12.
.
MY CHRISTMAS SPIRIT:
Is Vodka. Santa, feel free to leave this on my doorstep. But don’t come in. I’m not into your old man sacks. Har Har.
.
ANOTHER SHOT AT DEATH:
Yesterday I discovered my mate Mike was dead. I met Mike in Dunedin years ago, and saw him again recently when I was in Wellington. As it turned out, I was in Wellington for my other mate’s funeral at the time.
Mike has been known to struggle with depression. It seems he still was as he hung himself by a river near Murchison, and remained there unfound for a few days until some kayakers happened past.
His funeral is next week in Palmerston North. I will not be attending.
Christmas is no time for funerals. And coming straight off another… well, no thanks.
I’m choosing to remain in the positive. In the fact that my whanau is already gathering from around the globe, to come back to the home valley and Get Merry. The lengthy shed parties have already begun, and though I’m quieter than usual – mostly due to the painkillers, mmm neat – I am Loving the Christmas togetherness. That’s what it’s all about right?

It might be selfish, but I don't care. For Christmas, I'm choosing to celebrate My Life instead of my friends' extinguished one...
.
MY B-52s EXPERIENCE:
SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIgh.
Well, here it is. The account of my heaven turning into my hell.
…………..
Cosmic Thing was the first album by The B-52s that made me take notice of them. After that, there was no stopping me. I looked into what they’d done before, bought all their albums afterwards… They were weird, and nonsensical, and so much fun to sing and dance around to. I developed a special place in my heart for them.
When I met my friend H-J, we discovered that the two of us were that rare breed of people that know all the words to their songs inside and out, and would have epic nights involving lots of drinking and playing entire albums whilst singing along word for word, and when it finished we’d turn it over and start again – usually to the dismay of unfortunate others who happened to be trapped in the “singing”.
(Hair is also guilty of this treatment.)
So happy were we both when we discovered they were coming to New Zealand. When I learned they would be playing right here in the Wairarapa, I was stoked. Me, H-J, and her partner Dan made a definitive plan to go, got the tickets… and waited with baited breath.
We would text each other almost daily, about what we were going to wear, how excited we were, song lyrics to some of our favourites… I acquired a few more songs that were missing from my collection, learned the words to songs I still didn’t know…

Cindy Wilson from the B-52s themselves even requested my friendship on Facebook! I wrote her the most gushing fan letter explaining mine and H-J’s love for their music, how excited we were to be seeing them, how thankful I was that they were coming to play on my home turf, and how loudly we would sing on the day. She wrote back saying “Make sure you sing loudly!” H-J and I were so excited that she’d written back to me at all! We were just so damn stoked to be seeing our favourite band together. Neither of us wanted to see them with anyone else.
.
The day arrived. H-J and Dan arrived from Wellington.
I had bought 3 fold out chairs for the occasion, borrowed a chilly bin, we went shopping and bought lots of luxurious snack foods, and made giant cob loaf sandwiches.
For the last two days I had been soaking a giant tub of fresh fruit salad – including individually squeezed juice free pineapple and watermelon – in a third of a bottle of Absolut. I topped it up to a half bottle just before we left, and we poured the remaining half into a bottle of sparkling water and closed it tight hoping the seal wouldn’t be checked too closely.
We had chairs, a picnic rug, a mass of great food, some sneaky piss… We couldn’t have been more prepared. I’d had a long time to think to about all this, and wanted this to be an amazing amazing day for me and one of my best friends. I had five other friends/acquaintances come to stay as well, and hopefully I made them feel welcome, because quite frankly – and this is in now way a negative thing against the others – everyone else was almost irrelevant to me. As far as I was concerned, this was mine and H-J’s Christmas, and no one else was going to encroach on our day. Nothing was going to stop Our Day.
Well, maybe one thing.
.
“We’’ll dance in the garden in torn sheets in the rain,
In the RAAAAAAIIIIIIIIN!”

.

