Tag: la


Do you need a map with that?

February 20th, 2005 — 11:16am

I dreamt this morning that I and a friend of mine had been making out – well, more sort of illicitly stroking each other almost platonically, and she’d been like “Well, should we make something out of this then?” and there was some sort of really annoying girl scout leader making us play stupid games when all I wanted to do was make out with my friend some more. I said that yes, maybe it was something, and she ran up and down the street telling everyone she was now a lesbian. Some woman made a homophobic comment, so Arnold Schwartzeneger leapt off a video box and shot her with a freeze ray, so Jean Claude Van Damme leapt off another video box and shot Arnie, and then Russell Crowe entered the fray. Then my alarm went off and for a minute after I woke up I was still all “yay, I wonder if I get to see my girlfriend today?” and then i felt weird.

Nevermind. Ignore that. Think about the two little kids at the bus stop this morning with their mothers (the kids must have been about two) who spotted each other. The little boy approached the girl, but because he was wearing his mother’s backpack, it was too heavy and it pulled him over onto his ass. When his mother tried taking it off him he cried, so she gave him a smaller side bag to hold. The girl grabbed her mother’s side bag and showed it off all proudly, because now she was just like him! Then they sat down together and she fed him Japanese crackers that he made a yucky face at. Aww true love! Why can’t it stay that easy when you’re older?

Stupid lack of having crushes on anyone except for the vaguest glimmer in one direction that’s a big no no no. Still it made me chuckle when I realised it existed.

Speaking of young boys, I emailed the guy that I threw up on last time I was in Auckland to see if he wanted to platonically hang out this weekend. I don’t even know if he has that email address anymore, but nevermind. I’m sure he’s not one to hold a grudge. It still made me feel really bad though. Nevermind.

Other things? Hmm yesterday I took a mental health day, but of course, Mental Health Days aren’t quite so healthy when Mum is home (I know right, how dare she be at home in her own house?) Back at work today there are SO MANY CHILDREN running around. Stupid <A HREF=”http://www.hubris.co.nz/entry.php?id=501090047&type=6″>loud</A> children who talked all the way through Julia Deans’s set before The Shins. The Shins were cool, but it was so goddam hot. Am I getting too old for big gigs? Surely not.

Auckland tomorrow! My day looks a little something like this
9.30am: Arrive, get picked up by Gemma, go for breakfast
11ish: Pop in and see KateB if she’s free
12.30pm: Haircut with Hayley
1.30pm: Lunch with a client
2.30pmish: check into hotel, meet Iva to go swimming at said hotel.
6pm: Meet Heather for dinner (mmmm food on sticks)
8pm: Meet Kateb for <I>Bugs Bunny on Broadway</I> and some kinda afterparty
Late: Maybe meet up with Heather and Paul after their gig?

Saturday:
……… hopefully something with Kyla and or Chelsea
5pm: The Zoo for Goodshirt and KateH
9pm: Out on The Town via a quick change at the hotel for KateM’s going away

Sunday:
10am: check out
10.30am brunch with Heather in Grey Lynn
12pm: KateH’s bbq

Is that enough detail for you to stalk me?
3pm: fly back to Welly

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November 25th, 2003

November 25th, 2003 — 1:47am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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It’s Thursday, it’s the 2nd, it’s October, it’s 10.55pm

October 2nd, 2003 — 3:53am

It’s Thursday, it’s the 2nd, it’s October, it’s 10.55pm. And if you don’t know it’s 2003, you’re more fucked than me. Dear god I am SO FUCKING BORED. I’m about to chew off my own arms and legs in the hope that the doctors will at least give me some codeine or something after that, because hey, that’s something different and new, and maybe it’d stop the fucking dreams (yesterday morning: being 12 and raped by four different guys and no one would believe me or take me to the police station so I could get DNA testings done, and then this morning it was Iraqi soldiers torturing me, pouring carbolic acid in my mouth and over my breasts. My head is not happy on the inside).

