Hubris.co.nz

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that I have been busy. I mean, I did write about it a while ago. But occasionally you get the disconnect between what you say and what people actually pay attention to.

It is strange being in an office again, having to sit in an uncomfortable squeaky chair and digest piles and piles of new information. It’s no six-page site that I’m rewriting, unlike other work that I’ve done for So Content before. And there’s a whole office full of people who all have their own working styles and customs, and I’m the stranger here so it is me that has to adjust to other people’s music. At least my eyes are starting to be able to deal with the florescent lights now. But for all my complaining about the superficial things, it is good to be working again, to feel smart and clever and valuable.

Other changes are happening, with the lease being up on Immoral Terrace at some time in the near but not near enough future. Paying for the rent on the whole house by myself will not be fun. As a consequence, I will be having to move home with my parents for a couple of months in order to pay off that debt, and also the rest of the debts that I have accrued over the past year without a steady pay cheque. I can’t wait until I don’t owe anyone money again, even though that’s a couple of months away. And then I’m going to be subletting a room in my Vitamin Cupcake’s house for a couple of months while the adorable Kate and Jason travel. I am making lists of where all my furniture and possessions will be heading – into storage, to Ngaio or to be shipped out to friends. Tom is taking the bar out of the Tiki Shack, so that will live on a little bit. We had a goodbye shindig in there the other weekend which was lovely, piles of people piled onto each other basking in the warm glow of my heater. That mattress has served hard time, alright. The lovely Smoo has promised to come back and help me move things to the tip later. He’s gone too. End of a long era. I think I miss him already if you will allow me to get soppy for a second.

People from the past have popped up recently at odd moments. I discovered something about someone and it’s still on my mind. It was somewhat of a headfuck.  Heather is coming down for my Triple X party, which I am very excited about. Less exciting is turning 30 in two days’ time. I have the grey hairs to prove it. However, at least there’s a Webstock Mini on my birthday to ease the pain, and then on the following weekend I will be helping out at FullCodePress again like I did last year. I have to meet up with Sue tomorrow to get a dress to wear to it – either one of mine that she’d borrowed, or one of Megan’s. It is handy having a wardrobe extend like that.

Along with the cold and various housing issues has come an increase in the number of television programmes I’ve been watching. Of note lately have been marathon West Wing sessions that just make me miss Good Tom and wish that I was Alison Janney, as well as contemplating becoming a cater waiter due to Party Down, and wondering if I am more pathetic than Kenny from Eastbound And Down or not.   I think that I am not, because I continue to have people who love me, and also people who want to do me, occasionally. Ask me sometime and I will tell you a very amusing story about polylove and children and how I don’t believe that the two should mix. Oh, and speaking of casual sex, you should come to this:

You guys like role-playing right? Okay, so let’s pretend for a minute that you’re Jonathan Davis of Korn fame. You’ve dealt with my urge to call you Jonathan Brandis, and you weren’t on Seaquest and you didn’t kill yourself. You wrote some tunes that some people stood around in a circle in a lounge in Johnsonville when the parents were away pretending to headbang to, and you wrote the soundtrack for a dreadful movie that Stuart Townshead wore leather pants in and looking very fucking hot and so much better than Tom Cruise in. So, your guitarist quits, and goes off to write a tell-all book, and become a born-again Christian. Do you use your down-time to help puppies and also to train your bassist to wear his bass up around his middle not his knees, or do you learn to play the bagpipes?

Yeah, exactly.

So I wrote a journal entry last night, as you have no doubt read. Since that time I had a nice sleep, I drank some coke, I watched some episodes of America’s Next Top Model (I am totally on Team Isis and love Faux-Kimora for her open mind. And there’s just been the Irene Cara ‘Fame’ song on TV and I’ve realised that pretty much the entire cast is Isis, not least because of their bad hair). Then I got my shit together and put on my old red dress and went into town and Cafe Istanbul for Megan‘s redrunkening.  Her friends were mostly couples but I won’t hold that against her, and also I was amused to see the girl I used to work for at Ausm/Debate and we had a quick bitch session. I couldn’t believe how busy Istanbul was, and we managed to try to leave at the same time as another big table of cute lesbians so it took forever to do the bill and pay.

