Hubris.co.nz

An online journal since 1998

Tag: porn

For all you know, I could be a member of the Hitler Youth

I used to carry around a tin that mints from a recruitment company had once come in, filled with half pills. It was of course my citalapram, since I have to take a pill and a half, and they’re crumbly pills so I have to cut them at home with a big knife and a chopping board so they don’t totally fall apart, so I prepare them in advance. When I say “I used to”, I of course mean until last Saturday night, when I lost the tin, so I hope someone picked it up and decided that it was full of half Es, and is now off dancing in a club somewhere feeling really nausesous. Because I am nice like that.

On Monday night we had a flat dinner and I made a fucking awesome roast beef. Then because Bart had found a video that his social group had traded around themselves in 1996, I undid all the feminist thinking that I’d been doing since a post by Tze Ming on Public Address made me realise that I need to do more to reinforce feminist thought – so I bought Bitch magazine – by watching German porn with the boys while Lani did the dishes. It was amusing but also really sad. There was a woman dancing in the video who had breast implants the size of her head, and she just looked like a freak. I know that there are some porn stars who make a lot of money and have a lot of power in the industry, but this woman didn’t seem to be one of them. She was just an object of ridicule and that made me really sad.

On a more upbeat note, Bowling League on Tuesdays is still fun. Surprisingly, I don’t think that the Bowlingtonista are going to win the league, but damn we’re pretty. And it’s so much fun to get to hang out with BFF Martha while the men do the hard work.

On Wednesday I went to a wine night at the boatshed called ‘Meet Your Maker’. There were stalls there from various “unique and boutique” winemakers from the Wairarapa, and everything was free to try. I took a series of very detailed notes that included the following dialouge about a Hudson Sav:

    Me: it tastes like silver in the mouth
    Daddy: No it doesn’t.
    Me: Well I think it tastes Metallicy, and Nothing Else Matters.

Tehehe. My favourite wine was the Julicher reserve Pinot Noir, which tasted like chocolate babies, and also the Tirohana wines because the guy remembered us from when we were up for Mum’s birthday and asked where our other sister was (she was across the other side of the room). And they have a dessert wine that’s like woah. There wasn’t really enough food so I ate and enjoyed ham rolls, and craved more of the duck, mushroom and quince paste tarts. Mmmmmm. But why is the Boatshed always so damn hot? Last time I was there for Public Address Great Blend I could go swimming afterwards, but not in May. Too much heating. Nevermind. And I saw a friend of my parents’ who is an MP whom I hate personally, politically and professionally so I made very sure that I didn’t have to talk to him. Afterwards we had dinner at Ernesto, where I was a little silly and had chicken, which was boring, but the potato and prune gallette that accompanied it was tasty like woah. I was just envious of the pork bellies of Karen and Anji, but that’s okay.

On Friday night I went home after work and napped on the couch, before driving in to town to pick up Miss Lisa and Karen, and see Jimmy and Miss Jessie at Dimmer. It didn’t feel quite as sexylicious as last time, but when they played the long, thrusting ‘Seed’ I still wanted to touch myself inappropriately, but settled for stroking myself behind my ears, as that is somewhat less inappropriate.

