The Last of Oz: Burgers, babies and brewskies
Australia, Sydney: Visa’s almost up. It’s time to freak out and cry a little and drink a lot.
As I get in work the Monday after my Bali trip, sick and full of regret from spending all my money on getting back in time for a shitty Monday shift, I get the sad news that my friend and manager, Aitor, is working his last week at the café. His biggest passion – brewing beer – is now going to be his profession too, and I’m super stoked for him, but still sad, that I’ll no longer be seeing a good mate every day – plus, he’s been a great boss. On Friday, all my co-workers head to Sweeney’s Hotel for beers and we get a bit too drunk in front of our bosses, who are paying for our drinks. I of course take advantage of this, and end up telling inappropriate stories and acting like a dingo. Eventually, our bosses head home and we are getting restless, so we make our way to Haymarket for a round of laser tag at my favourite arcade, City Amusement. It’s everyone against everyone in the laser tag arena, and in my drunken state, I forget all about being strategic. Instead I am running, rather than hiding, shooting at everything, including the staff observing the game, and missing the targets pretty much consistently. I get shot quite a few times myself by the others, who are just camping in one spot (unknown to me), which freaks my adrenaline-pumped self out even more, until I just sit myself in a corner and try to calm down for the last few minutes. In the end, I am still the one with the second most points, after Aitor. Take that!
Aitor’s farewell is just the first of many to come. Siobhan is also leaving, doing her farm work for the next three months, so she’s invited the girls out for one last session. We have dinner (and our own cheap wine) at Thairiffic and then head to Coogee Bay Hotel for some drinks. We end up in a room that’s usually closed off and eventually realize we’re at a Single’s Ball, with balloons and free photo booths and basically no guys. After abusing the photo booth, I get hangry and end up fighting with the girls because I just want to go home and eat and I can’t wait even just one second for anyone to give me their key. Classic Christine.
After putting it off like 3 times because of food poisoning or vomiting just before an appointment, I finally get to donate blood, and my circulation is a lot better than the last time, so it’s a quickie. The nurse and I just watch TV and make fun of Nicole Kidman clapping at the Oscars one moment and then I’m being force-fed cheese, crackers and cookies the next, and I get to walk out of Red Cross with a bandage that makes me look like a total badass. I seriously recommend doing this, because free snacks are great.
As someone who is hopeless around people who have grown out of their diapers, being alone around people that are still in diapers seems terrifying to me. Until Harri came into the world I had never held a baby, let alone fed one or changed its diapers. Now Harri has turned 7 months and we’ve done pretty much everything together, except be alone and in public. So of course I am thrown into this challenge after Sharon agrees to babysitting and then finds out she has to work late at the last minute. I agree to meet Darren and Rhi at the junction where they are having dinner before going to see a movie. I fail miserably at opening doors and pushing the pram at the same time, but Harri, who just woke up after a nap, is smiling at me and laughing at all my silly talk, which is basically Simlish. I am talking to him for 40 minutes straight until Sharon finishes work just so he won’t stop smiling. I can’t deal with a crying baby right now. I walk around Westfield with the little charmer in the pram and I’m constantly talking in my obnoxious baby voice and he’s loving every minute of it. When Sharon finishes work, we give him a bit of food and head to the bus stop. The line is 3 years long. We give up, being slightly intimidated by the challenge of bringing a potentially sobbing child on a full bus, and we decide to walk all the way home to Bondi beach. As it gets darker and colder, Harri’s mood isn’t as great and he probably just wants the warm bottle of milk waiting for him at home. I sing to him, which always seems to help, and we learn that he loves Baby Got Back and I’m F*#?!ing Matt Damon – horribly offensive songs, that I am singing to a baby, very much in public. Don’t care, it works. We finally get home and Justin and Henry join us and we have ice cream and play with Harri, who is just full of energy by now, even though it’s getting late. We are horrible babysitters.
Henry invites us all to Yum Cha that weekend, which is pretty much Chinese Brunch with a rotating plate in the middle of the table, and waitresses bringing around trolleys of different dumplings etc. Darren, Rhi, Harri and a few other couples joins us. While Harri’s loving life, eating dumplings that are fed to him with chopsticks and receiving all my attention in between eating, 4-year-old Charlotte is under the table playing a tiger eating our feet or bringing me some of her dessert, because she is thoughtful like that. I’ve got this kid thing down. ‘
After too much food (including chicken feet!), a few of us go for coffee, and Henry then drops me off at home, where I contemplate taking a nap before we head to the Mardi Gras parade. Instead, Darren and Rhi bring Harri over and we have coffee and Harri crawls for the very first time, right here in our apartment! This boy is growing up so fast, and it’s amazing being there to witness a first.