Then we went to the Taste of Korea to do karaoke. As is my way, I grabbed a mike and opened things with ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ as I always rock the fuck out of that on Rockband. Our Soju “cocktails” were neither strong nor actually cranberry flavoured (raspberry miranda is NOT cranberry) but people warmed up eventually and we all sang some more. I ended up getting another hour, and because I didn’t know the people I didn’t ask for any money, which possibly was not the best financial decision ever, but Megan got the first hour, so whatever. Anyways, so mostly I sang power ballads. I sang “Sweet Child’O Mine” because I now take any chance to exercise old demons. And then I sang ‘Careless Whisper’ but I am too used to the Gossip version, and also having the lyrics up on the screen was like a punch in the face. As these things go. But anyways, I fucking adore karaoke like so much. I could sing all night.

Except that we only had two hours and we finished on “We are the world” and most people went home, so I went up to Atomic to find Karen. I couldn’t spot her on the dancefloor initially, but I did spot Smoo and Blair out on the balconey so I hung out with them for ages,  before I went and had a sweaty dance (I was all in synthetic fibres, stinky) and found my friends. I alternated between dancing and hanging with the boys after that. Acgtually, I also managed to combined the two, making Blair slowdance with me to OMD’s “If You Leave” as a tribute to John Hughes.  Blair and Smoo had some guy with them who managed to believe that Karen and I were identical twins – after I sadi that I’d eaten all the pies. He did some clever detective work, asking me what my birthdate was, and then asking her, and strangely enough, she said the same date. Karen was in very fine form that night, saying that there had been quite a few young boys hitting on her that night, including the duck – “but then again, I am moving/have a pulse. Not that I think he’s that fussy.”. Blair and Smoo didn’t seem to accept “Not married!” as a justification for anything, and if you add that to the fact that Smoo has a cricket bat in his room for chasing intruders then you’ll understand why i left a note on his door when I got home telling him that I fricking adore him. And now it’s 4am, and kebabs have been eaten, so let’s finish this journal and maybe have sleeps, yes?

The good:

• I had to go to the doctor yesterday morning to get a new prescription, as, like I think I have mentioned before, my shrink has gone AWOL. The new GP I’d seen once or twice before wasn’t available, so I had to see another female doctor at the practice, because there’s no way I’m going to see the male doctor there again, after his “Oh, do you think you’re depressed because you have low self esteem because you’re fat?” performance. Anyways, the fear of having to go through my entire history of depression again kept me up most of the night, but as it turns out, she just wanted some clarifications, and to give me a smear, which I pointed out I’d actually had done in May. She gave me a three month script for the lexapro! And ticked the “okay to represcribe without an appointment” box for the next time! I don’t have to schlep around begging for drugs for at least six months! Do you have any fricking idea what a relief that is? Hurrah!
• In other brief moments of awesome, a job that I really want was advertised on one of the twitterstreams that I follow, so I promptly applied for it. Hurrah for social media!

The bad:

• I was at my parents’ house yesterday hanging out with Pixie and doing my laundry. When I left, carrying two baskets of laundry stacked on top of each other, my satchel and a bag of shopping, she came around to the front door and was darting around, so I was wondering if she wanted to get back in. My parents have recently extended the front of their house, and changed the levels of steps, and put new ones in. Their outside light didn’t go on automatically. You can see where this is going, right? A misstep, my ankle twists, my baskets of laundry go flying, groceries roll down their hill, I have time to think “I’m falling” before my hands hit the speckled pebbled ground, my right thigh and right side of my body make contact with the concrete too, my shoulders jar, my wrists scream in protest and I want to stay on the ground and bawl, but I don’t want to freak the neighbours out, so I have to gingerly pick myself up and then pick up all my crap that has gone everywhere. I am covered in invisible boo-boos now and want kisses to make them better.

The scary:

