Hubris.co.nz

Here’s a lesson for you all. If you’re planning on moving house on a hot summer’s day, it’s probably a good idea NOT to drink nearly four bottles of bubbly the night before. Yes sure, it’s fun at the time, but you’ll pay for your happiness. What makes yesterday’s hangover even more infuriating is that everyone else there wrote gleefully about not having one.

But my (now ex) flatmate J’s 30th party was good. Hubrettes in attendence included Jess, Jessie, Jimmy and Joel. In fact, that was all the Hubrettes. Karen was also there for a while, but she left pretty early. We mostly sat in the garden and talked. Once everyone had left I wandered down the road to another party by myself, where I danced for ages. Then I wandered back home and danced for ages. The vibes at the two parties were totally different, which was interesting. I felt like I was on a very very mild trip, it was grand. Then when I checked the time it was 4.30am, so I went to bed, despite the noise, and turned off my tv sometime after 5am. I nearly saw the sun rise.

Stupid fucking sun. SO HOT. Moving is horrible. Sebastian being freaked out by being put in the van is horrible. Having to get up before 8am is horrible. Reconciling to the fact that I’m now living with my parents again is pretty horrible, because it makes me feel like I did NOTHING last year, and accomplished nothing. That’s never cool.

Here’s a lesson for you all. If you’re planning on moving house on a hot summer’s day, it’s probably a good idea NOT to drink nearly four bottles of bubbly the night before. Yes sure, it’s fun at the time, but you’ll pay for your happiness. What makes yesterday’s hangover even more infuriating is that everyone else there wrote gleefully about not having one.

But my (now ex) flatmate J’s 30th party was good. Hubrettes in attendence included Jess, Jessie, Jimmy and Joel. In fact, that was all the Hubrettes. Karen was also there for a while, but she left pretty early. We mostly sat in the garden and talked. Once everyone had left I wandered down the road to another party by myself, where I danced for ages. Then I wandered back home and danced for ages. The vibes at the two parties were totally different, which was interesting. I felt like I was on a very very mild trip, it was grand. Then when I checked the time it was 4.30am, so I went to bed, despite the noise, and turned off my tv sometime after 5am. I nearly saw the sun rise.

Stupid fucking sun. SO HOT. Moving is horrible. Sebastian being freaked out by being put in the van is horrible. Having to get up before 8am is horrible. Reconciling to the fact that I’m now living with my parents again is pretty horrible, because it makes me feel like I did NOTHING last year, and accomplished nothing. That’s never cool.

There’s more than one type of ooooh, you know.

Friday’s ooohs were of the dirty perverted kind when you realise that you want to do things to Harry Potter that shouldn’t even be expressed since he’s supposed to be 13 in that particular movie. We’ll say no more about that. To make myself sound better, there were also ooohs as I realised why things became important, and I shut up with the laughing at innuendos long enough to talk like a stupid person in the movie ie: “oh of course!” and “look out behind you!” type things.

Yesterday
There’s the ‘ooooooooooh’ when you sit down on the bench outside your soon to be ex flat, after you’ve done six trips carrying drawers, and a couple more trips carrying boxes down your steep Victorian staircase.

There’s the ‘ooooh’ noise when you’re folded into the back seat of your parents’ van because your boxes and chest of drawers are taking up the rest of the room and your sister is on the front seat and the heat is making you feel sick, and there’s the ‘oooh’ of relief when you get to unfold yourself and sit in the front seat cos you’ve dropped your sister in Tawa, ha ha.

There’s the oooh your tummy makes when you’re struggling to hold in laughter when your mother complains about her mother, and the oooh of disappointment when you realise that the cookies your grandmother is offering you are stale. There’s the oooh when you breathe out after holding your breath through her stale smelling rooms, and the oooh of relief that you have all your boxes stacked in the room off her garage now and as soon as you have made with the social niceties you can leave.

There’s the oooh when you dip your toes into the water at Paraparaumu Beach and realise that it’s not that cold, and the oooh that you want to whistle at yourself when you take off half your clothes and run in to go swimming. There’s the oooh of cold when you finally duck your head under and realise that it’s much colder that way, and the oooh as your muscles unwind in the waves. Somewhere in the spluttering from the water going up your nose there’s an oooh or two as well.

