Overheard in the Newtown Opportunity For Animals shop yesterday:

Girl: Don't let me buy any more black tops, ok? I already have too many black tops.

Guy: Ok. You're not allowed to buy any more black tops.

Girl: No, you need to sound sterner!

Guy: Ok. Don't buy any more black tops, or I'll break your legs.

Girl: No, you need to find the happy medium between sounding nice and sounding really mean.

Guy: Fine, how about... Don't buy any more black tops, or I'll... Make you a really bad cup of tea.

I have to pull off a Thanksgiving dinner in THREE DAYS, with an 18-year-old who can't cook as an assistant.


What was I thinking?

Me: Oh my God. I'm cooking vegetarian food, wearing a skirt from an op-shop, and listening to The Shins. I am a hipster.

Robb: Yes, but now that you've admitted it, it means that you're not a hipster anymore.

 There's something really satisfying about being in a cavernous old building, knowing that you and your beloved are probably the only life within its walls, staring soulfully into each others' eyes, and dancing...

...to Aqua.

So I realize that this is my first post in forever, but...

...does anyone in Wellington know of anyone who'd like to host an AFS student? We have three current students who need homes, ASAP, and several incoming ones who'll need homes around the first week of February.

Also, we could probably use more billeting families who'd be willing to host students from other chapters who want to see Wellington for occasional weekends. You're always free to say no if asked, and you'll always get plenty of advance warning. I'm in the process of getting my flat registered; I can't host, living in a flat, but I can do this, and I'm quite excited about it.

I've signed on to be their support coordinator. I was pretty sure I was gonna do it anyway, after being asked, then I found out that if AFS didn't find someone to take on the job, the new students who've been promised a place wouldn't be able to come. I didn't really feel like I could say no after that.

Dragged my spinning wheel out last night for the first time in ages, and started spinning the alpaca fiber that I bought off TradeMe, months ago. I love the way it feels; it's much nicer to work with than the Romny fleece I got with the wheel for practice. It's a rather nice sooty colour, not sure what I'll make out of it when it's done.

I stopped spinning, went to Robb's. Came home nearly 24 hours later to find Alphie chewing on my lovely alpaca fiber. Bastard cat.

From a Facebook Chat:

6:10pm Robb:

so I'm re-reading QC right

and I get a bit of dejavu

6:11pm Stephanie

Oh?

6:11pm Robb

You = Marten

http://questionablecontent.net/view.php?comic=55

6:11pm Stephanie

Oh wow.

I did pull a Marten.

6:12pm Robb

don't hear me complaining :P

6:13pm Stephanie

What does that make you?

6:14pm Robb

Pintsize. I'm basically your pet, have a warped sense of humour, and download a fair bit of porn

EPIC night witheskimopirate  last week, which I know I'll remember for the rest of my life. We started off by meandering around the town belt for ages. Stood on top of a hill overlooking Wellington, staring: I love seeing civilization from a distance, at night.

(ME: *Pointing* That's our city!
ROBB: You are so gay for Wellington.

A bit later:

ME: *Pointing* Robb, look! THAT'S OUR CITY!
ROBB: Okay, That's not our city. That's the Eastern Suburbs.)


We climbed a hill to investigate a power generator thing, which we probably weren't meant to be poking around, then sat on the velodrome and talked about random stuff, and then Robb spontaneously decided, on the way to our respective homes, that we needed to walk to the top of Mount Victoria. I was hesitant, since it was late and I needed to get up early for work the next the next day but he promised me that it'd be worth it, which it was. We got a bit lost when we descended, and ended up walking around a retirement community that looked so much like it belonged in the Algarve that for a few minutes I wasn't entirely unconvinced that we'd unwittingly walked through some sort of time/space portal between New Zealand and Portugal.

We decided that, since it was already so late and we wouldn't get much sleep anyway, we needed to finish the night with the Bucket Fountain Religious pilgrimage we'd talked about earlier in the day. We weren't exactly sure where our destination, the James Smith carpark was, and we walked around Cuba Street looking for it, before making up our minds to go to an Internet cafe to Google the address.

