My back hurts

Hey muffins.

I promised fun in the sun and boy howdy did I deliver! (a fire alarm is going off in the building presently, and for some reason) Must’ve been a few days ago by now that I braved the shark-infested waters off the coast of Bondi in the name of body boarding. Woo dog shucks howdy it was fun! At first I really sucked and couldn’t catch any waves on account of I’m a terrible swimmer to begin with. *insert breast stroking joke here* But after about a half an hour I was able to hop on nearly 30% of them that came my way. Not so bad for a beginner, I think. Either way, I was having too much fun to stop. So instead of doing that, I didn’t. My back was probably facing the sun for a good two and a half hours total that day, with minimal sunblock and minimal ozone. (Damn you Al Gore!) Suffice it to say I was later displeased with the results.

It didn’t seem so bad at first, but over the next few hours my back kept getting redder and redder. I couldn’t do anything the rest of the day but worry and pout. Sleeping that night was excruciating. I had to wet my towel and try my best to lie flat on my back on top of it. Every time I shifted positions, it burned like crazy.

I still felt sad the next day, but I managed to drag my phat ass to Bondi Junction to continue the search for telephones and food. FAILURE. Still couldn’t find a phone/plan that seemed right. Whatever though. That’s boring.

That night there was a beautiful electrical storm over the ocean. Sitting in the sand, watching it for about a half an hour, I found out that one of the best cures for a bad burn is to go back out to the beach at night. Very soothing.

The day after that (yesterday) was my last day at the beach. And good riddance. I wasn’t too pleased with Noah’s Backpacker. After first getting roped in by a poorly-worded ad, injuring myself on their facilities (the sun), putting up with a couple English girls who had lived in the same room for months so they were all moved in and comfortable and gross and stayed up to 1am all the time reading with the damn ceiling light on, getting charged $rape for everything (a crappy, little, prepackaged sandwich cost $5!), and what has got to be the most embarrassing excuse for a bathroom I’ve ever seen in my life, I was sweaty and cross.

Getting my backpack on to move to the next stop WAS. AWFUL. 30 pounds of crap scraping its way up my sun-damaged shoulders, then shifting all around as I made my way through buses and subways and whatnot. NOT COOL. But I’ve whined enough already for this post. On to the fun stuff!

I got up so early yesterday, because sleeping was so painful, that I arrived at Cooee Backpackers just before 10am. The guy whose bed I was taking over was actually sitting on it when I came in the room. He introduced himself as Tony and then said words. I answered back at him with other, different words. Something about going to Melbourne to be with the most fertile of his many girlfriends. Soon after he left, a dude entered and told me his name was Steven. Steven had just gotten a new job in demolition, and had boots that were a size too small. Seems like a nice guy but, unfortunately, like so many other people around here, he’s already been staying in Sydney for a few months. He’s seen it all and done it all, and it’s harder to get those types of people out for a drink. No problem though. Cooee brings the pain.

About Cooee: It’s a party hostel. Plain and simple. But it’s nice because most of the partying actually takes place outside the hostel at nearby bars, which is exactly what was on tab last night. With that in mind, I struck out to the city (Cooee is in Kings Cross, only a few blocks away from the first hostel I stayed in) in search of something much less stupid to wear. (There’s nothing particularly wrong with the clothes I have with me. They just don’t help the cause. Plus I think I’m the only guy in Australia who has actually bought and worn a shirt with an Australian flag on it.) At Steven’s suggestion, I checked out Caddy’s market in Chinatown, about a half hour walk away. I’d been through - and gotten mixed up in - there on my first day already. But now I knew what was up.

Straight away, I found a new pair of aviators for $10. (My last pair got whipped off my face when I was body boarding, explaining why I never spend more than $15 on sunglasses.) Just around the corner was a shop selling shirts for $10, and shorts from $13. Seemed like a good deal, but I passed for the time being to see what else was up. The place was brimming with all sorts of clothes, purses, collectibles, Asians, souvenirs, massages, and other crap. In the back there’s an absurdly aggressive produce floor. I walked in at closing, so I believe everyone was trying to unload their stock before it all went bad. Any time someone touched something, a grocer would begin shouting numbers at them until they relented. Just behind this large produce area was a deli of sorts. I wasn’t able to stay in there for much longer than a minute, from the smell. A few tons of half-refrigerated, raw meat? Nthx.

