Hubris.co.nz

Today is my birthday. My family have been awesome, as have my usual Tuesday crew (including the Quiz Master, who smells delicious, but could use some hand cream). My birthday party on Saturday night was an awful lot of fun too.

On my birthday last year I woke up in bed with a nice girl, and then Anji showed up and brought us coffee, we all went to brunch and then cleaned Karen’s apartment. The year before that, I was fucking relieved not to be having vagina surgery, and was possibly still really stoked to have been felt up by a boy who was one the best pashes evah the night before, we went to Cafe Istanbul for dinner and I saw the Real Hot Bitches for the first time ever. And I think that last link does a good job of summing up other years, but I will point out that on the day I turned 20 I dumped my boyfriend (ala, the ASSCUNT of twitter from the previous entry) because he wouldn’t make an effort to see me, and ten years ago, I had a really sucky 18th birthday in which people I cared about said nasty things about me because I drank and (shock horror!) smoked pot (one of those three people is now one of my best friends, one of them does far too many drugs now, and the other is in Australia) and it turns out that another one was sleeping with the guy I fancied at the time. Etc. So today’s not really being able to sleep until after 6am and all the voices in my head speaking in Scottish accents ala Anna from This Life, then workshops, dinner at Caffe Italiano and Quiz Night is really not that stand-out-y.

Has it become apparent to you via this post that birthdays are actually very important to me? I hope it has, because I’m living in a flat who fail to notice that,and it’s weird. Actually, this is the third birthday in a row tat I’ve had in which one of them will fail to pay it any attention. Oh, but, on a non-flatmate note, I haven’t had a birthday cake of my own on my actual birthday since I was 17 – until this year, when Anji and Bambi bought over a beautiful delicious cake for me with champagne bottle corks. I’ll put in photos at some stage. And also creepy video of karaoke. Karaoke was SO fucking awesome, it was such a good night, I love me some friends, and also Yvonne at Longxiang who dealt with me having 18 friends at dinner and that not even being close to all of them. I’m not always entirely sure why anyone likes me sometimes, but at dinner I totally got it and it was lovely.

Also random blah blah. Something about sex. Oh yes, the twitters on Saturday night. I’ll tell you, I am SO fucking horny right now. Like, there’s the usual depression thing of wanting to lose yourself under someone, having them thrust aside all thoughts in your brain even for a couple of minutes, the validation of having someone wrapped around you, and then there’s pre-period hormones, in which everything is a turn-on (see above quizmaster love from tonight, although of course that’s not a new thing because of course I fancy the rare people who appear to be smarter than I) and oh man oh man oh man sometimes all you can think about is getting a pounding.

Then there’s the decision that if 27 was the year of debauchery, which it hardly was, then maybe I wil make an attempt to make 28 year of health (starting tomorrow of course). Even my taxi driver tonight asked me if I suffered from Anxiety, which holy fuck yes I do. I should defend myself in saying that he asked because he had it, not because I appeared totally buttfuck crazy, honest. Anyways. Full circle. I hide in bed to avoid the world (read: flatmates going “oh, not at work today?) then hate onthe world (read: flatmates) for not doing anything for my birthday. Yes, that’s right, you can’t win with me at all, anyone. Haven’t I made that clear already? I should I suppose clarify here: I fucking miss Kat’n Kane, and Bopha and Brad, and Kateb and Clayton and Simon like, so much. I am deeply deeply nostalgic for flats of yesteryear when they were more than just a collection of individuals under one roof.

Except, you know, if you give me a good fucking right now. And that won’t happen because I am far too anxious. Joy! Yes, cycle, yes, I will get out of it. Man, I am looking forward to sleeping tonight.

Oh, and finally, have i mentioned lately that I think Sebastian is gay? There’s always bitemarks on the back of his neck. I wonder if the gay cat world has bears, because he is big and hairy. But he is also poised and handsome and constantly grooming. But the cats he talks to during the day look like twinks to me. I reckon that’s why he kept trying to do Sammy when we lived with Iva, even though Sammy was actually (sort of) female. Ahhh cat sex, that’s a good note to end on, right?

I have been reading my journal from 1999, spurred on by stumbling across Shakespeare in Love on TV and deciding to find what I’d written about it, and realising what was going on with my life at the time, but anyways, I fucking wish I could be that honest and upfront right now. I mean, yes, in the olden days I did write my secret thoughts in the source code, but at least I wrote them. In the past couple of years, I’ve become so boring and sheltered and so fucking cafeful. I miss pre-google days when you could write about how fucking stoned you got with various people and call them by their names.

But I don’t smoke pot anymore, of course, and man, I so fucking miss that. Did you see the parts in my journal in 1999 when I used to be in my pyjamas, and someone would call, and my flatmate would be in love with them so I’d put on my grandfather’s silk dressing gown and get driven across town to go smoke with them and then go home? Good times. I wish the world was that simple right now.

Yes I know that I am full of “oh I wish that things were still that way or that way or whatever it is that I want”. And yes, I realise that might make you think that I am unhappy with the way that things are right now. I wish I could write and explain the things that are causing me drama. I have layers of privacy written into this journal, and I could make posts on different levels, or write in different spaces, put in linked footnotes, or be really obscure, but I don’t want to do that. I wish I could tell you what I dislike about my job, very specifically, but I am reduced to saying “government can be a little bit slow-moving”. I wish I could tell you what the problem is with my homelife, but I will sumarise by saying that Kat and Kane are moving out in February to go to Tauranga to be nearer to Kat’s Mum, and you can’t argue with that. But oh yes, of course it doesn’t actually matter when they’re going, as much as I love them and will miss them so much, because oh yes, that’s right, I’m BEING EVICTED. They’re terminating the lease on this house that I love so much on February 3, so I will need to be gone, and find somewhere new. I left a note for Smoo telling him about it and saying that I hoped he would come with me when I set up a new house, because I love living with him, but he’s gone to Hamilton for Xmas, so I don’t know what he’ll say and I’m a little bit scared that he’ll be all like “oh you know what? Done our dash at this flat, time for me to move on”. But I suppose if that’s the way the road goes, that’s the way the world goes.

