Hubris.co.nz

Because I am exhausted and broke and broken, all I have done tonight is lie on the couch feeling sorry for myself. I watched the Vampire Diaries and now I’m watching Hell on Wheels. I didn’t watch the debate on TV. #IWASATTHEROYALWEDDING.

I found out that Posie got adopted, but that the family who were going to adopt Milo aren’t going to now.

I discovered a use for my crate full of records using them to tie to the door handle of the spare room so that Milo can’t keep escaping and running around everywhere all night long. I didn’t get a lot of sleep.

Instead of hanging out with my girls, today I sent text messages to two guys I’m sleeping with, one guy I want to sleep with, and one guy that I used to sleep with. I did not, however, go for the easy solution of shutting my brain off through fucking, so that’s something.

I ate pasta with asparagus, feta and salami, drizzled with expensive olive oil, but I didn’t do the dishes.

I read the annual report belonging to my current organisation, but had to pass on doing the final proofreading of the annual report I did for my last job because I’ll be in Induction all day tomorrow and won’t have a lunchbreak.

I don’t have a lot to say today because I am exhausted and have rubbed tiger balm into my very soul pretty much, but I wanted to keep up with this thing of updating every day. I hope it was worth it to you.

Since I last updated Hubris, I:

• Turned 31, celebrating with a weekend away in Martinborough and also a dinner at Namastey then more booze and lapdances.
• Ate a lot of Malaysian food and reviewed it.
• Got restructured out of a job. Cried a lot.
• Went to Thailand for a week and had the most fabulously lazy holiday ever. I was going to write it up but I am too lazy. Here are pictures of it though.
  

  At Kata Beach Resort, cocktails were served IN PINEAPPLES. Fried rice was served IN PINEAPPLES. Ice cream was served IN PINEAPPLES.

• Came back to the (temporary) job of a lifetime at a not for profit that will remain nameless on account of how they are awesome and probably don’t need to show up in search results along with me talking about my vagina all the time, but needless to say they are centred around animal welfare and while I worked there as their Marketing & Communications Manager I was always covered in cat hair and puppy slobber and surrounded by the most dedicated passionate people I have ever worked with. It was also amazing in that it made me feel really competent and that I was helping to make a difference. I miss it like crazy and it’s only been two weeks.
  

  Arthur and I. You should adopt him, he's lovely. Anji took this picture.

• Started fostering cats.
• Had a bunch of sex with an assortment of people. Not at the same time though. I also have a mad crazy crush on someone, but they are not someone I am sleeping with, sadly. Except of course that when I really like someone, I find it hard to think about sleeping with them, because I respect them too much.
• Made an bedroom wall installation called The Plate Project. It’s a combination of Trixie Delicious and Tracey Emin.
  

  The first picture of the Plate Project. Not pictured: 2011's entries.

• Got a permanent job at a government department
• Became really good friends with Laura Hungry & Frozen and also her Tim. This has led to me eating lots of great things. Also some tasty food. HEYO!

Tonight, I had sex with Shayne Carter. Before you call the Sunday Truth (or actually, probably the Sunday Star Times is more tabloidy these days) though, you should know that I wasn’t the only one. There were probably about three hundred other people who did it too. None of them had as good an orgasm face as him though. And for such a rockstar, he’s not a selfish lover. He totally gave me aural pleasure.

I think if you’d been at San Frindigo tonight, you would understand why I am all about the comparing this gig to sex (you know, aside from intense sexual frustration, of course). It’s not a new thing for me to review gigs like sex – I started doing it with Shihad, but tonight Shayne’s face said “my guitar is a penis, and it is an awesome thing”, and it truly truly was.

Dimmer opened with ‘Crystalator’ (or as others have refered to it, the “reeeeeeeeeeeeh reeeeeeeeh reeeeeeeh song”), and has it really been TEN YEARS since I got that on the Pop Eyed Flying Nun compilation for Xmas? Holy crap! It was loud, so loud that I could have believed that the speakers had come to life and crawled in my ears. After a couple of songs from There My Dear on which the absense of Bic and Anika and Annna doing backing vocals demonstrated even more how Straitjacket Fitsy that album is, they played ‘Drop you off’. Live, it was perhaps a little less menacing than the video – trees out the back of a car window at night time, like lying in the back seat as a kid, normally makes it, but it was more pounding, and thrusting, and pushed and pushed and pushed at you, and my breathing sped up to go along with it, and the very strong coffee I’d made before I left the house and the nurofen plus worked together in harmony, and it was all washing all over my body. ‘Seed’ afterwards was even more thrusty, and it went on and on, and even in the bourbon-washed summer of 01/02 that I believe you are a star was on high rotate in my computer and I was actually literally fucking, I was never fucked as intensely as that song brought it tonight. Well, maybe a couple of times.

