You Know It's Hot, Don't Forget What You Got, Looking Back...

Nothing like Lauryn Hill quote to kick off a farewell post.

It is now 4:30pm on Tuesday, April 14. In exactly 16 hours, I will board a Qantas flight bound for NYC.
My feelings are as mixed as the drinks I will be having at my farewell jam in a few hours.

I got back from my 5-week journey on Easter--I like to time my resurrections with those of the Lord. I was taken in by Meg, who recently moved into a new house, complete with three bedrooms and a dungeon.
I kid you not.
Luckily, I wasn't forced to sleep there.

Much of yesterday I was dying to go home, frustrated because of the inability to get someone to drive me to pick up my luggage, especially when one friend had already offered, but then backed out by pretending like it wasn't happening. It really hit home the sense of helplessness I'd felt many times in Sydney, not being able to do the simplest things--like laundry, for instance--without paying excessive amounts, or asking someone I'm not really close to for a favor.

I know that, although the last thing I want is to shack up with my mother and her latin lover, I also can't wait to sleep in my own bed, not wear thongs--oops, i mean flip-flops!--in the shower, and come and go easily.

But today, as I ran errands around the city, I found myself quite nostalgic, and actually sad. The sun is shining, I was actually too warm in my long-sleeved top, and Sydney was beautiful--and I felt like I'd made it my place, in a way. I have friends here and know where to go, and have made memories. I also have six months left on my visa, and there is a part of me that wonders if going home is a bad idea. I just found out my main gay may be leaving NYC in mere weeks, and my sister from another mister is heading to grad school in the fall. Add to this the fact that I've spent 6 months being a total selfish loner, not having to do anything but stay afloat and answer to no one, and you have a blacktress with a deep-seated fear of returning to reality.

I mean, 6 months is nothing in the grand scheme of life. Granted, I missed a few births, engagements, a black president and a global financial crisis--but, you know, the bars will be the same, and the dudes I hate won't have gained the 50 pounds I hoped they would as punishment.

Will folks actually have missed me? I want my reunion to be like that of Christian the lion and his old owners. You know, like this:



Is that too much to ask? I just want to maul you with my LOVE!!

When it comes to Sydneytown, there are some THINGS I WON'T MISS:
-trying to get home after midnight and paying a crapton.
-paying for condiments. Seriously, don't you think it's sort of passive aggressive to sell someone french fries and then charge them 50 cents for a package of ketchup?
-explaining my hair to total strangers.
-hearing the songs 'Save Tonight' and 'Land Down Under' at least once a day. I mean, 'Land Down Under' in Australia?????????

But really, when I think about it, there are so many THINGS I"LL MISS LIKE WHOA:
-Sweet, sweet, Eli Reed. You began as a reader, and you became a soul sister.
-Oh, dear, dear Meg. You have taught me much about the side hustle, and the ability to be a rockstar.


Wedges with sweet chili and sour cream--the most unlikely-yet-heavenly combination in the history of cookery.

-Lemon, lime, and bitters. Best. drink. ever.
-Meeting random strangers on public transportation and then being facebooked by them.
-Telling people I'm a blacktress and not being asked 'where do you wait tables?'
-Suzy Q, who always tried to get me out of the house when I was depressed, and told me I should stay in Sydney. Her optimism is precious.
-Abbreviating every word possible.


-Sushi Train. Delicious, delicious Sushi Train. Above shows where I ate on the regular, including my last lunch in Ausland.

-And, of course, Aussie accents. I'm still holding out for my foreign husband!

Okay, off to dranks with peeps. Next posts will be the tales of my travels--soooooooooo worth the wait!

xoxo,
blacktress!

Wellington--not just a boot, but a state of mind.

Blacktress' Log, Star Date 28 March 2009.

Greetings from Wellington, N-Zed!!

I am totes crushing on this town. I got here after midnight on the 26th, and from the moment I stepped out on Friday, I felt the buzz. My stomach was doing excited flips, the way it does when I get excited about seeing someone I haven't seen in a long time. Even though I was walking down a street that mainly consisted of warehouses, I felt like I could get down with this vibe--I was instantly feeling Welly's flava. It's kinda hipstery, and reminds me of Melbourne and NYC's East Village, but people are actually nice. Take for instance, the clerk at the jeans store, where I was on a hunt for some cute black jeans--we chatted for 20 minutes, he helped me find the cutest pair, and even gave me a gig guide so I could see what's on around town. We also talked about Kanye West being cray cray, and I think if I'd stayed around, he would have proposed to me just so he could come to NYC.