When I woke up on The Day, it was absolutely pissing down. I’d read the forecast the day before, and it had said it would be rainy in the morning, clearing up in the afternoon, but with gale force winds all day. I had faith things would work out ok. I’d asked for all sorts of help from the universe and watchful spirits. I had faith that nothing would stop the day from happening the way I hoped.
I silently continued to pray for the rain to stop as I went about the morning, and eventually the sun came out. Goody! That was one thing out of the way.
My friends arrived. We went shopping, got our shit together, had some drinks. My other friends arrived, and they set up camp in the backyard. We got dressed into our outfits – I had a red tuxedo jacket with a red shirt, black pants, black shoes, black skull tie. I was set.
We made our way to the bus stop, where other groups of people were waiting to catch the bus also. But they weren’t true fans, we could tell. They were just in it for the day out. They would be the people that we’d been joking about for a while – the ones who would drunkenly be yelling out “Play Love Shack!”, the only song they knew.
.
Not long after, we arrived. We were not even close to being first to arrive either. It seemed everyone had decided to arrive at 4 sharp. There was a large swell of traffic and people, neither of whom were sure where to go next. The bus parked somehow, told us it would be leaving 30 minutes after the band stopped playing, and off we went. Dan was bravely carrying the rather large and heavy chilly bin round for the team.
The gate to the vineyard is right by a T-junction in the road, so there were cars and people converging from all sides. We walked into the fray and found a clearing by some parked cars to sit in and observe. No one seemed really too sure about what was going on, but I didn’t care about them. We could be a lot closer to the front, I suggested to the others, and moved us across the road and closer to the gate. Very obviously cue jumping, but too bad. Me and my cousins had long ago mastered the art of Find-Your-Way-To-The-Front. We wanted to get in fast and stake our claim. We did, after all, have 4997 other people to contend with.
The gates were supposed to have opened at 4. By 4.30 however, nothing seemed to happening, and the wind was definitely still blowing hard. I carried on ignoring that however, resolving to let absolutely nothing get me down, including what could be a very long wait. I knew that once we were in, everything would be worth it.
Around 4.45, the main gateway was opened. In retrospect, this was purely an attempt from management to ease the masses somewhat, give the illusion that things were under way.
We made our way down the driveway towards the vineyard. And then the stage came into view over the bank. It was an impressively large dome deal, plenty of lights, big speakers, lighting towers beside it, a large area directly in front of the stage where lucky punters willing to pay more had reserved seating, plenty of other tents scattered around the site where they’d be selling food and booze… It all looked pretty good, and upped the dial a notch on the excitement front.
But at the end of the driveway was another gate. We had maybe a hundred people in front of us, though we were certainly at the front end of things. And suddenly the movement came to a stop again. We stood another twenty minutes or so, and eventually an official looking man appeared over the bank to tell us that they were waiting another half hour on Metservice to tell them if the wind was going to die down.
At this point, everyone sat down. On the ground, on their chairs, on the bank. Impromptu picnics began happening. Random strangers began joking amongst themselves.
We decided to brave it and crack out a fruit salad. We were starting to sober up, after all. Our new friends around us asked if we had managed to sneak in some booze. “Who, Us? No, no.” I lied, not wanting to give our game away to anyone. You never know who is listening and/or jealous. But as I opened the giant tub to scoop us out three cups, I was hit with more than one heckle.
“Gee, that smells suspiciously alcoholic!”
“Mmm, wish we had fruit salad, that’s a great idea for next time, soak it in gin!”
“Where’s that smell coming from??”
Whoops.
We gave away nothing and sat quietly eating our salads, which were way potent and packing quite a punch.
And the wind continued to blow…
.
Every time I seemed to think that maybe it was easing up, off it would blow again.
Half an hour passed. The wind continued to blow. After another quarter of an hour, I finally gave into my fears and said “You know… I’m starting to think this might not happen.” H-J had said this a couple of times during the wait, as well a few “God, they better not cancel it”s. I hadn’t dared myself to think it so far. But as time dragged on, it really wasn’t looking good.
Finally, just after six o’clock, a boy who couldn’t have been more than 16 – obviously the poor dishwashing sap management had sent out to tell everyone – appeared over the bank with the words “Sorry guys. You’ll get full refunds where you bought the tickets.”
“What about travel and accommodation?” yelled out the guy behind us.
“Sorry guys, that’s just the luck of the draw.” Said a woman behind the boy.
And then, with pretty much no complaint, everyone stood up and started to make their way out. H-J was GUTTED. I, on the other hand, was puzzlingly ungutted. (At the time - the mourning would come much later, in private.) In retrospect, I believe this to be because I had always, somewhere, deep in my heart, thought it was just too good to be true.
I tried to make H-J feel better, but it wasn’t working. She was just bummed. Understandably so. They would probably never play here again, and that may just be our only chance to see them blown. No pun intended.
The bus ride back was sullen. And of course, even as we were driving out of town, we could tell the wind outside was easing… A few jokes were made about what an awesome day that was…
Once we got home, I couldn’t believe I was having to think about other things to do that night. Like, what movie to watch, or what music to listen to. Of course, the one band we wanted to listen to was the one band none of us could bare to listen to. I couldn’t believe that just that morning I’d been dancing round the house to them, their music filling me with joy.