Saturday was a very amusing night. I had drinks at home with Lani and her friend Nikki who is staying, and then we went to a party in Kelburn. Nikki and I amused ourselves taking photos with someone else’s camera that had be left lying on the TV. Then I spilt red wine on the carpet so we ran away and I watched very guiltily as someone else cleaned it up. I am not normally the type of person who doesn’t clean up after themselves, but I was all like “they’ve got a white carpet! It’s their fault! Everyone always spills stuff on MY carpet…” So of course I was unimpressed with myself for that crappy attitude, and when I found myself in a bathroom queue with the girl who’d cleaned it up I apologised and confessed. She came up to me later to say it was awesome of me to confess, and so Nikki and Lani decided that she was a lesbian and was totally in to me. I was like “ummm, I don’t get that vibe at all”, but I think we all know that I have little to no female gaydar. I still went and tried to talk to her later (because if she was a lesbian obviously she’d fancy me, right?) but I was saved from myself by the need to take photos with someone dressed as a reindeer. Then we went into town, and despite all my protestations, I found myself at Coyote. Shudder. I hate Courtenay Place on weekend nights, I really do. The music was bad, the crowd was bad, and yet I stayed and constantly had a drink in my hand, and I’m not sure how that happened. At one stage a guy came up to me and was all “oh, you are so beautiful, can I get a kiss?” and I was like huh? But I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he turned his head and asked for another one, so I did, but then he was going to go for a pash, and I was like “hey buddy, you know nothing about me! You don’t know my hobbies or my interests, how can you want to kiss me?” and he was like “what?” and I was all “I mean, for all you know, I could be a member of the Hitler Youth” and he was like “I don’t know what that is” and I was like “I’m a white supremicist!” and he ran away and I laughed and laughed and laughed. And felt like Lily Allen. “I’ve got herpes!” Because after all, my Matariki resolution (along with doing something that will earn me a slow clap) is to wake up with someone and want them to be there, and sifty guys in sifty bars will not help me accomplish that. After that we finally left Coyote for the best kebabs EVAH from Hadi Gari, and then people were going to queue to get into GoGo and I was like “umm, nahuh, there is no way I’m going to wait to get into that crappy place” so I went home with Lani.

Yesterday I got up half an hour before my family were due for an afternoon tea to break in my cake-plate. It was so very civilised! I provided mini afghans and feta & spinach savouries, Mummy & Daddy baked mini scones and brought cream & jam, Anji brought coffee and shortbread, and Karen made chicken, almond and watercress sandwiches. We used fancy china and a good time was had by all. And we also finalised our plans to go to Rarotonga for Daddy’s 60th birthday and now Mum’s booked the flights. Because my job doesn’t finish until June 29, I’m going a week later than them all, and am consequently paying significantly more for the flights, damn it all. But still, Rarotonga, hurrah! We’re hopefully renting a four-bedroom house with a pool as well, so that should be nice.

Tonight instead of doing the whole flat dinner thing, which I really can’t afford to produce any more, I’m just going to make dessert crepes so we can eat the maple syrup that Lani brought back from Canadia. What’s that all aboot eh?

The season for it

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 and dog
Ash with porcelain skin poses with porcelain dog

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

james with horns
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:

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

friends
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:


tree by day
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.

Doing it Swedish Style

I skipped work on Friday, because I was feeling like crap. When I woke up in the afernoon, I was feeling much better and able to run many errands and spend much much money on things I didn’t really need, like bottles of brandy, and new Xmas lights and wig hireage. It also made me happy when I went out for a drink with Dylan and Dave that night and there were no gaxies. I made them come to United Video with me to look for Swedish porn, and I think the man browsing in the adult room was unimpressed by Dave taking photos of us. We couldn’t find anything that looked Swedish, although we were tempted by Anal Grannies 4, except that I hear that the sequels lose the magic of the original. Then we ran into Fia on the street who said that Teanau was having his goodbye drinks at the Cambridge Arms so I popped in there after the boys had buggered off, but I only stayed for one drink and then went home on the bus in the rain. I baked a sour cream, almond and apple cake when I got home, but left it in the oven too long because Sebastian was sitting on my lap and I was enjoying our cuddle, so the sides of it are a little too tanned for my liking.

My Saturday day was also about that exciting. I spent a significant amount of it making meatballs, tidying our dining room and stringing up Xmas lights in preperation for Country Club. Oh, and I got dressed up.



If I tell you that I am wearing two mismatched stripey socks, will you know who I am?