I am trying to be very calm and very philosophical about everything in my life right now. It does not help that I have failed to go to the gym for a couple of weeks, that my alcohol intake has increased exponentially with the season, that I can’t remember the last salad that I had, that there’s a full moon and most significantly that I am down to a pill a day, if that, because apparently it is far too too hard to find five minutes to cut them up and fill my seven-day box.

So there have been more than a few tear-bouts. Like when my car got towed from the carpark near work that I’d only parked in because I’d failed to sleep and was running an hour and a half late, and that was all the coins I had. I didn’t know who to call and I didn’t want to bother anyone with my drama, but as I later suggested to my counsellor, if anyone was in my position and they failed to call me, I’d want to punch them in the head because of course I’m always there for them (so I have resolved to treat myself like I’m actually my friend, so that I will see that I am actually important and special and deserving of cherishing and nourishment – the way I view my friends but have difficulty seeign myself). So yeah, I called Shirley, and cried and cried, and through a series of navigational mishaps, we ended up driving out to Petone. I had a big panic attack – or is it an anxiety attack – in her car. My heart rate went out of control, my entire body tensed up to the point where my left side felt like it was a heart attack, my flesh tingled, and I had the most disgusting metalllic taste in my mouth. I was more successful in fighting it because I was in someone else’s company than I normally would be. And we wen to the beach, and I stood ankle deep in the cool water and tried to unclench my body, which had of course gone into total survival clenched mode.

We wandered down Jackson St forever, trying to find a place for dinner that was open which would fit us in, and finally we came across Gusto, down the opposite end from Wanda Harland. Yum! We had a cheese plate which had a brie that gooed everywhere, and antipasto with four kinds of preserved meats. The service was a little new, but very well intentioned. And after we had retrieved my car from the towing yard, $180 later, I stopped by quiz and was so upset and stressed out about my workshop the next day I hardly even noticed when the Quizmaster hugged me.

The next day I had a huge big challenge organising an interactive workshop on wikis for 50 people. I panicked and doubted myself and thought I’d fucked up room bookings when it was of course some people overstaying their time in rooms, but other than that, it went pretty good. And then after work I got drunk over dinner at Longixang with Karen and Kowhai and Lisa, and we drove out ot Martha’s shop opening and I drank more champagne and bought presents for Anji and Karen, and a bear-shaped rug that I am SO going to fuck someone on, while my fire-place video plays on the TV. Maybe I will add in photos some other time.

I didn’t write about the Wellingtonista awards yet either. Such an amazingly good night. I can’t believe that things went as well as they did. It was such a stressful period leading up to ist, but on the night, it appears that we pulled it off quite well indeed. My dress was pretty, and that;’;s what’s most important, right? and OH MY GOD Blam Blam Blam were so astonishingly good,a nd I jumped up and down and up and down and dancd and danced and then I hugged them and the whole time I was dancing I had the biggest grin on my face going “BLAM BLAM MOTHERFUCKING BLAM ARE PLAYING AT AWARDS I FUCKING HELPED ORGANISE!” (although props for the actual night must go to Mitch and Russell) and it was just so fucking lovely to know that 678 people voted, compared to 57 from last year. The Wellingtonista have filled my social calendar this year and I love them all dearly, even when they don’t read their emails properly.

And there are other things that are lovely in my life. Kat and I may have finished our Veronica dates, but the other night on our girlie date night we watched Dirty Dancing and then The Breakfast Club and I know that even when they’re gone in February, they’ll be coming back all the time for wrestling. And fuck, I so don’t want them to leave. Do you know how amazing our vege garden looks right now? I don’t want ot have to leave this house, it’s just not fucking fair. This is my home. How dare they “consider their options”? Shirley’s consoling words have been all about promising me that I’ll find a place with a better kitchen, but how will I find a house big enough to fit in all my crap? I have so much crap. My aim over the holidays is to throw out three things a day, but I dunno if I’ll get that done. Yesterday I was hungover all day from end of work drinks, with Tom buying Bollinger at Arbituaguer, and then much sake at Hede, and teapots at Alice, and more wine at Hawthorn, and today I had half a dozen people (Karen, Tom, Kowhai, Shirley, Frances, Lisa, Kat & Kane) over for drinks in the sun, which of course turned into drinks with candles outside and everyone wearing my hoodies and wow, I’m so fucking huge. My idea of spontaneous entertaining starts with texts at 10am, and then there’s bratwursts and frozen samosas and a trillion cocktails. We’re having Xmas at Mum and Neil’s, even though their deck isn’t finished (I am SO dreading the mess already) and so Karen and I went entree shopping this morning. And I have already finished the white rum, apparently. D’oh!

What more did I have to say? I am so fucking craving some physicality. I want to devour the world. So let’s end it there, yes?

Okay, so I’m kind of cheating this week. The drinks weren’t free. But I could say that I paid for the entertainment and the prospect of finding true love, and the booze was additional. So with that in mind, this week (two weeks ago, fine) the free drinks came courtesy of:

VINO EROTICA!

TUESDAY NOVEMBER 27th

Now this tasting is purely by customer demand (it has nothing to do with us).
Strictly limited to 24 people – this is a night of speed-date-wine-tasting.

Each person booking in for this exclusive tasting must be single and bring a
single friend of the opposite sex with them
(to ensure a high calibre, you understand).

Upon arrival you will recieve an aperitif, and then be sorted into random teams
of 6 people to answer multi-choice questions on each of the wines you will be
tasting. At the end of each round of wine – 3 people must move to the next table
for the next wine and a new bunch of people!

A night sure to be filled of intrigue, adventure, hilarity, erotica and romance!!!!!

$30 PER PERSON
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 27th
6.30pm

PLACES STRICTLY LIMITED – Remember singles only and you must include a friend
of the opposite sex with your booking!

