General
21
Jan 09
Well, shit.
Holy beejesus, it’s been months. I really was moving servers in October last year, but shit fucked up and I never managed to export my old Textpattern database from my old host to my new Wordpress database on DreamHost. Something to do with a block on my old host. Then I tried to export by using phpMyAdmin but my boyfriend changed a permission setting that he couldn’t remember and now I can’t get to my old site at all (it still exists, however). So, here I am, new server, nothing on it, nothing more than a default Wordpress theme with no content. Months later.
Anyway.
I have been saying this on and off for years now, but I think I am sick of the internet. Well, yes and no. I am not sick of photos of bad celebrity plastic surgery, movie reviews, Google Maps, some emails received, and invited events on Facebook. I am, however, sick of writing for the internet. Perhaps even writing fullstop (yet ironically, I am writing as I say this).
Twelve years ago when I made my first website and posted my first post, the equivalent of what a blog post is today, writing on the internet was exciting. Back pre-millenium and in the early noughties, being recognised on the street for doing nothing more than having one of the few blogs in a country of only a few people was novel. Being vaguely involved by proxy and degrees of separation in the start of the blogging revolution was rather exciting. Going to SXSW Interactive and hearing people talk about cool new shit that no one had heard of before was awesome. But now it is 2009 and I fell out of love with the internet when I realised I have little to offer the internet. Anything I would ever do on the internet would just be offering my opinion to people who may or may not know me. And to be honest, who gives a shit what I think? Most of the time even I don’t care what I think; when people ask me what it was like on my holiday I say, “fine” because I don’t feel like listening to the sound of my own voice (the scientist from the Simpson’s is a preferable head-voice); when friends I haven’t seen in ages ask me to send them an email with what’s going on I don’t because I can’t be bothered typing out what I think aren’t very exciting updates. My sole contact with many is my latest one-line Facebook status update.
The truth: I need better stories.
And then, I go and watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas while inebriated. Hunter S. Thompson inspires me to do great things, such as take acid, mescaline and poppers while drinking, smoking cigarettes and taking bong hints to then write about it later. He’s a great role model.
So here we are. 2009. Maybe I do feel like writing after all.
21
Nov 05
I Leave On Friday
- Take cat to Manchester Airport tomorrow morning at 7am to send to the pet shipping company in London
- Get stuff that is being shipped to New Zealand packed by Wednesday
- Send letter to sister
- Do an international bank transfer for extra money for my sister
- Send off sold eBay item
- Sort through clothes and figure out what I’m not taking
- Quickly get the saleable stuff on eBay for short auctions, possibly beg a friend to ship them out for me, could pay in Belgian chocolate or maybe real money although chocolate is an excellent currency
- Ensure power, phone, and internet get cut off
- Pack!
- Do inventory with inventory guy on Friday
- Make sure landlord doesn’t rip us off
- Say goodbye to friends, bring tissues
- Get suitcases, walk to Manchester Piccadilly, get on train, never look back
to look after cat for 3 months
9
Nov 05
It’s Official: I’m Going Home
In September 2001, I lugged an overly large and overly purple suitcase and one extremely heavy box to Wellington airport. I said goodbye to my parents, my nana, my sister, my 3-week-old neice, and my best friend. My best friend, Phillipa, gave me a notebook she’d covered in magazine cutouts of her idol, Michael Jackson, and told me not to read it until I got on the plane. As the plane pulled out, I saw them all standing by the window waving, even though I wasn’t sure if they could even see me. I saw my sister and best friend start crying, and hug each other. I looked at the notebook in my hands and proceeded to bawl my eyes for the majority of the flight to Auckland. I’m such a pussy.
By the time I return to New Zealand next year, I would have been living overseas for 4-and-a-half years. I lived in Austin, Texas for a year; Houston, Texas for almost two years; Manchester, England for just over a year; and soon Antwerp, Belgium for three months. By mid-February, I will be back in Wellington, back where I started.