We end up being a bit too late and lazy to walk all the way into the city for the parade in time and instead we are drinking on our balcony in our get-ups and listening to a Pride playlist.
Eventually, we end up at Coach and Horses for a few drinks with too much glitter in my eyebrows – or perhaps not enough. I’m sorry to have missed it, as last year’s parade was an amazing experience, but ultimately I am a lazy bastard, who likes to drink within walking distance of my bed.
The next day, The Spot festival is happening down the street, and just like last year, I decide it would be a shame not to go. Tanya and I head down for some yummy street food, followed by drinks at Bat Country.
We sit down at a communal table where we meet a French girl, who is also planning to head over to the fortune tent across the street, where $10 will give us a 10 minute tarot card reading. After standing in line for half an hour, I walk into the tent and sit down at a small, round table, with a thin woman with a permanent angry look on her face sitting across from me. I have no questions, nothing I can really think of talking about, but she doesn’t ask. She makes me shuffle a big stack of cards and divide them into three piles. Then, I choose one of the piles. She pulls out a few cards and lays them out in front of me and starts reading. Much to my surprise, she ends up reassuring me about a lot of things that have been on my mind for so long, that I’ve almost forgotten they are a part of me now. She tells me that I am facing a big change in my life, travel or work. As I am about to head to New Zealand and then start school once I go home, I nod in agreement. She tells me that it will be the right choice, that it will shape and strengthen my identity. I feel relieved, being pretty uncertain which path to go down in life and in my future career. I will meet interesting people on this path, she says. She then asks me to draw a card that hasn’t been taken from the pile I chose. She looks at the cards silently for what seems like ages, her right hand resting against her chin. Without looking up, she says “there is a man in your life”.
Wrong. “Do you like men or women,” she asks, because everyone thinks I am a lesbian. She keeps insisting that the cards are telling her there is a man in my life, and she believes this person will come along on the path I am about to walk down, if he isn’t already there. It will be a real soul connection, bla bla bla. You know what, I don’t believe in this kind of thing, but sadly I have to admit that I find some comfort in the fact that a tarot reader isn’t telling me I will die alone. Maybe this soul connection is with a cat named Purrmione that I will end up adopting in 6 months time. Lastly, she tells me that I am annoying someone a great deal lately. Most accurate thing anyone has ever said about me.
Afterwards, we have another drink at Bay Country, where we are approached by two older guys that talk about the weather and public transportation for a long time, and we finally excuse ourselves and head to The Spanish Fly, where we are enjoying some live music and jugs of sangria.
Meanwhile, I have started a burger appreciation group, also known as The Best Burger Hunt. We are still working on that name. Since my biggest passion is probably burgers, Sharon and I make it our mission to try and find the best burger ever. As the burgers at Down’N’Out are currently holding the top spot, closely followed by Burgers Anonymous, I have very high expectations. We try out The Burger Project in Bondi, which has been on our bucket list for a couple of months. We try the bacon and cheese burger with a small serve of fries, which is super delicious and juicy and crispy, although the secret sauce isn’t as prominent as I wanted it to be.
Even though we are super full after our meal, we insist on having dessert – we are ladies, after all. After I down my salted caramel thick shake, I am so full I am almost in pain, moaning in foetal position on the couch for the rest of the night. We decide to re-visit Burgers Anonymous the next week, but after the “long” walk from Town Hall to Oxford Street, we see that it’s closed for the next hour. Too lazy to walk back and too hungry to admit defeat, we find a great alternative in Big Daddy’s Burger Bar across the street. Very retro and American, but a little too much on the grease. The curly fries with cheese, sour cream and bacon are a hit, though, and so is my super thick cookies and cream shake. I may have a problem.
I have a go at a vegan cheeseburger when Ellie takes me to Lord of the Fries, which is actually pretty delicious. The consistency of the patty is very much like falafel, but the flavour comes pretty close to beef. I am also pretty surprised by the vegan alternative to cheese and mayo – two things that a burger simply must have, in my opinion.
The last place I have time for, is Goodtime burgers in Bondi, which Sharon and I visit for their $10 lunch deal after we’ve been scavenging the shops for vacuum bags and other travel things. I have the Royale with cheese, which is amazing, and shout out to the fries too! I’d say it comes pretty close to the Down’N’Out, except its pickles are fairly spicy, but I welcome that.
By now, it must come as no surprise that I have gotten seriously fat.