I know that their music won’t bring me joy again for a long, long time…
.
In the paper two days later was an article about the cancellation. Included was an interview with the promoter, who admitted it was a devastating decision to have to make. She also said that the wind had died down by 6.45, but by then the 5000 strong crowd had evaporated. UGH.
My one regret, the thing you think of later that you wish you’d said or done, is that I did not stand up when we were told we’d get refunds and say
“What if we’re prepared to wait for One More Hour???”
I’m not sure if everyone else was, but I know H-J and I would have been…
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh…
.
“Oh, you broke my heart at the Funplex,
Yes you did, yes you did”…
.

11.
.
KIDS AND WAYS THEY MAKE ME LAUGH:
.
We’’ll call him… Fack. For Identity purposes. Fack is a cracker. At 3 years old, he’s the kid who’ll do exactly what he’s not supposed to just to see what kind of punishment he’ll get.
For example, if he’s really playing up and his parents start counting “1…”, he’ll respond with “2, 3, MACK!” and stick his butt out. He’s also started to pick up “a few choice words”. Me and his mother once saw him drop something and then say “For fucks sake”. His mother looked at me and said “Damn, I can’t blame that on anyone!” – that’s exactly what she says all the time.
.
Or… we’ll call her Maddi. Asking her Dad to put on her favourite CD whilst in the car with Grandma, and being informed the CD she was trying to put on wasn’t the one she wanted. “Bullshit.”
.
Or the time I tried to trick… we’ll call her Miolet. I hadn’t seen her since she was a toddler. Now school age, she asked if we could go and see *insert name of any painful kids movie*, pointing to the picture in the paper. “Oh, sorry honey, that’s not on today.” I lied. She looked at me confusedly and said “Yes it is, see? It says here, on at this time, and this time, and this time...”, then looked at me quite concerned and said “Can’t you read?” “Yes,” I confessed, “I just didn’t think you could.” Which made sense, seeing as she was now about 8…
.
Or Maleb, who spins imaginary decks whilst dancing to Michael Jackson when he thinks no-one is watching him. Not that he stops when he realises we are.
.
Apparently, so my mother tells me, as a toddler I used to “store” food in my mouth – usually Weet-Bix – long after the actual meal. One day I was in a clothing store with her and sneezed…
.
MYSTERY MUSICIAN WHO TRIED TO FORCE HIMSELF ON 16 YEAR OLD GIRL IN ALLEYWAY:
Reluctant apologies go to Dane Rumble… Siiiiiiiigh… Sorry Dane. I have discovered the actual identity of the suspect.
Drumroll please…
And the winner for Best Rape Attempt By A New Zealand Musician Recently goes to….
DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM…
P MONEY!!!
What a dick.
Mental note: Avoid P Money like he’s Chris Brown. Or Dane Rumble.
.
WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ‘DAYS OF OUR LIVES’???
My favourite guilty pleasure has disappeared from the afternoon airwaves. UGH. Better be back after Christmas.
.
ABORTION:
Is illegal in Ireland. Did you know this? I didn’t. Three women are in the high court of Ireland trying to get this law changed at the moment. I’m all about pro-choice, on just about every aspect of life, so… good luck to them.
.
KATY BRAND’S BIG ASS SHOW:
I like it a lot.
Have a look on Youtube for her pisstake on The Sugababes... Classic.
“And now there’s a new Bitch to get used to,
Some other slag with an attitude…”
.
NEW RIDE AT RAINBOWS END:
WOW, now that really is breaking news… Now Rainbows End will take 50 minutes to get through instead of 45…
.
PIPPA WETZELL FROM ‘BREAKFAST’:
For some reason, she annoys me even more than Paul Henry. I mean, Paul Henry’s just Paul Henry, not going anywhere, never gonna change. But Pippa is a total wet blanket Auckland snoot. Hate.
.
STEVE GRAY FROM ‘GOOD MORNING’ HAS BEEN “LET GO”:
Which is the polite way of saying “TVNZ is not going to renew your contract for next year, so get your big gay ass out of here bitch.” Now, I personally think that sucks. Steve is a much needed element of ‘Good Morning’. Otherwise, it will turn into a show much like, oh, I don’t know… ‘Breakfast’. Mind you, Sarah is a lot more accessible than Pippa. Ugh. BAD MOVE TVNZ.
.
CELEBRITY SPOTTING:
Normally, I try not to look twice when I see Celebrities. But I have to say, seeing George from ‘Seinfeld’ walking up Cuba St would probably have stopped me in my tracks.
Me and my friend once saw Keiran from 'Shortland Street' outside Felix Café. This was shortly after he began on the show, and a big deal was being made out of his shift from Coro to Shorty. We gave him a scowl and carried on walking, hehe. You’re in New Zealand now, bitch. Where we ignore our celebrities… mostly.
Funny case of Starstruck Slapper: Years ago in Dunedin, my good friend and flatmate let some of her mates crash on the couch while they were in town for the weekend. As it happened, they were from the band Rubicon and were in town for Orientation.

