Guess what? I still hurt. It is getting better though (touch wood,) and I survived another fitness session with our trainer, who is so nice that there is no way you can hate him for the pain he causes. While he easily executed exercises that only a modern day Tarzan should be attempting, I followed along as best I could, looking like a frog missing a couple of legs, and I'm sure I'm going to pay for it tomorrow.
I continued my legless frog impersonation throughout my first ever hip hop class, but excelled when we were asked to do our best white girl dance. What can I say? I'm naturally awkward, especially when I dance.
We spent the afternoon with a visiting choreographer/dancer/performer, and while his advice on choreography and improvising was amazing, I'm not sure that I'll be paying quite as much attention to his life advice. Don't get me wrong, obviously he is surviving (or "thriving" as he calls it) by following his own advice, and we are asked to go into every class with an open mind. Believe me, I tried really hard, but I'm just not sure that his philosophy is for me. Apparently, we don't actually need to eat, we just think we do because society tells us we do, and supermarket CEOs need a nice fat pay check. If I want to "thrive," I should forgo the food and opt instead for dance, sex and rock and roll, as this is all that human beings really need to live. If I do choose to adopt this free and low worry approach to life, I will also be safe from major illnesses, as diseases such as cancer are really all in our minds. All of this extremely enlightening advice came from a man who tried to argue his way out of a speeding ticket on the grounds that in his mind he wasn't speeding. Really? Really? If your mind is that far from the car, maybe you shouldn't be driving...
On the way home I stopped in at a new supermarket, where I encountered a young girl who was enjoying playing with the automatic doors, but she seemed to think that in order for them to sense her, she needed to puff her cheeks right out and hold her breath. It was like watching a very furless and red faced squirrel. She then proceeded to tell her brother he was a "wee-wee" because he went to a school in Kirrawee. Burn.
I will end this ramble by saying a very happy birthday to my (usually) lovely little sister who is 18 today. Happy Birthday!!
Xx, Little Duck
Friday, 31 January 2014
Thursday, 30 January 2014
Definitely not the Swan Queen
You know it's not going to be an easy day when you physically can't get out of bed, not even by rolling. I had to pretend that I was an old person and that seized muscles and uncooperative limbs were the norm. I mean, they manage somehow, don't they?
Breakfast was really great, although I think that half of it ended up the table. I'm not entirely sure, as I was still half asleep. I haven't yet reached the stage where I forget to wear shoes, or find that I can't bend down far enough to put them on, so I guess that's a bonus.
On the way to class, a truck in front of me had their left blinker on for a good 5 minutes, so I tried to flash them to let them know, but instead just squirted my own windscreen with water and scared myself half to death. At least my windscreen is really clean.
I guess today's misadventures were less funny and more just stupid. Throughout the day I almost slipped down the stairs and stopped myself less than gracefully, opened my yoghurt and just stared at it, and took quite a while to realise that I wasn't eating it because I didn't have a spoon, had an a accidental stand off with an old man and his trolley in woolworths, and almost dropped my phone in the bin when I took out the recycling. Believe it or not, I'm not a clutz. I'm just really tired.
Plans for tonight will most likely involve a half hearted effort to watch TV while constantly checking the clock to decide if I can justify going to bed yet, and eating the ice cream I promised myself if I made it through today. So on that exciting note, I will leave you.
Little Duck, out.
P.S If you didn't guess from the title of this post, I did not exceed my own expectations in Ballet today at all. I did have fun though :)
Breakfast was really great, although I think that half of it ended up the table. I'm not entirely sure, as I was still half asleep. I haven't yet reached the stage where I forget to wear shoes, or find that I can't bend down far enough to put them on, so I guess that's a bonus.
On the way to class, a truck in front of me had their left blinker on for a good 5 minutes, so I tried to flash them to let them know, but instead just squirted my own windscreen with water and scared myself half to death. At least my windscreen is really clean.