I'm trying to hunt for Bret and Jemaine, my FOTC boyfriends, but it's hard. Mainly because most people think I'm crazy when I ask where I can find them. As I walk the streets of Welly, I think to myself, "This is where Bret walked as he wrote 'Ladies of the World'" Can you imagine?! As I search various thrift stores, I try to find those cool sweaters Bret wears with pics of wolves on them, but so far, no luck. Nothing says "you could be a part-time model" like wolf art.

Ozzies always make fun of the kiwi accent, but only now, after 4 months of Ausland, can I tell the difference. The Kiwi accent is hilarious to me, as 'e' becomes 'i' and 'i' becomes 'u.' Take for instance, this gem I overheard:
"I sint him a tixt. I was tixting and tixting, and he niv-eh risponded. He's bin' a total duckhead."

'Duckhead' = 'Dickhead' Although I really wish she actually meant that he had the head of a duck. That would have been a way lower blow.

Okay, I should stop being a table-nine, indoor kid and go explore this big wide world of Wellington.

Talk soon.
xoxo,
blacktress

Indestructible

So, I'm here in Darwin where it's already 90 degrees and humid at 9am. Claire, the love of my life and new best friend, has already left for a trip to Kakadu, and I'm left to fend for myself. I'm now finding I miss the Outback crew and the bonding that comes from near-death experiences.

I'm also missing the random '80s tunes we listened to on our 6 to 10-hour car rides. For example, "Gold," by Spandau Ballet, featured heavily in the rotation. It's the most amazing song ever. I embed it for your listening/viewing pleasure.



Nothing boosts the spirits like hearing that gorgeous baritone singing "you're indestructible....." after a 3.5-hour hike in the height of the desert sun.

Okay, off to the museum and more exploring. Tomorrow morning I head off to a one-day tour of Litchfield National Park, where there are apparently giant termite mounds and waterfalls for swimming.

I don't even know myself anymore.

Making it to the top of the top end.

Blacktress' Log, Thursday, 19 March 2009.

Greetings from Darwin!!

The last week has been crazy and awesome, full of randomness and excessive heat--temperature-wise, I mean.

After 6 days in the Outback, our group partied it up in Alice Springs, which is a pretty boring town. If it wasn't for Bojangles pub and the bottle of wine I'd treated myself to, I don't know how I would have gotten through it. Tuesday I was a hot ass mess, and I awoke to find myself being spooned by my Outback tour guide, a ruddy Aussie man who goes by the nickname 'Jesus.'

I guess you could say I woke up in Jesus's arms.

It was odd and random. Not only because Jesus had three beds in his room and there was no need for us to share a space, but because Jesus is betrothed. Nothing happened, and it was very PG--although his touch was surprisingly tender and he held me all night, which I don't know if I'd want my future husband doing with a nubian princess such as myself. There was no weirdness in the morning, thank god/his dad. This wouldn't be the first time I'd won the affections of a taken man.

I spent much of Tuesday nursing my hot mess of a hangover, hydrating and doing tons of writing. My flight out of town was Wednesday arvo, so I woke up bright and early, showered, de-sketchified, and headed off into the bright sun to see what Alice had to offer. It's quite a small city, and the main attractions are walkable enough.

So, you guys know how I'm really into reptiles, right? This means that the Alice Springs Reptile Centre was my first stop. As I walked through the exhibition, loving the cold-blooded creatures, I took note of all the venomous ones, should I come across them along my travels. As I walked through one section, I noticed this Olive Python was eye-fucking the shit out of me from inside its cage. It was really weird--totally one of those moments where I wish I could speak Parseltongue and figure out what the hell was going on.

In addition to its reptiles, I greatly appreciated the Centre's air conditioning, and just took my time reading placards and cooling off. While admiring a dinosaur fossil (yes, admiring), I was alerted to an animal presentation starting up. Suh-weet.

Maureen, our lovely presenter, showed us all sorts of creatures that we were then allowed to HOLD. I totally elbowed children out of the way and held a blue-tongued lizard, a horny devil (yes, a horny devil), and the Python who was staring at me. It was totally cool--I seem to have lost all fear since my journey into the outback. I was a bit wary of the massive snake, but he just slithered and it was all good....for a while.

As I went to hand it back to Maureen, it began to constrict around my hand.

My life flashed before my eyes. I totally knew there was a reason it was staring at me before--it was sizing me up for the kill. Being a constrictor, it's grip was deadly and I struggled to squeeze my hand out without making a scene that would scare the children. "Umm........" I said sorta loudly. Maureen told me to stay calm and or force the snake off, as it would feel threatened. I wriggled my hand out sloooooowwwwwllllly, and managed to break free--you can't put shackles on this blacktress, reptilian or otherwise!!!

Escaping death, I headed off to a couple other sights then went to the airport. There, I ran into this cool chick who I'd met in Sydney through a friend a couple months back. She's from Hotlanta and is totally a strong black woman in a white woman's body. We discovered we were seated in the same row--22A and C. We joked about talking over whoever was in between us.

