Aloha OAHU

My first trip to Hawaii was based on 2 initial ideas.  For starters, it was the cheapest way to fly home (sort of) and number two, it’s a part of the United States (sort of)…so that means, Halloween would be a big deal.

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday and I decided to leave Australia (and the last week of my work visa) just for the occasion.  After I booked my flight I found out that I had 3 friends living in the islands.  One in Waikiki, the other two in Maui; it always helps to have a foot in the door, no matter the situation.

I got off the plane, went through the motions of typical airport security and found out from the customs agent that the apple I had brought was somehow illegal…which I offered to eat in front of her to prove it wasn’t the “Sleeping Beauty poisoned variety” (she declined sadly).

So that’s the story of the breakfast that never was.  Pointless footnote for that story, (like I ever have any other footnotes)  it is good to know that if it had been a pack of strawberries from Australia, somehow those are legal to bring to the U.S. and I could have eaten them.  We take our fruit very serious here.....

  

"Super-Gonzo", THE Geoff Lau

I found my way to the hostel but it was too early to check-in.  So the lady at the desk was nice enough to let me call my friend Geoff, even though she had explicitly denied the 3 other people in front of me from any phone use.  I’m just a crafty-lass is all.

Geoff and I went to Coastal Carolina University together, we had a lot of classes together and tons of mutual friends and I entrusted him with a very special task.   The task of retrieving and taking care of my “Thor Hammer” (details to come in “My Halloweenie” story)....needless to say, we know each other.

Geoff conveniently lived about 6 blocks away from the hostel.  I didn't know this when I booked the hostel initially but was glad to find that out. 

I went to Geoff’s and caught up with him for a while.  It had probably been 3 or 4 years since I had even seen him and it is always nice to catch up with an old friend.  He took me to a couple of beach spots he likes to hang out at, one of them being the aptly named “Sandy Beach” (inventive!). 

The beach itself was beside the water park where Adam Sandler filmed “50 First Dates”.  That’s fun fact number one for the IMDB (Internet Movie Data Base)freaks out there….like myself, so I thought that was pretty cool. 

Not even the inside...haha...fail

I’m usually not too star-struck with celebrities or anything.  I don’t ask for autographs or anything like that…but I do think it’s funny that my subconscious behavior instantly cared about that water park a lot more because a movie I enjoyed was filmed there years ago.  I think I just established myself as a 12 year old girl.   What a wonderful thing the human brain can be.

We sat and had a few beers at “Sandy Beach” (creative!).  He’s been here for over 2 years so he’s pretty much a local at this point.  I like to pick the local’s brains more than the next person mostly because I like to gain a perspective about what it is like to actually LIVE there.  I enjoy hearing the good, the bad, what a normal day is like.  It’s interesting to me, no matter where I am.

I think it’s because subconsciously I’m still looking for “my place”.  The one I’d like to eventually call home when I get over this wanderlust or “travel-bug” as some say, if that ever happens.  I think about more than the vacation, I think about my happiness with longevity too.

I also want to hear about all the local spots.  I hate the tourist traps and would rather find the dive bars and secret sushi restaurants off the beaten path than to go where 1 million other tourists and backpackers go. 

Arial of "Sandy", with no waves to prove my point, OF COURSE!

We then decide to hop in and do some body surfing.  On the BIGGEST DAMN WAVES I’VE EVER SEEN!

They weren’t even that “big” I guess, Geoff would laugh if he ever reads this.  Probably not by surf standards and certainly not by Hawaii standards but for body surfing, these things were brutal.

I literally got my ass kicked, up and down.  I’ve never felt anything like that.  Once you’re under it just takes you, throws you around, and spins you, whatever it wants.  You are at Poseidon’s mercy.  I had no control and I wasn’t sure when it would stop because just when I thought it was safe to swim up, I’d get tumbled again.

Geoff was no help in this department by the way.

There were times when Geoff would mess with me and say things like, “Go for it bro, you got this!”.