I guess today's misadventures were less funny and more just stupid. Throughout the day I almost slipped down the stairs and stopped myself less than gracefully, opened my yoghurt and just stared at it, and took quite a while to realise that I wasn't eating it because I didn't have a spoon, had an a accidental stand off with an old man and his trolley in woolworths, and almost dropped my phone in the bin when I took out the recycling. Believe it or not, I'm not a clutz. I'm just really tired.
Plans for tonight will most likely involve a half hearted effort to watch TV while constantly checking the clock to decide if I can justify going to bed yet, and eating the ice cream I promised myself if I made it through today. So on that exciting note, I will leave you.
Little Duck, out.
P.S If you didn't guess from the title of this post, I did not exceed my own expectations in Ballet today at all. I did have fun though :)
Wednesday, 29 January 2014
Why my parents should have named me Grace
Today I started my new fulltime course studying Dance. And now I hurt. Almost everyone there is younger than me, and they are all gorgeous and have danced since birth. I should probably mention that they're all lovely too, which means I really can't catch a break.
We began the day with a fitness class, and I was really proud of how I went, simply because I survived. We then moved on to classes in Lyrical and commercial Jazz, and I've never done either before. As hard as I tried, I couldn't master the awkward vulnerability they asked for in Lyrical, and accidently transferred it to Jazz instead, in which the required Sass was sorely lacking. While everyone else executed smooth floor work that looked like it belonged in a film clip, I was doing my best flipped turtle impression. Not for the first time in my life, I found myself wishing that at least my middle name was grace, so that I might actually have a chance of being graceful. If this is too big an ask, I would settle for the irony of the situation, as it might induce a bit of humour, rather than a train crash like fascination.
Despite the impression I'm giving, I really did enjoy today. Although my new acting teacher yelled something that at the time sounded like "boring!" as I gave my introduction, the staff all seem super friendly and I can't wait to go back tomorrow for ballet. *shudder* Maybe I'll surprise myself and turn out to be the next Swan Queen or something.
Other than that, the only mischief I managed today was slipping over on the washing I had laid out to dry on the floor. My tiles didn't really like the condensation, and neither did my butt.
Little Duck, out :)
We began the day with a fitness class, and I was really proud of how I went, simply because I survived. We then moved on to classes in Lyrical and commercial Jazz, and I've never done either before. As hard as I tried, I couldn't master the awkward vulnerability they asked for in Lyrical, and accidently transferred it to Jazz instead, in which the required Sass was sorely lacking. While everyone else executed smooth floor work that looked like it belonged in a film clip, I was doing my best flipped turtle impression. Not for the first time in my life, I found myself wishing that at least my middle name was grace, so that I might actually have a chance of being graceful. If this is too big an ask, I would settle for the irony of the situation, as it might induce a bit of humour, rather than a train crash like fascination.
Despite the impression I'm giving, I really did enjoy today. Although my new acting teacher yelled something that at the time sounded like "boring!" as I gave my introduction, the staff all seem super friendly and I can't wait to go back tomorrow for ballet. *shudder* Maybe I'll surprise myself and turn out to be the next Swan Queen or something.
Other than that, the only mischief I managed today was slipping over on the washing I had laid out to dry on the floor. My tiles didn't really like the condensation, and neither did my butt.
Little Duck, out :)
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
Laundry woes
Today I reached my first slightly large crisis; my washing. A whole weeks worth of it. It's not that I hadn't thought about the washing, it's just that there is the small problem of my entrance to the laundry being nailed shut. I'm supposed to enter through my Landlord's house until they get the door fixed, but they're never home when I am lately. I tried numerous coin operated laundries today, but city parking and unfriendly laundry ladies yelling "we're full!" sort of put me off. After a car just ahead of me was involved in a crash trying to park, I literally fled home. As the afternoon progressed and I started to have nightmares of drowning in my own dirty clothes as they piled up, I came to a horrible realisation. I was going to have to take it to my pseudo-grandparents house when I went over for dinner. I am the worst person. Dinner was lovely, and I got so see lots of pictures of Ma and Pa when they were younger, but the whole time, my guilt was spinning around in their washing machine. This load of guilt is now spread across my apartment floor with the fan on high, as my clothes line is also locked in my landlords house at the moment. Classy.