There’s the oooh when you see the newborn second child of your sister’s best friend and he’s gorgeous, and it’s just weird to see her all married with kids when it seems like only yesterday she was buying you vodka and taking you to gigs as a surrogate when your sister was on her OE.

Later there’s ooohs of little lightbulbs lighting up over your head when the plot of Firefly twists and turns and characters pash.

Today
There was the oooh of muscles cramping as you stay in bed for four hours, polishing off what was essentially a Jackie Collins novel in a Literary Type looking cover. You can’t even remember what the book was called, but it was great – in a Jackie Collins type way, of course.

There was the oooh that goes along with websurfing and coming to a page that jsut makes a person look like such a fucking tosshead that you can’t believe that they ever meant anything to you.

There was the oooh of tastebuds being tantalised in Bejing, and the ooh of frustration at not being able to pick up, fill, roll and eat duck pancakes all in one swift move with chopsticks. Then there was the ooh of a full belly, and the oooh when Clementine first started talking in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and you realised taht you were in love with her, and in love with the movie. There was the oooh when you worked out who Elijah looked like in that movie, and the oooh when you realised it was all coming around in a circle and that was yay. Then there was the oooh of delight in putting in an old video tape that your parents told you had The Lost Boys on it, and the oooh of discontent when the start wasn’t on it, and then the delight again every time Corey Feldman entered the frame. And then there were many ooohs of just amazement at commercials from 1994, and the ooh at the how loudly you were laughing at the episode of The Young Ones on the end of the tape. And now there is the Oooh of You Must Go To Bed, and anticipate the oooh of the release you’ll get thinking about Corey*. And the oooh of the pain in your wrists.

Tomorrow will be the oooh of the man, I am so over hunching over my laptop, and the oooh I just discovered more interesting facts about the band I am profiling, and then eventually the oooh, finally I am done. And that will be exciting. I mean, oooh, I get to go into a whole new POV tomorrow and all!

*You know I’m kidding about this one yeah? Keifer all the way! Well, all the way to the finish line tonight anyways.

Is there really a whole ‘nother hour til lunch? That’s a shame. Even if I did only get here an hour ago. Sigh.

When Brad and I played The Golden Globes game on Monday night, we really really sucked. We ended up tied on eight points each. He was slightly ahead following his heart, and I was slightly ahead following my head (you get two votes in each catergory – one for what you think will win and one for what you want to win). When I heard my flatmates coming home, I was like “watch this, check out the scowl”, and lo and behold, V laid a huge pearler of one on me. At least she’s predictably evil.

Wait, you’re like “omg Jo, are you like, homeless and shit?” right? So you don’t want to hear about what I’m thinking about for lunch cos you’re freaking out that I don’t have a roof over my head. That’s really sweet of you. Okay, so I’ll tell you the dilly. I emailed Katy yesterday, and she wrote back and said that yes, she did want to go flatting with me, so I gave J my two weeks-notice-as-of-yesterday yesterday and started packing up my room. In 11 more sleeps there will be no more getting the stink-eye from V. I am very very excited about that. I suspect she caught me doing the fingers to her back yesterday and I don’t care one little iota. The fact that yes, I’m moving back in with my parents for a couple of weeks is offset by the glee of knowing I will never have to see her again and she can continue to hate me and I won’t have to feel her hate vibes radiating through my walls anymore. So yes, on the weekend I’m going to make a pilgramage up to Pram’ to drop off most of my stuff at Oma’s, and then the weekend after that I will take the rest up, apart from a few things (like oh, you know – Sebastian) which I will take to Momma’s. And then I will wait for Katy to come back, and hten we will find a place and I will buy a shiny new sofa, and it will all be grand and wonderful.

In honour of all that, Karen, Anji and I went to Rouge and answered the question “who the hell would pay $18 for bread and dips?”. I purchased some packing tape and went home and boxed up my bed linen, most of my dvds & videos and the books that were in my room. I have a question for you – does anyone know of an organisation in Wellington that would like old text books? They’re mostly of a communications and multimedia nature. Whilst throwing out large piles of crap I came across some St Johns Wort tablets and was like “ding ding ding! Oh yeah, I KNEW there was something that I’d started taking which had made the not being on celepram easier…” so I’m going to be reintroducing them into my daily life from now on (of course, having said that, I didn’t take one this morning).