I like wine. And I like my friend Tom, so I went along to chaperone him. Because obviously as an old cougar spinster, I am the ideal chaperone. However, the best thing was that upon arriving, I didn’t feel at all like a cougar. I was at least five years younger than all the other women there. Hurrah!

Actually, that’s a lie. The best thing upon arriving was the glass of delicious bubbly that tasted like it was Italian and prosecco-ish, but was in fact an Australian bubbly chardonnay. We drew numbers out of big jars for our table places, and after another glass of the delicious bubbly, we sat down in groups of three men/three women, and had to announce our star signs. Simple, I’m a Gemini. No one else at the table was, to the best of my recollection. We were poured tastings from a bottle in a brown paper bag, and had to answer three multichoice questions about it. I knew straight away it was a Sav, and I was pretty sure it was from NZ, and Marlbourgh at that. Yay me! But we were assisted in our blind tastings by Nicola’s explanations of what the regional differences were like, had our glasses topped up, and smiled and nodded.

The boys moved over to the next table to be replaced by a new lot, and the question we needed to answer to get was “what kind of car would you be?”. I said I’d like to think I was some big brash mustang convertible in some fantastic colour, but I’d probably be a white prius – not the best kind of hybrid available, and like, so last year in trends”. One guy said he’d be a concept car, and I said “Like Homer’s with the giant cup-holder?” and the table went completely silent and I watched tumbleweeds roll past. Really? REALLY? Not even that basic a Simpsons reference could get recognised? Woah. Tough crowd. And a tougher wine. I think it was a viogner. I can’t remember. Nice work Jo. Perhaps Tom could post if he remembers what the wines were.

In the next group, we had to say what our favourite word was. I thought of a long-gone friend’s long letter to me, and claimed ‘succulent’ as my own. I got to use the word ‘onomatepaia’ in my explanation, which luckily was out loud so I didn’t have to spell it. Someone said “you’ve practiced this answer”. I said “I work in communications”. Other than that, there wasn’t much talk of work. One guy said that his favourite word was ‘Orb’, and I said “so do you like The Orb?” and he was like “well I like the planet earth” and I was like “huh? I meant the early ’90s techno band” and he stared at me like I was crazy, so I was very happy when the guy across the table was like “I like The Orb” and named some of their albums. Finally someone understood me! I wasn’t actually talking crazy after all! In fact, that guy was probably my favourite of the night. He laughed at my jokes, and seemed normal, and didn’t have a mo. I could have put down at the end of the night that I wanted his email address, but that would of course have opened me up to the possibility of rejection, and god forbid I should ever take any chances! We drank some red wine. It was delicious. That’s all I remember about it. Perhaps it was Italian. Or Argentinian.

In the next group, we had to give examples of the best or worst pickup lines we’d ever heard or used. I offered up “Your curtains scare me – can we go to your room?” as laaaaaame (although that worked), and as possibly the best ever, “I’d buy you a drink but I don’t buy girls drinks because they use me too much” as most powerful, because it got us talking, made me buy him a drink to make up for all the other girls, and introduced the user as a wounded flower who obviously needed someone to take care of him. At least three times that night. Heh. We also drank more red wine. There was a girl at my table who was getting most of the wine questions right. The other girl at the table was not very forthcoming with answers. Some of the guys weren’t either. One of the guys in the previous round had said he didn’t have a favourite word. I told him his new favourite word was ‘banana’ and he had to use it in the future. I suspect this meant that he would have had to tell every other group as he went around about it, but somehow I doubt he would have. Shy people freak me out. People at the table talking about how hard it is to meet people when you’re in your thirties and don’t like bars also freak me out a lot. Thank god for being 27.

The next group, with a delicious bubbly shiraz was all about the “naughtiest thing you’ve ever done”. Both Tom and I, comparing notes later, were very much like “Seriously? WTF?” about people’s “naughtiest” stories, which consisted of things like “knocking a book out of a teacher’s hand” at age five, or their boss – not even them – throwing up in a cab. My story was of revenge in a toilet stall. It got shared in front of the whole group. Awesome. At least I was happy to participate. I’d had Lominger Competencies earlier in the morning at work, and had been pissed off then too by people who wouldn’t talk and join in. What’s the point? So I had some more wine, and then ran off to Quiz Night where the quiz master told me to shut up because I was drunk. Heh.

EDIT: Tom says “The second one was a Pinot Gris from Argentina, there was a Malbec there somewhere, plus a Negroamaro from somewhere in southern Italy (Puglia, I think).

Your description of the night was bang on. All I remember was getting drunk quickly and acting too loud and inappropriate for what was pretty much a bunch of wallflowers.”

Of course, he could have commented that for himself, but oh well.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. My free* drinks last week were supposed to come courtesy of the seminar I attended – Social Media’s Impact on Communications at the posh old Wellesley Club. But my cow-orkers left straight after the seminar, and it was so damn hot in the room that when I saw the bar wasn’t even fully set up yet, I hightailed it out of there to pay for a glass of wine at Plum (and trick Tom into buying me one) instead. Just as well then, that we had $100 in Southern Cross bartabs to drink that night then.

One of the vouchers had actually expired the week previously (I’d left it at home accidently, so we had to pay that night, shock horror) but we calculated that the somewhat inept staff would fail to notice that, and we were right. Also, I should now direct your attention to this very gracious comment from the general manager, because it is very gracious. $100 + $10 bought two bottles of Five Flax Reisling (standard sweet reisling, quite drinkable but I’m getting a bit bored of drinking it every week, however it’s a big jump from its $30 price to $45 for Rose) and two jugs of Emerson’s Bookbinder for the boys. We got the right table-booth, and the Quizmaster was back from his knee operation so we didn’t have to resort to calling ourselves “Anus. Heh heh, anus” because my arch nemisis The Poo from 2004 (remember that horrible fashion show that I did?) was reading the questions. A good time was had by most (the numbers of people on our two teams did my head in somewhat), and we won $80 in bar tabs which we drank this week. Hurrah!

