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Published: April 25th 2008
In Sweden we have an expression that could roughly be translated to the following: “You don’t have more fun than you make for yourself.”
I believe this is very true, and I do my best to stay amused through every part of my day. Sometimes you need a bit of creativity and guts to create a fun situation, other times it is handed to you on a silver platter, and you need only appreciate it.
So far, my effort is paying off and I find life to be a highly entertaining journey, no doubt thanks to the fact that I myself have a starring role in this production. After all, I’m heaps of fun, and to get to be in my own company all the time means I’m having a perpetual blast. But I’m not a completely selfish bitch; sometimes I let others in on the fun, too. Mom taught me to share.
So let’s rave about my new location:
Saturday morning, 9am, and my running shoes are already trampling the soft footpaths of Centennial Park, only a few blocks away from my apartment. This time of the day and week, the park is filled with runners, bikers, walkers and
equestrians, and they all look quite happy, except for all the chubsters who are making what seems to be their very first attempt to lose that excess weight. But they’re the ones who deserve the most encouragement, so I attempt a supportive smile whenever one passed me by.
Other than this big, beautiful park, there are a lot of other handy things on a similarly close distance to my home, something I noticed later that day as I went out to familiarize myself with my new hood. I wanted to scope out the area surrounding my apartment, and found the following; we have Coles grocery store conveniently located three blocks down in the Surry Hills Shopping Village, which also hosts a bakery and a fish shop, as well as a bunch of other stores. There’s a plethora of good food right around my place; Lebanese, Indian, Thai, Spanish etc. In fact, the fabulous Indian restaurant that James and I pigged out at, Maya, is just two or three blocks down from my place, a proximity which might eventually lead to an overdose of gorgeous Daal and papadams, but I figure there are worse ways to end up in the hospital.
There's even a chiropractor just two blocks down, and my dear uncle Frederik will be happy to know I haven't forgotten about my unaligned pelvis. I'll take care of it as soon as I have caught up a little bit financially.
There’s also a thrift store just around the corner (where I purchased some hanging shelves for my wardrobe), an ATM across the street, and a bus stop 70 seconds from my door. Central and Redfern Train Station are both about 8-10 minutes walk away, and all train lines go from there.
FOX Studios, which is really more or less a little village, is a 20 minute walk, and they host an organic Farmers Market every Wednesday and Saturday. If I can’t make that one, there’s Fratelli Fresh Market open 6 days a week about the same distance from home.
In short, my location rocks, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have found a better apartment with better flatmates to a better price than what I scored. Hoo-snapping-ray.
About those flatmates;
There’s
Mikey; an annoying but kind know-it-all who. At times I want to hit him, hard, to shut him up for a little bit, but most of the
It's coming together
Now I even have art on the wall! time he’s a generous sweetheart. Mikey loves playing computer games, cooking and telling people how to do things (in particular if these people haven’t asked for advice). Still, me likey Mikey.
Susana is a Mexican cutie who works a lot, studies a lot, and sleeps whenever she gets a chance. Most often she’ll come home and pass out on the couch or her bed, and then re-appear sometimes later in the day/night. Her culinary fetish is lemon and lime, which she typically squeezes over shredded carrot and then adds heaps of salt to. This is her standard meal, eaten just like that, and she calls it junkfood, seemingly oblivious to its nutritious value. Needless to say, she’s not big on cooking, so I’m not benefiting from her heritage in terms of food, but she’s a doll, so she gets away with it.
Susana’s boyfriend
Paule isn’t actually a flatmate, but he’s around all the time and sleeps every night in the house, so he might as well be listed as one. He was there when I first met them all, during the “interview”, and I felt a really good connection with him straight away. His appearance is powerful, yet soft
Kinnon Holt
So obviously I have great taste in men; cut-off shirt, nasty tattoos, and long, disheveled hair under a truckers hat. He also has a gut, but it can't be seen in this picture.
So hot.
and warm, but above all open and loving. It’s rare that I meet someone who makes such entirely positive impression on me, but I think I sensed honesty, and that’s a quality I’ll always be drawn to.
He’s a good hugger, which is nice for me, since I’m a very physical person who has been suffering a little bit from the lack of a good hug now and then. In short, Paule is an absolute darling, and I’m very glad I met him.
As some of you might remember, I had some bad luck with phones in the beginning, and eventually Will saved the day for the umpteenth time by giving me his old phone. Just recently, the time came for me to pass on some of that generosity when Paule’s phone died and he was in desperate need of a working mobile. Since my first phone works just fine now, except for being a cheap piece of Sony Ericsson crap, I gave that one to him. I’ve just had it lying around waiting to be sold on gumtree.com.au anyway, and now I was given the opportunity to help someone the exact same way I received much needed help several weeks ago.