Tonight Karen and I are going to the preview of Alexander since the divine KateH hooked me up with free tickets. We don’t have very high expectations of it. I’d like to hope that the movie will contain my favourite line from a text book ever – “Alexander was suprised to find Darius and his armies in his rear” – because hey, you’d think you’d notice – but somehow I doubt it. However, there is the hot Angelina. And Jared Leto. Other hott people in my life lately (haha, look how tragic I am that I say that they’re in my life. Shut up.) include Bobby Briggs and Audrey Horne – and of course Dale Cooper. I just finished watching all of Season One of Twin Peaks, and fuck, I thought it was cool when I was ten, but it’s so much cooler now. Bobby makes me cream my panties. Hehehe I said “panties”. Actually I was listening to Nick Cave this morning, and when he said that word I swear I blushed. Dearie me. I’m still listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs non stop (thank you Irie, and hi!) and also Patti Smith.

Now, speaking of consumption, let me invite you to join my Country Club! Once a month, a different country will be selected, and we’ll eat food from there, and drink their drinks, and try to play their music, and everyone would be charged with learning five interesting facts about the country that we could discuss over dinner, and then maybe we’d watch a movie from that country. You want to join up, right? You don’t have to come to every country, of course, but you should try to. I suspect that the first country will be Sweden, so I’m just trying to sort out my life, and wait for Kitchen Studies to start at the Paramount and then I’ll organise a night. Being Sweden, Absolut vodka will feature prominently on the menu, so we’ll do it on a Friday or Saturday night. My sister Karen, who lives near the Paramount has agreed to host it. I’ll get back to you about the date.

o this morning when I asked J where the vacuum cleaner bags were, she told me that her and V were moving out to get a two bedroom. !. !!!!. FUCKING HOORAY! The not so hooraying bit is that she’s offered the lease to K, which is fair enough since K’s lived here longer, but K’s moving in with friends, so she’s going to think about it. I doubt K’s plans include me. Anyway, if K takes the lease and doesn’t want me, then I have to find a new place to live. If K doesn’t take the lease, then I have to find 3 new flatmates. I am very very excited.

EDIT: K’s taking the lease. I’m homeless. I have emailed Katy Troop to find out if she wants to get a place together when she comes back from overseas. If she doesn’t, I will cry.

What I think I don’t tell you about, or maybe what you don’t want to hear, or maybe it’s just what I wouldn’t want to read from other people is how although yes, just this morning I was sitting on the bus thinking about how nice it is that I’ve been nearly a year without being on antidepressants and haven’t I coped well, is that I still get it, it still slams into me and while I can feel the buildup coming, there’s not much that I can do except brace myself and realise that in an hour or so, I’ll be sitting pretty much unable to move and everything will make me want to cry, and there’ll be big tight knots in my stomach. The knots are made up of dread, the dread that I feel knowing that every night I have to go back to a house where there’s a person I can’t stand because she hates me and Sebastian so much, and the dread of working with another person I can’t stand all year, and knowing that I have done no work for a long time, adn that I can’t seem to bring myself to do anything, and that even the projects that I wanted to do I leave unfinished, and that all I want to do is get roaringly bollicksingly drunk and then I know that it’s ten years tomorrow and I wish wish wish that I was still in therapy for times like this, and fuck, I just want these fucking attacks to fuck off and die, I’m so not going back on celepram again – you can take your dry mouth and dizzy spells and shove them up your ass, but I’m just scared that it’s never going to change, I’ll be fine fine fine until I get bad again, and I don’t want that, and I hate that the smallest things upset me and that every single insecurity that I’ve ever had seems to be on parade for me lately – like Seb staying out all night, or even just the fucking fact that no one has joined hubris in a couple of weeks. And these are just the examples, and yeah, there’s probably more underneath the surface but it just all piles up and I just fucking hate it so much. And if I was still seeing Kalpana, she’d tell me off for thinking that I SHOULD be able to deal with everything, that I SHOULD be able to function as a normal human being does, and just do my job, and go home, and eat vegetables, and do my laundry, and hang out with my flatmates, and spend quality time with my pet, and maybe see my friends or like, call up that boy, or whatever the fuck it is that ‘normal’ people do, and she would say that I shouldn’t use the word ‘should’ and she would say that I shouldn’t use the word ‘normal’ and I would say that I feel like I’m some kind of fake, and that I’m sure there are people out there who actually have real problems and she’d say something about ‘real’ and I know I’m making her sound like some kind of terrible air-quoter person, which she isn’t, and I also suspect that this entry is making me sound like my problem is that I should still be in therapy and am not, but it isn’t.