* Free to me, obviously, the seminar was paid for by my work.

As per usual, let me start off this entry with an invitation to a party:

We’re having Country Club: India on Saturday, and you’re of course invited. I must clean and make curries and try and make mini naans before then. What a busy girl I’ll be. As per usual. I suspect starting my free drinking challenge possibly wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made without being willing to cut down on the expensive events too. But nevermind. Luckily now that I have a camera, I can keep better track of the things that I have been up to.

And so let’s talk about Saturday October 27, which started off with a pony at the Houghton Bay School Fair that I wasn’t allowed to ride (I didn’t actually ask) so I settled for sitting in tiny little very sturdy seats in the kindergarten with my knees around my ears instead, hiding out from the freezing cold that my jandals and 3/4 length (actually on me they’re more 5/8) tights were not equipt to deal with. But man, when did school fairs become so fancy? I ate pad thai, and samosas, and there was all kinds of other posh food like falafels and morrocan curries as well as the usual sausage sizzle. In the car, Kat said to me “Me and Sebastian are becoming great friends since I feed him all the time. If you don’t stop going out drinking he’s going to think that I’m his mummy” and I actually cried. But then me and Kat and Kane and Kenna and Tavers moved on to a long extended trip to the Warehouse for costuming for the event that night:

What were we up to that night? Why, the MOTHERFUNKIN’ RASSLIN’, of course! Holy crap, it was exciting. I have a video on my camera of Purple Haze, who is, according to Kat’s sign “New Zealand’s sexist[sic] masked man” (it was only Tom G who noticed her missing e), wrestling the Condor, and you can hear me screaming my lungs out and it goes all jerky when I jump to my feet at the end of the match. SO MUCH FUN! And then at half time we got CORN DOGS! And I was dressed as a zombie bride! And then a Bush Wacker came out! And walked all funny! And there was SO MUCH CROTCH EVERYWHERE! SO SO SO AWESOME! And the kids in front of us, who’d previously been screaming for bloody genuinely started crying when their father got cut up for serious. And there was the most hilarious except for the racism and homophobia kid yelling behind us. And my insults were also very witty too. And Tom G giggles like a girl and was great company for RASSLIN’ cos he knows everything about it. Here are some more photos to show you the awesomeness of it all:

It’s good to know I already have the outfit for when I totally marry Chris DeLorean, whose crotch is pictured here. Sans the large errection that other wrestlers were sprouting.

My sign which hadn’t dried in time (too much glitter paint) said “Lazarus Volt, fast like a colt”. But obviously a quarter of the size of Trooper

H. Flame & Max Damage vs The Overstayers (in the shiny trousers)

After the RASSLIN’ was finished, Jimmy, Tom G and I strolled down to Mighty Mighty to meet up with Tom B and listen to the band of the fantastic Mitch. I was very very very amused when a boy came up, and invited me to join their stag night, on the basis that I must be on my hen’s night. I was like “what? Why would you think that?”, deciding to pretend that I wasn’t wearing a large veil, since he had obviously missed the sunken eyes and bloody mouth. When he said that it was the way I was dressed, I was like “what? But I just got up this way!” and pointed out that I was actually sitting with three guys and it would have been a rather poor Hen’s Night if that was the case. And then I leant back to show him the blood gushing from my wrong-sided heart (it’s hard when you’re not wearing a shirt to do the maths when applying fake blood stains,really! Especially when you’ve dyed your hands red and need to scrub them with detergent, a dish brush, turpentine and sugar and still fail to lift the stains), and he said it was obviously just red wine, and I was like “no no sir, I spent half an hour holding a hairdryer on this to set the stain” and then he went to suck my shirt, and I moved it away from my body. You know, he may have had a little bit of a stupid approach, unless that was his act, but he was very cute, as was his friend who came and started stroking my face later, so Ir eally need to drop my whole insulting people when they hit on me defence. Like, seriously. We drank many bottles of nice red wine, and had dances, and finally Tom G and I left and had a sizeable debate about whether or not we felt like going to a strip club. I suggested that the way I was dressed would not result in me getting free lap dances, so we decided to save it for another time, and went and got kebabs instead. Some girl overheard us talking about why you shouldn’t sleep with lesbians so she and her boyfriend came and joined our table, and we had a very strange conversation that I can’t actually remember. We left her with the parting advice of “remember not to sleep with lesbians!” and she sounded offended, all “my mother’s a lesbian” and so I was like “umm, that’s probably a really good reason not to sleep with her then”. Heh. Then in the morning, my hair looked like this, so it’s just as well that the turquoise Clairol shampoo is as de-dredging as its ads make it out to be!

So that was the Saturday. I think I stayed in bed for a lot of the Sunday. Possibly until 6pm that night. Or maybe I got up and did things. My memory isn’t what it used to be, with me being like a trillion and six and all. Oh no wait, I made homemade chicken soup for all my sick friends! Well, all the ones who were ill anyway. Here’s how I did it, it was bloody tasty:

• Brown some chicken wings all over in a frypan
• Dice two onions, a whole head of garlic and two thumbs of garlic, and lightly saute
• Pour one litre of chicken soup over the onions and bring to the boil. Add the chicken wings, and deglaze their pan with some white wine, adding that in too.
• Add the juice and rind of one lemon, and some chili if you have it. Bring to the boil, then turn down and simmer lightly for 30 minutes or so, until the chicken starts falling off the bone
• Pull the chicken pieces out of the soup with tongs, and strip off the meat, throwing it back in the pot
• Add three peeled diced potatoes, or alpabet noodles. Add in diced carrots, celery and red pepper. Cook until the veges are soft

Of course only Shirley was home to receive her soup, so Lisa and Dylan missed out on getting well again. And I made Impromptu Flat Dinner since Smoo showed up as well, having been away for a couple of weeks, and a good time was had by all. Monday was a beautiful night of veging in front of the television. Tuesday night was Quiz and we got the right table and so we won again, hurrah. Wednesday night was ummmm hmmm, perhaps nothing? And then on Thursday was the free drinks which I have already written about.

