My blog has been blocked at work. Too many sex words.
Arse.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Hungover
Hi
Hungover. Or still drunk? Thought I was gonna have to pull the last entry but its not so bad. Although I did say the Ross word, so ok, here’s his site .
I make myself tally up my drinks the next morning, usually when I am sitting on the crapper, but a lot more drinking memories have emerged since then.
At tupelo: 2 amstel, 1 shot of wild turkey rye
At enjoy: 2 beers plus another 2 in my pockets which I drank at show
At show: the above plus 1 beer
At good luck: 1 beer, 1 shot of fernet
At stephen’s: 1 shot of teacher’s
Total: 8 beers & 3 shots, plus 2 of Jaxx’s menthol cigarettes.
Shit.
I tried to think of a good excuse for a sickie this morning, but couldn’t come up with anything. Plus I have a couple of meetings today which I can’t really cancel. They are going to be soooo much more fun with a hangover.
Last night I went to tupelo and drank a beer slowly while I read the film festival guide. It was great. It’s the 3rd year I’ve sat at the bar at tupelo and read the film festival guide. There was a very cute boy sitting next to me. He started talking to me. His name’s Vinnie. I’ve met him before, cos I remembered the name. I told him about Vinnie’s tampon case. I think he was a little shocked. Seemed like a nice boy though. And very cute. Very very cute.
***
Man, its later now and my head just won’t stop hurting. Our landlord has turned into a demon from hell one week before I move out. Me and Mellypants are going to the free lawyer at 5.30. I’m going to tenancy services tomorrow. I want to yell at her but will wait til I am gone. Mellypants feels sad. Elisa’s so mad she wants to burn the house down. Landlord is a b-i-t-c-h.
Last night at tupelo while I was talking to the hot boy Jaxx turns up in dire need of a drink. She had a martini and got a bit plastered and cute boy was well on his way as well so I had to have a shot to keep them company in their drunkness. Tupelo was out of fernet, which is an absolute crime. They offered me lots of other stuff but I ended up with the rye whiskey I like.
Marnie was asking me lots of hard questions last night. “Why are you at design school?” and such. I told her why but I don’t think she really got it. I think she has an ideal that one must sacrifice all for art. I used to believe that when I was young, but now I’m all grown up and I know that one must look after oneself because no one else is going to do it. Plus surviving and being and doing what you gotta do is what its all about. Art is something that inspires me to look after myself, but should never take the place of actually looking after myself. Chop wood, carry water. Chop wood, carry water.
I was young and idealistic once and genuinely believed that life was about more than survival. But since then I’ve had to survive too many times for it to be about anything else.
This sounds hard and dreary but its not. It’s more about simplicity. First, one must survive, then one must enjoy. I’m not very articulate when I am hungover. I better leave it at that cos its not coming out right.
Went for a drink with Paul after show. He came on to me a couple of times I guess, but I didn’t react, so he left it. When we said goodbye he said “Have a nice orgasm.” Guys say weird shit sometimes. Like the night I met Arlo, when he left he said “Another time, but not tonight” like we’d been talking about sleeping together. Which we hadn’t. At all. We talked about sex, but not with each other. From what he said I think he is very, very, very bad in bed. Later dude, so not gonna sleep with you. Won’t sleep with Paul either, cos I don’t like his art.
Me and Jaxx had a conversation about whether we should have sex. We were working together at the time and decided it wasn’t a good idea cos we’d just have sex in the toilets all the time.
Sore head.
Stephen’s still reading my blog. He says he likes the writing. That’s nice.
Later.
Music du jour:
David Bowie – Let’s Dance
Hungover. Or still drunk? Thought I was gonna have to pull the last entry but its not so bad. Although I did say the Ross word, so ok, here’s his site .
I make myself tally up my drinks the next morning, usually when I am sitting on the crapper, but a lot more drinking memories have emerged since then.
At tupelo: 2 amstel, 1 shot of wild turkey rye
At enjoy: 2 beers plus another 2 in my pockets which I drank at show
At show: the above plus 1 beer
At good luck: 1 beer, 1 shot of fernet
At stephen’s: 1 shot of teacher’s
Total: 8 beers & 3 shots, plus 2 of Jaxx’s menthol cigarettes.
Shit.
I tried to think of a good excuse for a sickie this morning, but couldn’t come up with anything. Plus I have a couple of meetings today which I can’t really cancel. They are going to be soooo much more fun with a hangover.
Last night I went to tupelo and drank a beer slowly while I read the film festival guide. It was great. It’s the 3rd year I’ve sat at the bar at tupelo and read the film festival guide. There was a very cute boy sitting next to me. He started talking to me. His name’s Vinnie. I’ve met him before, cos I remembered the name. I told him about Vinnie’s tampon case. I think he was a little shocked. Seemed like a nice boy though. And very cute. Very very cute.
