World Wide Jeb

Menstruation Cafe, and Other Things That are Wrong With Sydney

March 29, 2000

Here I am, in Sydney. I haven’t updated my journal for about a week or so because I’ve been moving up here, so I’ll go over the past week. (This may be my longest journal entry yet – it’s the journal equivalent of when you get constipation for ages, and then you finally… er… you get the idea).

The last time I updated, it was the night before St Patricks Day, and also the night before my last day at work. The Rock and Ms. J decided to take me out to lunch seeing as it was my last day, except The Rock kept asserting that we weren’t going to go to a restaraunt ‘that serves up that yuppie shit’. The Rock rang up this restaraunt to find out what they had on the menu…

The Rock: Oi. Have you got meat pies there?
Chef: Yes, we have meat pies.
The Rock: Okay, ta. (hangs up phone)

So when we got there and The Rock ordered her non-yuppie-food-meat-pie, she was expecting something along the lines of a Four-N-Twenty pie. But no. She got a gourmet pie with mushrooms and delicacy meats in it. And no, she wasn’t impressed.

The Rock: Excuse me. Excuse me!!
Waiter: Oh. What’s the matter?
The Rock: I ordered a MEAT pie.
Waiter: Yes, that’s our pie right there.
The Rock: Whaaaaat? You can’t tell me this shit is a meat pie.
Waiter: Oh. You must be confused. We don’t do things by half here.
The Rock: Huh?
Waiter: This is a gour-maaaaay pie.
The Rock: What a load of crap. I’m not paying for this.
Me: (stifles laugh)
Ms. J: (pretends she’s not with us and continues to eat her gour-maaaaay pizza)

In the end, The Rock told the waiter where to go, and she took me to McDonalds where we had Quarter Pounder meals. I’m really, really going to miss The Rock. She thinks like I do. We had to leave poor Ms. J by herself in the restaurant too.

However, it’s lucky that we went to McDonalds…

*****

As The Rock and I walked up to McDonalds, we noticed this guy crossing over the wrong side of the road, and his face seemed familiar to me.

Me: Hey, do you know that guy?
The Rock: I’ve seen him somewhere…
Me: Maybe someone I went to school with or something…
The Rock: Ahhhh! It’s that comedian! The one who played the priest on ‘Fast Forward’!
Me: Ahhhh it’s Michael Veitch!
The Rock: That’s right, he’s doing gigs in Geelong at the moment.
Me: Well, he’s certainly not setting a very good example crossing the wrong side of the road.

You may or may not remember, when Michael Veitch used to do skits on Fast Forward playing his priest character, at the end of every sermon, he’d say “I think there’s something in that for all of us”. So as Michael Veitch crossed the wrong side of the road towards us, I couldn’t help but say…

Me: Comedians crossing the wrong side of the road… I think there’s something in that for all of us.

He gave me the filthiest look. Has anyone else got any other tales of celebrity harassment? Let me know.

*****

It was certainly a good move leaving my job on St Patricks Day. I got shouted so many drinks it wasn’t funny. I’m still wondering if I should have asked for a half bint or not.

I’m really going to miss mucking around with Ms. J, The Rock, and the other people I worked with. I’ll still be in contact with them by phone I guess… but then again I’m sure to make new friends up here in Sydney.

However, my sister was celebrating her birthday part on St Patricks Day. Let me tell you – it’s not exactly pleasant coming home after a night of drinking and feeling slightly seedy, to find a gaggle of 14 year old teenage girls screaming and running around everywhere. However, my sister’s friend OD Girl was there.

OD Girl is someone who genuinely amuses me. She has this unique talent in that she can make herself pass out if she eats too much sugar. I jumped to the conclusion that she must be diabetic, but apparently not. She just eats sugar and passes out. She was doing it for everyone else at the party that night like some sort of bizarre party trick.

*****

After I managed to escape my sister and her medically abusive friends, I got a phone call from my friend in Perth and the bisexual girl he happened to be partying with that night. I have a feeling she was drunk. Very drunk. She got on the phone and basically started screaming at me. Bear in mind I’d never talked to this girl before.

Me: Um. So how are you.
Bisexual girl: Pretty pissed off. Very pissed off.
Me: Okay. Why’s that?
Bisexual girl: Hey. Hang on. I’m going to ask you a question.
Me: Er. Go ahead.
Bisexual girl: Do you like guys or girls?
Me: Sexually?
Bisexual girl: Yes.
Me: Guys.
Bisexual girl: Not girls?
Me: No.
Bisexual girl: That’s why you’re fucked.
Me: Excuse me?
Bisexual girl: You’re fucked. You’re just missing out, man. You have to try both ways.
Me: I’ll stick to guys, thanks all the same. I also have a boyfriend in Sydney who wouldn’t be too happy if I suddenly started to screw round with women.
Bisexual girl: (in an apparent attempt at a seamless change of subject) I was going to have sex with a woman tonight but I realised I hate women.
Me: Well, go for a guy then.
Bisexual girl: BUT I FUCKING HATE GUYS!
Me: Well, that’s pretty much the whole human race there that you hate.