The last almost-five years have been sometimes crazy, but most of the time fun. I really don’t think that life is going to be crazy and fun back in Wellington. I expect it to be dull and boring. I’m not really that looking forward to being back. I was sad to leave but now I’m vaguely dreading going back.
Since I left New Zealand, I have thoroughly enjoyed never bumping into weird ex-boyfriends and annoying twats I went to school with. I’ve loved being the token foreigner with the “weird” accent that forces Americans to do really bad Steve Erwin impressions. I’ve had fun being somewhat “exotic” when I was dating when I lived in Houston, although I’m probably a bit white and my accent isn’t ESOL enough to actually be exotic, but guys love it anyway. I’ve loved living in places where nobody really knows me and certainly no one has any expectations of who I am or what I’m like. I could be whoever the hell I wanted to be, and it always helps having a weird accent when you want to go to the drive-thru in your pajamas or if you say something completely bizarre by accident. No one questions stupid foreigners for being stupid – they’re just so foreign! But mostly, I just don’t want to bump into people I don’t like again. I’m really bad at pretending I like people I don’t.
I know New Zealand is this beautiful country that people who don’t live there rave on about a lot. I also rave about it at times, but only when I’m having a whinge about wherever I’m living now because I’m really excellent at determining the worst attributes about any place or any thing. But although New Zealand has the most beautiful landscapes, clean air, and open spaces there are quite a few things that suck that make me not sure about moving back.
First of all, it is far away from anything interesting. Australia is the closest country, but only on one side – it takes almost 6-and-a-half hours to be to Perth from Auckland. Australia isn’t interesting anyway! It’s 12 hours to Los Angeles. It’s 11 hours to Japan. It really is in the bloody middle of nowhere. This is both good and bad, I guess. Fingers crossed I won’t have to wear a surgical mask any time soon, but I probably will – god damn bird flu.
Secondly, there is no internet. Well, there is, but it is slow and expensive and owned by Telescum who like to fuck things up, just because they can. I guess this lack of decent broadband will force me to actually go outside and do stuff, but I will also probably have to go back to reading the paper for movies times, getting directions from a paper map, and getting my TV schedule from Woman’s Day which will be hidden amongst stupid articles about the lamest of New Zealand celebrities.
Then there are other things like New Zealand’s bizarre and recent obsession with crystal meth (”P” for the morons in New Zealand – it’s fucking crystal meth you twats, stop trying to make it sound like something that’s going to make you want to make love to a toilet brush), mental and violent teenage gangs who will probably beat me for my shitty 2nd gen iPod that I can’t afford to replace, the price of electronics and travel, and the lack of good stores like IKEA, H&M, and Apple Stores (yeah, yeah, I’m a fangirl). Also, where am I going to get breakfast tacos and lackmans? I’m going to have to make them myself, good lord!
I’m sure in due time I will get used to buying my furniture from stores that sell “comfortable sofas” and not buying fun electronic stuff purely because I can’t afford to be spending $100 on a PS2 game. But I will never get used to bumping into annoying people from school. Maybe I’ll just dye my hair, fake an accent, and pretend I don’t see them.
14
Oct 05
I Quit My Job Today
I handed in my formal resignation today. And yesterday, I mailed off a letter to our landlord saying something similar. This is because P and I have pushed our leaving date forward by a few months and are now leaving Manchester on the 25th of November. That’s next month.
We were going to leave in February, but P finally convinced me that Manchester sucks big balls and that we should leave. He doesn’t really like it here, and neither do I to be honest. I think I would have enjoyed my time in the UK more had I perhaps lived in London, or Brighton, and been an alcoholic. Sadly, none of these apply. Surprisingly, it’s not even really because of the weather. Sure, it sucks really bad but it’s managable. This is why the British go to Spain and the French Riviera a lot. Who wouldn’t. But the reasons I find the UK as not the sort of place I could live for any longer in are:
- The pollution – it is really stinky and you can taste it the pollution when you walk outside
- The lack of sun – not the rain, because I love the rain, but the sun never seems to shine
- The scallies – good lord, shoot me now
- The drinking culture – I don’t drink beer or smoke and I hate pubs
- The lack of decent shopping – Manchester is nothing but shitty high street stores and about two funky boutiques but I can’t afford to shop there anyway
- The cost of living – I have bugger all in my bank account after rent and bills. I find this much more noticeable because I haven’t lived this way due to my salary since about 1999. They pay people who do my type of job fuck all in the UK. I miss not being poor.