***
Man, its later now and my head just won’t stop hurting. Our landlord has turned into a demon from hell one week before I move out. Me and Mellypants are going to the free lawyer at 5.30. I’m going to tenancy services tomorrow. I want to yell at her but will wait til I am gone. Mellypants feels sad. Elisa’s so mad she wants to burn the house down. Landlord is a b-i-t-c-h.
Last night at tupelo while I was talking to the hot boy Jaxx turns up in dire need of a drink. She had a martini and got a bit plastered and cute boy was well on his way as well so I had to have a shot to keep them company in their drunkness. Tupelo was out of fernet, which is an absolute crime. They offered me lots of other stuff but I ended up with the rye whiskey I like.
Marnie was asking me lots of hard questions last night. “Why are you at design school?” and such. I told her why but I don’t think she really got it. I think she has an ideal that one must sacrifice all for art. I used to believe that when I was young, but now I’m all grown up and I know that one must look after oneself because no one else is going to do it. Plus surviving and being and doing what you gotta do is what its all about. Art is something that inspires me to look after myself, but should never take the place of actually looking after myself. Chop wood, carry water. Chop wood, carry water.
I was young and idealistic once and genuinely believed that life was about more than survival. But since then I’ve had to survive too many times for it to be about anything else.
This sounds hard and dreary but its not. It’s more about simplicity. First, one must survive, then one must enjoy. I’m not very articulate when I am hungover. I better leave it at that cos its not coming out right.
Went for a drink with Paul after show. He came on to me a couple of times I guess, but I didn’t react, so he left it. When we said goodbye he said “Have a nice orgasm.” Guys say weird shit sometimes. Like the night I met Arlo, when he left he said “Another time, but not tonight” like we’d been talking about sleeping together. Which we hadn’t. At all. We talked about sex, but not with each other. From what he said I think he is very, very, very bad in bed. Later dude, so not gonna sleep with you. Won’t sleep with Paul either, cos I don’t like his art.
Me and Jaxx had a conversation about whether we should have sex. We were working together at the time and decided it wasn’t a good idea cos we’d just have sex in the toilets all the time.
Sore head.
Stephen’s still reading my blog. He says he likes the writing. That’s nice.
Later.
Music du jour:
David Bowie – Let’s Dance
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
drunk
hi i'm at stephen's an he is so giving me shit. he hates art. he is giving me shit about blogging. he is giving me shit about ross (i told you). and he's trying to drink my art. mutherfucker, what does he know. i'm pissed and 5th form typing isnt haelping. i went to bed with flynn john who wanted to be in a band called flynn john and the flynn johns and we got pissed in victoria park and hitch hiked home (in auckland for god sake) and on his wall he had spraypainted "the jam" like on the record cover that stephen is holding up and i was in his bed in my mesh top with my nipples poking through and i thought what the fuck am i doing here when i woke up and bolted. shit it is hard to type when you are pissed and stephen is talking shit.
Balance
Hi
Watched a documentary last night about human hearing and balance.
· Music can stimulate the same pleasure centres of the brain as food or sex.
· We equate rhythm with the rhythm of our heart beat which is why fast music gets us excited and slow music can make us relaxed or depressed.
· We like really loud music cos when its really loud it shakes the bit in our ear that tells us we are moving, so we feel exhilarated. This is at about 90 decibels.
· Our balance centre is in our inner ear because hearing is actually an off-shoot of this sense. Hearing was the last sense to develop. After we climbed outta the water we needed to hear things via air for survival.
· The bit that I found most interesting: in our inner ear we have these three loopy things which allow us to experience three dimensions. What if we had four? Could we experience four dimensions? And what about beings that exist in four or five or more dimensions? Do they have four or five of these loopy things? This questions assumes that they have a similar biology to us, which I’ve never contemplated before. I’d always imaged beings of four or five dimensions to be more ethereal. But what about that parallel world where humans have four loopy bits and yet they are just as human as us with crap and shame and regret and joy and maybe even donuts?
Speaking of shame, I was reading PostSecret yesterday. Secrets are all about shame aren’t they? Something that you are too ashamed to mention or even to give a name to. I don’t think I have any secrets. That is I think that every “secret” I have, everything that I’m not gonna tell everyone, I have told at least one person. But then, I have been told that I am more honest than most. I don’t really think that’s true. Plus I am heavily into confessional art. But that’s a rant for another time.
Just had lunch with Jaxx. Went birthday shopping at dvice. She got me a clit clip. I was also checking out a very nice purple butterfly strap on vibe. Maybe is should splash out $70??
The other day I was telling her about the dumb boy and she said “Next time I see him I’ll grind his glasses into the ground with my stiletto and say ‘That’s for Ms Brown motherfucker. Yeah!’”
There were some very cute boys at the café so I took a seat next to them. Very very cute, although kinda young and studying law (yawn!). I told Jaxx about my dream last night when I spilt Barnaby’s drink. He was looking very hot in dream-land I must say, with his beard and silver glasses. Although he was drinking a screwdriver, which is kinda odd for a boy. Or a straight boy, at least.