I am yet to meet a bisexual person I understand.

The next morning I was woken up by my phone ringing again.

Me: (rolling over in bed and answering phone half asleep) Mwwwwrgh?
Indian man: Is this Lisa?
Me: Mrrgh? No.
Indian man: Oh, could I speak to Lisa then?
Me: I think you’ve got the wrong number mate.
Indian man: No, she gave me this number (reads out number).
Me: Yeah, that’s my number, but there’s no Lisa here.
Indian man: Lisa! She lives in Anderson Street in Torquay!
Me: Well, she might, but I don’t. And this isn’t Lisa’s phone number.
Indian man: You’re covering for her, aren’t you? I met her last night at the Geelong Hotel and she gave me this phone number.
Me: I think you’ve been duped, man..
Indian man: Goddamit! Tell Lisa she’s got flat tits anyway. (hangs up)

I don’t have any idea who Lisa is. Honestly.

*****

On the Tuesday after St Patricks Day, it was time for me to leave Torquay and start driving up to Sydney. As I left Torquay, I thought I’d better fill up my petrol tank, so I pulled into a Mobil. I then witnessed a very strange sight. All the mechanics in the garage at the service station were standing around, listening to jazz. Music appreciation is not something I generally associate with mechanics, but they were all standing around in their overalls with their ears cocked towards an AM radio station in some sort of hypnotic state.

I mentioned in my last journal entry that I was planning to go to Violet Town on my way up to Sydney. Violet Town is the hometown of shite Aussie band Killing Heidi, and I was going to investigate this strange place, but I would have had to go 10 minutes out of my way. And I would never go out of my way for a band like Killing Heidi.

I bet their second album flops. They might even have to (shock) resort to a fourth chord in their songs!

As I was driving up the Hume Highway to Sydney, I noticed that I had a kombi van full of tourists driving in front of me. Every time I went past a sign that said something like ‘Koalas – next 20km’ they’d immediately glue all their faces to the windows. Any sort of sign that appeared by the side of the road, they’d all smack their faces to the windows again. I reckon you could’ve had a sign with a silhoutte of a giant turd on the side of the road and they’d still be looking.

I’ve noticed that every country town has the same sign as you enter the area: “Welcome to (insert town name here) – Wine Country!’ Every town seems to think they’re wine country.

I ended up staying the night in Albury, which is on the state border between New South Wales and Victoria. I stayed in the cheapest motel in the town for the night (literally), and I swear, after a good hour of searching, I still couldn’t find the light switch in the room. I had to make do with bedside lamps. And I couldn’t figure out how to turn the air conditioning off.

Being a Victorian at heart, I love Albury – even though it’s a New South Wales town. Why? Well, being so close to the Victorian border, they have Victorian newspapers, Victorian TV stations, Victorian food – it’s like a home away from home. Any town in Australia outside of Victoria that does things Victorian style is fine by me.

Have you ever noticed how many country town names sound like sexually transmitted diseases? (And Pringles as well – that’s something I’ve always thought sounded like an STD)

*****

I’m proud to say that I’m now living in the western suburbs of Sydney, and I’m surrounded by bogans (also known locally as westies). Basically, beer swilling, Metallica listening, bong smoking, dole bludging dead heads who wear flanelette and tight jeans – usually with a mullet haircut.

It really amused me to see that at our local Liquorland (doesn’t that sound like a fabbo theme park waiting to happen?) store, all the classic bogan drinks are locked up in glass cabinets. Sure, you have easy access to wine, gin, liquers and many other drinks – but if you’re after Jim Beam, Jack Daniels or Wild Turkey you have to get staff to unlock the glass cabinets for you. Obviously a high theft area. Poor bogans.

*****

So now I’ve arrived in Sydney and I’m very happily living with Adam. He really is the coolest guy. Anyway, in the first few days I moved up here I decided to catch the train into the city and have a look around, and familiarise myself with the place. I was happily minding my own business at the train station, when…

15 year old girl: Excuse me. (giggle giggle)
Me: Yeah?
15 year old girl: Look at my friend here. Does her pink skirt go with her black top?
Me: (who has no bloody idea about fashion) Black goes with anything, doesn’t it?
15 year old girl: Ooooooh, see…. he waaaaants you!
Me: (thinking: no I don’t, I’m no paedophile, and I’m also gay)

Strangely enough, some people seem to think that gay person equals paedophile waiting to happen. Might have something to do with current affairs shows on TV.