So of course, like an idiot, I’d hop right in it and fall through the barrel to my imminent demise or at the very least an uncertain idea of what my health could be like after.

Only to come up and see Geoff laughing and asking me questions like, “Why didn’t you bail out of that one?  It was huge”. 

Thanks buddy.  Good to see you too.  

The previous sentence was structured “plural” because this happened several times.  SEVERAL times!  I never knew if he was serious or at least not until it was too late.

Plus, he was grabbing all of them like a complete bad ass and I wasn't about to disappoint New Jersey’s answer to “Aquaman”.

So I flipped, I fell, I rolled, I slammed, I obtained an absurd amount of salt in my eyes, tried not to drown on more than one occasion.  Then decided I had enough, so I took the flipper off.

 

Geoff had equipped me with a flipper (singular; he had the other one) to help with kicking/paddling.  Except if used by a novice, such as myself, you end up just looking like a duck with a clipped wing, going around and around. 

So I gave him the flipper back and managed to hold my own for a bit.  He taught me how the locals like to body surf, which I really enjoyed.  It’s more of a corkscrew through the entire wave.  Since the waves are so long and large, you’re able to ride them for a longer duration of time.  Which in turn gives you more time to be creative.

So long in fact that I rode one wave twice.  I came in went through the wave and came back up, only to go back down again…none of which was planned.  Geoff told me he saw me underwater and didn’t know what I was doing (flipping and flapping and whatnot)…that made two of us. 

Anyways, the local’s body surfing technique is to basically go in on your side with one arm out stretched in front, with the other arm reaching towards the back of the wave.  Then you make it your own.  You can flip or turn, spin, or just ride straight.  You make it whatever you want.

 

I made it a mess.  That’s what I made it. 

I did manage to get it a few times but the waves at this beach were so powerful and relentless it was hard since it was my first time on waves this big.  There are no surfers on that beach because the drop-off is so enormous, supposedly it's pretty dangerous and people get hurt all the time (something else I did NOT know before getting in).  It goes from really shallow, to thousands of feet deep within a few yards which can explain the outrageous momentum of each wave (somehow…).

I make it sound like a terrible time, but it wasn’t.  It was great!  I’d do it again tomorrow, I just like to be over-dramatic, for the sake of the story, and I have to tell it that way. 

After the beach, Geoff took me to a secretly delicious and frankly suspicious sushi restaurant.

Delicious explains itself; it was suspicious because A) I probably couldn’t find this place again if YOU paid me to because it was in the middle of nowhere and B) it was connected to a carport….and I try not to eat my raw fish, or anything for that matter, out of anything connected to the words; car, port, cart, truck…just doesn't sound right.

But I trusted my friend so I thought I’d at least try it and it did NOT disappoint!

Then I had all I could take, we took the food back to Geoff’s and I crashed on his couch for a while.  I felt bad, but between the sun and the jet-lag  I never stood a chance of watching Game 2 of the World Series.

Even though you could probably add “Game 2 of the World Series” to the list of reasons I crashed on the couch…baseball is crazy boring. 

So I woke up (or we woke up, we never actually discussed our "Friends" like “man nap” together) and Geoff took me back to the hostel because he had to get to his ukulele lesson (see! How cool is that?  Localized, Hawaiian style ukulele lessons).

And as I generally do from that point when I’m on my own, I make new friends. 

The hostel put me off at first because everyone was kind of doing their own thing and not hanging out together.  I don’t like that. 

You’re in a hostel for God’s sakes!  If you wanted to do your own thing, then you should go get a hotel room.  Hostels are for travelers who want to meet new people and drink heavily, let’s be serious here.

So I get unpacked (aka throw my bag in a corner, the backpacker way) and head outside to strike up whatever conversation I can basically.  I’m booked in for 5 days and there is a zero percent chance that I allow a bunch of un-socialites to ruin my first few days in Hawaii.

