propositions

A friend of mine just propositioned me for a pash. A 'pash'? I thought that word died in the early 2000's. Lucky I wasn't drunk cos I would have gone there.

It's weird, even an off-hand remark like that can get you asking a few existential questions - like how would his beard feel on my face? Would some rogue piece of fubes (face-pubes) climb its way into my mouth and choke me? Would I get tangled? Would that make it entirely hilarious or produce some epic awkwardness?


Ah, friends.
So many questions!

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Changes are good, especially when you're changing undies. So I'm changing how I write this: it's gonna be all about my friends. Yep, more Fortuitous Friend Files and other such privacy-invading ditties that flow out of my fingers. Cos themed blogs are way awesomer.

Ava

I have an older sister. Her name is Ava. I think she's 25 or something (meh, it's not important).

When I was younger I used to think she was adopted. We don't look anything alike; for one she doesn't look like a stick insect. Stink for her. Oh and she's white, I guess that's the biggest seller. But brown people are cooler so she missed out on that eh.

She lives in shitty old Christchurch. Last time I went there we got really drunk together with my other sister Georgia. We laughed at this guy who wanted to bang me, then proceeded to throw back Ava-meister shots (yeah that's right, my sis is so cool she has alcohol named after her. No big deal or anything).

What really makes me laugh about Ava is that we freestyle together. A lot. And we're no amateurs - hell no, we fuckin' rock that shit. Nigga! I'll post one of our raps later, I just gotta find it.

I sometimes wish Ava lived in Auckland. But then I remember she's older than me and will probably play the 'older card' when Dad goes to dividing his cool shit (that happened today actually, apparently she's getting the Ford Fairlane when he dies - but I distinctly remember him telling me when I was 12 that I could have it). Maybe he's a fraud? I should get my hands on some Veritiserum like they have on Harry Potter and get the real truth. I'd ask him about his drug-taking days too, that'd make for some mean lolz.

Ava is pretty choice. I suppose I love her. She's a make up artist, and a pretty damn good one too. (If anyone needs her just message me and I'll pass on her number). She currently wants to bang this guy called *Jaryd* (apparently he's pretty awesome in the sack, and his name has been changed cos she's totally a secret spy for the government when she's not a make up artist). She told me not to say that, but hey, sisters fuck shit up. And she's trying to hide the fact that she's killed a guy. I don't even think I have enough people that read this to incriminate her (I'd say I have 2.5 readers in total).... So it's all g in the hood.

I'll let you know who gets the car. If I don't get it, I'm gonna punch the bitch.

earholes.

Facts. Facts are always fun. Here's a fact from me:

I always forget I have pierced ears. When I do remember, I resort to shoving whatever sharp tools (safety pins, paper clips, nails) I can get my hands on to keep them holes alive. Having ear-hole infections reminds me that I have pierced ears.

If I weren't running around doing shows, I'd be an Olympic pole jumper. That's always been a secret dream of mine.

See, nothings' weird when you come from a colourful hippy school (Steiner kid fo life).

Sincerely,
Ruby

A-Mizzle Sexypants.

I love A-Mizzle she is the greatest person on earth :D pretty extreme, but so true. that is all. sorry ruby, i couldnt help it. haha :P

The repercussions of 2 bottles of wine.

There's this guy who wants to bang me. And then cook me eggs for breakfast, drive me to work and pick me up when I'm done, ask me bout my day and actually pay attention. It's a bit weird, I just want to do the first bit only. I don't like affection very much.

He is nice though.

Say ma name, bitch.

There's too many Ruby's these days.

I have always wished my name was Kate. Or Kim. Or Tom.

Tom would be cool. But maybe I'd be a wanker and spell it Thom. Then I could have a laugh at the 'th' sound and convince people that really it is pronounced 'THom'. Yeah, that'd be pretty sweet.

Pheromones.

Oh, how my pheromones mistreat me! Not to wank on about how awesome I am, but I've had a grande total of 3 stalkers in my lifetime. The gaining of stalkers runs in the family (mum's side, both guys and girls). My mum has had a fair few.

My current stalker is a little creepy. To make myself feel better I wrote a haiku for him.

It's your eyes that scare 

me, all shiny and wider 

than your gaping mouth.

Pretty choice eh? Yep, I can write seriously. Jealous much.

tweet tweet tweet

As an update for the last post, I'll now have you know that CheapSexToys started following me on Twitter. First alcoholism, now sex. What the heck kind of image am I projecting?! Fuck me. (No really, I don't mean that in the sense you're thinking. Sick bitch, CheapSexToys should be following you).

Oh, you pretty things

My friend forced me to join Twitter. Yes, she forced me; moving on.

