Absolutely Positively Wellington!

I love Wellington. I really do. I just don't feel that our catchphrase "Absolutely Positively Wellington" really captures the essence of this fine city. So I sat down and thought about the things that make Wellington what it is, and came up with a few catchphrases of my own.

Wellington: Where shit goes mouldy real fast!

Wellington: Hope you like wind!

Wellington: Our icon is a hobo!

Wellington: For when you don't want to live in Auckland!

Wellington: Because insulation is for wimps!

Wellington: Keep your Skytower, we have a bucket fountain!

Wellington: It's in the middle!

And for those landing in Wellington Airport...

Wellington: Feeling naseous?

Home Sweet Home Part Two

My hunt for a new house having been entirely unsuccessful, I was ready to give up. I had one more viewing appointment on my list and to be honest, I didn't want to go. I was so sick of being shown mouldy bathrooms, dirty kitchens and purely decorative dishwashers. I hadn't seen anything worth seeing and I had zero hope that this one would be any different. There is no way anything that cheap that close to uni could be even close to habitable.

I went along though, if nothing else just to reassure myself that staying in my current room was better than the alternatives.

Having already decided that I was going to hate the house, dislike the people and only take a cursory look at their sure-to-be scummy bathroom, I was very upset when I quite liked the place. Worse, I liked the housemates. And the bathroom wasn't scummy at all.

The problem was, how did I get them to like me? I went for the 'I'm really normal and you won't regret asking me to move in at all' approach. Which, for me, is very difficult, but I managed 45 minutes without mentioning my love of showtunes and dancing in my underwear, my feelings on cats and children (both should be banned) and my addiction to one liners and puns.

I guess it must have worked because one anxious hour later I had a call from Chris, the housemate, offering me the room on two conditions: that I didn't interfere with his morning shower, and that I didn't put poo in the washing machine.

And really, who can argue with that?

Home Sweet Home

Due to a minor personality clash with certain housemates, I decided recently that life would probably be better for everyone involved if I looked for somewhere else to live. It was a hard decision to make, as my current pad is inexpensive and very convenient, but it's probably better for me to leave this way than in a body bag, and that was definitely the way things were going.

I turned to my old friend TradeMe to see what was on offer in this wonderful city in the way of rooms in flats and was excited to see that there are a lots of people looking for new flatmates. I decided I was going to be picky since I didn't want to jump from a frying pan into a fire, so I made a little list of things I needed in a house.

• I'm an inner city girl, so I immediately crossed off any house that wasn't in Kelburn, Te Aro, Central, CBD or Aro Valley (at a pinch)
• I really didn't want to pay more than $150 a week (maybe a little bit more if it was really nice)
• I wanted to live somewhere that wasn't mouldy and falling apart (harder than you might think in Wellington)
• I wanted to live with people who are social, but not partiers, fun but not crazy, and clean, but not obsessive
• I didn't want to live with more than four other people but preferably more than one other person
• I wanted to be able to walk to town and uni, but be near a bus in case I didn't want to walk
• I liked the idea of having a garden for the summer
• I quite fancied a room that was big enough to fit a big bed in - but hey, I'm not fussy!

So I trawled TradeMe armed with my list and found quite a few that seemed to fit the bill. Words like social, responsible, friendly, clean, quiet, inner-city, roomy, light, warm and airy were thrown about like candy, and photos showed huge rooms, gardens, modern kitchens, clean bathrooms and beautifully made beds.

'This,' I thought to myself, 'is going to be easy.'

Turns out, not so much. The internet can be very deceiving. One place I looked at I was stood outside for ten minutes because the girl forgot I was coming. One place I never even got into because no one heard me knocking. One guy assured me that yes, he was social, but the other housemate never left his room. One girl promised me that there weren't normally alcohol bottles strewn across the living room. One person said the landlord had been promising to fix that hole in the bathroom wall for a while now. One place I was greeted by my ex-boyfriend's date to our university ball - the year we were dating.

Bedrooms that had appeared in photos to be huge turned out to be tiny. Large, airy living rooms were tiny and dark. Modern kitchens became cess pits of mould and renovated bathrooms revealed suspect grey spots on the floor by the cruel light of reality. Friendly housemates turned out to be inarticulate and awkward. Ten minutes from town was only if you were running and bus stops right outside weren't serviced on weekends.

I was beginning to think I might have to stay in my current room and just accept that I was unpopular with other housemates, but there was one more house on my list...

To be continued!

Dog's Best Friend

Bernard has a squeaky toy.

For those of you who don't know, Bernard is the seven month old lowchen with whom I'm currently co-habiting. He is my housemate Lucy's adored dog, and he is very cute and very dopey.

Anyway, this toy - I think it's a dog, or a cat or something - is the bane of my existence, and I'm not the only one. Mike (Lucy's live-in boyfriend) has been known to hide it, just to make the infernal squeaking stop, but it's Bernard's favourite toy and to get rid of it would be to incite Lucy's wrath. So most of the time we just put up with the 'squeeeeea-eeeeak' squeak squeak squeak' from Squeaky (as he was so imaginatively named).

