Manly Monday

Photo credit: Sydneyinframe.com

I honestly love my job. I have great hours, my boss is amazing and I got paid to take my reclusive students to the beach for the day.

At the end of each course we take our students on an excursion. Luckily, as teachers, we have the power of persuasion on our sides so I gently coax my students into agreeing to spend the day at the beach, despite the fact that most of my students hate the sun, swimming and BBQ's. But I'm getting them out of the house and they are experiencing "real Australian culture".

Since Lil' A was in town she got to play chaperon/conversationalist too. being that she is cute and blond I knew my students would love her, especially since blond hair is rarely seen in most of their countries.

We woke up bright and early on Monday morning to catch the ferry to lovely Manly Beach. I wasn't surprised when none of my students showed up and only three of my co-teacher's students were present. When asked, most of my students list sleeping in their top three hobbies, so I imagine that most of them stayed in bed. Oh well, that just meant fewer awkward silences and that I could wear my bathing suit comfortably. So the "guides", two Turkish men in the later part of their prime, and a sweet Thai teenager hopped on the ferry and spent "the best 12 dollars of our lives" on the sprawling scenic views across the harbor.

When arriving to Manly we walked over to Shelly Beach, which is a more secluded and less wave ridden area. We took failed jumping pictures, had some giggles and entertained our student's questions about England and California. As the sun crept behind clouds and it looked like rain we headed back towards the cafe riddled streets for some refreshments. Luckily we were with a more talkative group of students and it was fun to swap stories about our home countries. Turkey strikes a chord in my heart so it's always fun to hear about what it's like. I am also dying to go back to Thailand and think Thai people are amazing and love hearing about their food and culture.

After some food we decided beer was the best option. My co-teacher had to go back to work so Lil' A and I said our goodbyes and hit the German beer factory for some steins and scenery. We observed the eye candy in the bar and on the street and chatted with the smiley Canadian bar maid until we saw the bottom of our glasses. At this point we thought wine shopping was necessary so we headed to the bottle shop to stock up for the week.

After our purchases we went to the ferry dock and to wait for our ride across the harbor. Being blond and carrying 6 bottles of wine we attracted the attention of a rather colorful individual. He looked like he had been partying for the better part of a decade with few brakes in between. He made some comments about alcohol and wet dreams and started slurring and flirting with us, most likely in hopes of us cracking open a bottle of wine and sharing it with him. While he was attractive and probably used to his looks getting what he wanted a red flag went off in both of our heads and we politely relocated to a different part of the boat when it arrived. I don't know if it was the suggestive remarks, the slurring or the bottle of prescription pills that fell out of his pocket when he lost his balance and spilled his coffee but he was definitely the kind of guy who would slip coke into your suitcase then leave you with the authorities when you got caught. No bueno. We went up stairs to reenact the flying scene from Titanic along with other tourists and day trippers. We thought we had lost our little friend when a hint of BO and coffee wafted up to my nose and a gravely voice said: "oh hey, can I borrow your phone because I need to call my friend (aka: drug dealer)" I said I didn't have a phone and continued talking to Lil' A. He went on to pester some soccer moms until a nice young dad finally bought his random story about needing to meet a girl about a surfboard. Once he was occupied we left again, this guy was getting to be too much. When the ferry finally stopped we bolted in hopes of leaving Crazy McGee in the crowd. Mission accomplished, thank God. I don't know why, but the crazies love me and are attracted like moths to the light, maybe its my shiny blond hair... or my red lipstick.... whatever it is its this is a constant issue when I go out, but I guess it makes for good stories.

키스

Seeing Sydney through new eyes

Once again my dear friend Lil' A have traveled across time zones to visit me on the other side of the world. The number of friends and family who have made this journey in the past few years makes me feel happy and blessed to have such truly amazing people in my life.

Yet again A and I find ourselves on sandy beaches, drinking cheap liquor and stirring it up with foreigners from around the world. I will now write retrospectively as Internet access was spotty at best along the way.

Sydney

I awoke with the sun on Sunday morning, something I hadn't done on purpose since teaching kindergarten in Vietnam, but instead of getting dirty finger prints and snotty noses all over my clothes I set off to get one of my nearest and dearest from the train station. I hopped out of bed like a kid on Christmas, threw on a sundress, and shoved two Red Bulls in my purse. After a 14 hour flight and a 6am wake up call I knew we would need them.

I ran to catch the train and got off at Central Station where I would wait for the better part of an hour for Lil' A's train to arrive. Finally, after several failed games of solitaire, I saw her little blond head and big bright smile shining through the train window. I jumped up and we greeted each other with your standard squealing Cali girl hug. Australia had no idea what it was in for.

A brought a small child in the form of a suitcase with her which we lovingly drug across town to my house. His name was Ricardo and would be a running joke throughout our trip.

Lil' A always brings me American amenities when she comes to visit and this time was no exception. I had her bring me an amazing fisheye camera with a waterproof submarine casing I have been lusting over for the better part of a year now. Stoked to start taking cheesy pics together we chugged our Red Bulls, I slapped on a fresh coat of red lipstick and loaded a roll of film (that's right, they still make cameras that use film), and we set out for Sydney's hot tourist spots.

By 12pm we had hit the Opera house, the Botanic Gardens, he Harbour Bridge, Darling Harbour, the CBD and The Rocks Market. We took shameless pictures alongside Asian and European tourists and I were even ushered into a Korean family shot by a camera happy papa. His wife was stoked to have her picture taken with a "real Aussie". Some things are better lost in translation, wouldn't want to burst her bubble.

After a roll of film and two more lattes we wandered back to Newtown for some Thai. Newtown on Sunday's dusk is my favorite time to stroll the streets. Everyone is moving at a sleepy pace, trying to soak up the last precious moments of the weekend. A perfect way to end a day which would start what would be an amazing holiday.

Are we "present continuious" now?

photo credit: http://api.ning.com/

When does "a date" become "dating"? An age old question but fortunately I think I figured it out with this one.

After a long game of phone tag I finally met up with The Rock again. Several failed attempts throughout the week lead us to dinner near my place, a very suitable Monday night activity. King street is littered with amazing Thai restaurants so I was happy to try a new one. He wanted to pick me up, but I have learned my lesson about driving in cars with this boy, plus I needed the exercise since my running routine has become almost obsolete.

I met him on the corner so I could sneak up behind him. He was as large and beefy as I had remembered with a killer smile. We politely said hello and proceeded to walk around in search of a venue to foster our second date. We made small talk and what not and finally decided on a Thai place with some catchy name like "thai=tanic" or "curry Thai-m". We sat in the corner and perused the menu. I ordered Beef-Salad and knew he thought I was one of those girls who only eats salad and drinks white wine for dinner. I tried to explain that it was pretty much a plate of beef with some veggies and that was it. He was skeptical.

As we waited for our food I gradually discovered that we had pretty much talked about everything we had in common on our first date...and half of that date included a comedy show and then a real show at the Comedy Club. I was running out of empty questions to ask just as our food arrived. Thank God. He was curious with my lettuce-less salad so I invited him to try some. I told him it was spicy but men never listen. He popped a slice of meat into his mouth and immediately started tearing up. I smiled at at him coyly and we enjoyed the rest of our meal with minimal speaking.

After dinner he grabbed the check and my hand and we strolled awkwardly down the sparsely crowded street. He suggested ice cream or a drink and I told him I couldn't have either due to allergies and an early morning the next day. Really, I just wanted to go home.