Looking at what people tweet, it's mostly a bunch of mind-numbing drivel like "I'm having an average night" and such other dull things as "going to the supermarket to buy toilet paper - fuck my ass". Blah blah blah, you tell the world what you're doing every 3 and a half minutes and think you're awesome.

I think I'm getting better with Twitter. I'm pro at replying to people, even placing their name so that it flows nicely with my miniscule little message (none of this hashtag name drop waffle waffle waffle). I follow Jim Carrey, which is pretty bad-ass, as it lulls me into a false sense of grandeur ("yeah fuck yeah I follow Jimbo, half the shit he gets up to really pumps my nads" *tweet tweet tweet*). I have a grand total of 7 followers (none of which are Jimbo, though) and have tweeted exactly 35 times since March 30th. Pretty sweet eh.

So the other night, I decided to disregard all my teachings of my Twitter-guru friend about drunken tweeting. Secretly, I'd had a few, and since I'm a hip young thing I tweeted about it. (Or just tweeted it? Fuck, I'm still not up to par with the lingo). My tweet was simply: 'Beer.'

However,

Some responsible dickheads thought they'd start me on a round of deep self-reflection on life/inebriation in general when they, addict voice, started following me. Addict voice? Now that sounds pretty hardcore. NO! Addict voice is a group of nice people who provide tips and support for those poor sods fighting alcoholism 'the non-AA way'.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Irony, you're a fuckin bitch sometimes.

Awkward times at concerts

So I went to Splore in February, and it was amazing.

There's something special about outdoor gigs for me - maybe it's cos I'm a tree-hugging hippy, or the fact that you sweat a whole lot less cos you're not in some fucking stupid little box with too many people breathing out too much hot carbon dioxide. I love concerts.

I was very much looking forward to Spektrum. I positioned myself right in the centre of the crowd - not too close to all the moshing lunatics, but close enough to see and hear just right. Unfortunately I happened to maneuver myself next to a girl of the exact proportions of me - which, as you may realise through the waif-like ways of my speech, she was surprisingly slim with limbs flailing about in reckless abandon.

You know that awkward time when you're on a date, and you accidently hit said dates' hand? It sends a jolt through your body - you're not sure if you should hold hands, or it's just one of those awkward conincidences. Well, I had this with said girl. It was weird. I know, we weren't on a date or anything.... But we may as well had have been, it was just as awkward as any date. Her hands just happened to be hanging at the same level as mine, and swinging at the same velocity and opposing direction of my right hand. It would not stop! It was as if our hands were keen on some erotic phalanges-sex. I knew she knew, too. I tried to step to the side, but to no avail. The crowd surged towards me, pushing same-hand girl into my side again. I felt so uncomfortable, I had to leave the show.

I'm hindsight, that's a pretty fucking stupid reason to leave a kick-ass concert. I'll just embrace the hand sex next time.

Fortuitous Friend File, episode 2

I have never met a Sam I didn't like.

1. Sam: I went to school with this one, and he is uproariously Asian. I mean it, hilarious. Because this Sam can't speak Chinese, yet he speaks English like he's only just learned it. I love him to pieces (ew, not literally) and can't be without him, ever. We played and sang More Than Words by Extreme for a school concert, which was totally rad. I wanted to go in costume, too, but was told that two brown kids looking like skinny white guys with zero hair maintenance skills would scare the little kids. It was a shame, I had wigs and everything.
   
   
2. Sam #2 was a few classes above me at school. He was always really lovely. Didn't talk much but it was ok cos he put all his words into awesome drawings. He had a nice face - my friend semi-dated him for a while. I think they were both each others firsts, which is lovely. One night he drew a portrait of her, and gifted it to her also. I don't think that ended too well.
   
   
3. This Sam works at my parents restaurant. I don't actually know him, but he has a really nice face. I like nice faces.
   
   
4. This Sam goes to uni. He hardly talks at all, but when he does, you know it's gonna be something life-changing and profound. He writes the best short reviews for movies. I don't think he talks much cos he has a slight stutter. Some girls were mocking him at one of our lectures one time. I thought they were dicks (still do). He is an avid facebooker, especially when he's drunk - and that's where the truth comes out. He told me I was pretty, but apologised that nothing could go further due to the fact that he was gay. Dang it!
   
   
5. This Sam is a girl. She is a mega hippy boho chick, which I think is rad cos whoever can pull off their own look is the Dude in my eyes. She seems pretty weird, but what's wrong with that? Nada. Absolutely nothing.
   
   
6. You know that family friend who you've grown up with that suddenly becomes really attractive? I realised I had a crush on this Sam when I caught myself staring at his package one evening, but that backfired in my face cos he said I was like his sister. Fml. Now, we are homies. I'm glad it never went further than that. We'd have some weird-looking kids if it had come to fruition.
   