Good for me, and for Paule. Everyone’s happy.
Being an active as well as a social gal, I’m finally experiencing the difficulty of finding time to work the obligatory 8 hours a day, work out, socialize with friends and flatmates, and still catch enough hours of sleep to not crash completely. “So this is what working people whine about”, I suddenly realized, having been self-employed for a few years, not abiding by anyone's schedule but the one I made for myself. But now the sweet-bread days are over, as we say in Sweden, and I’m slowly becoming one of those people who submissively sell their time to Mammon every weekday for a measly $19 or so an hour. Since I’ve unwillingly joined this crowd, I've come to understand the challenges of having all of the above mentioned parts of life daily without compromising on any of them, but being of superior Scandinavian descent, I’ve also found a solution to the problem, requiring only a minor investment.
I’ve already covered how ridiculous the Pubic Transport system is here, and the other day, when I didn’t have a choice but to rely on it in order to get to work, I realized how much I despise whatever inept prick is in charge of this charade. It does happen that the bus is on time, but far more often it’s not, and much too habitually it simply doesn’t show up at all. There’s also my favorite; the tricky one that leaves a few minutes early. That one gets me every time, such as this day, hence my rage with the incompetence of the president of Sydney Buses.
Considering all this along with the fact that buses cost money and are fuel-driven vehicles, I would ideally bike to work, even if it’s at the peril of my life to do so. Every time I pedal out into the tumult of Sydney rush hour I get increasingly more religious, since I’m out of realistic options for protection from the impending collision with one of all the stressed out, reckless drivers who rule the streets like wicked tyrants.
My dear friend Pete, the guy who believes I’m a doctor and who sometimes feeds me delicious meals in his kitchen when he thinks I’m in dire need of nutrition, is kindly lending me one if his bikes for as long as I want it. Unfortunately, the first morning I was going to use it to get to work, I was greeted by an evil flat tire (spelled “tyre” here, by the way), and consequently had to grab a bus instead. It was on this bus I formed my idea to combine the problem of reliable transportation to work, and the time-squeezing game of getting a workout in every day;
“Eureka! I shall run to work!”.
The next day I went downtown and bought a $40 runner’s backpack, with straps that keep the little pack snugly on my back, and I was giddy with excitement to try it out the next morning.
It was even better than I had hoped for; the distance that takes 20 minutes by bus only took 17 minutes when traveling by shank’s mare, and it’s all ecologically responsible and free.
When I arrived at work I dumped my bag in the entry and went out for another 15 minutes to make it a decent workout of at least 30 minutes. The rain was coming down hard, which was perfect since I love running in the rain, and I was very happy with my solution; it was superb to slip out of bed and straight into my running shoes. Working out can be quite expensive if you go to gyms, and it's probably worse than anywhere else here in Sydney, but obviously my new recipe for personal fitness is about as cheap and time-efficient as it gets.
When I had finished my run I was completely soaked from the downpour, but I had brought a change of clothes as well as a quick, protein-rich breakfast, so I was somewhat clean, dry, and fed when work began at 8 am.
At 4 pm, when the workday was over, I changed back into my sweaty apparel and ran home, where I followed up my crunches and stretching with a much longed for hot shower.
I had Ethiopian chow in Bondi with Phil after work on Thursday, which was good but not as fantastic as I had hoped for. It did make me look up how to make my own injera, though, as this was the main disappointment of the meal, but I was somewhat discouraged by the 3 week process of the sourdough baking. I might still give it a go.
Making my own of everything has been on my mind for some time now, and yesterday I scored a $29 food processor, so now I can start making pesto, hummus and nut butter like I used to do back in Sweden. I still have to find the few things needed to make my own yogurt, though. $5 per liter is outrageous, I really can’t do any more of that. I wish Kati could send me some of her yogurt culture, but it would obviously not survive the trip from the States to my mail box. Bummer.
My little napkin trick at the live country music night a few weeks back deserved a follow-up, so I looked up the band’s next gig. I want to become their most dedicated Swedish fan/groupie, which shouldn’t be hard. I scheduled for Pete to join me for the next encounter with Kinnon the lead guitarist. On their official myspace-page I sent off a brief but touching note to the bearded man of my dreams;
“Hey Kinnon,
I hope you’ve saved my napkin like the precious treasure it is.