*****

Adam does this thing to all his baseball caps. He bends the peak of the cap so that it’s sort of round and curves upwards, rather than just going straight across. He did this to the cap I was wearing into the city. I don’t really care what my cap looks like, but there’s now one problem. Adam’s made my cap aerodynamic. Now whenever a train arrives at the train station and I’m wearing my cap, the train usually whips it off my head and flings it down the train platform.

I saw a typical footyhead start reading some NRL magazine as I got on the train. Bear in mind it’s well over thirty minutes from where I live to travel to the city, and the footyhead only managed to read three pages of the magazine. But he had no neck so I really should go easy on him.

So I arrived in the city and had a bit of a walk around. The city still confuses me geographically. I know some areas of the city when I’m in them, but I just don’t know how they all connect up. It’s kind of like trying to put a jigsaw together on acid.

I’ve also started job hunting, and there’s an incredible choice of jobs in this city. In fact, it’s almost overwhelming – I didn’t even know where to start. It’s the opposite situation of what it was like jobhunting in Geelong.

*****

On the Sydney CityRail ticket machines, it warns ominously ‘Do not insert more than 10 coins!’ Why? Will it explode?

My old flatmate used to pick on me because as soon as food hit its use by date, I always made sure I threw it out. Typical scenario:

Flatmate: STAY BACK!
Me: What?
Flatmate: BE CAREFUL!
Me: What’s going on?
Flatmate: THIS MARGARINE PASSED ITS USE BY DATE YESTERDAY – IT COULD EXPLODE!

*****

So the only places I’ve really been to in Sydney are the city and the suburb I live in. Oh, and I also went to the big shopping centre in Parramatta. This place is almost obscene. You can feel it spawning new shops just walking around in the mall, it’s that huge. I reckon jumping off the fifth floor of the mall onto the central stage would be a spectacular suicide.

I kindly bought Adam this CD he wanted at Parramatta (Re-Rewind by The Artful Dodger). I wish I hadn’t have. He hasn’t stopped playing it since.

When I got back from Parramatta I noticed there was a very cute guy delivering new Yellow Pages up and down the street. I sort of innocently followed him towards where I live, taking my time, and made sure he dropped off my copy as I unlocked my door. (I refuse to make ‘he could yellow my pages any day’ jokes)

I noticed in the Parramatta shopping centre, there was an unusual glasses store. What struck me as strange was that all the staff who worked in the glasses store wore identical glasses, as if it was part of their uniform. Do they all have eye problems? Is having visual disablities a pre-requisite for this sort of job? Is it for show? I want to know!

I’ve been saying for a long time that the Millenium Convenience Store has the worst store name in Sydney (and I’ve been told by Sue that this store is still in operation, unfortunately). However, I’ve found a far worse name for a store: ‘SFC – Sydney Fried Chicken’. I dare you to find a worse name (and if you do, let me know).

I love walking past stores and smelling delicious food. I was walking past a store where I live and smelt delicious pizza coming from inside. I was a little disgusted and taken aback when I realised it wasn’t a pizza shop but a tanning salon. Mmm, burning flesh…

*****

I got asked for some money the other day by some dodgy looking young woman. Got asked for 85 cents.

Now think about it. She’s really calculated this out. Most people hear ‘Can I have a dollar?’ and think pah, a dollar, too much. 95 cents and 90 cents still sound like a rather high amount.

But 85 cents – why, that’s the maximum amount you can get while still sounding like you don’t want a lot at all. I think this woman must have been a homeless marketing student.

*****

I love it when I catch people eating Gaytime icecreams. Endless source of jokes. I’m amazed anyone has the guts to buy Gaytime icecreams nowadays. Although I guess the jokes aren’t quite so funny if the person is gay anyway.

I’m still getting used to where Adam keeps everything in his place. For instance, the other day I couldn’t find a dishwashing brush scrubby thing. I was tempted to use the toilet brush instead but thought better of it.

I’ll also have to start to learn how to cook. I’ve been told before that I can ruin a bowl of cereal – and the person wasn’t joking (’You put in too much milk!’). I tried cooking some spaghetti bolognese, which turned out kinda dry, but I realised I’d stuffed that up, too. See, we put the mince in the sink to thaw it out, and I didn’t use all the meat. I just left the rest in the sink and thought to myself, I’ll put in the freezer. But I never did. I forgot. I looked in the sink the next day and here’s this festering pile of mince meat.

