February 10, 2003

What was that I was saying about a user interface? I was lying. Look at it this way – extreme minimalism is the new postmodernism.

So it’s been about a week or so, and during this time period, I have been drunk too often, at Quiz Night where I just about fell flat on my face walking out because of bad chair/carpet configurations and trying too hard to make a good impression, and then the next night with Nikki, bawling my eyes out on her shoulder which was good and cleansing, except that I hate that it makes me cry when she said that people love me too much to want to hurt me, as an explanation of how I was left out of the loop of major Dramas within my circle, and i HATE how I couldn’t have been there for anyone because I didn’t know, and I hate that people see me as being that being that much of an emotional screwball, and I know that they don’t really, and I guess I’m totally glad I never had to choose sides, but still, ugh, I hate that people I love so much had so much bad shit going on.

<!– And I hate that she whimpers in her sleep –>and I hate that I can’t fix the world, and I hate that I’m going to have to take steps to fix the parts of me that I’m utterly terrified of.

On up notes, I love that I bought a TV. And I love that when I was planning on staying at home on saturday night by myself drinking champagne alone and feeling morose by myself (how dare my friends be on holiday in welly, or living in other cities for their jobs or stricken with glandular fever or at reggae festivals in Raglan?) Darren rang up and so I had dinner with him and his friends and Jonny, and then we went to see his new studio, and it was cool, although I think I had a drunken slurred argument with him about whether or not Audioslave are shit (yes). And what else is there? Visits from special friends to look forward to, although it totally sets back my whole Taking Affirmative Action plan with someone. These are two letters that I want to write and send but I won’t:

Dear Boy A, Don’t you think that it’s a little strange that I started emailing you out of the blue? No? Good. But you shouldn’t interupt other people and go all excitedly “Oh, I’ve been emailing Jo!” if what you mean is “Oh yeah sometimes I reply and then other times, like when I get a group invitation to hang out with her at her workplace which quite obviously was just a lame set up excuse to get me to get her to have coffee with me, I won’t reply”. Jesus boy. I have excellent taste in music, and I don’t think I was too bad a fuck, and I’ve tracked you down and apologised to you for being a spaz. Take a fucking hint!


Dear Boy B, Okay, so two months later you remembered me, and you act all smart and smirking on the phone, and you borrow pens off me like no one’s business. I’m willing to overlook the fact that you use too many exclamation marks in your text messages, so could you just like, ask me out for a drink or something? How much more obvious do I have to be? I called you SASSY! But still, very very exciting that you thought to text me more than two months after I last saw you, and now I’m just waiting for a decent party to invite you to.

Okay, so those letters are crap and not at all eloquent or proper explainy, but they’re what’s rolling around and around in my head. Oh hush, I’ll write whatever I damn well want to write. After all, I am self absorbed. And vulgar.

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