Okay, okay, it's been like a week since I posted anything. But I needed time to cool down after that last post. I got really riled up about that one, and then caught all kinds of flack from my Aussie friends who were all like, "wow you sound angry, giiirl, why you all be hatin' on Oz n' shit?" (it didn't actually sound like that, because they can't sound black, especially when they try, but I try not to hold that against them...they've never seen black people outside of the "telly".)
But honestly folks, I don't hate Australia. I'm merely observing and recording in a spiteful manner. And to be honest I can do that from anywhere. Just ask my sister; if nothing around me is particularly bothersome, I'll make fun of her tattoos or pick on her boyfriend.
So in an attempt to make nice, I've compiled a brief list of things I've discovered here that could only exist, in all their true glory, in Australia--objects I shall truly miss...as soon as I get the fuck out of here.
1. Tim Tams.
Chocolate gizz you'd never spit out. Especially when it joins forces with tea or hot chocolate to become the Tim Tam Slam.
I always considered myself a formidable drinker, especially for my size and socio-economic status, but if not for all my practice before I moved here, Australians' drinking capacity would surely put me to shame. As they don't possess the cure-all combination of Excedrin and Emergen-C, husband introduced me to Berocca, in all its orange powered sweetness and brain cell-patching abilities. It gets me moving enough to get to work, functioning as well as can be expected, but sadly hasn't been improved enough to stop me from still being drunk at said job.
3. Really really tight jeans.
One winter my girlfriends and I back in New York were on an all-out quest for the perfect skinny jeans. H&M briefly carried like 20 pairs (sold out in one day) and went back to lame-o flares with washes that looked like you'd just slid down a loofah. I refused to buy Tsubis because they're like $400 in NYC and I'd thrown so much food at Tsubi-wearing anorexic fashion students on Fifth Avenue that I would've felt like a hypocrite.
The quest got so competitive that one friend refused to give up where she'd found her pair, in fear that we would all get the same ones. (After they sold out she then confessed they were from Urban Outfitters, but I have a major moral dilemma about those idiots anyway.)
Husband informed me that Melbourne is THE world capital of painted-on jeans, and much to my satisfaction, my friend Thom makes the perfect pair at a reasonable price. These bitches are so tight they make my Leona Edmiston stockings look like snow pants. My friend Benny and I have the same pair. He's like 6'6" so his are a foot longer...but same circumference...skinny ass hipsters.
Soooo, I promise from now on I will mix my likes with dislikes in an attempt to be a nicer person. I just can't promise any kind of healthy balance.