- I miss my sister! She does not live in the UK.
So, we leave next month. We are still going to Antwerp to stay for just under three months to be with Peter’s family before he departs permanently for the other side of the world. We are no longer going to do a road trip in the States because we reevaluated our finances and we are kind of broke. Moving countries isn’t cheap, in case you didn’t know. However, we are still doing a 3-night stopover in Los Angeles to try and cut up the craziness of flying to the other side of the earth. I really can’t wait! I’m not quite freaking out yet. I’m sure I will be soon.
Okay, I just got butterflies then.
2
Sep 05
New Zealand, Here We Come
I haven’t been posting much, and now I can tell you why.
A lot of stuff has been happening offline that I didn’t feel like talking about on the Internets, partly because I’m a lazy ass but also because I didn’t want to jinx it. A few months ago, my boyfriend, P, applied for New Zealand residency and I sponsored him as his de facto partner. Today we got the letter in the mail saying his application has been approved. After all this time, and a shitload of money in application fees, he will now be able to live and work, and above all, to move home with me. Yay!
My working holiday visa expires in February next year, and well, I’m getting on. Okay not really, but by the time I go home I’ll be turning 27 in a few months. I don’t own a house, and if I ever want to start a family I have to at least settle down in one place for more than a year or two.
I’m not sure if this means I want to get knocked up the duff or not. In theory, no. I mean, NO. No. No babies. UP THE BUTT, NO BABIES. But I want to own a house, I want to see my family and be a proper aunt to my neice, and be there for my awesome sister. I want to go to the beach on my lunchbreaks, and to have coffee on terraced cafes and go shopping in stores that I like. I want to drive to my parents house and watch the harbour in awe like I used to. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really miss New Zealand and I’m sick of being in limbo. So we are going to pack our shit up (again) and move to the other side of the world and buy a house. I sound like an old biddy. Dammit.
So, the current plan is:
- Leave the UK start of February next year
- Move to Belgium for 3 months
- Fly to Chicago
- Roadtrip to Austin, Houston, and maybe to LA
- Fly from LA to New Zealand around mid-May
- Profit!!1
Benefits:
- Less rain
- More sun
- No chavs
Fucking awesome.
28
May 05
Me: Then To Now
I saw a file a few days ago where a girl had scanned in the images from all her photo ID cards. Seeing how I have no idea where my old school IDs are, I thought, “Why not do it for every year?” And thus it was so.
It’s funny looking at all these photos side-by-side. Things to note:
- I was a cute kid. I’m not modest. I was cute until age 6. Then something happened.
- My mum apparently liked ruffly collars.
- I always wore my “best” clothes to photo day. I remember forgetting about photo day when I was 8, hence you can see the clothes I normally wore – second-hand and not matching.
- My mum used to cut my hair. She really liked giving me a weird half-fringe, even though I have a stupid cowlick that meant it always looks retarded. Why she just didn’t let it grow, I’ll never know, but I’m sure she’ll tell me that I chose to have that half-fringe. I bet.
- Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted curly hair. I first asked my mum to give me a “body wave” at 11. I don’t remember it looking that crap, and it dropped out after a few months anyway. At 13, all my friends were getting “spiral perms”, so I went to the hairdressers and got one too. By George, did they make it look like utter crap.
- I first got glasses when I was 10. Of course, being the silly girl I was, I chose really ugly purple frames. I had to wear them until I was 13, at which time I chose another really ugly set of frames, which I wore until I was 14, after which time I decided “fuck glasses, glasses are for nerds” so I just stopped wearing them, even though I can’t see shit without them, until my parents were forced to buy me contacts.