As you do when we finally put that first foot forward, I met a couple of really cool people.  From all over the world, just how I like it. 

The key is, depending on the setting, to move all the furniture/tables together and force the interaction. 

You're welcome Seaside...my presence is felt everywhere

If there is too much space, people will utilize it.  If you make them come around, that’s when the magic happens.  They will thank you later.  Or they will discuss pointless trivia with you while they stare at their smartphones…either way.

We hung out for a bit, had a few drinks, etc etc.   Then jet-lag called again.  I hate that guy.

He’s like a bill collector accept he knows where you are and how much sleep you owe.  I was due quite a hefty amount of slumber.  So I called it an early night. 

I woke up early and energized (7am).  I was shocked, but coming from Australia I’m pretty sure it was a normal time there…like, the next day, around noon, when normal people wake up. 

So I chose to be productive and go for a run.  Anytime I’m in a new place, I go run.  It helps me to become acclimated to the area and it’s a great way to see some sights and get some cool photos.
 

It is also…a great way…to get lost.

As I did.  For the….“every single time I do it”. 

Not that it is bad, it’s just exhausting. 

So what started as a nice run on the beach with some mixed in push-ups, turned into me seeing the entire “Diamond Head” mountain. 

Then deciding I’m going to find a way to get to that mountain.  That I’m going to climb that mountain. 

MAN complex strikes again.

I see, I conquer…

Okay, it’s probably more like, I see, I do 12 things that I thought would work at the time and didn’t, then I ask for directions, then…decide that I’ve already came too far and will do it another day.

MAN complex.

I literally ran AROUND THE DAMN MOUNTAIN!  I thought I had struck gold.  The name of the mountain was “Diamond Head”, so why wouldn’t I follow “Diamond Head Road”?

Nope.  Complete wrong way but this sexy surfer chick helped me out by telling me that I had already came too far to go back so I might as well just try to get to the other side.  So I did the whole loop.

By the time I finally found the entrance, I had decided that I didn’t care about the “Diamond Head Crater” anymore. 

"Diamond Head", behind the palm trees...aka NOT CLOSE

At all, like when you’re watching a good TV show that has been on for too long. 

It started out great, everything was going well, you have your favorites but everyone is entertaining enough to bring you back each week, you kept up with the show for several seasons and then BOOM!

The inevitable happens…a silly plot twist, they ran out of new original ideas, or they made way too much money and just started putting random nonsense on your screen to lengthen a show that should have died already.  (Textbook Examples: “That 70’s show”, “Weeds”, “Lost”, “The Sopranos”).

And it gets to that point where you’re like, “I don’t care about any of these characters anymore…if they all died next episode, I would be completely unaffected”.

One of those moments.  I no longer cared about getting up that mountain...

SOOO GOOD

I found my way back to the hostel and the newest crew of “Adam’s merry men & women” chose to spend a major part of our day finding….Walmart.

That’s right.  Walmart.  All this tropical paradise and yet, we NEEDED to find Walmart.

Milk and other various food items are at least ½ the price of what they would be at the street shops in Waikiki. 

So it was totally worth it.  I got stocked on food for the week for cheap, grabbed the rest of my necessary items for my “THOR” costume, and purchased a reasonably priced bottle of WHIPPED CREAM VODKA for $12.  (Reasonably priced…or properly priced?  TALKIN’ TO YOU AUSTRALIA, get it together!).

Which I completely intend on putting in a water bottle and taking to the festival tomorrow, raging like a complete lunatic and slapping girls on the ass with my hammer (literally & figuratively), these were my first 2 days in Hawaii.  

It should be pointed out that I did in fact finally get up to the top of the "Diamond Head Crater" trail on my 2nd stint in Waikiki.  It took me 2 hours to run to the top and back from the hostel and the guy at the front gate of the park let me in for free.  He let me in because I told him that I was "crazy fast" and could beat whatever the best time was.  