Now, let me just get something clear – Rubicon were a bit of a joke to us. You know, Marshall from Shortland Street’s band? Who would call a kid Bruce anyway? UGH. Not I or any of our friends were into them, but hey, whatever. Everyone’s different. Later that night, I’m out with my mates and a girl from my theatre class comes running over to me.
“Hi! Oh my god, you’ll NEVER believe who I’m hanging out at the bar with!”
I laughed, and kind of shrugged, hoping I gave the impression that I didn’t care much.
“The guys from Rubicon and Tadpole!!!” she flapped, her face alight with Celebrity Syndrome.
I had to not choke on my drink and just kind of said “Oh! Wicked!” I held back from saying “Rubicon’s sleeping on my couch” for fear that she might follow us home. Plus, I didn’t want to appear to know them. Which technically, thankfully, I didn’t.
The best, and still one of the most surreal moments of my life, celebrity run-in I ever had happened early one Sunday morning in Wellington. I had just opened up shop, done my morning grind, and went outside onto Manners Street for a cigarette. It was still relatively early and there was barely anyone else around, so when I realised that the lone man walking past the shop, past me, was Sam Neil, I was stunned.
“Sam Neil?!?!” I blurted loudly.
He turned and said “Yes.”
And here, I must admit, I had a spurt of starstruck babble. But I think Sam Neil probably warrants it.
“Wow, I really like your work Mr. Neil, and I especially love ‘Event Horizon’, that’s, like, one of the scariest movies ever”, is what came pouring out of my mouth before I could even think about it.
“Thank you”, he said.
“Have a nice day!” I said cheerily, and he smiled and carried on walking down the street. And I was left to stand in shock, looking around to see if anyone else had just seen that encounter. Which, of course, they hadn’t…
Thankfully, I won’t have to deal with the dilemma of How To Deal With Celebrities much longer, as most of my friends, and a few enemies, are rapidly becoming the genius’s, or flukey pratts, they always were in their field. I have seen more people I know in the paper than not recently! All articles documenting their success too, which is fantastic, and makes me wonder if I should start scrapbooking… Or would that just make me weird… Yeah right, like scrapbooking would make me weird…
.
LADY GAGA COMING TO NEW ZEALAND:
I’m going to have to go to this. I usually reserve going to major acts for Music Icons only – like Snoop Dogg, or Kraftwerk, or The B-52s. And even though she’s only been around for a few years, I think this girl’s here to stay. So, I’m gonna go and see her early incase this is her one and only big show here.
.
MADONNA’S A FUCKING BITCH FOR NEVER HAVING COME HERE:
FUCKING Bitch. Now hurry up and put out another album. And it better be better than your last one, Bitch.
.
MUSE:
Loving them! More please!
.
TIGER WOODS:
Oh my god… SHUT. UP. I’ve never been so dis-interested in a celebrity’s life. For a start, the guy plays Golf. No offence to my golf loving friends. Even I’m partial to a game every now and then, as long playing something that slow involves a copious amount of drinking. And I can’t deny the guy’s talent. But golf is a Sport, ergo UGH. But talent comes in many masks… anyway, what was I saying?
Oh right. The overload of Tiger news. Who cares if the guy had affairs?? He’s an AMERICAN SPORTS IDOL… Isn’t that kind of part and parcel when it comes to them?? And if there were that many – we’re up to 9 – you can’t tell me that she didn’t know. Like she has another life or anything. Apparently, according to the front page of the paper (UGH!), his public approval rating (? – who or what the hell measures that???) has slumped by 24%. Er… Okaaaaay, if you say so…
I think anyone who cheats on their wife is a bit scum – and I mean, have you seen his wife??? Wow… what a dog… cough cough – but personally I’m quite happy to see that he’s human after all. My public approval rating has probably gone Up 24% if anything.
.
I STILL HAVEN’T BOUGHT A SINGLE CHRISTMAS PRESENT:
I’m more focused on my own personal Christmas – The B-52s concert this weekend. Which will undoubtedly be selling drinks at heinously ridiculous prices, and when you’re going to be spending about 8 hours there, you need to be prepared for the long day ahead. And oh, am I prepared.
Today I will be shopping for glitter wigs, party poppers, and large Tupperware bowls in which to put fruit salad. Which all basically means that my family’s presents can just wait until I’m done partying.
.
NEXT WEEK: I imagine mine and Jared from Moon Over Martinborough’s blogs are going to be wholly similar in subject… Expect an entire page dedicated to my B-52s day. WOO HOO!!!