On the bright side, when I did my grocery shopping, a nice man I walked past smiled and said hello. The first of the hundreds of people I have seen since I arrived here. I then fully conquered the rooftop parking, and also made the very 'grown up' decision to extend my shopping to not only Woolworths, but also the butcher, deli and florist next door. This went really well until my last stop at the butcher, where I had to explain over and over to the confused young guy behind the counter that I wanted 2 sausages, not 2 kilos of Sausages. He just kept saying "2 piece? 2 piece?!" Yes butcher man, I am the crazy single student who comes in and buys just 2 of your Italian continental sausages for $1.55. Don't judge me.
I finally learned to say the name of my suburb properly; a-luh-wuh. To all my friends in Allora, just know that next time I see you, no, I have not developed a lisp, and I am talking about where I live, not where you live.
My night ended with a drive home through a neighbouring suburb, which was nice, until I saw a shop with dead Ducks hanging in the windows. I have now lost faith in that "nice" suburb.
Xx, Little Duck (*gulp*)
On the bright side, when I did my grocery shopping, a nice man I walked past smiled and said hello. The first of the hundreds of people I have seen since I arrived here. I then fully conquered the rooftop parking, and also made the very 'grown up' decision to extend my shopping to not only Woolworths, but also the butcher, deli and florist next door. This went really well until my last stop at the butcher, where I had to explain over and over to the confused young guy behind the counter that I wanted 2 sausages, not 2 kilos of Sausages. He just kept saying "2 piece? 2 piece?!" Yes butcher man, I am the crazy single student who comes in and buys just 2 of your Italian continental sausages for $1.55. Don't judge me.
I finally learned to say the name of my suburb properly; a-luh-wuh. To all my friends in Allora, just know that next time I see you, no, I have not developed a lisp, and I am talking about where I live, not where you live.
My night ended with a drive home through a neighbouring suburb, which was nice, until I saw a shop with dead Ducks hanging in the windows. I have now lost faith in that "nice" suburb.
Xx, Little Duck (*gulp*)
Monday, 27 January 2014
Trigger Happy
I began my day quite normally, watching the Channel [V] top 40 countdown. The top two songs have been a little stressful for me lately, as #2 (trumpets) causes me to dance around my flat like spastic, and #1 is 'Happy' by Pharell Williams. I can't stand that song. I turned the sound off so that I didn't have to suffer through it again, and noticed that Pharell's extreme animation resembled a frantic game of charades. I amused myself by playing along for a minute, but after; "toilet....no, no, big toilet..." I realised that I should probably stop.
I then went for a drive, which led to a full few minutes of confusion and panic as a set of traffic lights with a turning lane and turning indicators tried (through numerous signs) to tell me that there was no right turn. Luckily the arrow eventually went green, or I would probably still be sitting there. After this stressful experience, I returned home and made myself a therapeutic cheese toastie, and managed to dribble the cheese all down the front of my white shirt.
I think that being new to the city has caused my friends and I to be a little trigger happy when it comes to identifying people likely to assault us. As we walked to a restaurant for dinner, a man behind us kept calling out, and followed us down the street, and when he started running after us, we refused to turn around and acknowledge him. It turns out that he was trying to return a Jacket that one of us had dropped. Oops. Add to that the Pavlova I nearly threw at a man yesterday, and an incident on the train on the way home tonight, and I think that men should avoid me completely. I was almost home, and yawned. I didn't think anyone was looking, and so it was not a pretty yawn, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw man walking up to take a seat across the aisle from me. He promptly turned around, sat right at the other end of the carriage and looked at me nervously. I think that he thinks I hissed at him. Again, oops.
