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?

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.

Seniors & Buses, A Right not Privilege? And On Why When I Am Filthy Rich I Will Have a Driver

I am going to call my favorite senior bus riding citizen Ron because it sounds like a crotchy bitter old man, which he is. Last time I took the bus with Ron this is how it went– he hops; I use the term hops loosely because it is more of a slow painful stagger that delays the bus several minutes, onto the bus and instantly the dread of the smell of riding through Chinatown disappears...Ron smells much worse; although, it is debatable whether I have become immune to the fish carcass in a pink bag smell. Ron's assault weapon #1/ Is his halitosis which he unleashes with several coughs and grumbles as he shuffles down the aisle of the bus parting the sea of people. Now you can be sure that while the bus driver intentionally accelerates right after I step up onto the first step that the driver lives in fear of Ron and has therefore not moved an inch and won’t until he sits down. Ron scans the area and begins navigating his way through the crowded bus using his handy assault weapon #2/ his barely called for cane. Helpful Hint: Ron means for you to move out of his way when he swings his cane at your calf’s. He shuffles about half way down and for no reason whatsoever stands over me, whacks me in the legs with the cane and says “seats are for seniors”. Oh right of course you wanted MY seat. One moment let me grab my laptop case, purse and bag of recently re-healed shoes (I keep carrying them downtown to Jacks on Market because if you reheal 7 shoes there you get the eighth free, but I always lose my card before I get to 7...I digress)

Apparently Ron doesn’t have sympathy for my hot mess self because I get another reminder tap to move my ass out of his way and at that I jump out of my seat and before my hand grabs the pole the bus lurches forward and thrusts me into several unsuspecting fellow riders who probably would have been more annoyed at my accidental body check had they not just witnessed my physical abuse by an old helpless looking man.

Of course when I get my balance and gazillion bags in order I look back to see whether Ron made it into my seat unscathed and there he is cane on lap with the evil smile on his face he will wear with him to hell.

If I prayed I would pray for you Ron but lets be honest in Hell seniority doesn’t mean shit.

Totally Awkward Tuesday - Friday Night Pizza Affair

Dear Coworkers,

Thank you for planning that audacious happy hour bar hop. It was a long week and I really needed it. What I didn't need was the two slices of pizza that were inspired by the 5 pub challenge and the stiff drinks that Joe Bartender was pouring me at the Royal Oak - my new favorite bar mainly because of all the indoor foliage they have - What you, dear coworkers didn't see was the after party. I put myself in a cab around midnight and after letting my cab driver get halfway home (I was only 5 blocks away to start with) I requested that he turn around and take me to Escape from New York pizza. I ordered two slices one veggie and one Hawaiian and as I always do I requested -fat kid style - the extra pineapple on the pan be scooped into my box onto - shameful but delicious.

As a rule I like to picnic in my bed with an episode of Arrested Development playing when late night snacking. Which requires me to have enough self restraint to not eat in the cab. This is hard. I indulged myself a few pieces of pineapple but managed to make it back to the house of hot mess with two pieces fully intact. I realize however while exiting the elevator on at my stop on the second floor that I am absolutely ravenous and cannot wait to get into my apartment to eat the pizza. What any girl knows is that my keys will take a two handed search party five minutes to find at the bottom of my black-hole of a purse. Five minutes is too long.

So I picnic on the stairs in my buildings corridor - instead of my bed - where midway through my second slice - Hawaiian of course - I am abruptly interrupted by my neighbor with the USC flag hanging on their door. They always have midweek parties and never invite us. Just last week in fact I came home to a keg sitting right outside the elevator and two USC alums giggling in their doorway looking at the keg - Hello get that tripping hazard out of my way or I will move it for you, straight into my apartment -

Sorry anyway he asks me if I am locked out. And here the awkwardness ensues, clearly as I am not locked out but too ashamed to admit it. So I simply nodded my head no. I can only imagine the hot mess he saw sitting on the corridor stairs eating her dinner - me. Silence ensues for several long moments in which I want to take another bite of my pizza but felt it might be inappropriate. Neighbor boy finally says "no really you look like you're locked out.............. And then I realize the only way I going to Shake this guy, maintain a smidgen of dignity (to be sure most of it was already gone) and get back to my pizza was to lie and let him help me by breaking into my apartment through his via the fire escape -

I pick up my pizza box and overnight bag of a purse and walk through his apartment. He opens the window to my apartment for me. I thanked him for his help - that is making me climb through two windows and across a questionably safe fire escape to break me into my own room while the keys were safely in my purse - As soon as my back was to him I had the other half of the pizza in my mouth. Can you just imagine if I was sneaking in from breaking curfew. Had my parents seen me taking an enormous bite of pizza while literally climbing through my bedroom window...the looks of embarrassment that I would have seen would have shamed me well into my forties.

Instead the next morning my roommates found the morsels of pizza cleverly trailed through the corridor and elevator in the manner of Hansel and Gretal.

On another note apparently any stranger can get into my apartment through the fire escape. We discussed this when I recounted the events to my roommates. LM thinks they might occasionally come over to the house of hot mess to watch TV and eat our food. And it just dawned on me apparently that keg I wanted is just a fire escape and unlocked window away. I wonder if we could get it through with some rope, a strong man and a really good diversion. But how awkward would it be to be caught stealing a keg through a fire escape?

Hippie Headbands & Fannie Packs

LK has been hounding me about this post since I told her she was my inspiration for it. Little did she know that it's all about things I like but she hates; my secret love for fanatical trends.

So there is this adorable girl in my yoga class and I can't figure out if she is a hot mess or not. Anyway the last two times she has been in my class she has worn a sparkly silver headband in the fashion of, as LK would say, an effing Indian. 

Lindsey hates this new trend but I secretly like it. The thing is, as so many super trendy things do, the hippie headband would look absurd on me. It would slide up my tiny head and my hair would go right along with it and pouf out at the top and then eventually and probably at the most embarrassing moment the headband would spring off my head an into the lap of some gorgeous guy - hot mess moment/ v. awkward- Well anyway I wish I could wear one and to yoga no less. Hippie headbands fall into the same secret love trends as the following. 

Shorts one pieces, I realize you have to weigh 110lbs wet and be about 5'-10" or taller to wear them. I have a pair of black silk capri overalls that I love but haven't warn in years because they have been banned by all of my friends; they sort of fall in the same category - except they fall to the mid calf and have OshKosh like pockets in front (Yeah I know that was the first reference to Oshkosh since 1993). Actually LM hasn't seen them yet. I am waiting until she really pisses me off one day and then I will pair them with my crocs (which you should know I only purchased for when I went backpacking and it was totally worth it) I will go out with her in public wearing them and like your mother did in Junior high I will embarass her to shame. And that is how she will know I am mad at her. It's genius.

I also secretly love the designer fannie pack. But then again that too would ride up my hips, create a pouf in my shirt and totally embarass me. Maybe it would pop off at the same time as the hippie headband and then there would have to be an intervention. So don't worry I will leave these trends to those who know how to keep it together.

But as I constantly aspire to embody the type of girl who is able to wear these things - The headband is a physical impossibility as my head is just too small - I'll leave you with this last thought. I made the brilliant choice, as I sit in nook today, not to order the cheese platter designed for two that I typically eat by myself. I ordered the boring old cup of soup instead - I officially hate myself -but anyway what I was getting at is if I kick my cheese habit do you think I can wear a designer fannie pack or a shorts onsie? Hopefully not together but maybe one at a time?