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!