10.
.

Occasionally, one gets down about one’s life. It’s during these times that one must learn to suck it up and take a good hard look at what’s important in ones life. What brings one joy in ones life. What really kicks arse about ones life.
Me? I like sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. Though I haven’t had nearly enough of at least two of those things of late. One might even say I’ve been BONE DRY.
What I am looking forward to is The B52S in Martinborough (of all places) next weekend, though they hardly count as rock n’ roll. Maybe Pop n’ Roll, or Whacked-Out-Dippy-Trippy-Loved-Up-Space-Hippy n’ Roll… Either way, I can’t wait.
My friend is jealous, but she’s going to Fleetwood Mac, which I’m jealous of. So at least we can be jealous of each other together.

.

I mostly have a lot of questions this week. Although, speaking of stories, I have been thinking about an online soap opera, which I am currently working on too. (Yeah, he scoffed, that and the 200 other projects you’ve started over the years. Key word: started. Oh shut up. No, You shut up!)
I’m going to write them out for you now. Please, feel free to answer any of them.

.
· How come, no matter which line I choose at the Supermarket, every single other line will move through three times at the speed of light and I get the arsehole who wants to pay in ten cent pieces, and yes, they will have their frozens wrapped, and oh, I’m sure it’s the right pin number, let me try again, and who just has to run and grab one more thing they forgot, and oh I must have left my purse in the car I’ll just go grab it (says the old lady in a walking frame, before she hobbles out at snail pace to her car).
Now, don’t get me wrong. Murphy’s Law and I were acquainted many years ago. I have come to accept Murphy as a solid platform for my life to unfold on… BUT EVERY FRIGGIN TIME??? COME OOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN!!! I swear, if you assembled all the camera footage from supermarkets of Me standing in line, you would think there was a conspiracy too…

.

· When, oh when, will this rain fuck off?

.
· Why is “Leave It To Lamas” so completely lame-arse? Those people are fuckin’ idiots, oh my god.

.
· Why are Lorenzo Lamas’ children so thick?? Like, thicker than your usual L.A. kid. Which is really saying something.

.
· Why does the E Channel think endless, back-to-back, year long repeats of their lame reality TV shows is a good idea?

