Nice Irish girls and stupid English guys
Sydney, Australia: While Sharon’s away, Christine will play.
I am currently rocking a white shirt and a silk leopard print tie at a café at Queen Victoria Building. For money. ‘Cause it’s my work uniform, you see. It’s a terrible job with terrible hours and mean supervisors that hates the way I talk and how I look. I work up to 6 days a week, and I’ve still never been paid less in my whole life. On the plus side, I get the pleasure of serving coffee to some really sweet people. I make friends every day, so who cares that they’re senior citizens.
QVB is a beautiful and historical building, but the amount of times I’ve wasted a whole lunch break waiting in line to take a piss is outrageous. It’s also embarassing when you’re wearing a silk leopard print tie.
So my phone Rihanna (yes, really), who just turned one year old, decides to stop charging one day. Since it’s an iPhone, this means it survives less than a day before the battery dies, and therefore, so does Rihanna. This is just great, as I am super dependent on my phone – it’s my alarm clock, my bus time table and my roster, which is being sent on that fateful day. So, before my 12 O’clock shift, I get the bus to the Apple store in Bondi. I am there when it opens at 9:00, get in line to talk to someone, who at first tells me I might have to pay $400 to get the phone fixed. He books me an appointment and I’m told to come back in 45 minutes. Without a watch, I wander around Westfield for a while, and then go back. This really sweet guy looks at Rihanna for a while and tells me my warranty has just expired, but he will get me a new phone anyway. I am super grateful, and also not sure if he’s hitting on me or just being very generous. He tells me to come back in 30 minutes, so back to Westfield I go. I have $2 left in my account, so not even enough for a Macca’s frappe, which I am really craving (along with a seat). I eventually go back, get in line, and then they redirect me to a table, where I sit for a while before someone brings me my new phone. By now it’s 11:35 and I’m worried I’ll be late for work – they weren’t so understanding when the Anzac Day Parade blocked the whole city, and it took me 1½ hours rather than 20 minutes to get to work.
I get on the train and in my panicked state, I start changing into my uniform in my seat. It’s not really a big deal, but everyone is definitely staring at me being half-dressed and putting on my super ugly uniform. It makes me feel a bit self-conscious. As we get into the city, I notice a guy standing next to me getting off the train, and that’s when it hits me that it’s my ex-boyfriend. Great. Well I go to work and do my thing, and as I am standing around, talking to one of my co-workers, he walks straight past me, again. What are the odds that you will see your ex twice in one day when you live in frigging Sydney?
Speaking of stupid English people, our housemate Bernie has moved out. After a long and really fucking horrible time of fighting and then not speaking and then passive aggressively doing our best to piss each other off, he and his girlfriend loudly moves out of the apartment one ridiculously early morning, and with him he takes all of our toilet paper and our remote. Real mature for a guy who’s leaving to go backpacking. Anyways, joke’s on him, ‘cause I wiped my ass with all of his newly washed T-shirts.
On Mother’s Day I decide to be a good daughter and bring Sharon breakfast in bed. There is no story here, I just wanted to brag about how nice I am.
Here’s also what I made for Cinco de Mayo, because I just don’t show enough food pictures on here, amiright!?
She repays me by going back to Ireland for a two-week visit, which is just unforgivable, but she buys me an éclair to make up for it. Now it’s time to break all the rules!
Our new housemate Tanya, who also happens to be Irish, takes me out to the local pub Coach and Horses, because I’ve been moaning about wanting to go for so long. We have a few drinks and then realize it’s karaoke night upstairs, so after enough gin-soda-limes, I get up and do a tone deaf rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, complete with awesome air-guitar solo. The audience applauds me, but I might’ve just accidentally shown them my underwear. Around midnight we head to Randywixs, which is a tiny club with a dancefloor surrounded by creeping guys, just watching girls dance. We rock out to The Black Eyed Peas with a random lesbian, and then I go hunting for the mandatory post-drinks Halal Snack Pack.
On a regular Wednesday, I meet up with Craig at K-Mart in Broadway for some PJ shopping,. We’ve bought tickets for a 90’s themed pyjama party, and we need to look super cool. By super cool, I mean really stupid. We buy fluffy slippers, full PJ sets and an eye mask for me. I also get a koala backpack at Paddy’s market, because no pyjama party is complete without a teddy bear.
We pre-drink at my place, where Tanya is sat in her PJs too, even though she’s not going. It’s just kind of the dress code in our house. We then take a full bus to the city in our PJs, walk through the CBD in our PJs and go clubbing at Plan B in our PJs. We meet the Bananas in Pyjamas, dance to mostly shitty 90’s music and then go for Macca’s (that’s McDonald’s) in our PJs. The morning after, we also go to Coles and buy breakfast in our PJs.
