Just an update

Well, I’m sick. As a dog. As a sick dog. With a nasty head-cold.

Also, I’m out looking for a job, right now. Well, taking a break, obviously, but still trying to put in applications online while having a coffee.

Seriously, this fucking sucks…almost every place I’ve applies at today has told me that I need a working visa that lasts over a year, but the work and holiday visa caps at one year.

It’s either I need a longer visa, or I’m trying to apply at family-run businesses, that don’t hire outside of the family-or at all, for that matter.

Suckage. MAJOR.

Ok, going to blow my nose again and head back out into the cold foggy day to continue the job search. I know, wonderful weather for being sick in, eh?


Damnit…I met someone really cool after talking to him online after several years and I might not be able to see him again be fore I go back to Oz. That really makes me sad! When Kendall and I were moving to Oz, he was sending us messages constantly, telling us that he can’t wait to meet us. So, I finally meet him a few days after getting to NZ, and we only spend an hour and a half hanging out. Now, I’ve gotten my visa earlier than I thought I would, and that means I’m leaving early (as you’ve read, no doubt), which means tonight and tomorrow morning are the only times I’ll be able to hang out with him again. I’m sure I’ll see him again, considering I’m only a few hours flight away, but still. This kinda sucks a lot, yo.

And all this after drinking a huge and EXTREMELY STRONG coffee, to make sure that I won’t be annoyingly groggy when we hang out tonight.

Damn his job. *shakes fish^^ at his job*

Oh, blogger is giving me an error. Better post this before it turns into something drastic.

^^ – this was on purpose. It’s an inside joke on DeviantArt

Murphy is an ASS.

That whole thing of “What can go wrong, will go wrong”, and, “What you think won’t happen will”?



I was supposed to be on a plane in twelve hours to get back to Oz, but Murphy is an ASS and decided to fuck things up for me, YET AGAIN. I’ve already checked out of the hostel, so I’ve been toting a freaking 10 kilo laptop on my back, as well as the power cords for said laptop, the power cords for my PSP which are for some reason as heavy as the laptop cords, three books, my tablet, two sketchbooks, a notebook, all of my important papers AND THAT’S JUST MY BACKPACK! In my LUGGAGE that I’m also toting around, I’ve got three weeks worth of clothes, hygiene supplies, sweatshirts, more paper notebook things of the writing and sketching type, and now I find out that my flight reservation couldn’t be completed as planned because Kendall’s dad didn’t want to deal with the “headache” of calling his credit card company to tell them that it was all right to make the booking! Now, I’ve got nowhere to go except back to the FUCKING SHITHOLE of a shit cocking hostel! I told Kendall that I would rather sleep at the airport, considering they wouldn’t charge me to sleep there.

Seriously, my flight being changed to one 10 hours behind schedule really fucked things up so much more than it should have. Hell, they were going to fly me out of this shithole last night, but because I didn’t have my things packed, and had no way to get to the airport, I was stuck at the hostel for one more night. I was so happy thinking that it was just one more night and then I could get back to Kendall and get a job and all that awesome stuff that I don’t feel like retyping.



I’m tired. I’m tired and I want to go the FUCK home.

On a completely different note, have something I wrote that happened to me today. It will make you think: What’s So Interesting?


So I just read a journal that a friend posted earlier this evening (morning for those of you in teh staets). In it, he’s talking about how pride is not a bad thing. Not just gay pride, but gender pride, racial pride, blah blah blah, ja ja ja. And while I think he put it more eloquently than I ever could, it just brings to my mind the other side of the fence.

One notation first, though. I don’t pride myself in anything that is natural about me. Do I pride myself on being gay? No. Not in the slightest. Am I ashamed? Hell, no! Am I proud of being male? Of being white? Of course not! Why would I be? Will I put up with someone telling me that I’m a horrible person because of these things that I should apparently be proud of? If that doesn’t make sense, should I put up with someone saying I’m horrible for being a white, gay male? Oh, hell, no!

What I AM proud of on the other hand are things that I have honed myself. Do I try to be more white, so I can be better at it? Do I try to be better at being gay? Do I try to be better at being male? No. I AM proud that I have been playing guitar for approaching 17 years and that I am currently writing my third album. Fuck yeah, three albums, and I’m only twenty-two! Who the fuck would NOT be proud of that?! I AM proud of the fact that I have made it around to the other side of the world in one piece and am working towards making a life for myself and the person I hope to soon be marrying. I am damned proud that he also says I’m great in bed! (Sorry, dad. Payback, I guess. ;P )

Jumping to the other side of the fence, I am mildly offended when it comes to other people showing off their pride. Yes, you can be proud of whatever you want to be proud of, but I don’t need to know that you are Puerto Rican. I don’t need to know that when you were in your sorority you slept with 158 different guys and got pregnant only four times. That’s great for you, really it is. I don’t care, though, so I don’t want it in my face. Then there are the girls with straight pride. Well, it’s not just girls, but the girls are the only ones I really have to deal with. The straight pride that I am referring to is the situation where a straight girl will be incessantly hitting on a gay male, telling him that she can turn him straight. No, bimbo. You cannot turn a gay male straight with your amazing vagina. Most gay males are gay because they in fact abhor vagina. I’ll admit it, and freely, that I think a penis is much more appealing than a vagina. That’s one of the reasons I classify myself as GAY. I’m sure lesbians have to deal with the guys that insist that they can turn them straight with their amazing penises. That’s what lesbians have dildos for, jackass.