While in Old Boy, we watched Fluffy TV and I accidentally accused the guy behind the desk of being a hobo. Chatted with him a bit. Turned out he knows friends of mine.

We left the Internet cafe, headed in the correct direction of our destination. Couldn't find our way into the carpark at that hour, though not for lack of trying, or for lack of a brilliant cover story ("We're Japanese tourists on our honeymoon!.")

Robb and I were on Victoria Street, arguing over whether it's worse to have 'Benny Lava' or 'Badger Badger Badger' stuck in your head, Robb chanting 'Badger badger badger,' me yelling at him to stop, when the only other person in sight, a man on a bike on the other side  of the street, shouted 'Mushroom! Mushroom!' at us. We laughed and declared him awesome. He shouted some more, unintelligible yet crazy-sounding things at us and rode off into the night.

Walked through town, back to my house, after getting slightly lost in Kelburn. Crashed, got somewhere between two and four hours of sleep, then got up early and gulped down coffee so we could resume the mission.

And we found it, just in time for me to run off to work. And it was worth the sleep deprivation, because I got to start my day off bowing down to this:

Babysitting, tonight! It's for the child who's always in bed and usually asleep before I arrive, and I'll be there for quite some time. I am going to get paid to knit and watch movies. Anyone got any recommendations? 

Don't worry about me having seen stuff; I've seen almost nothing that people seem to think I should have seen by my age. 

Also, I picked up stitches for the first time ever!

EDIT: Text me if there's anything you think I absolutely must see, as I won't be around a computer again today. The number of movies I've seen at my age, particularly the ones that EVERYONE seems to have seen, really is pitiful and I want to catch up.

The last two weeks have been very eventful indeed.

Suddenly, I am only slightly bitter, as opposed to being bitter like a pot of Starbucks coffee that's been left in the urn with the heat on for six hours. 'Slightly bitter' is acceptable, I think, especially when it's the least bitter I've been for about three years.

Have been called a 'foreign devil.' This amuses me to no end.

Re-connected with an old friend, whom I am so glad to have back in my life, even if she's on the other side of the world.

Went to a movie night at the home of morbane  on Saturday. Loved 'The Producers' and 'Reefer Madness.' Was unimpressed by 'Repo' yet couldn't tear myself away, for some reason. It was... visually interesting, at least.

The light was busted in the MUNT office, so James and I had to DJ in the dark, last night. After about ten minutes, I stopped caring- we managed by the glow of James's laptop, and it sort of reminded me of campfires at Girl Scout camp when I was little. I love my Sunday nights spent DJing- sometimes I think that I had some sort of hole to fill when I rejected organized religion, and that I filled that hole with music, and this is my going-to-church substitute. It's certainly more fun than listening to a priest 'Go on about how much we all suck,' as my sister once called Catholic sermons, and actually makes me feel like I'm connected to something bigger than myself, which organized religion never did for me.

Last night, after 23 years of possessing no patience whatsoever but relying instead on the fact that I am stubborn as fuck to act as a substitute for patience, it occurred to me that patience might be a good quality to have after all.

How the hell does one develop it?

From yet another priceless conversation with my therapist-

Her: Embracing ethnic stereotypes is ok if the stereotypes are true. I just made that rule up.

On Sunday morning (after a brilliant drunken night of 1000 Blank White Cards and other lulz) I woke up to the sound of an angry German voice shouting, 'You cunt! You FUCKING, FUCKING CUNT!'

You see, Henrik had slept on my couch.  He lives in Kilbirnie and works at a restaurant on the waterfront, and by the time everyone else split off for home, it was somewhere between two and three in the morning and he had to be at work early the next day, so I let him stay over.

Venturing out of my room to investigate, I found him on the landing outside the apartment, yelling into his cell phone.

Turned out Simon had stolen his shoe. Just one of them. They work together and would see one another soon, but it meant that  he had to walk through town in the rain with one bare foot before he could get it back.

Talked to Nik later and she said she tried to convince him to leave it on one of the lower floors for him to find on his way out, which would have been nicer. Still, I think it was sort of hilarious- but I'm never going to tell Henrik that.