Jeez, I just tried to link to the Black Seeds website and its been blocked. I work for a big corporation and they are always blocking sites, which is totally fair enough, it just makes me want my own computer more and more and more. I wonder if they’ll block this site? I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Martina Topley-Bird – Quixotic
Courtney Love – America’s Sweetheart
Watched a documentary last night about human hearing and balance.
· Music can stimulate the same pleasure centres of the brain as food or sex.
· We equate rhythm with the rhythm of our heart beat which is why fast music gets us excited and slow music can make us relaxed or depressed.
· We like really loud music cos when its really loud it shakes the bit in our ear that tells us we are moving, so we feel exhilarated. This is at about 90 decibels.
· Our balance centre is in our inner ear because hearing is actually an off-shoot of this sense. Hearing was the last sense to develop. After we climbed outta the water we needed to hear things via air for survival.
· The bit that I found most interesting: in our inner ear we have these three loopy things which allow us to experience three dimensions. What if we had four? Could we experience four dimensions? And what about beings that exist in four or five or more dimensions? Do they have four or five of these loopy things? This questions assumes that they have a similar biology to us, which I’ve never contemplated before. I’d always imaged beings of four or five dimensions to be more ethereal. But what about that parallel world where humans have four loopy bits and yet they are just as human as us with crap and shame and regret and joy and maybe even donuts?
Speaking of shame, I was reading PostSecret yesterday. Secrets are all about shame aren’t they? Something that you are too ashamed to mention or even to give a name to. I don’t think I have any secrets. That is I think that every “secret” I have, everything that I’m not gonna tell everyone, I have told at least one person. But then, I have been told that I am more honest than most. I don’t really think that’s true. Plus I am heavily into confessional art. But that’s a rant for another time.
Just had lunch with Jaxx. Went birthday shopping at dvice. She got me a clit clip. I was also checking out a very nice purple butterfly strap on vibe. Maybe is should splash out $70??
The other day I was telling her about the dumb boy and she said “Next time I see him I’ll grind his glasses into the ground with my stiletto and say ‘That’s for Ms Brown motherfucker. Yeah!’”
There were some very cute boys at the café so I took a seat next to them. Very very cute, although kinda young and studying law (yawn!). I told Jaxx about my dream last night when I spilt Barnaby’s drink. He was looking very hot in dream-land I must say, with his beard and silver glasses. Although he was drinking a screwdriver, which is kinda odd for a boy. Or a straight boy, at least.
Jeez, I just tried to link to the Black Seeds website and its been blocked. I work for a big corporation and they are always blocking sites, which is totally fair enough, it just makes me want my own computer more and more and more. I wonder if they’ll block this site? I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Martina Topley-Bird – Quixotic
Courtney Love – America’s Sweetheart
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Love and the 80's
Hi
Walking to work this morning I saw this girl with little black flats, neon pink tights, black knee-length skirt, bright green shirt, white bomber jacket, gino berrelli bag, chopped short hair and big-ass sony headphones. It sounds like she’s hot, but she wasn’t. She had potential, but was still young and didn’t have her groove on yet.
My question is: I get that the youth of today is into the 80’s, and it’s regurgitated by the mainstream, but sometimes they get it right. I mean so right. How do they know about gino berrelli bags? Is it the luck of op-shopping, or do they actually know from research, because they actually are interested?
Anyway, I still haven’t seen the aqua top with mesh and canvas bits and steel eyelet holes that I used to wear. I hated it. I hated most of my clothes in the 80’s, all that bat-wing bullshit. Except my black mesh top, that was hot. But I was too young and hadn’t got my groove on yet.
I’m a bit stressed at the moment. I know when I am stressed because I vomit in the morning. Puked nearly every morning for a week, so I’m admitting it – I’m stressed. I also puke when I am in love, but I know I’m not in love so it must be stress.
So I have these worries – what if this and what if that and then this would mean that and blah, blah, blah – but really, I just have to choose something different, something better. So that’s what I’m doing. But it’s hard you know? I feel like there’s this huge hole in my chest where my heart should be. And it aches. I’m not talking about the usual loneliness/longing ache that I have. This is different. This feels like an almost physical ache that wakes me up in the middle of the night. Its sore. I had to keep rubbing my chest yesterday, although my tits got in the way. I’ve been doing some healings, trying to fill it up with love, but at the moment it feels like a bottomless pit.
When I lived at Disco Mountain Katie hugged me on the landing. We stood, heart to heart with my breath in her hair. She said “And Ms Brown, who needs the most love of all.”
When we were breaking up Philly said to me: “There’s nothing wrong with what you want.” “What do you mean?” “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved.”
