"garlicious"

I should begin with the fact that this blog is a big, fat lie. And by that I mean that, perhaps, it’s not really always sunny in Sydney. It rains in paradise, too. And even though it poured a bit monsoon-ish for half the weekend (think umbrellas turning inside out courtesy of the wind), Epic Australian Weekend still shined like nobody’s business—rain or not.

Friday morning surf session called off thanks to whack weather patterns and lame waves.Resolution One: More Surf! Headed to city early (early meaning I set my alarm for 10am). It’s nuts that the city is so accessible to us but that we use it so relatively infrequently. Resolution Two: More City! Hit up markets, bartered with tiny old ladies, bought some dresses (necessary for rest of Epic Australian Weekend). Sydney fish market for lunch. Infuckingcredible. Best seafood of life? I think so. Resolution Three: More Seafood!

We went classier than usual and bought tickets to a fancy jazz club Friday night. Rumored to be, and proved to be, quite awesome. Heard the best trumpet player in all of Australia. Not too shabby. Resolution Four: Become the Best _____ in Australia (note: trumpet player is already taken)! To complete the circle of class, after the show, at 2am, in new dress and heels, I got a happy meal from McDonald’s. I think it was the first happy meal I’ve had since the 90’s and it was perfect.

Saturday, the animals came out to play. I partly mean my friends and I, and I partly mean the dozens of beautiful horses that we watched at the races. First of all, let it be known that the races are a fancy-pants event. Every dude was in a suit. Every chick was in a dress. Most chicks had those absolutely ridiculous goon-ish hats or bizarre hair pieces. Really, I mean,really—who finds those attractive? When in Australia, I suppose. Except that we didn’t have it in us to buy/wear a hat. Seriously though, top notch people watching in there! Imagine a 70+ year lady dressed to the nines screaming her 70 year old vocal chords off in the name of “Brownie” the horse. Or a whole herd of young suited dudes drunkenly exchanging serious sums of cash and consulting spreadsheets about horse speed. Nonsense.

Saturday night surprise! I will always have a soft spot for surprise parties. Something about being hunched down in the dark with a group of people, all with beer in one hand and noise makers in the other. It gets me every time. But the party was a great success. It reminded me of the whole series of Sakura surprise parties we had in high school. Oh memories.

Sunday the games continue. Literally. Went to Aussie Rules Football game aka AFL aka such fun. Perfectly sunny day—another “this is winter?” moments. The game is quite bizarre…circular field, kind of like rugby, kind of like soccer, kind of like quiddich. When red flags waves wildly or the crowd erupted, I cheered. It was pretty foolproof. Some of those players though, just dAAAmn. They jumped like Shaq and you probably could have cut steel with their thighs. Beasts.

In true Epic Australian Weekend fashion, it didn’t end there. One trip to the butcher and bottle shop later, we had ourselves a beach barbie on our hands. Kebabs, beer, guitar sing-alongs, crashing waves. I wanted that moment bottled for all of eternity. It was that kind of good.

And then, sadly, the Epic Australian Weekend came to a crashing halt as a I stayed up until 4am writing a lab report jacked up on six cups of tea. Rough experience? Sure. Worth it/the weekend? Surely. I’ll sleep when I’m back on American soil.

Melbourne this weekend!

On a scale of 1 to excited, I’m running about a 12.

Great Ocean Road!

Sweetness, ahoy.

Just bought my plane tickets to Brisbane (for neeext weekend) last night. Irish Invasion Revival Tour on Thursday and Friday in Brisbane, Byron Bay exploration on Saturday, and Surfer’s Paradise on Sunday! Oh boy. Am I ready? Is Australia ready? Irrelevant. We’re comin’! Still trying to make Fiji work...hitting a few roadblocks. Knock on wood, the decreasingly awesome exchange rate, and my powers of persuasion.

I come home in exactly one month. Holy shit.

I love you all to shreds (and miss you accordingly to this excessive love), but I am absolutely in no way even close to ready to being ready to fly home. This country already runs too deep in my veins. I’m working on get rich quick schemes that will enable me to have houses on both east coasts…and funds to fly back every week or two. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The end.

Love,

Kasey