On a dark corner under a tree he pulled me in for the kiss I had dreading since we ran out of things to say. You know you're not into a guy when you don't even want to kiss him. He inhaled my red stained lips a little and kissed me all over my face. I don't know if other girls find this sexy but I found it kina clumsy, like a horse searching for a carrot with its lips. Sometimes I don't know where guys get their moves. Too bad because he's really cute.

I refused an escort back to my house so as not to prolong my discomfort, gave him one last kiss goodbye and thanked him for a lovely evening. I walked down the street a ways then called my roommate to give her the report. Just as I had anticipated, I wasn't that into him. It's too bad too because he's very handsome, sweet and has the sexiest voice I have ever heard. We just don't have a lot in common. Plus, I am pretty sure my soft spot is with skinny, nerdy guys and he is more of your typical jock. Nice to look at but if you want to talk about art and books, forget it.

I got home and poured a glass of wine and re-capped with my roommate. "A" for effort, but no sparks.

จูบ

Fiasco Firsts

Photo Credit: www.thecomedystore.com.au

I have only been on a handful of first dates in my time. Usually the date comes after the consummation of the relationship and in college a "date" means meeting up at a party before or after several drinks. I always feel awkward and like I am going to do something embarrassing or that something bad is going to happen. Usually it doesn't, this Friday however, was a different case.

I met the Kiwi at a house warming party of a friend of a friend who I still don't know. It was jungle themed and surprisingly (esp considering the themed nature of the soiree) I was the only American there. I am definitely the girl to call when there is a themed function. For a while, 80% of my closet was devoted to various themed ensembles (including my job at MAC) so I was excited to attend. I arrived with a bottle of wine, a bright green dress and various fauna in my hair. My German friend had invited me so she ushered me around and made various introductions until I was settled and talking to the eligible bachelors of the group. Then he walked in; tall, dark and handsome. He came up and talked to me for about 5 minutes then left for another party with promises of French Films in our future. I didn't think anything of it and proceeded to drink the rest of my bottle of wine and run like Cinderella at 12am to catch the last train home.

He called the next day and we made plans for Friday. He wanted to pick me up but I'm a weird passenger and don't like riding in cars with people I don't know that well. I think it's because I have been in so many car accidents and I just assume everyone is as terrible a driver as I am. Guilty until proven innocent. So instead of him picking me up from my house we agreed to meet at the train station near the park and go to The Comedy Store from there.

I left the house in a little black dress, shiny heels, a tiny black clutch and red lipstick of course. With the right accessories (a date) and location (indoors) I did not look like a hooker, standing on the corner of a busy street waiting alone was another story. He finally shows up in a shiny SUV and I hop in. So much for my weird rule. We make small talk, you like nice, how was your day, blah blah blah and head out towards the club. Like a man, he didn't know where he was going and didn't want to call the venue for directions. Modern people, unlike myself, have phones with GPSs so we just relied on that to get us there. There was a lot of traffic due to some sporting event I don't care about so it was like driving down any street in LA during rush hour. At a pause he looks down at his phone to see if we are nearing the turn. The traffic starts to move again so he accelerates, then looks down at the GPS and doesn't stop and we are now in the back of a taxi cab. I was in shock as I have been in this situation far too many times before. Luckily we were going very slow so the damage was minimal and no one was hurt. The girls in the back of the cab just looked at me and I looked back and shrugged and proceeded to send sly texts to my roommate without him noticing:

me:"soooo we totally just rear ended a taxi"
her: "oh shit! are you ok?"
me: "yeah its ok, everyone is fine."
her: "well if you need to get a cab and come home it's ok"
he comes back to the car and I hide my phone under my leg and ask if everything is ok. He says yes, turns on the hazard lights and goes back to the scene of the accident.
me: "no, no, it's fine, I'm sure everything will be ok, I'll see you later"
her: "well ok, if you need anything let me know. I hope it goes better from here"
me thinking: yeah me too

After holding traffic up for roughly 20 minutes he comes back to the car and is surprisingly calm and collected, especially considering this was his first ever car accident and ESPECIALLY considering it was his company's car.

We continued to the comedy club and watched various comedians flounder and flourish as we sipped our drinks and minded our manners. We went to pay for the parking and I started jittering in the cool breeze. He suggested that the best way to keep warm was through body heat. I guess cheesy lines do cross cultures. He proceeded to put his tree trunk of an arm around me and pull me close to his beefy body. Did I forget to mention he's a rugby player? In the parking lot he tried to kiss me but I giggled and rubbed my nose against his. Some may call it playing hard to get, I call it nervous. Sober first kisses always rattle my nerves.

The night carried on and we met some of his friends for a drink at their local. They were nice but we did the anti-social first date thing and cozied up in a corner and shared our family tree, life experiences and all of our hopes and dreams. When the clock struck 12 the bar made its last call and we gathered the group to head elsewhere. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight as the last train leaves at around that time, so he offered to walk me to the train station. We were in Kings Cross, which is like the trashy side strips of Vegas, so drunk assholes number in the hundreds at that time of night and I was thankful for my bodyguard.

While we were walking three guys were walking in and out of pace with us. They were small, drunk and looking to fight, so I was especially thankful I had "the rock" with me. They yelled obscenities to every man, woman and cab driver they crossed in both English and some other language they don't teach in American public schools. We were talking as we walked but I was totally distracted by these obnoxious guys and couldn't hold a full conversation. They kept stopping in the middle of the street in front of us to yell at people, raising their arms in defiance to the cars waiting at stoplights and bickering back and forth between each other. They ended up a little ahead of us, just before the train station and I was afraid they might be on the same train as me so I stalled a little to see where they were going. Then I noticed that there were 2 more people mixed in with them and they were getting louder and more aggressive. I stopped for a second and noticed a slender guy in stylish clothing semi-surrounded and being harassed. I HATE bullys so I stepped in and asked him if he was ok. There were tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed my arm and was said "OMG these guys are being terrible and my boyfriend and I just got into a huge fight and now these guys are getting involved and I think they want to kill us". Two of the three stooges had taken the upset boyfriend over to a wall and were sitting and talking with him. They were being borderline civil while the third was irate and yelling in slurs at the corner. I could see that things might get ugly really quick so I politely told the guys "thanks for trying to help but please fuck off now". They listened and left with little hassle. I don't know if it was me or my stacked escort standing behind me. Being a children's teacher for so long has made me an excellent mediator and disciplinarian, I'm sure I would have had the same effect without a 6'3'' 300 pound guy with me.

The boys were totally shaken up and I told them I would help them get home. At this point it was time to say goodbye to the Kiwi. Breaking up a potential fight between short angry guys and hysterical lovers is a more than awkward way to end a night. I said I would grab a cab from here and fell into his arms and wrapped my red lips around his, giving him a few closed mouth kisses goodbye, I am a lady after all. I then talked to the boys, who thanked me and then started explaining what had provoked the fight. I don't know why strangers disclose personal details to me all the time, but they do. This disclosure re-heated drunken emotions and the more angry of the two decided to run away. The other went and drug him back to where I was standing. I then jumped in front of the nearest cab, shoved them in and shut the door. They were the cabby's problem now.

