Left, Right, Left

I DID IT!!!

I realized as I crossed the street today that I looked the correct way before crossing the street...There should have been ticker tape because it was time for a big parade to celebrate!

Dating

One of the first things that I changed when working in Australia was the date.

OK, I can't magically make the day change, but the rest of the world writes their dates in a different format - DD-MM-YY - something completely different from my American upbringing. And while I could write the dates in the new format, I still thought the dates in my 'traditional format'...seeing in my head October 2, 2007 while writing/typing 02-10-2007.

I still catch myself saying July 28th or August 18th while EVERYONE else in my office/house/new world say 'two May' for 2 May or 4 July for the big 4th of July party. It make me wonder what's going to happen when I go home...

A Bad Day

It was bound to happen...this boundless joy, unending happiness, unrelenting ecstasy- it had to come to an end. Not that I dreaded it, not that I wanted it, not that I didn't enjoy the blissfulness any less - but I knew somewhere in the back of my brain, way down deep in the cerebellum (is it the cerebellum that is down deep - something to look up on the internet later), that one of these days wouldn't be so very wonderful.

I've actually had a few glum days. I don't know if this glumness was brought on by the last of my backpacker friends departing on her big tour (leaving me here all alone to fend for myself among the Aussies), or the dreary and now COLD weather that signals winter is upon Sydney, or my roommate telling me he doesn't absolutely, positively LOVE the beaut-iful bookcase I bought (and assembled with little assistance from anyone) for the front room. But something got me feeling a bit sorry for myself - a totally new experience in this land of constant joviality (did I just make up a word?).

So, I've been doing my best to putter around, hold back the tears of sadness, fight the urge to lash out in rage, and generally get over this hump - while trying to explore its source so I can better prepare for next time. Then, it happened.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (Alexander doesn't have that copyrighted , does he? What if the FCC or Copyright Club come after me - THAT would be a bad day).

Blah, Blah, Blah (fill in a not so great day at work). So, I head home and decide to stop at the store to pick up food to COOK myself dinner. I start my jaunt home - my mind reeling with thoughts of what I could have done differently, should have said nicely, fights I pretend to have in my head to stand up for myself, when I get to my street (Baltic Street). I step off the curb heading toward the right and hoping to walk down the middle of the road - a habit I have picked up from my rule-breaking roomie - when BAM, crash, clink, roll, ouch, and a few choice words a lady from Texas doesn't repeat.

I am on all fours hoping the potatoes aren't bruised, praying the satay sauce bottle hasn't cracked, and wondering what the burning sensation in both heels of my hands could be, when I hear footsteps and a girl's voice (ok she's about my age) call out "Are you ok?" As I pick myself up quickly and wipe of my pants, she starts explaining how embarrassing that is and she's done it herself and how she always hopes that no one sees and wants to know if I'm ok again. After I assure her several times that, yes, I am ok and no, I don't need help, but thank you for stopping. She FINALLY turns back up the street to continue home. I am thankful she has finally left because I don't know how much longer I can hold back the tears from utter and complete embarrassment as well as sharp, burning, prickly pain - oh and now stiffness as I try to walk - coming from both knees and hands.

As I limp home, groceries in tow, I can only think of Alexander and his day. I successfully brush off a roommate as I throw groceries in the fridge (not their places), change clothes to discover I have ruined a $15 pair of hose, hobble done the stairs (yet, the left knee which is the one bleeding is definitely more sore than the right), wash my soon-to-be scar out in the kitchen sink (since brushed off roommate retreated to the only bathroom in the house to heal his wounds from my wrath), and decide that the burning sensation in my left knee has not subsided, like all other burning, which must mean that there is a flesh-eating bacteria in there that needs to be killed by rubbing alcohol!

I grab my purse and slam the door in order to make it to the corner store before they close. Two blocks later, I find out I'm too late. So down to the main drag to find a pharmacy...7:01 pm is too late in Australia for such places to be open. Guess it's off to the nearest grocery for some sort of liquid something. Just my luck - THEY'RE OUT! After receiving several odd glances from customers in the massive line (umm...no wonder there's a massive line - this store has the whole suburb in their grip of open lateness with promise of most products/food even if the selection is limited to one item per product and the staff is only helpful enough to point to the top shelf and say "There's no extras" then look at you as if to say 'DUH!'), I decide my chances are hopeless here and leave with my money in my pocket. I walk (ok totter..) a few blocks to let off steam and decide that I am hungry and the bruised potatoes will have to be satayed another night.