Pay for me to fly to your city and I’m yours. Unemployment fucking SUCKS. And you’re like “eh? last time we heard from you, you were busy working on a paper and having some sex”. Well yes, but that was well over a month ago, right? So since then there’s been the “Well this is nothing to do with the quality of your work, but we jsut want someone more experienced” two day notice kiss off. And so yes, unemployed, not yet able to go on the dole but completely run out of money. Life pretty much sucks. You know how you think that when you have a whole lot more spare time life would be a lot easier? You’d be more tolerant of other people’s crap, and would have more headspace to deal with trying to work out people and all that, etc etc. That’s so not true. Being bored has made me even more intolerant and less willing to put up with being dicked around. Although I was never very good at giving up on flogging dead horses. Etc etc.

More self pitying, more whining. More self pitying, more whining. More self pitying, more whining. Rinse and repeat.

If Winz had been nice and started paying me from the 6th of October like they originally said they would, then I wouldn’t be so worried about money. As it is, my holiday pay is all gone on a dvd player and buffy dvds and the usual extravagent spending that I’m so good at in vain attempts to pass the time. This means I will have to borrow from my parents, which means that I can’t ask them for money to go to Chch or Sydney or San Fran, which fucking sucks cos dear god I’m bored in Auckland. BORED BORED BORED. And if you email me suggesting that I clean my room or something else mundane like that, please to be expecting a big bitchout. I want excitement like strangers on motorbikes fucking me in alleyways or something similar. Nothing else will do. Okay, maybe without the motorbikes. And the alleyways. But just something, some way to let off steam. It’s all bottled up. If I was a piece of kitchenware, i would be the pressure cooker Ammy used to prepare chickpeas for hummus – before she blew up Lance’s blender, that is. Speaking of Lance, he’s been away for a fortnight with only a small stop-through in the middle, so that may add to the boredom. Luckily I still have Iva to watch Buffy with. I’m praying she will bring me home potato chips, but of course she won’t know thsi, since I lost my cellphone at Gilmours and it got pinched, so I reclaimed my old one off her. I still have the same number, but I don’t have my old sim card, so everyone if you have me in your phone, text me your name please so I can have your numbers. Thank you. Andrew is also staying with us which at times is entertaining. Him and I had Wine&Cheese the other night, and we even managed civilised conversation some of the time – I explained in detail why I didn’t like 1984 and how it didn’t work because all of the characters were so inhuman it didn’t seem real and therefore wasn’t frightening, wheras the reason that Margaret Atwood’s grim portrayals of the future were so much more poignant is because you can get under the characters’ skins and become them and it’s pretty fucking terrifying. See, there’s more to me than everlasting jokes about sodomy. Well, a little more to me anyways.

I’m just really really super lonely. I want someone to sleep with – someone who’ll cry when I cry so our tears mingle and I forget where I start and they begin, or someone who’ll make me feel like their arms are the safest place to be in the world because they’ll never hurt me, or someone who’ll hold me so tight that I almost can’t breathe, like I’m totally precious to them. Sebastian snuggling into me will have to run a close second. I adore him utterly, but he bites me if I ask for too many cuddles. And sure, I want sex too, and jesus, unemployment is majorly bad for the OOS, what with all the extra time for the Internet and also the wanking, but most of all I crave what – intimacy? Perhaps. Foreign scary concept for me. I’m so special, I’m so super, I’m so DEEP. Whatever.

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August 19, 2003

August 19th, 2003 — 3:50am

The Abstract:
You may or may not have noticed that I haven’t updated Hubris in quite a very long time, and normally that’s a sign that I’ve sunk into the big D again. In this case, that’s not the case. I’ve just been incredibly busy. First there was a bit of a sexplosion, and then there was putting out a whole issue by myself, and then another whole issue by myself in half the time, and then there was a trip to Wellington and the Hawkes Bay. Oh, and due to the Sexplosion, there was an underlying current of fear, with my period being three weeks late, broken condoms and not being sure who the father was. I’m back now, and things have calmed down a little, hence this update .

The Fuller Schbobble:
Well! Where do we start? When I last updated, we were going to have the Meet Market party and I was inviting you all. None of you showed. How rude. This led to me shagging one of Lance’s young friends, because Lance made the deliberate mistake of leaving us alone together very late at night adn I was bored of talking to the guy about how miserable he was without his girlfriend. I thought he needed some cheering up. I think it worked. He said “I’ve never had it like that before”. I laughed lots. In the morning, he asked me for my cellphone number. I was like “What? Why?” and then instantly felt mean. Lance has managed to refrain from hassling him since. The boy comes into the office sometimes to buy bus tickets but avoids looking in my direction, poor wee thing.

