A bit about the title of my blog.
I am in a sorority. I am not telling which one, it doesn't matter. And it's not that kind of sorority, so please discard of any lesbian fantasties right now.
One of the aims, or goals, or whatever you want to call it was that my sorority was going "to build women of poise and purpose", which of course was a joke in college. Even the best of us was not filled with poise and most of the time our purpose was to get drunk or high or both or worse. However, in the almost 6 years since graduating that fine Southern Jersey institution, many of the women I knew do now have far more poise and a great amount of purpose. Maybe the objective of the sorority should be, "to eventually build women of a decent amount of poise and purpose, one day, down the road a bit, but for now they can be drunk and stupid." That would have been far more fitting, at least for the majority of girls, myself included.
But as far as my travels are concerned, I thought it would be funny. Most of the experiences I end up having during the course of the day are void of poise and probably the opposite of purpose-filled. Like when I went to Tennessee just after high school with one of my best friends, her boyfriend at the time, and one of his friends. I lost one Birkenstock on the side of the road in the middle of Virginia, needless to say I was upset, very upset. One perfectly good Birkenstock lost forever in Virginia- but no, my best friend, the angel she is, remembered that we had pulled over by southbound mile marker 83 so on the way back we stopped, and TAH-DAH!, my Birkenstock!!!! No poise involved when trying to hunt down a sandal in the middle of the night on a major interstate highway. No purpose to stoping- it's just a sandal, I probably could have easily gotten another pair when I got home, but no. Instead four 18 year olds were scavanging the side of a busy highway in the middle of the night looking for a stupid sandal, but a comfortable one at that.
So, as for poise, I'm sure there will be little of it involved in many of my travel stories. And as for purpose, well the funniest things in life usually don't have a purpose, but they are awfully entertaining!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Parade, written 3/11/2009
So, the Sydney Mardi Gras Parade is sponsored by the Gay/Lesbian Associations here in New South Wales. It started as a unifying event and has now taken over a decent part of the city for the entire day. It is incredible, and of course, FABULOUS!!!
Becky, Mu, and I took up post at Oxford and Crown Streets a good 3 hours before the parade was set to start. Good thinking. It gets crowded fast. "People watching" at a G/L-Mardi Gras is an event in itself. Bunnies, fairies, angels, brides, bikers, and slightly questionables are out and about, loud and proud. I love it! A day where you can be you with rainbow banners stating "Nations United" flying overhead.
The parade kicked off with Dikes on Bikes, followed leather-clad men on bikes, followed by some of the most gorgeous legs in the tallest stilletos complete with feathers, sequins, and crowns. One float was more colorful than the next, and the Drag Queens have legs and butts even the most confident woman would admire.
About 35 minutes into the parade I felt someone behind me, or should I say somethings- as the woman who was trying fervently to make her way to the fence was a good foot shorter than I and I could only feel a certain part of her. Her breasts to be exact, her very large pillowy breasts had taken up residence on my hips, one of eash side. I was enveloped in DD asain softness. As Becky complained of being chilly I had the warming comfort of a strangers bust wrapped around me. As the parade strutted on (I'm so jealous of the legs) my woman got increasingly closer. Now my butt is pressed up against her belly, not as soft as her chest, but hey, what can a girl do?! She is now so comfortable with our level of intimacy that she has taken it upon herself to gently move my ponytail to the side so as not to obstruct her view. With her small, slightly sausage-esque, left hand resting on my left shoulder I am now becoming irrate.
WHO STANDS THIS CLOSE?!?!!
WHO TOUCHES A STRANGER????
WHAT IS SHE THINKING?!?!?!??!
Becky and Mu are laughing, Mu is taking pictures- of the parade and of me and my woman. This goes on for about an hour and my lady walks away. I feel used, abused, love 'em and leave 'em, that's her moto. OK, not really, I'm glad to have my personal space back and continuing watching one of the most colorful and stilletto laden parades I have ever seen.As the parade wraps up a young man passes out face-down on the sidewalk behind us. Event medical staff and firefighters to the rescue. Hooked up to oxygen, the yound man is making his way back from his alcohol induced coma. As he is recovering, a rainbow haired, sparkling angel emerges from the crowd, "I'm with him, is he ok? Can I come across the barrier?" "NO" is the response. I think, if you were with him, then where were you when he was ingesting enough booze to kill a horse? Or did you not realize that his all of 125lb body, when soaking wet in a denim suit, could not handle that much to drink?? He is now drunkenly pumping his fist in the air along with the everchanging beats of the floats going by. Strapped into a gurney, he feels more secure in moving more body parts along to the rhythm of the music. The firefighters are laughing and shaking their heads as if to say, "you stupid drunk fool". I am also laughing and shaking my head and saying out loud, "what a stupid drunk ass".
