I looked at my outfit, examining all the edges and curves in the dirty bathroom mirror. Everything I was wearing had holes in it. My fake Dr Marten’s were peeling back from their black rubber sole, holes underneath my big toes for rain water to seep in. My leggings had been taken out of a garbage bin in Wild Zebra, left for dead by a fellow hostel mate and given an second unexpected life by me.
I fingered one of the holes on the grey waistband as I made the trip into town to peruse the op shops for slightly less worn clothing and hopefully a warmer coat. I spent exactly $20 on two jackets and a new pair of boots, to say I was chuffed would be an understatement.
Sadly, I did purchase them from Salvation Army which is a vile corporation. I am deeply sorry to my gay family and friends. My only excuse it that its the only cheap op shop in Wellington proper and I was in a bad financial state, I’ll do better next time.
Andrea dropped Erika off at my house after work, she was back from her travels down in the south island and having a sleepover with me at my new flat this night. She and I made the short journey down the street to the Aro Valley fish and chips shop, a staple of the Aro Valley shops. We got veggie burgers and chips wrapped up in grey paper. We held them like babies or a bouquets of flowers as we walked up the slight incline of Aro Street.
“Hey, do you guys wanna go for a walk?” After a dinner of greasy beige food and on Bre’s suggestion, we walked down the street once again, this time making a right turn on Epuni street. We walked up the long cul-de-sac with pretty painted Victorians hugging us on either side, their facades new to me in the light of dusk.
We walked the city to sea walkway in the dying summer light. The giant trees that had fallen over on the path created bridges that we walked underneath, a sense of smallness in the face of nature’s wonder. Silence filled the air between us as we stared up in child like awe at the beauty around.
Erika was curled up next to me and the lights were off by 11:00 pm. They were back on by 7:15 am as we prepared for the long day ahead of us.
Erika and I climbed into a uber driven by an unusually chatty and chipper man named Randall. We commented with praise at his selection of Beatles tunes for the early Saturday morning. He told us all about the Howard Hughes plane, the Spruce Goose, which never flew but sat in the waters off the coast of southern California for years.
By 9:00 am we were in our rental car headed for Hawkes Bay with Michael, Brian, Andrea, and Evan. After losing a alphabetical sign game to Michael, we were parked out front of the Napier YHA a little after 1:00 pm.
We attempted to check in, eager to get to some wineries and let the art deco weekend begin. Before we could check into the hostel we were interrupted by the YHA owner’s daughter rushing in from the sunny street. With an insistent urgency, the two exited the building while our group stayed behind, our eyes glued to the large window facing the street. Some sort of altercation was taking place between the restaurant owner next door and the daughter’s boyfriend. A broom was weilded and a car sped off before the six of us got our room keys.
After a quick stop to our rooms and maybe a reapplying of deodorant, we were standing on a street corner waiting for 2 cabs to pick our group up. A Tip Top hokey pokey ice cream was in my hand while I waited, I caught the drops as they slide down the cone. Its much warmer in Napier than in Wellington. Barry came to pick up Michael, Brian, and I not long after the others’ cab drove away. I got in the cab with my ice cream still in hand.
One $30 cab ride later, and the second wonderful driver of the day, we were at the stunning Mission Estate winery where the views were world class and the staff were royal asses. I get it, we obviously aren’t going to be spending hundreds of dollars here, but they could have been a bit more accommodating to us. We did buy two bottles after all! However, due to a wedding, we weren’t allowed to drink the wine on site.
We toted our 2 bottles and 6 souvenir glasses down the road to Church Road winery. With views almost as stunning and a much more friendly staff, we stretched our legs and decided to relax here for a while. We ordered 2 more bottles of wine and 2 cheese plates while we sat in the shade.
Brian attempted to call and make a reservation for us at Crab Farm Winery for dinner, but after some wine giggles the disgruntled employee hung up on him. We tried to devise a plan for Brian to call back using a fake name. Michael, with pizza always on the brain, suggested he call himself DiGiorno. “Hi there, this isn’t delivery, its DiGiorno!”
This resulted in another uncontrollable fit of giggles. In the end, Evan had to call to make the reservation seeing as his accent was the only non American one of the group (Irish).
We got in a $40 cab to the Crab Farm Winery and with time to kill before the reservation, we walked a few blocks to a beautiful pebble beach. We sat on a log and passed around the Mission Estate wines, drinking them from the bottle like the scumbags the Mission Estate employees knew we were.
Crab Farm Winery looks like what you imagined your dream tree house would look like. Like, if the people from Out of the Box had a tree house it would be Crab Farm Winery.
