... I said to the person manning reception at the hostel about the spot of ebola I found on my cheek which I believe to be directly caused by sleeping in a hostel bed. They didn't have any. But anyway...
Melbourne, Day 2--
The Queen Victoria market was only open today of all the days I'm in town, so that's my first stop.
With no Geo for the last day, I've gotten more used to thinking, and I don't really get lost any longer. Except for one quick 10-minute period, post-Black Cat in a caffeine and writing haze- Oh, and another 10-minute episode, post another-pub-and-writing stint. But that's all. Twenty minutes today is a far improvement over 2 collective hours yesterday.
It's a quick trip to the open air market because I hate shopping. But I do love fruit, so I happily eat my new organic apples and mango and keep walking past the fake Italian handbags and stuffed boxing kangaroos.
After the market its back to Black Cat again. I feel home as I
walk in -- I'm so in love with this place, I can hardly keep from making out with the
waitress when she offers to toast and butter my banana bread.
I do my time here and tram it back to St Kilga to browse Acland street-- recommended by my good friends Chelsea Bruland and NBFFHJ (new-best-friend-forever-Hugh-Jackman). I find another great pub to finish my daily writing and then wander. I detour to the beach for sunset because, why not? It's all fine and beachy but nothing near the visual orgasms I had with Sydney's beaches (turns out Melbourne's body of water is a bay, not the ocean, so blah, blah, explanation, blah). Still, sunsets mean pictures, so I walk out on a small pier to try and get some pretty angles.
Plenty of things in Australia are BIG- not this pier. It starts small and then gets thin, and then decides railing is no longer necessary. One of my absolute favorite things about Australia is the trust. I imagine they figure: Railing, schmailing, just don't be an asshole and you'll stay dry.
Before I leave St. Kilga, I want to find another place NBFFHJ suggested- I'm particularly interested in this place because he was particularly all Oooooo! and animated about it being a friendly place where I could possibly find my Australian baby's daddy.
Now, I haven't eaten all day because I made the HUGE & DELICIOUS mistake of having a latte at Black Cat. (Caffeine freaks me out so much that I become a batshit mental mess. I lose anything that looks like an appetite and I'm awake for 2 days. It's the best and worst diet ever.) Once I finally find the bar, I start my defense against impending insomnia in the form of wine, and I realize if I want to make it home without throwing up that food is also necessary. I will do anything to avoid insomnia in a hostel -- it's bad enough when you're supposed to be awake.
It's at this bar that I realize how it is I'm still single (because this is an annoying question I get annoyingly asked annoyingly a lot). And let's see if you can also figure out why by the clues in this story:
I walk up to the bar. I order wine and mussels from the bartender. I aim for a table in the corner until even I realize how anti-social that is, plus the couple next to me has a baby and I'm not in the mood. I sit and I write the beginning of this post on my iPhone. My food arrives and it's a whole lotta shell but not a whole lotta mussel. This makes it very important for me to not let any mussel remain closed- a handful are being demure. I wrestle them open and rip out their insides. I dip my chips in the white wine sauce. I lick my fingers for a long time before I realize there are paper napkins within reach. I realize how messy I've become and how much I'm going to smell like garlic and stale dirty-girl for the rest of the night and I crack myself up into epiphany. And realize how I'm still single...
Oh, so many messy and beautiful errors in judgement. But really by choice, man. Definitely by choice.
Melbourne, Day 2--
The Queen Victoria market was only open today of all the days I'm in town, so that's my first stop.
With no Geo for the last day, I've gotten more used to thinking, and I don't really get lost any longer. Except for one quick 10-minute period, post-Black Cat in a caffeine and writing haze- Oh, and another 10-minute episode, post another-pub-and-writing stint. But that's all. Twenty minutes today is a far improvement over 2 collective hours yesterday.
It's a quick trip to the open air market because I hate shopping. But I do love fruit, so I happily eat my new organic apples and mango and keep walking past the fake Italian handbags and stuffed boxing kangaroos.
 |
| back to Black Cat (damn you, awesome latte) |
I do my time here and tram it back to St Kilga to browse Acland street-- recommended by my good friends Chelsea Bruland and NBFFHJ (new-best-friend-forever-Hugh-Jackman). I find another great pub to finish my daily writing and then wander. I detour to the beach for sunset because, why not? It's all fine and beachy but nothing near the visual orgasms I had with Sydney's beaches (turns out Melbourne's body of water is a bay, not the ocean, so blah, blah, explanation, blah). Still, sunsets mean pictures, so I walk out on a small pier to try and get some pretty angles.
 |
| example of Australia's circle of trust |
Before I leave St. Kilga, I want to find another place NBFFHJ suggested- I'm particularly interested in this place because he was particularly all Oooooo! and animated about it being a friendly place where I could possibly find my Australian baby's daddy.
Now, I haven't eaten all day because I made the HUGE & DELICIOUS mistake of having a latte at Black Cat. (Caffeine freaks me out so much that I become a batshit mental mess. I lose anything that looks like an appetite and I'm awake for 2 days. It's the best and worst diet ever.) Once I finally find the bar, I start my defense against impending insomnia in the form of wine, and I realize if I want to make it home without throwing up that food is also necessary. I will do anything to avoid insomnia in a hostel -- it's bad enough when you're supposed to be awake.
It's at this bar that I realize how it is I'm still single (because this is an annoying question I get annoyingly asked annoyingly a lot). And let's see if you can also figure out why by the clues in this story:
I walk up to the bar. I order wine and mussels from the bartender. I aim for a table in the corner until even I realize how anti-social that is, plus the couple next to me has a baby and I'm not in the mood. I sit and I write the beginning of this post on my iPhone. My food arrives and it's a whole lotta shell but not a whole lotta mussel. This makes it very important for me to not let any mussel remain closed- a handful are being demure. I wrestle them open and rip out their insides. I dip my chips in the white wine sauce. I lick my fingers for a long time before I realize there are paper napkins within reach. I realize how messy I've become and how much I'm going to smell like garlic and stale dirty-girl for the rest of the night and I crack myself up into epiphany. And realize how I'm still single...
Oh, so many messy and beautiful errors in judgement. But really by choice, man. Definitely by choice.
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| mussels, party of 1 |
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| this bench in Fitzroy makes me happy :)
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| Fitzroy street art
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| St. Kilda sunset, Melbourne in the distance |
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