I’M BACK LOL SORRY (STILL ALIVE I SWEAR)

WOW OKAY. It’s been almost a month since I last posted. That’s insane I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never abandon you all like that again. That being said, I think it’s kind of a good thing I can forget to write for so long. I feel like I only want to write when I’m super angsty and sad and my days are empty and meaningless. But that hasn’t been the case lately! Progress! I’m literally only writing now because I’m sick in bed on a Saturday night. A tragic waste of a weekend. I don’t even know where to start… so much has happened but also nothing has happened? Mostly I spend all of my time at work, hungover, or hungover at work. Anyway, here’s an overwhelming and chaotic list of things that happened! Enjoy!

• I stayed in that fourth hostel for two weeks? three weeks? Ten days? I don’t know. Time is a mystery. I stayed there over Christmas and New Year’s and it was hellishly expensive, especially considering I was in a 14-person dorm. I don’t want to talk about it. I felt physical pain paying for it. But I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over, it’s in the past, what’s done is done. It was nice, though. Clean. Air conditioning. Free breakfast. I was never personally awake for the free breakfast, but I liked knowing it was there. If you ever know anyone in need of hostel recommendations in Sydney, hit me up. I am a fountain of knowledge.
• I spent Christmas getting drunk at the beach, as is every parents’ dream for their child’s first Christmas away from home. I went to Bronte Beach, about a mile from Bondi. It felt more like fraturday than Christmas. Technically there’s no drinking at the beach, but the city clearly knows that the rule of law won’t stop backpackers from getting belligerent on the beach for their first Summer Christmas. There were police vans and cops sprinkled around, but they seemed to be there more for safety. Like I saw a cop go up to a group of backpackers blatantly drinking from bottles and tell them they couldn’t drink on the beach. So the backpackers just laughed and started chugging their drinks to finish them. And then the cops started laughing too. 
• Went to my work holiday party. I don’t remember much other than double-fisting glasses of white wine and eating lots of paella. Niche catering choice, right? Also, Australians absolutely pronounce the L sound in paella. Then they try and roast me for saying ‘noon’ instead of ‘midday’? Fuck off, mate. 
• For New Year’s Eve I watched the early fireworks show before heading to a girl from work’s house party outside the city. I had work at 9:45AM on New Year’s Day, so I took it easy. I don’t really know why I bothered “taking it easy” because I was still exhausted and hungover at work. On our way back to the city (AKA McDonalds) we got stuck on a train for 45 minutes. That was really fun and didn’t kill the vibe at all! I know people who camped out by the harbour for like 12+ hours for a mediocre spot to see the iconic midnight fireworks show. They say it was worth the scorching sun and pouring rain. I still don’t feel a drop of regret for missing the spectacle. It just sounds like a miserable day of waiting in an obnoxious crowd. For a 12-minute show. And then it takes 17 years to leave the harbour. Sydney’s public transport is not equipped to handle those kinds of crowds. It can barely handle traffic on a normal day. And surge pricing on Uber is INSANE. A ride from Circular Quay to Surry Hills was $55. That’s a 10-15 minute drive. If you paid for that, and you’re not Jeff Bezos, you’re a disgrace. Also, and this is the last thing I’ll say about New Year’s: Fireworks are fireworks, you know? One goes boom and then another goes crack and then a third goes boom crack and then maybe there’s a fourth one that goes sizzle and then there are some colors and a lot of smoke. Once you’ve seen one fireworks show, you’ve kind of seen them all. Feel free to flame me for this opinion but that’s my truth and I’m gonna speak it. The best part of my New Year’s Eve was the cheese plate I had while I watched the 9PM fireworks from a rooftop. We’re talking rosemary crackers. We’re talking a variety of cheeses. We’re talking a tasteful selection of meats. We’re talking presentation quality. It was heaven. 
• My body feels physically ill when I even think about Maccas. (That’s what aussies call McDonalds. I can’t remember if I wrote about that before. Probably?) I’ve eaten a disgusting amount of Maccas since I’ve been here. You know that picture of Donald Trump in the White House with all the fast food for the Clemson football team? That’s about how much Maccas I’ve eaten. I went through a Chicken Caesar Wrap phase. I went through an M&M McFlurry phase. I went through a gravy fries phase. America needs gravy fries. That shit is good. It sounds gross, I know. I felt that way at first too. Trust me, though. It’s revolutionary. But now it all makes me want to vom. I guess I have to think about eating real nutrients now.
