Hot Mess Goes Diving

And if you thought I was a hot mess on land you should have been there to see me in my scuba gear. As I write to you I am back at the farm for a day before I leave for the Melbourne Cup, my ears are still popping. Not the kind of popping you get from the airplane, the kind of popping that makes it sound like you are underwater. Whohoo a souvenir! Also the porch I am sitting on as I write to you is swaying back and forth, back and forth making me feel like A. I am still on the boat and B. I just had a couple breakfast cocktails. But you will be happy to know I am officially certified to dive without an instructor. A fact that my mother can't seem to fathom and given the facts I can't blame her. 3 days of diving would hardly prepare me for the James Bond swimming with the sharks diving I am sure she is envisioning. Speaking of James Bond, my scuba instructor is his younger more attractive - sorry Sean - Irish brother who I am in love with. Of course it was a one-sided romance, he is way out of my league - pun intended laugh now - Hot Mess doesn't look hot in a wetsuit especially when you add the weight-belt around the mid-section. And in case you thought I had a chance once I got out of the wetsuit picture this. Me hopping around the boat deck wiggling and jiggling to get out of the damn thing. Goggle marks for days and then of course I had a cold...so just like my mother did when I was little we had a conversation about my snotty nose and how it was making it difficult for me to equalize. Amazing. Yup the romance was there alright.

C'est la vie, I was at a little bit of a disadvantage and anyway he doesn't date hot messes. In the meantime I am happy to say I have 5 new Dutch friends who I think would love it if I came to visit them - I think we understood each other... Hot Mess in Holland has a beautiful ring to it doesn't it? I was even promised a job in a chocolate store at the airport which sounds tasty.

But back to the diving. Wow, it's a serious pain in the ass. Setting up the equipment, forcing yourself into a wet wetsuit, which in itself is totally demoralizing, then slipping on 40lbs of gear and the flattering mask to go with it.

It is worth every second. Because as soon as you jump in the water you are weightless and no sooner do you jump in than you want to be descending into the calm underwater. The fish flock to the boat for the food they get from leftovers so within minutes you are swimming with the fish. Neon colors, changing colors, stripes, spots and turtles it is peaceful and weightless and utterly calming to be in the quiet watching an entire other world go on around you. And the coral is stunning, cauliflower shaped green bowls are my favorite. They are vibrant and incredible and untouched. So by the forth dive when we go out on our own for the first time nothing else matters except getting in the water and going. A few nerves about finding the boat with a compass (which proves futile, I have to come up to find the boat direction anyway) but other than that it is all triple flips and cartwheels and a friendly bottom dwelling shark.

See you in Melbourne for the Cup. If you have a hot tip on the winning horse let me know. In the meantime the land will be rocking me to sleep tonight...or is it the pre-dinner cocktails I had?

Fried Onions with Liver and Osama Bin Ladin...Plastic Surgery or Not?

Tonight was a night of discovery in the “big house” on walkamin farm. Dermott who has been here 3 months and counting, showed all the house residents how to keep the shower head (which is on a hose) from falling out of the cradle. So myself Stephanie the English girl and the three Irish boys all crowded into the shower to see the secret trick. The tutorial was excellent but unwarranted and I would feel to stupid explaining it as it is so simple. It's the little things people and having a shower-head continuously fall on you while showering can really rake on your nerves.

Also for the last two weeks I have been itching non-stop, I know I already mentioned this. I am allergic to something here, but now that I have discovered the over the counter anti-histamine I will probably never find out what it is my skin is painfully allergic to. Thank the heavens and dear god now a mosquito bite feels like child’s play (there’s your secret optimist in action) Except apparently you can’t keep taking anti-histamines because they are bad for your liver. I don’t know much about that except tonight our resident Bulgarian Toto cooked liver for dinner with onions and pickles. Dionne his 13 year old son who has the best English in their family of three, initially translated it as black lung, which would be ironic if he smoked…. But he doesn’t and in fact it was liver and despite my half assed whooing and hawing they served me up a full plate. Toto knows I love grilled onions and with the extra serving he gave me he knew I could never turn it down. Maria opened a bottle of sparkling white wine (she won’t drink red for the same reason many of us still can’t look Captain Morgan in the eye) And thus the evening began…with my second dinner - the first of which was a delicious breakfast burrito which I made with pita bread as a tortilla, processed cheese as a vague reminder of “Mexican blend,” some downright spicy El Paseo which I picked up at the store for way too much money but it was totally worth it and scrambled eggs (it still freaks me out that they don’t refrigerate their eggs) –and a lively conversation in half English, half Bulgarian and half mime ensued. Topics ranged from Cattle Farming to Osama Bin Laden and why wouldn't he have plastic surgery to escape and live a free life (Dionne's contribution) to transgender plastic surgery to hangover cures. Miming affords these kinds of transitions I suppose.

