Another Good Wellington Weekend

I really dithered around about what to wear Friday night; I haven’t been out dancing in ages and it was cold and rainy and I don’t have any good shoes, and all things considered the short blue dress and the knee-high boots with tights was a mistake. It was a moderately cute outfit—in fact when I finally made it to the Matterhorn an hour late, thanks to the stupid, stupid bus, all the girls at my table burst into spontaneous applause, true story—but its moderate cuteness was very much outweighed by its extreme impractability on the dancefloor. The dress covers my arms, and I hate having my arms covered when dancing, and then of course my feet hurt immediately, and then also my tights wouldn’t stay in place. And also it was silk so I was really hot the whole time I was attempting, with limited success, to bust some sort of move of some kind. It was a very fun night with very fun girls (all of whose outfits were way better than mine), and I count it a success in that I stayed awake past midnight, but from now on, I plan to dedicate myself more fully to my normal dance floor uniform: tight jeans, singlet top, flat shoes, the end. Dangly earrings and jingly bracelets if I feel fancy, I guess. I may just be kidding myself here, I may not even need a dance floor uniform ever again, since I pretty much never go out anymore in that way, like in the Hey-Which-Bar-Should-We-Go-To-Now way, the I-Don’t-Care-You-Guys-Choose-Oh-No-I’m-Flexible-I’m-Fine-With-Whatever-Except-I-Don’t-Want-To-Pay-A-Cover-But-Whatever-You-Guys-Want-Is-Fine-So-Where-Should-We-Go way. The last six months it’s been all about dinners and plays and shows and house parties, which is delightful to be sure, and usually involves way less standing in the fine drizzle arguing about where to go next, but the sad fact of the matter is that it also involves way less dancing, and I’m sorry but I love love love to dance, and I never get to do it, and it’s sort of my fault because I spook easy, but it’s also sort of Wellington’s fault because there’s nowhere, and I mean nowhere good to dance, where ‘good to dance’ = ‘decent music that errs on the side of being groovy and poppy instead of inscrutable and completely free of any beat whatsoever,’ and also where it = ‘has a place to put your coat,’ and I would like to lodge some sort of complaint with the management, please and thank you.

(I would also like to take this opportunity to personally thank the lovely waiter at the Matterhorn when we went back there after yet another failed attempt at enjoying Mighty Mighty: he not only blushed adorably when I replied “I’m sure you could” when he told me he could bring me some sugar even though the kitchen was closed and there was no dessert left, but also gave our table a bunch of chocolate bars. Thank you, easily-blushy waiter! I very much enjoyed that free chocolate, which was a lovely end to a lovely night, poorly-chosen outfit be damned).

Okay, so Saturday I slept in and then waited an extra twenty minutes for the bus and was late for the long-awaited beginning of my modeling career. My dear friend Alice is an acupuncturist and she’s redoing her site and she wanted to have some pictures of someone having needles stuck into them and not, like, freaking out. I’m not sure why she thought I would be a good candidate for this, as I’d never had acupuncture before and was actually a little trepidatious about the whole thing, but what does friendship even mean, if it doesn’t mean getting stuck with needles? Actually, my friendship with Alice not only involves getting stuck with needles, but also having her set those needles on fire, for photographic purposes I believe. Our gorgeous friend Michael was very excited by the whole thing and insisted that she continue to set the needle—a very big needle, may I add, and also very close to my hair—on fire multiple times. Sylvia showed up too and we all complimented Michael on the photos and had tea and bickies (once the needles were out) and I hardly need add, I suppose, that a good time was had by all.

Alice and I went for coffee at Fidel’s and then I bought about eighteen different kinds of juice for Giulia, who was home sick and whose fiancé had asked if I’d stop in and check on her. She requested boiled white rice with olive oil (“the stuff in the can, not in the bottle—the good stuff!”) and Parmesan cheese for her sick food, which was terrifying because she is a fantastic cook and I was afraid I’d mess it up, even if it was only boiled rice. She managed to choke it down though so that was good and we settled in on the couch and watched movies and pet the cats and I told her my life story and then it was time to go home.

Sunday the bus was (sigh) LATE AGAIN but I managed to get into town just time to meet my other friend Giulia for brunch at Floridita’s and a walk along Oriental Parade. Do you know the story with this Giulia? Okay, well, there I was at, um, Giulia’s party–the boiled rice Giulia, not the brunch Giulia–minding my own business, eating homemade pastries with both hands, and talking to a great many people in at least two languages. I was introduced to the other Giulia–the brunch Giulia, not the boiled rice Giulia—and was all like “Yeah, cool, piacere,” and that was all very nice, and I was chatting to someone else about an hour later, when she ran over to me. Brunch Giulia.

“I know where I know you from,” she said, grabbing my arm with this sort of wide-eyed expression on her face. “I know you from Samoa.”

Samoa, right. Samoa. Medium-time readers will recall that I went to Samoa last May, and that I was very very happy there, for lack of a more encompassing adjective. I spent the whole time with a banana doughnut in one hand and a snorkel in the other, in a blue dress, bare feet, and a big stupid smile on my face, so how she recognized me at a party in Hataitai, wearing fishnets and heels, is completely beyond me, but there you have it. I’m not even lying when I say I had to sit down when I understood what she was saying; we both sat down, actually, right in the middle of the party, and even though we’d basically just met each other we ignored everyone else and got caught up right there and then (I can’t describe her face when I told her I was in Wellington on my own), totally freaking out about the series of circumstances that had led us to meet each other again in Giulia’s…the boiled rice Giulia, whose house it was…living room in the middle of winter in Wellington. Anyway we’ve been hanging out ever since and now it’s time for her to leave Wellington, basically breaking my and everyone else’s heart, although of course we’re happy for her and her new job and all the new excitement coming her way. I am pretty used to farewell parties by now, as I have been saying goodbye to various people for about three years straight, and in fact I always say see you next time instead of goodbye, but it’s still hard, and it still hurts to lose the chance to see your friends regularly, although thank heavens, of course, for Facebook, but you know, still.

But it was a gorgeous day yesterday and brunch Giulia and I took off our shoes and walked in the sand a little on Oriental Parade and dipped our feet in the freezing cold water and talked about some very emotional stuff and maybe even cried for a minute there in the sun, just because there are so many questions to which there are no answers, and you can’t help ask why even though you know you’ll never really know, and then we got gelato and walked back to town and hugged and kissed, and I got on the bus (it was late) and texted Alice to see if she wanted to come over to my house for tea and biscuits and she did and we spent some more time talking about some completely different emotional stuff as the sun went down behind the hills and over the bay. I made broccoli pasta and we sat on the couch under a blanket and got out our calendars and hammered out our New Year’s plans and then my flatmates came in and we all giggled at each other for a while and then it was time for bed, the end of yet another good Wellington weekend.

You know, life is difficult, girl, and very confusing at the best of times. If I’ve learned anything, if I continue to learn anything—and you know what, I don’t even care if this sounds like I’m signing your yearbook when I say this—it’s that there are so many good people in the world to love, and there are so many weekends to spend loving them.