The only time that Shayne took off his ‘O’ face was when they played “You’re only leaving hurt”, the first chords of which made me well up, naturally. For that, he was cradling his guitar like it was the last dance with a lover, instead of the pornstar stance of other songs (and I mean that in the best possible way, of course). He said at the end “That’s a sad song”, and then said “this is another sad song” as an introduction to ‘Scrapbook’. I recently managed to find Siamese Dream on vinyl ($50 secondhand, mind you!), and so I’ve been listening to that quite a lot, so I can say with good authority that ‘Scrapbook’ reminds me (see, I told you I had authority) of ‘silverfuck’ – most especially the pounding pounding pounding drums, but ‘Scrapbook’ manages to be a thousand times more bitter and powerful , the whole “bang bang, you’re dead” line aside.

The last gig I saw at San Frindigo was of course the Phoenix Foundation, so I enjoyed the contrast between the highly personable stage banter between Sam & Luke, and stony silence and the eyes of daggers it seemed like James was getting as he tuned his guitar. A couple of songs in, it seemed like someone flicked the “make smalltalk with the audience now” switch though, and even the way too fucking predictable wanker yelling “Play ‘She speeds’!” and the so very stoic “Ta” after applause didn’t detract from the overwhelming intensity of the gig. During ‘Scrapbook’ I even wished that it was Shihad on stage, because I so so wanted to throw some goats, and they’re the only band I’ve seen that you can get away with non-ironic goats at.

The last track of the two-song encore had huge rolling cymbals that were waves of sound, and the feedback was totally consuming, just flooding into every last inch of me. I’m sounding like some druggie loser right now, I know, but I’m not. On drugs. Except for the aforementioned caffeine and codeine, of course. I’m just all woah still. My head is buzzing, and there are oceans of feedback still playing in my ears, and every inch of me is sore from the dancing, and from the bass that rose up from the floor, but I don’t care. I came in my pants like a thousand times tonight.

And awesomely, I just got a text from my friend going “Do you feel like Shayne is making love to you with the music?” Hahaha! Yes, yes I do! And holy fucking shit, I hope it was as good for him as it was for me.

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

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

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

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

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

These are highlights from my journal that I kept in my red book in Australia. Obviously, it’s not everything. I was doing a whole bunch of thinking, and no one needs to read all of that. But these are the entertaining highlight parts.

Sunday, June 18th, 2000

So, on that note, let’s move on to Airport stories, ignoring the obvious parallels between this and my last trip to Australia. It was so lovely, being with Maree and Kate M and Brad and CLayton, the people I’m closest to. And yes, of course I cried. I’m going to be away a whole month, and I feel really bad about leaving Brad with all the responsibility of the bills and with finding us a flatmate. But honestly, this trip has been what has gotten me through the past couple of weeks. I have never needed or deserved a holiday more!

****

Stuff is nifty. My feet hurt from queing though! It took soooo long to get through customs. I got stuck in the middle of a whole bunch of Taiwanese on a package tour. They had a tour guide with them, I think, because he talked a lot, loudly, and everyone laughed. He had Elvis hair, and despite his saggy man breasts and beer belly, he was wearng a tight tshirt. It was truel truely hideous! There is a smell like rotton eggs on this plane, which is pretty hideous too.

I’m really excited about this holiday, despite the fact that I’m going to miss my Auckland friends like crazy. It’s going to be really good for me to spend some time alone and record my thoughts. I don’t have to be scared about what I’m thinking either, which is a pleasant change. You know what? I am so proud of myself for surviving when I thought I couldn’t. I mean, I know I broke down and begged Thomas to help me, but when he didn’t, I managed to pull through. Thank god for Shirley and Maree, and Mum especially. All my _friends_ mean so much to me. I want to make them proud of me by taking better care of myself.

Oh, the plane is taking off now. Bye bye Auckland! I wonder if we’ll crash. I don’t think I’d mind – not because I want to die, but because I feel really at peace right now. I’ve had my breakthroughs and everything. Oh dear, I think I’m going to cry again. I _always_ fucking cry at airports, although never before as bad as the last time.

You know, Kara has never seen me sober. Oh dear, she must think I’m a fucking fruit bat. Brave girl, I think she’s lovely. Clayton shouldn’t have been talking about Shirley in front of her. Neither should I. Damn. Ahh well. He’s such a sweetie, I hope they’re happy together!

