Hubris.co.nz

I twittered today that I’m about two weeks away from sucking cock for crack, financially speaking, and that’s pretty true. I’d say that I’m also about two weeks away from taking up sucking cock for crack just for something to do because I’m so fucking bored, but yet I keep finding myself way too busy, no matter how sexy and appealing It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia makes crack addiction look.

My period has been fucking with me, resulting in many nights of not sleeping until 5am, and thinking too much about things that are in the past. Consequently, when Megan was over yesterday, I cried a little, and then she made me laugh, so that was good. I’m just so tired of things not going my way, of the endless having to deal with stupid things like bills, and police, and letterboxes, and landlords, and applying for jobs,  and no doubt WINZ soon, and finding a new flatmate (El’s moving to the beach), and just ugh. URGH! I need a PA, like, so bad. And also a salary with which to pay said PA.

I got a text on Monday night from a guy I know asking me to go for a drink with him and his wife because she had a proposition for me. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I’m pretty sure that it will be of the blog promotion variety type proposition, but because my weekend was somewhat interesting, I chose to assume the most sordid scenario. I was hugging my heater, however, and didn’t want to wash my hair, so I didn’t leave the house.

On Saturday though, I left the house for about 15 hours straight. I played Urban Golf. It was tremendous fun!

Fore!

I’m not feeling particularly articulate right now after very long conversations about other people’s lives tonight, so instead I recommend that you read Phil’s description of the day. I like dressing up, and taking back the streets, and chatting to the people we met along the way, and also the meeting new people part of the day, indeed. It was more sober than I expected it to be though.

I fixed the sober part afterwards when I went and met up with that girl and we had drinks at Pollux and The Garden Club which weirds me out because it used to be the Repertory Theatre where I did drama lessons and now it’s a gay club. I suppose they’re practically the same thing though anyways, right? The night ended with me sitting topless in someone’s living room eating Burger Fuel, which is the way most nights should end, right? I think most nights should involve less of other people’s drama though, maybe. But for my last occasion of spending substantial amounts of money, it was pretty good.

Schedule-wise, there’s roller derby coming up (we have tickets to give away on PPP!) and then then the PPP Girlie Party & Clothing Swap, and then I go to Harvestbird’s wedding, and then there’ll be the Halloween toss-up between rasslin’ and derby. Then I may end up going to Auckland for a couple of days with Lisa in November if I am not gainfully employed before she drives up for Pearl Jam. I suspect I will need to hold the wheel steady for her, so great will her excitement be. Oh, and you should suggest nominees for 4TAWA.

Blah. I have been on a big downloaded TV glut lately (thanks The AV Club!) and so I will return to that now if you don’t mind.

I woke up, and realised I was lying on like the extreme left of my bed, almost over the edge. Okay, I do often tend to favour the left side (that’s left when I’m in it), but never quite that close to the edge. It kinda freaked me out. I was like “okay, I’m wearing pajamas – that’s a good sign.” So then I thought a little more, and remembered that there were only reaaaaally skeggly people left in the house when i went to bed. That gave me the courage to stick out my arm, and cautiously check the other side of my bed for bodies. No one was there. Phew.

I mean, I hadn’t been THAT drunk, but I wasn’t thinking too straight. After all, it was morning. Like, really early morning. Must have been like 7.30am because Gail said she was going to be leaving then, and that noise probably would have woken me up.

Then I heard my cellie ring at 10.30am, so I had a babble to Clare for a while, trying to fill her in on all the gossip and stuff. So that was cool. It was weird though, cos Heidi sent me an SMS page, and that cut me off with Clare. Bizzare. Nevermind, she rang me back.

Our phone kept on ringing, but every time I refused to answer it, cos I knew it’d probably be for Clayton. And so it was only fair that he got out of bed to take care of it. It was fucking annoying though. I kept drifting in and out of dreams.

But anyways, yeah. The house is such a mess. Simon and I threw out all the empty cans and bottles, and took stock of what we’d been left with. I think the final tally was seven bottles of coke, about half of which were open, but not flat, a bottle of wine, and an can of beer. Score! And there were still like bags of chips and wedges and stuff, so that rocked. Barbeque chips for breakfast.

We hassled Clayton a bit (yeah, like he could get away without being mocked) but no one’s really done much in the way of cleaning. Si and I set up the wings on the dining table again, and brought out my computer. Such net withdrawl, man! I had lots of emails which was good.

Y’all are loving the “Joanna Is” form, aren’t you? Here’s a list of what I’ve recieved so far:

Joanna is:

• wonderful
• poculent
• never lost for words
• one of my favourite people in the whole entire universe
• too blunt
• slack with her journal entries
• mine
• yer a wee belter
• late posting to day

The “Joanna is Mine” one is a little bit disturbing. Sure, claim me if you like, but it’d kinda sorta help to know who you actually were, so I could know who I belonged to!