People walking usually take 1 hour, 45 minutes.  He told me that I wouldn't be able to beat 40 minutes.  I ran up, took photos, got water and dodged countless Asians up and down the mountain for a sparkling time of 38 minutes.  Which could have been better but I took my time up at the top taking pictures.  

It was a "sparkling time" because I was glistening by the time I was finished.  Not sexy glistening...like, my pants were so soaked that I had trouble keeping them up as I ran back to the hostel.  Probably should have went early instead of midday....but I DID IT!

This message was brought to you by: The MAN complex

Oh YEAH! I f***** climbed that!

B.O.B. Pt.1 - The one where Rachel got peed on

Dumb face tellin' some dumb stories ya'll

Best of Billabong Series, Pt. 1

(some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty, some of them haven’t been changed at all…because…well, it’s just funnier that way)

The following is a collection of mini-stories from my time in the hostel in Sydney that I find humorous.  I will be posting a few short stories sporadically throughout the rest of my time with this travel blog.  They are just meant as fun anecdotes, mostly dealing with others misfortune, instead of the long detailed (and entertaining dammit!) stories that I usually produce about just myself.  

These are by no means the BEST things or stories that EVER happened under the roof of the Billabong, they are just some stories that were appropriate enough for print that I was around for.

The title itself sounds like the most interesting “Friends” episode never shown and I’m going to attempt to do it justice on paper even though it’s much better told aloud (mainly because of my insanely accurate depiction of the Irish accents in this story).

Our first story of the 'Bong collection revolves around Gary “best bar man in all the land” Dolan who gave me two stories that I will never forget as long as I live and will tell them to my children in hopes that someone can at least attempt to match his awesomeness.  Or drunken hilarity.  This...is one of those tales.

The Legend

In Room #5 there were 6 people rooming together including myself.  It was Gary, myself, Joe, Rachel, Biman, & Phil.  I had just moved in so I had a bunk above Rachel, the Irish girl in the room.  Gary used to work 5 nights a week so when he got his chance to shine aka get really drunk, that’s exactly what he did and by God, he did it well.

He came home late one night and when you’re living in a hostel you don’t pay a lot of attention on how someone comes in the room.  It’s late and you’re rooming with 5 other people, there’s going to be noise, you just deal with it. 

I managed to fall asleep quite soundly that evening.  I’m not sure what time it was, but I was awoken by a loud consistent dripping noise.  Something in comparison with a cow pissing on a flat rock or a bucket with a constant stream of liquid from above, I knew exactly what was happening.

I roll over and all I can see is the top of Gary’s golden locks.  “Gary, what the f*** are you doing?”, I asked him. 

“Darby-dar-see-dar-be-shebe-darby”, replied Gary.  (or at least that’s my written Irish impression of the nonsense he was attempting to say)

“Gary…are you…peeing on Rachel!?”, I asked more adamantly.  I’ll never forget the look on his face when he finally realized someone was talking to him, he looked up at me…

His face was a cross between a cat with a light getting shined in its eyes and Golum from the “Lord of the Rings”.  It was as if "confusion" and "shame" made a baby…that baby’s name was Gary Dolan.

He may have even hissed at me in true cat creature form, all I know is that he sprinted off to the bathroom quicker than I’ve ever seen him move in my entire time knowing him.  I assume that he went in the bathroom to finish up because about 2 minutes later, he casually walked back to his bed, put the covers up and went back to sleep, his head hit the pillow and he was snoozing...we could hear him.  It was as if nothing had happened. 

By this point, the whole room is awake except for Rachel and Gary.  We are all in the beginning stages of "what the f*** was that?".  No one is actually sure if what we just heard/saw actually happened.  So we began to recount our perspectives.

The roommates and I have a “house meeting” of what our next move should be after we all determine that "Yes", Gary just peed on Rachel.  None of us want to actually be the one to wake up Rachel and tell her that she just got peed on.  We’re still too confused as to how she was able to sleep through that in the first place.  It was ON HER...and the pee itself was loud enough to wake up the other 4 people in the room....