I don't like confrontation so I was a little shaky after dealing with all of the ridiculous events that happened that night. I decided to take a cab home because it would be easier than the train and I would have less chance of running into any more crazy people. I told the cold cab driver that I would like to head towards my suburb and that I would direct him to my house from there. I rarely ride in cars and usually take the train so I only know one way to get to and from my house via side streets. I also live near a dodgy part of town that is particularly grim at night. Apparently driving through it is one way to get to where I live. As we drove though said part of town and my phone lost have service I thought that this was surely my night to die. Junkies and alcoholics were roaming the streets like zombies with dead eyes as we drove past. I sunk down in my seat and repeated the name of my suburb to make sure the driver hadn't misheard me. He assured me this was the back way and we were fine but I wasn't convinced until several minutes later when things started looking more familiar and less like the haunted forest in Snow White.

Since I never drive or take cars I don't know which streets are one way or how to get around them. This resulted in several trips around the block which all lead to dead ends and caused my driver to grow more and more irritated. Four more dollars on the meter and we finally made it to my doorstep. I didn't have any cash on me and had to run inside to get some, which left my driver further unimpressed with his fare. I came back down and threw some notes in the passenger window and ran back into the house before he could give me another dirty look.
I didn't care. I was just glad to be home, wipe my red lipstick off and have a huge glass of wine.

I have never had a first, or second or even 100th date like this in my entire life. I think worst case scenario happened and then some. But overall I did have fun with him and I can laugh about it now. However, I wouldn't be surprised if he never called me again.

Poljupci!

Naked French Kisses on the steps of the arts

photo credit: www.abc.net.au

So today marks the two month mark of my new years resolution. I am proud to say that I have not faltered and have worn my obnoxiously red lipstick every single day of 2010, no matter what the circumstances of the day have been. So in order to celebrate I thought I would strip down to nothing buy my red lips and pose nude in public with 5,200 other strange naked people.

Today was yet another fabulous Sydney celebration in light of Mardi Gras Gay Pride festival. Spencer Tunick, famed American contemporary artist, was invited to Sydney to create an installation using his favorite props, thousands of naked people and an iconic background. He has done installations in grand central station in NYC, the Dublin Docklands in Ireland, The Shoreditch Private Members Club in London just to name a few ( http://www.spencertunick.com/). This installation was on the Steps of Australia's most iconic structure, the Sydney Opera House. And here's how the story goes...

As expected, Mardi Gras, Sydney style did not disappoint, in fact it had a very lasting impression that carried over into the next day. After surrendering to the couch gods and being worthless all day Saturday I caught up on my much needed beauty sleep for my modeling debut. I woke to my terrible alarm playing some spacey techno theme at the ungodly hour for 3am. I have seen 3am more times than a nun has seen a Bible but it's usually the time I am retiring, not waking. Either way, its an ugly hour. I stumbled out of bed and crashed on the snooze button and pondered what I was about to participate in. Was this really a good idea? Three snooze buttons and a call to the cab company and it was decided, I was going to bare it all. I tried to brush my hair and put on my luscious red lipstick as I heard a knock at the door. I have never gotten such a good turnaround time on a cab call before. I ran to the door in my PJ's and told the stout Ukrainian driver that I needed to use the toilet and I would be right out. Truth was I wasn't dressed hadn't checked all of my areas that would be exposed and potentially in need of some last minute grooming. I didn't want to be offensive. After the damage control was done I hopped in the cab and into the colors of the night to face a very colorful sunrise.

I love Eastern European cab drivers, so full of wisdom and advice on alcoholism, avoiding street fighting and strong family values such as never charging your children rent (I'm not being racist, this is actually what we talked about). Enlightened by my new friend I jumped out at the corner and joined the queue of cattle waiting to be herded in. Everyone was standing around in semi-awkward poses like 7th graders at their first school dance. I couldn't help but look around and think what I'm sure everyone else was thinking "I am going to see ALL of these people naked pretty soon". Tickled pink at the thought I filled out my model release form and started making friends with the people around me.

It was amazing to see the diversity this event attracted. I didn't really know what to expect but whether I thought of it or not, it was all there. Old people, young people, fat people thin people, Black, White, Asian, Heterosexual, Homosexual, Transsexual, grandparents, middle aged parents, young parents with infants and expectant mothers ready to pop. I actually heard about a couple who was and pregnant with twins in attendance. They had rescheduled her Cesarean for later that afternoon so she and her partner could attend the event. I wish I had seen her, that would have been awesome.

As the wind blew and the hours crept on we anxiously awaited dawn. We made small talk and swapped stories and kept each other company as many people were there alone. It was very communal and inviting to wait along the harbour with everyone. People were polite, made way for others and invited strangers to share blankets and conversations while they passed the time. I was especially thankful for this since I completely blanked on bringing a sweater.

Dawn crept up slowly and as the light started peaking over the horizon we were given more instructions about what was going to take place. Finally, at about 6:30am Spencer emerged and started tactfully spewing out instructions. There were two groups of "models" and both were entering from different areas. I was closest to the Opera House so I could see the mass of bodies waiting in the Botanic Gardens below. Finally the command came, first to the garden dwellers and then to us. We all cheered as they stripped off their clothes and let the salty wind kiss their flesh. It was like the wave at a football game first a few people started getting naked then more and more until it reached then end and we were all happy and in the buff. Some people were all about it and ripped their clothes off like savages, others were a bit more timid and carefully took off each piece in a shy tease. I was somewhere in the middle.

Once we were all naked I actually felt more comfortable. I was warmer because of the adrenaline rush and felt like I was a part of a group rather than an individual. This is totally how cults happen, when everyone is doing it it just feels right. We ran up the steps of the opera house yelling and cheering like hippies at Woodstock and got into our formations. Everyone wanted to look around but not be obvious, I mean might as well right? I was obviously no exception, so I surveyed the landscape. Every shape and size of every single body part was present on at least one person there. I saw every piercing, grooming, length, width and girth you have ever heard about in horror stories and fairy tales from the bedroom. I have seen a fare share of naked bodies in my day but nothing like this. It made me feel lucky that all of my previous encounters had only been noteworthy on the positive side. But this is where I say the body is beautiful no matter what shape or size, and though it is cliche' and expected to be heard after an event like this, I do totally believe it.

The choreography of the event was very done quite well considering the model to event staff ratio. We did several poses in several directions and waved at several Sydnians on their way to work. We looked up, we looked down, we turned around and we kissed. This is where France plays a very key role. Being that this installation was in celebration of the Sydney Gay rights parade Spencer wanted to show how much love was put into this event, his art and Mardi Gras as a whole. At this point let me state that this was never sexual or pornographic. Even though we were nude everything was carried out with the utmost respect and grace. No one was ever made to feel uncomfortable by the directors or other participants. No one was vulgar or inappropriate as far as I was aware and in the one instance where vulgarity and immature displays of sexuality where exhibited that individual was tactfully asked to leave immediately.

That being said let me get back to the main event. French kisses. We were asked to kiss our friends, partners or even strangers, if they so permitted. Kisses on the cheek, mouth or forehead were all acceptable displays of affection. I, like many others, was flying solo. I felt like an awkward adolescent again, waiting for someone to ask me to dance, and then they did. He came up to me with his Mediterranean tan and spoke with his eyes, it was clear, I was being asked to dance. We embraced, letting the warmth of each others skin shelter us from the wind but barely grazing each other with any inappropriate body parts. After we were nestled up we exchanged names. I have never gone from strangers to naked kissing so quickly, especially not sober. We kissed lightly on the lips as the pictures were being taken then rotated so we were cheek to cheek. He delicately patted his French little kisses from my forehead to my chin as he told me he loved the way I smelled. Oh the French. I sat there and gazed over the Harbour as the wind kicked up my hair and gave me goose bumps all over my body, or was that Pier? We changed positions again and this time I was meant to do the kissing. A few soft kisses and the shot was over. I think his friend was kinda pissed he had to stand alone. We changed formations and lost each other in the crowd. Au revoir mon petit chou.

