On Drinking

Going out in Australia? Well, my friends, there are two rules.
1. You must consume alcohol
2. You must obey rule 1.

Being a non-drinker in Australia is kind of like being a disappointment to the entire nation. Or the loud person in the library. Everyone stops and GLARES at you, until you conform.

My life’s soundtrack, when I’m not conforming, sounds like: “That better be straight vodka, Ally!”
“Come on! Have a glass!”
“What! Not drinking? You soft cock!”

Due to my ‘asperge’ nature, I never knew to use the art of ‘deflecting with humor’.

When I refuse a glass of wine at a family event, my Cousin will look at me as if I’m a leper. I can hear his inner voice permeating the walls of his eardrums... “What’s wrong with you! While you are a guest at my house you will get pissed with everyone else!! You will participate in sports!; talk about how drunk you’ve been on previous occasions; and sing the best god damn music this world has to offer! (Hunters & Collectors or anything by Rob Thomas.) After all, that is what LIFE IS ALL ABOUT… Getting Drunk!!”


I’ve never really felt like we could find common ground here. (And I would rather eat a steaming cup of poo before enduring another minute of Throw Your Arms Around Me.)

Never the less. I manage to press on. Not drinking, but making up for it with my uncanny ability to eat. To me, eating is what life is all about. Imagine if I offered my Cousin a piece of sushi, and he said ‘No thanks,’ very politely, and then I said “What the fuck?! What’s the matter with you! Have some fucking sushi you soft-cock! Do you even know what you’re missing out on? Everyone else is doing it - and you’ll feel this amazing contentment in your gut afterwards. And we can talk about films and swap recipes.” Whatever.

Then he would know what it feels like. But then I would be sinking to his level. The truth is I would enjoy drinking if my body would let me. But it doesn’t. I’m not genetically programmed for it, and I’ve been ignoring it for too long, trying to please others and fit in.

“But wait a second!” you say. “Didn’t I see you at Fridays every week for three years during college, pissed off your nut, trying to force your way on stage to play tambourine with the band?”

“I heard you stole a table, peed in a gutter, ran naked around an oval, spooned two guys overnight on a cricket pitch and hitched a ride with a security guard before toilet papering a car.”

Yes. All me. I was a big drinker in college, and the only logical explanation was that I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. In order to survive, constant boozing was my only option.

I once MADE a lovely friend, lie on my bed and take ‘Goon lay-backs’; where I held a bag of cheap cask wine over her open mouth and free poured for 30 seconds… or in her case, until she spewed.

I feel terribly bad when I look back on this incident, because I clearly remember that she did not want to drink at all. But, like an abducted child soldier in Uganda, I felt I had to pass on the cycle of abuse.

Skills acquired by most Aussies prior to turning 18 include: opening beer bottles using the soft underbelly of your forearm; creating a shelter and pillow from a box of cask wine; and sculling (chugging) like a mo fo! FYI - I can scull a pot of beer faster than most grown men. Having a boat race? You want me on your team! But just don’t go to the toilet’s afterwards, because there you’ll find me, yakking up my guts. Or, as my brother fondly calls it – “Parking a Tiger.”

TBC......

Things That Are Disturbing...

And yet - I cannot look away!

- Spiders mating
- PDA's
- Anything on E!
- Cameltoes
- Porn

Observation

I'm pretty sure the 'spa' on the way up the stair-case to my writer's room is a one-lady brothel.

Unless it's common for men in NY to go for a massage and facial at around midnight.

Yumazing

Finally, after months of being bombarded by one of the most effective marketing campaigns I’ve ever seen, I bought one.





I don’t even need to mention what it is. Unless you are blind, and getting someone to read this for you.






I bought it purely to reward the marketing geniuses of this ad. Just like when Aussies considered drinking Carlton Draught after the big beer ad.

J-Rad does NY

I stood at the airport arrivals holding up a makeshift sign with my little brother, J-Rad’s name on it. It read “Loser.” And for once, I spelt it right! He was only slightly amused by this. My humor is like a bad dad-joke compared to his crazy-f*edup mind.