Biman yells over at Gary, “Gary, what the hell man, you know you just peed on Rachel?”.  “Aww Biman f***-off, darby-dar-see…(intelligible drunken Irish grammar)”, Gary slurs back.

The roommates and I did some detection around her bed before we woke her up and upon further review figured out that he must have peed on the comforter but only at her feet…which then proceeded to drip into her shoes and on the floor.  It was pretty healthy piss, put it that way. 

We eventually come to a decision that no matter what, we can’t just let this poor girl continue sleeping in a bed of urine.  So me, being the martyr that I sometimes am, wakes Rachel up and tells her what happened.

"Rach, I don't know how to tell you this, but....Gary just got up and peed all over you", I told her...gently.

Her reaction was probably the most baffling of the whole evening.  She didn’t even care!  Not only did she NOT CARE, she felt BAD for Gary!

“Aww poor Gary, he’s going to feel so bad in the morning.  He’s must be sooo drunk, he’s going to be soooo embarrassed.”, Rachel tells us.  Now that's friendship ladies and gentlemen!

We all can’t figure out why she’s being so cool about the situation.  If someone pees on you, that’s a fight….I don’t care who it is.  Friend's don't let friends pee on other friends...or...friends don't let other friends pee on them...there's a strict rule about this I'm sure!

“Oh, the lads get pissed and do it all the time back home (in Ireland)”, she explains.

What do you mean “all the time”?  So this is "normal" to you?  No way.  That’s not cool, I don't think that getting peed on should ever be "normal" protocol.

The kicker of this story is, that all she did was remove the blanket that he peed on…and then went back to sleep…in that bed. 

They never spoke of it again.  They never even mentioned it to one another after that, the only communication was a text that Rachel sent Gary the next day….”Change my sheets”.

My “Thank You” to Sydney & the ‘Bong (and not the one you’re thinking of)

Big family atmosphere

I originally had no intentions of writing anything about my last few months in Sydney.  To me when I came back, it felt like there just wasn’t going to be a lot to tell.  I worked A LOT, so in turn, on weekends I felt like I missed A LOT. 

That was it.  That was all I had planned for my last few months.  I originally planned to work and workout; make as much money as I could for the next destination…whatever destination that came along. 

I never planned for this to happen.  So as I was sitting in the airport on my way out of Australia…enjoying what could have been my very last meat pie with tomato sauce (not ketchup)  EVER (just kidding, going to be a while though!)…looking out at the Sydney skyline from my exit gate, everything hit me all at once. 

Sophia & I WOULD have looked up for this pic
but...Maria's ass is just way too nice

I had to write SOMETHING.  All of this didn’t happen by mistake and it definitely was in no way as uneventful as I thought, nor as I originally intended.

I lose sight of that a lot.  I’m the one doing it, living it, and having the experience; but to me, it’s just my life.  It doesn't seem like a big deal, it's just "another day in the life..." sort of situation. 

It is though, it is a big deal.  It's special and I should treat it as such.  Others tell me all the time and I have to try and put that in perspective.  Which this forum in particular, allows me to do. 

More inappropriate to come;
This picture just needs to be seen

I’m really going to miss it in Australia.  I’m not very emotional about good-byes.  I don’t do well with mushy-moments either.  I’m the guy making the inappropriate jokes to “lighten the mood” and I hope no one sees me as I slip out the back door. 

Everything came together looking out at downtown Sydney from the airport that was about to transport me away. 

How I felt when I first came off the plane, how scared I was, how funny it is now that I was even scared at all. 

The magnitude of going to a new country by yourself and figuring things out on your own, how much I’ve grown as a person, how much I’ve learned, and how much I’ve changed as well. 

I can probably say that I haven’t changed.  Try to take the famous celebrity route and say I’ve been this way forever.  I probably haven’t though, at least in some aspects.    