Xx, Little Duck
I then went for a drive, which led to a full few minutes of confusion and panic as a set of traffic lights with a turning lane and turning indicators tried (through numerous signs) to tell me that there was no right turn. Luckily the arrow eventually went green, or I would probably still be sitting there. After this stressful experience, I returned home and made myself a therapeutic cheese toastie, and managed to dribble the cheese all down the front of my white shirt.
I think that being new to the city has caused my friends and I to be a little trigger happy when it comes to identifying people likely to assault us. As we walked to a restaurant for dinner, a man behind us kept calling out, and followed us down the street, and when he started running after us, we refused to turn around and acknowledge him. It turns out that he was trying to return a Jacket that one of us had dropped. Oops. Add to that the Pavlova I nearly threw at a man yesterday, and an incident on the train on the way home tonight, and I think that men should avoid me completely. I was almost home, and yawned. I didn't think anyone was looking, and so it was not a pretty yawn, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw man walking up to take a seat across the aisle from me. He promptly turned around, sat right at the other end of the carriage and looked at me nervously. I think that he thinks I hissed at him. Again, oops.
Xx, Little Duck
Sunday, 26 January 2014
Pav-all-ova
Happy Australia day!! I had the great fortune to spend today with some of my wonderful Uni friends who are also braving the urban jungle, and we staged our very own Australian marathon (which was more of an obstacle course.) I apologise to anyone that I came up against. I'm not proud of how competitive that blow up pool made me, but the Kangaroos should have won.
Everyone took a snack along, mine of course being a sweet one, and this led to my latest realisation; you should never take a Pavlova on a train. Between strange looks, jolting stops and starts, and an old man sitting next to me who was practically drooling on the box, I did not think that it was going to make the celebration. I did however meet a lovely family once I changed trains, who offered to hold it for me, as standing up without holding on is risky at the best of times, and the last thing they wanted to see was the death of my stereotypical dessert on such an iconic day.
I have also discovered a new and far less stereotypical use for the good old pav. As I walked to the train station I passed a park, in which a young man suddenly emerged from the bushes and walked quickly in my direction. Convinced that I was about to be assaulted, I not so calmly assessed the situation. Two bags and a Pavlova left me only one free arm, an arm not likely to fend off an attacker alone. My mind ran though a few scenarios, and I then became convinced that it was going to be necessary to smush my beloved pavlova over my assailants eyes, and leave him with egg on his face - get it? - while I made a hasty getaway. Thankfully this was not necessary, but I have discovered a new method of self defence, one which gives me an excuse to bake. I feel bad for assuming the worst about that poor guy. Maybe he was just peeing in the bushes? After all, it is Australia day.
Before I go, I just want to send a shout out to another guy I saw on the way to the station, smashing out an epic air drum solo as he opened the upstairs balcony of my local pub. I think you are awesome. Also, I can play absolutely any air instrument you require, so you should get me a job. Pretty please?
Xx, Little Duck (who now has (temporary) tattoos.)
Everyone took a snack along, mine of course being a sweet one, and this led to my latest realisation; you should never take a Pavlova on a train. Between strange looks, jolting stops and starts, and an old man sitting next to me who was practically drooling on the box, I did not think that it was going to make the celebration. I did however meet a lovely family once I changed trains, who offered to hold it for me, as standing up without holding on is risky at the best of times, and the last thing they wanted to see was the death of my stereotypical dessert on such an iconic day.
I have also discovered a new and far less stereotypical use for the good old pav. As I walked to the train station I passed a park, in which a young man suddenly emerged from the bushes and walked quickly in my direction. Convinced that I was about to be assaulted, I not so calmly assessed the situation. Two bags and a Pavlova left me only one free arm, an arm not likely to fend off an attacker alone. My mind ran though a few scenarios, and I then became convinced that it was going to be necessary to smush my beloved pavlova over my assailants eyes, and leave him with egg on his face - get it? - while I made a hasty getaway. Thankfully this was not necessary, but I have discovered a new method of self defence, one which gives me an excuse to bake. I feel bad for assuming the worst about that poor guy. Maybe he was just peeing in the bushes? After all, it is Australia day.