I feel blah. Actually, I feel exactly how I feel when I'm hungover, except I didn't drink last night (went to see 'The Boat That Rocked' with miriamus  and cabaiste84  and it was full of awesome) and I've been getting lots of sleep so the only explanation is that the dreaded toddler disease is trying to take over my body once again.

Goddammit.

Anyway. Does anyone wanna play 1000 Blank White Cards next weekend? I am thinking of making my infamous Shit Is That Broccoli? soup.

I babysat the other night. The two-year-old at this particular house is the easiest child I've ever looked after- he's always in bed, and usually asleep, by the time I get there, so I'm getting paid to be there while his mother's out. I spent four hours reading Douglas Coupland's 'Girlfriend In A Coma,' and was paid well for my time.

I did the math when I got home and realized that the cooking-and-childcare skills that I utilize at my real job are worth only slightly more than my drinking-coffee-and-reading-Douglas Coupland skills. I am not sure what to think about this.

REJOICE, O INDIE KIDS OF WELLINGTON, FOR THE GODS OF THE SAN FRANCISCO BATH HOUSE HAVE SMILED UPON US, AND 24 DOES NOT SUCK ANYMORE!!!!!!

Simon and Henrik are trying to get me to drink in celebration of Saint Patrick's day.

Henrck: *Placing his green hat on my head* Now you are Irish, you have to drink vodka!
Me: I don't like vodka.
Henrik: It is Saint Patrick's day. Everyone drink vodka!
Me: Dude, it's not even Irish. What if I drink some Midori? At least that's green.
Henrik: *Ignores me*

Later:

Simon: If I do a shot of vodka, you will do one with me?
Me: No.
Simon: Is just one shot!
Me: I. Don't. Like. Vodka.
Simon: I don't understand. Don't like? Vodka? Is bad combination. Does not make sense.

No use in pointing out that Simon is French and Henrik is German and they are no more culturally tied to Ireland than I am.

EDIT: Now they have hit upon the idea of creating sexual CV's. I have no desire to share their alcohol; being the sober one is too entertaining.

It's raining, and I've re-discovered the magic of Saint John's Wort tea- it has the power to change a dreary day where I feel run down and can't focus into a quiet, relaxed one where I can relax and hibernate with a book. I just got back from a trip down to the Brooklyn shops with Cory and Simon, who's back in Wellington and staying with us again. Both of the flatmates are out, the boys are watching a Shit Blowing Up movie. Cory seems happy to have another guy in the house. I'm happily isolated, with headphones and a laptop on the other side of the room.

This week's been good. Started my new job at a daycare -no more relieving!- which is close enough to the library to go there on my lunch break. I saw Of Montreal on Thursday. It was... Intense. I spent all of yesterday feeling like I'd had some bizarre hallucinatory experience the night before (and from now on, I won't be able to go into the San Francisco Bath House without eyeing the rafters above the stage, knowing that it's possible to swing from them, like some of the band members did). I've resolved to try to go to at least one big, packed concert a year alone. It's such a different experience than going with other people, and one I find liberating.

Just had a lovely session of jumping around like an idiot to The Mountain Goats in the kitchen, which was empty, save for me.

I shall spend the rest of the afternoon tinkering with my spinning wheel and getting ready for my birthday party tonight. I love my life.

The oven's mysteriously not working so I can't bake the peanut butter banana muffins I've just mixed up, and it's raining, but it's Wellington Anniversary Day, which means a long weekend. I've been op-shopping, had really good Indian food, and I spent ages looking at stuff on YouTube with the flatmates last night. (I laughed so hard that it hurt because of this.)

miriamus and I might engage in a little minor illegalness in the form of urban exploring, which I've wanted to try for years.

Unexpectedly went to see Arctic Monkeys with cabaiste84 when I inherited Matt's ticket, since he wasn't feeling well. It was fun; not really my kind of music; but they had lots of energy and I danced really hard and collided with a lot of strangers. For about a month, I've been listening to early Mountain Goats almost exclusively. This really starts to fuck with your head. (Also, I am the kind of person who has to mouth the words along to whatever I'm listening to on my iPod, so it occurred to me that silently singing along to 'See America Right' while walking down the street probably makes me look psychotic). It was kinda therapeutic.
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