I want to get a toasted sandwich maker. A jaffle thingo. I’ve got my eye on a Black and Decker jaffle maker, because Black and Decker is the man’s brand. (Isn’t it?)

*****

Because I’ve moved out of Victoria, my RACV roadside assistance membership is sorta useless, but luckily you can transfer your RACV membership over to NRMA (the New South Wales roadside assistance mob). NRMA have made me angry because they put me on hold for ages when I called them and forced me to listen to Celine Dion (they should make customised versions of her songs, eg ‘My Car Will Go On’). In some sort of vague revenge against them, I’ve figured out a scam.

It only costs $50 to join the RACV for a year, yet $83 for the NRMA. However, the NRMA will honour any RACV membership. So… if you live in New South Wales and know someone in Victoria, get an RACV membership using your friend’s Victorian address for only $50, then transfer your membership over to the RACV. Ha! Don’t fuck with me, NRMA.

*****

I quite like where I’m living now. I live in a block of units amongst some very interesting people. The woman next door seems afraid of the outside world. I always see her cowering inside her unit or peering out the window. Then there’s the two guys across the hall – both of them have broken left arms. I’d love to know what the story is there. And then of course… there’s Wezza.

I’ve already mentioned a little bit about Wezza in previous journal entries. Basically, this guy is the biggest bogan/westie out. (A big westie, hence the name Wezza). Adam’s told me a few stories about him, but I’m yet to see him in person. I can tell he’s a real bogan though – he listens to Metallica non stop and he plays guitar badly. His mates always seem to be hanging around the front of his place, though. (It’s guys like Wezza which force western suburb Liquorland stores to hide bourbon drinks in cabinets).

Just when I thought that the mullet was the height of bogan hair fashion, I saw something horrifying today. One of Wezza’s mates was hanging around outside the front of his unit, sporting a rat’s tail that went halfway down his back. Rat’s Tail Man honestly scares me.

always seem to see a lot of bogan guys hanging out at the local service station near here. If the owners of that servo had any brains they’d start marketing towards the locals. They should put up signs like ‘Sniffable lighter fluids sold here!’ and ‘We even sell you ciggies if you’re in school uniform!’

*****

I’ve been going for quite a few interviews through a very wicked recruitment agency. Basically, the agency I’m going through is fantastic, the woman case managing me is really coming up with the goods, and I’m going for loads of interviews for jobs that I actually want to do. I really want to get a job soon because I feel kind of bad when Adam goes off to work and I just sit here.

So anyway, the day I had my initial interview with the recruitment agency, I thought I’d better spiff myself up a bit. I noticed my goatee needed a bit of a trim, so I shaved one side of it so it looked a bit more even. Then I realised I’d shaved too much off and had to shave some more off the other side to balance it out. Which in turn took the other side out of balance. By the time I’d finished I had this sort of triangle goatee. But it wasn’t even an equilateral triangle.

Then I started sweating like a pig on the train because there was no air conditioning and it was in the high 20’s. I’m sure I made a great impression, this big sweatball hulking into the recruitment agency’s offices for an interview.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a restaraunt in the city called The Menstruation Cafe. On closer inspection, I realised it was actually called the Manhattan Cafe. Visual dislexia, anyone?

I got a Quarter Pounder meal at a McDonalds in the city, and was asked if I wanted to eat here or take away. I said take away – but despite this, they served up my meal on a tray. I felt like walking out the door with my meal on the tray anyway to see if anyone would do anything.

I can’t get over how many people smoke indoors here in Sydney! I was in Wynyard train station and it was unbelievable, everyone smokes indoors here! I should pull out a bong and see what happens next time I’m there.

I’ve got another job interview tomorrow, but this interview hasn’t been arranged through the cool recruitment company. It’s for some crap job I don’t even want! Bargh. At least I can try and make myself look incredibly crap and not worry. I should just give smart arse answers to the interviewer’s questions:

Manager of company: So what would your ultimate goal be, in having a career here?
Me: I’d like to score roots. Lots of roots. They have to be blokes, too, by the way.

*****

In Victoria, the main sport is Australian Rules Football. In New South Wales, most people seem to support the “sport” rugby league. I don’t really understand rugby, I suppose I’ll have to start following it now I’m in Sydney, but my heart’s with the AFL really. (I won’t tell you which team. You’ll laugh).

I still can’t get over some of the stranger NRL team names, like the Eels and the Roosters. Then again, as Adam pointed out to me, the AFL has a few strange team names too, like the Crows and the Saints (not a very scary team name, really).

There’s just so much NRL here. Well, I say any ball game not played on an oval ground is crap. Look at all the great oval ground sports: AFL, and… er… um….