Later that week, I had a drink with a boy who, let’s face it, I’ve had a thing for ever since I realised that running away while he was sleeping was the stupidest thing I did last year. He was absolutely lovely, and we were getting on so damn well, swapping life stories and talking about how much we hated ‘Sex in the City’ and how totally empowering it wasn’t, and he said that sometimes you sleep with people just because you want to, and I said that sometimes you sleep with people because they give you the dirtiest sexiest look you ever received in your whole life “which is why I went home with you” and he laughed. I told him that I wished that I’d got to know him last year. Eventually he had to go, but he asked if I wanted to hang out later that night, and suggested that he should come over to my house and bring a bottle of wine. I think my jaw just about dropped off, and then when he kissed me outside the pub on Ponsonby Road, my knees went woozy. Luckily KateH picked me up then, otherwise I would have been wandering around all dazed for a couple more hours, no doubt. He came over a couple of hours later, and well, I was two hours late for work the next day. It was lovely, so much more intimate than the last time – I guess because this time I fancied him, and wasn’t in love with someone else/terrified of being hurt again, and because well, I think he’d learnt a whole lot about foreplay in the past year. I called him delicious and beautiful and both things were applicable, in the slightly more metaphorical sense of the word for ‘Delicious’. He called me a star, and now he has left the country. Sigh. I’m sure that in a parallel dimension, we have our timing right and everything is blissful. Damn you Parallel Dimension Joanna! Why do you get all the good things?

Of course, then my period was late. And later. And later. And then I found a broken condom under the bed. I was incredibly freaked out and spent an hour sitting on the floor at work semi under my desk crying. The lady at the health clinic here at work said that a test wouldn’t be accurate for like, three weeks after the event, but I went and bought the cheapest test in the supermarket anyways. When it came out negative, I got drunk. A week later I did another test, and it was still negative. I alternated between thinking about abortion and thinking about raising the baby. Of course, I didn’t know if it was Andrew’s or Ben’s, but I thought there was more of a chance of it being Ben’s, which is what I would have prefered, but I didn’t want to mess up the life of either of them, and I was all like “arrrgh” until eventually I decided that yes, I actually would be able to deal just fine with having a baby, and I could work from home four days a week and come in for one, but finally when I got to Wellington and managed to unstress about work, I got my bleed. And it hasn’t stopped since.

So yes, that was the sex. When I got to Wellington a week and a bit ago, Mum asked me about my sex life, so I told her, asking her to please not tell Anji that I gave my ex boyfriend a blowjob in the bathroom at Submission, because I’d get a fearsome telling off. Mum said “At least someone has morals”. Later, when we were getting our family portraits, she said to me “oh they told me that you don’t need to wear more makeup than usual for the photos”. I was like “umm, this is what I wear every day”. Mothers eh? Bless. If she doesn’t want to KNOW, she shouldn’t ASK. That’s all.

I also caught up with KateB in Welly which was lovely and made me feel more like a real person again. I think she’s doing really well, and has found something that suits her much better. I do worry though that her b/f doesn’t like pirate jokes. Other Welly things were finally getting some sleep, doing more reviews for the magazine which I’d rushed to finish all in one week instead of the usual two, and Oma taking us out to Logan Brown, which was amaaaaaaaazing food, and the most professional service I’ve had in a very long time. Exquisite. And not cheap at all.

Then on last Tuesday, Karen and I drove up to Napier. It was a pleasant journey, mostly. We found a nice enough backpackers to stay in – its failing was that there were no windows in the room, which made it very spooky to be called on your cellphone when the lights were off and you had no idea what the time was and wondered why the fuck your work was calling you in the middle of the night when it was actually 8.46am. Napier itself was very nice. We wandered around places and found a lovely bar called The UltraLounge. My Pina Colada had no taste at all, so I tried to explain that as nicely as I could to the barman and he made me an orgasmically good Mango Daquiri instead. We had seconds. Then I squirmed in discomfort as a loud British wanker ate all his sashimi and then complained about it. I hope I wasn’t like that man.

