Mom please don't have a heart attack

After having one of the more eventful weekends of my life, I figured a blog post about the series of unfortunate events could be appropriate. What is pain without 200 of your closest friends to share it with you?

Story 1:
Title- Death
Location- Fortitude Valley aka where the trash of Brisbane gathers for drinks
Time Frame- Thursday night 9pm- Friday Morning 6am.

Back story- I had met a cool girl in one of my classes the day before who invited me out with her and her Australian friends. We had had a real bonding experience after both showing up to our lecture an hour early by accident and walking in on an engineering class.  We knew something was wrong upon entry because we looked around to see a mass of males staring back at us. When you are a PR major- this just doesn't happen. After looking very dumb for blatantly being in the wrong place as there are as many female engineers as there are male PR students, we walked out and ended up agreeing that we really should have sat in on the class and found husbands instead of skirting out. That's when we knew we'd get along, and so here the story begins.

My housemates and I were excited to be going out with some real Auzzies, and we hadn't been out on a Thursday night yet so it was even better. On top of this, the place we were going had three dollar drinks and two dollar shots... finally a night out where we wouldn't wake up the next morning reaffirming how the American minimum wage had yet again screwed us over.
 
Looking back, I can now truly appreciate the phone call my uncle set up before my departure with his casual friend- Brisbane's ex-head of police. The first thing the man told me was "you think you party, and you think you can drink. But my one word of advice- do NOT try and keep up with the Australians because you simply will not be able to." Had I kept this in mind and warned those around me, my weekend probably would have gone much more smoothly. 

Upon our arrival to the bar, we met up with the Auzzie girls who promptly marched us over to get drinks as my friend Jessie asked the bar tender for "eight wet pussies please." My jaw dropped in disbelief as I turned to Jessie and asked her to repeat what she had just said. She looked at me confused- "I ordered wet pussies- what about it, don't you want one?" I nodded my head as she clearly did not understand why I was so astounded.  A "wet pussy," in case you were wondering, actually ended up tasting like a strawberry daiquiri so needless to say... 10 drinks later we were doing it Auzzie style and having a great night.

Wet Pussies should be prohibited. Also, meet my friend Jessie

I will spare you all with the long winded details about what happened before EMS brought a wheelchair into the bar to get my friend, but one passed out girl later who was deadweight to the point where the bouncers couldn't even figure out how transport her out of the bar, and there I was getting to go on my first ever ambulance ride. 

I must say, it really wasn't as exciting as I had hoped for. I'm sure it had something to do with me being racked with concern for my friend while simultaneously trying to be composed after the 10 wet pussies in my system, but she turned out to be fine after getting some fluids into her.

Meanwhile, Jessie had come with us and was avidly hitting on the EMS driver in the front announcing to him that she loved doctors. At this point I may or may not have been begging for an extra IV in the back because I have this weird affinity for IVs cemented in my firm belief that they fix everything, but unfortunately they had none to spare. Additionally, my friend had the same EMS doctor that I had when I got my appendix taken out, so I had a great 6am conversation with him about when I could start up my ab workouts again (next week!!).

All in all, my friend is alive and well, and we have now learned our lesson about truly immersing ourselves into the Australian culture: Do not even try because you will die.

...And Dr. Gupta said he had no interest in seeing me for a third time this month (oopsies), so we will attempt to be slightly more responsible from here on out.

Story 2:
Title- Sassy to a fault
Location- Fridays aka a classy club in Brisbane
Time frame- irrelevant

So there I was sitting at Friday's. As usual, I had let my friends do the talking for me after they had boldly walked up to a group of guys. For those of you who know me well, you will not be shocked to hear that I have still found myself incapable of approaching people- it is not my style, and I generally freeze up due to being shy anyways, so the best option has been to let people approach me specifically or just let my friends do the talking. My mom has yelled at me over Skype approximately 5 times now about being assertive and getting over being shy- she has also added in that we no longer live in the 1800s and that women can talk to men, however not all of us can be Liz who hit on her college professor enough to the point where he finally just married her.

This being said, after a billionth Saturday night in a row of talking to random guys who we quite frankly had no interest in, when a group of attractive guys hovering awkwardly in a corner yelled out to Shand and I, instead of walking right by them like we usually would, we actually stopped, walked up to them, and introduced ourselves.

I found myself more interested in the blonde guy to my right, so when the dorky looking guy with glasses, Chaz, kept asking me questions about my major, I gave a few short answers but overall just dismissed them. When it came time for Chaz to tell us which university he went to, he got awkwardly quiet and didn't say anything, thus affirming in my head his status as a weirdo- he couldn't even answer a simple question coolly.

One of his friends promptly changed the subject and asked us why Americans didn't have Instagram. I informed them that Americans obviously had Instagram because look at me- I have 350 followers. A guy, who apparently was feeling equally as obnoxious as I was, one upped me informing everyone he had 400 followers, however, his friend quickly put him in his place saying that the only reason he had any followers at all was because of Chaz.

Shand, as confused as I was by that statement, asked them what that had to do with anything. The guys all smiled at one another as they informed us that Chaz was a famous actor, and Chaz just sat there as if they had announced to us he went to the grocery earlier that morning. Shand and I looked at each other before bursting out laughing. There was quite literally a zero percent chance that this guy was famous in my mind, and I made sure to inform them that just because we were American didn't mean we were complete idiots. Sassy and slightly intoxicated me made sure they knew I was not one of those dumb American girls that would believe every ridiculous statement they made. 