• I was lying in bed at around 1.40am when I heard someone coming up the path. At first I thought it was our steps, but then I realised it was the path of the house next door, which I thought was a little odd, because they’re not normally late night people. But Smoo was home anyway, so it wouldn’t have been our path anyway. I didn’t hear next door’s front door, but I thought maybe they were just super quiet. Then I heard some thrashing around in the bushes by my window that I’d left open for Sebastian and I was like “oh crap, he’s chasing a rat, he’s not normally that loud”. And then I thought I heard someone whispering my name, so I sat up and saw a figure silhouetted against my blinds, with an arm reaching in, and I was very confused. I said “What the hell are you doing?” and the figure seemed to disappear. I reached for my light, not entirely sure if I’d just seen what I’d seen, and then reached for my phone and tweeted about it (yes, lame, I know) before wrapping my duvet around myself, getting out of bed and going for the main light in my room. I pulled up my blinds, and saw that the window that was open but latched was now unlatched. I shut it, dropped the blinds and went and got Smoo, who was luckily awake. We had a prowl around the house, and he looked out the front door, but we couldn’t see anything, so I called Sebastian in, and he snuggled me to keep me safe. Took me another hour to get to sleep though, and yes, I spent some of that time debating who out of the four or so people that I’ve shared a bed with this year would have been the best to respond if someone had actually climbed in. I think it would have been the girl first, because she can be scary and intense, and then the married man, because maybe he could have been manly but would be afraid of  being identified. Then the duck, because he  might have slept through it, then Tingle, who probably would have just been too drunk . I suppose I should call the community constable now or something and report it, in case there’s a pattern happening around town. Weeiiiiiiiiird.

Because I’m trying to get everything tagged and tucked away and imaged and stuff here on Hubris, I have been reading through many many many entries, and woah, I sure have a lot of angst, don’t I?

I don’t, so much anymore, or at least not all that much today. It is nice to start your day with lunch at the Med Warehouse with Megan, and gossip your hearts out, and then to cruise the aisles looking at tasty things you want to eat, and then do the supermarket shopping, buy healthy vegetables and stuff and make huge big pots of dhal. It is also nice to have a Lisa Fur visit you and to watch Flash Dance together and sing along and twitter incessantly about Sassy Black Friends.

This unemployment thing is handy in that now I am coming off the zopiclone I am not sleeping at night at all so I am sleeping all day, but trying to be financially responsible means that my going out is severely curtailed. That is probably for the best, I suppose, because I am running out of people to drunk text. Getting cease & desist emails was a good thing, and the reaction that I had been pushing for.

Being home during the day means more amusing conversations with Smoo, and also being beaten by him at both Wii Tennis, despite my Williams-y grunting, and at bowling although I’m normally good at it, but beating him at Wii Baseball. It also means that I get to spend more time with Sebastian:

It sadly does mean that I’m churning through bandwidth at alarming rates, although I’m defaulting to simple things, rereading Harry Potter (I have lust for young boys, who knew?) and rewatching Angel.

I’m excited that I get to attend the cheese celebrations of Miss Harvestbird in October, and I’ve booked my flight on airpoints. Nothing good ever seems to happen to me in Christchurch (sorry Good Tom), but perhaps three times is a charm.

Here’s a story I didn’t tell you about Saturday night. Except that in order to tell it, I have to go back a couple of months. So, we’re in the time machine, right? Cool. And so now I’m lying in bed, and it’s like 3am or something, and I get a text message going “Hey Jo, if you hear a loud banging noise, it’s because I’m locked in the toilet and am trying to find a solution” from Smoo. So I got up to see if I could help him, and let him in the back door (if you know what I mean) and then we took off the lock with a screwdriver, and he kicked it open, yelling “L.A.P.D!” as he did it. Awesome. We still had the locking latch, so we were perfectly fine without the doorknob.

However, when we had a flat inspection, I thought I would mention the story of the doorknob and so I got an email or some kind of message from the landlady saying she’d talk to the owners about it. Then nothing happened, and we were like, oh well no biggie. Then, about a week or so ago – maybe two – I got a call from some repairmanguy who said that he was going to come over and fix the doorknob. He showed up late, and had a friend, and they hummed and harred for a long time, then went away. When they came back, it took the two of them like an hour or maybe more – I don’t know, my bladder was hurting – to put the knob on, and then they went away. The new knob had a twisty lock on it as well, but it did seem to be a little bit loose, Oh well, a knob’s a knob, right?

Then on Saturday, after I was exhausted from Strip Club antics the night before, and much much waiting around for the Cuba Street Carnival, I came home totally exhausted with Lisa. I took my sleeping pills and after we watched Skins, she left. I mention this because I was going to pee while she waited for her taxi, but decided to just chat to her instead. Anyways, so she left, and I went to the toilet, read some of the new Idealog and did my business. Then I went to open the toilet door. It was locked. Hmm, odd, I locked the latch but not the twirly bit, right? So I twirled it, and it still didn’t open. I wriggled it, and jiggled it, and it still didn’t open. WHAT THE FUCK?