After the external shots were completed we headed inside to drape our flesh across the seats of the Opera House. If you ever go see a show there just know that a few thousand naked asses were all over that place. We had plastic bags to sit on but I'm sure not everyone used them. At this point the 3am wake up call was hitting everyone hard but an hour and a half later every seat was filled and the stage was covered and it looked like a fleshy waiting room of a slaughter house for cannibals. I think my favourite shot of the day was the final one. we were all instructed to "drape" ourselves over the seats and railings. It was amazing and almost morbid looking, like a hurricane hit a nudist camp.

at about 10am it was all said and done and I couldn't help but wear a big red smile for the rest of the day. I had such a great time and was thrilled to be a part of something so unique and interesting that I will never have the chance to experience again, and I get a free print! If Spencer Tunick ever does an event within a reasonable flying distance of your city I strongly suggest you go, you wont regret it.

de petits baisers

Mardi Gras your face off

This weekend is Australia's Mardi Gras, although I'm pretty sure it was a week or two ago in every other country, but the toilets spin counter clockwise here so I guess other things are bound to be backwards too.

According to my "Rough Guide" the drag queens and dykes on bikes are not to be missed if one is in Sydney at the time of Mardi Gras. I can't wait. Tomorrow is the parade and it is said to be the biggest gay rights parade in the world. I look forward to Cosmos with queens, dancing in the streets and fetish and glitter galore. Of course I will be sporting my ruby red lips the whole time but I don’t think I will be the fairest one of all this weekend.

bicos!

Christmas in February

My antics never cease to amaze even myself. I'm like a blond Lucille Ball. I do weird things, get into sticky situations and fall down a lot. Location doesn't matter, thus being in the southern hemisphere hasn't altered my constant state of spazziness, so here's how the story begins...

This little girl is a helplessly restless creature with a wandering heart. I can't stay in one place for too long, thus after surviving 18 months in South East Asia I decided California could wait and head down under. Upon arriving in Brisbane just before Halloween I set out for a couple job interviews I had lined up before taking off. I was offered both positions but the starting date was yet to be determined. Every day I called the start date was pushed back a week. With nothing to do but drink and stay at an over priced hostel while I was waiting for gainful employment my funds dwindled quite rapidly. I was restless and anxious and then I thought to myself, hey I can stay here and pay 28 dollars a night for 7 days or I can take the train down to Sydney for 100 dollars and see my good friend from university. Fun and funds prevailed and 16 bumpy hours later I was in Sydney. I immediately loved it. The air was smoggy yet vibrant and there was that good city electricity in the air. After days filled with the Opera House, Harbour Bridge, beaches and botanic gardens I was informed that the start date for my position in Brisbane would be postponed until January, at the earliest. With only about 500 dollars to my name I started to panic. I couldn't be a couch rat much longer and didn't want to make the humbling call home to mom and dad to help a daughta out. I was determined to make life's lemonade so I got online and searched every English college within 100 miles of Sydney. Luckily, after hours of searching, a partner school in Sydney invited me in for an interview. I got the job, a better schedule and 400 more dollars a month than I would have in Brisbane. I truly believe that all things do happen for a reason.

In spite of all of this good news I was without one thing, and that was about 80% of my luggage I had left in a locker in Brisbane. At the time my thought process was to pack a weekend bag, go visit my friend, see the city then return to Brisbane. Instead I got a house, a job and a few people to hang out with me. I wasn't worried because I was assured all of my things were safely tucked away in a locker which I had the only key for. I was encouraged to come soon and made false promises to do so but thought it was a waste of a perfectly good weekend at the beach to make the trip. Weeks went by and became months and I began to worry that everything I owned, aside from the armload clothes I brought to Sydney, was now covering the backs of bums and European backpackers in Brisbane. It was like a test from the doctor that you need to have done but don't want to know the results of. I didn't want to call and check on my locker for fear that everything might be gone but I did want to get my stuff back at some point. I took the easy way out and texted the cute receptionist I had played soccer with a few times to "say hi" and see if everything was ok. He responded with news I didn't want to hear: "I don't work there anymore and I think they renovated the storage room and replaced all the lockers".

Shit.

I called the hostel and spoke to several different people who had no idea what was going on until I finally talked to the manager, who was extremely patient and very nice (I'm sure he deals with douche bags all the time). I got off the phone with him while he went to look for my bags and received word several hours later that they had recovered them both. Phew! Now came the ordeal of how they were going to get to Sydney. I had no intention of spending 200 dollars to go up to Brisbane for 6 hours and didn't really have any wishes left from my magic genie. Luckily several other douche bags before me have been in similar situations and Mr. Hostel had all the answers. several phone calls and a 110 dollar transaction later my things were on a Grey Hound bus headed in my direction.

I got the phone call at 9am that my items had arrived and I was able to pick them up before 6pm. I was thrilled, yet anxious. I had no idea what kind of shape my things were in, what was missing or how long they had been out of the locker. As i walked toward the station i prepared myself for what I might find. I tried to catalogue everything I had packed and strained not to think about the things I would be upset about if I they were gone. It was only "stuff" right?

I got to the station and the cheerful Greek man behind the counter greeted me with a smile and two seemingly intact bags. I was soooo excited and couldn't wait to get home and tear them open to examine the contents. I have been living out of a backpack for the past three months and only have about 5 things I can mix and match to create work appropriate outfits, so getting these few added items to my wardrobe was beyond exciting. However, it is very surprising how little you need to get by on.

When I got home I kicked off my shoes and clumsily lugged my duffel bag and tote up the stairs. I ripped the zippers open and dumped the contents out on my bed. I tore though everything like a greedy kid on Christmas morning looking for everything on their wish list. Favorite sleep shirt? check. Favorite dress I had tailored in Vietnam? Check. Favorite jeans that are perfectly worn and hug every curve? check. It all seemed to be there...until I got to the toiletries. I was missing the strangest things too: half used foundation, partially used powder, fake eyelashes I had worn on Halloween, nail polish remover and the list goes on. Who would steal such things and leave the bottle of gin I had left in the outside pocket? But my favorite thing from that bag was not lost. I finally have my M.A.C Viva Glam I lipstick back. The most perfect shade of red on almost every single person. I am so happy to retire that old dollar store rouge for my lusty M.A.C love. I am also incredibly thrilled to have an entirely "new" wardrobe.

Bo!

Cheers to beers

The weather here is a cruel joke. Wednesday through Friday it’s hot and sunny with bright rays of sunshine dancing across the windowsill of my class room and mocking me throughout the day, and then the rain comes. I want more than anything to don my red bathing and matching lips at the beach all weekend but nature seems to want to keep me indoors. Every Friday for the past 3 weeks as the clock strikes quitting time the sky seems to open up and dump gallons of water all over my weekend plans.