We sat on an extensive amount of pillows with hanging plants and silks surrounding us while we drank another two bottles of wine at the table. I made a comment about surprisingly not feeling drunk to which I was bombarded with retorts about how it was because I drink all the time.
I reacted like a 5 year old, but my tantrum involved me claiming that I only drink once a week. What I meant was that I get drunk once a week, I do casually drink all the time. And to be honest, this whole “I only drink once a week thing” only has to do with the fact that I have .80 cents in my bank account. When I had money I was drinking a LOT more.
During the heated but not mean-spirited debate a voice in my head was like, “what are you doing Jasmine? You definitely drink more than everyone here. Why are you like this?” I tried to shut down the discussion before I dug myself into a deeper hole than I already was in.
Andrea later apologized, having made the first response about how much I drink, but she really didn’t have to. I should have laughed it off instead of stomping my foot and holding my breath til my face turned blue.
After the wine was drunk and the food consumed, Erika stealthily snuck away and paid for dinner, much to Andrea’s dismay. Afterwards, we hopped into 2 separate cabs yet again. This time we were headed back to the Napier city center in hopes of finding some of that art deco architecture that Napier was famous for.
Michael, Brian, and I arrived maybe 15 minutes before the others. We found the famous sound shell and walked along the water while we waited, giggling and poking fun at one another in our usual care free way.
When the other’s arrived we headed across the street to the Emporium where the art deco theme was prominent. I felt like I was a movie star in the 1940s or in a Lana Del Rey music video. We got through one round before everyone’s stomachs were ready for the next meal. We wandered the streets of Napier in search of fish and chips but we found that most places were closed at 9:30 pm on a Friday. Toto, we’re not in Wellington anymore.
Brian and I, always having room for more food, ate at a Thai restaurant. Michael sat with us drinking water and eating air before he sneakily slipped away to grab a salad burger from McDonald’s before bed.
I woke up at 9:30 am not feeling hungover at all, blessed day. We went to a place called Mister D’s for breakfast which naturally set the perfect backdrop of endless sophomoric jokes. I kept most of them to myself seeing as the restaurant was a bit more upscale than my sense of humor. And there were a lot of babies there, they may have outnumbered adults.
After some delicious avocado toast, we headed out to walk the streets of sunny Napier. We walked around the midly busy city center viewing the architecture and tourist traps. We found a modest farmers market, a stall there selling beeswax seran wrap, Kiwi as.
I sat in the front seat on the drive home to avoid throwing up in the car. We drove the Rimutaka pass, the same one I had driven with Kiki on our ride back from Rhythm and Vines on new years day. Today was a much clearer day but the magic of the mountain valley was as present as ever, even if I was nauseous the whole time.
Andrea dropped me off at home around 5:30 pm. Bre and Mel were the only flat mates home at the time, I asked them when they were going over to Taylor’s for his flat’s massive party. “Around 6:00” they informed me. They were going early to help set up.
I had wanted to eat and relax a bit before heading to Taylor’s for the big party that night, but a fear that if I didn’t go now I’d never go had me walking out the door with the girls by 6:00 pm.
We helped set up “the chill room” which was just a bunch of mattresses and pillows laid out in the yoga studio area of his flat. Bre and I helped make a treasure chest with gold paper and LED lights. Streamers, lights, and various bits and bobs adorned Taylor’s flat as well as the one above it which was being used at the dance and DJ area.
I felt very awkward during the pre party. I really only knew Bre, Mel, and Taylor, but he lives with SO many other people. I was tired, so my brain waves that are in charge of making sure I don’t fail at socializing were shot and I ended up standing around awkwardly for most of the pre party.
We ate a curry that Taylor had made while standing on his flat’s rooftop. Stunning views of Wellington in the setting sun surrounded us, it felt like a preamble for the night to come.
I met a cute canadian girl named Dee. She was here on a study abroad program and knew less people here than I did, so I sat with her talking about our shared love for dance and face glitter. My phones annoying ringtone buzzed from inside my pocket, finally Rhi was here. She and I drank in Taylor’s kitchen and danced in the apartment above which looked more like a venue in SF than a home.
Liana, Anna, and Femke, who were once again here for a weekend visit, had been at Homegrown all day. Homegrown is an annual one day music festival that happens at Waitangi park down by the beautiful Wellington bay. Abbie and Liam both came as well, though arriving at different times. Aside from the people I went to Napier with, all my favorites were here at this wonderfully strange party. I danced, I drank, I grabbed Joel’s butt and messed up Taylors hair far too much (a sure fire sign that the alcohol was working).
