Wednesday Novemember 1st, 2000

There’s something a little wrong with your taxi driver giving you tips on how to become a high price hooker, isn’t there? I mean, even if he’s just giving you advice on where the rich men hang out. The George in Parnell, apparently, and I was like “sweet mate”. I think I’d just been saying about how I didn’t want to get a job and shit, and he was like “find a rich man, that’ whbat women do, isn’t it?”. Actually, come to think about it, he was a real sexist prick – going on about how much stuff women carry in their handbags, but at the time he seemed funny. I’m gald I didn’t tip him, even if I had to run into the house to get cash. Oh man, apart from paying for the taxi, I didnyt’ spend a cent tonight – how cool is that?

I found myself spending the evening in the bedroom of some apartment overlooking the sky tower and the harbour bridge. There was blue carpet and it all smelt of CKone, because everyone was spraying that on themselves. I realised eventually that the bed was the same one as we sold, and I was like “well no wonder this feels so comfortable” and Jody and I laughed a lot, and then probabyl danced some more.

Oh man, i got the best quote outta Jody tonight – almost “I have a cock in my mouth!” but I can’t remmeber it. Oh wait, yes I can – “if I was drunk enough, I’d do anything with you” – but we were talking about me asking her to sing spice girls with her at Karaoke – honestly. Damn I’ ve been using a lot of dashes.

Tech at noon, group meeting. There’s a computer hooked up on a 56 modem in the lab now, running IE 3.0 and NS 3.0 for us to do testing on, and we discovered that our site doesn’t work at these browser levels. BUGGER! stats from the NSCC say that only .48% of people have used IE 3.0 so we don’t really care about that, but 3.78% of people use NS 3.0 so we gotta do something about that. Well actually, I d unno if we do really, cvos it’s only a couple’o pixels out. And if you’re using a browser that old – even if you’re doing it ironically – you get what you deserve.

Eventually, it’s like 4pm and I’m tired of working in Quest, and having to reboot every half hour, even emails from Kini telling me what she’s eating aren’t inspiring enough, so I go get food with Kate M and Brad, and at 5pm we show up at the TV studios to provide canned laughter for Clayton’s sitcom thingie. It was funny, as were the 3 minuters we made in 1st year that we watched some of. Fuck, first year seems like yesterday, and a life time ago. Arg. I’ve fucked 3 people and snogged 4 others in less than the past year. Nothing like making up for lost time.

After the videos, we head down to London Bar, and Andrew Melville, radio tutor, calls me Joanne and buys me a pint. If people buy me alcohol, I forgive small details, especially when he amends himself to “Joanna” later. After Brad and Kate M have gone, and I’m sitting at the other end of the tables pushed together, Becks Jody and I realise that we’re magenta yellow and cyan in my case. Kate Hamlin buys me a vodka. Stuff is good. Jody Cess and I are the only non radio students – they’re a very inbred group, you know. I laugh a lot observing their social rituals and the inside stories going on. Oh the gossip! Oh the drama!

Eventually we felt like we were under threat of being kicked out becasue we were so loud, and also everyone was hungry. The group seemed to spliter in two, a nd I went with one group down to Glengarry on College Street, which was shut, and many questioned whether or not Randy actually knew where he lived. But we got there eventually, and it was posh. Bex ordered pizza, and got my handful of change to pay for it. There was drinking and drinking – alcohol the radio gang bought w ith the money they’d made f rom the static launch party. They’re not programming it anymore, which sucks cos it’s finally streaming across the Intranet. Dancing to old scary music – Bon Jovi, much stroking of someone’s chest. I got asked if I’d put out for someone in an animal costume, but I think I’d be laughing too much.

“Lydia” by Fur Patrol plays, and it seems group consensus that this is the coolest song ever around right now. It’s such a jilted woman song, and I sing it with a group. Then Jarrod plays Hootie and the Blowfish, and I complain that it’s only ever Saint Pats boys that like this kinda crap, and he’s like “you know nothing about St Pats boys” and I laugh lots, because actually I do. Dylan taught me how boys wank, after all.

Dance dance, drink drink drink, smelly smelly shoes. Gossip gossip, my head hurts, call a taxi, taxi comes, arguing with driver, he’s implying that I’m a whore, runnning into the house for cash to pay, pay, back home, computer on, requests to see my titties, so what else is new? Fuck I’m tired. It w as fun hanging out with people that I don’t know that well. It was also fun to discover the other day that someone I was afraid of hurting has a parallel agenda to mine, so wh00p for that.

More goddam meetings tomorrow, time to feel less sick and then go to bed. It’s been fun. Heh, I amuse me much, thanks Shania. I wonder if everyone’s going to Bar of the Stars now. I wanna go to Karaoke with Olivia again. I was talking to Brad today about Skid Row, and he just had no idea.

I’ve got chills – they’re multiplying

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