I have issues, obviously, which I need to sort out or I’ll never fall in love and make babies and be a housewife. But I do have a backup plan – I’ll be one of those mad old spinsters with 9 cats that makes art and stares at things that aren’t there. I’d prefer option A though, just cos it comes with regular sex. Ok, ok, and the love.
Last night I did not pack or visit Matt. I worked a little late, walked home, practised savasana, made dinner, watched Futurama, had a nap with my cat, worried, read and slept.
I slept wedged between my cat and a couple of pillows. It was kinda nice, like sleeping with someone. Other than my cat that is.
My flatmates are moving on, buying their own telly and stuff. It makes me feel lonely. Elisa’s boyfriend broke his leg playing soccer so she had to get out of bed and go to hospital. I can’t imagine how you would break your leg playing soccer. I guess I’ll find out tonight.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Throwing Muses – The Real Ramona: a classic.
Sonic Youth – Washing Machine: Honey, here’s a quarter. Go put it in a washing machine.
Walking to work this morning I saw this girl with little black flats, neon pink tights, black knee-length skirt, bright green shirt, white bomber jacket, gino berrelli bag, chopped short hair and big-ass sony headphones. It sounds like she’s hot, but she wasn’t. She had potential, but was still young and didn’t have her groove on yet.
My question is: I get that the youth of today is into the 80’s, and it’s regurgitated by the mainstream, but sometimes they get it right. I mean so right. How do they know about gino berrelli bags? Is it the luck of op-shopping, or do they actually know from research, because they actually are interested?
Anyway, I still haven’t seen the aqua top with mesh and canvas bits and steel eyelet holes that I used to wear. I hated it. I hated most of my clothes in the 80’s, all that bat-wing bullshit. Except my black mesh top, that was hot. But I was too young and hadn’t got my groove on yet.
I’m a bit stressed at the moment. I know when I am stressed because I vomit in the morning. Puked nearly every morning for a week, so I’m admitting it – I’m stressed. I also puke when I am in love, but I know I’m not in love so it must be stress.
So I have these worries – what if this and what if that and then this would mean that and blah, blah, blah – but really, I just have to choose something different, something better. So that’s what I’m doing. But it’s hard you know? I feel like there’s this huge hole in my chest where my heart should be. And it aches. I’m not talking about the usual loneliness/longing ache that I have. This is different. This feels like an almost physical ache that wakes me up in the middle of the night. Its sore. I had to keep rubbing my chest yesterday, although my tits got in the way. I’ve been doing some healings, trying to fill it up with love, but at the moment it feels like a bottomless pit.
When I lived at Disco Mountain Katie hugged me on the landing. We stood, heart to heart with my breath in her hair. She said “And Ms Brown, who needs the most love of all.”
When we were breaking up Philly said to me: “There’s nothing wrong with what you want.” “What do you mean?” “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved.”
I have issues, obviously, which I need to sort out or I’ll never fall in love and make babies and be a housewife. But I do have a backup plan – I’ll be one of those mad old spinsters with 9 cats that makes art and stares at things that aren’t there. I’d prefer option A though, just cos it comes with regular sex. Ok, ok, and the love.
Last night I did not pack or visit Matt. I worked a little late, walked home, practised savasana, made dinner, watched Futurama, had a nap with my cat, worried, read and slept.
I slept wedged between my cat and a couple of pillows. It was kinda nice, like sleeping with someone. Other than my cat that is.
My flatmates are moving on, buying their own telly and stuff. It makes me feel lonely. Elisa’s boyfriend broke his leg playing soccer so she had to get out of bed and go to hospital. I can’t imagine how you would break your leg playing soccer. I guess I’ll find out tonight.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Throwing Muses – The Real Ramona: a classic.
Sonic Youth – Washing Machine: Honey, here’s a quarter. Go put it in a washing machine.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Boys, Lists, Music
Hi
So, my friend Stephen has found my site already. Godammit, godammit, godammit. It’s my own silly fault though really. I’m allowed to link to his site, but he’s not allowed to link to mine. He promised on all that he holds good and holy that he would not read another word of my blog. He didn’t really. He said: I don’t read blogs. My translation from boy-language is: I won’t read your blog, mostly cos I’ll find it boring as hell. Boys are real understated. That’s what I like about them. Girls are all drama-drama. It gets tiring. Especially when you are one, sheesh.
I’ve been stressing today. I had to go and have a word with myself. (Have a word with yourself Pat!)
I feel like I’ve got a million things to do and its stunning me like a rabbit in the headlights. A list is called for I believe. I love lists. It’s a new love affair, but one that I am finding very rewarding.
Number one on my list is: pack! Cos I haven’t started yet. I’ve done some superficial packing, but that doesn’t really count. So I feel like I have shitloads to do, just cos I have shitloads of packing to do.
So it’s a short list. Good.
The other night when I was drunk I called Matt on the way home. He said he was working but he talks a lot so we chatted away until I got home and sat on my doorstep and chatted some more. He said, “Its like I’ve walked you home.” Which is sweet. He’s quite a sweetie.