Oh, did I mention the part where noone was home? Where El and Smoo were both in Australia (apparently not together, but where’s the rumour-starting fun in that?) and that George was out, and frequently is out until like 4am and this was only about midnight? So strangely enough, banging on the door with my fists didn’t help much. I thought about climbing out the window, but peering out into the spiderwebs and the drop and the long bushes and stuff, I luckily remembered that there were no windows open in the house, or any chance of getting them open. I contemplated jumping out anyway and breaking into the Tiki Shack to sleep there, but really, that mattress is for getting lei’d on, not for sleeping on, and plus, I was so tired, I just wanted my own bed so much. So, what to do?

With a lot of wriggling, I managed to get the screws on the knob a little bit loose, and then using the zipper on my hoodie as a screwdriver, I managed to pull them out, but of course the knob on the other side of the door fell off before I could grab its axle. Fucking buggity bugger. I banged on the door some more, and thought about crying, but instead I fastened Ze Frank’s song to combat anxiety in my head, and tried to think logically. I pulled the toilet roll holder apart, and tried to jam its point in the axle-hole and to make it click around, but it wouldn’t fit properly, partly because of the other end, which scratched a circle around it like a compass. I’m very good with these intense mechanical descriptions, right?

Because the guys who’d installed the doorknob had done such a bad job, and because the door is thin-ish plywoodish stuff, I realised that there were broken bits around the hole in which the knob should be, and through those broken bits, I could see the latchy mechanism. I decided that I needed to get in at that mechanism, even if it meant tearing the door apart, so I started hammering away at the hole with the side of the knob that I had left. I kept doing that for a while before I started alternating it with levering the toilet roll spoke into the hole, and breaking bits off. It was a long, long long slow process, and I was cold and tired and about to fall asleep from the zopiclone. Eventually though, my combined hammering and levering had broken off enough plywood to expose the latching system, and I tried fiddling with that for a bit before I realised that it was totally fucked, I had to lever bits of that off as well, metal bending before my awesome might. Fuck I am glad that our toilet roll holder wasn’t made of plastic! Shoving my fingers into the hole, I managed to find a tiny littlle trigger, and with an amazing CLICK, I was free. OMG OMG OMG! Checking Twitter, I saw that I’d been in there for a whole hour. Not how I wanted to end my night at all!

Turns out that George didn’t get home until 5am, so I’m very glad that I got all Mcguyver all up in it, and released myself. It makes me kinda proud at my resourcefulness, even. When George came home, he saw something was up with the lock, and so he tried shutting it – and locked himself out. He raced to get up in the morning to open the door when I got up to pee, and climbed in the window for me, and I pointed out where the trigger was. The latch is now duct-taped open (or shut) so that these incidences can’t happen again, although I have yet to email the landlady and tell her what muppets the “handy”men were. I really should do that now, eh?

Also on a mac note: I made lots of mac’n cheese yesterday, and then beat Good Tom at Trivial Pursuit. That part’s not so related, but I like to boast. In other success stories, I found a new flatmate as well, and also rang up Philips to ask them where I could buy a new remote contrl for my stupid DVR, and they’re apparently sending me a new one, and aren’t charging me for it. HURRAH! If only I’d asked for one a year ago, how many broken nails would I have avoided? And also, I made cupcakes for all the lovely people who organised Webstock and they liked them and that makes me happy. And I think that’s about it, for now,

xojo

PS: the title of this post would be much more awesomer if my last name was ‘Macleod’. But that’s okay.

I spent all of last week at home hiding out. There were occasional distractions – Amy came over on the Monday night for prettyprettypretty stuff, and I made Lisa dinner on Wednesday, but apart from that there were only a couple of conversations with Smoo and George. I kept my phone switched off during the day so work couldn’t call me, and on Friday I sent an email to my boss that said in part:

suppose I’ve been hoping a little bit that by going AWOL I would just get fired, and then I wouldn’t have to own up to all my failures. I haven’t been at work this week because the thought of coming in just absolutely petrifies me. I physically cannot get out of bed and leave the house because of my fear of all the work that I should have done by now that I haven’t, and the thought of having conversations about it, and why I haven’t done it, and how I am not meeting your expectations absolutely terrifies me. That’s why I’ve left my cellphone switched off, which is a total copout for someone who used to pride herself on her communication skills. I think I need to resign, I am not the person that you thought you hired, and I cannot do the work that I have been hired to do. I know that I’m in a down space right now that I will climb out of, but I just don’t see how I will get any better at doing what is expected of me at the *.

