Reverse Tourettes

“I will die!!”, “You will kill me!!”, “I am broken!!”
Such great dialogue for a war torture movie set in Europe.
Alas this dialogue came from the bathroom this morning, as my Aunt fought with her nurse about brushing her teeth.

Then out of no where she screamed “ALLY IS A YOUNG AND ELEGANT GIRL!”

I was in the living room, and I laughed so hard, I nearly poked my eye out with my mascara wand. How lovely that in the middle of all this dramatic cursing, she stopped to yell out a compliment about me.

Kind of like having complimentary tourettes. Just imagine! You would be really popular if you had this syndrome ...

“I hate this world, everyone is out to get me – YOU’RE GORGEOUS!!! YOU’RE GORGEOUS!!! I LOVE YOUR HAIR!” because they don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves. I’m going to kill myself – NICE SHOES YOU ATTRACTIVE WOMAN!!!”

You Know You're an Aussie in NY when... #6

You’re standing on the sidewalk, and you notice a big pool of water in the gutter. Then a taxi drives past and sprays dirty street water all over you. And instead of acting like a New Yorker and yelling “AWE!! FUCKING GREAT! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!”, you turn and grin! -- Desperately looking around to see if anyone else noticed that you just had a “magical movie moment!!!”

"This was just like in the movies!!!" you think, still smiling. Just like SJP in the opening credits of Sex in the City! Or other movies I can’t recall. I’m living the true fantasy!

Ahh Haa Haa… Mwa…..sniffle cry.

Death

I’ve never been afraid of death. Partially because mum told us from day one, that when we die we simply go into our next life. Cool hey? No heaven and hell in my family. And as if that wasn’t enough, she would constantly bring up baggage from her ‘past lives’ that explained her problems she faced in ‘this life’. This is just one reason why I’m a sceptic.

But back to the topic of death. I’m also at ease with it because when I was six and my brother four, Dad took us into the country hospital where he worked, which was pretty rare, turned to us and said --
“Kids, do you want to see a dead body?”
“Sure!” I said. Why not?
"I’m hungry," said my little brother, gripping his teddy bear.
Dad took us into a dark little room, where a blue sheet lay covering someone on a bench. He pulled down the sheet revealing an old, skinny man with a beer belly.

He looked like he was taking a nap. A very still nap. Then Dad lifted up both of his eyelids, and shined a torch in his eyes. Closed his lids, covered his head over again, and that was that. He might as well have taken us to the newsagent to buy the paper.

I’m sure we asked lots of questions. Like – "So when does he move onto his next life?" To which my Dad would not have known how to answer. And you wonder why my parents divorced?

So that was death. Very simple. A natural part of life. Since then, I’ve seen two dead bodies in real life. One was my grandfather, and the other was a lady in the distance, who got hit by a car in China.

I do wonder if I will see Ada die. I can’t help but think if she did, we’d all just feel relieved. But I happen to know for sure that I won’t witness her death this year. And not just because she’s been dying for the last fifty years, and won’t deliver. You see, my mum got me a psychic reading for Christmas last year, and I asked her – "Will Ada die while I’m with her?"

The psycic said she won't. But then the psychic also said that Ada would really enjoy my company and to look out - because a hot romance was just around the corner, if not already starting. Well, unless by 'hot romance' she meant licking pizza drippings off my fingers, while fantasizing about Jeffrey Dean Morgan, then I'm still waiting lady! Still waiting.

My Wednesday

I’m so filled with white hot rage, that the door to my writer’s room opened on my exhale.

I saw a mother pushing a baby in a stroller, and I pegged my mobile phone at her. (The baby that is.)

When I stood in the middle of the street and stomped my foot, screaming, the bitumen cracked – and hot lava oozed out dissolving my feet. But I didn’t notice, because my white hot rage was hotter than the burning lava, and the smell of my feet melting only gave me slight relief.

I’ve never been this angry before. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve already eaten and I don’t feel like crying. Burping might help.