On the Wednesday, we went with The Grape Escape and got driven to some wineyards. Seven in fact – apparently this makes us legends, because that was in four hours, including lunch with The Best Cheese in the World at the Sileni Estate. The usual is four or five. We stayed another night in Napier, and went to Havelock North the next day, and also I made Karen go to Ocean Beach with me. It was fun. I frolicked in the sand. That night we stayed in Hastings at a Carnie backpackers and opened Macademia nuts with a big rock. I managed to buy four bottles of wine – a Trinity Hills Pinot Noir, a Mission Estate Reisling, a Brooklands Deco Chardonnay and a Te Mata Estate Rose as well as a bottle of Sour Apple Schnapps from Prenzels. No wonder the phone line got cut off back in Auckland. The guy at Brooklands was teh best, telling us long stories. Was it Brooklands? I hope it was. I will check my wine when I get back. Other people were too wanky or busy or what have you. Prenzels is the best because you can try whatever you want and I wanted to try everything. Mmmmmmmmm.

Now I am back in Auckland of course, and work is not as hectic as it has been, which is nice. I’m sad that Issue 10′s cover was lacking in our actual coverstories and that my Pacifier story didn’t get a title, but that’s my fault for not leaving clearer instructions for Designer Brad. Tomorrow I have schedualed an appointment with myself to sit down and discuss what I want to submit for the media awards. One of these days I’ll actually do the accounts for advertising sales too, but the girl who does all our invoicing said (in exchange for me scanning photos for her) “Please don’t do them until I’m ready for them”. Yay her. I’m going to Wellington again in less than two weeks for the ASPA conference. Excellent. And what else? Blah stuff, nothing too important.

We have a new flatmate in the very charming shape of Will, an American friend of Megan’s. We still need one more though.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten to say things, but really, this has gone on for hours now, so I might stop this entry here for now.

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June 24, 2003:My letter to the Editor of the New Zealand Herald about this story

June 23rd, 2003 — 3:43am

My letter to the Editor of the New Zealand Herald about this story

“The day before Parliament is set to hold a conscience vote on the Prostitution Reform Bill, the Herald runs a front-page story about a convicted rapist visiting a brothel. This isn’t news. The story isn’t about police catching Michael John Carroll red handed committing another crime (remember that under the double-standard current law, prostitution isn’t actually illegal, just solicitation). This isn’t a serious debate about whether or not he should have been paroled. The story is just an absolutely sickening editorial attempt to sway the vote away from law reform. By linking sex work with rapists, the story intends to imply that sex workers are entirely responsible for the moral decline of society. The front-page placement of the article, despite its lack of newsworthiness (it happened “some time”, not yesterday), clearly demonstrates the editorial position the Herald has taken on attempts at law reform. If prostitution remains illegal, the Herald will have more opportunities to publish those “12 year olds sell themselves for a can of corned beef” moral panic stories that it so dearly loves. Heaven forbid that such a conservative paper should actually support a bill that would improve people’s lives instead of scare mongering to raise sales.” 200 words only


So it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, when did you last hear from me and what did I say then? Ahh June 12, the night before my birthday party. That was a jolly good night, with people dressed in bear costumes (!), much gossip and scandel and me lusting after not one but two gentlemen. I had so many friends there, I wasn’t able to talk to anyone really. That was a shame. Oh well, a good time was had by all, except for Kara, but really, why is that such a suprise? It’s not. The following Tuesday (the 17th) I had my dinner at Canton, and that was lovely dovely, except for losing my wallet and feeling like no one cared about that fact. It was found later, and of course people cared, as I am constantly reminded.Yes, people care about me, I get that. I just feel really isolated a lot lately, and have discovered that it’s far more convinient and possibly a little more mature to push bottle caps into your arm so that they leave marks for a couple of days rather than scarring up with hot knives in hidden places. I’ve been questioning my current meds a little bit too because I feel sometimes like I’m at the stage where I can’t be bothered with people at all (re: Clayton being upset at Kara’s storming off at my party), while at the same time I’m feeling lonely and scared and freaked out. I guess it’s just generally weird when you hear Live on the radio or get books about monkeys and it brings to mind “You took advantage of me. I don’t know why I bother with you”.