   
7. This Sam has cancer. I hung out with him for one night, then a few weeks later I found out he was in chemo. Shock! I would have never known - we just pranced about talking in Cockney accents one night, photo-whored, drank beer and thought we were pretty suave. He is really good at accents.
   
   
8. I have no idea where this Sam is, I know he's on the other side of the world somewhere. This Sam was the school clown. Somehow everyone knew him. He was much like Asian Sam, only brown and Maori. You could never understand what he was saying, but he was gangly and awkward so the equation of mumble mumble+lanky+maori was entirely hilarious. Apparently he was snapped at work having a broom sword fight with a co-worker. Dunno what eventuated out of that (I think he got fired?).

If anybody else knows a cool Sam, tell me bout him/her. We can chuckle together.

Up next on the Fortuitous Friend Files: David

Lies

I am no stranger to cyber stalking. C'mon, neither are you. I always learn something new from others' blogs. For example, today I learned of the word:

affectation

A good friend of mine recently joined me in the ranks at Unitec. Thus far, she is not really enjoying herself. She tells me her class is really boring. This one particular day (the one where you do all that awkward meeting-and-greeting), she got up in front of her class and said she was from Argentina. Which is absolute bullshit, she's just another white Kiwi girl who happens to look slightly exotic in the facial area. She felt she needed to deny her roots in order to lessen the massively boring class situation.

You can't really fault her logic...

I don't know how she's gonna keep that up though. She doesn't even look Spanish. But hey, if MJ looked Caucasian, anything goes.

Is it really necessary to lie? I think so. Everybody lies, every day. It's pretty funny, whoever coined the term "Honesty is the best policy" must be feeling pretty fucking douchey right now.

Confused.

Lately my gaydar has been off. Really off. Or there's a secret sexual revolution happening. I dunno; it's confusing. I'm normally pretty good with that kind of pychic-ness, but lately I find myself prone to liking these wonderful guys who I later find out are actually gay. Strange. Better get to Family Bar, asap. And be more womanly, also - some one told me that the shorter a girls hair is, the more interested she is in more feminine guys. Shit. All my guy mates have longer hair than I do...

Fortuitous Friend Files, episode 1

I have many friends that share names like kids share lice. I like writing about my friends, so I'm gonna make a habit of profiling them. Here's the first episode of 'Fortuitous Friend Files'.

Chris

I have many friends called Chris. It humours me how different they all are. Here's a profile of my homies (no order in particular, and no last names cos you're all perverted):

1. The first thing I noticed about this Chris was his crisp baby-blue shirt. He must iron them - but what kid of this day and age irons their shirts?! Chris #1, that's who. That's why I respect him intensely (I'm gonna be cheated if he doesn't actually iron them. I'm gonna pretend he does anyway). I got drunk with this Chris and another lovely fellow called Sam in the dolls house at uni. It was one of my most memorable nights, partly because Chris and Sam had stolen two bottles of wine, and partly due to that fact that my classmates went and stole whole pile of flashy lights and had a dance party outside Building 1. But the other part was having a laugh in the dolls house while Sam and I watched Chris choose exotic videos from the library.
   

   ---

2. Chris: Perhaps the Chris I see the most, this Chris is my fellow enjoyee of all things binge-worthy. He and I often chat while ingesting copious amounts of anything, really, mostly McDonalds at 3am. We once went on a road trip, and Chris #2 and I did Scrumpy Hands together, resulting in me waking up with scribbled poetry, drawings of shoes, and letters I'd written to Chris, stuffed in my bra. They were all drivel, but are hilarious and somewhat insightful to look at now.
   

   ---

3. This Chris looks like Jesus, but is brown and racial. I don't actually know this Chris, I met him the other night at a party. BUT I know his face well cos I always see him at the Mint Chicks gigs, thrashing around and pissing people off. He's always 'that guy' in the crowd - pushing people around, whipping them in the face with his long hair and generally causing a ruckus. At this party where I finally met him, I learned that Chris #3 is absolutely obsessed with Miley Cyrus: he sang a few of her songs, word for word, with surprising gusto and finesse (check out my fancy words, yo). I was very impressed. We talked deeply about how I would play ukelele their wedding. I quite liked this Chris, he was very polite and almost made me wish I had long hair like his. Almost.
   

   ---

4. Chris: I went to school with this Chris, but he left in Form 2 and went to that horrid stench-pot we call Auckland Boys Grammar. I saw him in town last year, and it was strange - it was like seeing the same old jock I knew and loved, but this time he was stuffed into the body of some pretty indie kid whose jeans were highly likely to render him infertile. And his chest was busting out of his grey buttoned cardigan. It just didn't make sense.
   