With the parade over, and the party to end all parties comencing at the other end of town, we walk back to the train stop. Metallic confetti, rainbow flags, trash and glass bottles line the streets. Pink Australian flags hanging off the shoulders of everyone is town ushers you back to a transit stop.
Ah, Mardi Gras, it's spectacular, even when it's not even close to Fat Tuesday.
Becky, Mu, and I took up post at Oxford and Crown Streets a good 3 hours before the parade was set to start. Good thinking. It gets crowded fast. "People watching" at a G/L-Mardi Gras is an event in itself. Bunnies, fairies, angels, brides, bikers, and slightly questionables are out and about, loud and proud. I love it! A day where you can be you with rainbow banners stating "Nations United" flying overhead.
The parade kicked off with Dikes on Bikes, followed leather-clad men on bikes, followed by some of the most gorgeous legs in the tallest stilletos complete with feathers, sequins, and crowns. One float was more colorful than the next, and the Drag Queens have legs and butts even the most confident woman would admire.
About 35 minutes into the parade I felt someone behind me, or should I say somethings- as the woman who was trying fervently to make her way to the fence was a good foot shorter than I and I could only feel a certain part of her. Her breasts to be exact, her very large pillowy breasts had taken up residence on my hips, one of eash side. I was enveloped in DD asain softness. As Becky complained of being chilly I had the warming comfort of a strangers bust wrapped around me. As the parade strutted on (I'm so jealous of the legs) my woman got increasingly closer. Now my butt is pressed up against her belly, not as soft as her chest, but hey, what can a girl do?! She is now so comfortable with our level of intimacy that she has taken it upon herself to gently move my ponytail to the side so as not to obstruct her view. With her small, slightly sausage-esque, left hand resting on my left shoulder I am now becoming irrate.
WHO STANDS THIS CLOSE?!?!!
WHO TOUCHES A STRANGER????
WHAT IS SHE THINKING?!?!?!??!
Becky and Mu are laughing, Mu is taking pictures- of the parade and of me and my woman. This goes on for about an hour and my lady walks away. I feel used, abused, love 'em and leave 'em, that's her moto. OK, not really, I'm glad to have my personal space back and continuing watching one of the most colorful and stilletto laden parades I have ever seen.As the parade wraps up a young man passes out face-down on the sidewalk behind us. Event medical staff and firefighters to the rescue. Hooked up to oxygen, the yound man is making his way back from his alcohol induced coma. As he is recovering, a rainbow haired, sparkling angel emerges from the crowd, "I'm with him, is he ok? Can I come across the barrier?" "NO" is the response. I think, if you were with him, then where were you when he was ingesting enough booze to kill a horse? Or did you not realize that his all of 125lb body, when soaking wet in a denim suit, could not handle that much to drink?? He is now drunkenly pumping his fist in the air along with the everchanging beats of the floats going by. Strapped into a gurney, he feels more secure in moving more body parts along to the rhythm of the music. The firefighters are laughing and shaking their heads as if to say, "you stupid drunk fool". I am also laughing and shaking my head and saying out loud, "what a stupid drunk ass".
With the parade over, and the party to end all parties comencing at the other end of town, we walk back to the train stop. Metallic confetti, rainbow flags, trash and glass bottles line the streets. Pink Australian flags hanging off the shoulders of everyone is town ushers you back to a transit stop.
Ah, Mardi Gras, it's spectacular, even when it's not even close to Fat Tuesday.
2 Sides to Every City, written 3/6/2009
It’s true. All cities and their surroundings are the same. Once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. Maybe not the cities of old, like Paris, Florence, Prague, and the like; but new cities are grotesquely cookie-cutter. Other than being flanked on one side by magnificent coastline and the buff beach-goers, Sydney is like any other non-descript city in the United States. There is of course its business district, with its tall shiny buildings and small efficient eateries. There is the “old” section, “The Rock” as it’s called, complete with cobblestone and little stairways. The tourist traps: zoo, aquarium, Opera House, Harbour Bridge, Darling Harbour, and anything else lights and a sign will attach to. There are carefully planned parks and, of course, Chinatown- no modern city would be complete without its very own Chinatown. There are men and women in business attire bustling through the streets with a determination that always baffles (your job isn’t that important, something tells me that if you didn’t get back right away or ever, everyone would still find something to do). There are students rushing through traffic thinking, “please don’t fail me if I’m late again,” a feeling I’m sure is very valid. There are moms and dads doing head counts and potty checks. People smiling, chatting, hugging, coming, going, and crying. The air is slightly dirty and there is a bar or coffee place on every corner. ATMs, buses and trains stations abound. Citizens, non-citizens, legals and illegals, it is NYC but with a different accent and a more laid-back attitude. This is not the Australia I came to see. But it’s ok, for now.