Sweden started out really slowly, although Fia and her man showed up on the dot of 8, and we sat around drinking glog. Once again, no one from the tripleK showed up, although Katy had the courtesy to text me to tell me she had to work. I just don’t know how to make them like me and value me, it makes me feel like I’m 12 again and if only I got the right pair of shoes, maybe I’d have some friends. And I know that’s lame. Lisa and Fran came along then, which was lovely, and Dylan came by to drop off the Swedish porn he’d downloaded and burnt to DVD for me, and ended up staying for the smogasbord.


This is what the leftovers looked like in the morning

Fia said that the food tasted Swedish, so I felt really good about that. It certainly went well with the Abba/Roxette/The Hives CD that Fran and Lisa brought over, and the glog went down a treat. Then we watched the DVD, which featured a German cartoon with Norwegian subtitles, and then a couple of standard porn scenes with Swedish girls in them. We all made the standard group-watching-porn kind of jokes that you make. Porn is silly. But at least this was very vanilla stuff, and Fia translated the stunning dialogue for us (who knew that it’d be stuff like “oh yeah baby, you want to do me?”? Sparkling!).

Today I went for brunch with Karen and Mum at the Maranui Surf Cafe, and then I got mesmerized by the piles of things at Briscoes. This afternoon was spent stalking a handful of unsuitable people on the internet (you finished a novel? That is so awesome. I want to read it), and doing the mountains of dishes whilst singing along to Abba/Roxette/The Hives. Now I am watching Poltergiest II although I didn’t bother finishing the first one, and talking pseudo-dirtily to someone else entirely unsuitable. Yes, my life truly is that exciting. Oh, and Smoo cut his hair and now he looks like JD Fortune, except with his shirt done up. It’s all rocking all the time here.

Awards for modern bitches

So the amount I’m mangoing, calling everyone “you fucking stupid whore” (although mostly in my head), yelling at Sebastian, using up all our bandwidth downloading porn, crying at everything on TV (including Grey’s Anatomy recaps and reruns of episodes of Rockstar: Inxs – although to be fair, it was the one where Marty sings ‘Wish you were here’) and being as ravenous as the wolf suggests that it’s almost time for the red right hand, which means it’s been more than a month since I was in San Francisco and I still haven’t written up my holiday. Where the hell did the time go?

Well, I suppose I did spend a couple of weeks obsessing over the First Annual Wellingtonista Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence. I tried to be as consultatative with the group as possible, but in the end I figured someone just needed to take charge and get it done – much like my New Year’s Eve plans with the tripleK whereby I searched for fucking ages to find a bach for us, found a great place in the Orongorongos, everyone said that they were totally keen and now of course, no one can commit to it so it’s off. If I was to continue on a “sometimes I really do feel like my friends let me down when I go to a fuckload of effort”, I’d mention how I was short of five votes to win the best Wellington Web Writer, and how many Hubrettes didn’t vote (not to mention most of my real life friends) but I’m not that sort of whinger am I? No indeedy.

Anyways, the awards night on Friday at Might Mighty was fabulous , even if I arrived late because I spent an eternity blow-drying my hair and waiting for my taxi to arrive.


Self portrait in the Mighty Mighty bathrooms, which are the same intense candy pink as the loos at Occam

Hadyn has handily put photos up in his flickr account if you want to bask in the blow-dried goodness, except that of course I am making a stupid and chinny face in almost every photo. But on the whole, the photos are awesome and it was very exciting having an Official Photographer with capital letters and all. Plus, I wrote out speeches for all the award presenters to read – although they were allowed to say whatever they felt like – so it was most amusing to see grown men speaking like the wannabe valley girl that I am. After quickly downing a cask red wine in an attempt to slow down my heart beat which was having palpitations from eating too many chocolate-covered coffee beans, I drank many a tasty martini made by the nice bartender with the Hitler hair, and then switched to sweeter cocktails. I chatted with people from the blogosphere (haha! I know) and decided that a slightly tipsy Martha is totally my new BFF and ever as we gossiped like mad and she ran around on secret errands for me (*).

wellingtonista photo
Hadyn, Martha, Glen. Note the goats that Martha appears to be throwing. You know who else throws goats? The NAZIS.