A burrito and a few blocks towards home later, and I'm beginning to think I might have overreacted about the flesh-eating bacteria thing. A good sleep and a walk by the corner of incident, and I see it could have been a pothole, the worn-down heel of my shoe catching the curb, or lack of winning the fight in my head that caused the whole thing. But now that a day has passed, I can look back and laugh (even if I still have to hobble up and down the stairs). At least I have learned not to go to the grocery on an empty stomach and (hopefully) to let things go a little more easily so that they don't spill over on the curb of life.

Though I'm not looking forward to seeing my neighbor again - of course the good Samaritan who ran 50 feet back to ensure my safety would end up living right next door. Hopefully, I will be kind and stop to help when I see someone fall (although maybe I'll leave out the how embarrassing bit).

Bad days come and bad days go but it's what we learn from them that makes the next years of our life wonderful, marvelous, terrific, really good days (Thanks, Alexander)!

Fancy Dress Party

My co-worker Niki (above), turned 25-what a youngin'-and threw a fabulous Golf Pros and Tennis Divas FANCY DRESS party (or as we call it in America - costume party/dress up party/et al). It took a bit of searching - but I found a great tennis skirt that would have made Aunt Ingrid proud. Although, I did feel a bit like Tennis Smurfette with my full outfit on. But once I got to the party and was surrounded by other dancing Tennis Divas, all hesistations washed away and we had fun dancing all night (ok, I only stayed til 1 am but I had a long day of putting furniture together - I know, I know, lame excuse!).

The party location was the great nightclub called RETRO where they play all your favorites from the 80s. Eventually, they moved into the 90s...and just as I was leaving they put on a bit of techno and current hip hop. No one seemed impressed by the fact that I knew every word to Ludacruis "Stand Up" (Brooke you would have LOVED this place).

I didn't realize how long the other people had been drinking until one of the 'Golf Pros' tried to take apart his little golfbag to putt the golf balls into the 'holes' which doubled as the wheels. He feel over getting the wheels off...then completely shot the wrong way after aiming at the hole for 3 minutes (all of this occuring on the dance floor). He must have been far past my 3 vodka and lemonades (why don't they just call it Sprite!).

Love the Little People

The Security Guard HATES me.

You may think that is a bit of an overstatement...but today I have proof!

It started the second week of work. The nice gentleman that had been saying hello to me whenever I walked through the lobby disappeared and was replaced with the regular security guard.

He's not friendly...he's bothered by any interaction - I know first hand.

I had to go complain about the lack of heat on our floor for the whole office and he was not nice. He kept asking me why I hadn't just emailed the building manager (Well, I WOULD email the building manager if you would give me the building manager's email! That's what I'm asking you for! I don't think that the security guard can magically fix the lack of heat - but I need a little help here buddy and unluckily you're it because YOU'RE SITTING IN THE LOBBY OF MY BUILDING!). I know this sounds extreme, but I prefaced our whole interaction with the fact that I was new (it was my second week) and I needed the building management's information - could he give that to me?

Then, there was the elevator incident. This is not my fault! I just needed to ride the elevator down to the lobby. I got on the elevator and my favorite friend was standing with a cup of soup in his hand. He was holding the cup in the middle of the elevator making it virtually impossible to stand anywhere (thus the reason the other two ladies where huddled in the back corners) so I stood right up against the doors. When the doors opened again and more people needed to get on, I started to move backwards (where all the space was). Apparently, I should have asked permission to come within 2 feet of his cup of soup, because he got all huffy and quickly moved his cup which made it almost spill all over him...big mistake...big...HUGE.