Before I go, I just want to send a shout out to another guy I saw on the way to the station, smashing out an epic air drum solo as he opened the upstairs balcony of my local pub. I think you are awesome. Also, I can play absolutely any air instrument you require, so you should get me a job. Pretty please?
Xx, Little Duck (who now has (temporary) tattoos.)
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Lessons learned
Today I caught a train. Which I've done before, so it wasn't that exciting. I did go to Cronulla though, and that was exciting. Not many of you know that I really like surfing, and I just happened to turn up on the first day of the Billabong Australian Boardrider's Battle. I'd never actually seen a surfing comp live before, so it was very cool.
I went for my first swim on a beach I didn't know, all by myself, which was a big thing. A very cold thing. I saw a seagull. I ate some Malteasers. Thanks to the crazy wind, I got sand in places I didn't know sand could go.
As I took in the very beautiful sights, I realised that my trip had taught me some very interesting (not necessarily very valuable,) lessons;
1. Some Australians are very UV conscious, demonstrated to me by a man diligently rubbing sunscreen onto his shins, as they were the only exposed part of his body.
2. In Sydney, Possums are not a considered a furry and friendly critter that indicated the eco system is healthy, but a noisy and germ ridden pest. Thank you "'Possums Away' - Fast acting, same day service" trailer for advising me of this fact.
3. There are grown man sized scooters. And grown men actually own and ride them. I can't say that this discovery really added anything positive to my life.
4. Some children are born without the ability to chase seagulls/pigeons. This can be seen in their inability to chase the birds and growl at the same time, and in a general confusion as to why the running an growling is necessary in the first place.
5. In the city, a geometric shape filled with pebbles is called a 'garden.'
I hope that this list can be helpful to you in some way someday, even if it only to help you find a reliable Possum exterminator.
Little Duck, out.
I went for my first swim on a beach I didn't know, all by myself, which was a big thing. A very cold thing. I saw a seagull. I ate some Malteasers. Thanks to the crazy wind, I got sand in places I didn't know sand could go.
As I took in the very beautiful sights, I realised that my trip had taught me some very interesting (not necessarily very valuable,) lessons;
1. Some Australians are very UV conscious, demonstrated to me by a man diligently rubbing sunscreen onto his shins, as they were the only exposed part of his body.
2. In Sydney, Possums are not a considered a furry and friendly critter that indicated the eco system is healthy, but a noisy and germ ridden pest. Thank you "'Possums Away' - Fast acting, same day service" trailer for advising me of this fact.
3. There are grown man sized scooters. And grown men actually own and ride them. I can't say that this discovery really added anything positive to my life.
4. Some children are born without the ability to chase seagulls/pigeons. This can be seen in their inability to chase the birds and growl at the same time, and in a general confusion as to why the running an growling is necessary in the first place.
5. In the city, a geometric shape filled with pebbles is called a 'garden.'
I hope that this list can be helpful to you in some way someday, even if it only to help you find a reliable Possum exterminator.
Little Duck, out.
Thursday, 23 January 2014
Puppet Show
Day 2.
After yesterday, I decided to have a quiet one to recover from yesterday's supermarket troubles. How much trouble can I get in staying home, right? Right...
I did really well until mid morning, when I was watching the Channel [V] top 40 countdown- yes, I have Foxtel now, jelly? - curled up cosily in my chair, and proceeded to almost tip myself backwards out the window with the discovery that my chair was in fact recliner. This was followed by a silent and furious fight with said recliner as I tried to make it normal again, and I really hope that no one was looking in the window at the time, as the bodily positions that this required were not graceful.