Because that’s what having a living section is all about, right?

So when did I last make a solid post? Hmm, Friday? Well.
Heather’s been in town, as you probably know, and that has meant much funness and socialising. It’s funny how having friends from out of town in town means that you see your friends who live here more anyway. Or even, in Heather’s case, how you meet up with friends from your town in someone else’s town. Yeah.

So last Thursday I bused down to the far end of Lambton Quay to meet up with Heather and Xtian and Alice at Astoria. After one drink, the place was closing, so we trekked back up to their house, which is near the Courtenay Place end of town, from where I’d just passed through from the Nu’Town. Now, I don’t mean to sound like a whining little weiner, but maaaan, the inefficient useage of my time hurts! Nevermind. The corporate end of town was really empty, which was cool cos we got to play Night of the Comet or some such other zombie movie, and it reminded of perhaps my greatest ever walk through town one Xmas Night with a boy who I fancied big lots, when there was ABSOLUTELY NO ONE around, cos it was 4am on Xmas day, or the day after, or something, and so there weren’t even any cars, and I was all like hmm, I think we’re going to have to repopulate the world, and then he started talking about cockroaches. Nice one. It’s funny now when I see him cos he’s got a bad laugh and doesn’t put the usual conversational pauses in when he’s talking, and I’m just like, wow, did I really fancy you that much? Nevermind. Where was I? Oh yes. So we got wine, and food from Phonecian Falafel and took it back to Xtian&Alice’s, (on a side note, their falafel is crap, which is amusing since it’s in their name, but the rest is good), and ate and drank for a while. Then Heather had a power nap and I went and used Xtian’s computer so as to give all the flatmates quality time together to have their Flat Xmas. There were many gifts of lightsabres and freakyass robots called Ramon. Jessie arrived and we had beer before deciding it was about time we got our asses out onto the street.

So, we got our asses onto the street, and I proceeded to break all my New Year’s Resolutions. Nice work that girl! We stopped at Jam, and since Heather had already lit up a cigarette, I went in to buy her a drink. I’d never been to Jam before, but it seemed pretty cool – they had a live two piece (?) playing, and although I didn’t get it, they had Brown Brothers wine sitting on their shelf, and I love Brown Brothers. So there. But we were sitting on squabby things outside, which made me feel really short, especially since Courtenay Place was bustlingly busy for 11.30pm on a Thursday night. I guess it’s partly with all the dirty filthy smokers having to be outside, ha ha. Anyways, after Heather had finished talking to the random stranger who was smoking with her, they made me knock back the rest of my wine which I’d been trying to savour, and we left for Rouge to meet up with her friend Hugh from Auckland. But Rouge was shutting, so we didn’t get to experience its $1.2 million dollar interior (according to Cuisine anyway), and instead we headed off to Good Luck.

I had never been to Good Luck before but I liked it instantly and was seduced by a Concubine which was excellent and then a Cheeky Darkie who was sort of average and I really must go back some time and drink all of the rest of the cocktails. I might do a proper bar review soon, I’m sure it’s time for a new one, so I’ll just say that we sat and gossiped and then Hugh showed up and he was nice, and he bought me a drink which earns anyone massive props, and then I violated my New Year’s Resolution yet again and bought a whole round of drinks without telling anyone, but by then Hugh had gone and Jessie didn’t want her beer, so I had to drink three drinks, which hey, isn’t any great hardship. And then I took a taxi home. Wow, the cat fight entries were a lot more interesting than that, weren’t they? Yes, yes they were. Plus, they were a ratings bonanza like you wouldn’t believe. And if you’re wondering how that violated my New Year’s Resolutions, well, I bought drinks for people, and I also turned down an invitation to go out the next night (oh yeah, apparently I wrote that I was going to accept all “introductions” rather than “invitations” – well I think that’s some writing gremlin hacking my page). Okay, so I didn’t lose any friends, so I guess I’m doing not too bad.