Unfortunately he has taken recently to chewing on Squeaky as a pre-sleep form of entertainment, which means that as the rest of the house settles into bed, Bernard and Squeaky are playing. From my room at the other end of the hallway, I can hear it;

'squeeeeea-eeeeak' squeak squeak squeak'.

This will go on for varying lengths of time, and ends when Mike employs some colourful language, grabs Squeaky and tosses him somewhere high up where Bernard can't reach.

One particular night, earlier this week, I was lying in bed listening to this nighttime play when the sound of the squeak changed.

"Squeee----------eak? Squ-----Squ-----Squ-----eak? Squark."

Then no more.

Bernard had finally killed Squeaky. Mike and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief as Squeaky became just another harmless, if slightly grotty, chew toy.

So you can imagine my concern when I got home after work the next day and heard;

"Squack. Squaaaack. Squack squack squack."

When I walked into the room, Bernard looked up at me with an expression of pure happiness. Between his front paws lay a big, yellow duck. A big, yellow, squacking duck.

Lucy had the grace to look slightly abashed. "He was just so sad about Squeaky that I had to replace him. This is Bernard's new favourite toy!"

So the squeaking was gone. But the squacking continues.

Things to do

I love lists.

Especially when life is getting a little hectic and crazy, like now. I find them very soothing and reassuring, but not particularly helpful, mostly due to my habit of writing them on whatever scraps of paper come to hand. This results in a series of half finished lists graffitied with little drawings of kittens and sailboats, with little crumbs on them from the stress-relieving chocolate. Not helpful.

However, I have discovered that they are useful for charting my mood and stress levels over time. For example, I found one list written a few days ago which suggests that I should perhaps have been seeking counselling rather than just writing lists.

• Eat something. Not tea.
  
• Breathe more.
• Get haircut. No time. Cut own fringe.
• Thursday. (Note: I still don't know what was happening on Thursday.)
• MDIA305 Assignment.
• MDIA306 Assignment.
• MDIA310 Assignment.
• WRIT202 Assignment.
• Move house.
• Or get on better with housemates.
• Visit Careers office - find career.
• Go for a run. (This appears on most 'to do' lists.)
• Call Mum, avoid lecture about lifestyle.
  

The list itself wasn't entirely unusual. It was the fact that I found it in my fridge, with a sock, that suggested that maybe I should just calm the hell down.

So I made another 'to do' list.

• Go back to bed.
• Watch Glee for three hours in a row.
  

Best 'to do' list ever.

The Consequences of Drinking

I went out for a drink with a friend the other day. One drink turned, as it so often does, into two drinks. And two drinks turned into us sitting in Betty's with a jug between us arguing about whether or not the waiter was a hottie. (In case you were wondering: he wasn't)

Anyway, when I realised the time I made a tipsy run for the last bus and was terribly pleased when I made it. A few stops later some drunk teenagers jumped on and I sighed in a hypercritical way. Drunk people...

They were making lots of noise and using language a sailor would have been proud of, and eventually the bus driver, a tiny little Asian man, stopped the bus and went down the back to have words with them.

Things escalated very quickly, and no one looked more surprised than the driver himself when he found himself with an agressive drunk girl on her knees in an armlock. It was all game on at that point: the girl next to me called the police, the drunk girl's friend stole the cash box and ran off down the street, and a little tiny old woman shuffled up and down the bus reporting on the mayhem. And while it was all very exciting, with the flashing red and blue lights, attractive policemen and the yelling of the drunk girl (now in handcuffs), there was only one thought running through my head:

I have to pee.

Great. The most exciting thing that's happened to me in weeks and all I can think about is waterfalls and running taps. Even the hot policemen couldn't distract me, which was such a wasted opportunity.

I got the foot tap and the jiggling leg going, and I must have looked very anxious, because the little shuffling woman came and patted my hand reassuringly. Which was sweet of her, but didn't help me in the slightest. I couldn't even get off and run for a toilet, because the police wanted to question people.

So I made small talk with the girl next to me about dry things like biscuits and sand and my sense of humour, and eventually everyone who ought to be arrested was arrested, the hot policemen drove off into the night, and the little shuffling woman stopped shuffling and was escorted back to her seat by the driver.

It was quite an exciting adventure, which made for several retellings the next day, each one more exaggerated than the last.

And in case you were wondering, I made it home in time.

All together now...

I was standing in the middle of a crowd on Lambton Quay today, all of us staring up at the top of a tall office building with a mixture of horror, confusion and morbid curiosity. The street had been police taped up, fire engines and police were in attendance and we, the people, just stood and watched.

More and more passersby joined the crowd staring up at the glass fronted building. We were enthralled. One man joined the crowd at my side.

"What's going on? What are we looking at?" he asked in concern.

I looked at him and shook my head. "I have no idea. But everyone else was looking so I joined in."

He nodded understandingly, and we both turned our attention back to the building.

I don't think New Zealand's sheep population is entirely ovine.