I was on the dance floor in the apartment above Taylor’s when lethargy hit. Feeling ready to go, I headed down to Taylors flat to grab my things and leave before anyone would notice. I stumbled upon Abbie, Liam, and Anna before making my escape. Per Abbie’s request, I followed them into Taylor’s room where Liam rolled us a joint. I called Liam a good cunt and a proud smile washed his face. He fist bumped me, glad to hear that I’d used the colloquial term correctly.
We followed the ominous concrete stairs up to the roof top to enjoy the spliff. Abbie was being her usual self, snarky and sassy, one of my favorite combinations. I reveled in her wonderful presence as the spliff grew smaller and smaller with each pass. The four of us walked back to Aro Valley while the party raged on. I was in bed by 4:34 am.
I magically woke up without a hangover again, selling my soul to Satan paid off apparently! I walked down to the water front farmers market to find Erika, Andrea, Evan, Michael, and Brian. I once again had no credit on my phone so finding them was difficult and by the time we were all together I was feeling pouty. I quickly grabbed a veggie roti wrap and snapped out of my mood.
Michael and Brian went back home to Thorndon while I hopped into Andrea and Evan’s car. We made a quick stop back at their apartment to drink some tea and gather Erika’s luggage before heading to the Wellington airport. “See you in November probably” I said to her as I hugged her goodbye. Andrea said something along the lines of, “I’ll see you, um, someday,” unsure of how long it would be until they met again.
I received a few messages about the Newtown fair but I gave it a hard pass. It was a gorgeous late summer day and there is nothing worse than being at a crowed street fair on a gorgeous sunny day. I’m 26, I’ve lived long enough to understand my anxiety.
I had plans to meet Rhi and Luke, our favorite Kiwi bus driver, to have drinks and catch up. I left my house with just enough time to get to Base hostel on the other side of town.
Dusk was falling in the city and a grey shadow fell, not yet night time despite the fact that the sun was hidden from view behind the Wellington belt. I looked at my illuminated phone screen and saw that I was running early. I felt my insides contract, shoulders pushing together, arms tensed and mouth dry. I ducked into a closed store front for protection from the street. The alcove provided a mild form of safety, invisibility even. I hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time. There was nothing I could do to quell it. It was too powerful.
If I was early then there was a chance that it would be just me and Luke alone waiting for Rhi. If I was early there was a chance I’d have to make small talk with Luke. If I was early then there was a chance for anything my anxious mind could conjure up.
I stood there in the alcove with nothing to do but writhe in existential pain. I wanted nothing more than to walk home and fall into my bed and not speak a word to a single soul for the rest of the night. I felt positively 15 years old again, absolutely crippled by social anxiety.
After maybe 10 minutes I tried my best to walk casually down the street so that no one could see the storm brewing in my brain, my soul. Surely the 10 minutes spent in the dusty alcove would have bought me enough time to have the esteemed pleasure of being the last one to show up to this party. I slowed my pace just to be sure. As Base came closer into view my nightmare became a reality, Luke was standing there all by his lonesome.
In a split second decision I ducked into the entrance of Basement bar hoping that he hadn’t seen me. As I stood there I realized that I had no honest escape from here, no way to wriggle out of this absolutely ridiculous situation. “Oh I thought we were going to Basement Bar” sounded wrong and lame even in my head. All I could think about as I hid in the entrance to Base bar was how I’d have to write about this in ye auld blog one day, what a fucking embarrassment. This realization only made the anxiety worse, I could feel my hands shaking as I took shallow breaths.
Minutes later I received a call from an unknown number and knew I had to pick it up. “Hello?” I said meekly. “Jasmine, it’s Luke… Where are you?” He laughed like someone who knew I was hiding in an alcove not more than 10 feet from him. He and Rhi laughed confusedly as I stepped out from the Basement Bar doorway.
“Didn’t you hear us call for you?” Rhi asked with a laugh. I honestly hadn’t so at least I didn’t have to lie about it. I received one shifty glance from each of them before the conversation shifted to where we were going to go for a round. Whether our of nicety or sympathy or uninterest, the topic of my entrance was dropped and I was eternally thankful.
We walked the block and a half to Basque. I ordered a sour beer on tap and dreamed of the Rare Barrel in Oakland, CA where sour beer is king. Naturally once the social even began I was fine, though admittedly still a bit shell shocked.
We parted ways with Luke after the one round and in the usual style, Rhi and I went onto Courtenay Place to find food. I sat and watched Rhi eat a subway sandwich, not wishing to be anywhere else.
I skyped my parents around noon the next day. They talked all about the home renovation that was going and gave me a little tour to show me the right state my childhood home was in. By the time the call ended I wanted to curl up in a ball in my bed and not leave for 5 months. I vowed to only rarely Skype the parents from now on for fear of this homesickness. I need to protect this fragile heart of mine.