This of course includes adding even more rounds to my already “well-rounded-ness” and I know that I haven’t been this tranquil since I can remember.  I let things come to me more often now and if doesn’t then I carry  a  “oh, well, it is what it is” mentality. 

This was truly one of the best years of my life and there's no denying it. 

I have my friend Matt who left me high and dry in New Zealand to thank for it. 

I have myself to thank for it too. 

See? Strong!

If he wouldn’t have left me and I wasn’t as strong of a person as I am, then things would have been terribly different and even if that doesn’t necessarily mean “bad”, it at least means it wouldn’t have happened the way it did.  

Which in retrospect, this would have been a terrible mishap in my estimation.  It happened as it did, for the reasons that it did and I'm thankful for that.

I wouldn’t have had my independence to come and go as I please and more likely than not, I wouldn’t have met any of the people that I’ve come to know in the past year.

This is why the others I need to thank and the things I’ll remember the most, are the friends I’ve made.   The people I will never forget and hope to see again whether in their country or my own.

The ones who I hope to randomly run into one day at another hostel in Bumba-fuck, Nowhere.

ESPECIALLY the ones that I link up to on Facebook and invite myself to their couches (I’m coming! So be ready!).

Me & Mario...uh, I mean Dan

Like Dan, who gave me a ride to the airport and yet it felt like just another day, just another conversation about random pointless nonsense that doesn’t matter to anyone but him and I.  I didn’t think I was actually leaving until after that was over.  It was a very calming experience, as gay as that sounds...but I like that he didn't treat me like someone he would NEVER see again...he knew...we both did...this wasn't the end.

 

Dan couldn’t make it to my going away dinner (1 of the 2 I had because I’m that lucky), so he offered to give me a lift to the airport instead…and I let him, even though he is ALWAYS LATE (he didn’t disappoint on that either by the way).

So the thanks just have to be said, to everyone. 

The first crew at the 'Bong

To my friends I made during my first stint at the “Billabong Gardens”.  Without going into great detail or naming names, you know who you are. 

Who helped with my transition into hostel living when I hadn’t done it on a regular basis.  Who helped with making me find a new sense of what people from other countries were all about…and who also helped me forget about the terrible time I had in Gold Coast when I first arrived. 

Who made me choose to stay and find work when I was seriously contemplating going back to the U.S. because of my lack of funds.  Who all went to Kelly’s every friggin’ night whether I wanted to or not and partied in "Room 13" within “Club Julian”. 

Which was no more than Big Julian’s twin bed with sheets around and a strobe light, that fit anywhere from 4-10 people inside…

Or the friends that I made the 2^nd time around after I ran out of money in Asia (no easy task mind you) and came back.

 

Goonin' around

Before I met any of you, when I assumed that the ghost town that had become “Billabong Gardens” and my coming back was a mistake…only to meet some of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of being in contact with and definite lifelong friends that I never plan on losing touch with. 

To reach the level of inappropriateness that has never been reached on any scale of human interaction.  It was a pleasure being the “Prince” of all of that.

Things like, humping Michael's face
while he talks to his father on the phone

From “Lucy’s Breakfast” to the “anything but regular" days in the dog park, to “riding the bus”; or the constant festivities in "Room 2" after hours with all the “Goon & Switch (shirts and sometimes pants)” parties and of course the 31 (RECORD-BREAKING) noise complaints in one night. 

When there would be times when I came into my room and didn’t know a single person in there because there were half-naked parties happening.  Which was always okay.

It reminded me of college and I thought those were the best times before now.  It would almost be like crashing the Sydney University parties because it was incredibly accessible right down the road…but wait, we did that too!

Yup, that was us.

And of course (how could I forget), the amount of dissection dedicated to the possibility of a (or the inevitable, depending on how you feel) zombie apocalypse.  