As the ever-perceptive Smoo said, perhaps it was a cry for help. She sent me back a really really nice, really really supportive email, which made me cry, which was kind of nice too, because I’ve felt more numb than I should be feeling, and have been questioning whether or not I should be on 40mg, or if it’s actually too strong. But anyways, I cried, I washed my face, I blowdried my hair, I fought off the metallic taste of rising panic, and I headed out to Deb and Mike‘s Emancipation Party.

First up though was dinner at Arashi with Robyn and Shirley and Tom, who bought along really really nice champagne to celebrate, even though I didn’t want to talk about resigning, or not resigning, or whatever it is that’s going to happen now, which will involve a lot of work and conversation and bravery and all that sort of stuff. So instead, here’s photos of them at dinner.

Then we headed up to Hawthorn early to secure the big corner table. I love Hawthorn so much. The bartenders are so charming, and make such good zombies. We laughed a tremendous amount at Shirley saying one was cute when he was standing right behind her. We’re grownups that way. I held court at the big table, drinking more zombies and more bottles of wine. Having not talked to anyone in so long, and after essentially sitting in my own filth all week (well, I showered, but then I put Pjs back on) it felt insanely great to be out of the house again. I could talk and bullshit all I wanted to.

And yes, I got rather drunk, and in fact told the third person ever that I loved them, ((EDIT: actually the fourth. If I was Good Tom, I’d be quite insulted at how often I got left out of the count, but then again he’s probably just relieved!) via text message that I don’t remember sending, and which also quite frankly isn’t true, or rather as I texted the next day, I love them, but I don’t love them. I’m just going to miss them a fuckload. I also invented a new insult in the Twitterverse - “Asscunt”. I hope it’s going to take off. Yes, I drank far more than is healthy, but oh holy crap did I need a huge blow-out and some rants and raves. I’m having trouble having responsibility for the most basic parts of my life (I need a wife) so it totally makes sense to go out and be totally irresponsible, right?

A story from the night that has nothing to do with me but which was incredibly hilarious unfolded in front of me and Robyn. We noticed this guy sitting at the end of the bar looking around a lot and staring at us, and we thought he was Sam Farrow so we yelled out his name but he didn’t look, so we decided that there was something else seedy going on with him. Later a guy in a white pinstriped shirt came in with a girl in red, and the girl in red started talking to Sam-Lite. Next time we looked up, Sam-Lite was gone, and Red Girl was talking to some other random. I was ordering more wine at that stage, and so I got to overheard Pinstripe at the other end of the bar sending down drinks to Red Girl and Random. Then later, Pinstripe found himself a new friend in the form of a girl in a floral dress, who was there with Leather Jacket. In fact, Floral found herself between the two of them, with hungry suburban manhands all over her.

You can’t see Pinstripe’s roaming hands in those photos, but believe me, they were there. Icck. Keep it in the Hutt, please. Small bars are not good places for discretion.

And yes, anyway. Have I mentioned how much TV I’ve been watching? Carnivale (love it so much, sad it’s all gone now), Green Wing, Strangers with Candy, This Life, and more, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure I can’t remember how to stand up anymore, but I will need to find out tomorrow when I go into work. Oh also I have to pash 20 people before next Tuesday when I turn 28. Volunteers please? And my birthday dinner is on Saturday and we’re going to Karaoke afterwards, you should come along if you like that sort of thing. And um, I think that’s it for the night. It’s too cold to have my arms out from under my duvet any longer.

The drugs do work. They make me much better. That is nice. Although occasionally, I think that maybe I’m actually taking speed, because my mind does not stop ticking over with new ideas for new projects, both at home and at work, before I have finished all of my old ones.

Case in point – the lovely Amy – formerly a Wellingtonista PAG and now a blogger in her own right – and I have started a new website about girlie things. We’ve decided to have Make(Up/Over/Under) Mondays as well when we try out new beauty products, so you should come and play with us.

In very very very exciting news, Kat and Kane are coming down on Thursday night, and we’re going to the wrestling to see “New Zealand’s Sexist Masked Man” on Friday night. I can’t wait to see them again, it’s been far too long. And I have a backlog of ‘Rock of Love’ episodes to watch with Kat, not to mention the finale tonight. Exciting! When Season II starts, I’m going to recap it like I did ‘Rockstar’. That’s how much I love it.