When we got to our seats, we saw there were only seats A and C together. Talk about meant to be! We were obvi fated to be together, and spent three hours talking about dudes, travel, and fun times ahead. Her hostel was down the road from mine, and we met up and went out on the town last night. We landed at 7pm and it was still 90 degrees and humid out. Hot mess.

Darwin wasn't exactly popping on a Wednesday, and we went to the one hot spot, The Vic. The cover band was rocking ('Save Tonight,' by Eagle Eye Cherry, anyone?), and with $3 tequila shots, you know we'd basically gotten ourselves two tickets to the Shit Show. We ended up meeting some Canadian dudes, one of whom was 21 and tried to flirt with me. He was outgoing, had a full beard, and totally seemed older than me until he revealed that his age. I mean, wtf, Canadians--why must you always trick me?! He's from Sasketchawan, where I guess all the men are part Yeti and born rugged. I explained to him that, "I can't do anything with 21," and he got annoyed. Me and my new bff left The Vic at about 1am, chanting our new motto:

Darwin. My town. Love it.

Back from the Outback

I've survived the Outback, readers. It was gorgeous and intense, and the flies in Australia love to swarm on your face and you often feel like a feed-the-children baby, but it was worth every second.

I'm now in Alice Springs, in the Northern Territory, where my hangover from last night's debauchery at Bojangles, a honky-tonk pub has left me mildly immobile. I am vowing to really explore the city tomorrow, when I have some energy.

I only have 4 minutes of internet credit left, but just wanted to let you all know i'm alive. Pictures will be up in due time. Just imagine me in a huge backpack sleeping on the ground repeatedly, and then hiking in bad sneakers. Next stop: Darwin, the very top of the Northern Territory.

From the Mouths of Mates

One of my favorite people in Australia said this on the phone a couple days ago, and I've been dying to share. I think this may be not only the quote of the week, but the quote of MY LIFE:

"I'm just figuring out what I'm going to do as an ex-lesbian single mother of a half-Indian child fathered by a sugar daddy."

Fair enough, Meg. Fair enough. I think we've all been there.

I am really going to miss my Australian friends.

Different Strokes for Different Folks

Sunday, March 8, 2009.

I'm typing this post from the State Library in downtown Adelaide. It's been quite a long day, and it's not even noon yet. This could be due to the fact that I started drinking at around 3pm yesterday, and thought that since I had a 6:30am flight, I should just stay up all night.

Which I did.

I've been in a daze, and half-slept on my short flight to Adelaide. I'm rocking this backpack that weighs in at 13.5 kilos--about 27 pounds, I guess--and I'm already feeling it in the shoulders. I arrived at the YHA to find that check-in wasn't allowed until 1pm, so I have plenty of time to kill.

Everyone says Adelaide--known as the 'city of churches'--is boring, but I find that enjoying a city, much like ensnaring a man, is all about timing. It just so happens that the blacktress has arrived in the middle of the Adelaide Fringe Festival, a month of art and performance taking place all over the city. I instantly sat down with the festival guide and have already found some good stuff I want to see. Take, for instance, stand-up by comedian Arj Barker (from Flight of the Conchords). Or, House of the Holy Afro, which is billed as "A riotus African nightclub spectacular! Like the Soweto Gospel Choir on acid."

Two tickets, please!

Of course, in true blacktress style, I postpone visits to cultural sites and immediately hunt for free internet and an ATM, and find the streets awkwardly empty. I mean, for a big festival, there's no one around. I'm also unsure why stores aren't open....Am I in a scene from 28 Days Later??? I start to wonder as I roam.
Just then, I head to Rundle Street Mall, which is a strip of stores about 3 blocks long, and apparently is where all the cool (and unemployed) kids hang out. I wanted to stop in Wooly's, but it was closed. I was confused, seeing as it said it was open from 11am-9pm. My celly clearly stated 11:08.

What sort of town is this?!

I get to the library and sign up for 30 minutes of free internet. "You have computer number 5 from 11-11:30," I'm told by the lovely retiree who volunteers to keep himself active. I nod and smile, but am confused, because it's 11:15. How is this possible?
I go to sit at another computer while I'm waiting and the time reads 10:45. I'm utterly baffled. Where the F am I?

Just then, I remember a little fun fact I learned during my IEP orientation: There's a half-hour time difference between South Australia and New South Wales.

I kid you not. A half-hour time difference. This country never ceases to amaze. It's not even really a time difference so much as government-sanctioned tardiness.

Well, now that I've got that sorted, I'm less annoyed by my friend Justin because he's not actually late to meet me and show me around. This does, however, mean I'll have to wait 30 more minutes to stuff my face with lunch.

I'll let you know how I go in the City of Churches (and free internet).