Next up was a spot of reading next to different, much higher window (just in case,) and I was really enjoying the book too, but the noises coming through my window became increasingly distracting. I thought that maybe someone over the fence was watching a kids TV show with the volume right up, but eventually the slamming doors and barking dog made me realise it was much worse; it was the neighbours. Mr Emphysema sounds like a Muppet. If a Muppet and Mario had a love child, he would be living next door to me. To make it even better, he was having a lovely conversation with lady friend who's voice was also suspiciously furry;
"I Love You."
"Oh, I love too!"
Pretty normal right? No. Please go back, and read those words again in your best Muppet voices. Seeing as you weren't there, I will give you some inspiration. If Mario on Sesame street wasn't enough for you, try mixing the Swedish chef with the guy from the Dolmio ad, and picture his romantic interest as a puppet version of Christmas Eve from Avenue Q.
After listening to them confess their love for the chickens and the dog, I made a hasty exit. With neighbours like that, maybe I don't need Foxtel after all.
That is pretty much the only eventful content of my day, so I will leave you with the reassuring knowledge that I have now officially christened my apartment, shown by the small green smudge on my ceiling, where I accidently flicked some mint choc-chip ice cream at afternoon tea time. Yes mum, I will clean it I promise.
Xx, Little Duck
After yesterday, I decided to have a quiet one to recover from yesterday's supermarket troubles. How much trouble can I get in staying home, right? Right...
I did really well until mid morning, when I was watching the Channel [V] top 40 countdown- yes, I have Foxtel now, jelly? - curled up cosily in my chair, and proceeded to almost tip myself backwards out the window with the discovery that my chair was in fact recliner. This was followed by a silent and furious fight with said recliner as I tried to make it normal again, and I really hope that no one was looking in the window at the time, as the bodily positions that this required were not graceful.
Next up was a spot of reading next to different, much higher window (just in case,) and I was really enjoying the book too, but the noises coming through my window became increasingly distracting. I thought that maybe someone over the fence was watching a kids TV show with the volume right up, but eventually the slamming doors and barking dog made me realise it was much worse; it was the neighbours. Mr Emphysema sounds like a Muppet. If a Muppet and Mario had a love child, he would be living next door to me. To make it even better, he was having a lovely conversation with lady friend who's voice was also suspiciously furry;
"I Love You."
"Oh, I love too!"
Pretty normal right? No. Please go back, and read those words again in your best Muppet voices. Seeing as you weren't there, I will give you some inspiration. If Mario on Sesame street wasn't enough for you, try mixing the Swedish chef with the guy from the Dolmio ad, and picture his romantic interest as a puppet version of Christmas Eve from Avenue Q.
After listening to them confess their love for the chickens and the dog, I made a hasty exit. With neighbours like that, maybe I don't need Foxtel after all.
That is pretty much the only eventful content of my day, so I will leave you with the reassuring knowledge that I have now officially christened my apartment, shown by the small green smudge on my ceiling, where I accidently flicked some mint choc-chip ice cream at afternoon tea time. Yes mum, I will clean it I promise.
Xx, Little Duck
New pond problems
Hi. I'm Hayley, I'm 21 and I love Ducks. I've also just moved to Sydney from a small country town.
I guess that my first full day of being an official Sydney resident is as good a time as any to start writing an extremely biased and highly boring account of my life. I'd say that I hope no one ever has the misfortune to read it, but I guess that would make this blog redundant, so instead I'll say that if you are reading this, sorry for the (insert amount of time) minutes of your life that you will now never get back.
My misadventures began yesterday afternoon when I took a quick trip to the nearest Woollies to grab some dinner, and this led to fight with my GPS, a she can never tell me where to park. When I had figured it out for myself, I discovered that you have to park on THE ROOF. Not only do you park on the roof, but you have to PAY to do so. $1 for the privilege of doing my grocery shopping and parking on the roof (which I guess is pretty exciting, but the boom gates tend to instil in me a sense of fear rather than joy.
