Could It Be That Me and He Are Tighter Than J-Lo In Her Jeans?

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During my first week in Sweden I fell into a mild case of depression, mostly caused by a visa situation that looked bleak, to say the least. The notion of being unable to return to Sydney like planned caused 10 sleepless nights, and when I finally got word that I had been granted some additional time in the Land of Laidback-ness, I could barely contain my elation. ‘Giddy’ is the best word to describe my immediate reaction, and I’m forever grateful no one was around to witness me clench my fists and utter unintelligible nonsense in a fit of joy. After all, I have an image of cool savoir-fair to maintain.

After this past weekend my heart is bursting at the seams with gratitude and love, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t spend the rest of my life in a constant state of bliss induced purely by having so many marvelous people in my life. I could care less about money, valuable possessions or professional accomplishments; none of this really matters, a fact that is becoming increasingly obvious to me the older I get. Relations to other people seems to be the only thing I consistently give a damn about.

My two older brothers, Ali and Christian, recently turned 30, and as a result of this impressive accomplishment they held a big party on Saturday. I’m glad this birthday bash took place during my brief visit in the homeland, especially since it turned out to be something of a social bonanza for me; I caught up with people I haven’t seen in years, all of whom are fantastic, highly lovable beings. It was an explosion of nostalgia, a true blast from the past, and I don’t think I was caught not smiling or laughing during the whole night.

Christian was wankered off his tits already at 7 when mom and I turned up, and as these things progress, the level of alcohol in his blood only increased throughout the night. When sober, there’s some sort of barrier that prevents us from saying exactly what’s on our mind, and for most people it dissipates slightly when we have a few drinks. In the curious case of my brother, however, it completely deserts him. I had failed to remember how quickly his respect for social codes of conduct subsides when drunk, but I was soon (and awkwardly) reminded:
“Do you want to sleep with my sister?”, for instance, is one blunt question I would like to have heard less of that night, and chances are whoever I was talking to could’ve done without it as well. But hey, it wouldn’t have been my brother if I hadn’t been repeatedly embarrassed in front of his friends. After all, this is what we do in my family.

At the party I was once more struck by my male-dominated social circle; I didn’t know one single female there, unless they were girlfriends of my brothers or friends, and even so, these girls were primarily shallow acquaintances. What is it with me and the dudes, anyway? Why is it so much easier for me to befriend and stay good friends with men? I’ll leave that for my future therapist to delve into.

Among the more surprising attendees was the recipient of my unrequited love some 10 years ago; Carl. I hadn’t seen him for about 7 years, and I was well excited to unexpectedly run into him at the party. We exchanged numbers and met up the following day for a classic Swedish Sunday pastime; furniture shopping. Carl’s parents Per and Britt were in need of an upgrade from the couch that currently resided in their living room, so off we went to the Empire of Functional Homes; IKEA. Swedes are fashionistas in every sense of the word, whether it’s a matter of technology, interior design, clothes or cars, and to spend part of your weekend in search of a new set of breakfast bowls is as common as it’s admirable. One should always strive to improve oneself.

Carl’s parents didn’t come across the couch of their dreams at IKEA, so we went to another furniture store, and here Per and Britt found what they were looking for. Maybe this is where Bono needs to go, in case he’s still looking.
Now hungry and in a celebratory mood, Carl’s parents suggested dinner, and we went to one of the nicer restaurants in the city. Other than jokingly calling Carl’s father illiterate just to find out that he is indeed dyslexic, I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself, and when I eventually removed my oversized foot from my mouth I was able to enjoy a really nice meal. But I believe Carl learned his lesson; you can’t take me anywhere.
Carl gave me a ride home, and stopped inside for a coffee. Afterwards we went for a long walk filled with interesting conversation, and even though I don’t think I’ve recognized it until now, I’ve really missed him. We talked about life, trying to fit in where people want you to fit in, failing miserably to do so, and eventually saying 'Fuck it' and simply being oneself. We discussed happiness, depression and the difficulties of being true to who you really are. Good conversation is invaluable to me, and Carl offers a lot of refreshing viewpoints which keeps it interesting. If there had been no other positive event during my visit back home, I would still consider the trip an absolute success solely because of seeing Carl again. Human beings, how I love them...!