As usual I was ranting about how boys suck and I never get any. I must stop doing that. It’s very boring. Plus, it doesn’t help at all. But I’ll let myself off as I’d just seen the boy who ignored me and was therefore feeling frustrated, confused, rejected, disappointed, angry, sick of the bullshit, and horny.
Hmmm. Dunno why I’m attracted to him. It’s real weird. I never found him attractive at all until one night when I just couldn’t stop looking at him. I left the pub we were drinking at to go meet a friend and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. So I texted him: Dunno why but I really wanna sleep with you tonight. He was there in 10 minutes flat. We tossed a coin to decide whose house to stay at.
That’s enough of that story. Stephen might be reading and he knows him and he’ll get all grossed out and give me shit about it the next time I see him. Mind you, he gives me shit all the time so I guess it doesn’t really matter.
Just spoke to Matt and asked if he wanted me to link to him on the web. He said “Only if you don’t say any weird stuff about me.” Do you reckon what I said was too weird? It’s hard to find a good link for Matt. There’s this but its old shit from 2001. And there’s this Cortina site but its unoffical and Matt doesn’t want anyone emailing him.
He invited me over for a “coffee” tonight – it doesn't mean what you probably think it does. I keep meaning to visit him but I never do. I must pack tonight.
Tired now.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Real Gone – Tom Waits : Tom waits for no one.
America’s Sweetheart – Courtney Love : I know, I know, everyone hates this record. Everyone hates it and no ones even heard it, they just know its crap already. And yes, I did buy it from the Warewhare for $5.99 or something, and when I first heard this album I thought it was all predictable guitar with predictable lyrics and predictable one chord endings. Then I noticed the Fleetwood Mac-iness of it. Then it grew on me. And grew.
It has gorgeous prettiness as lovely as “Best Sunday Dress” or “Malibu”. And some rockin pieces as raw as “Live Through This” or “She Walks Over Me”. I love this album. To me the song that got dissed as sounding like Courtney getting an arse wax, “Life Despite God”, is glorious in its Patti Smith-ness and probably my favourite.
And really, how great is it to start an album with a song that asks “Did you miss me?”. Hell yeah.
So, my friend Stephen has found my site already. Godammit, godammit, godammit. It’s my own silly fault though really. I’m allowed to link to his site, but he’s not allowed to link to mine. He promised on all that he holds good and holy that he would not read another word of my blog. He didn’t really. He said: I don’t read blogs. My translation from boy-language is: I won’t read your blog, mostly cos I’ll find it boring as hell. Boys are real understated. That’s what I like about them. Girls are all drama-drama. It gets tiring. Especially when you are one, sheesh.
I’ve been stressing today. I had to go and have a word with myself. (Have a word with yourself Pat!)
I feel like I’ve got a million things to do and its stunning me like a rabbit in the headlights. A list is called for I believe. I love lists. It’s a new love affair, but one that I am finding very rewarding.
Number one on my list is: pack! Cos I haven’t started yet. I’ve done some superficial packing, but that doesn’t really count. So I feel like I have shitloads to do, just cos I have shitloads of packing to do.
So it’s a short list. Good.
The other night when I was drunk I called Matt on the way home. He said he was working but he talks a lot so we chatted away until I got home and sat on my doorstep and chatted some more. He said, “Its like I’ve walked you home.” Which is sweet. He’s quite a sweetie.
As usual I was ranting about how boys suck and I never get any. I must stop doing that. It’s very boring. Plus, it doesn’t help at all. But I’ll let myself off as I’d just seen the boy who ignored me and was therefore feeling frustrated, confused, rejected, disappointed, angry, sick of the bullshit, and horny.
Hmmm. Dunno why I’m attracted to him. It’s real weird. I never found him attractive at all until one night when I just couldn’t stop looking at him. I left the pub we were drinking at to go meet a friend and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. So I texted him: Dunno why but I really wanna sleep with you tonight. He was there in 10 minutes flat. We tossed a coin to decide whose house to stay at.
That’s enough of that story. Stephen might be reading and he knows him and he’ll get all grossed out and give me shit about it the next time I see him. Mind you, he gives me shit all the time so I guess it doesn’t really matter.
Just spoke to Matt and asked if he wanted me to link to him on the web. He said “Only if you don’t say any weird stuff about me.” Do you reckon what I said was too weird? It’s hard to find a good link for Matt. There’s this but its old shit from 2001. And there’s this Cortina site but its unoffical and Matt doesn’t want anyone emailing him.
He invited me over for a “coffee” tonight – it doesn't mean what you probably think it does. I keep meaning to visit him but I never do. I must pack tonight.
Tired now.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Real Gone – Tom Waits : Tom waits for no one.