Am I about to get my period? Or maybe I’ve finally arrived. Maybe I’ve suddenly become . . . a true New Yorker.

Spanish Emergency

Last Thursday at midnight, I was returning home from an improv comedy performance (my usual pastime) and the night nurse, Tia greeted me, alarmed -- “Ally! Where have you been! I’ve been trying to call you!”

I peered into the bedroom, and was met with a scene from CSI Miami. Ada lay on her bed, huge pools of clotted blood covering her pillow and soaked her nightie.

She’d had a nose bleed, the fourth big one in the last two days. She seemed unfazed, despite her white hair now a cherry red colour down one side. We decided to take her to the emergency room at the hospital, save her bleeding to death in her sleep. Tia insisted we call an ambulance for ease of getting her there. I was freaked out by calling 911, because I’d only ever heard of people calling in major emergencies, and I didn’t want my recorded voice to be played back on the news in the event of some controversial mishap, so Tia did it for me.

The ambulance officers were two young Latino males, in navy colored uniforms, with long black hair tied back in pony tails. Aunt-Ada commented loudly ‘I don’t know if they are a man or a woman!’ An insult that mortified me, but showed she still had a sense of humor. They strapped poor Ada to a stretcher and transported her against her will.

In the hospital her blood-pressure went through the roof, and suddenly one of the Ambulance officers hit on me so weirdly I was left speechless.

Grabbing a chair for me to sit next to Ada, he moved his head very close to mine and stared into my eyes with a gentle intensity that only men who are very confident in bed can pull off. Then he whispered in a deep Spanish accent “She’s got pink-eye." (dramatic pause) "Be careful, I wouldn’t want you to get it in your beautiful, brown, eyes.”

I felt like Antonio Banderez had just told me “You’re hot, but be wary of the growing threat of rabies in the area.”

Then the other ambulance officer came up and said – "He likes you."

Surely this is against the rules? I had no idea how to react, so I turned red and they left. We were in the emergency until 6.30am the next morning. Ada stayed awake the whole time, asking us how we could do this to her. Tia and I sat sleepily telling her to relax, and eavesdropping on the other more interesting medical emergencies happening around us.

I could hear slow dripping from behind a curtain, and later found out that it was coming from a guy whose arm would not stop bleeding. Another guy woke up and threw a fit because he was hungry and the emergency department apparently has no food, even though they charge him thousands of dollars to sleep there.

Half way through the night Ada needed to pee, and when I went to get someone to help take the bars off the bed and lower her to the ground, they simply handed me a bed-pan and some gauze as toilet paper. That was the low point of the night, until I found myself walking around with the said bedpan post-pee, with no where to put it but under my seat.

The next day we had to take Ada back so they could stuff a camera that behaved like an earth worm up her nose. Then they stuffed the left nostril with dissolvable packing, that leaked brown ooze.

But the oddest thing was, I couldn't seem to get those ambulance officer eyes out of my head. I wonder how he hits on girls with Swine flu.

Three ladies – PANTS DOWN - WTF?

In Austrialia, we girls have adopted many a habit from the yanks. Women’s rights for example (which we have taken and transformed into a woman’s right to behave like a man). Internet dating (which is gaining popularity), and reducing our carb intake in the evenings. Yet in many ways we manage to retain our English heritage. We still have our high-tea venues, our ability to tolerate endless cricket updates, and by god! --We still have our modesty!

So the Aussie’s who read this will understand my distress when the following happened...

I arrived home at 1am, and snuck into the bathroom, past the open bedroom where Ada and the weekend nurse - Betty, lay sleeping. I gave myself a ‘writer’s shower’ where I used baby-wipes on my pits and bits. (Going running in the morning, so can shower then.)

With no clean undies left, I opt for a dash back to my pj’s in my singlet only. But on my half-naked dash back, I glance into the bedroom to see Ada – on her potty, PANTS DOWN. I’m so quick, I don’t recall seeing the nurse until it’s too late. She's in the kitchen. She looks up in surprise – to see me PANTS DOWN, trotting towards my bag. But I’m in shock too – because indeed – she also has her PANTS DOWN, and is doing something with paper towels behind the bench.

