Ordering from the Dollar Menu of Life

      I now fully understand why 13 is an unlucky number. On my first day of work, I stood in the elevator alone for maybe 5 minutes debating whether or not I would push the button that said 13 to take me to my floor. Wasn't the first time I was clueless of what to do inside a box, but yet I went against fate and pushed. And now I find that 13 is not only the amount of days I have to wait to get paid, but also the amount of dollars I have to get me there. "We only give cash advances if it's a really really desperate situation. Are you in such a situation?" 

Okay look bitch I'm not gonna get on the floor and beg, but I need to get my drink on. Trust me, I know how to be desperate, just look at my dating track record.

     

     Regardless. In the spirit of youth I still went out on Monday night to an event called "Fuc* me with a pineapple it's Monday!" Nothing made me feel more at home than watching a bunch of drag queens back from the debutante ball performing Dolly Parton's "Workin 9 to 5". But why did I feel deserving to go out on a Monday? Because I didn't drink all weekend. Why? Because I fell down a flight of stairs and onto the main dance floor in front of everyone at a club on Thursday. It was almost as bad but way less rewarding than the time I drunkenly dropped Ginny Brown onto a concrete driveway. But it was quite the joyous experience waking up on Friday covered in Hungry Jack's and having to piece together why I was sore and scabbed. Good thing I'm an expert at doing that.   

     But nevertheless heading to work last Tuesday still a bit buzzed was quite a success. 

I found for 8 hours I was required to play with stickers. I KNEW never growing up past the maturity of a six year old was a great idea! And now I can get paid for it. So we play a daily trivia game around lunchtime in the office. Being the only one in the whole office to know the answers to the questions: "What is Will's surname in Will&Grace?"; "What band was Justin Timberlake a member?"; "Who is the voice of Dory in 'Finding Nemo'?", has really given me a boost in the corporate social ladder. And when I say 'boost', I mean booster seat, because I need one. I failed to know a simple question about baseball as everyone turned to me expecting me clearly to know

since I'm a yank. I refuse to tell you what the question was since it's embarrassingly obvious, but the answer was "catcher". How I failed to know that I'll never know. But I'm glad after only three days everyone knows just how special I really am. 

     But I am disheartened and famished, so this entry is going to be as brief as the amount of people that are actually showing up to Heather Gaines' 21st birthday party. I'm considering walking to the Espy to chill with mates and cure my thirst with a $13 martini. It's time to put the fun in funeral as I boldly march to my demise these next two weeks. I have no doubt I'll get by. In the words of a dear friend of mine…just keep swimming….just.keep.swimming!

And speaking of still swimming.  

     HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAVENS! 

50 Never Looked So Smokin

Two Livers Are Better Than NONE

      Well I hate to burst everyone's bubble, but my recent employment is going to save me from an early arrival back home. So basically, Havens, I am pretty sure you are the only one bummed out. And Kristin, sorry, looks like Heather Gaines is going to be your only fake friend.

     But after years of studying meteorology and mathematics in college and 15 years of wanting to chase tornadoes and hunt hurricanes, I am finally pursuing my dreams and becoming a paralegal. Okay so maybe it's just a stepping stone. Hmm. Getting paid to sit around all day reading about other people's drama and misdoings…wow…that is just so unfitting for this gossip queer. Legally Ginger…thoughts?…thoughts? I start on Monday, 7-3:30 usually, but could work weekends and all nighters. I get paid 5 beers an hour, so I'm not complaining.

     But bless a lucky ranga I'm employed. I have been spending a rude amount of time with myself. I actually had to air dry my clothes this week. And this wasn't a picturesque vision of a young woman hanging pristine white sheets across wind-swept rolling hills. I was in a public alley way using any makeshift object I could (plants, chairs, wine bottles, John Nolan's ego), and anytime a garment would blow away I would scream "Ohhhh reallllyyyyyy". So basically half the area has seen my underwear…I feel right at home.

     But it's the time you spend waiting for your clothes to dry that you start to go crazy. Your mind starts to drift into random thoughts…what are my friends doing back home…did I shit today…is Amar still single…where is Bobby Fischer…is it wrong to be attracted to a cartoon character? But nevertheless I always end up on Facebook. But here lies a serious problem. Aussies aren't into Facebook or taking pictures, and as far as I'm concerned there is nothing more important in life. I get blank stares when I'm suggesting poses every five minutes.

     Okay. Lets pretend to be Aboriginals doing Bad Romance…no?…just Bad Romance?…okay fine…next time then! It's not fair that my albums have to be the ones to suffer. I have more profile pictures than these people have total, and that doesn't make me cool…nor has it ever. I thought I had found a group who believed in the good Book as much as I did when I heard someone say, "I know. It's getting too much with the amount of Facebook friends I have!" I jumped in adding my two cents only to hear the end, "Hell, I'm about to break one hundred on my friend's list". Well. I had to back out of that one quickly. But I don't despair, I'll crack these people soon.