Which brings me to the glorious weather of Friday, and this series of photos.

What you’re looking at is 1. the view from the cafe at the Archives where I ate some of the nicest corn fritters I have ever eaten, except they needed sour cream on the side. 2. A slightly suspicious-looking man on the tables at Zarbo that Tom B and I dragged out into the sun across the walkway with permission from the waiter. 3. The Mexican Wrestlers lining the coffee machine at Sweet Mother’s Kitchen where we ate mountains of food and they didn’t charge us for one pitcher of margaritas, and 4. Dylan’s ear at Mighty Mighty.

To elaborate more about my night, it started in the sun at Zarbo, and moved indoors when it got colder. The service was very very slow, but it was their first week, so perhaps it will improve. After that we went down to Sweet Mother’s Kitchen and ate hush yo’ mouth puppies, swamp dip, curly fries and I had Boom Boom chicken with bourbon potato mash, and we washed it down with a couple of jugs of margaritas, one of which they didn’t charge us for so I really must make amends. Mmmmm far too much food. Then we went up to Other Lisa’s party in her friend’s apartment, and she grabbed my boobs. Twice. Shock horror! I talked shit to Dylan for ages, and then I shocked Lisa’s friends by telling them a terrible joke and grabbing her boobs in return, but only because we were on our way out the door to Mighty Mighty where we danced to bad music and I had to leave because it was too fucking hot. I went to bed about 4am, but I hear that was much earlier than some people.

Needless to say, Saturday was spent largely in bed with Sebastian. Eventually I dragged myself up around 2 or something, and considered going into town to try and look for a sari, but then I realised that my hoodie was really dirty and I’d have to get changed, so I settled for pizza at the Med Warehouse, then supermarket shopping at Newtown New World which I’m loving for its tiny size but good selection. I cleaned myself up, had a nap, and then went into town to meet Karen and TomB and Yenping and Nick at the Oriental Thai for dinner. We were seated in the back room, which meant we had appallingly bad service – Yenping was extra to the booking, so they totally failed at bringing her a chair or a place setting, and when a glass of water got knocked over they laid another mat on top of the damp, finally, and requests for water glasses were ignored, but luckily all our wine was screwcap, and the chicken came served inside a pineapple, so that was all very well. Their Pad Thai was crap though. We had many amusing conversations though, and some very nice Reislings, and a Pinot Gris made out of the blood of an army of clones. Muahahhaa.

Then it was time to go up to the Party on the edge of the Hill, so Karen, Tom and I rocked on up there. There was much standing around in the kitchen. There was giving people sparklers to make new friends. And there was absinthe. Oh yes, there was absinthe. Behold.

.
Karen and I thought that the Absinthe was disgusting, and yet we continued to drink it because it was delicious. Meanwhile Tom drank enough to start seeing the Green Fairy

The best thing about drinking Absinthe was that instead of events getting blurrier, they seemed to get clearer and clearer. While outside getting some air (it was HOT inside), Karen and I spotted a car parked with a beer bottle on its roof, and as there were people inside the car, we went through a long round of miming “there’s a beer bottle on your roof!” at them which they didn’t get at all, so eventually I went down to move it for them, and was thanked with a “Show us your boobs!”. Awesome, almost as classy as the guy who pissed in front of us. But there were actually some very nice, very cute boys, some of whom were a little bit handsy when they shouldn’t have been because it’s just not fair! I met a very nice French boy who may have actually kissed my hand and made me giggle like a schoolgirl, and we talked about how being 27 means it’s important to act like a dead rockstar. I had a desperate lust for any kind of man-flesh but ultimately settled for every fat girl’s fall-back – finding a gay boy to tell you that you’re fabulous and feel you up when you’re dirty-dancing.Naturally. It was a looooong night. I tried to call a taxi sometime after 3, but someone stole it, so I ended up sitting on the porch until around 4am, taking photo after photo, most of which have since been deleted, because normally I wouldn’t put up bad photos of my friend. But in retaliation for some atrocious ones of me that Tom took, let me show you this as a lesson in why Absinthe isn’t always your friend:

And now it’s today and I need to do some cooking and find a sari before Saturday. Hurrah!

Bulletpoints are really a whole lot easier than writing coherant paragraphs, aren’t they? So would you be disturbed if I did another bulletpoint update? Of course you wouldn’t. You love me, right? Right?

• My RSS is back. Well, at least if you’re using Bloglines anyway.
• My palms are no longer orange. Yeah, I bought this moisturiser, right, made in NZ, parabefen free, all natural ingrediants, ladida, with “hint of summer” type stuff about it, and used it liberally for a couple of days, and then one day when I was meeting with a client (are they clients? You’re ALL my clients, technically) and drinking a cup of coffee, I realised that while my legs and arms were lightly golden, my palms were totally fanta pants. Whoops! Moral of the story: rub it in with the back of your hands. And exfoliate with my awesome sugar scrub lots.
• You know how in my last post I said I was in love with the Quiz Master at the Southern Cross? Well that night he called me pretty, so everyone got to see me blush and giggle like I was twelve. Okay, so maybe it was phrased like “Are you sure your team’s big enough?” Me: “I don’t even know the names of those guys over there, they’re just here to look pretty” and he said “Isn’t that your job?” but I don’t care. Swoon and giggle. I enjoy being 12, it’s a lot simpler than other crap.
• The past two nights I have been making sweet love to my couch out of exhaustion. I am so so so in love with Vince from The Mighty Boosh and also Sid from Skins which made me cry again. But tonight I am going to catch up for a drink with my six-weeked boss from that last job that I loved, then hang with DylNuts. Tomorrow I am going to Miss Lisa’s house to escape wrestling-watching.
• I also love love love that on Public Address System we turned a discussion about rugby into one about the awesomeness of Exile in Guyville.
• And finally I’ve been reading I like you by Amy Sedaris, which I LOVE, and you should read it too, but only after you’ve read You’re so entertaining by me, so you don’t think I copied, cos I didn’t. Her descriptions of cooking for first dates have reminded me of how much I want to go on A Date (capital letters). Someone want to have a First Date with me? It’d be like, awkward but awesome. And it can be a no strings American-style affair. Let’s do it!

