and thinking that counts as content.
Apostrophe catastrophes.
Holding political views that are different than mine. Puppy-eaters.
Worshiping anyone that I don’t like.
Not writing about me as often as possible.
Refering to Hubris as a blog.
Constantly doing memes. Like we care.

5. What would the cover stories be on the first ever issue of your own magazine?

Ooooh, I adore this question, although I would have prefered you to say “will”, not wood.

Cover stories:
- The definitive guide to cocktails in Wellington
- How my website got me laid, paid and on display: an autobiography.
- Do get me started: a how-to for new media startups.

So if you want me to ask you five questions to answer, and you want them to be all probing and hip, comment or email me.

I don’t think I have any plans for this weekend. Someone make some for me?

xojo

Smart readers would know that the large gaps in updates are probably due to an increase in bad feelings for me, specifically Rising Anxiousness. This has resulted in some unpleasantness, as it tends to, but I’m hoping that more exercise, having Xmas sorted out now and having two weeks off will help the anxiousness to settle down. And if it doesn’t, well, government job = free intial counselling. WahoO!

So where we left off was with me heading out to the Matterho for Kart’s birthday, which luckily quickly moved up to Mighty Mighty, which wasn’t very busy cos it was a Wednesday after all so we could move a couple of tables together easily.

Ash with porcelain skin poses with porcelain dog

Kartini models a shirt from Helen’s shop, Modern Love

Haha. Awesome photo placement.

I talked about Japan with a couple of people who’d also lived in Tokyo – one working as a hostess – and also started crying on Kartini’s shoulder about “why don’t people like me? What more do I have to do? I never get invitations to anything – you only invited me tonight because I emailed you to see if you wanted to go to lunch. I feel like I’m in seventh grade again blah blah blah blah” because I am really awesome. I was really stoked about that. Especially when I did it again on the balcony at San Frindigo later that night onto Ash’s shoulder this time.

But apart from that, it was a really good time. It was pretty much just us there, so we were all out on the balcony because they’re all filthy smokers (in fact, there’s now a Molly Ringwald badge covering the fucking cigarette burn on my bag), and some random munter showed up looking for whores, confused by the Bathhouse sign out the front (like people used to do occasionally when Anji and Karen lived in the Moonlight Lounge. Except that dude, this guy seemed to be looking for female companionship, so what kind of idiot would go to a place called the San Francisco bathhouse?). I suggested that maybe he should go down to Oasis Massage on Ghuznee St (how do I know where the nearest brothel is? I just keep my eyes open I guess), but he kept hanging around, trying to give us his drink (“it’s a double!” like that was some strange way for liquor to be served) and being sleazy. I think eventually Kristen went to speak to a bouncer about him and he got thrown out. Speaking of dodgy:

I have no idea who that guy is, or what’s going on. I don’t remember taking this picture

Look! Friends! People who like me! And I just need to remember that more often, even if they don’t come to my parties all the time

On Thursday I was feeling a little fragile, and puked up my Revive coffee before we went for our team lunch at Logan Brown, so I chose to take the taxi up with a couple of the late people rather than walk up with the Comms team, so I was at the other end of the table with our director and the head of HR. I tried to keep my head down and just enjoy my gazpacho, asparagus, turkey confit and chocolate velvet, but I found myself babbling more about how nice it was to work for an agency of good if I hadn’t been drinking on a hangover. And I should point out that the tax payer only paid $15 of our lunches, just in case you were worried. And then I tried to Xmas shop but only found things I wanted to buy for myself like art at Popup. Oh, but I did get Lisa a bobble-head Jesus to put in her car to keep us safe when we drive up to the BDO. Mmm sacreligious.