But I don’t love it as much as I love ‘My So-Called Life’, which I have been devouring eagerly in the privacy of my own bedroom. It still makes me cry because I can remember how strongly I identified with Angela. And how hot is Jordan Catilano? Daaaaaaaaamn! It makes sense to me now. I was watching TV the other day and decided to be mean to Smoo, so I was all po-faced “I need to tell you something” and he was like blanched, and I was like “I think I’m kind of obsessed with 30 Seconds to Mars videos” and he was very relieved and I laughed and laughed. Anyways. What I am so loving about MSCL right now is the mcguffin that is Tino. Where did Rayanne get the Chinese food from? Tino. How did they know about the Buffalo Tom (so good!) gig? Tino. Etc. And I love that you never ever actually see him.

Today I stayed at home because I have a horrible head cold, and I got my work emailed home to me, but then I fell asleep on the couch. Perhaps I’ll do some later. Right now there is a big pot of curry bubbling on the stove, but Smoo is at work, and George doesn’t want any because he’s on a health kick. That’s okay, that’s what the big freezer is for!

What else did I want to talk about? We had a wine quiz on Friday that went very well, and a Newtown pub crawl on Saturday that was low-key, but fun as well. Then dinner with the family at the Med Warehouse on Sunday. The service was atrocious, the pizza was good. There’s wrestling coming up, and Webstock Mini (yay!), and hmm, I dunno, other stuff. I need to get more work done at work, but I am keeping on top of life in general. And that is a good thing.

And now I gotta go, cos Tino’s coming over to bring me a panda.

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?

Once again, I have been unfathomably busy. I know I start every journal entry like this lately, but hey, you get what you pay for, right?

When I left you last, I’d just been to Bar Camp, which was an unconference. Accordingly, I went to a conference on Wednesday at the Stadium. The catering was very average, it was cold in the room, and I was the only person wearing Threadless. Everyone else was in suits. The contrast was very striking. So was the view, as we were up in a corporate box.

I stayed for a couple of networking drinks, and explained myspace and blogging to some people – another contrast to Bar Camp – wow, it’s almost like I should set up a work blog to discuss all these themes – and then hustled my way down the incredibly long Fran Wilde walk to buy $7 worth of cashews (whoops) and be picked up by the faithful Miss Fur who already had her on firmly her jones for Julia and Sam to duet on ‘Good Woman’ at the Cook Strait Social Club. We had drinks and cashews at her house, met up with Karen and then headed down to Mighty Mighty. Handily, Hannah, Anji & her gentleman caller Bambi had already set up camp right near the stage, so we had the best seats in the house, or at least I did, after I stole Hannah’s armchair. We got talking to a lovely American girl named Ingrid, who asked Lisa about gig ettiquite in Wellington.

It turned out it was a particularly awesome intimate gig when Julia came down from the stage to apologise for not learning ‘Good Woman’, and Sam took yelled-out requests (playing ‘Going Fishing’ when that’s Luke’s song, although of course, Sam’s now officially my favourite after that whole bear suit debarcle) and laughed at us when we said “that’s not soon enough!” for an announced October 7 release date for the new Phoenix Foundation album. Emily’s mother talked to me in the bathroom, and I even got up and danced for the last song, which was The Warratahs’ ‘Hands of my heart’. I felt like it was 1989 all over again. All in all, a most excellent excellent night.

On Thursday I made dhal and then got the cleaning bug late at night and I ended up finding about five bags of rotton potatoes, some of which had liquified in the kitchen. Yum! Good smell! But at least it was all cleaned up for the impending arrival of the new flatmates. And of course being virtuous on Thursday meant that I could go out on Friday, so out I went.

I met up with Shirley at Tupelo, and we drank what was apparently their last bottle of red wine, and then had to switch to white. The double Ds came along and were happy that Mary-Kate and Ashley were there too, and eventually we were joined by Bart, before we beat a path to Scopa for pizza.