Eventually after all my other fellow Wellingtonistas had left – and I was really stoked that they thanked me for my organising efforts and deemed it a success that we will repeat next year – I sat around making Nazi jokes with Hadyn and his friend who reminded me rather a lot of Sammy from AUT, but that might have just been the fact that they talk about sport a lot. My toe was driving me crazy with pain from my drunken “hey, you know what’s a good idea? ripping open your blisters to drain them!” surgery the night before, so I was very glad that I’d eventually accepted there was no point in even trying to wear my heels, as my maryjanes were bad enough.

Nevertheless, I made my maryjanes take me up to Ladyfest at San Frindigo to see Katy dance with the Real Hot Bitches.


The Real Hot Zombie Army


Boy bitches!

I wasn’t actually sure who was going to be there, so I was super glad that Chrisana was there playing records in between acts cos I got to talk to her lots.

pimp
Big pimpin’ up in SFB(H).

They’re putting a bar out on the balcony. Laaaaame. The balcony’s already too damn small in summer. Sigh.

SFBH bar
They already moved the bar to the other side of the room from where it used to be when the bar was Indigo

There were all flavours of lesbian in attendence, from cowboy dykes to total girlie girls (and yes I am in fact totally making snap judgements about their sexuality, pretty much based on nothing at all, since there were plenty of some straight couples around too), but I was just too damn tired to oggle properly, given how hungover I’d been all day so eventually I just had to take myself home.

ladies
Behold the ladies!

After all, the night before, on Thursday – if, like me you’re losing track of the narration, I had attended the opening of Helen’s shop, Modern Love. The shop is at the top of the Plimmer Steps, one shop down from Madam Fancypants, and it’s bloody gorgeous, as you can see in these pics:


Modern Love at night


Horses in my frieze… Well, Helen’s frieze.

The party was also astonishingly packed, so it’s just as well most people were dirty smokers.


Inside the shop


Outside the shop


And again

We ended up sitting in the carpark across the Plimmer Steps because it was raining, and as Helen had managed to get DB to sponsor her opening (product placement: Stark the RTD is pretty damn drinkable as it is sugar free or something like that, and tastes just like flavoured carbonated water), and talked and talked. Eventually after almost all the booze was gone, we hoofed it over to Mighty Mighty, where I stared at a girl for ages before finding out she was the identical twin of a girl I went to uni with (Not Shirley’s Evelyn though), and learnt about the wonders of Castlepoint Ale – a 750ml bottle for $7.50. Nice.

Needless to say, by the time Saturday rolled around, I was fucking exhausted and was able only to go with Karen to the award-winning Maranui Surf Cafe for delicious brunch.


Surf club participants participating out the window

And then we went to sit in the sun drinking frozen daquiris at home. That’s as exciting as the rest of my weekend got. Wahoo. And now it’s Monday, and I learnt how to update our website at work todya which makes me so very very happy, and I’ve been doing our intranet too whcih means I’ve been handcoding all day and so now I think I will bid you farewell.

xojo

Pornography and videos

My weekend was a shocking pile of debauchee. I participated in: lying to my manager; drunkenness; sexual harassment; sexual arousal; groping; other people’s hands on Mary-Kate and foul language. And that was just Friday night. Okay, so the lie was totally bald-faced, and was merely an excuse to accompany my cow-orkers to their netball dinner. The drunkenness was nothing special, just a lot of white wine. The sexual harassment was constant, and returned (the boys were trying to look up my skirt, despite the fact that I was wearing trousers), the groping was hilarious and mutual, and the foul language was to be expected (*).

On Saturday I felt great on account of having stayed up til 5am so I was stone cold sober again. I cleaned the house, had a shower, treated Seb for fleas, kicked the boys out of the house and set off flea bombs in my room and in the lounge. Of course, it was after I had locked the front door and exited that I heard the BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP of smoke detectors going off, so I had to rush back into the lounge, find a chair to clamber on and pull out the battery, all the while coughing in the flea gas. Still, at least it should have killed the larvae in my lungs, right?