On Friday we had our Comms team planning day all day. It was interesting doing our group working profiles, and mapping out what we want to do with our website and so on, but I was in a terrible grump of a mood due to not getting to eat breakfast and then not breaking for coffee until 11.45. Still, it’s nice to work somewhere that does actually have a clear comms strategy, and part of it felt a bit West Wingy, and also we all know what we’re doing now. And 3/4 of us are exceptionally extroverted, and I am more practical and analytical than the others. Hurrah. Which means that the best ways to “link” with me are as follows:

That night I saw BartBart for the first time in a million years, and also Lisa. We watched the Tommy Lee/Pamela Anderson video on my laptop which Bart was holding on his lap, and of course it’s all shot from POV, so ha ha, Bart got fucked by Tommy Lee. Good times.

On Saturday, I had my work party at the Hataitai bowling club. It turns out I’m not as sucky at bowling as I thought I might be, so joining is definitely on the cards. I felt not terribly comfy at the party though – I was just talking to the Comms team mostly who all had their partners/husbands there, and so I snuck out right after dinner. Besides, later that night Lisa Karen and I went to A Low Hum to see Ghostplane. The doors of Frindigo were still shut when we got there, so we went to Midnight Espresso and Lisa inspired me to have a coke spider, so I bounced off the walls for a while. It truly is an awesome drink. Signer who played before Ghostplane were interesting sometimes, especially in the really poundy songs (they have Dino from HDU/the current incarnation of Dimmer on drums, hence the power), but sometimes they were too clicks and beepy. And you know I feel a bit funny about Aspen. I hadn’t seen Ghostplane play since I’ve become friends with Ash, so that was very cool. But after that we decided that we were old and tired and went home.

On Sunday I tidied the house and went up to Ngaio to get Mum and Neil’s Xmas tree stand, and then I got a tree and went to the Warehouse for decorations, and ended up with this result:

My tree by day – spot all the newspaper-wrapped but beribboned presents. That’s my way of saving the environment

With the lights on. And yes, I did buy the baubles especially to match that sari

On Monday (wow, this is starting to get really boring) I asked for a reassessment at the gym, figuring it would be good to get it in now in case things get a bit kaput over my holiday. I was exactly the same weight, but my body fat percentage had gone down a tiny bit, as had my resting heart rate, which was encouraging. HOWEVER! Four weeks ago, I had perfect blood pressure, but as she was taking it again I said “i bet it’s higher now” because I’ve been feeling so fucking stressed out. It was so high that she took it again to see if it was right. Five more points and she’d tell me to go to a doctor. Holy crap! I’ve always had good blood pressure. I was like “I only came to the gym once last week, and it’s Xmas organising and stuff – I think if I do some radsville cardio today I’ll be a lot better”. But now I can still feel it in my chest, carrying around that ball of stress that doesn’t want to go away. It’s not choice. The anxiousness seems to be rising – hence the crying. I’m hoping the holiday will do me some good. It should do. Hopefully it can make my self-esteem fuck the fuck up a bit too.

Another thing that has added to the cry factor this week is remembering how this time last year we were spending time at the hospital with Oma, and then how on the 22nd, well, you know. Mum rang me to say thanks for the orchids I had sent to her on Friday, and I cried at my desk with a glass of champagne in my hands while my workmates yacked it up in the kitchen. But I pulled myself together by the time that Martha came to pick me up in her sexyass new Mini Cooper. I want one too! We went to Noel Leeming for cellphone goodness for her and DVD recorder joy for me. Well, it’s more joyous now that I found an all region crack for it on the interweb, but I also read bad reviews of it. Stink.

Yesterday there was shopping insanity at Woolworths, but I have everything in stock now except for fresh cream for the many coursed Xmas Dinner Karen and I mapped out on Thursday before a pretty fucking mediocre dinner at Scopa which has so gone off my recommendation list. Everyone in the family (yes, all five of us) has received explicit instructions in regards to wine to be matched with each course, and what kind of cheeses they are to bring, and so on and so forth. Match that with the fact that I only bought two Xmas presents not from the interweb – and one of those has now gone to Anji to give to Neil in a present reshuffle, and I’m like, totally in control. My to-do list is meanwhile detailed down to the “fill CD player with good music” “Make ice” “chill bubbly” instructions. Mostly I just have to tidy, vacuum and decorate the table. Until then I will watch DVDs with Lisa and enjoy Sebastian’s company. And also enjoy how fucking clean the bathroom and kitchen floors are. Ahhh exterme mopping, how calming you are. Sort of.