It’s not all that though, there’s also gigglestyles at boys in bands who I saw play on Saturday at the Kings Arms for the ‘Here Come The Bulletholes’ release party who I have crushes on and I get to email them and say that they look sexy on stage. And then there’s that I got to talk to Tom McRae last week (thank you soooooo much darling!) and he was absolutely lovely. English people should be banned from saying “erm” instead of “um” because it’s just SO DAMN CUTE. I sounded like a fawning sycophant in the interview, but oh well. How could I help but be anything but?

I’d like to think that Iva has settled well into our flat although I’m sure she finds my disappearing chequebook a little annoying. Our computers are intemittently networked, so I can access her huge amounts of TV and movies. Oh how in love with Bernard Black I am! In other flat gossip, I’m incredibly pissed off with Johnny for buggering off to Queenstown without paying his rent, leaving me almost literally penniless and unable to purchase tampons or painkillers. GRRRRRRRRRRR. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Daniel is coming out of his shell more and more, and although Lance’s fetish for bringing home white picket fence pailings is more than a little disturbing, I adore him, he’s very fun.

Other things going on in my life right now? I think my Masterplan is never going to come to fruition. I’m annoyed with my failing lack of ambition, and the fact that I just churn out shit at work – when I’m doing anything at all, that is. It’s more than a little disconcerting to think of all the people I told about my brilliant idea, and how supportive they all are, to know that that’s going to be swept away in a tide of self pity and bleakness. I think that it’s probably quite likely that I should be going back into counselling (so.much.anger), but the prospect of starting all over again is more than a little daunting.

I miss having people love me. Even if I don’t deserve the love – but surely everyone deserves love? I know this entry is more than a little pukefest, but just like Bobby Brown, that’s my prerogative. There were so many more narratives that I meant to include but have forgotten. Probalby something to do with vidoes. I watched ‘S.F.W’ which I fucking worshiped when I was 15 (people fucking to “Teenage Whore”, Stephen Dorff walking in slow motion through a mall to “Creep” – what’s not to like? Oh, and Amber Benson is in it! I adore Tara. Oh Buffy, how can you be coming to an end so soon?), and it made me feel very nostalgic for a time when I thought I had the right to be “angry at the system, maaaan”. I have no idea what the hell I thought was oppressing me back then, but I want it back. I wanna jump up and down and scream “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” in the mud again. But instead, I will just watch more videos and cry in joy at the end of “It’s a wonderful life”. Is this growing old? I guess so. Shit, I’m 23 now. Time to call out the knackers.

I’m wearing new Napolean mascara Karen sent me (although it’s weird – mascara? rather than eye shadow or lipgloss what I asked for? Surprises are cool.) and I feel like it’s making me open my eyes extra extra wide. That’s no bad thing.

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May 31, 2003

May 31st, 2003 — 3:58am

Right now I have mysterious tunes from Mr Holloway playing in my ear. He sent them as a trade for my Zine. It’s funny how it polarises people’s opinions – some people say it makes me sound really really fucked up, others say they wish their girlfriends were that sane. Go figure.

I could be at True Colours right now, but I couldn’t be bothered, so I gave my ticket to Darren. Easy come, easy go. Has a year rolled around already since the last one? This time last year I was also hungover, but I would have been cheering at Pacifier and feeling weird and freshly fucked. A year. You’d think things would change in that time, and I guess they do. Because now I totally regret running out on *IV. Oh well, there’s only so much trying again that you can try. Second chances blah blah blah. At least the boy that I hit on something shocking last week which I can’t remember doing was nice enough to email me afterwards.

Other things? Liquor, of course. I was waiting in line for the bathroom at Spaquers last night (Lance and I were on our way home from Verboten but we thought we’d just pop in and say hi to Johnny – cue us staying for over an hour, dancing to house music and running up $40 somehow on Johnny’s tab without asking for anything) and this guy started talking to me, and he was very friendly and then he asked me my name and thought I was offended by that, and then he told me his and then I went to pee, and realised that he was a semi famous actor (ie – was on Shortland St) who everyone who reads this has probably seen having his head cut off, and that the reason that I didn’t recognise him is that the actor is rather gay and this fellow seemed to have been hitting on me. Celebrity!

