We're gonna need a bigger blog

Last night I finished painting, skyped a bit, and headed out to dinner with no hope of anything but my usual yogurt (raspberries and crème if you were wondering), granola bar, Nudie (this is like naked juice but way better) and bread with Nutella. I was ecstatic, as you can imagine, when I saw a world culture appreciation stage on the main city walk just a block from my home. On the stage were two Hispanic women in tight white pants and silver tube tops singing Gloria Estefan, and surrounding them were booths selling foods from all over the world.

I discounted anything that required a plate and fork as to messy (ie thai, chinese, etc) and was exited to see and Australian food tent. To my dismay, the Australian tent had been combined with the Mexican tent, and so instead of having both kinds of food, they were simply coupling Mexican food (nachos) with Australian beers (which are nothing to write home about, although I suppose I just did). *face turned up to the heavens, and shaking one fist* Will I never taste Australian food? The answer of course is that I have, but it is exactly the same as American food, sigh, oh well.

I finally settled on an empanada, but alas either I have been spoiled by Empanada’s Place in Culver city or Australian Chileans do not know how to make them, because it was not very good. What else was I to do then but go back 45 minutes later and try something else? I finally got a bratwurst on a Kaiser roll with saurkraut of course and a small beer (I do not know how people drink it in pints, I stomach feels full at just the thought) and it was DELICIOUS. I’m beginning to think that my favorite foods I have here are going to be non-Australian, but whatever. I sat with my sausage and beer, a little Gloria estefan in the background reading a book of short stories for adults by Roald Dahl called Tales of the Unexpected; almost all of them involve weird people, death, and dismemberment. In other words, they are as morbidly fascinating as his children’s books, but deal with adult topics like adultery, gambling, and murder.

When I finished this it was only 8 so I thought I’d have to go back to the hostel and find my friend Scott to play pool or dig up another book (I am down to 2, and the next used book sale is Thursday!) I entered my room to find a new roommate, and since we clearly both had nothing better to do I invited her to get coffee. We went to Starbucks and chatted about majors, hometowns, family, etc. She actually added sugar to the hot chocolate, which was incredible. She’s from Malaysia and she told me that in order to get a decent job there you have to have at least a masters degree, and that even to work in a factory or something you have to have a bachelors, and we think the job market in the US is competitive. After about an hour it was clear that we had exhausted conversation and so we went up to bed; in fact, I think we used up our conversational quota for the next few days because we haven’t spoken at all today, she’s eating instant noodles and watching some Indian action movie right now, all I can hear are the sound effects and grunts of people who have clearly just been punched.

Well, today I finally went for a run.

There were two main factors that instigated this activity, one that I am really bored. Deki has left town and all of my roommates are the quiet loner type (not that I can really criticize these traits, since I have them, but the problem is that since ALL four of us are the quiet loner type we sit and read and watch movies and don't socialize) Two,

Sorry, I completely lost my train of thought because one of the cleaning women just came up and started complaining to me about how the hostel has booked some rooms completely full and left some empty. A lot of it was mumbled and she spoke softly anyway like there was some sort of chance of her being overheard so i don't really know what the matter was, but she talked for at least 3 minutes without any interruption from me. Eventually she paused and waited for me to say something; I haven't really been able to follow her argument at this point, so I made an attempt at a sympathetic noise and she shuffled off.

Ok, I know I just started a paragraph earlier about how I'm lonely don't know anyone, etc etc, but I will completely contradict myself and complain here about being hassled. It seems like when I do make attempts to be social they don't work out, but when I am content and entertaining myself people feel the need to interrogate me. Just now, for instance, I was talking to people on line, a delicate process because of the time differences involved in communicating with Tennessee, California, and Scotland. I had headphones in, and I had started a blog post, what about this position says 'yes, I know the way to the pool' or 'please tell me how the hostel that has made me move rooms for no reason has problems with its booking process' ?

The same thing happened to me on Saturday when I went down to the lake to do some watercolor sketches. I'm pretty weak with watercolors and composition, so I thought I'd get some practice, but literally every five minutes a tourist would come up to ask me about myself or what I was painting, or they would just sneak up and watch over my shoulder (which makes you self-conscious i can tell you), or took a picture of me (without asking my permission). One woman actually sat down next to me on the ground and started asking about the composition, and then a bus-load of japanese tourists showed up.

So needless to say today when I had finished my run and shower today i grabbed a sandwich, dubbed a BLAST by the local bagel shop with the intention of doing some research for my fellow bacon lover Sonya: BLAST stands for Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado (or avo at the aussies call it, I swear they would fit right in in socal with all of their abbrievs) Swiss cheese, and Tomato.

I took this toasty piece of deliciousness to a nearby park (there are SO many parks here it’s amazing) along with a new book to pass the by Ann Raynd (Sp?) called We the Living. It’s this incredibly depressing book about how terrible communism was for the bourgeois and tragedy hangs over the plucky and brave 18 year old heroine so that it’s almost painful to read on because I know something awful is going to happen and there’s no guarantee it will be resolved. It has moments of brilliance though, so I keep reading like the crazy masochist I am, but at the same time vowing that I will never, under any circumstances, read Atlas Shrugged.
Anyway, I get all settled in the shade (yesterday I got sunburned), reading, and finally when I am at perfect peace with my depressing book, what happens? My phone rings, and what do I do? Naturally I LEAP for it, and it is my parents calling me from Skype, what a nice surprise!

After I chatted with the folks and read that book until i was incredibly depressed I did what any red-blooded bored American would do. I went shopping. Actually, I needed a padlock for my locker at the hostel and just HAPPENED to see these shorts on sale.

ANYWAY, the point of me relating my shopping is this, friends romans, countrymen, i saw, for six dollars, a hot pink straw trilby hat; it is mildly amazing, but the though of having to transport it is daunting, especially since no non-hellions will understand. what do you think, comrades, yay or nay?