We flew out of Wellington on Anzac Day, 1991. I think it was a Thursday, and I know that the weather was crappy. Because it was a holiday more people were able to come to see us off. KateB was there, with her mother. My sisters, maybe Oma and my aunt, and my mother’s ‘friend’ from polytech. I hadn’t been on an airplane since we’d moved back from Germany, apart from a jaunt to Nelson to see Alexis, so I was concentrating on being excited about that instead of all the other crap that had been going on for the past while.

It’d been a somewhat difficult couple of months. Mum didn’t want to move back to Japan, and she made sure that everyone knew that. One night we went out to dinner at Flanagan’s (now Sandwiches) and she and Neil fought so extensively that all I could do was sit there and cry while my sisters tried to comfort me by talking about how we could build igloos out of the potato ‘bricks’ that the menu had promised. I was saying in my head then “it’s alright for you, you get to stay”. I wished like fuck that I was in sixth form, or my first year of university instead of being ten. I wished that I was allowed to go to boarding school instead, even though I realised that boarding school probably wouldn’t be the fun and games that Enid Blyton’s Saint Clare’s books made it out to be. But it couldn’t be worse than Raroa, the school I’d never bothered to get heavily invested in because I knew all along that I’d be leaving.

And since I was leaving, I fought with Kate more than usual, blowing up at her during a lunchtime game of The Game of Life, running off to the bathroom to cry while my friends took turns trying to comfort me. When lunchtime was over and we were sitting in a circle on the mat, one of the boys asked Mrs. Petez, my sworn enemy, why I was crying, and she started on some spiel about how everyone needed to be more sensitive. I choked at what I saw as being her total and utter hypocracy, and so I got up and ran out of the room again. I sobbed hysterically in the bathroom for a while, as you do when your world is like, totally ending, and then tiny little Frances showed up and took me on a walk around the field where the cold Wellington air blew on my hot feverish cheeks in a way that I found to be very dramatic, and I was certain that a character in a Judy Blume novel would feel the same way. When I returned to class I was asked to go and see another teacher – one that I actually liked – to talk about it, and so I sat in a spinny chair in a library resource room and tried to explain how Mrs. Petez hated me and how Kate was like, totally insensitive, or whatever it was that was making me so angry. Of course Kate and I made up and I stayed at her house the day that the movers came to pack up our boxes. My mother made sure to leave my sisters almost nothing, as her way of saying “I am angry that you are not coming too”.

Of course, leaving had its benefits too. I wasn’t supposed to be allowed to get my ears pierced until I was 12, but one day we were in Hataitai for some reason, buying flowerpot bread from a bakery that I think is now the Bellagio Cafe, and Mum said it would be a good idea for me to get my ears pierced then, so that they wouldn’t be too sore on the plane. I got little pink sparklers, of course, and studiously cleaned and rotated the posts, but even so a lot of my hair got caught up on them and my ear swelled up later in the hotel in Japan. Leaving also meant shopping sprees, and being allowed to buy not only Tiger Eyes but also Forever, Mum evidently having chosen to forget our discussion about the grammatical mistakes in that book about how they came when they were already there, and her incredibly awkward explanation about “whitey fluids”. Our flight to Auckland was all about hot stuffed crossaints since we were in business class, and I peered through the curtains at the plebs in economy with their packets of cheese and crackers and decided then and there that I never wanted to be one of them. Then we got a shuttle from our travelodge hotel into Newmarket and Mum spent up large on me. I watched The Simpsons (it may have been their first ever Halloween special) that night and talked to Karen and Anji on the phone – they already seemed so far away.