*****

I think I have developed an unnatural obsession with my drink. I am amazed at how the lemon slice perfectly fits half the glass. I’m intrigued by the bubbles, and wondering how the fuck they could be drawn. I want to scan my glass and use it for a background for Hubris. I need to redesign. I want floating text over a fixed background. It looks like there’s a bullet mark in my window. I could see the bullet moving in slow motion through the window into me, and it just felt like the needle last time they took my blood. There was a _lot_ of vodka in this drink, I think. Oh, they’re serving dinne! It must be all of five pm. How Grandma! I’m still very full from my Pork McRib, but I’ll have a pick at it anyway. The pork McRib was very disappointing, unsuprisingly since I’ve been waiting 3 weeks for it. BUt still, it was good to have a goal!

Ohhh I have reached the very middle of this book. That is very cool. I only wish there was more good writing in this book, instead of dumb babble. Do you think I will ever be published? I’d so love that. I wish I could write a novel, something that would affect other people. I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but the thing I am most terrified of is that I had no impact on Thomas at all, that I haven’t been significant to him. I know that was the case with Morphine Matt, and both of them affected _me_ so profoundly. I would hate it more than anything if I just didn’t matter to Thomas, if I hadn’t changed or enhanced him in any way.

Chicken or beef? Chicken or beef? Chicken I think. I wonder if I’ll eat again in Melbourne. Probably. But we might save Mihn Mihns for another night. Damn the vegetarian meal smells nice. I am so not hungry though. I had chocolate covered coffee beans and red bull for breakfast today. It made me babble lots, all that caffeine. I think everyone thinks i am looking better too. Sure, I’ve probably put back on the weight I lost (looser jeans were fun!) but maybe I have my spark back. I thought it was gone for good. What’s that Leonard Cohen line? “Thanks for the trouble you took from her eyes – I thought it was there for good, so I never tried”. Well, maybe one day I’ll meet the brother that will make me truely happy.

Witty banter again – the plane wings look awfully flimsy. I wonder if they are made from paper, and if that is completely legal. I should go find a bathroom sometime. After the meal. It’s okay – airplane toilets are too small to kneel in. I rememebr dancing around in my underwear last night in the handicapped stall at Roasted Adiquition, in between sari re-arrangements. Sassy! I’m so glad Shirley liked my speech – I just didn’t know how to do justice to all the things that she’s done for me.

The clouds look just like icebergs. I wonder if I’ll see any dancing penguins. Who the fuck came up with that concept, anyways? I mean, what links chips and penguins??? Oh wait, i guess they ARE called Bluebird. But penguins seem to show up in the oddest places. I mean, Squirt? Linux? What’s going on? Is there some secret penguin conspiracy? Maybe the Emperor penguins are taking themselves too literally.

I think coke should go back to 500mls, and the price should go down again. Fuck that dollar sixty stuff. Oh sorry, that came from me thinking about the 250ml cans you get on aeroplanes. In Japan, coke sometimes comes in 200ml cans, like Red Bull, only they have pull ring tabs that come right off, which are far more dangerous. Oh my god, I remember drinking like, cocoa and shit out of cans too. Here comes the drinks trolley again. But I’d better not. I feel drunk already.

Well, dinner’s over now, and I’m enjoying dessert. It was Chicken curry – not bad, pretty much like Eastern Curries. Better than the Healthy Choice monstrosity Brad brought home yesterday. I am, I am looking after myself! This custard looks remarkably like (admittedly yellower) semen, but it sure tastes a whole lot better. Oh I want your hot cum all over my tits! I think it’s a lot worse watching porn when you are no longer a naive little virgin. Although, quite frankly, how i managed to go through with intercourse after the penetration shots is beyond me!

****

Mmmm, filter coffee, blarrgh! Oh, AND a Bardot remix. Choysa tea, man. And speaking of tea, man I have embraced it very quickly. Which is a good thing. I am way too on edge. One day I am going to have a shoulder massage that won’t hurt because I’ll be so relaxed. Oh yes, I will! But whilst in Melbourne and Wellington, I’ll drink coffee. I don’t know how i’ll get through the days at the MOE otherwise. Mmmmm Fuel Coffee! And mmmm Fuel Hot Chocolate.

****

I think relationships should come with airsick bags. Motion sickness. Emotion sickness. Oh god, I am quoting silverchair. Just as well I switched to the concert station. Goddamit that coffee is FOUL. I really need to pee, but I think there’s someone in the bathroom. This polynesian guy and girl just walked past. They couldn’t have been more than 17, but they were carrying a baby. What goes on?