Anyways, what else did I get up over the past week? Friday I wasn’t capable of much at all, suprisingly enough. On Saturday I went to Karen’s for dinner and was greatly amused by her amusing flatmates, and she cooked me risotto with asspairograss, which is yum. Then we went to see Pluto, Goodshirt and Goldenhorse – or I suppose, more specifically, I went to see Pluto and Karen went to see Goodshirt. Pluto were SO FUCKING GOOD. Milan was even sober enough to stand up straight, which is quite exciting. The crowd fucked me off though, talking and all. I wanted to put my fist through many people’s heads. Instead I came home and wrote My Gig Manifesto. Pluto didn’t play ‘Perfectly Evil’ which is a shame, but they DID play ‘On Your Own’ so I suppose that will have to satiate me for the next month. Goodshirt were also good. I’m not a huge Goldenhorse fan, and by that stage we were both so hot and squashed and sweaty that we decided to leave instead.

On Sunday I was so broke and cupboard-empty that I got my mother to invite me over to dinner. My father has just bought a 32inch LCD TV and recordable harddrive DVD player, and was very keen on showing it off to me a lot, so we watched most of Season One of ‘Black Books’ which I had given to Mummy for Xmas. I also gave her The Darkness which apparently she is loving. Go Mum!

Then on Monday, I watched “Texan Teen Virgins” and wrote this commentary:
This doco spooks me out. Apparently, according to a nurse in this Texas city of Lubbock, lots of kids are having anal sex, because they consider it to mean that they’re still keeping their virginity. Of course, in Texas, it’s illegal to teach kids about anything but abstinence, so mmmm diseasey. Then there’s the preacher who says that having sex out of marriage costs you emotionally (okay, I can buy that one), physically (well, maybe if you taught them about safer sex…), mentally (again, okay), but FINANCIALLY? Ummm, what? Can I say that again? WHAT? How does sex affect you financially – I mean, assuming you’re some horny teenager and you’re not paying for it, of course.”Promoting promiscuity is promoting death in this day and age”. The preacher guy is all about how condoms are synthetic, so the fibres aren’t close enough together, so they go both ways. Riiiiiiiight.
“Despite the rates of abstinence, Lubbock has the highest rates of teenage pregnancy and sexually transmitted disease in America….”
I have absolutely no moral problems with people waiting until they’re in love to have sex. In fact, I really really hope that people do. The idea of waiting until you’re married seems a little weird to me, because surely you wanna try before you buy? But the whole culture of fear, and being taught that sex is wrong and dirty and all that, and then you get married, and you’re both inexperienced, and you don’t know what to do – like, woah! I mean, isn’t your wedding day supposed to be stressful enough without having to worry about the honeymoon? On the show, the couple who are going to get married are getting sex tips from their pastor. Ummm, ewww. Especially since he’s describing men as microwaves and women as
slow cookers. I can’t believe the narrator hasn’t burst out laughing – or put her fist
through the pastor’s head. I’m big on putting fists through heads right about now – or wanting to anyway.

And then yesterday I made peanut butter stew, which is much yummier than it sounds, using black eyed beans as the main ingrediant. Mmmmtasty. When I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, there was a loud popping sound, and the lights fizzed out. Okay, I thought, the bulb has blown. Turns out the lights all over teh house weren’t working. That freaked me out a little, although luckily i had a lamp in my room that plugs into the wall, and for some strange reason the lightbulb in K’s room was still working. But I was of course the only one home, and Seb was outside, and so it was scary and I couldn’t sleep for ages. Then I dreamt that all the electrics were fixed.

This morning I got up, walked down the stairs and saw the switches box, and thought “ooh” and opened it up and pushed in the thing that was sticking out marked “lights” and the lights came back on. Hurray! I am a l33t electrician. The only other thing of note today is that I had “cinnamon toast” flavoured microwave popcorn. It was suprisingly yum.

I>Answers below please.

Friday was the Day of Bangs. It was also kinda rainy. New World hadn’t had any sparklers in stock all week. That made me sad. Not so sad as to be prevented from making my own roast garlic hummus, however, so at least I had something to feed Brad when he came a’calling after his school finished. We watched Shorters and I faffed my way through half of the Aussie Idol results, yelling at Anthony and Hayley for being so plastic and Marcia for being such a crackwhore. I got quite worked up, and my grumbling continued for quite a while.