A conversation that I enjoy throwing out in a crowded room full of people (preferably ones that I don't know) like a grenade to: A) entertain myself, B) get people talking to one another when they weren't about an interesting topic and most importantly, C) to separate the weak from dependably strong under pressure.  

You always have to plan for things like this because I've already decided that "zombie bite" is not how I intend on going out of this world....so I need to see who's on my team, who can handle themselves under pressure, smart enough and could be invited into my safe house (doesn't everyone do this!?).
All of you endured my probing and innate interest for zombie fodder and I feel like you're more prepared because of it.  

Again, to both of the groups at the hostel who always laughed because I liked to hang out in my man cave more than anywhere else in the hostel. Thanks for putting up with my "me time" and occasional anti-socialism.  Sometimes I just need to re-charge the batteries...this is only done so that I can serve you with entertainment better, thanks for not taking offense.

My work colleagues from "ZanziBar" who allowed me to not only see a traveler’s perspective that I received from my hostel crew but an Australian resident one as well. 

Who showed me around Sydney and kept me in the loop on all things to do & not do. 

An entire "Kingdom of Inappropriate" behavior

Who kept me fully entertained and interested on the weekends while at work, when I usually was wishing that I was out drinking with my hostel peeps and are included in the main reasons I decided to stay in Sydney instead of traveling more and finding other work in a new city. 

With the staff including people like; Blake, who steadily called me “the confederate” (because I was a southern American, of course) and only pulling rank on me ((I'm the manager") when he didn’t want to do something, putting me on “Game of Thrones” and our countless conversations of gaming/movies/TV to get us through the shifts, also he is the only reason I have anything of substance to watch on my hard drives.

Real recognize real!

Or Dan (who I previously mentioned), who would make fun of my accent even though he was just speaking regularly (he has more of a natural American accent than me, it’s weird), who only worked 37 minutes per shift for some reason, and was always WAY too busy writing plays and being a movie star on Sydney U. to hang out with me but still did anyways (sometimes, when Mr. Speilberg had time to answer his phone).

Dr. Filth himself

I can't forget Adrian aka “Dr. Filth”, and Mick aka Mick-o-laus, who neither one will unfortunately EVER SEE THIS because they don’t have Facebook or links to this blog but who together and separately made Sydney a lot more fun and I know it wouldn’t have been as great without them. 

They showed me where the best places to drink downtown and made every 12-15 hour shift I worked seem like, well not fun obviously because it was a fucking 12-15 hour shift! 

But they somehow made those shifts tolerable and more enjoyable when it normally wouldn’t have been.

Also to James and Tim Cliff, who were great managers even though I had to stay on late EVERY TIME you guys worked for various and pointless reasons, none of them any less important than because you guys just needed someone to entertain you for the final hours…it’s okay, you love me, I get it.  I love you too.

A sincere and special thanks has to go out to Mick though, who didn’t hire me but allowed me to stay on against his initial better judgement (not because of me, but because of who hired me by the way) and he and I quickly formed a bond of friendship that was 100% real, informative and truthful the entire time.  I always appreciated that.   

Me, Mick-alaus, & his "toupee'"

The man who gave me those 12-15 hour shifts because he knew I needed the money and couldn’t fit me anywhere else on the schedule for normal hours, and yet still allowed me to come back to work (no questions asked) when I was almost stranded in Darwin with hardly any money at all.  By FAR the best manager I have ever worked for.  Renowned thanks go out to him.

The beautiful Ellyssa!

And of course, the girls! Elyssa, Hayley, Khissy, MK aka “Madame Messy”, Annie, and the rest of the crew. 

Ellyssa who braided my hair, petted me fondly and offered to marry me even though she likes the ladies just as much as I do, but offered just so I could stay in the country.  

Hayley who I went to FOTC (Flight of the Conchords) concert with and had in-depth conversations about life and also offered me a hand to stay and even went as far as to ask her boyfriend Stephen if it was okay (which he said yes, so thank you as well Stephen!).  I appreciate the sentiment and even though we would make completely beautiful aryan babies, I had to decline (until a later date possibly; haha).  Thanks to both of you beautiful couples, I wish you all well.

