I hope you appreciate that right now I could be soaking in a bath scented with Frozen Lemon Custard flavoured bodywash from Sephora in Times Square and reading Everything about me is fake – and I’m perfect by Janice Dickinson and intead I am here updating my journal. Okay, partly I’m still here because I’m intrigued by the Watch This Space alt rock show on C4, but a good part of it is loyalty to my beloved readers. If you feel a similar type loyalty to me, may I encourage you to vote for me in the First Annual Wellingtonista Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence. Even if you don’t want to cast a vote for me (what, not even as the answer for “The best thing I’ve had in my mouth all year is…” ?), you should still go along and cast your vote for something. And then I will tell you where the award ceremony will be, and you can come along, and laugh at me falling over in my high heels.
And now that I have done my pimping, and now that Bjork has been reunited with her besuited (is that bespoke) cat lover on the television and I’m about to explode with cuteness, I can get on with telling you about what I have been up to lately. except uh oh, am I crying? Stupid awesome dancing with cat video. And speaking of cats, here’s some Power. This show rocks.
There was much much Cat Power on Lisa’s car stereo yesterday when we went out to Petone to look at the pier. Turns out it can’t really stand up to its peers (ha HA), but excursions are always nice. Especially if you’re the type of person who has been at home far too much lately watching two seasons’ worth of Arrested Development and trying to figure out if you are more in love with Gob or George-Michael. I am that type of person. Smoo, meanwhile, appears to be gay for Tobias. But I can respect that and not judge him. Much.
I joined a new gym, and learnt how to do their circuit. It’s all about 40 second bursts. The place is a labyrinth, the lockers are tiny and the staff are terrifying in their enthusiasm, but they have a massage bed, box fit classes and it’s two blocks from my work, so that’s a big hurrah. And holy fucking crap it feels so damn fucking good to be exercising again. So good that I must use a multitude of bad words, obviously.
I didn’t go today though because I didn’t want to have to lug my gym bag up to Craftwerk, so I suppose it’s just as well that we had a fire alarm and I had to run down fourteen stories in order not to die in the theoretical burning flames (as opposed to non-burning ones?). I was worried that it’d be crap cos the people I was supposed to go with canceled at the very last minute, but I found a couple of my fellow Wellingtonistas there – Hadyn who was there with his awesome John Campbell shirts, and Martha was of course pimping out her tshirts that are too Babylicious for you babe (Also: Lisa has some disturbing but AWESOME music in her car. Hence the Destiny references). I bought some artwork and some tiki earrings and then settled down to drink wine with Martha and whine. Then I dropped my artwork off at Karen’s house because I didn’t want to carry it any further and came home.
A couple of days ago I went into hotmail to retreive an ex cow’s email address because I don’t have MSN at work, and I found out that because I hadn’t been into hotmail in a while they reset my account. This means that if I hadn’t copied it out into 101 Stories I would have lost the very first love letter I ever wrote anyone, Tori Amos and Barbara Kruger quotes and all. It also means that I lost the whole folder of yours and my email corrospondence from back in the day, which made me seek out the printed version to make sure it actually existed because I am still waiting for a reply to an email from April. Which I’ll get in 2009. Maybe. But I reread the letters, and I started wondering if I’d made you up, would I have included as many apostrophe catastrophes on purpose, to make you more flawed and therefore more believeable, or would I have just been too anal to allow that? I know that if I’d made you up I’d never have chosen Posh Spice as your favourite spice girl. That’s just indecent now, although I suppose she wasn’t Skeletor then. But I didn’t make it up. I suppose it’s beside the point anyways, as now Watch This Space has finished, and I can go and have my bath now. Janice is waiting for me after all. But before I go, did Chris Cornell really have to do a James Bond theme?