The Koru Lounge seemed really strange to me – I couldn’t understand why people would need the showers there, but the idea of free food was awesome. The plane was fitted out with a camera out the front, and onscreen maps about the distance to Tokyo. We were in business class again, so there was free champagne or orange juice while we were waiting to take off. I got to go up and see the cockpit later, and there were constant deliveries of peanuts and playing cards. It was pretty much my idea of heaven. I played around with the different radio stations and watched Home Alone and Fried Green Tomatoes. The three-course lunch had Tiramisu for dessert and to this day I often think it’s a Japanese thing, and for dinner there was John Dory in a champagne sauce. I’m not sure why these things are etched so firmly into my memory, but they are. I think the hard thing about being ten is that you’re still a kid, but you’re not really a child – especially not when you’ve had to leave your sisters behind. The flight attendents couldn’t just give me some stickers and a colouring book. Well, maybe they could have. I probably had a stuffed toy with me, although I’m not sure which one. Maybe Chi Chi the monkey.

It was of course nighttime when we got there after the eight plus hour flight, so I couldn’t see what Tokyo looked like. The Narita runway was picked out in green lights and it looked spooky. Our plane landed right after a flight from the Philipines, so customs was jammed. I’m not sure if Neil didn’t know then that our red diplomatic passports could have sped us through the line, or if he just didn’t want to be ostentatious about it, so we had to wait an eternity to get through. According to Mum’s diary, (and yes, I read it when I was twelve. I’m not proud), I was really good the whole time, even though I was probably about dead on my feet. I think a well-timed sugar hit from leftover airplane lollies might have helped. The bus to Shinjuku from the airport took another two hours. I may have dozed a little, but my eyes were just too big gobbling up all the signs in a language I couldn’t read, and Mum and Neil would have pointed out landmarks that they knew from the first time they were there.

The Keio Plaza hotel is two towers joined together at the base. The lobby was huge, and featured the biggest ’80s style chandalier I’d ever seen, all square-like and sparkling. I stared at it while we checked in, Neil probably fumbling to remember his Japanese while everyone from the front desk staff down to the bell boys in their green pillbox hats probably knew enough English to see us right anyway. The tallest tower is 47 floors, the other, in which we were staying on the 28th floor was 34. Always before whenever I’d stayed in hotels, I’d been in at least an interconnecting room with my parents. This time I was in a big room with two double beds all by myself. Over the next two weeks I would come to relish that space, and feel Very Very Grown-Up in there, but that night, despite knowing that my parents were just down the hall and only a phone call away, I was terrified.

It’s Friday, I’m in love at home
Last Friday night, I didn’t go out. Yes, I know. I was pretty sure that the world was going to implode too. But the one boy left at work who goes out drinking had some mysterious function on (he refused to tell me what it was, apart from a gay pride parade, but I don’t believe him. I am instead suspecting that he’s been drafted in to sell Amway), and I didn’t want to have to make contact with the ex-cows, because eww, boys have cooties (or BIRD FLU) and all that. However, my being lame at homeness provided me with the opportunity to do the supermarket shopping, tidy the house in preperation for vacuuming the next day and spend some quality time with Bart, so that was nice.

Big in Japan, alright / pay, then I’ll sleep by your on my side
It was quite exciting to get up on Saturday morning and start preparing for a Country Club whilst not being hungover. Yeah that’s right, I said morning. And I also said not hungover. You can faint now. But yes, I managed to be so organised that I even had time to go and have coffee with Karen during my errand-running to pick up Singstar Original, ’80s and Rock and bottles of Asahi and Kirin and sexy big cans of Sapporo from Regional Wines and Spirits. Can I just put out a huge big pile’o love for Regional’s website, which is so damn handy when it comes to planning Country Clubs since they list all their stuff by region? Even if the guy at the checkout did pick up my beer bottles and examine them to say “oh, this one’s made in Thailand, this one’s made in Australia…” while I put my hands over my ears and went “LA LA LA LA LA”. Apparently he also did exactly the same thing to Mike when he and Kart were stocking up.