Eventually I’d faffed my way into some going out clothes with the twins out and we headed out the door down to the supermarket, but Sebby was following me and following me and I really didn’t want him to get onto the main road of Newtown, and I knew he was acting strangely cos of the fireworks, so I took him back to the house and met Brad at the bus-stop later. It took fucking ages for the bus to Kelburn to show up, but while we were waiting we got to watch the big explosions over the harbour (yes, despite the fact that Newtown is flat on the ground). So that was vaguely entertaining, but neither of us are that fussed about the boom boom boom. I am so over the number 22 bus, and I’m worried that I will have to catch it every day when they stop the 18 (campus connector) over the summer. The 22/23 goes to Courtenay Place and then down Willis, Lambton Quay and then up the Terrace before it gets to Kelburn and it takes forever. I probably could walk faster, except ha ha, yeah right. The bus on Friday night was steamy with the rain and the many people on it from watching the bang bangs. I asked Brad if it was okay if Jess’s party was teh suck that we could go and fire bottlerockets (which of course are banned and I don’t have any of) at my office windows cos with all the magazines and boxes piled up in the main bit, this place would burn real pretty and easy. He said that was fine.

But Jess’s party wasn’t at all teh suck, far from it. Initially I felt kind of old, cos it was a uni party after all, but I just drank some more and that went away. PLUS! When we were first standing in the kitchen part of our tour, in there walked a PANDA BEAR. You know a party’s going to be a good party when there’s people in animal costumes. I decided then and there that I would be hugging that panda before I left. In fact, Brad and I discussed slipping it a rophy, but since I didn’t have my date-rape hat on (but I always could accessorize…) we were unable to do that. Instead we talked to Jess’s lovely flatmate and also a bunch of other people. Some people didn’t have very much of a sense of humour but that’s okay because I managed to sho them away eventually I think. At one stage I was sitting on a couch in the window when I turned around and for some reason locked eyes with a cute boy outside the window, and then we proceeded to have a long conversation, although I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Things I may have said include: “I can’t hear you” “what?” “You’re very very cute”, “the world is trying to keep us apart” and possibly “I think we’re soulmates”. I was definately giggling and blushing like a smitten kitten schoolgirl. I realised he was drinking Hollandia, and since that was Brad’s beer’o the night, I realised I had a way to prove our soulmatedness to him, so I rushed off to the kitchen to get one of Brad’s beers, but they were all gone, and when I got back to the window so was the boy. His friend told me later that the boy’s name was Fritz (dumb!) and that he could hear everything i said (duh, silly me not thinking about sound-type-physics of being inside with the stereo vs outside without it). Brad then came to the conclusion that it was Fritz who stole his beer. My heart was broken, until I was given a vanilla vodka and cranberry (tastes like boysenberry icecream!) and a girl who will remain nameless showed me her nipples, after Fritz’s annoying friend showed us his. I covered Brad’s eyes and showed the nameless girl mine. The panda looked on in shock. Then there was some dancing and some laughing and much funness and a tiny grope (not of the panda, although I did get my hug – possibly several) and then Brad wanted to go home so I figured I’d save money on cabfare and go too.

The next day, which, strangely enough was a Saturday, I woke up and thought I’d go for brunch and funshopping before going to Katy’s for her goodbye BBQ. I made a big mistake and went to Bar Edward for brunch, because I thought “hey, what could be wrong with $5 waffles?” Well, once I finally got to order them from the bar people who were arguing with each other rather bitterly, and asked for a latte and water and had to wait for another person to come out and figure out the really hard maths of 5 + 3 = 8, and then discover that my choice of reading material was AA Directions or the free local paper, and then get served cold soggy waffles with a splot of yoghurt and golden syrup on them and two slices of kiwifruit, and no sign of my latte or water until I asked twenty minutes later and then the latte was overheated and just yuck, well, nothing really.

Around 4pm I managed to drag my ass into town and up the horrible hill to Katy’s for the last time. Everyone was sitting in the back, so on nasty yucky concrete with weeds and thistles everywhere cos that’s where the bbq was. I felt really uncomfortable physically, and slightly socially awkward, although there were a couple of people there who I thought I was quite close to a couple of years ago (but then I stopped taking e). The boy who I used to have a huge huge jones for was there, and I noticed that he laughs like Iva’s ex, and that’s so not hot. But still, it was fun and I had a piece of the best steak ever. Maybe it was so good cos I ate it with my hands and put blue cheese on it. Who knows? I went home around 8ish, to take a nap and get changed with the intention of going to a party with Katy and then to the closing down of Studio 9, complete with LIGHT UP DANCE FLOOR, but then I got very sick and crapped til I bled. Yum! Who needs anal sex when you can just have the hot beef injection instead? Not me! So yeah, I stayed home instead, and chuckled at all the parts of Hot Shots Part Deux that seem to have become so much more relevant lately. And on that topic – man, we had motherfucking EMINEM on our side – how the hell did we lose?

