Sunday, August 21, 2011

Of Girls, Crumpets and Stalking Part II.

Melbourne suburbs differ so greatly, and yet have this great wild feeling holding them together. I constantly have a love for this city gripping my heart tighter than skinny jeans shrunk in the wash. I can't help it. It doesn't matter if there's a crazy person on the city loop train pacing and yelling for no apparent reason, or that someone has yakked everywhere blocking the entrance to the Flinders Street Station toilets on a Saturday night... or that some dude is hanging his head in the door of my work on sunny Saturday, enquiring after a hot chick wearing headphones whilst making no sense whatsover - this city is mine and the people who reside here are generally included in my affections.

Well, all except a few: one of which is the aforementioned laundromat woman. Normally I love anything to do with laundromats... they remind me of freshly washed clothes and blankets, Twisties, magazines and the comfortable smell of warmth and washing powder. As if it would be possible not to have delightful memories of such a place! However, now I have to run past the one at the bottom of my hill (between my house and the station) in constant fear that I'm going to have a run in with this lady... and her bags. Or whatever.

I hadn't even thought about her for a couple of days. Sure, I told a boy at work and a couple of others - for a laugh, you know? I didn't mind, I felt she was harmless and that I wouldn't even have to see her again. Today however, having said goodbye to my kiwi friends in Brunswick, I set out up the street to cross the road and catch the tram into the city. Much to my horror, I looked up from my phone at the lights and there she was, less than three metres away with her bags set carefully around her on the pavement, just smiling at the general public and looking confidently put together. 

My thoughts froze and I quickly looked the other way. I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head and my brain scrambled to think how this would look to her, if she did indeed consider me a spy like the last time we met. Here I was, showing up less than a week later, in a completely different suburb at the same time as her, looking stupidly suspicious due to the fact that I couldn't run away and dial Ju fast enough. 

'She's at the lights Ju, oh my goodness it's actually her! What am I going to do? - she really thinks I'm a corrupt police mole! Damn it I just missed my tram' - as my tram rumbles by - 'I'm so embarrassed right now! I almost said hello again! Shit!'

Thanks to Ju's level-headed directorship, I ran instead to the train station - not without a few apprehensive peeks back over my shoulder - and managed to get home without seeing her again. My mumma thought it was hilarious, and reminded me again that the suspected bugging of the woman's bags should keep me safe and sound, but it really took me the whole afternoon to relax and shrug it off. I get so jolly flustered when I feel that someone thinks badly of me... I really have no idea what to do. All I know is, she better not be in that laundromat tomorrow morning, or I'm taking a picture in case I'm ever in need of a restraining order (bless).

The rest of my weekend was lovely. I spent plenty of time relaxing and hanging out with my recently re-patriated friend from New Zealand, Ju. She is returned from her holidays home and I'm ever so happy. This means plenty more fun with the kiwi girls, and Nick (sorry Nick)! Friday evening was reserved for cheapies at La La Land, which was great. 

Saturday after work (20 Aug) I shopped all up and down Chapel Street with Emma and wrapped it up with a Spanish feast at Basque. O. M. G. that was amazing. I scooped that day... think a black velvety, paisely patterned cocktail dress (even better than it sounds), and black Vivienne Westwood gel sandals with gold buckles - vintage. For twenty five dollars. F***. My gratitude must hereby be extended to my darling Miss Winter for the vintage spot of the century. Well work, Miss Winter. Sorry you're not a size forty! The remorse...

Saturday night was set aside for hitting the city with the NZ girls again - fun as per usual. And I spotted some Space man graffiti on Meyer's Lane above Loop Bar. I'm not sure if it's original, but cool if it is!

This morning we woke late, got breakfast from Green Cafe and trekked down to Princess Park for the longest sit in the sun, half undressed. It was amazing - such a beautiful day! Spring is here for certain, and don't Melbournians love it? 

I do.

Carlton Football Club

Hot air balloons from my train the other morning. There were four, and my mouth was open for most of the train ride. I'm obsessed. I must do this soon.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Laneway Lovers.

Trekking the laneways of Melbourne at 3:30am on a Wednesday morning, post-Eurotrash fever!

Monday, August 15, 2011

Big Discounts

Every week, things get more hectic. So now I'm taking the time to chill out and get centered. I've not written one thing down for the last 3 weeks at least, so it's too bad. I've felt sorry for myself because I haven't been able to surround myself with my friends as much as I'd like, as they've been away - some of the really bad ones leaving the country completely (you know who you are). So you know what? I'm going  to think about the funny things that have happened lately and write them out for you. Like the time I felt bad and went back outside to help a homeless lady with her bags. Settle in, kids.

This lady looked friendly enough. She smiled and laughed with the bus driver when he made a little joke about her 'moving house or somethin' as she clumsily plonked down her six or so bags in the aisle of the bus. She didn't look dodgy, she looked quite well done - young and all made up. But I recognised her as the lady who is sometimes sleeping in the laundromat down near the station when I go in the mornings to catch my train. I feel a pang of sadness every time... and I always spend the time waiting for my train trying to think of a way to help her, or if she even needs help at all. I can't help myself - I wonder for ages.

So when she got off the bus at the top of the hill - my stop, out the front of my house - and began to pull all her bags out and put them on the ground, I felt guilty as I walked up the driveway towards my warm house, where I have warm pyjams and a warm, before bed hot chocolate waiting for me. I went inside and put my own bags down in my room, and before I even knew what I was doing I found myself walking back out the front to ask her if she needed a hand with her luggage.

Poor nieve little innocent me. I should have considered the fact that, for all she knew, I could have been a ring-in for the corrupt police officers / stalker gang / f**king nutcases who would love her to consider herself absolutely and certainly insane, and who constantly know where she is because they've put a f**king bug in one of her bags (this comment purposefully directed at said bags) and they've got all sorts of ways of keeping tabs on her - sneaky dirty tunnels right underneath the ground we were standing on - if I wanted a particular example. Who did she think these people were? Oh I don't know - people with AIDS or cancer who were angry at the world and didn't want her to live happily ever after, whereupon they made it their sole purpose in life to make her own a complete and utter fobbed out misery. I was quite probably recruited by these dirty mongers (as innocently sweet as I appeared) to help damage her life even further by offering to assist her, whilst finding out every little detail I could about her life so I could report directly back to my big evil CIA boss. I coughed because of my cold and the woman thought I was signalling to secret corrupt police officers who were most likely eagerly listening in on our conversation via the wires in my pocket. Mhmm.

Oh yes. This went on for at least one half hour... and I'm quite certain she stated in there somewhere that she also housed spiritual powers and the ability to communicate with angels. Did I mention that?

I, for one, began to wonder if the tirade was ever going to end. I was half leaning, half sitting on the neighbour's fence and my bottom was beginning to go numb with the cold. However, by this time I had grown much too frightened to walk back inside during her damaging and rather offensive declination of my good intentions, lest she become aware of my address and return for revenge once she had found and disposed of the bug she suspected was in her bags. Thank my lucky stars then, that God must have been listening to me (as opposed to the crazy lady), for a short time later, big, cold raindrops began to fall and it seemingly occurred to her that she'd best be on her way. She gathered up her bags and off she went, leaving me to dash back inside to my utmost relief. I had to call my mother right away as a means to sooth my frazzled countenance and become assured again that the woman was not going return for my head.

The next morning, there she was again in the laundromat, with her bags around her and her mobile phone plugged in. I've never skipped past so quickly in my life. I'm going to have to find a new secret path to the station, I think.