I dressed up as a slutty schoolgirl (gee, that was hard), and went to pick up Lisa and Beverly, and then Karen who was dressed as a ninja, and then Anji and Delwin who were Harajuku girls. We started out Country Club in the dining room, where I handed out specially purchased pieces of paper and pens and instructed people to write Haiku and give Tentacle Porn a go while Karen and I threaded up sticks of yakitori (LITERALLY barbecued chicken, but we also made vege skewers) in the kitchen. What exactly is tentacle porn, you ask? Well I will answer by sucking Lisa’s “bandwidth” (heh) to repost images of her artwork. I hope she doesn’t mind. She shouldn’t, because you can’t even see her hands in these pictures:

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Then we ran out of chairs, as more and more people arrived, so I moved everyone through to the lounge to watch My Neighbor Totoro. I think people were perhaps a little too drunk at that stage to appreciate the simple beauty of the movie, and the absolute radness of the Nekobasu. Philly-steins (Hells yeah, cheese steak and beer. This is my special shout-out to Brad, although I don’t think he reads Hubris, so I can cut’n paste it into an email for him.)! But they were of course, drunk enough for karaoke, and oh how we all rocked that microphone mightily. Well, Katy mostly fell asleep. But others rocked it long and hard. Lisa as the last person to leave left just after 5am. In the time inbetween, glass was broken, many things spilled, so many wacky snacks were consumed, I punched Bart in the face after he took off his glasses and asked me to, and he showed Lisa his Chuck Norris tentacle. I’m shocked. SHOCKED. It was a fucking kickass country club, that’s for sure.

In the cold light of morning afternoon while everyone’s yawning cleaning you’re high tired

The next day I ran away to hide at my parents’ place instead of cleaning up, under the guise of feeding Pixie and doing laundry. I discovered that they had Live8 on their DVD hard drive, so I went through the whole thing, going “fucking wow” at many of the performances (Pink Floyd, Bjork, ummm some others) and scratching my head at many others. And I wondered why the hell they didn’t set out to collect money along with names, because surely they could have raised some amount, even as a side project. Yeah I know i’m nearly a year late to this party. Shoosh.

I’d been just about to cry when I left the house because I was tired, and hungover, and I couldn’t find my glasses. In the grand search for the glasses, however, Bart finally unearthed my long-missed camera cables, so I’m proud to present a selection from the past couple’o months, although you might be best to go look at them directly in Flickr:

Random people who were also at Kai in the City when we were there with Sarah’s Hens’ Party

The Chocolate Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooosse from Canadia at the Country Club

Karen, Bart’s friends and Bart at his Mexican party. As it says in the notes in my flickr account, one of the girls is wearing a note that says “in case of fire, I put out”, which I think is awesome

Russ and Smoo, looking somewhat worse for wear

Spent the afternoon whole day in bed, trying to figure out what it was you said
Queen’s Birthday Monday was dedicated to listening to Tommy which I had pinched from my parents’ overflowing record cabinet, and devouring The Method Actors, which is a book about a fucked up bunch of people living in Tokyo, and it makes me want to box up all my possessions and stick them in storage, and go live the high life over there, teaching English or hostessing or some such nonsense. Just as well I’m not a skinny blonde or I would actually be seriously considering it. I don’t know how I clicked over from hating Japan and all it stood for in my life to craving it. Perhaps it’s because in the book people meet at Hatchiko, and go to Almond Corner in Roppongi, and they draw maps that go past the 109 building, and Tokyu Hands, and Seibu Loft, and oh oh oh I haven’t finished the book yet, but I’m hoping that they will at some stage need to visit the New Zealand embassy so I can see it again through the author’s eyes.

