Hubris.co.nz

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

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

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

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

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

All good things come to an end sometime. I’ve lived in Auckland almost six years now, which is the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, but come next Saturday, I’m moving back to Wellington. I can’t take it anymore. I’m just too tired of having to look after myself. I know that’s what grownups are supposed to do, but I need a fucking break. I’m lucky enough that my parents will accept me back with open arms so I’m going to take that opportunity and hopefully keep some portion of my sanity.

It’s funny cos tomorrow when I will call the land lady to give her three weeks notice, it will be exactly a year since we moved in here.

So yeah. That’s me. Of course, to the people in the Internet world, it won’t make any difference since I’ll still be online. Chances are to the people up here it won’t make much difference either. <!– I’m going to go back to Welly where I feel like people really do have my back. –>

Oh my god, one of Dana’s friends has her kids around, and they’re crazy. It’s been a long time since I nannied. Maybe I oughta see if I can babysit when I get back to welly. But oh my god, the kids I used to babysit for will all be in high school by now almost. SCARY! I’m tired of growing old. I can’t wait to go home.

Before then I will have to 1) get rid of my car 2) get rid of excess furniture 3) pack up all my stuff and put it into storage up here 4) pay off bills 5) say goodbye to anyone who cares, 6) cancel the electricity, washing machine, telephone etc etc. Thank the lord my mummy is coming up on Tuesday to help me with it. I’m going to fly back with Sebastian on the 20th, when I already have a flight booked, then come back up on the 27th to clean and resolve anything that’s left unresolved, spend New Years hopefully with Thomas and Jo, and then go back and yeah.

Given that I’m so bored right now I just said to Annabel that I wish I had a splinter so at least I could entertain myself pulling that out I guess it makes sense that I try to update Hubris. Now the question is where to start. I might ask her.
“i guess there’s stuff you can’t really talk about properly” But when has that ever stopped me in the past? Actually a lot more than you’d realise.

Chains of events have been kicked into place by chance sightings and lots of shots to cover the shock. The world travels around in circles eventually. Blow jobs heal all wounds? Not quite but hey, the free liquor sure is nice. HA! You don’t know what I’m talking about now do you? Or maybe you do, in which case, why do you need to read my journal anyways? There’s a reason why I drive a beige car and it’s for its inconspicuousisity. Actually that’s a lie – I drive a beige car because that’s what was found for me. But it’s not like a pair of silver shoes sighted under a toilet door. Tehehe.

And I don’t even need to mention the fact that I KNOW that I made up words in the last paragraph do I? Unlike Jez’s flatmate who said that he was “insuccessful” at something and wondered why I laughed so hard. Jez is gone now, like Ammy, lured away by the demon OE. Circle of Life continues. Tides ebb and flow. Dear god now I sound like a fucking hippy.

We’re having a Meet Market party on Friday. I want lots of random people to come because that would be amusing. If you live in Auckland, email me and I will give you the address. Chances are it may just be handfuls of us because Darren hasn’t got around to doing the invites yet, slacker.

Work is stupid right now. I am unable to articulate myself clearly. Things are up in the air. I dreamt about my workmates – we were organising the Onslow School Fair. How depressing.

My flat is once again got a vacancy. I need to pay the bills before everything gets cut off. Dammit, maybe I should try to kick this crack rock addiction once and for all. Or maybe not. Placebo are playing Auckland on Saturday and I can’t afford to go, but I’d already decided not to anyways. Fancy me actually paying for something. Scandel. Hehehe my receptionist described me as scandalous. Actually so did Allison.

I did a day and a half first aid course so now I can do CPR and all that good stuff. It made me scared of everyone else’s mortality though. Also it really bugged me because we were taught that it’s really not a good idea to give CPR to someone without a barrier, and the instructor said that there was no way in hell that he’d do it, but hello, if you’ve ever kissed a stranger (and if you look at the stats page in my zine, you’d know taht I’ve kissed one or two. Oh no wait, that page was just the people i fucked the first time i met them, kissing rates may be even higher. Let me analyse. Hmmm. Actually, there’s only about two people that i kissed the first time I met them who didn’t get to at least third base, so disregard) that’s for FUN, and yet you wouldn’t do something similar to save someone’s life? I’d like to think that I jolly well would. Otherwise what’s teh point in being loose?

I might just save and upload this now before I get too bored. I’m sorry, I don’t really have much to say. I had the mother of all bawling sessions on Sunday night, which gave me a thoroughly good pipe cleaning. There has been A LOT going on in my head lately. It gets a little complicated sometimes being me. Then again, I’m also sure that sometimes it’s complicated being you too.

Oh and COUS! Happy birthday for a couple’o days ago and email me, you runnerawayer you!

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

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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.