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.

Insomnia and On Why 3am is a Totally Obvious Time to Turn on the Fire Hydrant Below My Window to Clean the Street

It's 3am and my third to last night in my Nob Hill apartment and I woke up in a panic. At first I thought it was raining and then I thought LM was taking a late night shower and then I realized it was neither and jumped out of bed to confirm that the fire hydrant below my window had burst and call the fire department and save the world with my knowledge - you know a couple of psychologists' did a study in New York about a woman who was killed while 37 people witnessed it but know one called because everyone thought someone else would have already called - I was not going to assume anyone had called. Except actually the fire hydrant had not burst rather a SF City employee had turned it on intentionally I imagine to clean the street or something. So from 3:00 - 3:10 am I got to pretend I lived next to a soothing waterfall which is when I decided the Chinese food in my fridge had probably, with age, gotten better (because it wasn't very good the first night at all).

And late night eating is best done in the dark because then it doesn't count.

I am already feeling a little nostalgic for this place because while these disturbances are irritating once in a while I am going to miss hearing the fog horn and cable car outside my bedroom window. The sound of excited tourists being taken for a ride by the cable car drivers who favor single young women - getting on the cable car in SF is like getting into a club in Vegas if you're cute, and without men they let you on for free even when it is packed - and ring their bell at 11pm all the way up Washington St for no reason at all. Even if I could drown these sounds out by shutting real double pained windows instead of the single paned ones we actually have (that even when shut you can feel a strong gust of wind through) I wouldn't. Silence is glorious but there is something comforting about knowing that the world is going on out there with or without me. If this sounds sentimental that's because A. I am hormonal - which according to Wikipedia, among other things, is responsible for mood swings and food cravings... and B. It is 4am.

It's foggy out there; I know because I can hear the horns blowing. The chinese food wasn't better tonight than it was last night but the waffle I am going to get at Nook tomorrow morning will be delicious.

Good night and good morning all!

I Only Complain in an Effort Make the World a Better Place

So today, against my better judgement, I went to the Safeway Deli and ordered a sandwich. Without fail I always end up wishing I had just gotten their sushi which is very good and reasonably priced. But no I went ahead and risked it with the unfailingly mindless deli workers that must cheat on their job interviews to get said position. Hiring deli workers SHOULD be an art. A sandwich artisan should be passionate about making sandwiches. They should make each and every sandwich with love because you can totally tell when they don't. This does not go for deli salads or meat slicing.

So I ordered a turkey sandwich on a sour roll, mayo, lettuce and provolone cheese, this is my heaven, I could live on them. Deli Boy brings me 3 different rolls to choose from. Okay I said sour roll and now you are confusing me. I choose one. Oh by the way I ordered a half sandwich which apparently you should never do. The roll I chose isn't big enough to make a whole sandwich but a 1/2" too big for a half sandwich...apparently. Because he cuts of a 1/2" from the end of the roll and chucks it in the trash can. Let me be clear in full scale he cut off

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that much. Like really. No really. Seriously. People are starving (like me who wants to get as much half sandwich for my money as I can) and he cuts off .002 cents worth of bread and throws it away. So I gave him a death stare and rolled my eyes, so then he felt stupid which is exactly what I wanted - not so HE feels bad about himself but so he never does that to anyone else again, see I am making the world a better place. Which I will probably go to hell for but so be it -

Anyway I wanted mayo, turkey, lettuce and provolone. Maybe if I had sang it he would have remembered it the first three times. The mayo spatula had avocado on it left over from the last guys sandwich which I suspect he thought was a favor since they charge what like $2.00 these days for one spread of it. Really though?

And earlier this week, after taking an awesome photography class in beautiful Palo Alto I went and had a similar sandwich where in the middle of my second bite my waiter brought me my check. Ummmmm, he is lucky I was busy chewing I am sure that was all part of his strategy though. I had planned on enjoying the warm afternoon with coffee and dessert but apparently that isn't allowed at this restaurant. Is this God telling me to layoff the Turkey?

So instead I walked across the street to a self serve frozen yogurt place. Apparently I self served myself into lethargy because as soon as I got home I took a nap... at 4:45 which was helpful because I wanted to stay up pretty much all night watching infomercials in an attempt to fall asleep. This is the waiter's fault.

PS I tried to find a hot deli worker pic to post with this so you had something to oogle while reading my rants. "Hot Deli Worker" when googled turned up images of Lindsay Lohan which is baffling.

Batter Blaster and The Bartender. You Heard it Here First

Team,

I know you were all wondering how it works - Batter Blaster that is. And since KM purchased some for me and left it daintily on my pillow I have decided since no one else would want to admit trying it to try it myself. I had to purchase a new bottle as Batter Blaster needs to be refrigerated at all times (don't be afraid to take notes as what I am about to tell you may shock you) Batter Blaster is better than sliced bread. I was a little embarrassed to go through the checkout line with it but the cashier likely confused it with whipped cream and didn't even look twice at it.

At this moment my brother is cooking me a breakfast feast and we had already forgotten about the Batter Blaster we bought yesterday when perusing the refrigerator he saw it and exclaimed "Oh let's have Pancakes" and two minutes later there he is simply shaking, and squirting and Voila a perfectly burned pancake. 4 squirts later we have the perfect pancake with no effort. I can't believe I am about to say this but Batter Blaster may be the way of the future instead of the end of the world.

I can see Martha on TV now "Just shake, point, blast and shoot"

Kurt's Verdict - If you want pancakes and you are really lazy this will do the job.

Organic Batter Blaster's patent is pending, do you think that is for any and all squirtable foodstuffs? I will be putting my patent in for cocktail blasters, instant Mojitos and margaritas here we come. We will call it "The Bartender" and put it in a chic black container. Each cocktail will come, as salsa does with Mild, Medium and Hot. They will be, "Underage", "Lightweight" and "In it to Win It".

Let me know how your first Batter Blaster experience goes.

*I claim any and all profits that come from the ideas presented above.

On My Bed – And Why I’m Going to Miss You

Not you. My bed. I am going to miss my bed.

For the last two years it has been just you and me bed, oh how I tried to fill the void in our relationship - the right side that is – never with very much success though and now I must forsake you altogether. My Australian visa will not let me take you with me. The fact that I called in sick today just to spend an extra 2 hours with you should be testament enough to how much our relationship means to me. I will be devastated if you are not waiting for me when I return home. You better be though I paid good money for you at Dirt Cheap Mattresses, took you out of the ghetto and that suspect warehouse, clothed you in only the best linens and then spent entire Sundays with you literally never leaving your fluffy but firm pillow top for more than the mere moment to get leftovers or cheese from the fridge to eat. Please don’t forget this while I am gone.

And this is how my minor panic attack began. I was lying in bed feeling like I was sleeping on clouds when I realized there are no cloud filled beds in Australia. And also I realized at the same time that I can’t carry all of my beloved clothes in even (3) suitcases (I could never take 3…could I?) Which means…I am going to have to choose. And then there was the dilemma, 2 suitcases or one. How big, how much can I carry on my own? One small, one large or two small. Are my friends going to judge me my new favorite Le Sportsac backpack that I bought completely without cause or need and have been hiding from my roommates. And which purse, I can’t take more than one and what about jeans, jeans are heavy but I want, wait need, all of them. And here I am panicking now and really what about shoes?

On another note I realized I never even commented on Mystic Pizza in my last post even though I referenced it in my title. So here it is, of course it was on TV 14 times between last weekend and I watched it probably twice through intermittently and the entire time I just wanted one slice. Seriously what is so fucking mystic about it? I don’t know maybe I am just hungry but it doesn’t seem right.