I started my period this bright sunny Monday afternoon and I wanted to blame all my recent emotional outbursts on it, but that’s the thing about PMS, it only heightens what is already present. This fallacy that women make things up and conjure problems out of thin air like around their menstrual cycles is a heinous lie. If a woman behaves differently at all, it’s just that her body is tired (from being fucking magcial) and the usual amount of bullshit her thick skin can absorb is less than.
I burned a tupperwear by leaving it on a hot burner right before leaving for work. Shania Twain’s Up! was ringing in my ears as I stepped out of our flat to head to work. I passed by numours ciacada corpses on the ground on my seven minute commute. It looked like some kind of primitive suicide pact, I guess we’ve all got our issues.
I was supervisor once again at work but I had no energy to berate the children, all my energy was spent on doing so to myself in light of the Tupperware incident. Beavis cut open all the white board markers and drew on the boys bathroom stalls. Eliza Thornberry got upset when I said she couldn’t have tech time so she called her mom. Her mom messaged the work phone and said Eliza Thornberry could walk home. When I asked her about it she said she was going home to play on her iPad.
I just stared at her for a few moments at a loss and honestly too tired for words. “I really wish you wouldn’t have done that” I breathed after the stare down. Shortly after I received a message from her mother with some bullshit about how Eliza Thornberry needs her tech time and I rolled my eyes into the past. She can have tech at home, when you leave her under my care she under my rules. No tech time on Mondays.
I came home to find a number of guests over at our house. Mel had friends staying over for the next two nights and everyone was upstairs socializing. I wasn’t super keen to do so, but I needed to make some dinner so to the second floor I went.
Taylor was over as well and told me that he had read my latest blog post, “I found a typo” he said proudly, a grin on his face. Liana, hearing Taylor’s criticism, quickly turned from her place at the stove and yelled, “OH MY GOSH JASMINE GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS.”
With one hand gripping the dinning room table, I doubled over instantaneously. I laughed harder than I had laughed in weeks if you can believe it. I’ve never had someone say that to me before and I was so thankful for Liana and her wicked sense of humor. After the past 24 hours of my life, I needed to be told to give up on my dreams.
I walked shoeless, in sweat pants and a sweatshirt, down the street to the Mini Mart to buy peanut butter from Raj the next morning. He said hello to me with the sincerity of someone you see every other day, and I was appreciative of that small sense of connectivity.
Rain poured outside my window as I read over messages in our house thread on Facebook. Apparently Taylor had a tinder stalker who claimed that she knew where Abbie lived and was going to break in and steal our stuff. I triple checked that our door was locked when I left for work that day.
I spent the evening overeating and watching true crime TV alone in my room. I could hear my flat mates and the guests chatting away above my bed but I had no desire to join in the revelry.
I was clad again in the same arguably homeless looking attire from the day before as I made my way to Raj and the Mini Mart yet again. Today I needed oats as well as the smile Raj gave me.
After breakfast I looked in my bank account and realized that I was short for rent. A real panic threatened to attack me. My rational mind took over, knowing that anxiety isn’t good for anything, instead I focused my energy on how I could possibly fix this.
I ran out the door, this time clad in more proper apparel, and walked my ass to the ATM. I had some money left over from tax season in my American account. I withdrew what I needed and deposited it into my New Zealand account. I’ve got this, this world hasn’t broken me yet.
Despite my whole “you got this mother fucker” attitude, I lost my cool at work later that day. Butthead made a mess during afternoon tea and before I could think, I yelled. I rarely yell at children, my anger is generally a cold stare and a sternly whispered word. His body seized as soon as he heard me bellow and I saw a fear reflected back in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. He still behaved like a prick the rest of the day but at least he stopped spilling the cheese.
It was Mel’s second to last night in the house so the wine and cider was flowing. Liam came over to spend the night and so he sat around the table with us, entertaining the crowd with his world class impressions. His various Kiwi accents had us doubled over in giggles.
Bre brought her tap shoes and floor up from the garage on the pretense of us all giving it a go. Admittedly, I’ve only ever done two semester of tap lessons and I was rusty. So, naturally Bre and Liana were much better than me and an absolute joy to watch.
Mel was so pleased to watch all the dancing, she was screaming with delight. Bre even taught her some steps which she performed for us like a toddler doing her first performance. In this scenario we were all of her dance moms clapping and doing the moves on the side.
I felt that aching feeling of nostalgia for the present moment. I opened my eyes wide to try to remember these days as clearly as I could, knowing that these would soon be the good old days.
Love, Lavender Blonde
Your musical accompaniment for the week are as follows:
Crowded Places by Banks
Up! By Shania Twain
lovelavenderblonde 