I repaired at the Medditerean Warehouse with a margharita pizza (and one of these days I will learn to spell) and the paper, before continuing the Italian theme with shopping to prepare for ‘Rome at the Country Club’. Later, after attempts at napping and some of The OC, which quite frankly I find myself really not giving a shit about, the darling Lisa Fur came and picked me up, and we went to her house via being served at the mill by Conor Oberst, who has apparently fled to New Zealand where he can shed his cold cold tears on his cold cold bathroom tile before getting up to sell cheap cheap liquor to ladies and say “laterz!” to them. We went to Lisa’s house and she played me absolutely devestating videos by the Dears, which you shouldn’t watch unless you’re prepared to cry. Then Brad and KateB came over (do you like the way I invite my friends to other people’s houses? I’m really good at that) and we had some more drinks and played some more music and then took off for the Aro Valley for Joel’s house.

At Joel’s, we sat in the garden and feared for our lives when he threw more furniture on the fire. I saw people I knew from when I worked for VUWSA and was happy that they were the people I liked. I think we were either very early or very late, but it was nice to see Joel again, even though I goddamnmotherfuckingshitfuckcunt forgot to get my Straitjacket Fits CD back off him. He’s had it for like a year now. Grr. Then we left to wander the streets slowly, and I started a long text conversation with my friend because we happened to be passing his house. Upon reflection, I realise that I do tend to text random things at random times (*). Brad peeled off somewhere, and Kate fell asleep on Lisa’s couch, so I made Lisa play me vinyl and make me popcorn. She’s a good bitch like that.

On Sunday, I was in pukesville. Apparently drinking a lot of bubbly straight from the bottle is bad for you. Who knew? Nevertheless, I soldiered on with Rome preperations, chargrilling red peppers to go in homemade hummus, making trifle with banana cake and pineapple in lieu of tiramisu, and putting pizza dough on in the breadmaker. Eventually I had to call a timeout so I retired to the local cafe for coffee and grease and the paper before coming back to the mountain of dishes and assorted other hospitality tasks that awaited me. And then I awaited my guests. You know, Kate mentioned that she thinks there’s been a drop in recent years in the number of people who actually call (or even text) to say that they can’t make it to an event, and I think she’s right. That said, there was still a stream of “oh, I’m too hungover” or “oh, the formula one is on” texts that made me go grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. But the people who did come were very cherished, and appreciative of the effort I’d gone to. Also, my flatmates now think I am the greatest flatmate in the world, because it turns out that while I’d heard that Caligula was quite porny, I figured it’d just be softcore boobs and fake sex. Oh no, my friends. It was hardcore jizz baths, penetration and cunnilinguis. With costumes. And sex with horses. Hurrah! I fear I have set a high standard for further Country Clubs, but oh well. I can rename it the Cuntry club and feature porn from all around the world.

Last night Karen and I went to Kazu for some food on sticks. I should point out that we went to the good new one, without the terrible service and the quivering pizza that are found at the Tory St branch. The one on Courtenay Place is right next to the once beloved Arashi, which has since removed both ginko nuts AND their banana & peanut butter spring rolls from their menu, so what’s the point? Then we wanted to see Sione’s Wedding but it was all sold out so we went to A History of Violence instead, which was good. And violent, strangely enough.