     So to escape the horrors of hanging out with myself all the time. I have tried to accept the aussie drinking culture this week. This basically means getting piss drunk every single night…and I'm talkin like Roni Sepe piss drunk…as in you actually pee on people's personal property drunk. So I can handle drinking Thursday-Saturday night. Nothing new there. But it was on Sunday night that things got interesting. At this point my memory became shorter than Brandon Gross' hookup list, and all I can remember is sculling a jug full of foam for a jager shot followed by a full on karaoke performance of "Look at me I'm Sandra Dee" in front of a crowded room at a lesbian bar. Won't go to bed till I'm legally wed?...well...good thing it's not legal cause I have been lousy with my virginity.

     And after my lady escort for the night got too drunk and was childlocked in a car for her own protection, I had to continue the night on my own which included 3 dollar shots, a pregnant drag queen, and after singing "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" I received the lovely and charming pickup line, "I don't know about bye, but I'd love to say hi to YOUR American pie". And social cue...

    

      Monday night to keep things more local, my recently acquired American friend and myself ventured to a gay bar called Prince of Wales a block from my apartment. After a healthy serving of jugs, I remember watching three Tiffany Chang drag queens performing a very politically incorrect version of "I'm turning Japanese" in a show called Prince of Males. And then on our way to a bar that was open later I got chased around the sidewalk screaming as a tranny 

tried to undress me. It made me reminiscent about Monge. But we were thrown into another bar with a handful of drinking vouchers. Here I met an aussie, a brit, and a scotsman. It really is becoming a game for me acquiring all these international friends. Every time I meet one I hear in my head pokemon's "Gotta catch em all!" Except Cubans, they're like that weird pigeon pokemon card no one wants. Wing Attack? Isn't that what Heather Gaines does with her arms when she walks? 

     And then Tuesday I was up on Brunswick street at a popular bar called Bimbos. But yet no one seemed it to be weird or disturbing that the theme of the bar was DEAD BABIES. Yes. There were baby dolls strapped with dildos hanging from the ceiling. And this was a STRAIGHT bar.

There were even mutilated baby dolls in pickle jars at the counter. But. The bar did have a room called the "cavern" which was a big dome with a circular sitting area where the acoustics allowed you to hear every single person's conversation. I sat in there just nodding affirmatively at complete strangers…nothing new for me.

     But Wednesday morning after I felt like I had run a marathon just by rolling out from the covers to get to the bathroom, it was time for a break. Finally could revisit my childhood as I had the opportunity to see Toy Story 3D. Suddenly I feel no shame in having two stuffed animals on my bed. And Mr. Pricklepants could not be more of a role model. He has an odd similarity to Ginny Brown.

     So long story short it's yet another Thursday. And apparently now I have an alter ego as a lesbian named Sandra Dee. I really am a complete package deal, Mike, I know you couldn't be prouder. But I miss all of you dearly…except Amar. Can't wait to start making some dough, so I can go on some real adventures. And if you haven't had the chance to video chat with me yet…get on it…it really could change your life. Kristin am I right?! Am I right?! Or am I WRONG?!

The Fourth of No One Cares

Not much to say here. It was a typical Sunday morning except that I had set my alarm to You're a Grande Ole Flag. But things got really special when I found I had an email from Barack himself reminding me that it was not only the day our country was born, but also the day that he and Michelle became parents 12 years ago. So I took it upon myself to put the riot in patriotic and march around wearing red, white, and blue and going up to random aussies telling them it was the birthday of my country...and Malia Obama. Ahh to be American. But I found myself awake early because my flatmate Beck and I were going to a magazine launch. Now neither of us were too sure what to expect but we knew there would be giveaways and door prizes.

Femme Fatale. Apparently it's supposed to be some regal film noir style, but it was a bunch of overweight lesbianonic housewives wearing corsets, skulls, and more leather than at a Kansas Daddy's Bar. It was terrifying. But seeing the front page and noticing that I can relate to both McLean and Notorious Dames, I tried to strike up conversations to no one's interest. Thank God Beck was on the same wavelength. We took our social Q's and jetted out of there like John Nolan at an undergrad function. And Havens sorry about my abandonment on the door prize, I know you would have looked great wearing a black corset with a huge skull on it at your next book club meeting.

But on the topic of things that are unnecessary and scary, I have recently found out that with a US license I can legally drive here. But not only are the cars on the wrong side of the street, but the wheel is on the wrong side of the car. Now I've handled some sticks in my life, but I have no idea how to shift that thing. So much for driving.

I had my third and final interview as a paralegal today. I really hope this is the last chapter in my Chronicles of the Unemployed. I'm sick of my diet consisting of water, oats, and beer. And Spooner Street in Rhode Island is my daily home as I watch nonstop Family Guy. I decided to forego doing laundry this week so I could afford a 12 pack. So I'll get to be drunk this week at the cost of dying alone.

How unheard of. But the interview went really well, and the front desk guy even winked at me as I was leaving. So I'm either getting a job or raped. Great.

Anyway. The night of the 4th I traded in the red, white, and blue for the red, white, and black. At least I could celebrate America with footy and beer. It was the Saints versus the Demons, and

it was biblical. There were balls, booze, and beef so lets just say I got to see fireworks that night too. But it was awesome and with the Saints pulling out a victory, it was a night of celebration. I was introduced to a bar that had a "pull here for cocktail jug" string.  You can imagine how the rest of my night went. But do pray for a job offer soon or your worse nightmare will come true, and I'll be coming home at the end of the month...