Instead of playing volley ball I pay hide and seek with raindrops and have to make other plans. This weekend I hung out with my friend from university, since his love is out of town. We walked about 20 miles on Saturday and finally ended up at a German beer hall down town. I love this place. They serve excellent German beer in authentic steins for a reasonable price. After about my third half litre beer I looked at the glasses hanging above me with hazy eyes and it suddenly donned on me "I have drunk far more beer today than water ". Drinking from bottles or smaller glasses changes your perspective versus when you actually see the ominously huge glasses wavering over you. The amount of liquid you have consumed becomes very real at that point. However, I went to the number two party school in the US (according to playboy in 2006) and even though I am out of practice by comparison I can still hold my liquor. After I left my friend and ran from overhang to overhang I found myself at the grocery store, slightly drunk, a little worse for wear but very hungry. I tried to make sense of the vegetables but my mind was stuck on cheese. I walked away with a basket full of random things, that I could probably only make one decent meal out, of and three more bottles of wine. By the time I got home my buzz had worn off from all of the walking and rain and luckily my roommate had made something edible for dinner, I still don’t know what I bought. I kicked back and relaxed for a girl’s night in. I had enough of battling with the elements for one day.

Yakan sumba!

Red+Blue=Purple

photo credit: paulstanley.com

Past, present and future all seem to collide together in this blurred sensation we call life. Nothing is ever really the past as it keeps coming up in the future and we spend far too much time preparing for the future to enjoy the present. The present seems to be a state of nonexistence, much like tomorrow, it never seems to come. As quickly as we are in the present it becomes the past and while we are there we were probably looking towards the future. We think, agonize, and dwell on the whos, haves and have nots from our past so much that it effects our future choices. Not only do we think about these things but we actually care about them. I remember a time, long before the internet, when things we simpler and our hearts were still unbroken. Everything from the past eventually heals but, as with a broken bone, it never heals perfectly. There remains a small imperfection which compromises the stability of our structure, making us more fragile in future falls. So we work hard, strengthen our core and build up as much resistance against impact as possible. There are those things which we care about, which seem so important and significant that we forget to step back and outside of ourselves. We forget to see the bigger picture of what's going on around us, in our immediate world, and that beyond us. We care about past relationships and where they are now, we care about things we wish we had done differently or things we wish we could have done at all. We care about money lost and money spent, money saved and money lent. We care about all of these things and we torture ourselves trying to control that which only higher powers of fate have authority over. We let it ruin our moment our day or even our week and it seems SO important. It seems so important until something shocks us out of it and we are forced out of ourselves for a moment. Like my dear friend from college welcoming her beautiful baby boy into the world. A wonderful young couple experiencing a happiness I am sure I have not even come close to rivalling yet. At this moment we are in the present, the past does not matter, and the future can wait and we can just smile and be happy for those we love.
Big Red Kisses to the happy new family back home, you’ve made my day!


những nụ hôn!

Running Red

So I started running again. I used to be an avid runner, not by choice but by the force of my numerous coaches throughout the years in the name of "training". Always training, training, training. But since I have ended my collegiate athlete days running and training have been passive, sporadic hobbies of mine. They come and go just like celebrity gossip and fashionable head gear. I enjoy them but sometimes it's just too hard to keep up and things always seem to be getting in the way of my diligence. For example, drinks after work. Have you ever tried to go on a three mile run slightly tipsy? It's like reading a book on a car ride, not good. And then there is the issue of getting out of work late. By the time I leave the office it has sometimes been as long as 7 hours since my last meal. I can't run like that, I might faint (even though I have never fainted in my life, why start risking it now?) therefore I must eat but then cannot run on a full stomach. I learned this lesson the hard way far too many times as I stood keeled over in the middle of the track delicately displaying my insides for all the world to see. And lastly, there is the geographical issue. I am more or less navigationally retarded. I can read a map but can't remember a street name or determine left or right to save my life. This has led me to find myself in quite questionable locations in several countries in my life. The town I live in is great, friendly and acceptable of all walks of life (no pun intended), however we are two train stops away from the closest thing Sydney has to a ghetto. I know it's there, I ride through it on the train ever day. It's boarded up buildings, broken windows and graffitied elementary schools are anything but inviting. I know it's there, but I'm not sure in which direction or how far it is. Two train stops could mean about 15-20 mins running and knowing me, I would be rocking out to Ms. Spears in my spandex and hot pink sports bra and not notice that the birds stopped singing and the sun had disappeared and I was no longer in Kansas anymore. But tonight I did ok. I denied drinks, got home during daylight and went for about a 30 minute run, red lips and all. I don't think I ended up in the ghetto and I only got a little lost once. It felt good to run but a little ridiculous doing it in full makeup with bright red lipstick on. I turned more than one head as I ran down the street like a lost Barbarella searching for a party and an appropriate outfit to go with my face. I arrived home looking more like I had been ridden hard a put up wet than having been on an athletic endeavour of a more respectable sort. Lipstick smeared and mascara running, my coaches would be so proud to see me now.

Pentons!

Besos con queso

There's nothing better than seeing old friends in new places. Luckily I get to do this more often than most, probably because I'm blessed with some truly amazing, adventurous and mobile friends. I had another encounter last night that I would have never expected in a million years. An old friend and his new fiancé are now living in Sydney as well. They came around and we shared several beers and stories about our adventures in crazy third world countries. we came to the conclusion that though our stories developed on totally different continents they were much the same. Crazy, dirty, and "you wouldn't believe it unless you were there". They are the epitome of a cute, young couple. They share a budgets and meals, complete each other's sentences and argue playfully over fake bets that will never get paid. We had so much fun catching up and playing house for a day, I felt like the mom from the 50's cooking breakfast in 3" heels and red lipstick. Can't wait for more Oz encounters, this seems to be the year Cali migrates south for the winter.


пољупци

Newtown, new home

So this weekend was full of random antics which lead to a quite flu-y Monday. First off, I moved from my sterile, grey, immigrant housing compound to the beautiful, colourful land of Newtown. Newtown is what I would consider a brighter version of SF's Haight and Ashbury district. It is a wonderful dichotomy between artsy bo-ho folks, young families, and gay and transgendered people of every shape, size and type. I love my new neighbourhood and my cozy little terrace. It dates back to the 1800's and is built like a fortress. It has the comforting old house feel where the walls just seem to wrap themselves around you and you are surrounded by warmth as soon as you walk in the door. It may also be that it's a rather small place with no central cooling system. I lugged all my belongings across town in two trips and one back pack. I then rushed to get ready to go out and see my Newtown. I met up with my work friends for one of their birthdays. We were at your basic Aussie pub where the bouncers have too much power and the police patrol the scene regularly. No wonder Aussies get so obliterated when they go abroad, they aren't allowed even appear to be drunk when they are at home. Your scene was basic with tons of sausage and not very many buns milling around the joint. After they closed the bar at around 11:30 (wtf?) we walked over the road to a much more colourful scene. It was amazing! Upon approaching the bar I was tag teamed by two guys I would have sworn were gay had they not been rubbing their hands all over me, but on the other hand I have been more molested at gay bars than straight bars, so the questions still stands. They were ooing and ahhing over my height, Lady Gaga hair and of course my red lips which they "loooooooved". After being accosted, or appreciated (still not sure) we jumped on the dance floor for some spastic action. The dj was fair and the crowd was all over it. I stopped for a second and looked around at the diversity of this place. There were body builder straight guys in the corner, a couple of 50+ queens flirting it out on the dance floor, a hot rocker lesbian couple putting on a show of heavy petting near the dj booth and everything in between. The night ended with sore feet and a bag of chicken flavoured chips. Needless to say it was a fun night. I think I'm going to love my Newtown.

קיסיז!