Working nine to five nine twentyish to five thirtyish, what a way to make a living
I have now seen a cow-orker naked. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any of the ones that I want(ed) to see with their clothes off though. Stupid Peti suggesting another woman from work should join my gym. I hate people who talk to me at the gym. I’m there to escape, to replace the noise in my head with the Arcade Fire, or Shihad, or the Walkmen or Britney Spears or whatever else spins up on my ‘Work it out’ playlist, not make chit chat. Yeah that’s right, I said stupid Peti, and I’m glad that she’s leaving. You hear me, Rebbecca? Heh. Boo-urns to the last person on my floor that I have regular conversations with leaving. Sigh. But like, good for her and stuff.

Something’s cooking, I’m at the griddle electric wok
Tonight for family night, I will be making Papas Garbanzo for Bart and Smoo and Lisa. And then we’re going to play Pictionary, cos that’s what families do. Assuming that I do actually have Pictionary. I’m not sure if the board is in the box. Or indeed if I even have the box anymore. And Twister might not work in these jeans. Or even these genes.

One week and two days until my birthday. Woo!

I appreciate that I haven’t written in quite a while (eleven days? sheesh!), so bear with me while I try to address the many things that I want to tell you about, okay? This may take a while because I’m watching some terrible teen horror flick about virgins getting killed in some small town. Has Brittany Murphy made a good movie ever, apart from Sin City? I don’t think she has.

So, since then, what have I done? Of course I went drinking after work on Friday, even though I wasn’t entirely sure that we would, cos of the blah blah blah, but large bottles of chang were had at the Poon, and then we went to eat at One Red Dog, even though it’s only cocks who like their pizza, and it was funny cos then we went to Boulot (I was a little hesitant, based on the blah blah blah, but it was fine) and I even saw Stephen and expressed some Farrar bashing opinions, so that was amusing to me. The waitress offered us pizza and I felt so dirty for cheating on her. Later in the week, on Thursday to be precise, Karen and I went to Scopa for dinner, and Enzo was like “you can have this discreet table over there” and I was like omg, shame. Even though that was probably just me being paranoid. Scopa is fucking excellent, by the way. The girl waitresses were a tad lax (Water glasses didn’t get filled and I had to ask for more wine), but with all the food under $20, and so so tasty, and cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese and yeah, it’s superb.

On Saturday I took a big pile of CDs in to Real Groovy and got $160 credit, and then spent $180 on old records (The Beatles, Leonard Cohen, Fleetwood Mac, Split Enz, Madonna, The Mamas & The Papas), the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs on vinyl (‘Phenomenon’ is currently my play over and over song), the Punches EP on CD for Karen since I felt stink about not going to the gig with her the night before, even though she did come out drinking with us instead, and the Family Guy movie for Bart. Then I went to Dick Smith and bought a record player, wahoo. I took it home and realised it wouldn’t work with my polk audio speakers, so I went in to Noel Leemings and bought myself a new stereo as well. It’s so pretty and shiny, and also, it’s apparently a DVD player as well. Not that I have a TV in my room, but that’s beside the point.

When I got it all home, along with a new crate for my records, and tried to set it up, the record player was playing waay too quickly. Before you go accusing me of being a moron, yes, I did adjust the 33/45 switch, to no avail. Jessie offered me the helpful text advice of “stop listening to trance” when I complained it was going too fast. Later when Bart was taking a look at it for me, I realised that I’d put the rubber band on it up too high, and so we moved it down and everything played at the right speed,hurrah! Then I even taught myself how to select tracks. I’m like, pratically a DJ now.

That night, we had Bart’s Mexican themed party. Karen Lisa and I hung out in my room for ages playing records and iPods, before we emerged to share tequila shots and laugh at drunken 20 year old boys. There was much postit note abuse going on, and the room ended up buried in peanuts. The tequila wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Bart still ended up with huge grazes on his face though.

What else? Strange things this week have been having ex workmates sign up as Hubrettes, which is nice that they let me know, but it still meant that I had to go and check up on all the things I’ve written, and that meant I found this from April 2005 in my footnotes, which is very amusing if you read this and realise that was who the shiny was. In more real life/internet collisions, I got a myspace request (yes I know, myspace sucks) from this guy whose site I’ve been reading on and off ever since I found it in the referal logs for Hubris, and it turns out that I do actually know him already in the real world as friend of a friend. Yeah it’s Wellington, I should have expected that.

