Leaving a trail of red & spunk & puke Part Two

When I said it would be all in one part, I was lying.

Saturday December 4th, continued
Finally I realised that I couldn’t watch Dawson’s forever, and that it was high time I get my shit together and make the journey to The’Tron, via dropping Katie off in town. Of course it started raining then. I’m still not used to driving a car that actually has functioning windscreen wipers (Inco’s scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaped and scratched) and of course it was that stupid dumb sometimes-sunny bullshit, so I was all confuzzled between glasses and sunglasses, aaaaaaaand (just to bitch a little more) I don’t particularly like the drive to Hamiltron at the best of times, and even less when I’m hungover, but I made it there in one piece. The motel I was staying at, The Airport Motor Inn, was (strangely enough) out at the airport, which is another half hour or so through Hamilton, but luckily it was signposted, cos there are few things I hate more than getting lost in The’Tron (except perhaps getting lost in West Auckland).

My motel room was very beige, as I had hoped. For some reason, I was thinking that the neutrality of it would inspire me to some great writing since I couldn’t have my Doom Generation motel room fantasy. I shattered the peace by bleeding red and purple all over their white towels and also probably got traces on the clean white sheets when I had a nap. I am a deviant. I’d stuck my toe into the outdoor swimming pool and decided against it because while I’m crazy I’m not actually insane. The shower was all needley and great massagey though, which made me happy. I drank many glasses of water trying to rehydrate and then it was time (well, well past time but I stopped to watch the Simpsons) to get my act together and get dressed for Chelsea’s after-wedding. Wedding-esque (not in the long and white and poofy, but in the ‘appropriate attire for a guest’ sense, of course) Dress? Check. Pearls? Check. Cardigan? Check. Pink Lipgloss? Check. Scoddy old silver birkis? Check. Then all I had to do was stand in the motel’s driveway for an eternity waiting for the taxi, but that’s okay cos while I was waiting I got a call from La, who had obviously arrived back from Australia and received the note I’d left at his house threatening to cry if I didn’t have a chance to hang out with him. Excellent. (Wait, again, what tense am I in? Oh who knows anymore.)

The taxi took me out into the countryside dotted with Lifestyle Block type places, and we both cunningly managed to work out that the house was the one with all the cars parked around it and balloons tied to the gate. Given that I hadn’t seen Chelsea since Uni, I was a little nervous. Luckily, I spotted Kyla, and she pointed me towards Elly, who told me to sit down at her table and then as soon as I did, she got up and left. That’s when I went to find a drink. I met all sorts of people who, once they established that I was Jo Hubris and not any of the other Jos, knew all sorts of things about me. Mostly they didn’t even tell me their real names, let alone any kind of web name, so I was left to stick out my hand and say “Hi, I’m Jo,” expecting that usual social convention would compell them to introduce themselves and not reply with a “I know” and keep talking. Pah, feeble social convention, they laugh at usual social convention! Anyways, I sought out Elly and kept her company while she stuffed weiners in herself. Since neither she nor Kyla nor Murray, who had just arrived at this point in my narrative, were drinking, I decided to take it upon myself to drink their share as well. The gorgeous big garden was set up with a series of canopies and pavilion type things, but it was starting to rain so eventually, after I left ridiculously garbled messages on a video for Chelsea (sorry!) we retired inside to watch Richard and Chelsea open their presents. I want to get married! Oh so many presents. Also like, as I did mention in my earlier drunken entry when I got home from the wedding, I’d kind of like to look beautiful and be in love, just like Chelsea. But I’ll settle for appliances. Then there was dancing! Lots and lots of it. In fact, Elly and I got thrown out at the end,because Richard and Chelsea had already left, and I guess Richard’s parents’d had enough of us – which is probably a valid complaint. I had after all been naughty and used the inside toilet, something that made me feel terribly wicked and probably made me have a guiltier face than I did at Dee’s wedding.
Earlier in the night I’d confided in Elly that I’ve been getting exceeding paranoid when I drink and would she please be able to make sure that I got home safely in case I got pissed, and so she was kind enough to drive me back to my motel, even though I wasn’t pissed to the badness point, just the ridiculous amounts of fun and also trying to teach boys how to waltz point, where I logged on and wrote this incredibly eloquent journal entry. Which, as it happens, cost me $10 for the phone call, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Sunday, December 5th
What I would like to know is which bastard decided that it would be a good fun thing for motels to have a 10am checkout. It certainly wasn’t me anyways. But there you have it, according to my receipt I managed to shower and pack in a severely hungover state and pay my $122 bill by 10.07am ($105 room, $6 minibar, $10 internet phonecall, 40cent taxi phonecall). Yay me! And then I rang Brenda and got directions to her house. She’d promised to cook me waffles but I was feeling so ill that I had to make a quick stop into Burger King on the way there. You know their “suck it and see” straws? Well they come with a fucking piece of paper telling you what colour your straw is before you even get the chance. What’s the point in that? None! There is no point. Plus the straws feel oooky and taste yucky. You suck, Burger King. What doesn’t suck is the coffee Brenda makes on her posh machine, and her home made cookies. We sat and drank coffee for an hour and a bit and gossiped. I think she’s fantastic. She didn’t make me waffles though, but that’s fine because I was full of BK and cookies and coffee anyways. My throat was hurting like a motherfucker, as it had started on Thursday what with me singing for eight hours on the drive up, and then continued with the singing and dancing on Friday night, and then the Saturday night, and the unhealthy lifestyling and the talking talking talking. So what did I do? I left Brenda to go meet up with Amy&Andee and talk talk talk some more.

The cafe we went to – Metropolis was cheaper than an Auck or Welly one, and big plates of pasta and yumness. Haha, look at the quality of my England Writering. We got caught up on our current lives (Amy’s doing a PhD! !!!) and settled in to bitch about our old lives as well. They finally told me about how a girl who I thought was my friend slept with the guy I fancied six and a half years ago. OMG! So that makes what, seven ‘friends’ who’ve done that now? You’ll excuse me if I’m a little cynical when it comes to friendships now and put an ever increasing value on the TWO YEAR RULE. I’m looking at you here Jessie, as my newest friend. And Heather too – make sure you keep your thieving mitts off Zach Braff, dammit! Anyways, the story of this girl and boy in question is that she’d been at my house in Mt Roskill when he’d invited us over to his place on the shore, and so she drove us over, and he offered us a smoke and I was like “oh no thanks” cos I didn’t want to embarrass myself by coughing, and then he said that I could crash there for the night so the girl wouldn’t have to go back to Mt Roskill to drop me off since she was from the shore anyways (I should have known better) but I said no to that too, because I was fucking dumb 17 year old, and so she drove me home and apparently went back and slept with him. Nice! I stopped talking to her a couple of weeks after that anyways since someone cut&pasted me the nasty shit she’d been saying about me on IRC anyways. Hahaha IRC. Funny. (Also hahaha if, Mr Boy in Question, you’re still lurking). But Amy, Andee I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME SOONER. Heh. Then we went and admired the RiffRaff statue (Hamiltron is so wack) and then I drove back to Auck for nailpainting and facials with Kateb. Hurray.

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