Georgia peaches and karaoke

I love this city. Things just unfold at your feet and before you know it you are singing karaoke with old and new friends you never thought you would see again. Last night was one of those randomly fun nights that started with a twilight beer and ended in a starry walk home. I went out to meet my friend from Georgia whom I met several months ago when I arrived up in Brisbane. He's a peach in every sense of the word, well maybe not in the fact that he is completely ripped. But personality wise he is a doll. I met his friend from home and as we were talking another Brisbane mate walked up. A little English pixie, she's such a doll and so much fun to be around. We caught up and swapped stories and I got really excited to go travelling when my partner in crime gets here in April. One drink turned into several, as it always does, and we wandered around Darling Harbour until we stumbled upon a lack lustre karaoke night. There was a group of barely 20 year old guys awkwardly rocking out away from the dance floor but once we jumped on it the party started. Karaoke is terrible 99% of the time. I personally hate it and even though I lived in Asia for a year and half I only got coaxed into going twice; and that was for leaving parties. We were drunk enough to enjoy the out of tune love ballads and white guys singing reggae. I love those random nights that you could have never planned and even if you had wouldn't have been nearly as fun. After the rim of my wine glass was effectively coated in red lipstick and my stomach was floating in red wine I hauled my heavy bag and heels home. I'm so glad its Friday!

пацалункі!

Australia Day!

So I have a list of the top ten parties in world and my goal is to go to all of them before I turn 35. They are all over the world so I thought I would give myself a good amount of time to get them all under my belt. Australia Day just so happens to be on the list and I got to tick that one off yesterday. It is very similar to fourth of July right down to the patriotic colors, I think the only main difference are in the holidays' origins and the continent shaped hamburgers they have down here. I spent the day with patriotic colors on my cheeks, lips and chest smooching and schmoozing with the locals and internationals alike. We ran around Darling Harbor in the ozone layer-free sun, talking to people and making new friends. As the day went on and our dehydration was quenched by more C₄H₉OH and we meandered through the city over to The Rocks. If you are not familiar with Sydney The Rocks is the "historic" old part of town, home to "traditional Australian" pubs and cafes where signs entice you to meet the locals. I have yet to meet a local there rubbing shoulders amongst the tourist but it's an absolutely charming part of town. The streets are cobble stone and the buildings date back to the 1800's. The whole neighborhood is surrounded by rock cliffs and flanked by the diamond waters of Sydney Harbor. The Rocks always puts on a good show at the weekends and on special occasions. Sheltered by the shadows of the Harbor Bridge we walked around and observed the scene. Bands were playing every few yards, the outdoor market was bustling and there were drunk people clad in the Aussie flag EVERYWHERE. Face painted, partially clothed and stumbling in and out of bars at 3pm, we had a blast. Just after the sky turned navy blue we headed back to Darling Harbor to get a spot to see the fireworks. They were stellar, much better than New Years Eve. If you come to Australia bypass NYE and come for Australia Day, it's a much better time. All night we were rolling deep with blondies and after a few beers there was some talking and flirting and one of us lovely ladies exchanged numbers with one of Australia's finest...while he was on duty :-) The walk home was just as entertaining as the days events. We stopped on the corner to watch one of the best street bands I have ever seen. They were a soulful folk group from the US and NZ. They were so enchanting that anyone walking by was mesmerized by their performance. I think it was the Orlando Bloom-esk Violin player with his bare feet and pony tail. After they were done we put a gold coin in their case we bought a little face time with the singer and found they play every Sunday in Kings Cross. I wish I remembered their name but I will definitely be checking them out this weekend. Until then these red lips will have to sing to a different tune.

Busu!

I Courtney Loved Big Day Out

Big Day Out was nothing less than stellar. I love anything that brings sweaty, half naked people together with music and beer. The day started out with sniffer dogs and near strip searches to get through the gates but after that it was smooth sailing. All of the bands put on spectacular performances. We caught the tail end of Kasabian in the main theatre then I raced off from the group to go see Girl Talk at the recommendation of a very music savvy friend of mine. This was probably the best move I made all day, that and the beers I downed just before entering the "Boiler Room" where they were playing. The venue was a dark murky pit of sweaty, barely clothed people with a giant Ferris Wheel with carriages made out of shopping carts as its center piece. I got distracted by the lights for a moment, then the music started playing and I legged it for the front. I ditched my bag in the corner and joined the masses. Being alone was awesome as I would have surely lost my partners in crime in that mess of bodies. After their first song I knew I found my newest love. They were absolutely phenomenal and I have never seen someone rock out so hard while “playing” his laptop. The crowd was awesome, the guy with the leaf blower/toilet roll contraption was fun and the highlight was probably the moon sized balloons filled with tie-dyed confetti. Every song and person in the venue dared you to stand still. After about an hour of constant moving, sweating and sliding against strangers the show was over and the cattle were herded out the gate. It was a surreal Woodstock moment as we left the sticky dark arena and entered a giant summer shower. Everyone started yelling and cheering and chanting “whomp there it is” in sync (I have no idea why). I dodged wet hippies and ecstatic teenagers rolling around in the mud to go meet my friends at the statue of a metallic pelvis with two rotating spinal chords coming out of its top. We were all thoroughly soaked but welcomed the much needed rain. Sydney’s weather got us again, when I went into the Boiler Room only one hour earlier it was well over 100 degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The storm did have its downfall as it transformed me from Gwen Stefani to Courtney Love. Make-up trashed and hair even worse, I looked like a fallen diva by 4pm. Oh well. We went on to see The Mars Volta, Lilly Allen, Decembrists, Powderfinger, the Jagermister DJs, Muse and Groove Armada. The storm cleared and more beer was drunk and we danced until we were dry again. Muse was amazing, as they usually are, and we were so excited we managed to clear a circle around us big enough for some seriously spastic dancing. I don’t know if it was our enthusiasm or our clumsy, flailing limbs but people kept their distance. The night ended with an electric performance from English sensation, Groove Armada. It was an amazing way to end the night with smoke, mirrors and sparkles galore. At the end everyone headed out of Olympic park exhausted but elated. All smiles and sunburns on the way home as people made fast friends on the overcrowded train. At the final stop I kissed my new friends goodbye, leaving crimson characters on their cheeks, and carried my tired bones home. I can’t say yet if this will be my best Aussie experience but I am sure it will be in the top 3.

kisss!

Your my holiday!

It's the end of the work week and I have the best weekend to look forward to. BIG DAY OUT is tomorrow and I can't wait. Sleeping tonight is going to be like waiting for Santa. Muse is headlining and I have wanted to see them live for years. I have my hippie hat on and my sarong ready for some serious twirling. Now the only problem is how to smuggle libations into the venue. I feel another "I love Lucy" moment coming on....
целувки!

100 dolla bills yo!

So today was payday and by 10am I was spending money like a horny 18 year-old at a strip club. I have been beyond broke for the past few weeks, since I had to choose between buying my concert ticket and eating. My new "diet" is awesome. As per usual, I managed to run out of absolutely everything at exactly the same time. My house is like a post apocolyptic wasteland. I'm squeezing and shaking the remainders of all of my toiletries out of their containers, have no clean clothes and only have a half serving of Speciak K and soymilk in my fridge. I feel like a dude. But now I don't have to ration my goods and live like I am camping. I can eat full servings of meals, lather up properly and drink liquids other than water. Maybe I will even buy myself a new lipstick...Life is good.
Csókok!