- At ages 13 and 14, I was a total fucking geek. As if that isn’t obvious.
- Just before my 16th birthday, I got my braces off. The excitement of having normal teeth lasted for 3 years.
- My goth phase lasted longer than this series makes it appear. Oh, teenagers.
- I am like a fine wine.
6
May 05
I Voted
As a member of the Commonwealth and a current resident of the United Kingdom, I am eligible to vote in the UK general election this year. I initally found this very weird, with having only a 2-year working holiday visa, and wasn’t going to vote. After some discussion, I decided that it was really my chance to help vote in a new government to see if there will be any change in this ridiculous War On Terror. I voted Liberal Democrat.
You can view the policies of the three main parties on the BBC website.
5
May 05
Buddy List Cull
I’ve been using various instant messengers since I started wasting time on the internet talking to weird internet people. I started off by using IRC in 1994, when I still in New Zealand. I got my first ICQ number in 1997, back when ICQ was fairly new and interesting. I then ended up using some weird one for a short while that seemed to only be used by Spanish speaking people that let you put “sticky notes” on web pages, and would show you what other people were viewing that web page and you could talk to each other. I then moved to AIM when I first planned to move to the United States. I then moved on to MSN in the year preceeding my move to the United Kingdom. Seriously guys, can’t you all use the same fucking system?
After all these years, I’ve ended up with running various clients all with far too many contacts, a lot of which I hardly ever speak to. I’ve finally settled on using iChat for AIM, and Adium for MSN and ICQ. Tonight, I culled my collective buddy lists from about 150 people to 40. I then ensured that every single one of those 40 people were people I actually knew, spoke to, and put them all into Address Book. Because Address Book in OS X “talks” to your other programs, people’s full names, as per their contact card, would then show up on all my IM clients. Now, everyone I talk to has a first name and a last name, and I don’t have to see any of their stupid MSN names that they love to change oh so much.
Because iChat is far superior to other IM clients, I hereby reckon that everyone I know should get a Mac and use iChat so I can have the pleasure of speaking to them with said client. The rest of you can eet mijn testikels. Dank u.
7
Apr 05
I Quit My Job, Sorta
3½ weeks ago, I decided that my job wasn’t leaving me enough time to do the things I wanted. So I wrote a resignation letter. A week later, I realised that I’m actually kind of broke and could probably do with a job, you know, for shits and giggles. To cut a short story even shorter, as of April 11th I will be working part-time at my current job, which leaves me the rest of the day after 1pm to do the things I want to do. Like sleep. Watch Trisha. Play on my DS. Smoke opium. Those sorts of things. I guess this post about micropatronage wasn’t half wrong after all. God dammit.
In actuality, I will be concentrating on my favourite hobby – photography. This means I will actually finish resizing my photos from my Christmas “world tour”. This also means I am going to try and make money off of my photography to supplement my meager part-time wage – things you will be able to purchase and enjoy, while giving me your hard earned money to support my half-hearted artistic bum lifestyle. But I promise, These Things will not suck. I have been thinking about These Things for a long time now. These Things might even be totally fucking awesome.
I will also have time when I am not exhausted to finish writing the things I start. This does not, however, mean that I will update my website any more, although actually it probably does. To be honest, I’ve been keeping a paper journal since the start of the year, and I can’t be arsed writing the same boring things twice.
“Today I went to work. Then I came home.”
“When I came home today, there was a poo under my chair. I scooped it up with newspaper.”
I mean, it’s not terribly exciting stuff.
Anywho, (did I just type “anywho”?) I finally uploaded a few photos from my trip to New Zealand and Dubai over Christmas. I have also moved my moblog photos to a directory that can actually be viewed. This contains more photos that I post on my website because I am a cheap bitch and it costs me 35p to send a MMS. Sorry, but it’s not worth that much to me.