I returned to this shopping centre/amusement park again today, and as I had already conquered it once, I thought I knew what to expect. Which I did, until I realised I needed a trolley. Trolleys are not a scary thing back home, because they're exactly that... trolleys. Apparently in Sydney though, they're coin trolleys. I have a question Woolworths; how am I supposed to make off with your trolley when I am parked ON THE ROOF?!! And what if I didn't have a coin? Then I'd be the crazy girl using the self serve checkouts to withdraw one. dollar. Trust me, I did that enough in Uni, those days are behind me.
Oddly, this was not the only thing different about my new city trolley, because right there on the handle was a cup holder. A cup. Holder. I know that 7/11 and Slurpees are a big thing in the city, but I never realised that they were so integral to Sydney-sider's identities that they required their icy, sweet support, hands free, while they did their groceries.
I survived. Without the cup holder no less, and moved on to my first Westfield, with a car park so large that I couldn't find the shopping centre once I got out of the car. I eventually made my way in and conquered the Thursday night crowds to buy myself a rubbish bin and a new pair of tights, and also identified a bakery and a candy shop. There was also a clothing store called "Hipster," which sold clothes that I I've only seen on every girl ever. I guess they were mainstream before it was cool to be mainstream.
One day in, and I think I need to take some camouflage classes, because I'm pretty sure there's a piece of invisible straw hanging out of my mouth, but everyone else can see it. On the bright side, if country chic makes an appearance this season, I'll be set.
Litte Duck, out :)
P.S, if by any chance my Chicken owning, chilli hanging, emphysema suffering neighbour is reading this, please cough your lungs up elsewhere tonight, as I would like to sleep. Thank you.
I guess that my first full day of being an official Sydney resident is as good a time as any to start writing an extremely biased and highly boring account of my life. I'd say that I hope no one ever has the misfortune to read it, but I guess that would make this blog redundant, so instead I'll say that if you are reading this, sorry for the (insert amount of time) minutes of your life that you will now never get back.
My misadventures began yesterday afternoon when I took a quick trip to the nearest Woollies to grab some dinner, and this led to fight with my GPS, a she can never tell me where to park. When I had figured it out for myself, I discovered that you have to park on THE ROOF. Not only do you park on the roof, but you have to PAY to do so. $1 for the privilege of doing my grocery shopping and parking on the roof (which I guess is pretty exciting, but the boom gates tend to instil in me a sense of fear rather than joy.
I returned to this shopping centre/amusement park again today, and as I had already conquered it once, I thought I knew what to expect. Which I did, until I realised I needed a trolley. Trolleys are not a scary thing back home, because they're exactly that... trolleys. Apparently in Sydney though, they're coin trolleys. I have a question Woolworths; how am I supposed to make off with your trolley when I am parked ON THE ROOF?!! And what if I didn't have a coin? Then I'd be the crazy girl using the self serve checkouts to withdraw one. dollar. Trust me, I did that enough in Uni, those days are behind me.
Oddly, this was not the only thing different about my new city trolley, because right there on the handle was a cup holder. A cup. Holder. I know that 7/11 and Slurpees are a big thing in the city, but I never realised that they were so integral to Sydney-sider's identities that they required their icy, sweet support, hands free, while they did their groceries.
I survived. Without the cup holder no less, and moved on to my first Westfield, with a car park so large that I couldn't find the shopping centre once I got out of the car. I eventually made my way in and conquered the Thursday night crowds to buy myself a rubbish bin and a new pair of tights, and also identified a bakery and a candy shop. There was also a clothing store called "Hipster," which sold clothes that I I've only seen on every girl ever. I guess they were mainstream before it was cool to be mainstream.
One day in, and I think I need to take some camouflage classes, because I'm pretty sure there's a piece of invisible straw hanging out of my mouth, but everyone else can see it. On the bright side, if country chic makes an appearance this season, I'll be set.
Litte Duck, out :)
P.S, if by any chance my Chicken owning, chilli hanging, emphysema suffering neighbour is reading this, please cough your lungs up elsewhere tonight, as I would like to sleep. Thank you.
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