.
· Why don’t people appreciate Buffy the way I do?? And for what it is – ONE OF THE GREATEST TELEVISION SHOWS OF ALL TIME! Not many TV shows get their own papers in Universities. Don’t people know that angsty girls were gettin’ with vampires and werewolves LONG before – CACK – Edward and Jacob? Ugh. Respect where respect’s due, people!

.
· Why can’t I get Miley Cyrus’ “Party In The USA” out of my friggin’ head? I don’t even like it!... well… ok, maybe a little… But still, does it need to camp out in my brain?? You too, Deathcab For Cuties. BEAT IT.

.
· Who is the mysterious NZ singer that tried to force a 16 year old to give him a blowjob in the back alley??? Oh, I mean that’s been in the news lately. He’s been granted Name Supression because – get this – “A scandal like this might affect his reputation and income”… GEE, YA THINK??? I’m going to speculate on Dane Rumble. He seems like a dick. SHAME ON YOU DANE RUMBLE…

.
· What shall I have for lunch?

.
· What on earth do you buy your Nana for her 70th birthday?

.
· They are called broaches, right? It just occurred to me, for the first time ever, that Broach is one of those double meaning words, and wow, they are so unrelated it’s not funny.
· “How would Elizabeth broach the subject that Susan had stolen her Grandmothers broach?” HA!

.
· I wonder when and how a Broach got its name?

.
· Howcome it seems like only yesterday that we were knocking on the door of the year 2000? Weren’t we just partying like it’s 1999??

.
· What the hell did I do for the last ten New Years’s?? And No, I can proudly say that it wasn’t EVER The Gathering. I remember the Millenium one, where I was in Masterton and we got too drunk to drive to the river and camp out as per the plan so ended up watching other peoples New Years on TV before popping our poppers at midnight, watching the power Not go out, and going to bed...

And I can remember the Bad one at Visionz where I took too much and ended up getting lost in the bush trying to escape the non-stop techno while the trees spoke to me in Maori and I cried because I knew they were trying to tell me something but I couldn’t understand them...

And the good one in Nelson at Shihad in the park for five bucks where I found forty bucks on the ground whilst waiting in line and then promptly lost everyone but ended up with all the drugs and naked in the bath at 6 in the morning with Bernard, Donna and Yemia… HA!

And one in Dunedin rolling through Fuel...

At least 3 in Wellington (all of them pretty average)...

Oh, and last years that I spent in Carterton getting drunk at my cousins (just for a change of pace… cough), then deciding I needed to find a nice, dark, quiet patch of grass to lie in at 2.30am and was snapped walking barefoot through town in the rain by my Mother of all people… DOH!
…Wow, I just accounted for most of them, huh…

.
· Has anyone been throwing an eye at the early days Shortland Street repeats on TVNZ6?? WOW. Fascinatingly bad. It must be only six months in, at the most. Back in the days of Marge, and Jenny, and bogan Nick, and a younger but just as bad Chris Warner, and Dr. Hone Ropata A.K.A. Jake The Muss A.K.A. The One, The Only, our man Tem. It’s amazing to think that some of these actors were actually actors, who went to actual drama school and stuff before they got the then-Roles Of Their Careers… Pfft.

.
· I wonder if they will allow me to take in placards of worship to the B-52s? I have plans to make and take them. And if I make and take them, there’s no way I’m handing them over at the gate… Mind you, it may be dark by the time they come on... Maybe not.

.
· I wonder if I can sneak in Vodka?? Where there’s a will, there’s a team of security guards ready to foil your efforts...

.
· What’s up with Tiger Woods, huh? Haha. The Fame Monster chooses another lamb to slaughter.

.
· Does everyone really leave a name or ten off their lists? Man… I wrote up mine recently just out of interest, and just when I thought I had them all, I would then sporadically remember someone I’d forgotten and add them to the list, until I had a whole new dozen… and I’m not entirely sure I’m done yet. There are a few I’ve kept off for technical reasons, but even then… Exactly how much is it until you’re just gross?? I have a feeling it’s a lot more than my total. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

.
· Should I go to the library and post this? Or continue to be distracted by very loud B-52s and dancing around my lounge…

Dancing will win every time. Lataz.