Planes Trains and Automobiles and failing at all of them (at first).

27 Aug

Hey Guysss

Funny updates for you;

I ventured to Sydney! (Almost)

So here, there is a pretty awesome train system. Kind like MARTA, except I don’t have time to go over the many differences between the two. They are both similar because they are both trains. The main difference that immediately effected me will be outlined in the story below:

Its Friday night, I am ready for a night out. Curled my hair, put my dancing pants on and also put lip stain on my lips– which I don’t like to do too often because it just dries them out, so when I’m wearing lip stain, that means I’ve committed. To party. Heres a picture of me mid sentence with an emoji to capture my true beauty:

IMG_3692

Anyway, I am ready to GO OUT. I get dropped off at the train station and am a little nervous to train it for the first time.

The train comes, I walk right up to the door, waiting for it to open. There are at least seven people on the train looking at me. I’m thinking “Yeah. I look good.” Then the conductor of the train had peeked his head around his train office and is staring at me. “Yeah I know dude, this is getting inappropriate though. I just want to get on the train and get my tourist on.”

Then the train left. Without me.

APPARENTLY you have to open the doors yourself. I have gotten too caught up in technology like SnapChat, text messaging and the ShamWow to revert back to the primitive task of OPENING A DOOR MYSELF. So I went home, wiped my makeup off and drank lots and lots of wine. CLASSIC.

The following day I went to Newcastle to see a good dude I know, and I got on the train all by myself, even managing to switch trains and get to my destination safely.

On the way though, I was lucky enough to sit next to a spectacle and a half. Let me paint this picture:

He had a thick Australian and drunk accent, smelled exactly like brown cigs, drug store vodka and sweat.

His footwear of choice: rubber flip flops with socks. Not to judge, I once was wearing socks and had to get something outside-I slipped my shoes on and was shocked at how naturally the thought: “actually, this is pretty comfortable” came to me.  So I can’t even judge. He’s just more fashionably ballsy than I am. A real McQueen there.

His fingers were so rough and each of his nails were of different size and texture with probably years of grime under them. It really seemed like he made a choice not to look at his hands in 2001 and hasn’t looked down since. Maybe he had a traumatic hand modeling accident?

I’ve become accustomed to “G’day” as the standard greeting, so when his Nokia started ringing, ad he answered, I was expecting that; Instead:

“WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?”

Obviously, I have missed the mark in my greetings my entire life, thats something I’ll be working on for my next blog greeting.

xo

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