Femme Fatale Fall

photo credit: http://kenoath.files.wordpress.com

Every morning I rush around getting ready for work. Shower, hair, makeup and food, if there is time. When I finally collect myself in the elevator is when I take the time to put on my lipstick. The five floor journey gives me enough time to line my lips, fill them in with a succulent rouge pigment and fluff my hair a bit before walking out the door. I usually have one last look and blow myself a kiss before the doors shut. I then strut off to work with the confidence and shimmy of a femme fatale. I bop my head and shake a little as I walk along to the beat of my life soundtrack, courtesy of my iPod. Everything is within my reach, I imagine what the people are saying as I walk by. I can't hear them and I live in a neighborhood where 90% of the occupants don't speak English, so I am sure they are all words of praise. The man yelling at me is asking me to marry him, rather than warn me that I almost walked in front of an oncoming bus and the feisty old woman pushing me out of her way with her huge shopping stroller is merely trying to touch greatness. I am cool, calm and collected as I part the crowd on the sidewalk....and then I fall. Drunk, sober, stilettos, flats, it doesn't matter. I fall all the time. Today was no exception. I flew off the curb and onto the trolley tracks, with a force so great it dislodged one of my headphones. Since I fall so often I recovery very easily, like a tricky dance move, I totally meant to do that. I jammed my headphone back into my ear before I could hear the chuckles from the people who had patiently waited to cross at the green light instead of trying to bolt on red like I did. I'm very tall and very blond and tend to scream when I fall, surely I attracted the attention of every person within earshot. Oh well, maybe one of these days I will get this diva thing right.

Kyss!

Bollywood Nights

Yet again, Sydney has succeeded in impressing me with its enthusiasm and culturally diverse range of entertainment. In light of Sydney Festival, there was another spectacular performance held out in the Western Suburbs this weekend. A.R. Rahman, infamous composer for Slumdog Millionaire, held an amazing free concert out in Parramatta Park. I, along with 80,000 other adoring fans, made the trek out to the suburbs to see this spectacular performance. And what a performance it was. There were saris swirling and bright colours flashing all night. Bollywood singers and dancers adorned the stage in heavily ornamented costumes, and belted their hearts out, making the crowd go crazy. I had no idea there was such a large Indian community in Sydney. It was amazing! Young Indian men were dancing along with local hippie grandmas to music that forebode you to stand still. Sarong twirling is one of my favourite festival pastimes since an episode with a Swede in Bali. Needless to say my spastic dancing and twirling of my sparkly scarf were in full effect. Throughout the night there was some drinking and some dancing and several new friends. One in particular happened to have a television camera pointed in my face through our entire conversation. I was tricked into an interview by a cheeky young reporter. I don't particularly like being interviewed on the street, you never know what will be asked and usually only the clips that make people sound like idiots are aired. My friend sitting next to me was interviewed and referred to the concert as being "better than a kick in the nuts" we all laughed and as my head was thrown back the camera shot to me "and what do you think miss?" Crap. Lights, camera and red lipstick "blah, blah, blah insert politically correct American BS here". and it was over. Phew, I just hope no one recognizes me. However, That wasn't the worst part of the night. After a group effort so smuggle in some wine, we had ourselves a nice little picnic in the park. After drinking my something-th cup of wine I looked down and noticed something at the bottom of the glass. We are rich and classy folks and only indulge in the finest of boxed wines at out door events so there is no way that this mystery object was sediment. I dumped it out and my heart stood still. Australia is home to about 90% of the worlds most dangerous animals and four of the ten world’s deadliest spiders. What do you think was at the bottom of my glass? Let's hope it was one of the friendly ones.
puthjet!

Colour me Friday

Photo credit: earsucker.com

Beyond exhausted, cant focus, the only thing of color on my entire body is these obnoxious red lips and now I am going to go treat them to some much needed Merlot.
póga!

Bummer, it's still hump day

So today I woke up incredibly excited that the weekend was just around the corner. I hopped out of bed and got ready, dreading going to work but also relieved that there were only two days left until I was free to lounge on the beach all weekend. I have a limited supply of clothing down here since a.) I am "travelling" and b.) I left 80% of my luggage up in Brisbane in some hostel locker. Therefore, I try to space the few work appropriate outfits out over the week so I don’t wear the same thing to the same class two weeks in a row. I pulled on a dress after my shower only to have the strap break immediately. That's two dresses I have destroyed this week! I then picked another dress I wore last week, thinking I was going to be teaching my second class. I came into the office armed with a Red Bull and red lipstick and set about grading papers and planning my lesson. I took the folder for my other class and gave my co-teacher a re-cap of what I had already taught this week. Mid ramble I was stopped only to be told that today was in fact Wednesday and not Thursday and we were not switching classes. My earth shattered. All day I was floating on the optimism that the weekend was just 48 hours away only to have my tiny bubble burst after one sentence. I grumbled to myself and switched gears back into Wednesday mode.
Suudlused!

Manic Monday...and Tuesday

Today was just another day of trying to trick my students into being educated. Unfortunately, my tricks were not so clever and they were having none of the learning I was trying to force upon them. However, I did have a rather interesting start to my morning. Big Day Out is what I would consider Australia's biggest music festival. It is held in celebration of Australia day and this year it is on January 22nd and 23rd in Sydney. Undoubtedly it has been sold out for some time now but, where there is a will there is the Internet, and where there is the Internet there is a way and it came in the form of a nice young man we will call Frank. Frank had a friend. Frank's friend was a flak. Frank now had an extra ticket for $140, making this lady very happy. It was part drug deal, part blind date; "meet me at 8:30 (am) at platform 23, I will be wearing grey trousers and a white business shirt. I have black hair. I'll call you when I'm close." I felt like a spaz as I roller out of bed, threw on the nearest thing (a bight melon shirt and a black linen skirt) threw my hair in a bun and slapped on some red lipstick to go meet this mystery man/saint. It was your usual rush hour hustle in the station with young professionals competing for walking space around students and street performers who couldn't be less inclined to make way. I never take the train, so ticket machine protocol is not my forte. As I pumped endless amounts of change into a machine for a ride I was never going to take the woman behind me approached in a bit of a fluster. "Do you need help?" she asked what she was really saying was "you are taking forever and I have someplace more important to be". Since I was taking forever and wasn't actually going anywhere I let her go ahead. After I bought my fake ticket I headed up to meet my mystery man. As soon as I got to platform 23 I saw him in the distance, wearing exactly what he had described and looking a little lost without me. He had a bit of a halo around him and I knew immediately he was my angel in disguise. I went up to him and introduced myself. Like any first date we made small talk about how lucky I was to have him in my life and what bands we both preferred, blah blah, blah. Then, like any drug deal there was the exchange of currency. I gave him several bits of brightly colored paper for one. After the bill was settled and we parted ways with a friendly smile, a firm handshake, and an open-ended suggestion of a rendezvous at the event. All in all it was the prefect first date. It only cost me $140 and I don't have to worry if he will call again.
Ciuman!

Sunday Sunburn

Sunday was too nice of a day to sit at a computer, so I opted for some skin damage on the beach instead. After a long night celebrating Sydney's fabulousness and Al Green's lack of enthusiasm I pulled my messy self out of bed and coordinated my swimsuit (and later, skin color) with my lipstick. I felt a bit silly being one of those girls who obviously put some effort into an activity which essentially requires laying in the dirt all day but I got over it after in about 15 minutes. The weather was lovey and the scenery was even better. I love summer and the bare cinnamon skin it brings with it. Nothing better than manorexic men strutting around in their Euro-speedos and faux-hawks. God bless Australia!
Bues!