   ---

5. This Chris was techically my uncle for the first 9 years of my life. I don't really know why my aunty dumped him. I'd really like to ask, but I'm assuming it will be awkward and uncomfortable for her. Chris #5 was absolutely magical when I was a kid - he sang in a band that seemed like they were stuck in the 70's. But they were still the ultimate rockstars when I was eight. He serenaded me one night on front of a massive crowd, and I blushed till my face was on fire. Y'know, it is terribly sad to search for excuses to leave conversation with some one who once held your attention for hours on end. Ex-uncle Chris is now just another one of those creepy has-beens. He does, however, remain on a slight pedestal in my mind, because he gifted me my first bass guitar when I was 15. It's a shitty black Samick, but it has something special about it - probably due to the fact that it was owned by his older sister who died before I could meet her (mmmmm, bleak). It's funny how an ordinary object gains intrinsic value if it has been owned by some one who has died. I think gifting me a guitar is possibly the coolest thing anyone has ever done for me. I just try not to think of being haunted by his sister when I play it.

   ---

I'm not sure about my stance of these Chris' reading my posts about them. I haven't told them, that's for sure. Hope they can't read my mind, otherwise that'd be awkward.

Next time on Fortuitous Friend Files: Sam

Perhaps I should refrain from swearing in the home.

Douche. My mother called me a douche today. Douche?! I dunno what to think - do I laugh about some brown 50 year old woman using juvenile words, or take major offense?

Douche. Douchebag. Douchey. Douchemeister. I use said word on a daily basis. It's wormed it's way into my vocabulary - I just love the way it sounds, it's monosyllability (yes that's not a word) and ease of use. It is not entirely offensive, so can be applied to any situation, anytime. It is, after all, a cleaning product. How did we get to use it so much? I guess us kids steal any 1 syllable word to exclaim our teenage anguish - gay, shit, fuck. Balls. Ass. Douche. How we have transformed their meaning, by golly. But I digress.

Mum seemed to think it was totally acceptable to call her daughter a douche. Which is fair enough, she accepted us kids swearing in the house a few years back. Which made me feel all nice and old when I could yell "shit!" whenever I spilt my tea. My sister and I would learn such words from my dad and the older cooler kids at school. Yep, we didn't know what they meant, we just wanted to feel older. So mum calling me a douche is her attempt at being young, right? I should be happy that I've got such a hip young thing to call a mum. But honestly, I'm a tad weirded out. I need to wash her mouth with soap.

Ew, babies.

nataliedee.com

I ♥ Fleet Foxes

And I think these girls do too. They've done a pretty rad job here.

Choice brah.

credit to creditors

I am one of those eager-beavers who sit back and read the credits of movies.

What I was wondering, the person who compiles/write the credits, do they get credited for writing said credits?



Whoever you are, I salute you.

Lewis the Deluded Feline

The neighbours have a cat called Lewis. He is grey with white paws and has one of those irritating bells on his collar. I always thought Lewis was a funny name to call a cat.

Now, this Lewis, when he first moved in, he developed this weird compulsion to run into our house (at great speed), locate my bedroom, and dash right under my bed. Every fricken time, he'd run to my room, regardless of where he entered the house (be it the the downstairs window, the back or front door, the crack in the ceiling...). What the heck went through his mind at that point?! Maybe he was running from the apocalypse. Perhaps my bed is the only haven to save all from zombies. I dunno; I thought he must be some sort of deluded I-think-I'm-invisible-you's-can't-catch-me type creature.

But nah, he's not deluded, just weird. I actually quite like him. Mum hates him, I don't know why. Probably cos he sets off our house alarm when he refuses to exit my room. I told him to leave, but he never listened.
He's stopped invading our house now. I no longer find a furry grey tail sticking out from under my bed, which is a shame because I found it hilarious when he'd try swipe at my feet as I walked by. He must have resorted to drugs to kick the habit he'd gotten into - no one could have done that cold turkey.

The neighbours now have a dog called Pippi. I don't think Pippi and Lewis get on very well. Lewis now spends a lot of his time over in our garden, mostly killing natives and claiming things that aren't rightfully his (like our deck chair, I know this because it is covered in grey fur). And when I say 'natives' I mean birds, like Mr. Tui who I found half-eaten underneath the washing line. Cheers Lewis, proud of you.


Yep, Lewis is a weird cat, but he may well be saving me from the apocalypse (2012, anyone?). I know where I'll be when the zombies come a'killin'.

laze.

How unimaginative am I? Using a song title for my blog title.
That's the only great thing about being called 'Ruby' - I can use that Stones song for almost everything I name. It kinda makes me sound like a hip young thang but really, I'm just stuck for titles.
Apparently every other person called Ruby does the same though....

Oh, the humanity.