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Bullet point lists make the world go around, right?

• The everscrumptious Miss Heather has switched over my site design for me, so bear with me while the kinks are ironed out. My semi-secret RSS feed seems to have temporarily vanished, and of course Twitter is blocked at work, so I’m not sure if that’s feeding in properly, but now at least if you run my site through a validator (don’t!) you should only get four or so errors and not sixty like the old one. Goodbye to the hump though, sadly.
• If you receive a text message from me that sounds a little strange, it’s because I no longer have an ’8′ key on my phone, so therefore I have no ‘t’, ‘u’ or ‘v’. It makes things like giving directions to Superfino read “On Ghznee s, opposie Bdg Cars, by Bicoria S”. That makes perfect sense, right? Also, do make your way to Superfino, please. We spent a very pleasant Friday night there. I recommend the Pear & Vanilla Punch especially, but not reaaaaally the Blood-Orange and Cinnamon Martini.
  

• We’ve taken to going to the Quiz at the Southern Cross on Tuesday nights. By “we” I mean sometimes some Wellingtonistas, and sometimes my sisters & Bambi. I am, just for a change, in love with the Quizmaster. You know how I fancy people who know more things about something than I do (music, depression, computers or – in the olden days – drugs), that rule of course applies to someone who has the answer sheet on quizes.
• Before you come up to the Cross for the quiz, I’d like to recommend Le Metropolitain for dinner, and I’d say that even if I hadn’t been called “Madame Jo” on the phone in a hot French accent that I discovered was attached to a hot French waiter. He brought me the wine list when I was waiting by myself instead of making me wait, and was efficient, friendly and good. Everyone’s favourite public servant blogger might not approve of their cassolet, but damn my cow face (read: beef cheeks) were tasty, and since Bambi ordered snails I got to try them for the first time. They tasted like mushrooms, while the mushrooms that they were served with tasted like garlic and cream.
  
• You might have gathered due to the increase in the number of photos that I’m displaying that I’ve taken to carrying my new camera with me everywhere. That’s because the batteries don’t fall out, and it’s got a 1 gig card in it. And I like taking photos, of course. I’ve started to take a series of portraits of people with ‘my eyes’:
  

  

  

• I’ve been watching Season One of Veronica Mars with my lovely new flatmate Kat. She guessed who the killer was correctly, which I didn’t manage to do the first time I watched it. She’s a smart one, that girl. I love watching shows with big reveals that I know are coming up with others, although her little shriek when the killer was in the back seat was nothing compared to Lisa on finding out who killed Laura Palmer. Kat’s fiance Kane is a pro-wrestler! How awesome is that? It means he has no fear of cavorting around in tights, which he demonstrated in his costume as a ballet dancer at Country Club: Back in the USSR on Saturday night.
• I haven’t downloaded my photos from Back in the USSR, but once I do, you’ll be able to see a steady progression from tipsy into disturbingly intoxicated, despite all the food – I made pierogi, and potatoes, and sausages, and Frances and Karen both brought blini, and there was caviar as well, and chips, and really disgusting solid rye bread, and kisial – which was of course vodka jelly, and Moscow Mules, and by the end of the night there was white rum as well. Some people had splendid costumes – Anji brought along a bear so I had to hump him. I also gave lap dance versions of the panda dance to the boys who were complaining about the poor service at Dream Girls that they’d got the night before. My heart bleeds for them. The party was lots and lots of fun, and I was stoked with the turn out. I gave someone a big long speech about how I am not what they need, and how they really shouldn’t fancy me. I thought it was a pretty convincing speech, and it was the right thing for me to do, so I was a little disturbed when I woke up next to the speech recipient. I would be later more disturbed to discover that somehow a glass of water had managed to get knocked into my underwear drawer, leaving me with moist panties everywhere. It was a much nicer discovery, when I finally got up at 6pm on Sunday though, to find that the whole house had been cleaned. WOO! And then last night over flat dinner I heard that people had been spraying my new Cinderella Coconut Bathroom Cleaner into their mouths as it is billed as being so very non toxic. Disturbing!

Things that I have been up to lately:

Yesterday I had a stall at Craft 2.0 at the NewDowse and I had a fantastic time. I sold my mother’s pottery, my sugar scrub and zines BOYS BOYS BOYS BOYS BOYS, 101 Stories that I want to tell you and You’re SO entertaining, my brand-spanking-new zine that’s a guide to cooking and hosting any and every social occasion. I don’t think I talked about genitals even once in the whole 36 pages, so it’s a real step forward for me. My half-table was next to the lovely Miss Kimberley, and opposite the gorgeous Sue, the fabulous Martha and the dapper Mr Tibby, so it was good people all around, especially since fellow Wellingtonistas Alan and Mike came by. I sold over $200 of Mum’s stuff, which means that my comission on that plus the few zines I sold and the couple of tubs of sugar scrub meant I made $100 for myself. Nice work. Of course I was in it more for the experience than the money. It was strange to think that total strangers would pay money for my written words and I felt the need to give things away for free instead.

I lost my camera at the Buena Vista Social Club bar last week on a particularly amusing night out with D&D and Lisa, which sucks cos it means I lost photos of Dave trying to lick his own nipples. Oh, and of course it means that I don’t have a camera anymore. If you have one you don’t want, please feel free to donate it to the cause.

Speaking of causes, today in the much amount of time I spent in bed I finally got around to reading Bitch magazine and so I signed up for a subscription. I need to make sure that I happily call myself a feminist even if I don’t know all the names and all the theories. I still believe in equality and leveling the playing field, and making the lives of other women better. I found myself crying while reading a piece about striving for perfection and being much harder on yourself than you’d be on anyone else. And on that note I must go find my meds because I don’t know if I took them yesterday and that’s really not helping matters.