WTF? How did three women, end up in a dark apartment at 1am with our PANTS DOWN, all at the same time?

The next morning, we all pretended that nothing had happened. This is probably a universal reaction, that transcends cultural differences.

Easy Targets are Fun!

When nice guys flirt with you, and you’re ‘not that into them,’ it can be hard to give signals that you’re not interested, without coming off as a total bitch. (Especially when they work in you’re building and you have to pass them every day.)

But when nice guys turn out to be fundamental Christians it’s so fucking easy to deter them, and you end up coming off cool and intelligent, although destined to burn in hell.


Just to clarify, I am no atheist. I believe in God/Universe, prayer, Oprah, the secret, jewish people, and I’ve had a weird experience that was either a freak co-incidence or a sign that God listens. But I’ll save that for another time. Where I love to get fundamentalist Christians, is on the gays! Which is exactly what I did the other night. I love explaining how natural it is and that we’re all on a scale. That it has been scientifically proven that women are more commonly swinging towards gay, and that if I haven’t found a guy that after a certain time, I would happily settle down with a woman (especially if it’s Ellen).

Needless to say, I’m excited about the huge difference in opinion that I now have with the man in my building. This 30 minute argument at 1am last Friday has paid dividends. Now when we pass, there is no need to stop and be polite, while he tells me how he works out seven days a week. Instead he gives me a smug half smile that he reserves for people who are eternally damned, and I give him a sweet flirty smile that says, ‘If we ever dated, I would leave you for a woman.’

Sucker!

Subway Dance Party!!!!

My subway trip home at 3am on Saturday night turned into a freestyle dance party!!!

Started by a random group of brothers and preppy-band geeks, we were all called up to dance.




There was nothing anyone could do - we all got up and danced.

Go Michael! Go Michael!



This chic was was wasted!

No video of me, you will have to use your imagination. But I worked the pole, then the guy in braids!
JK!!!


Eat your heart out http://soyouthinkyoucantram.blogspot.com/

You Know You're an Aussie in NY when... #5

Tampons! Where are the cute little Libra boxes with funky designs that change with the season? Instead there are only applicator types, that come individually wrapped in the same exact material they use to wrap chocolate bars in.

So now every time I open my handbag I have to fight the urge to rip open a brightly wrapped tampon and eat it.

Tody The Therapy Dog

I was really looking forward having a visit from Tody – the therapy dog. In fact it was going to be the highlight of my week!

Toby is a small dark hairy Daschund who gets so excited by you, he makes you believe that you must be the most amazing person in the world! He dishes out love generously and uses his entire body, to smother you with luscious licks from his eager little tongue. By the end of the visit you feel like a human Chupa Chup, that has been licked right down to the stick.

I’ve been hell bent on getting Ada a therapy dog ever since I noticed she likes it when a cat, dog or baby comes on the tv.
(A welcome distraction from her usual pissed off state.) It wasn’t until I found out Caribbean people are afraid of dogs, and Ada didn’t want any such visitors, that I realised this therapy dog was for me and no one else.

Is it selfish to want a little hairy sausage dog to come visit you on weekends? Even if it is under the guise that it’s helping your Aunt?

I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’m too transient to own one, plus I usually rent. (And the real reason is – I just can’t fathom picking up their warm poop from the ground when ever you take them for a walk.) So I would have to own an agoraphobic dog that didn’t poo, liked moving and could pass as a fish during house inspections.

Not likely. I think I’ll stick to my therapy dog.

Should Sleep More

I’ve averaged about 5 hours sleep for the last 4 nights in a row, which means I’ve weakened my immune system, and will probably get what ever cold or flu is going around. (At least that's what usually happens).

Oh fuck. That would be the KILLER SWINE FLU. That’s just great.