In other woah moments, on Thursday or Friday at work, I found myself going “holy shit!” when I heard myself on the phone to our technical services manager, and I was talking about a problem our client was having, and I proposed a solution, and an alternative solution, and I was like, so smart, and so on to it, like I’m actually good at my job or something. I know right, crazy. And I’ve been working really hard too. Of course, soon there’ll be like no one at all to talk to left. Sigh.

On that note, we had D’s goodbye drinks on Friday, followed by Sarah’s. I’d worried all morning that I was going to be in a crappy mood at it, but then when I went to the gym, the trainer was like “hey guess what? one of the other clients told me that you’re shrinking!” and I was like “what? Huh?” and she was like “yeah, you’re shrinking and she thinks you should be member of the month” and I was like well, I suppose the twins are perkier, and so we made an appointment for me to have another assessment next week, and then I was feeling really good about that, so I worked out extra hard, and felt just fan fucking tastic. Of course, the good mood didn’t last as long as I needed it to though, and when we were at the Last Supper Club and later the Welsh Bar I did wonders for the spirit of womankind and female empowerment by deciding that the reason no one was paying me any attention was that all the women around me were whores. Witness my text messages to Heather: um actually I deleted them, but they were full of “icantstandupstraitanymoreihatethosewhorespleasekicktheirassesformeihategaxyboys” typeness. And yes, that’s right, gaxy boys. Your guess is as good as mine as to what I meant.

Yesterday was a write-off. Today I spent the day in Ngaio doing laundry and reading the paper with my daddy. And crying at the Gilmore Girls. Finally! Fuck man! Took far too long. This week I have Poseiden tomorrow (yay free (bad) movies), dinner at Anji’s on Thursday and then Japan at the Country Club on Saturday. In preperation for it, I picked up my photo albums from Japan, and I can’t believe how long my hair and legs were. I was totally cute, and I wish more people had told me that.

Monday the 21st of December

JoannJo: “I wanna see a journal entry from you, missy”

Thomas: “it’s better than TV, now that Shortland Street isn’t on anymore”

Ahhhhhhhhhhh fans. They’re the shit, bro! You see, today was a fairly non day. I mean, I slept in, veged aroudn, did two hours of work at Leonie’s. She was collating replies to a survey of students who went to Japan on an exchange.

Q: What was the highlight of your trip?

A: The plane ride.

It made me realise that even if Japan did fuck me up some, at least I made the most out of my experiances there. Mum was asking me if I wanted a book of photos of Japan, ‘to help you remember it’. I was like “um -there really isn’t all that much about Japan that I want to remember”. Which is mostly true, but surely in all of those four years, there must have been some good bits, other than Beth and Brittany. Yeah this is teenage angst, and it’s largely incoherant, so I’ll change the subject. My stories are elsewhere. (Look Mom, no link!)

Aren’t online journals fun? Yes they are, but I’m just clutching at conversation straws now, so I’ll leave you with another picture. The cartoon last night was a self portrait of Penny, drawn in fifth form and coloured in with care by me. This is from the same series, and it’s me. Don’t freak out too much if you can help it.

Thursday the 17th of December

So today, everyone’s favourite American President is killing civillians because he doesn’t want to be impeached. Don’t even TRY and tell me it’s a coincidence. I voted for him in the mock elections we held at school back in Seventh grade – yeah, like I’d choose Ross Perot or Bush. I didn’t think that having an affair would in any way make him not be a good president – unless he’s going to declare war like this to get the heat off himself. The thing is, I’m not an Iraqi, and I’m not American, so whatever’s going on ovre there really shouldn’t concern me too much, but it does.