I have been feeling funny lately. Not funny ha ha, but funny like fucked up. And this is really fucking stupid. I should explain about my work situation right now because I’m aware that I’ve been really busy lately so some of you might not know what’s going on. My work situation right now is awesome. Those aren’t ironic italic tags either. I’ve got two weeks left on a six week contract as a web advisor, and they love me. They really love me, and they want me to stay, and they’re constantly giving me so much good feedback that when I said to my manager that it was freaking me out I was only half-joking – which I hope is more of a reflection on my previous work-places rather than my performance at other times. I would kind of like to take them up and stay, but instead, I have made the brave scary decision to go with the unknown, and move to another government department where I will be investigating new technologies and advising instead. For my job interview for this role I did a ten minute presentation on how the government could use YouTube. I’m really really excited about it, but kind of terrified. I made very long pros and cons lists, even though some of the cons for my current role were really lame, like the fact that there are three Jos on my floor which means I’m always turning around to find people aren’t talking to me. The public servants of the Wellingtonista ultimately proved to be very very helpful in making my final decision, so woo woo to them.

I’m drifting off course here but while I’m talking about the Wellingtonista I’ll say that hurray, we won the Quiz League that I organised, and that everyone who actually bothered to show up seemed to have a really good time. The Wellingtonista certainly got a lot of gossip out of it. Tucked-in tshirts and sparkly eyes were key features of our email list conversations. And while Wednesday mornings afterwards weren’t the easiest mornings of the day, I was still able to go to work, which is another indication of how awesome my job right now is.

And this is the hard bit to write about, although it’s been running through my head nonstop for the past while so I might as well get it out. I am not feeling right lately. It’s like I’m premenstrual to the extreme, without the physical symptons – there are no glass boobs here. And my period is missing, I haven’t had one since May. On Thursday night after stuffing giftbags at Martha’s I went to New World and bought a pregnancy test. The older woman working the checkout gave me a look of silent judgement, because I was in a hoodie and pigtails, so obviously I was a young whore, and not a married responsible mother. But come on, lady, I was buying cat food as well, not wine! If I was going to have a baby, I’d say that was a good sign of responsibility. But it turns out I’m not going to have a baby, which is a relief, because I have done a lot of drinking since May, and I wouldn’t have the strength of character to deal with a child who had foetal alcohol syndrome. But still the PMS-crazy persists, and I’m starting to crack under pressure. I’m hating on everyone, because I feel like pretty much everyone is letting me down. People fail to realise what’s important to me, and fail to see that the things I put effort into I put a lot of effort in to. Friends realising that they can hang out with my other friends without me in the middle and shutting me out of the loop entirely is my biggest fear. Lani’s moving out which means I’m looking for a new flatmate, and that destroys what I thought was me being in control of all aspects of my life at once, for the first time in ages, now that my career is on track. I’m worried that Smoo will move out too and that I’ll have to find all new flatmates, and we won’t gel and that life will get really difficult and I’ll be banished to my room sobbing into my pretty new black & white cotton bed linen. Luckily my attractiveness as an employee means that I’ll be financially snug enough to pay the rent for a while should I have to, but I don’t want it to come to that. I’m just feeling really really alone and really abandoned by everyone, pretty much, and my way of responding to that is to shut down more and more and retreat into myself and get my hackles raised more and more and oh, it is a stupid shitty cycle which I know I can tone down with more exercise and less booze, but that takes so much more effort. Today I made myself get out of bed to go for a swim, and I had to do it step by step before I could pull back the duvet – “Sit up. Put your hair in a ponytail. Unzip your hoodie. Stand up. Reach into the drawer and pull out your swimsuit. Pull on the top. Take off your pants. Pull on the bottom. Pull on your pants. Put on your hoodie. Grab a towel. Grab a chicklit book. Grab a bag”. And of course “Drive back and grab your goggles”. The feel of water all over me was awesome, what I’d been looking for, and the cardio burst was good. Driving back I was like “yay, I’m fixed!” but it was shortlived and I crawled back into bed after my shower to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. I’m wondering if it’s the change in my meds that’s leading me to feel like this (my doctor left and the new doctor wrote me a script for oval pills, not round ones. I know one’s the generic and one’s not, but I don’t know which) but mostly I just will continue to hope and pray that I get my bleed soon, and sort out my life. Because seriously, this disgruntlement with everyone is not cool,a nd I’m just terrified that it’ll continue and bleh, evil bad cycle. Why would people care about me if all I really want to do is punch them? But that said, people who’ve really impressed me this weekend are Dyl and Dave who came out to Craft2.0 all the way in the Hutt and they’re not really craft people, so they did it for me and that makes me super happy.

I forgot how anal I get when I do quizes. Ohmigosh my team isn’t devoting their full energy to answering the questions? They’re disagreeing with me? THE WORLD IS ENDING! Still, it’s nice to dress up like a pirate every now and then, and then take photos from the 21st floor of your building:

I lost the momentum when we stopped at Jarrod’s apartment for him to get changed, so I ran away to take the bus home instead of going out to Karaoke, but I was also aware that I had a very big night planned for the following night and an early morning to deal with first.

So yes, Saturday, I got up before 11am so that Lani and I could move the fridge out from under the house and back to the kitchen so the repair man could put it back together. We were clever and decided not to lug it up the difficult steep kitchen stairs and around tiny corners, so instead we carried it al the way around the house and inside. And then the repairman was late, and later and latest, but Lani was kind enough to say that I should just leave her a cheque and go to the beach and she’d take care of it, so I went and swam between the flags for like the first time ever at Lyall Bay. There were only two other girls swimming because the water was powerfully cold, but damn it was nice, becasue it’d been ages (umm okay, since Tuesday) since I’d last been swimming. And then it was Jo Time brunch by myself, and I went for a hair cut and nearly purred/came/passed out when the lady gave me a very long, very thorough headrub. I wanted to ask for a happy ending, but I suppose settling for a nice haircut was happy ending enough for me.