Chaz smiled, and proceeded to show us his Instagram, which had a mere 52,000 followers. But even then, I was absolutely convinced that this guy was full of it- I mean what a creep for hacking onto some person's Instagram and pretending to be famous just to try and get some girls at a bar. I was also offended because his story was so cliche. He could have at least come up with an alias a little more original then "famous actor." So I accused him of being a complete weirdo for hacking onto someone's Instagram to which he stared in disbelief, and Shand and I ended up walking away.

The next morning, for good measure and some peace of mind, I looked up the actor that the guy from the night before had been pretending to be just to confirm that he was a fraud. Unfortunately the very first picture that came up was of him and his friends from the night before, and as I scrolled down on the Instagram page and compared the pictures to the famous Charles Cottier on the hit TV series Home and Away here.... it was a direct match to the guy I had met the night before.

The photo that confirmed my idiocy

Well, at least I'll be remembered as the crazy American girl who accused a famous actor of being a pro Instagram hacker... yes I am kicking myself right now.

All in all, this weekend was far from dull. Monday hasn't been devoid of excitement either as I am currently editing my fellow classmates' poetry and this came up... I am trying to figure out a way to politely tell this person that their poetry sucks. Also, yes this was handed into a professor.

So until next time.

-F

Calling all free spirits

 If you look into my room, you will see neat piles on the desk, a color coordinated closet, a perfectly made bed, and an immaculately swept floor. I have a journal with to do list after to do list, an agenda with my next 3 months planned out, and an email account that is divided into 5 different folders giving every incoming email I receive either a place to go or it must be deleted.

My opening paragraph is how I am choosing to openly confess to all of you that I am an absolute control freak. Society looks at people like me, and they roll their eyes and get annoyed. They don't understand the fact that when I look at a dirty kitchen, I actually feel a slight tick as my breathing gets more panicked and the nerves build. Or how if someone with dirty shoes walks into my room, my throat constricts as I do everything in my power not to beat them out with my broom.

You laugh, but living like this for 20 years has been maybe the most stressful and annoying thing in the world. I thought being a control freak was hard, but then I got to Australia where it turns out that being a control freak is not only hard, it is impossible.

I should have realized what I was in for when, after my 13 hour flight into the country, I proceeded to be kept waiting at the airport for an additional 4 hours as my ride casually headed over. When you land at 6 am off a red eye and proceed to get to your house that is 15 minutes away at 11, the "sorry girls I was just running a tad behind," just isn't the type of apology that makes you feel better.

In Australia, rushing is somewhat of a foreign concept and working seems to be something they make time for on the side. As is displayed by the surgeon's postponement of my surgery from a Sunday evening to Monday, even emergencies aren't dire enough to impose upon someone's weekend.

Coming from the US where we are defined by our jobs above all else, you sit and stare in awe as your teacher does not apologize for not answering your email, but instead sits there and tells you the story about how he blew off work to go to the beach thus legitimizing why he never emailed you back.

The other day I had a conversation with a transplanted American who is now raising her kids here. What stuck out to me the most was when she mentioned that it was in no way abnormal for a kid coming out of Australia's top prep school to choose to be a waiter and surf for 10 years over going to college. The parents of these kids will casually mention at a dinner party that Johnny is just hanging out post high school with no shame or second thought. In America, Johnny's mom would be going into a long-winded explanation about how Johnny is going through a rough patch in life but that the break from school will actually lead him to success that your kids may never have because he'll go back into everything with a fresh start. Meanwhile, she would be pouring her fifth glass of wine as the mere thought of her son straying from the norm would internally be ripping her to shreds. The race to the top, which exists even among friends in America, just is not a thing here. These people are truly just hanging out.

I always found it odd that my classes here are composed of just as many 40-year-olds as there are 20-year-olds. Instead of appreciating the fact that my older classmates have probably lived a life full of adventure and excitement, I choose to stress about how in the world they could be paying their bills on top of loans? And how could a healthy marriage be established when they clearly didn't have a stable income yet? And on top of that, if they are just going through college now- are they going to have time to have kids? You can't prioritize a career when you have kids- and they were clearly running out of time to have the kids as women have an expiration date, so what will they choose?! These type of questions among many others swim through my head constantly as I observe daily life here, but if I am going to make it out of this country a sane person, I have to let go of all of the preconceived notions America has instilled in me.

All of this being said, when you are used to planning and plotting every minute detail of your life and everyone around you is running off to go be free and live, the internal struggle really heightens as you try and spontaneously ditch life for the beach, but then find yourself tanning and still making the two million to-do lists in your head and not your notebook.

Noosa Heads- Australia's Version of the Hamptons for a last-minute weekend trip. Life could be worse

 Learning how to relax, although challenging, is starting to become easier the more I realize that I am actually an outcast for being so uptight. In America I am exceptionally motivated. Here I'm told to "chill mate because all will work itself out." And they're right. 

In fact, school was completely cancelled on Wednesday for a public holiday so that everyone could go to a horse race.

Yes, my hat is larger than I am.

All in all, I really can't complain about the life I'm living down under at the moment. Having to learn to loosen up and have more fun is a pretty great problem to have.

Stay tuned for the next series of adventures

-F