I always have a feeling in English speaking countries that I am having a glimpse of the road not taken. This could almost be America, if we or them had gone down a different route. Instead, things are mostly familiar and then you'll be struck by something that's just a bit off. It happened yesterday downtown. I'd gone to meet Alastair and his friend Jason for lunch, and passed a bunch of haole guys in red t-shirts proclaiming that it was "High-Five a Muslim Day." It was a nice sentiment, and a totally clueless execution.
I've been here for four days now, and having a good time. Not a wild one, which is a surprise. To me, at least - I figured I would get all caught up in the Mardi Gras energy, and be up each night to dawn.
Now, those days will come. But so far I've been catching up with friends I haven't seen in awhile, hanging out with guys I just met, and being pretty much a lazy slug. Parlty it's that everyone I know is working, and I'm not really game to join the lines of California boys queuing up outside the pubs.
So: Sunday I hung out in Bondi with Alastair's 7 year old godson Harry, his sister, and his mothers Pia and Fiona. I forgot [as I always do] that when you rile up little boys they stayed riled up. There's no off button on the little buggers. So I wrestled with him, taught him to kick box, threw him around in the pool, and all the other juvenile things I can't do to my friends. And then I wanted to rest, and the kid wasn't having any of it. I was exhausted by evening. Had a few drinks with Alastair and his [insert term for undefined relationship term here] Paul, got in too deep dissecting critical theory, then passed out to the world.
Monday I thought about shopping, but didn't. Wasted away a good afternoon at the gym, and chilled again in the evening. Tuesday met Jason and Alastair for lunch, then spent the rest of the day at Lady Jane beach with Jason. That night met Manny, who I've only chatted with online. He looked alright online. In person he was hella handsome and sexy. We'll chat later today and make more plans.
And today I finally tried to go shopping. And failed. I'm just not good at it. I saw a shirt I really liked at one shop. It was a bit tight ... and then I realized I couldn't get it out. The shop keeper had to help me out, me holding my hands up over my head like a little kid while he pulled it off. A smile and a blush later and I bolted for the door. Down the street I saw another shop with cool looking jeans. The shop was full of butched muscle boys. I walked in, picked up a pair of $440 jeans, and stifled a scream. I thought about telling the men that $400 jeans permanently negates all butch posturing, but thought better of it. I was going to give up, and figured I'd stop in Aussie Boys for a quick look. Now if anyone rich is reading this: I discovered that I look fabulous in Dolce & Gabbana. Too bad the price of one bathing suit would blow my budget for the week.
I eventually did buy some jeans and a t-shirt at a store on Oxford. I can't recall the name of the place; all I remember is the the big red "50% Off Sale" sign on the window. Which is my knod of store.