After that, we followed Bart up to the Mac’s Brewery Bar, which was about to shut (at midnight, what the hell?), and this story happened:

Shame
So tonight Dyl Dave and I go with Bart to the Mac’s Brewery for some goodbye drinks one of Bart’s friends is having. As soon as I get there, some tall boy bounds up to me. “Hi Jo, how’s it going?” I’m all “……… Hi! I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?” He says he’s good and asks me how I am, so I exchange pleasantries. Then I’m like “So, I haven’t seen you in ages. When is the last time we saw each other again?” and he’s like “a couple of weeks ago at that bar..” and I’m like fuck, is he playing the same game I’m playing? but I suggest the Cross and he says Tupelo, and I smile and nod until he asks me where Bart is and moves off. Later, I talk to Bart, and I’m like “Okay, so who the hell is that guy I was talking to before and why the hell does he know me?”
Bart was all “That’s that guy. You know. That guy”. And I’m like “huuuuuuuuuuuuuh?” and Bart’s like”from my party” and I’m like omg really? I made out with that guy and he came in his pants as he dry-humped me? (Or not so dry). And so I stare at him from across the room and go “damn. he’s really hot. Did I really score him? Really? Because I remembered him being pretty much a loser but maybe I was stereotyping based on the Hawaiian shirt. And I tell Dyl, cos apparently that guy had Dyl’s tshirt, but then we have a disagreement about which guy at the bar we’re talking about, and Dyl’s like “No, it wasn’t that guy, it was that guy!!!!” pointing elsewhere and I’m like fuck, dammit, there goes my thinking that I’d actually score someone hot.

On Saturday morning, I got up at 10 to help Kat & Kane move in, and there was a lot of sitting in the sun talking about wrestling. Karen and Hannah and Anji came over for beers and snacks in the sun, and then I spent the evening doing pretty much nothing at all. Sunday was another blissful day like that, much time spent in bed with Q, putting up new posters and putting away washing. Last night Lisa and her new flatmate came over for dinner. I made my crackling crackle for the first time! And promptly ate most of it before it made it to the dinner table. I blame Smoo for snarfling some whilst carving. Kat brought home organic veges which were very tasty, and naturally we only managed about 15 minutes of dinner before the conversation got filthy. That Lisa, she’s just trouble. But oooh oooh, we set a date and a theme for the next party we’re having: Country Club: Back in the USSR. October 13. Be there!

I could do a post full of misery about how I did something really fucking stupid due to a miscommunication and while I’m always happy to stand up and take the blame for anything I do and accept any consequences, this impacts on someone else rather than me and that sucks so much. But I’m not going to because while that is keeping me up at night, I would rather make a list of things that are awesome.

• The Daily Show sending Rob Riggle to Iraq. Rob’s probably my least favourite corrospondent, because they’ve got Jason Jones to cover the stupid white man angle already, but the two posts he’s come up with so far have been brilliant. So brilliant in fact that perhaps Smoo might find tonight that what he thought was going to be an episode of The Sopranoes was in fact The Daily Show. Unless I can still pick up C4 on the TV without an ariel. We’ll see.
• The guy at the Victoria St Cafe who always greets me like a longlost friend – although he said today that he saw me walking past this morning and thought I was going to come in and said he was sad that I didn’t. I can’t figure out if he’s a) this friendly with all his customers b) has taken a particular shine to me c) I actually know him and just can’t remember where from or d) he thinks I’m someone else. Still, it’s nice to be recognised. The British girl downstairs at Wishbone recognises me too because she spilt my coffee two days in a row, but we’ve managed to break the curse now.
• While my red maryjanes are cutting into my feet something terrible today, Lani’s told me she’s got a stretching spray I can try on them, and my manager said that there’s a shoe-place nearby that will stretch them for me so I can go pain free. Hurrah! The soles in these shoes are really comfortable, and the bit against the archilles is padded, so it’s just getting the tops that go over my fatty meat plates to break.
• I’ve just booked flights ($108 return, thank you very much Pacific Blue) to Auckland to go to Muse in November. This will help me feel a little bit better about missing Bloc Party, and since they’re playing on a Friday, I’m flying up after work on the Thursday and only missing one day of work, hurrah!
• I have all the answers for a project manager today. That makes me happy.
• Tomorrow is Friday, and then it is Saturday, and on Saturday I get to see assorted Wellingtonistas out for Mr. Beard’s birthday.
• My counsellor comes back in September so I can go and burden her with all my head garbage instead of letting it fester inside me, woo!
• I get to go home to a clean house after work today after much vacuuming and scrubbing last night for a flat inspection. If we didn’t pass, I will be mad as a box of snakes.

Also, I’m still looking for a flatmate. Please hook a sister up.