America’s Sweetheart – Courtney Love : I know, I know, everyone hates this record. Everyone hates it and no ones even heard it, they just know its crap already. And yes, I did buy it from the Warewhare for $5.99 or something, and when I first heard this album I thought it was all predictable guitar with predictable lyrics and predictable one chord endings. Then I noticed the Fleetwood Mac-iness of it. Then it grew on me. And grew.
It has gorgeous prettiness as lovely as “Best Sunday Dress” or “Malibu”. And some rockin pieces as raw as “Live Through This” or “She Walks Over Me”. I love this album. To me the song that got dissed as sounding like Courtney getting an arse wax, “Life Despite God”, is glorious in its Patti Smith-ness and probably my favourite.
And really, how great is it to start an album with a song that asks “Did you miss me?”. Hell yeah.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
The Independence List
As previously mentioned
, here is my independence list:
What do I need to be independent?
1. Always be rock n roll
2. Achieve financial independence
3. Don’t go home for Christmas
4. Find my real home
5. Meditate daily
6. Masterbate
7. Be free, hippy!
8. Remember, you can do anything in this world
, here is my independence list:
What do I need to be independent?
1. Always be rock n roll
2. Achieve financial independence
3. Don’t go home for Christmas
4. Find my real home
5. Meditate daily
6. Masterbate
7. Be free, hippy!
8. Remember, you can do anything in this world
Boys are Crap
Hi.
Its Sunday morning and I am at work. There is a good reason. But before I get started I just had to write as I’ve been thinking about my blog a lot. I guess that’s good.
After drinking beer at work on Friday, I drank some more at Tupelo and then some more at Bodega. I ended up having a crappy night and was so hungover yesterday that I got a bit pissed off with myself for wasting my time and energy.
I had a crappy night mostly because the last guy I slept with ignored me. He said hello but that was it. Now I could make up a thousand theories on why he acted like that, and one of them might even be true, but dammit – its rude. Especially seeing as we’ve known each other for a couple of years now and he’s sposed to be some kind of friend or something.
Anyhow, that’s his problem not mine. My problem is that I waste time and energy on people, especially boys, like this. I have to learn to just walk away.
Yesterday I was sposed to get some more boxes for packing, go to work, visit Matt and go to Hilly’s farewell party. Instead I was hungover and slept all day, got woken up by Hil, drove to the Hutt, looked around the house discussing stuff – like water tobies and gas heating – tried to be social, drove home, ate KFC, and went to bed at 5.30.
My new computer which I am buying off Hil and Nun when they leave wasn’t working yesterday. I am so looking forward to having a computer of my own, so I hope they fix it this week – they leave on Sunday.
I’m going to do my work now.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Juvenilia – the Verlaines
Its Sunday morning and I am at work. There is a good reason. But before I get started I just had to write as I’ve been thinking about my blog a lot. I guess that’s good.
After drinking beer at work on Friday, I drank some more at Tupelo and then some more at Bodega. I ended up having a crappy night and was so hungover yesterday that I got a bit pissed off with myself for wasting my time and energy.
I had a crappy night mostly because the last guy I slept with ignored me. He said hello but that was it. Now I could make up a thousand theories on why he acted like that, and one of them might even be true, but dammit – its rude. Especially seeing as we’ve known each other for a couple of years now and he’s sposed to be some kind of friend or something.
Anyhow, that’s his problem not mine. My problem is that I waste time and energy on people, especially boys, like this. I have to learn to just walk away.
Yesterday I was sposed to get some more boxes for packing, go to work, visit Matt and go to Hilly’s farewell party. Instead I was hungover and slept all day, got woken up by Hil, drove to the Hutt, looked around the house discussing stuff – like water tobies and gas heating – tried to be social, drove home, ate KFC, and went to bed at 5.30.
My new computer which I am buying off Hil and Nun when they leave wasn’t working yesterday. I am so looking forward to having a computer of my own, so I hope they fix it this week – they leave on Sunday.
I’m going to do my work now.
Laters.
Music du jour:
Juvenilia – the Verlaines
Friday, July 08, 2005
Beer and Politics
London got blown up today (or last night?). None of my friends were hurt. Phew! I could talk about the politics of the thing, but I don’t like talking about politics. Except occasionally, over beer.
Got any beer?
Didn’t think so.
My friend kicked out his girlfriend the other night. There was a bit of a build up, thus:
She took some space by staying a friend’s place, albeit on and off, for a week.
Me – Aren’t you offended?
Him – Not really. She’ll soon learn that I don’t care if she needs to take some space from me now and then.
Then she told him that she’d been sleeping with someone else.
Me – fuck that’s full on.
Him – not really. I don’t really mind.
Me – What?
Him – I’m not a jealous person.
Me – Really? I’m a very jealous person. I get jealous sooo easily.
Him – Yeah, I’ve noticed that about you.
Then the other night I saw him at the bus stop as I was walking home and he told me he’d kicked her out. She said she wanted to go back home by herself. And she didn’t wanna talk about it. So that’s the straw then I guess.
