The Day After Yesterday

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The Day After Yesterday

We seem to be making a lot of new friends instead of getting punched. Between Tara and I’s personality we keep meeting new friends everywhere we turn. Although Aussies are as friendly as a pervert of the set of a Victoria Secret’s model shoot, most tourists are dicks, especially the British, so I think we’re a welcome change of pace. We have a new game we play, it’s title speaks volumes of it’s rules and play, it’s called, “Bitch, Bastard or British.” Tara and I generally like people so being nice to everyone here works out good and to our advantage. It also seems to matter how people perceive Aussies so they work really hard to smile and be nice to everyone.

Yesterday we got a little ahead of ourselves and after a minor wicked hangover I did an inventory of how far ahead we got the night before; 7 beers, rum, tequila, whiskey, red wine, and gin. Ouch, ouch ouch. We decided to head down to the marina area and get us some breakfast, brews and watch some Giants baseball. Seeing the ball park back home got me a little sad and homesick but then I realized where I was and the emo moment faded rather quickly. The people here do take sports really serious, especially cricket and rugby, so they understood our desire to watch the game and even had us pick out a table and they put the game on for us before they opened, though we had to sit beer-less for a while. By now I have tried about 7 or 8 different Aussie beers and my streak continued as I found 4 new ones to try. A few strange things that we noticed here is that armored cars drop off the cash to the bars everyday. There’s no money and no transactions can be made until the truck gets there. I was told the reason for this is because there is a lot of coin and cash that exchanges hands and it’s just the safest way to handle money. They also have a sweet credit card system, where you give them your card and they give you a card. When you want a drink whether it be from a busser, waiter or bartender, all you have to do is give them you card number and at the end, you trade your card back for their card. They also have portable credit card machines, so they can ring you up in the toilet if you so desire. Some good ideas to take home with me to the city.

Watching the Giants win game 2 was pure joy. I saw a guy in a Dodgers hat a briefly heckled him. He didn’t seem to have a clue as to what I was saying or even whom the Dodgers were. I’d call him a poser, but I’m a fair-weather Giants fan myself, so I guess I’m guilty of the same crime as well, and it wouldn’t please Tara to come out of the bathroom to find me in an argument with some Dutch jerk in a Dodgers hat. At first I was worried that Tara and I would look like total alcoholics because we started drinking at 10am, but by 11am I realized how ridiculous that was. The bar we started in was empty and by the time the game was over, all 250 seats were full of people loading up and brews and carbs. I have never eaten so many wedges and chips in my life. I’m starting to think my booze hangover this morning was more of a food hangover. Aside from the fact that a 12oz beer here is $6.50 plus, 14oz is usually $7.50 plus, the cocktails are glorious in their cost. All cocktails are $12.00 or more and usually come in an 8oz bucket. At first we thought this was because people don’t tip so they include tip in the cost of the booze, but when we went to Liquorland the guy explained it’s because of the tax and cost of the booze. A bottle of Jameson here is like $46 where back home it’s $21.00-$27.00 tops. We found a giant school of Jellyfish floating around the dock. Jellyfish are still my favorite sea creatures, because they’re just dumb floating globs, but with the exception of turtles, nothing really fucks with them. Another fun thing here are the seagulls. These little bastards don’t give a shit about no one, they’ll land on your table while you’re eating and just squawk until you feed them something. They’re like flying ocean goats, cause they’ll eat anything, meat, napkins, cheese, bread, olives, they don’t fucking care. And if you feed one of them, suddenly there’s 50 of them attacking you. At the end of our meals I grabbed all the left over wedges and walked over away from the restaurant and threw a fry on the ground. Within seconds I had like 40 birds attack me trying to get the rest. When I say attack, I mean it. Those fucking birds go right at you. Even when you relinquish all the food, they’ll still follow you down the dock or pier squawking, until the dumb parents give his kid a handful of chips to, “go feed the birdies.”

The weather has gotten the best of me as well. It’s humid and sweaty here. Today it started dark and cloudy, but I was still walking around sweating. It’s like Texas in November here. Weather + early drinking + walking everywhere = chafing and napping (my two least favorite things) We decided to venture into the shopping district so we could go up in the tower and get a 360 areal view of Sydeny. By now I’m sleeping walking and the only thing keeping me awake is the incredibly uncomfortable humid rash growing in my grundle area (between the balls and ass). We finally saw some homeless people, they all hangout in the financial and shopping areas. The tower was cool, Sydney is much larger than I realized. They waste little space here, like San Diego and the hills and harbor go on for miles and are stacked with houses and docks. People don’t have a sense of humor when you’re 143 stories up and you jump in an elevator, no matter what country you are from, Tara included. Still beating free today.

We were originally supposed to take a cruise on a harbor boat, but Tara heard about a pirate dinner cruise so naturally that was booked instead. I am truly happy that we went that route, cause the harbor cruise looked really lame, boring, and dirty, kind of like old town Las Vegas. The pirate cruise was shaping up to be a disaster because it’s kind of rocky waters at first and there are only two places to pee. There also aren’t any seats, you kind of just make your own. I realized after my mental grumbling was done, that I wasn’t really getting into the spirit of the adventure, I doubted very much that pirates had seats for dinner or cared about toilets. I quickly overcame my nonsense and took on the pirate lifestyle. I took all the booze and food I wanted and I groped Tara whenever I saw fit. There was no visible plank to walk but after talking with Peter about the sharks in the harbor it wasn’t even a viable option for humor or mischief. We cruised to the mouth of the harbor and sailed all the way back. They let both Tara and I sail the boat, be it briefly on the way home, even though we sailed with our backs to the front end of the boat, we cared very little, we steered a pirate ship goddamit, and that’s all that mattered. I’ve only been in Sydney for a few days, but I find myself very overwhelmed and appreciative of all that is happening and the last week of my life. As I sat on the stern of the boat talking with some fun people from England I realized how fucking amazing things are and have been lately. It’s easy to get sucked up the moments and emotions when you’re on an adventure like this, and tonight was a moment that I’m proud and happy to know the people that I know, even if I don’t I always tell them or get a chance to show it.

Quote of the Night: “Sharks aren’t all that bad, at least the ones with the smallest teeth.” I noticed Sydney is a lot like Denver Colorado, where all the hot women are like Vampires, they only come out at night and can never be seen during the day. We got back into Sydney, with a small dose of sea sickness and a mild buzz. We decided to hit up a club called the Argyle, but the hippster door lady wouldn’t let me in because I was, “wearing sport shoes mate.” The guy in front of us didn’t get in because he had rips in his jeans. Bon Jovi would cry if he heard this. We ventured down to this bar to hear live music and man did we get a treat. First we found $5 Sun Lager beers and a guy playing solo acoustic guitar. The cool part is that you could ask for just about any song, unless he didn’t like it he’d just say, “no, I’m not gonna play that song, it sucks.” He would also record drum beats, bass lines and rhythm guitars on a loop machine and then play that through pedals while he played the song, which was impressive when playing, “Stairway to Heaven.” He kicked out the jams by playing everything we asked for except Coldplay. We heard, Sweet Caroline, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Dream Believer, the lights go out on Broadway, the Kinks, Elvis Costello, and Pearl Jam. He even heckled the police when they came strolling in the bar in a pack to check on any ruckus by playing, “Message in a Bottle,” from the Police. In a funny sense of irony, our night started out shitty because we were denied access to fun because of sport shoes and ripped pants, and our night ending up being made singing songs with Aussies and dancing and clapping for hours with warm cheap beers listening to music from a guy in ripped jeans and sport shoes. It’s funny how those things happen sometimes.

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