J-Rad and I never say “I love you.” We don’t have to. It runs deeply and loyally through our veins.


This means no matter how irritated we get with each other, we are bonded together by something much stronger than our love / hate of one another, and that’s our love / hate for our parents and extended family. (But more on that some other time.)

J-Rad and I have spent the past 11 days: eating and touring New York on an epic scale. If blisters on feet, dark circles under eyes, and protruding gunts don’t convince you, here are some photos:







A typical conversation during our trip went as follows:

J-Rad: "Stop fucking apologizing to people, when they are the ones running into you."
Ally: "Stop being such a cunt."
(silence)
J-Rad: "Man, how weird were our parents when we were young."
Ally: "At least they didn’t beat us."
J-Rad: "I could go some food. Buffalo wings?"
Ally: "Yeah, and some mozzarella sticks."
(We also have food in common.)



Travelling around with a sibling of the opposite sex can be a problem. Everyone assumes you are a couple. At bars, we planned to be each other’s ‘wing-men’, but ended up cock / box blocking each other instead. People would say incredibly inappropriate things, like: “You two on your honeymoon?”

This would cause us to pause, and choke on the vomits in our mouths.



One guy on the street said “you never know, she [pointing to me] might get pregnant, you’ll have a family to look after” as he thrust a designer furniture catalogue in J-Rad’s hand. We kept walking past him…
J-Rad: "WTF! Why would he say that to anyone?"
Ally: "You should have yelled 'she’s my sister you sick-fuck!' ”
J-Rad: "Yeah…. 'We use protection!' "
Ally/J-rad: "Ewwe! Fucking wrong."
J-Rad: "I’m hungry. Turkey burger?"
Ally: "Yep."



The thing you have to love about J-Rad, is he loves to cross the line of human decency. Especially around family. What comes out of his mouth could send him to jail / hell / a mental institute, yet to friends and family it is highly amusing. This is precisely why we went and saw Bruno together, and laughed so hard, we nearly puked up our milkshakes, when recalling it on the subway home.

He also knows I’m a feminist, and prays on it every chance he gets. “I’d smash her,” he’ll say, pointing to every girl we pass. I point out guys I’d smash, but it just never sounds as wrong.

Speaking of wrong, on J-Rad’s first night, he ditched my comedy plans for a hostel piss-up, where along with a random Sweed and a Belgian backpacker, committed to a house party the next night. I went because I was dead certain the address didn’t exist and I wanted to prove my NY street-smarts. Astonishingly, we found the party.

It was a small flat, with disco lights, and a host in the middle of the room playing DJ on his macbook. Passing the kitchen, we saw a girl throwing up in the sink. Then two people passed out in the living room.

This seemed to amuse J-Rad no end. He came back from the flat tour exclaiming – “There are four people passed out in the bedroom.” As he said this, the girl who had been spewing in kitchen, crawled underneath a large table at the entrance, and passed out on a pile of shoes.



As it was only 10pm, I came to the conclusion that
1. These guys have had their drinks spiked with date-rape drugs, or;
2. Even worse, they were all teenagers, unable to gauge their body tolerance to alcohol.

The later was confirmed when a cute young guy started chatting to me. After a while, I asking what he was doing in NY.

“Oh, I’m still in high-school,” he said, then “Why? How old are you?”

I looked at his baby little face and thought about how gross it would be, to be honest at a time like this. The thought of being at a party with people over a decade younger than me, made me feel alarmingly aware that I needed to leave.

However, my weakness for watching uncomfortable situations, plus my inability lie to someone’s face, took over.

“I’m 28.” I said.
“Oh.” He said. Silence.

I quickly swapped my [root] beer for a Budweiser, and proceeded to join in a game of Kings. We left shortly after, mainly because everyone else had also passed out.

I ended up getting J-Rad back, by taking him shopping in the gay district, where he got hit on by an endless stream of male store assistants. For some reason, they must have known I was his sister. Yay!