I saw a chick get caught stealing. It was awesome! A Chinese lady started shrieking in her direction. Then a man, who I assumed was her husband and business partner, wheeled up beside her instantly and whipped her around toward him. Her face had a shocked smile stretched across it, and all she could manage was an embarrassed “Sorry!”. He then spanked a necklace out of her hand and, in one swimming motion, hit her in the back and shoved her five feet to one side, all the while chastising her in Chinese. No back office or pressed charges. Just the long, slender, Asian arm of the law! The girl was probably used to that kind of thing, being a shoplifter and all. But I must say the sight had me wary to the keen eyes and ninja reflexes that were probably monitoring my every move.

It being closing time, I hurriedly returned to the first clothing booth I stopped at and bought the shorts and shirt. Back at the hostel, a shower and a change of clothes had me looking spiffy as spam.

8 o’clock rolled around and everyone standing in the lobby was rounded up and walked a few blocks to a fountain where a bus was to pick us all up and take us to a club called The Gaff. Two brightly-lit employees lead the march. The bus was a real eyesore. Through the spray-painted windows, I could make out the horrified expressions on tourist and local faces alike. Take that, public decency!

The Gaff was crowded and loud, just like any other bar. But I managed to get free fish & chips. And when 9:30 rolled around, drinks downstairs were on the house for an hour. Que excessive crowding and groping. I managed to get my hands on a couple and sat quietly, drinking them. I thought I’d be funny and offer a couple girls dancing on the floor a free drink. It was too loud for them to hear me and, too sober to dance, I quietly scampered back to my dark corner.

Soon thereafter, they announced that there was to be a contest. I felt it was my responsibility as a retard to give it a shot. Much to my surprise, it was a contest to see how many marshmallows you could fit in your mouth and still talk/not vomit. Shit. I’d just eaten a bunch of fish, and washed it back with about four beers. Shit. I swallowed my fears (and a little bit of vomit that had crept up into my mouth) and manned up.

I WAS ROBBED. My head and face were specifically designed for this type of contest. I thought I was a shoe in for the win. But, me being the painfully honest guy I am, I didn’t swallow or chew a single marshmallow the entire time. EVERYONE ELSE DID. Fuckers. There’s no way those people still had all of them in there mouth. My face was packed cheek to cheek with sugar. And they were all over there chatting up a storm.

When the spotlight came my way, I spewed up about 15 marshmallows into the vomit bucket, then pointed at a really drunk dude at the end of the line and screamed “He’s eating them!”. The DJ responded, saying “I know. That’s why he’s out too!” Touche, salesman. But that still doesn’t amend the fact that the two remaining chicks were total cheater monkeys. Shenanigans! I got a free drink voucher anyway. So it’s cool.

The last few free drinks I got were foaming at the mouth because they were pouring them so fast, and quite unpleasant to drink. But, gentlemen, I’m about to say something that every man in his life wishes he could claim: I was getting so much head all night that I almost vomited.

Take a moment to soak the weight of that in.

Anyway. I ended up getting far gone enough to start dancing. I’m sure people nearby thought I had a medical condition, so that’s why they left me alone. A couple different people congratulated me on losing the marshmallow contest. I concluded the night by meeting an Irish guy upstairs (in a totally non-gay way… especially since he started making out with a contestant from the topless chest-painting contest… did I leave that part out? You wouldn’t be interested in it anyway.) and stumbling my way back to the hostel alone, where I met up with some other people, who had already returned from the bar, and started talking. A collective disapproval of US foreign policy was the topic of discussion. A couple people started going on about the 9-11 attacks and everything being a conspiracy. I’m not gonna touch that one.

I woke up this morning with a mild hangover (considering), bought a cell phone which currently is being a pain to activate, and had some terrible fish & chips for berkfest. I’m not sure what I’ll do with the rest of the day. But that’s what I’ve done from then to now. My burn is turning into a serious tan, at least on my arms. I have no idea what’s going on on my back.

Here’s a note I emailed drunkenly to myself last night to remember what I needed to cover in this post: “razr, dancing, shirt, refrigerated meat, girl stealing necklace. Just between you and me, everyone so far is ether gay or infertile…” WTF?

Ta!