Anyway, my main point is that while pride is great, have pride in what you’ve accomplished and don’t try to force other people into being proud of/for you as well.


Well, I be here in New Zealand. I actually got here the day before yesterday, but haven’t been in any kind of mood to post anything until now. The hostel I’m staying at is called the ACB Base, or Auckland Central Backpackers Base. Whoever designed this place must have been on some serious acid or something, because it is a goddamned maze just getting to my room, which I’m sharing with three other people. One of them, a really nice Korean girl from Sweden named Cecelia left yesterday morning, which made me sad, because she was so nice and the first thing she did when I got in was show me around our little portion of Auckland, and where the Australian consulate general is, which was extremely helpful, considering that’s the main reason I’m here in the first place, to get a visa from the ACG. Long sentence is long.

Anyway, back to the maze that is the ACB Base. To get to my room, you have to go in through the entrance which says on the maps that it is right on Queen St., but is in fact on a side road that isn’t even large enough to get onto the maps to begin with. Step one: difficult at best, succeeded in finding entrance after one hour of searching. Step two, go into the elevators up to the third floor. Succeeded with ease. Step three(a), go through the cafe. Step three(b), go through the internet cafe and find the correct door out of five that all seem to look like generic janitorial closet doors and go down the stairs that you don’t even see until you’re almost falling down them. Step three: extremely difficult at point of sobriety. Inebriated as most of the tenants are when they return from the NOISY AS HELL NEVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP club next door: impossible, to be nice. Step four, go down a corridor that looks like a storage facility with nice carpeting and find your room, if the room number is still attached/not covered up by random signs talking about Kiwi culture. Step four: complicated. Step five, return to front desk when you realize that they forgot to give you your room key, which is one of those cards that will stop working if you put it near your wallet. Step six, try to remember your way back to your room and hope your front pocket in far enough away from your back pocket and wallet to still work. Step seven, return to front counter, yet again, climbing the two flights upstairs to return the key card because it’s retarded and doesn’t want to work, even though you kept the key as far from your credit cards as possible. Step eight, purchase new key card, because the computer will list your card as lost. Step nine, and I’m pretty sure that steps six through eight were just to (a), get more money from you and (b), to make sure that you won’t get lost and they don’t have to show you the way instead of giving you vague directions like they do the first time you ask how to get to your room. Step ten, enter room, find out that it is 10×12 feet and already has three other people in it and the only bunk left is a top bunk. Step eleven, drop things, slither onto top bunk. Step twelve, and this is key to your survival in the hostel, pass the fuck out.

Keep in mind that this is all from the perspective of a very tired tourist who has had all of three hours of sleep in the last thirty six hours or so.

Now, when staying in Auckland, prepare to empty your bank account when purchasing the smallest of items. One bottle of Aloe juice weighing in at 17.6 FL OZ: $4.00. One bag of generic brand potato chips weighing in at 150g: $8.00. One bag of generic brand MINTS weighing in at 200g (this is a very small package of mints): also $8.00. That is a total of twenty dollars for you to omnomnom for twenty minutes, freshen up and then drink something small, yet healthy because you feel guilty about eating those chips, because you think you’re starting to get a bit round around the mid-section.

Now, at the airport, where fast food is generally at it’s most expensive, it was $7.80 to get a large double cheeseburger meal at Burger King (known as Hungry Jacks in Oz). In Auckland? $8.00 for a JUNIOR WHOPPER MEAL. Yes, I made no typo there. Damned close to ten dollars for what could not even equate to a $3 kids meal at a BK in the states. Do not come to Auckland unless you can afford to buy the city you live in, claim it as a new country and then supply the military you haul together with weapons, rations and strip nights to keep them in check. AND have some money to spare for yourself after all is said and done.

On a completely different note, the internet at the hostel is extremely inexpensive. It’s $50 for an entire week of unlimited bandwidth usage, which for Oz and NZ, that’s extremely cheap, considering buying 3 gigs of bandwidth per month will usually cost about $150 or so.

So I’ve already downloaded two movies and the live Dream Theater concert when they played at the Budokan, as well as the rest of their discography that I didn’t already have, which was five albums.

Alright, I’ve rambled on enough. I’m going to eat another mint, chug my aloe drink, smoke a cigarette (having to go through the maze twice to accomplish) and then finally passing the fuck out. Fortunately, tonight, I am on the bottom bunk. That removes step eleven (refer to step eleven).