Yesterday being Sunday, I did laundry and went to town to buy some new shoes but #1 Shoe Warehouse isn’t in Cuba Mall anymore so I didn’t. I did have a fuckoff big breakfast at the Krazy Lounge though – garlic mushrooms on french bread, hashbrowns and bacon – with Karen, and I bought some more body butter from the Bodyshop, this time in coconut cos I’ve just finished my papaya. Yeah interesting, rock on. Then I locked myself in my room cos i was overtaken with an attack of the GRRRR I HATE YOUs towards my flatmates for no reason at all except that I wanted to watch X-2 on Sky and they didn’t. I don’t actually hate my flatmates, I’m just in serious need of a bleed cos I’m feeling kind of dead and hating of everything. I am in love with Pretty Girls Make Graves right now. My new playlist is called “Are you sure you’re still alive?” – it’s loud and fast and very very rocky and contains the line that I am trying to use effectively today: “AND NOTHING ELSE MATTERS WHEN THEY TURN IT UP LOUD”

You know how when you really really love something, and it’s worrying you, you can’t concentrate on anything else? Well, that’s what I was like for a couple of nights last week, and boy did it suck. I’m sure that there was some stage of my life in which I was actually articulate and interesting to talk to. I’m sure that I haven’t always been a mad crazy old lady with cats. Really.

But Sebastian didn’t come home last Thursday night, and didn’t show up in the morning before I went to work either, so I was stressing. My stress continued even when at 3pm I was down in the main office to send a fax and my Big Boss told me to come into her office and have some beer. Well, I wasn’t going to argue with that, and we were soon joined by Katy Troop who was looking for me. We were trying to build up a stack of jugs to the roof but achieved only half of that by 5pm, when it was decided that we would adjorn to my house, since Amanda lives just down the road from me, where we could check on Seb’s status, and drink some more wine before going to Katy’s for dinner, since Katy lives around the corner from Jessie, at whose house I was schedualed to attend a party later that night. Right.

Somehow we made it onto the bus, and back home, but there was no sign of Sebastian, waaah, and it stressed me out big lots more. Amanda brought us two bottles of her parents’ wine (as in, made by her parents, rather than from their liquor cabinet) and we ate fish’n chips, broke glasses and tried to find the hottest lesbian bits in Buffy.

Eventually we cabbed it to town from Amanda’s, and wandered up to Katy’s via Liquor King (who probably shouldn’t have served us, but meh!). Much much drinking took place at Katy’s, and gossiping, so consequenlty I now know far more about my boss than is probably decent – but it was all incredibly amusing. Just before midnight I finally managed to get my ass off the couch and so Amanda and I went down to Jessie’s. I have mentioned before how distraught I was about not knowing where Seb was, right? Well, that’s all I could talk about. I’m sure that I used to be able to talk to cute boys and flirt. Really, I’m almost certain of it. But not on Friday night. Oh no. I had to be all “but he’s my son!!!!!” like a thousand times. Yeah real great. The only actual conversation I remember having that didn’t revolve around Sebastian, however, did involve me telling my boss about my failed application for my dream job and my still amazement that I even got an interview for it (and my subsequent unhappiness that Bomber got the job), and she told me that no one actually expects me to reach my target this year, that they’re grooming me to stay on a while. So that was really nice to hear. Yeah.

I got home at 4am and could hear Sebastian crying, so I started crying, and was stumbling around trying to figure out how to jump a large gate when Venita came home and convinced me to wait until the morning. In the morning the gate was open and Sebastian was still locked in a workshop. Inadvertently trying to bust him out the drummer in the band of a younger brother of a Datsun got covered in sawdust. The morning was all somewhat of a blur to me, I was still very drunk. When the neighbour finally released Sebby, I cried some more. Waah waah waah. Way to impress hot young rock boys.