It’s a bit after the fact, but I feel a shout-out to everyone who looked after me in Santa Cruz is in order, and although you all deserve big thanks, I would like to in particular mention:
-Kevin and Michelle; for lovingly hosting me in their house
-Saint, the Angel; for lending me means of transportation and a standing offer of housing
-Jess; for essentially giving up her own studio apartment to host me for a week
-Ian; for organizing games and being a much needed volleyball coordinator
-Kory; for buying me lunch and taking the time to catch up
-Dave; for feeding me tacos and beer at the wharf, and being one of the most entertaining volleyball partners a girl could ever ask for

After leaving SC I spent a couple more days in San Francisco, and I was lucky enough to get some quality time with my homie H-Dawg before finally flying to New York. Harald, I believe you think you know how much I love you, but frankly, there’s no way you could ever comprehend.
And while I’m on the Wagon of Acknowledgement I need to send some lurv to my Ninja, my Romz, who deserves a big ol’ GRACIAS MAGNIFICO for putting me up (and putting up with me) in his room for quite some time. Sam, Larry and What’s Her Face should be thanked as well for being such accepting roommates.

New York hadn’t lost any of its appeal since last time I was there, and although I only hung around for a week I stayed true to my habit of getting shit for free. I lied my way to Guest Passes to not one, but two stupidly luxurious NY health clubs. When asked what I do for a living, I decided to humor myself a bit, and created a quite covetable existence. Since I couldn’t really present myself as me - a hustling vagabond bum who lives cheap cheap cheap and on a month-to-month basis - I instead became Anna, an author who travels the world for writing inspiration and makes a living primarily off travel articles. Now I had decided to stay in New York for possibly a full year, and I wanted to find a health club deserving of my sweat. I think my favorite part of this character was the “Money is not an issue”-comment that I dropped when the Membership Manager somewhat apologetically presented the price chart. “I take my workout seriously”, I added, biting my tongue to not laugh at the preposterous notion of me affording a gym that cost $219 a month. God, it’s funny to be me! Really, you should try it sometime.

“How long have you been sober?”
Kyle looked at me with supportive eyes and a look that said I know how hard it is, but you can talk to me, and you’re here to talk, so tell me.
“Oh, no, I’m not… I mean, I’m not here for me. I’m not an alcoholic.” I searched through the big room to find Melia so that I could point at her and refer to the reason I was at an AA-meeting. “So, to answer your question, not very long”, I said sheepishly.
I had never been to a meeting before, but after having experienced what really goes on, I’d like to give heads up to any of you who might be contemplating going:
First off, the name Anonymous Alcoholists is highly erroneous; first thing you do before you tell your story is to announce your name. Shocking.
Secondly, don’t make the amateur mistake of assuming the other meeting-goers are going to be a bunch of strung-out skanks; this place was crammed with hotties and honeys! I’d go as far as to recommend dressing up for the meetings, and if it weren’t for my unyielding ethics I would suggest AA-meetings to all my friends who are single and seeking. Think about it; the opportunity of bonding, the possibility of becoming someone's anchor, support, everything. But as it is I'm not recommending it, purely because I figure you’ll find yourself on a highway to Hell if you try to score in such Temple of Vulnerability.

Something about being in New York makes me wanna live by the L’Oreal motto: “Because you’re worth it”. Why on Earth would I buy an organic mango for $5.50 when I’m dead broke? Because I’m worth it, that’s why. I had managed to create a bit of a boost in my finances while in Santa Cruz, so I decided to deviate from my common path of frugality for a few days. Also, I had just received good news from my brother, and I felt a celebration was in place. I bought fresh strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, nuts, fancy bread, organic yoghurt and avocado, reasoning that I was entitled to some splurging after living off frozen $2-meals in Santa Cruz.
Not even a block away from the Melia’s parents apartment on 106th St is an Ethiopian restaurant, and because this is one of my absolute favorite cuisines, and also one that can’t be found in all of Sydney, I simply had to have dinner there. Why? Because I was worth it.
And because I also love comedy, I decided to go see what New York’s prime comedy clubs had to offer; during my last night Melia and I went to see Paul Mooney at Caroline’s. To not take advantage of my location would be a waste, and I do hate waste.

This 3-month long trip is about to come to an end, and in two weeks I get to return to Sydney for more adventures OZ-style.
Just like every other time I've traveled, I've lived off a shoestring budget, but with family and friends like mine, that doesn’t matter. I believe appreciation is a virtue, and I have lots of it (appreciation, that is, not virtue). The fact that I’m one of the happiest people to trample this globe is entirely thanks to the people who surround me, and if you’re reading this you’re most likely one of those people. If so, I want you to know how much you matter to me.

Thanks for taking up space in my life, beautiful friends.
Love to you all.

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Photos

I'm sad to say I'm related to the man in blue
Mom on the left, however, is one of the most amazing women in the world, and I'm proud to be her offspring.

Time Square
God, I love New York