Let's stay together

Photo credit: liveguide.com.au, Swissotel Sydney

Today was the first day it has actually felt like summer in Sydney. It was such a beautiful day in the city. Darling harbour was as adorable as ever with its waterfront restaurants and confused tourists everywhere. The Rocks was a bit less crowded than usual despite its wonderful market being alive and well (www.therocks.com). Today is the first day of the Sydney Festival and the festivities started at around 2pm . Tonight is the big event with various concerts spread out all over the Central Business District and the mighty Al Green as the headliner. I can't wait! I even bought a new dress for the occasion since most of my luggage is still in storage up in Brisbane. Sydney was supposed to be a "weekend trip" about two months ago, oops! I decided to embrace Australia's love for loud, tacky clothing with this purchase. It is beyond ridiculous. A little baby doll dress covered in faded fluorescent pink and purple leopard print. Yes I love it, yes I will wear it shamelessly and yes I will wear it with red lipstick.
Beijos!

Finally Friday!

The first work week of the new year has finally come to an end. 8 days into the new year and my resolution is holding strong. I forget about it until I eat, drink or wipe my face, which all result in a mess and a trip to the powder room. I am now one of those disgusting people who has lipstick stained water bottles and glass rims. At least I'll undoubtedly know which glass is mine for the rest of the year. Eating is also more challenging. My sandwich today looked like a shark attack victim with crimson lipstick was smeared all over my baguette. I have ingested more red pigment in the last week than I care to think about. This weekend is the Sydney Festival. The whole city lights up as the streets are closed down and stages litter the parks and throughways. There is a lot of live music, art and outdoor markets. There are month long celebrations in January to celebrate Australia's existence finally commencing with Australia day at the end of the month. Yet again, Australians know how to do things right, they have a month of festivities just to celebrate their own awesomeness. I can’t wait!
Kus Kus!

Berry Buzz

I am so lucky to wake to the sound of transformers outside my window and the smell of my roommates' second hand smoke filtering in under the door every morning. Living with foreigners sucks! Ok, no, I take that back. Living with multiple pack a day smokers who turn your living room in to a smoking den and never open the window sucks. But cancer aside, today started off just fine. I finally got some of my Christmas cards in the mail and my last present from my mom, a much needed pair of iPod head phones. Mine were starting to sound like a CB radio from the 1970's. On my way to work I stopped by my bank to withdrawal the massive amount of rent I'm paying for my healthy abode, only to discover that my job decided not to pay me! I took this up with the sturdy Eastern European woman in charge of payroll. One word about not being paid and she was on the phone with HR immediately. I gave her a cherry red smile and went about my day, assured that she would make my world right again. She's definitely my new favorite person in the office. Half way through the day and all the way through my sandwich I went to the bathroom to check the damage that had been done to my lip wear. I stared into the mirror and was shocked at what I saw. Not only had my lipstick stained my chin from stuffing a sandwich in my mouth but it had also turned a ghastly shade of late 80's pink! I immediately scrubbed my face and re-applied the ruby pigment, sans the light pink lip gloss, which I think was the culprit. But despite these unfortunate setbacks it was otherwise a great day. Can't wait for tomorrow, it's Friday!
Bacio!

Gee-tar a go-go

Another day another....kiss? Well, only if you count me kissing myself in the mirror. It's the best way to start your day! Today was your average day as a dorky teacher. However, I am happy to find that my favorite street performer is back! I guess he took the holidays off but he is back in full force, strumming and balancing his guitar as usual, or rather unusual. This guy is amazing, not only is he a great guitar player but he plays perfectly while balancing another full-sized acoustic on his head! He never drops it and even manages to sway along with the music. I've never seen anything like it. I hope he is there tomorrow, my iPod headphones are broken.

Ranas!

Gypsy dancer???

So the naughty kids were back in class today, and in fine form I might add. One of my eastern European students referred to me as a gypsy. I immediately had a Borat moment flash trough my mind. While his comment was meant in jest I am sure he was referring more to my dancing in class rather than my red lips. Sydney is an interesting city. It is incredibly culturally diverse but not as eccentrically tolerant like San Francisco or New York. That being said I was incredibly surprised today when no one but me seemed to notice the white, mid-forties, male, with short stature and average build, walking down the street this evening. This man was obviously dressed for a special occasion. He had a painted on pink tank top, which exposed the better part of his torso, paired with an ever so tight pair of jean cutoffs that put Jessica Simpsons Daisy Dukes to shame. These shorts were so short had his manhood not been pressed so firmly against the inside of his front zipper I'm sure it would have fallen out. He tromped across the cross-walk, arms folded over his chest, and as pouty as a sullen teenage girl who was denied entry to a Jonas Brothers concert. Something new everyday huh?

küssen!

Lucille Ball, polka-dots and all

Photo credit emilysgifts.com

Today was the first day back at work after ten days of letting my internal clock wake me no earlier than 10am. Needless to say I was less than thrilled to be there. So to liven my mood and go full on with this whole "classic red lips" thing I decided to sport my black and white polka-dot 50's style dress. A sweetheart had this made for my birthday last year and I relish every chance I have to wear it. I also think this was the first day I had brushed my hair since Christmas. I wore it down and straight with my Betty Page bangs slightly crooked after an encounter with the Chinese hairdresser at an unknown salon. Sydney is the windy city, I don't care what Chicago has to say about it. No less than three times today did the wind whip my platinum blond locks into my face, cementing them into my scarlet lip gloss. It was like I had walked into a spiderweb trying to get the hair detached from my face. After it was sticky and stained red with sparkly gloss the wind caught it again and stuck it to another part of my face, each time leaving very noticeable red streaks. It looked like I'd had an unfortunate run-in with an angry alley cat by the time I got home from work. Other than that not much else interesting happened today. No smart remarks from students, no accusations of prostitution not even so much as a raised eyebrow and a "huh?". I think I underestimated their politeness, but then again all of the mischievous students were absent today...
Until tomorrow
Pusspuss!

Madonna circa 1985

Photo credit

Today was a Madonna day. I'm not saying it was a good thing or a bad thing, it was just a thing. Frizzy hair, pale skin, grown out roots and obnoxiously red lipstick. My roommate kept looking at me in shock after she hadn't seen me for a few minutes and compared my "new look" to getting plastic surgery. I figured this would take some getting used to. I sported all black today and thought my glamours pout made up for the lack of effort in all other areas. Tommorrow is the first day back at work after the holday break. I am a little anxious about what my students and fellow teachers will have to say. I teach all international students so I am sure they will not be shy about making comments, regardless of their nature. I think in some parts of the world where the climate is dry and the culture is conservative red lips are a tell tale sign of a prostitute. Hopefully none of my students are from such cultures, it could make lessons a bit awkward. Hopefully my bosses won't have a problem with it, but in an office culture where jeans are acceptable attire I am pretty sure this will fly too.
Suudelma!

Rain Rain Go Away

Today was one of those lackluster days where the weather is so variant between stormy and sunny you can hardly trust it to be consistent for more than an hour. This makes destinations and outfit choices almost impossible. So instead of facing the bi-polar day I decided to hibernate indoors with a big bowl of pasta, a chick-lit and red lips (not from the tomato sauce). Needless to say I didn't change out of my PJs until it was almost time to put them on again so I spent the day prancing around my apartment in my boy shorts and tank kissing myself in the mirror every time I passed it, which was never. My impeccable charm and beauty (note sarcasm) were kept to myself today, maybe tomorrow will be more user friendly.
besos!