Today at work I sat in on a videoconference featuring Tze Ming Mok, who was almost frighteningly articulate and Tusiata Avia talking about writing from a non-European perspective to an audience of Wellington High and Wellington Girls’ girls via video links, and it was really interesting. It made me think lots of things which I have completely forgotten about now, because it’s the end of the day. The ‘compare and contrast’ between the two of them in pretty much every aspect of their work was really interesting, as was also thinking about identity in general. Oh, I know what I wanted to say, and I’ll have to paraphrase really badly here, but Tze Ming spoke about how there’s a sort of expectation in the circles that she moves in that she will write about certain things, and I suppose that’s something that I feel too – not, of course, as an essayist and a blogger, but as a person with an online journal. It’s something I spent a lot of time talking about in the olden days when I was at counselling, my need to keep people entertained. And then I’d say something deep and then I’d say something else to make Kalpana laugh. Awesome, nice consistency there. Hmmm, this all sounded better in my head over lunch. Nevermind, I’ll call it off here.

ambient bleeps and clicks

A. Dreams:

1. My second best friend from High School trying to tell me that I had COE because I had bought a birthday cake and a lasange for a party I was throwing for her but she thought I was going to eat it all by myself. We had a very vicious fight after that.

2. A bunch of people sitting around watching me and Jesus (or maybe a guy pretending to be Jesus) getting ready to have butt sex and timing it so that we’d both come at the same time as the second big guitary bit in ‘Hysteria’ by Muse. Was this dream caused by:
a) discussions about a particular NZ novel that I FUCKING HATE but everyone except for Karen seems to love
b) downloading too much gang bang porn or
c) listening to Muse too often, too loud in order to escape flood of oppressive emails and the horrible ambient bleeps and clicks music that my officemate plays (and leaves playing when he goes off to meetings),
or d) all of the above?

3. Looking in the yellow pages for strip clubs to go to with Brian from I Keep a Diary. We were looking for one in his home suburb of London, which was Glastonbury (of course). I think the Yellow Pages was kind of Harry Potter like, because the ads all had moving pictures.

One day I will be a New York Hipster too. Wait, does this mean that I have to put a picture of Carrie Bradshaw at the top of my page, and write about the perfect Louis Vuitton handbag my perfect boyfriend gave me, and about how people who buy stationary at the Warehouse are third class citizens and how those homeless people obviously deserve it because they frowned at me? You know what I’m talking about. Some websites are total car crashes – you hate them passionately but you just can’t stop reading them.

Speaking of Reow, I just saw one of my friend’s comments to someone else on their journal, and hot damn, it was excellent – but very reow. I’m sure the reow was well deserved, from the sound of things.

B. Moving:

Last night I went to Anji’s to pick up my key for our new place, and she drove a vanload of her stuff over and I helped her unpack it. We used torches cos the power wasn’t on yet. It felt ever so vaguely X-Filesy. The place wasn’t quite as big as I remembered it being, but that’s okay, it’s still more than big enough for us. I just hope Sebastian will be okay with the move. Pixie will sure be glad to have him gone though.

I’m going to take some more stuff and Jessie over to it tomorrow, hopefully, and then of course on Sunday we’re going to Oma’s to pick up my fridge and fill up the van and car with more of my stuff. I hate moving. Still at least this isn’t being done on the hottest day of summer, and I’m quite determined not to be hungover for this move. Hopefully. Although if anyone has anything that they want to invite me to tonight, please feel free.

I haven’t told my parents yet that I’m moving out. I could text them, but that’d be pretty spac. They sent me some big long text message in Dutch to pass on to Oma. Altavista reckons that they said: “Kind mam. Congratulated warmly with your anniversary. Sorry that the photograph von me on camel gestuurt cannot become on Neil’s tel. von Moroko. Have the Sahara survives. Hops that you the little girls have gezein. Many liefs. Aimee and Neil.” So there you go, if you were curious about their trip.

C. Watching:
Trading Spouses: uptight vegan vs crazy alligator rassling Cajuns. Bless this show.
The Secret Life of Us – Season Two: arrived this morning by courier, less than 24 hours after I bought it on Trademe. Hurrah! More Evan goodness,
Scrubs: goddamit, isn’t Garden State out yet?
In My Father’s Den: I bought the DVD. Now I’ll finally get to find out what that Mazzy Star song is called.
The OC: Brad’s coming over tomorrow night. Good times.

