OK, ignore that last post. Especially since Mario just told me that for no discernible reason apart from good old-fashioned altruism and friendship, he has sent me a vintage BOAC bag to replace my stolen one. Which means that I feel very bad for abusing the USA, and I feel quite teary that someone I've never met in person could be such a sweetie. Bless the US-invented internet, and especially bless Mario and his tales of the Latin Grammys.

OK, look, I just have to have a very ungracious spaz about how much I hate every fucking thing right now. Not only has Brent flown to Houston (24 hours' travel from here, give or take) to sign a piece of paper, in order to collect a cheque to deliver to his mother in Denver, the goddamned money didn't fucking arrive in Channelview from New York, so now he has to change his ticket at enormous expense, take two *more* days off school/work, all because Rita Jackson of Century 21 (please note her name and send her hate mail) is a fucking incompetent *idiot*. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Additionally (and I'm sorry to all my American friends and my American husband and all the lovely people I know in America) but *this would never fucking happen in New Zealand* because we are actually *efficient* and *take responsibility* for our *work*. What the *hell* is wrong with that place? It's just one endless frustrating bullshit bureaucratic nightmare from start to fucking finish over there!!! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I'm not mentally unbalanced. Really. I just get all freaky when I'm without him for too long. He's nice. I like him. And the dog is looking for him all the time and she's sad and so am I. We are mournful in our little house together. Sigh.

I wrote a big long post all about everything in the world, and it disappeared when my network login expired. ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

Goodbye, Ian MacDonald.

That thing about moving house being almost as stressful as death and divorce seems to be right. I'm exhausted from trying to find the right property at the right price for our grand extended family plan...

The 'signs and posters' section is the best. But the album by 'Eric Crapton' also appeals.

A profound, profound truth about marriage: 'You can't use the "wrong tone of voice," and you can't deny the wrong-tone-of-voice accusation when it's made.' Oh yes. Yes indeed.

The ears. I never, never tire of the ears.

There isn't another public holiday until late October. I shall run mad. I know I shall.

I am a beautiful felcher who loves to corner sperm. What are you?

You've got to admire this man's dedication to rock. Even in death.

He died while I was away. His older sister and I are still friends. He used to drive us nuts by wanting to hang out with us all the time. I went to his bar mitzvah. And here are the results of the inquest.

Last four films seen: Jackass, State and Main, Gold Diggers of 1933, Dogtown and Z-Boys. Sometimes I wish I didn't like nearly *everything*. It would be so much easier.

Yes, it may signal the decline and fall of western civilisation, blah blah blah, but here is why Jackass: The Movie was so funny. Costumes. They all dressed up for the occasion! To crash golf carts into giant plastic animals, they dressed in plus-fours. To have a roller-disco in the back of a moving truck, they put on their best gold chain and polyester ensembles. I am always for dressing appropriately, even if the ultimate resolution of the skit is always some dishevelled dude clutching his balls and writhing in pain.

No one in New Zealand has ever seen the show, and yet the movie was so popular at the Incredible Film Festival that it got a multiplex release. What does this say about us?