I meant every word.
/Anna” I thought that was quite witty, since the note had only contained three words, two of which formed a contraction.
Dressed up in my bitch boots and a jeans skirt, a combination that so far has never failed me, I stepped in to the dingy pub where Chuck’s Wagon performed that night. As soon as my presence was known, the drummer grinned and sent meaning looks to Kinnon, who looked amused, embarrassed and uncomfortable at once. I bought a beer and sat down to enjoy the spectacle, holding a seat for Pete who was yet to arrive.
It took me a while to figure out, but it turns out Kinnon has a girlfriend, and she’s not crazy about me, to say the least.
A woman walked by me with two beers during the show, and a bit of one spilled on to my leg as she passed me. She didn’t stop to apologize, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. During intermission though, when she marked her territory by clinging onto Kinnon and shooting me malicious glances, my wet leg made more sense. Ooopsy daisy, someone’s jealous.
With Kinnon at a safe distance, I walked over to buy a t-shirt with the band logo on the front, as I thought this was appropriate for a groupie wannabe.
After the show, the bass guitarist came over to chat with Pete, since they apparently know each other somehow. Pete said something generalizing about drummers usually being the hotties of the band, and I couldn’t help dropping a comment about how everyone knew that the lead guitarists were the ones who got the girls. “They’re simply too foxy to resist”, I said and had a sip of my beer. The bass player looked at me with a wide grin on his face, and I smiled back, slightly blushed and fully amused. It is embarrassing to be this way, after all, but I can't help myself. Sometimes life simply isn't entertaining enough on its own, and then you have to step up to the plate and give it a helpful nudge.
We were all having a nice conversation until the guy started raging about IKEA, saying it was the worst store in the world. I thought this was a bit harsh, and defended the emblem of my homeland for a few minutes, but when the words “I hate IKEA” came out of his mouth, I thought I’d been served a good time to leave. “That’s my cue”, I said jokingly, and bid farewell. It was Sunday, after all, and if I was going to stay up late it sure as hell wouldn’t be to listen to this moron’s opinion of Sweden’s pride and joy (right after Ace of Base, obviously.)
Pete followed me, and as we left, we walked by the lead singer who was packing a truck with their gear. I told him I had enjoyed the show, and his reply was: “You saw us in Annandale, eh? Anna, right?” I confirmed this statement, all the while thinking "You know damn well who I am. I'm as much of a celebrity in your band as your band is to me".
Him knowing my name was interesting because I hadn’t introduced myself to him, so he obviously knew me from either the napkin or the myspace message, or more likely both. The thought of being the topic of a discussion between the band members was very satisfying as far as my groupie-attempts had gone, and I considered the whole endeavor an absolute success.
I’ve developed a rather surprisingly strong affinity for wine, especially if you consider how much I used to hate it. I’m gradually learning what kinds I can tolerate, and which ones I actually sort of enjoy. Semillon, for instance, is good, as is oaked Chardonnay. The effect is always pleasant, though, regardless of the flavor, so even with the badly tasting ones there’s a pay-off for my efforts.
James had invited me to come with him, his family and Will’s mom Jane to the Hospitality College of Sydney, located in a impressive castle up on a hill with a spectacular view over the city. It was here Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban got married, I was told, which naturally made the dinner that much more glamorous.
We ordered a three-course dinner, with wine, and I had a really good night. However, this money-spending madness has
got to stop. My part of the meal came to $40 with drinks, but that’s not including the drinks James and I had before, or the bus and ferry-ride over there. All in all, this little excursion cost me around $65, and if that were to happen every now and then for special occasions it’d be alright, but I feel the frequency of costly meals has strayed far outside what my budget can handle. Lentil soup and hard bread, we meet again.
I’ve equipped my room with a plant and speakers, which pretty much makes that space complete for me. It’s now functional in all aspects of interest; I can sleep and listen to music, which is all I need. Drifting off to the land of slumber with Ryan Adams faintly whining about lost love and the hardship of being alive guarantees a good night’s sleep for me.
As for Sydney, it really feels like home, and I guess everything came together in the end after all.
Housing, job, people, joy. I made it.
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sandra
non-member comment
hooray for you!
Hi! I'm glad everything worked out just fine for you! I actually get the impression we might be quite the team if ever given the chance of going out together. Usually I'm more a groupie for soccer players but I tend to make a good job of making them nervous ;) Also the jealous girlfriend is one creature I get to know a lot - even though everything's usually only a bit of fun. Have a good week!