UI moved to Japan right after the Gulf War, into an American based society. I didn’t really think the war was such a big deal, because I was only 10, and all I knew about it was the odd headline or 20 from the Evening Post, and those fireworks images from CNN, that TV One piped in especially. In Japan however, apparently there were major threats of terrorism, so much so that the school buses had the “American School In Japan” logo taken off them, and students were told to tell everyone they were Canadian. It’s a fucked up world we live in. Then at 2.30am today, just before I went to bed (yeah okay, I’m writing this entry the day after) I thought I heard the distant roar of air-raid sirens, but figured there was nothing I could do anyways.

Why the hell am I talking about all this crap? There’s so much today that’s my own life that I could talk about. It’s December 17th. Those of you that know me will know why I’m moping. Those that don’t can hang on for it while I get through my basic day.

I worked two hours at my aunt Leonie’s house this morning. I did some typing for her (her keyboard was too clacky, so I made so many hidi errors, not like on this speedy wee baby) made some changes to her address database, and started cateloguing her collection of Japanese books that she bought off my grandfather’s collection (other side of the family)for her Nakano group. All terrific fun of course. Luckily I’m getting paid $10 an hour cash.

That was probably about as ragey as I got all day. I spent a lot of time revamping my website, trying to use Dreamweaver. For those of you who didn’t spot it, there’s now an extra table of contents. And there’s a couple of new sections too, maybe. I spent ages trying to get rollovers to work. They worked first time when i was just playing,but now I want them they don’t. Ain’t that just typical? That’s okay, cos apart from hurting my wrist, it also managed to keep my thoughts off other things. I guess I should probably explain, huh? This day last year is when I lost my heart. And my head too.

I guess it sort of serves me right, cos I’d mainly started talking to him cos he was always so flirty in the room, and that made another guy I knew jealous, which is always fun. It got to the stage that I was talking almost exclusivly to him on IRC – I stopped going in rooms, and only messaged my girlfriends to tell them things he’d said to me. I was so fully smitten, I guess because people told me that he had a crush on me, and we were labeled as a couple even though we weren’t. The week before, on the 10th I’d gotten heinously drunk at my friend Amy’s house, and had come on IRC going “I looooooooooooooooooooooooooooveeeeeeeeeee you” (I only know this from reading logs of it) which was just disgusting. I managed to get away with that though, by blaming it on Amy and Fiona. But yeah, back the 17th. I was up late chatting to him, and talking to Andee too, when he made some sort of comment about how I didn’t want him to say that he loved me until we’d met. I started crying, being the sap that I am, thinking there was no way he could mean that in the way I wanted him to, but when I finally got up the courage to ask him about it like an hour later, it turned out that yes, he did have a crush on me. There was no way in hell that either of us wanted to have an internet relationship, so we were going to wait till we met at the Gathering (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah you say, more pieces falling into place) to see what the story was. I stayed up all night talking to him then, only leaving because my dad was getting up in ten minutes. It was the most amazing glowing feeling, despite the fact that it was obviously a doomed situation. I’ve never had someone like me mutually before. The whole next day was bathed in gold. I couldn’t stop smiling. He made me the most gorgeous site for Xmas, with this picture on it that he made – featuring the glowing orb of the sunrise we saw together in different cities. Sigh. So sappy.

Of course, in the two weeks leading up to the Gathering, we had a big really stupid fight, and he also revealed that he was still in love with his ex, but aaaah well. There was still enough there for me to be scared shitless of meeting him. So yeah, and then he thought there was no spark, but he still came to stay with me, and I fell head over heels in love with him, and he just didn’t care. Maybe I should post the letter I wrote him. At the time, it was so important and special to me, but that WAS a year ago. I just like telling stories which is why you’re all hearing about this now. That and well – he is still sort of in my head, just because I still feel like it’s last year sort of, because I’m on holiday again. That’s okay though. It can be fun reminiscing. To quote myself:

Replaying the past is like having all these good (and bad) movies to watch, that you don’t have to go to the shop to rent so they’re heaps cheaper and slightly more interactive