Fucker workmates, fuckerware

So what I feared about peanuts and monkeys has proven to be true (*) but let’s ignore that and focus on the positives instead.

I received a Valentine today! It’s from Outback Jack, and it says “Strewth! ur a hot sheila!! LOLZ!! ur teh only lady I wanna pair up in twos with!!! OMG!!! HAWT!!!” I wonder if Natalie knows. According to the latest NW they’re engaged. According to the Herald Milan is engaged. Bastard.

Also! I have a hairdressing appointment booked. You can be like “so what?” but if you know me well enough then you’ll know that my beloved hairdresser Hayley is in Auckland, and therefore I must be Auckland bound – as indeed I am. I fly in on Friday the 25th at 9.30am and I leave at 3pm on Sunday the 27th. This does mean that I miss the Cuba St Carnival AND Dimmer, but hey, these things happen. Whilst in Auckland I will be getting my hair cut at 12.30pm on the Friday, going to Goodshirt at the Zoo on Saturday evening for KateH’s birthday, and then painting the town red later that night for KateM’s going away. Possibly a bbq will be attended the next day before I fly back. On the friday day I intend to meet up with my biggest client since I’m sure I owe her a glass of wine or two, and also see Gemma who I haven’t seen since Easter 2004 perhaps? Other than that though, I would like to hang out with you. I think I will hopefully be playing with Heather that Friday night.

Why did no one tell me about p2p porn before? I downloaded Limewire yesterday, and when I clicked the “new files” I was overwhelmed. Now I just have to figure out what kind of porn I actually want to download – I suspect “please for the love of god cut your nails and take off those ugly shoes” is too long a search string to start out with. Still, there’s always Buffy slash I guess…. Sick. Sick sick sick sick sick (but if you’re going to do the Buffy slash thing, google “bankhead academy”).

That’s about all I have to say for now. I’m going to a d.vice fuckerware party on Wednesday, which I’m quite looking forward to. Given how ridiculously sore my arms are these days (remember how I first got OOS cos I hated Foodstuffs so much?), I’ll be looking for something handsfree, I do believe. I think my dearly beloved Fiesta Party has carked it, although not from overuse.

I am so over today (*), I would like it to be 5pm right about now please thanks bye.

November 25th, 2003

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.

Show & Tell

Tuesday the 29th of December

So it’s come to this. I’ve gone so far with my self disclosure that I’ve got little left to tell that would shock. Instead, now I have to SHOW, instead of tell. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go to my blahblah page. Mmmmm. I really don’t think Jo’s a good influence on me. In fact, my parents saw a photo of her with a cigarette in hand, and they TOLD me she was a bad influence. And I’m sure they know what’s best for me. Excuse me while I snicker.

I worked in the Potters Shop this morning, but since this is right after Xmas and still in governmental holidays, we weren’t anticipating huge retail rushes. Mum said she’d call me at 12.30pm to see how sales were going, and if no one had come in, then I could close up early. Well, what can I say? I’m sick, and I finished my (brilliant) book. I wanted to go home. I didn’t exactly SCOWL at all the customers that came in, but I really didn’t smile much either. And I doubt any of them were big fans of the Beastie Boys played a little loud either. I guess the flipside of being a very good sales person (look, there’s me blowing my own trumpet again) is that I know how to be a bad one as well.

Anyways, I got released and went to pick up my photos, which I’ll add in here and there as I feel is nessecary. Then Mum and I went for coffee at slotatl, to say hi to Anji mostly. In the evening, we rented A Life Less Ordinary. LOVE that movie. It’s probably in my top ten films ever. Also in it would be Spiceworld and Breaking the Waves – two completely opposite ends of the spectrum I know, but that just illustrates my depth (wank wank).

I’m so weirded out by my behaviours as of late. Honestly very disturbed. It’s fun being a little crazy. I’m just worried that I’m too willing to accept people’s dares. Ah well. Who needs shame anyways?

© 2014 Hubris.co.nz

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