*****

We must get into Melbourne pretty soon hopefully. I have steel bladder, I can hold on! Fuck it’s going to be good to see Anji again. Must remember to claim sleeping bag. And ask at the bus counter where to get off closest to Fitzroy. Fuck I’ve written heaps. I’m going to read through again.

Ahh, aeroplane toilets. There’s a sign on the door inside that says “please lock” which I think is really unfair, because like, I’d really prefer for everyone to see me peeing. The rubbish bin has funny pictures of things on it that you’re supposed to dispose of in there – emotion sickness bags, razors, nappys. But then there’s something really weird that I can’t figure out, but I guess it must be a pad. Fucking odd looking pad. Maybe it’s like the real old fashioned kind you have to hook onto a belt thingie, like in “Are you there God, it’s me, Margaret”. Maybe. I’m cold. I want my hoodie. Only no, that’s in the cargo hold somewhere.

What does scratch aeroplane windows? They are always scratched, as far as I can tell, but it’s not like planes drive through foliage or anything. What an odd concept!

I keep writign down little quirky observations just like i keep going to reach for my bag and cellie to check for text messages. Only, no, my cellie is in Auckland, n a bag with my Macy Gray cd, my Geri book, and Ru-bear. I miss them all already!

I don’t get why Channel 7 is so much quieter than the other channels. Maybe I should write a letter of complaint. Ha! Beck is on the crooners’ channel, with “tropacalia”. That amuses me biglots.

Wow, I never knew where Melbourne was on the map until now. 46 minutes left. I’m bored. I need something to read! I want my cellphone and text messaging. Ah well. Maybe I’ll try napping. Oh fuck, I had coffee. Hmm, I need another vodka.

Later:

The airport seemd to take forever to clear. Then I had to find my way to the Skybus, and tere was absolutely nowhere to dump my trolley. I had to take it back into the terminal, where I gave it to some woman so she didn’t have to pay to get herself one (I was at the domestic terminal by that stage). But I managed to get myself onto the bus okay, and the bus driver told me to get off at Franklin Station. I was so so tired at that stage, and I just started thinking about how badly lost I got the last time. Plus, I think all the stress of the past month really started catching up to me, and I just about started to bawl. But I didn’t.

Getting off the bus, I was faced with the problem of finding a taxi. I’d kinda thought there would be a rank at the bus station, but no. So instead I set out to walk to a busy looking road, with my handbag and a backpack and suitcase and sleeping bag. I was _not_ a happy camper! No cabs passed me by, so I was searching for a rank. I finally came to some huge big building, so I figured there had to be one there. There was – it just had no taxis waiting. But there were about a dozen Asians. We all had to wait at least ten minutes before the first taxi arrived, and then of course, they got it first. A little while later another taxi came along, and i asked if he could take me to Fitzroy. He said he could, but was I first in line? No. So he said he’d call me another one. Then this girl came up to me and said she’d ordered a couple of taxis. She asked me where I was going, and suggested we share, so I agreed. A taxi came along then, and another one for the last of the Asians, and we were finally off. When we got to Napier Street, the girl said not to worry about paying, but the driver suggested i pay $5, so I did. They were both lovely. If I’d had to wait much longer for a taxi, I probably would have cried!

So we sat around in Anji’s lounge, and I met her flatmate Mike. He has two chicks staying with him, Racheal and Ange, who looked really really similar. At first I thought they were sisters, but when I saw them snogging, I realised otherwise. Racheal “did my numbers” for me, and what I read in the book seemed very true. Ange said she’d cut my hair for me, yay! We smoked some pot and had some red wine, then decided to flag going out to dinner because I was too tired, and Anji seemed kinda tired too. Instead, we ordered in Italian. Anji and I shared a vegetarian pizza. Mike brought down his cd mixer, so we played all sorts of music, from Flying Nun classics to very cool techno. Him and Rach had a fight and looked just like Tekken characters. Later they danced very cooly, like someone from Bust-A-Groove. It was nifty. The one downer was when they started playing Beth Orton, but I thought “no, I’m being dumb”. I am going to reclaim music, and create NEW associations for it. So there!

I’m reading Lolita because I feel like I should. Maybe it’ll offer insight into the whole school girl thing!

When I went to bed, I was like “awww I don’t have my teddy bear” so Anji biffed this huge big bear at me that belongs to Timmy. So I slept with that, and it was lovely. The bear was bigger around than Thomas even, but snored less.