Hayley and I, so very aryan

To the rest of the crew which I don’t have enough space to divulge each and every one properly so I’ll just put you all together in a group of “my loves!”...like a boss.

And last but certainly not least, the last job I had while in OZ at Kelly’s.  When they told me that I couldn’t drink there after work to deter me but little did they know I had my fill of drinking there with the first ‘Bong crew…and yet I still spent enough time there to invent the “next big thing” in car-bomb creations with Kilkenny called “I Kill’d Kenny” (coming to a bar near you). 

In fact, you guys are welcome for that.  I’ll say thank you as well but you’re also welcome for my complete awesomeness.

Martin & Tom

Where I thought my fellow barkeep Tom was going to punch someone every single night and then I laughed until I cried because I wanted it to happen so badly.  When Tom dropped lines of absolute GOLD on random hot (and questionable) ladies and Asian women to get us rides the morning after.

Where Maarrrrr-tin and I tossed cups to and fro’ and made jokes that no one got but us.

DJ Jim

Where DJ Lil’ Jim played the tunes and kept me sane on all the incredibly boring nights; even though coins hate him and he couldn’t win a coin-toss of “who gets to leave early” game to save his life. 

The place where I made Dave Lee fall in love with Americans and then beat him in a game of SOCCER much to his dismay (4-1; he still loves us though).  

Even though my total overall record with him was probably 1-22 or something terrible, it was always fun hanging out with the fellas at his place after work playing video games and eating homemade ONLY mushroom pizzas because Jim can’t have meat (it’s okay Jimmy, we like mushrooms, promise!). 

Kelly's Heroes

And even Jarrah who came in when I was leaving and gave me nothing but inappropriately weird hypothetical choices and then always changed them each time I finally made a decision to make them suck more than they originally did. 

I was never planning on staying as long as I did.  I was going to stay at “Billabong Gardens” for a few weeks, find work, stay a few more and then leave.  I ended up staying in total, for 7 of my 11 ½ months in Australia because of you people. 

All of you, we have shared so much and it is sad when it ends but that’s the life we chose. 

In backpacker terms especially, we were lucky in a way that not many hostels can be when everyone stays together cohesively for such a long period of time. 

Sometimes you meet really great people for just a day, or a week, however we all stayed together (both groups) for months at a time.  I imagine it's the same for immigrant workers too.  So even though I haven't been an immigrant for too long, I could have been "one of those" backpackers to up and leave after a few weeks...but I stuck it out for the long run and I'm glad that I did.

I can only describe the hostel I lived in as a share house though, never a hostel, and while we complained a lot of the time about things that were little to no influence on our lives (like the Asian cleaners, Hiko, etc)...it is different and it is special and it easily was the best I’ve stayed in and not because of the "perks". 

That’s why it’s up to us to stay in-touch.  To see each other when we can and to keep everyone updated on our whereabouts. 

Facebook is a gift and a nuisance in that way.  It’s truly up to us because if these were the 60’s or 70’s, how many of us would have come out of our acid-induced debauchery comas’ long enough to exchange postal addresses??? 

I’ve seen most of you guys/girls in action attempting to complete fairly easy and compliable activities…so it’s doubtful.  Joke.

If you weren't mentioned then don’t take it personally.  I’ve had many fantastic experiences with each and every one of you, too many to recount, especially you hostel folk but all my Sydney counterparts; too many names, too great of times, too little paper.

I just wanted to say THANK YOU ALL.  Without getting into anything too sentimental…so I’ll just say…you all suck…but I’m going to miss you anyways.

Good luck, I hope everything works out for all of you and I also hope that I’m still around and connected enough to experience it on some level with you guys.

Did I mention you guys suck?  I did?  Okay, good because you do, you all do. J

See you soon!