Relationships are weird things. But then people are strange, so one or more strange things reacting to each other was never gonna be logical.
I’m single by the way. You have no idea how single I am.
So, I’m moving house soon. My oldest friend is going back to London so I am housesitting her house for 1, 2 maybe even 4 years. No rent! How jammy is that? But it’s in the Hutt. That’s ok, it’s a great house so it’s worth the commute.
Anyhoo, it’s making me get very restless in my little cottage with the paper-thin walls and the flatmate who is annoying the shit out of me. I have been having fantasies of all the loud things I can do when I move.
One of those fantasies has been making music again. Although I doubt that I will, cos I never do. I read this great quote from Kathleen Hanna last week. It was something about male hysteria being a wall between her and the music she wanted to make and protools being the instrument of liberation from that. Or something. I tried to find it on Google, but couldn’t.
So I have this fantasy that in my new empty house that has neighbours far enough away that I can be noisy, I’ll learn how to use protools on my new computer, or maybe my old 4-track and I’ll make some music. I’m thinking of borrowing someone’s guitar (cos I sold mine) and bass (cos I sold mine) and keyboards and drum machine but the main thing I am thinking about, cos it’s the main thing I always think about, is singing. Will I find my voice? I found it once for a little while a long time ago, but I’ve lost it since.
And because I’ve recently learned how to DO A PROJECT UNTIL ITS COMPLETED I might even burn some cds and send them to Radio Active and, because this is a fantasy, become a rock star and find some nice boy who’ll let me sit on his face whenever I feel like it.
The things we do to get laid, eh? Or, maybe it’s just me. I’m desperate. I can say that now, thanks to the Distillers' song. And soon I’ll be desperate in the suburbs. Which I think should be the title of my e.p. “Desperate in the Suburbs” by Ms Brown.
But, back in reality I have to find some boxes and pack up all my stuff, as well as coming in to work this weekend. Crap.
My rock star du jour, the one I fantasise about being at the moment, is: Wynne Greenwood. Even made a bit of art about it. But you can’t see it. Not unless you ask real nice. And even then you’ll have to wait til I move and get my new computer.
Beer is waiting for me, but hopefully not talk of politics, so I’m off.
Laters.
P.S. Please join me in sending out big psychic healing hugs for all those affected by bombs – all bombs, not just the four in London yesterday. Ta.
Got any beer?
Didn’t think so.
My friend kicked out his girlfriend the other night. There was a bit of a build up, thus:
She took some space by staying a friend’s place, albeit on and off, for a week.
Me – Aren’t you offended?
Him – Not really. She’ll soon learn that I don’t care if she needs to take some space from me now and then.
Then she told him that she’d been sleeping with someone else.
Me – fuck that’s full on.
Him – not really. I don’t really mind.
Me – What?
Him – I’m not a jealous person.
Me – Really? I’m a very jealous person. I get jealous sooo easily.
Him – Yeah, I’ve noticed that about you.
Then the other night I saw him at the bus stop as I was walking home and he told me he’d kicked her out. She said she wanted to go back home by herself. And she didn’t wanna talk about it. So that’s the straw then I guess.
Relationships are weird things. But then people are strange, so one or more strange things reacting to each other was never gonna be logical.
I’m single by the way. You have no idea how single I am.
So, I’m moving house soon. My oldest friend is going back to London so I am housesitting her house for 1, 2 maybe even 4 years. No rent! How jammy is that? But it’s in the Hutt. That’s ok, it’s a great house so it’s worth the commute.
Anyhoo, it’s making me get very restless in my little cottage with the paper-thin walls and the flatmate who is annoying the shit out of me. I have been having fantasies of all the loud things I can do when I move.
One of those fantasies has been making music again. Although I doubt that I will, cos I never do. I read this great quote from Kathleen Hanna last week. It was something about male hysteria being a wall between her and the music she wanted to make and protools being the instrument of liberation from that. Or something. I tried to find it on Google, but couldn’t.
So I have this fantasy that in my new empty house that has neighbours far enough away that I can be noisy, I’ll learn how to use protools on my new computer, or maybe my old 4-track and I’ll make some music. I’m thinking of borrowing someone’s guitar (cos I sold mine) and bass (cos I sold mine) and keyboards and drum machine but the main thing I am thinking about, cos it’s the main thing I always think about, is singing. Will I find my voice? I found it once for a little while a long time ago, but I’ve lost it since.
And because I’ve recently learned how to DO A PROJECT UNTIL ITS COMPLETED I might even burn some cds and send them to Radio Active and, because this is a fantasy, become a rock star and find some nice boy who’ll let me sit on his face whenever I feel like it.
The things we do to get laid, eh? Or, maybe it’s just me. I’m desperate. I can say that now, thanks to the Distillers' song. And soon I’ll be desperate in the suburbs. Which I think should be the title of my e.p. “Desperate in the Suburbs” by Ms Brown.
