Damn, they don’t make ‘em like this anymore

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It’s now official; I’m chubby. Apparently my metabolism isn’t what it used to be when I was 22. It turns out eating like a horse in combination with zero exercise actually does store fat in my physical depots these days, and it’s not very becoming when you’re of naturally lean structure.
The plan to swim every day worked for about five days. During my first week at the coffee shop I started work at 9AM, and therefore had time to go to the pool before the workday began, a routine with only one minor drawback; for the first hour I looked like a raccoon from the un-fashionable imprints the swim goggles left. Another possible disadvantage would be that it’s a 20-25 minute walk to the pool, and walking really isn’t all that great for my shin splint, which, ironically, is the reason I’m swimming in the first place. (I would’ve used my bike to get there, except my flatmate Paule lost the key to the heavy duty chain I use to protect my vehicle. It will not be easily removed, unfortunately).
The second week my boss asked me to start at 7.30AM instead of 9AM, which meant going swimming in the morning was no longer an option (alarm clock going off at 5:30? I don’t think so), and it’s so damn crowded at the aquatic centre after hours that I just can’t be bothered.

Had I had a tad more self-discipline, or feared that I wouldn’t be able to just lose the excess fat once my leg is better and I can resume running, I would’ve faced the raw morning cold and been at the pool at 6 AM when they open. But instead I gave in to all the commanding circumstances working against me, and I've decided that this was my time to be a slob. Eating massive quantities and staying up late at night talking or watching Youtube-clips of retarded Swedish humor programs with my guest from the homeland was all part of the plan; I had to make the most of my time as a lazy sloven! Now that Johan has left I can get back to a routine that involves some cardio, but for a few weeks I decided to just relax and sit back on my progressively swelling buttocks.

Johan was living in my room for two weeks, and being a traveler here, he had no compelling reason to get up before 10AM. Personally, I feel there’s something excruciatingly unfair about having to get up early in the morning yourself when there’s another person present who keeps sleeping, snug and warm under the blanket while your own skin busts out a bevy of goose bumps from its sudden meeting with the frigid air of the bedroom. I started each day with a large dose of envy that he doesn’t have to abide any alarm clock sirens, and even when he did set them with the intention to get out on an excursion before noon, he always had the option to just say “screw it” when the alarm went off, and drift back to sleep instead.
Bastard.

Last weekend Johan and I went to Manly beach. I wanted to make sure I did at least a wee bit of proper hosting; I figured I can’t very well have him here for two weeks without showing him any of what Sydney is famous for, and since I was going to have dinner with James in Manly that night anyway, it suited me perfect to take the ferry ride over there with him and hang out on the beach for a few hours.
Once we had the beach in front of us we soon agreed that we needed a ball of some sort, both of us being nerdy jocks who find immense enjoyment from most any type of sport. Beach tennis or a tennis ball or a soccer ball, anything would do. We walked into a number of stores and little shops in search of something, and finally settled on a soft soccer ball that I of course managed to get for $3 when in fact it cost $10. It was a good trick, and the best thing about it is that I wasn’t even trying to cheat them, which confirms what I’ve always thought; I’m a natural born scammer.

Equipped with a round object, we headed back to the beach where we frolicked about in the sand like happy dogs for a few hours. My shin splint kept reminding me of how stupid I was being for running around in the sand when I was supposed to be resting, but I had too much fun to care about that.
When the sun set Johan took the ferry back home, and I called James who came and picked me up and drove me over to his place where he fed me palatable appetizers and swank wine while preparing the salmon. Since the only appropriate way to eat such fancy meal would be to consume it in front of an episode of Big Brother, this is what we did. I never watch TV so James had to inform me of who was a bitch and who should win if there’s any justice in the universe at all, and as the program isn’t really all that intellectually challenging I was brought up to speed within minutes. We topped off the meal with chocolate cake and ice cream, and then I enjoyed a spectacularly pretty ferry ride back to Sydney, who was displaying its most impressive skyline for me to admire.

Life at the café is work-life at its best as far as I’m concerned. I’ve found my calling, and its name is “Hospitality”. I’ve always assumed I’d be quite good at this kind of work because of my affinity for working with people, but I had no idea I would enjoy it this much. It turns out my frivolous personality is ideal for what I’m doing, and my boss Kit has practically showered me in praise this second week.
Yeah, the coffee shop agrees with me, and I with it. I’m working on learning the coffee preferences of the 20-25 regulars who come in daily, so when super-cute Chris enters the door I know he’ll order a large flat white with two sugars. Not having to ask him about his coffee gives me more time to chat/flirt with him, which I quite enjoy.
One of the other regulars, Matt (flat white, no sugar) comes in twice a day, and one of these times I pointed out that he looks an awful lot like the author character in “Love Actually”, an actor whose name I couldn't think of. Matt hadn’t seen the movie, but when he came in the second time that day he brought with him a little printed out card with a picture from the film. “His name is Colin Firth”, he said while handing over the print-out of Colin fully engaged in a steamy kiss with his Portuguese lover. He could’ve chosen any photo from this movie, or just one of Colin, but he went for a rather cheeky one.
Now he tries to chat me up whenever he comes in to the shop, and I happily play along in this very entertaining game. Every day he has thought of something new to ask me, and it’s getting increasingly fascinating to see what he comes up with now that the most common small talk matters are all used up. Thankfully my accent is perplexing enough to offer a safe harbor in terms of topics to fall back on when all else fails, and we’ve now discussed the various parts of the world that I could be from about a dozen times.