6.20 had me pacing at the bus stop all dolled up for my big night out with the Wellingtonista, cursing Go Wellington for sending buses past me that didn’t stop, but 15 minutes later I made it in to Tupelo, to discover all the lights on, no one behind the bar, and all the sliding toilet doors off the rails. Spoooooooooooooooky! So I went and sat outside, and luckily was soon joined by Tom who was enough of a good reader to tell me that I looked smokin’ hott. Heh. While the bartender was still setting up the bar, we were joined by Hadyn and Amy and his mother, and shortly after that the lovely Miss Sue who was escourting Mr Brown and Ryan. Once James had joined us, we were interviewed about the Wellingtonista for Russell’s new radio show, me smirking behind my martini and trying to define again what it is that I hate about the word ‘blog’. And calling myself a wanker, and – according to James – using the word ‘anal’ four times in one minute to describe myself. After the gorgeous Martha bought me a surprisingly not-sweet gin sling, half of us set off for Scopa as the advanced party for our 13 person booking.

We decided that it’d be easiest if we just ordered pizza and wine for all of us, and so I interviewed about being dominant. I’m not sure why I thought it was a good idea to let people record me talking whilst drunk. It’s not like I make much sense whilst sober, and when I’m drinking I’m even more slurry. Still, I thought at the time that I was articulate and verbacious, so until I hear otherwise (possibly at 2pm on Saturday on Radio Live, or podcast later, or broadcast on another date), I will continue to believe that I give great soundbite. It was nice catching up with Ryan too, who I went to uni with, although he was part of the radio posse and I was with the multimedia geeks who weren’t nearly as bondy. Dinner was very very tasty, although I accidently got a piece of pizza with an anchovy on it, but I was able to wipe away that taste with our next destination:

Yes that’s right, PINEAPPLES AT IMBIBE!

Anyone would think that we’d pre-arranged them or something. But our visitors sure seemed to enjoy them, as did Martha and James:

More photos of the night can be see here on flickr.

It was around that time that I think I started to try to convince Russell that he needed to change Public Address to attract a better class of reader than some of the people who’ve stalked me through it or people that I may have hooked up with at the Great Blend. I suspect I didn’t have a very convincing argument. So instead when some girls asked me and Hadyn where we were off to next, I made fun of them and their taste. We said we were off to Mighty Mighty, and they said they were going to Jet, because the music at Mighty Mighty was shit. I was all “yeah I know, like the way they mix indie rock with rare hip hop tracks? What are they thinking, turning out fresh new mixes?” and said that my other favourite bar apart from Jet was Dockside. Well, it amused me anyway.

Then we left to go to Mighty Mighty and some boys outside smoking asked me if I was wearing my flower behind my ear on the single side. I told them it was an umbrella, not a flower, and asked them to figure out the symbolism in that, before skipping off. We were at Mighty Mighty for a while but everyone seemed to be peeling off, so I decided that I would go for a swim, just to live up to my reputation. I was a tiny bit more wussy though, and jumped off the lower dock rather than the high plank cos I didn’t want to hurt my nose, ears and throat again. James came in too, and Ryan got his shoes wet interviewing us about it. That’s dedicated journalism! I don’t think anyone would contradict me if I said that a good time was had by all, although apparently many people felt a little under the weather the next day. But not me! That’s the great thing about swimming.

The next morning I went and picked up Brad who was in town and we had big delicious fresh fish burgers at Maranui and hung out for a while. Good times. Monday Bart came over for flat dinner (green curry with fresh coriander from our herb garden) and to play Cluedo DVD. Monday night flat dinner and games is totally on every week that Smoo’s not working. You can come if you bring wine and/or wash the dishes after. Tuesday was meh. Today I went to the doctor and asked her to up my prescription, and to give me the medical certificate that work asked me to give them to show that I need to only work four days a week. I don’t have much to say about that today. I did before, but then I felt like throwing up all afternoon,and was gagging on the bus (and threw up at home. Mmmm biley). I am somewhat disappointed in myself for needing more meds despite all the hard work that I’ve been doing, but I’m looking forward to the increased dosage euphoria. And looking forward to doing more projects. Yes. And also looking forward to coming to Auckland for the Bloc Party gig on August 8. Woo woo. I am so so in love with A Weekend in the City, and also Neon Bible. ‘Sunday’ is now officially my new walking down the aisle song (“I love you in the morning / when you’re still hung over”). Now I just need someone to marry.

Help, I can’t breathe! But it’s not what you think. It never is. In fact, I’ve just laced on my corset for the first time in aaaages, and I’m waiting for Lani to be free so I can go and rendevouz with her in the 21st floor bathroom to get ready for our work quiz. It’s actually a quiz organised by my agency, but her part of the ministry has entered a team, and I’m playing on it. We’re called the “M*** Marauders” because pirates are awesome, but now I have Fat Freddy’s in my head, dammit!

Tomorrow the fridge man comes back and I will have to unwrestle our fridge out from under the house where it is face-down and hopefully draining (that’s not a easy thing to do by yourself, let me tell you!) and then I will have long brunch by myself, and then get a hair cut, and then I have an outing with the Wellingtonista. I may very well look something like this:


Me looking smokin’ hott. So there

Speaking of the Wellingtonista, you should join our bowling league. In fact, I’m wondering if starting a team of Hubrettes would be viable? Cos of course my first loyalty is to Hubris. Let me know.

The Wairarapa was mostly fun. I spent a great deal of money and buggered up my neck falling off a barrel. Not a clever idea. My personal highlight was the (drunk) winemaker from Mebus telling me that his reserve pinot noir tasted “like angels fornicating in your mouth”. Apparently angel fornication tastes a bit woody. It was nice wine though.

Okay, Lani just rang so I must pirate up. Next time I will tell you about my grand schemes!