Maria moved here from Bulgaria last year, Toto one year prior and while they love Australia they also miss Bulgaria - so during tonight's dinner we revisit some of their previous life, the a small vegetable garden in Maria’s Mother’s home (of whom she may never see again), Maria’s fabulous hairstylist that she misses and hasn’t been able to replace and without knowing it suddenly they are nostalgic for loved ones and their old life yet they never overlook the hospitality and home they have found here and I can’t help thinking for them thank god for Skype, Maria skypes with her parents almost daily. For me it is a reminder that I’m really not gone all that long and I am really not all that far away either. And suddenly I have taken a turn for the sentimental…yet again.

So in an effort to get this posted and overwith before you start shedding tears…let’s just say I write to you a little sentimentally, a little drunk (thanks to Maria) and extremely full. Oh and if you didn’t catch the processed cheese reference earlier let me reassure you, I haven’t changed my ways. I have at least one slice in everything I make….the stuff is genius and delicious and a reminder of home.

Cheers and Nas Drava (Bulgarian, a rough spelling) I’ll see you next week hopefully with some underwater photos from some diving in the great barrier reef.

Adventures in Australia - From What I Can Remember When I Was Seven Anyway

I'm back. In Australia that is. I was last here in 1991 I think. Oh the early 90's how great were they. I mean really they gave us a lot to be thankful for. Women's sports coats - back already - and hellllooo acid washed denim. Not as good as the 80's - which you know how I feel about them, dear dear Michael Anthony Hall - Anyway I was 7 in 1991 and doing my 2nd year of first grade which while somewhat humiliating at the time, never really set me back. I am still trying to decide if being the last to turn 21 of your friends or the first is worse. I was definitely first. Although lucky for me ex-bf was 24 at the time so I guess it really did all work out at the end. I was actually thinking about ex-bf brett earlier today as the sprinkler, which is about 20 feet away from the patio I sit on to write to you was spraying water on me while spinning vicariously around and spraying mostly everything except what it needed to spray. You may wonder why he came to mind...well I'll tell you. He was getting his Bioresource and Agricultural Engineering Degree from Cal Poly. Yeah I don't know what it means either except he was working to patent a special type of sprinkler head that was a supposed to direct the water more effectively. Well Brett I guess they haven't gotten your design over in Australia yet.

I digress. So 7 years old and this is what I remember of my last Australian visit.

Australia 1991

Long Flight - Mom made us change into PJ's

Cane Toads - Dad told us they spit poison and could kill us, so we had to stay away from them (more on this stay tuned)

Hotel with Pool on top of roof

Uncle H making breakfast with thick cut bacon

Mom and Dad Making us wear these horrific mullets caps - Pictures above, I may be scarred for life from this.

Holding a Koala Bear - This memory is likely only valid as there is photographic evidence and without it we can't be sure I would have remembered it

Kurt being chased by an Emu - Fucking Hilarious

Hotel with neon lights and waterfall in pool

Guy at hotel with neon lights and waterfall in pool partially swallowing cane toad - in an adults show we clearly weren't supposed to see - evidence to above reference of cane toads is clearly contradictory- (more on this stay tuned)

Eels

My Cousin Tina and her fab perm

And that's all.

*Parents, the above is a good argument in favor of not taking your children anywhere of substance while they are under 7 years of age.

So... from now on my adventures and embarrassments and everything else I document will be me from Australia AND while I was meaning to rename the blog something more fitting the truth is I really won't be anything but a hot mess while I am here. The humidity makes my hair curly, frizzy and huge. I am one big bug bite/ Rash (allergen still to be determined). While driving on the right side I routinely turn the windsheild wipers on instead of the blinker. And while I strive to be a fearless and carefree lone traveler I am anything but. So Hot Mess I remain but pardon me if I didn't want to call the blog Hot Mess Down Under. Hot Mess in Australia doesn't have a good ring so stay posted or send me suggestions.

In the meantime I write to you fondly from a farm outside of Cairns near a town with a spanish sounding name while being eaten alive by "mozzies" in the middle of effing nowhere. And if I didn't know where I was I would think I was in Paradise (but in my Paradise I would be able to get Mexican food)

Stay tuned for Australia in 2009.

Everyone's a Hot Mess at the Airport

Which is why I think I love the airport. I mean really thank you airport security for making us all strip down to basically nothing, remove half of the contents from our over stuffed purses and briefcases, liquids, computers and other miscellaneous electronics and then have us walk down through the metal detector in our purple socks with the hole in the left big toe praying that our necklace won’t set the detector off so that we have to spread our arms and legs, while in spandex, to be individually checked by the security guard. And that wasn’t even me people because what did I tell you? Everyone is a hot mess in the airport. Everyone has to adjust and fret to get their liquids out of their bag and take their shoes off really quickly so you don’t hold up the line and then put the shoes back on without a bench, hopping around on one effing foot while you tie the laces. Everyone is a hot mess at the airport, I suppose that bitch I always talk about – the elusive non-hot mess would wear flip flops so she can just slip them off and she probably didn’t overpack and have to put 20 pounds of electronics in her backpack. Fuck it I quit. I guess all I can say is there are a lot more hot messes at the airport than usual. And the girl with the purple socks was me.