Flirting sure does keep things interesting, and it just so happens that I’m something of a coquette by nature, a part of me that usually gets me into all kinds of trouble. Interesting trouble, but still. Blurting out quips hasn’t always been to my advantage, believe it or not, but in this job that aspect of my personality is perhaps my greatest asset, and it’s nice to finally be able to use all parts of my social faculties. I can joke around a fair bit with the customers, and no one gets offended or takes it the wrong way.
Heck yeah, Sydney gets me.

Johan wanted to take me out to dinner as a thank you for me munificently hosting him for a couple of weeks, and we settled on Govinda’s; a vegetarian restaurant that offers a sumptuous buffet followed by a movie. The food was amazing, and we enjoyed it with the most perfectly made mango lassi. When our bellies were well-stuffed we went up to the movie lounge, which was a small theatre with mattresses instead of seats so you could lie down comfortably and digest the food horizontally. The film of the night was “Street Kings” with Keanu Reeves, a horrid piece of scenographical crap, but it was by far the most comfortable movie viewings I’ve been to. Thanks to Johan for a nice dinner/movie.

Dave and I went to Paradise City , a truly innovative act involving a BMX rider, a skateboarder, a dancer, an acrobat, a singer and a breakdancer.
After the show we met up with Johan and went out for drinks, and since this would be my Swedish friend’s last weekend in Sydney we went a bit excessive with the drinking. Hey ho, here we go, moderation is merely a memory. This binging resulted in quite a few interesting events for me, but I’m not going to reveal anything other than this; I might have a date with a Glenn this week.
I know, I know, it’s very exciting stuff. I’ll let you know if it against all odds turns out that I can actually stomach this guy when sober. It’s quite dodgy to go on a date with someone you’ve only met while slobberingly drunk, especially since he was most likely in a similar state. For me, drinking vodka is like wearing shaggability-boosting glasses; everyone looks pretty darn hot, and the next day I can’t trust any of the impressions from the previous night. Take that insidious alcohol effect in combination with a 3 month long celibacy and you have one big, juicy disaster as far as my judgment go. I’m still thinking about bailing on this proposed rendez-vous with Glenn, but we’ll see what happens. Ii I go, I guess I'll simply prepare myself for a meeting with a semi-retarded hunch-backed gargoyle, so that most anything else becomes a pleasant surprise.

Johan’s cocky claim to want to go out both Friday and Saturday was quickly recognized as nothing but an empty threat. Ha! As if he had had it in him to go out for another long night with a party animal like Yours Truly. Tsk, tsk, tsk… The boy needs to learn his limitations, as well as identify my lack of the same.
We weren’t home until 5:30 AM that night/morning, and subsequently slept until 1PM the following day, which rendered Saturday utterly useless for anything other than tending to our mild hangovers in a languid manner. Because your body craves fat in most any shape the day after a night out, we decided to make pizza for dinner, and after a quick search on Google, we had even managed to find a recipe for the legendary Swedish kebab sauce, which is liberally spread on any type of pizza back home. To both Johan and me, it is a mandatory pizza ingredient that we far too often have to compromise on when outside of our country, but now we went to Coles grocery store equipped with a list of items to pick up to make this wonderful sauce, one of which was Fanta.
When all the ingredients had been mixed together and we tried it, our taste buds jubilated over the remarkable flavor we had just fed them. It was spot on! Johan commented on this gastronomically pleasing moment by once again using a Swedish phrase that he has been kind enough to share with me: det knullar i munnen. For all you suckers who don’t speak the language of Ingrid Bergman and Björn Borg, I believe the best translation would be one that simply suggests that your taste buds are shagging as a result of the wondrous flavors they’ve been given. To translate this term word for word would just be too foul, and we all know I’m never crude, so I’ll refrain from that.
The pizza dinner was a proper feast, and after we had finished our meal we played a few games of pool until we got tired, at which point we ended the night with Youtube-clips once more. A bit more indolent than the night before, to be sure.

Sunday was a day of creative fun, since Johan and I had undertaken a minor project; we had decided to record a music video. I’m not quite sure of the result yet, but the process kept us amused for hours on end, so it was a success regardless of the final product. Now that Johan has gone back to Sweden the job of editing and cutting all our raw material in order to make a viewable video is solely mine, a task I take seriously. I’ll make sure to post it here as soon as it’s finished, but chances are it’s only going to be fun for Johan and me, much like the metal detector-snippet Will and I filmed. No, you’re right, that’s not a good comparison. That movie clip is an unsurpassed masterpiece.

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Photos

Party people
I didn't notice how drunk Dave got, but when viewing this picture it's pretty obvious. Dipsomaniac!

Comments

[Will]

Sauce with fanta? This I gotta see! Daver looks about the same as Idid this morning.. all in good fun tho!