• Completely unrelated to the volume of Maccas I’m eating— I need to get a gym membership. I avoided it for so long because they’re so expensive and I am a struggling backpacker and I thought I could keep telling myself that I’m walking a lot and that counts as exercise. But a bitch needs endorphins! We’ve got calories to burn! So stay tuned for that. Mark my words: my next day off I’m going to march my ass over to the gym near my flat and I’m going to enthusiastically inquire (enquire?) about the price of a membership! (I don’t want to boldly declare I’m going to purchase a membership because what if I actually can’t afford it? I don’t want disappoint myself, or you guys, like that. It’s 2019, baby, we’re lowering expectations!) (Also, please don’t lecture me about the merits of exercising outside. It’s hot. I don’t know what kind of danger lurks in the nature here. And no one wants to see me publicly dry heave after jogging three feet. Thanks.)
• Oh yeah- I moved into a flat! I’m sharing a room with a Canadian girl from work. It’s a cute little share-house in Randwick, which is a 30-minute bus ride outside the city center. It’s pretty close to Coogee beach, so that’s fun. We don’t have air conditioning so it is a little miserable in this heat wave, but I’m not sleeping in a bunk bed and I’m not living literally out of my backpack anymore so it’s worth it. I pay $175 a week, plus bills. I do have to spend more on public transportation to get to work or to go out, but I spend less money on food now that I have a real kitchen. With an oven! And a freezer! I can go real grocery shopping! 
• Having a flat isn’t all rainbows and butterflies though. Something not that chill happened the other night: I had my first encounter with an Australian spider. It was horrifying and I would like for it to never happen again. My roommate and I were just chilling in our beds, getting ready for a peaceful slumber. We both had work in the morning and were being responsible for once in our shitty backpacker lives. And then I hear her gasp and yell, “SPIDER.” So of course I sit up and yell back, “WHERE?” And there it was. On the wall by the shelves with all of our clothes. I don’t know how big it was by Australian standards, but by American standards… it was fucking massive. Like when I see a spider at home, I can kill it with a shoe. And I’m not worried about it killing me. But this spider was big enough and mysterious enough to make me think, “Hm. What the fuck are we supposed to do with this fucking spider? Because this beast is far too juicy and possibly dangerous to kill with a shoe. I want to go home.” So we put an SOS in our house’s group chat and a Scottish guy came to the rescue. He knocked on our door and the spider darted to the door and we screamed. Then he opened the door and spider darted out to the living room and we screamed some more. Then we made him use a mop to kill it and vacuum up its little spider body. Then we decided we probably weren’t going to sleep very well. And we were right! We didn’t. My favorite part about this whole saga though is when I told my aussie pals at work the next day, one girl was like, “Oh yeah, was it a huntsman? One of the big ones? I have one of those in my room. She’s been there for like a year. I named her Elizabeth.” Like, bitch, excuse me??? Australians never cease to amaze.
• I took the ferry out to Watsons Bay with some friends to see an ultimately unimpressive lighthouse. It was cute but kind of short? Like squat? A thicc lighthouse, if you will. Still a nice little scenic afternoon. 
• For a while I lost my health insurance coverage. That was a stressful couple of days. I thought I had paid for the whole year when I first signed up, but it turns out that was not the case. So I got an email one day saying I was late on payments and my plan had been terminated. I had to wait until I had a day off work to call my provider and wait around for 15 minutes to speak to a human and then give them my credit card information and make sure I was set for the rest of the year because I could see myself forgetting to pay every month if we tried to keep up with that system. It was a real adult moment for me. Me, a real adult who loses her healthcare but then gets it back by being an adult and using the phone to communicate with a fellow adult to reach a solution. Classic adult things. 
• I cut my finger while opening a bottle of apple juice and I’m worried it might be getting infected.
• My Uber rating dropped from 5 stars to 4.33 stars in like a week. If it gets any lower I might get banned from the app? I swear all my Uber rides are boring I just sit in silence usually. No one has puked or picked a fight with driver so I see no reason for my score to be that low. Is it legal for drivers to rate me low because I’m boring? Or have a bad personality? I just don’t get it? And now I’m nervous about it? 
• I haven’t talked to my parents in a month. Mom… if you’re reading this, please FaceTime me. What’s up? What’s going on? How are you? Let’s chat. Let’s catch up. 
• My Australian accent is coming along nicely. I can say “water” and that’s really about it. The slang is kind of catching on though… I love going for a cheeky boogie with my mates. 🙂 I practice whenever I hang out with any aussie pals. Picture this: an American and an Australian walking through the streets of Manly just yelling “ARVO”/“no, ArVO” back and forth. Cultural exchange is so beautiful. I still can’t say arvo. 

Yeah so I guess that’s about it. Work, drink, eat, sleep, repeat. Sorry for the little hiatus. This is dedicated to my dear sweet lovely caring kind beautiful friend Matthew. Thanks for regularly heckling me to post and reminding me how much my fans truly do care! See you all next time. Cheers. 🙂