Today Darren and Lance laughed at me a lot when I was dragged out of bed to feed Sebastian (he got biscuits instead’o jellymeat cos I wasn’t feeling up to it) and threw up in the shower for a while. Then KateH came over and we went to see ‘The Lizzie Mcguire Movie’, which is a Disney flick aimed at 10 year old girls. We got free coke and ice cream though, bless. And she bought me potato chips. We had the song stuck in our heads for the whole car ride home, but thank god it’s gone now. Then it was back home for some more blessed sleep.

Ammy’s gone so we need another flatmate. Kelly was going to move in but she can’t afford to. We’re kinda fucked. I hate finding flatmates.

It’s my birthday soon. Please feel free to buy me pretty things like jewellary, knee socks, scarves, bright coloured eye shadow and lip gloss. I also need some knives, and a cat door. Thank you. In exchange, I will tell you that I saw Pluto play on Thursday and they were so fucking amazing, as per usual, and “8 O’Clock” nearly made me cry, as per usual, and I took a fuckload of photos what you can look at here.

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19 March, 2003

March 19th, 2003 — 3:21am

This reader emailed me on Sunday to ask if I was dead, and I wrote back that I was, and it didn’t feel too far from the truth at that stage. Yes, I had another mini breakdown. Yes I am okay now. I went to see Dr White today, and we’re bumping me up to 30mg of cipramil instead of 20mg for a bit. Also, Kalpana had called her (I okayed that) and told her that I was doing really really well and had responded heaps to the therapy, which is true, and also why it was so weird that I should have such an extreme relapse. Oh well. I’ve written enough about it elsewhere.

Right now I am home totally alone for the first time in ages, and it’s LOVELY. Johnny is at work, Lance and Ammy are at Darren’s having dinner with Annoying Jonny, Daniel is at some journo meeting and umm, yeah, that’s four, that’s all my flatmates. Bo’s moved out to Milton cos the rent was much much cheaper there, and it’s just up the road. I am waiting for a purple sleeping pill to kick in. Dr White almost laughed at me today when I said “and I know that you can’t give me a big prescription for sleeping pills…” but she gave me four days instead of two, which is lovely cos I am so fucking flat out exhausted. Depression is tiring business when it stops you from sleeping.

I’ve had a day and a half off work this week due to sickness, which means that I’m a little behind on my work. I have my story to do on the Prostitution Law Reform bill in which I talk to three sex workers to finish tomorrow, and I want to do a really really really brilliant job on it because I’m lucky to be in position to write it, knowing people in the industry. Oh yes, I have my finger in many pies. This issue also will have my story on the Australian band Taxiride. Jason Singh wants the world to know he does not sleep with teenage groupies. Heh.

What else? Lots of parties and events and gossip. One of the boys I fancy has a girlfriend, I found out. However, *1 has apparently moved to Auckland. I’d be more excited if I wasn’t dedicated to a life of celibacy. Sebastian has fleas but I’m feeding him garlic brewers’ yeast to get rid of it. Apparently that works. I also have to take him to the vet. Oh god, I’m a crazy old lady with cats already.

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February 27, 2003

February 27th, 2003 — 3:16am

Tomorrow I am interviewing Pluto. !. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Let’s hope I don’t drown in my own panty moistness. Also, I took these two photos of MeegEh who is leaving me on Saturday (dude, that’s Megan, but she’s from Canadia, hence the nickname) and Bo at work:

Stuff is mostly good – I am currently drunk with Nikki again, just for a change, and we’ve found a guy to move into MeegEh’s room – his name is Lance – and we have soem decent sounding prospects for Jonny’s room, adn thank fucking god he’s moving in with Ting.

Work is funnish, I have bene taking lots of photos lately, and assigning things to monkeys, and yeah. Ummm what else? School Gala party on March 8th, and if you’re unhappy with m2 beign taken off the air, you can call Mr Glen Sowry, Head of Public Affairs at TVNZ- 09 916 7565 / 021 461 775 to complain. But he hasn’t texted me back. How rude.

Would you stop smoking those goddam cancer sticks and come and hang out with me? Sheesh.

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