But, back in reality I have to find some boxes and pack up all my stuff, as well as coming in to work this weekend. Crap.
My rock star du jour, the one I fantasise about being at the moment, is: Wynne Greenwood. Even made a bit of art about it. But you can’t see it. Not unless you ask real nice. And even then you’ll have to wait til I move and get my new computer.
Beer is waiting for me, but hopefully not talk of politics, so I’m off.
Laters.
P.S. Please join me in sending out big psychic healing hugs for all those affected by bombs – all bombs, not just the four in London yesterday. Ta.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Day #1
Hi
I’ve been meaning to start an online diary for a while. My last attempt was at Diaryland and it was a complete failure.
I love journals. I love keeping them and reading them. Big fan of Anais Nin. And huge fan of Nikol Lohr.
Plus, there’s another journally thing I do, but I’ll tell ya later.
So, here I am procrastinating at work - which is kinda bad except that it is after hours and I’m sposed to be finishing off something with a deadline of tomorrow – actually, that’s worse. Anyhoo, here I am and wondering who I am talking to, who my audience is. Anne Frank had Kitty and she is pretty rad as far as audiences go, but I like stuff I make with no audience in mind. I just make stuff to see how it’ll turn out. So I guess that’s what I’ll do here.
At lunch time today I walked downtown and opened up a joint bank account with Hilly. They did a credit check on me and I am as pure as the driven snow. Luverly. On the way back I saw Elisa and we discovered that you can call someone a spoon in English as well as Italian. Crocodile tears is another saying in both languages. Inneresting.
I haven’t really had anything on my mind today. No stress. No obsessions. But I also haven’t been fully engaged in the moment. Feeling a little vague and unable to focus on anything in particular.
Got wasted with Michaela the other night and we lay on my bed and made a list. It was Independence Day so we made a list called “What I need to be independent”. Number 1 was: Always be rock n’ roll. Number 2 was: Achieve financial independence. Can’t remember the rest.
Michaela is always rock n’ roll, even when she isn’t. But I decided I needed to re-word it. I was thinking “I love every moment of my life”, or variations of such depending on my levels of bravery, love, etc. I’ve been saying this a bit lately (internally) and its been working quite a treat. I alternate it with “I enjoy every moment of my life” but love is better than enjoy for the bits that aren’t enjoyable, cos they are still loveable. Anyhoo, it helps me stay in the moment. And it helps me feel good. So two ticks! And a gold star.
I am a bit of a new-age-hippy-witch-Taoist-whatever, so you’ll just have to deal with it. You can get it or not, whatever.
I could give you some juicy sex details, but its been a while. Last time I had sex it was me remembering having sex while I had a wank. But sex is one of my favourite things, so I’m sure to share later on. If I get lucky that is.
Laters.
I’ve been meaning to start an online diary for a while. My last attempt was at Diaryland and it was a complete failure.
I love journals. I love keeping them and reading them. Big fan of Anais Nin. And huge fan of Nikol Lohr.
Plus, there’s another journally thing I do, but I’ll tell ya later.
So, here I am procrastinating at work - which is kinda bad except that it is after hours and I’m sposed to be finishing off something with a deadline of tomorrow – actually, that’s worse. Anyhoo, here I am and wondering who I am talking to, who my audience is. Anne Frank had Kitty and she is pretty rad as far as audiences go, but I like stuff I make with no audience in mind. I just make stuff to see how it’ll turn out. So I guess that’s what I’ll do here.
At lunch time today I walked downtown and opened up a joint bank account with Hilly. They did a credit check on me and I am as pure as the driven snow. Luverly. On the way back I saw Elisa and we discovered that you can call someone a spoon in English as well as Italian. Crocodile tears is another saying in both languages. Inneresting.
I haven’t really had anything on my mind today. No stress. No obsessions. But I also haven’t been fully engaged in the moment. Feeling a little vague and unable to focus on anything in particular.
Got wasted with Michaela the other night and we lay on my bed and made a list. It was Independence Day so we made a list called “What I need to be independent”. Number 1 was: Always be rock n’ roll. Number 2 was: Achieve financial independence. Can’t remember the rest.
Michaela is always rock n’ roll, even when she isn’t. But I decided I needed to re-word it. I was thinking “I love every moment of my life”, or variations of such depending on my levels of bravery, love, etc. I’ve been saying this a bit lately (internally) and its been working quite a treat. I alternate it with “I enjoy every moment of my life” but love is better than enjoy for the bits that aren’t enjoyable, cos they are still loveable. Anyhoo, it helps me stay in the moment. And it helps me feel good. So two ticks! And a gold star.
I am a bit of a new-age-hippy-witch-Taoist-whatever, so you’ll just have to deal with it. You can get it or not, whatever.
I could give you some juicy sex details, but its been a while. Last time I had sex it was me remembering having sex while I had a wank. But sex is one of my favourite things, so I’m sure to share later on. If I get lucky that is.
Laters.
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