Sydney does have beaches, oh does it have beaches.
Walk east. Salt water breezing up the street. Closer. Over the houses a glimpse of blue, deep blue ocean. Closer still. Turn again. Waves smashing wind blown rocks. Chatter from the sand. And… arrival. The Pacific stretches out in front of you like a canvas of ever changing blue; the painter not able to mix her blues consistently, making what would be considered a failure in the museum. Here though, it is embraced by everyone who passes. It beckons. Sit. Swim. Play. Gaze. Be. Suddenly, and serenely, you forget the city that lies just beyond the hills behind you and you are calm. The emails and errands from this morning are a distant memory. The water engulfs your thoughts as you nestle into the warm comfort of the sand beneath you. Welcome to Australia. Welcome to the Australia you’ve come to see.
Sydney does have beaches, oh does it have beaches.
Walk east. Salt water breezing up the street. Closer. Over the houses a glimpse of blue, deep blue ocean. Closer still. Turn again. Waves smashing wind blown rocks. Chatter from the sand. And… arrival. The Pacific stretches out in front of you like a canvas of ever changing blue; the painter not able to mix her blues consistently, making what would be considered a failure in the museum. Here though, it is embraced by everyone who passes. It beckons. Sit. Swim. Play. Gaze. Be. Suddenly, and serenely, you forget the city that lies just beyond the hills behind you and you are calm. The emails and errands from this morning are a distant memory. The water engulfs your thoughts as you nestle into the warm comfort of the sand beneath you. Welcome to Australia. Welcome to the Australia you’ve come to see.
Crossing the street in the Land Down Under, written 2/27/2009
As if jetlag weren't enough to throw you off in a new country, the Aussies drive on the left side of the road, yes you heard right, THE LEFT!!!! So there is no looking left, right, left- it's all right, left, right. And at an intersection it's even worse because you forget which way the turning traffic is coming from!! But, in the past three days I've managed to cross the street multiple times, even without a crosswalk, and have yet to get hit or even clipped by oncoming traffic.
I have found a delightful little cafe, Curious Cafe, in Bondi Junction, that makes delicious lattes, cappuccinos, and food. Bonus, they have free internet access. The cafe sits in a building that is the equivilent of an NYC brownstone. Two steps down from the sidewalk is an outdoor sitting area (where I am today, enjoying my latte and raspberry muffin), then through the door to two seperate rooms, counter all the way in back, stairwell running up the left. Curious Cafe has a resident cat. Black and white and mostly sleepy, his name is Elvis. He perches himself on a chair or at the steps on the sidewalk. Today, he has taken up residence directly in the middle of the steps on the sidewalk, forcing anyone who wishes to gain access to Curious to either step over him or walk clearly around him, squeezing themselves between him and the wrought iron fence posts. Curiously enough, no one seems to mind. Elvis, I presume, has been the gate keeper here for quite some time. Many of the people who pass by know him by name, or very tenderly bend down to give him a pat on the head as they go about their day.Well, I'm off to explore some more. I'd like to make my way to the beach today, and as it's a bit overcast it'll make for some good strolling.
Hannah
ps- Elvis is now curled up on my purse on the chair next to me. I would take a picture but I'm afraid my camera is directly under his butt.
I have found a delightful little cafe, Curious Cafe, in Bondi Junction, that makes delicious lattes, cappuccinos, and food. Bonus, they have free internet access. The cafe sits in a building that is the equivilent of an NYC brownstone. Two steps down from the sidewalk is an outdoor sitting area (where I am today, enjoying my latte and raspberry muffin), then through the door to two seperate rooms, counter all the way in back, stairwell running up the left. Curious Cafe has a resident cat. Black and white and mostly sleepy, his name is Elvis. He perches himself on a chair or at the steps on the sidewalk. Today, he has taken up residence directly in the middle of the steps on the sidewalk, forcing anyone who wishes to gain access to Curious to either step over him or walk clearly around him, squeezing themselves between him and the wrought iron fence posts. Curiously enough, no one seems to mind. Elvis, I presume, has been the gate keeper here for quite some time. Many of the people who pass by know him by name, or very tenderly bend down to give him a pat on the head as they go about their day.Well, I'm off to explore some more. I'd like to make my way to the beach today, and as it's a bit overcast it'll make for some good strolling.
Hannah
ps- Elvis is now curled up on my purse on the chair next to me. I would take a picture but I'm afraid my camera is directly under his butt.
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