And last night, I got proof. I left at the usual time (5:50 so I can make Post by 6pm). I get to the lobby and the revolving door is still going. I even think to myself "Wow, the revolving door is still going, did I leave early?" I proceed through the revolving (as you are supposed to unless it is locked) and JUST as the door is about to get to a point where I can exit - BOOM. The door stops...locked down like Fort Knox. I look at the Security Guard (my favorite person of all time) and think surely he's going to open it. But no, he doesn't make a move. He looks at me. He doesn't stand. He doesn't shout. Other people are walking through the lobby looking at me, looking at the Security Guard, looking at the door...and walking through the security door to the left (what you are supposed to do if the revolving door is locked). I can't figure out what to do...panic is setting in...am I going to have to sleep here tonight and wait for them to turn it back on in the morning? Finally, a rider from the next elevator comes and pulls the door backwards just even to tell me to come out that way. Oh good, I get to go home tonight! I walk back and push the door...and nothing...I try again a bit harder and nothing again. I look at SG - surely he hasn't double locked it now that I'm trying to get out this way. I walk back to the front and try to push that side of the door - surprise, that doesn't work! Eventually, another person off a third elevator, who must be walking towards his white horse, yanks and holds the door open until I can make my way out.

Moral of the story - Do what your sister tells you and "Be nice to Security Guards, cleaning people, and all others in the building. One day you will need their help."

Right, Left, Right

They do some things backwards here...like drive on the left...walk on the left...stand on the escalator on the left. No matter how many times I think I have it down, about once a week I am reminded that walking on the right has been drilled into me since I was five years old.

Often I have to move out of the way of a fellow pedestrian, who often gets upset with me when I go right and they go left and we almost end up kissing...hence the upset pedestrian I now have on my hands that is trying desperately to move the other way. At this point, I have realized my error and start moving left...but they they are moving right...and again the almost kissing thing happens. Now, if it's a 'fit' guy (they way the Brits at the office describe hotties), who cares? But often it's a tiny Asian tourist woman who doesn't speak my language or a tall older gentleman trying to multitask on the phone and not interested in dealing with me. And I am suddenly repeating over and over to myself "Move to the left, just move to the left, why can't I remember to move to the left?"

Then another few days go by, and I beginning to believe I have it down, I'm on the left escalator, I'm on the left sidewalk, I'm on the left...then I run into tiny tourist woman and I'm canting in my head again! Hopefully, in a few more months, I'll have this down.

A Morning Walk

Walk out the door...closing the little green gate behind me as I begin my journey down Baltic Street (my new home!)...I usually look back and marvel at the red porch...which is where I live. I few steps down the road, past the crazy yellow car that looks like an old muscle car-but can't be because I'm not in America-and I'm turning onto the street that points the bike route to the next town over. Depending on the time of morning (if I'm going in early/late/or just running late), the purple morning glories are in some stage of wakening to the bright sunlight, trumpeting in the day! Then there is the bush with flowers on it (I think they are Magnolia) that I take a chance at sniffing, if I have the time...usually I see one of the four cats that live between me and the train station around this bush. There's the grey tabby, the orange tabby, the black with white boots, and the Siamese but with longer hair...I have yet to give them names, but did see a little boy pulling one cat's tail on the way home the other day...don't think his mother was too happy about his choice. Next, I amble past the corner pub and can't help but notice what is on the agenda for tonight - It's Thursday which means Jag the Joker (not that I have figured out exactly what that means yet...but I will if ever I get a free Thursday). Down a few more steps and you see the curtain that has a graphic that-too me-looks like a man lifting weights (though it's probably just squares and triangles)...If the curtain is open, he looks like he's pumping iron overhead...if it's closed, he looks like he showing off his muscles. The next block has the big shrubs that you can peek through to find the little park with swings and just long to have a swing instead of running off to work...round the corner along the hedge until you run into the box that has been spray-painted with a stencil (is the man sitting on his loins or rowing a boat? - these are the questions I ponder every morning on the way to work, feel free to cast your vote!). A few blocks to think about the school nearby and if the mother will come out in her dressing gown and tell the little boy he forgot his hat again...then it's time to walk up the steps with the tiles!!! Apparently these tiles were painted at some festival in Newtown at some point in the past...but each morning I love to find a new one...although the one that says "Good Morning, Peter!" always catches my eye! It's so cheery and puts you in a pleasant mood to 'frogger' across 12 lanes of traffic (two roads come together right in front of the train station). A quick check of the time and compare it to the old fashioned clock announcing when the next train will leave (...I have watched the station man come and change these clocks by hand...), and I know if I have to bound down the stairs to make it or if I have plenty of time...And this is how I start each and every work day! I love Australia...