Fruit Loops and Looney Toons

Work is slowly making me crazy. Or crazier.
Not in the white-room-with-padded-walls sort of way. More like the eccentric, squirrely way. I've got a nice little group of friends at Orbit that are all equally as nutty in there own forms and fashions. Emma, Richard, and I have a nice three-amigos thing going on and when you add the Chefs into the mix its hilarity at its finest.
Case in point number one: Richard's Birthday.
Richard is a hairy Irishman. At no point upon meeting him would you consider him feminine or inclined to wear pastels because he's not and he doesn't. Emma and I, the self-designated party planners, took these facts into consideration and decided that a pink cake with "Happy Birthday Princess" would be the best way to go. We decided that, since I don't have a culinary bone in my body, Emma would handle the baking and I would shop for presents.
Never ever go to the $3 Store in search of knick-knacks without a plan of action. I was overwhelmed. Glittery hair clips, paint-by-numbers, key-chains.... After a few brief stints of hyperventilation, I bought one electric pink picture frame, one yellow ducky wash cloth, lavender ear warmers, and one stuffed puppy key chain I appropriately named 'Fancy'. I don't think I have to go into detail about how much Richard's presents and cake were appreciated.
The birthday plan was to go to Takapuna for drinks and stay at Emma's. Because I am perpetually scatterbrained, I forgot to ask for Richie's birthday off and had to work that night and the next day. I was able to leave early and met them in Takapuna at the first pub. Nothing too extraordinary about the first stop, a few glasses of wine. We move on to a karaoke bar to meet Emma's friend Norm (who is hilarious and is being forced to come out for my birthday as well). I had sworn off karaoke a long time ago and I didn't plan on making any exceptions for Richard. Emma and I found a subsitute to sing 'Happy Birthday' to him as we contently watched from the back of the room.
At no point was I inclined to sing 'Build Me Up Buttercup', but that was before Bicardi 151 and the Pink Drink got involved. It is unknown what is in Pink Drink. It's a cross between a Daiquiri and a Slurpie? It spins around premade in a machine and is served in irridescent green martini glasses. Plastic, of course. Nevertheless, pink drinks down the hatch and Emma and Erin get on stage. I would like to tell myself that no one noticed, but taking into consideration there where 7 people in the bar, including our lot, the probability of that is unlikely.
As a successful night comes to a close, Emma tells me when are going to get eggs benedict from a cafe that Norm works at in the morning. I can't remember but I must have been oddly excited. That night I dream Anne, a friend from work, steals my eggs benedict from me while I am out of the room. I could see this happening, like a movie, but could do nothing about it. A nightmare to say the least, I am still holding a grudge.
Sorry, Anne, but you knew I was hungry.

Foreign Territory.

I'm new to this.
Blogging.
....
......
I moved to New Zealand.
I moved here because I had no idea what I wanted to do after college. I'm a 22 year old Ole Miss graduate in the height of a recession (aka depression). Why not? Let's put that career stuff on hold for a while.

I feel like most of my best decisions have been spur of the moment; I think New Zealand was finalized in, at most, three hours. The synopsis of the conversation goes like this:
Anna- What are you going to do after you graduate?
Me- I don't know. I want to go back to London.
Anna- Me too, lets do it.
Me- Ok.
Anna- Let's go somewhere different . . . How about New Zealand?
Me- Sounds good to me, let's go.
We told our parents. We bought visas. We bought plane tickets. We left January 27th at 9 am from Jackson, MS.

I firmly and whole-heartedly believe that you cannot, and will not, grow as a person, or learn more about yourself until you leave home. I left not only the country, but the western and northern hemispheres as well. I am about as far away from Evansville, IN/ Oxford, MS as humanly possible.

The first thing I learned? I am not good at hostels.

Hostels are meant for backpackers. Let me paint a picture: Back-packers travel the world with the bare necessities. One large backpack that can easily be transported/carried long distances. These are they people that haunt hostels. We show up with too over-stuffed, large suitcases (matching) a piece. Me: Tory Burch shirt. Anna: Marc Jacobs sunglasses. What we say upon arrival? "Can you check our luggage please." Response this warranted: [Stare....] "You do that yourself." Second thing we ask: "When is breakfast served?"....

After checking our own luggage into a small corridor in the hostel we set out to explore the city. (Our plane landed at 5:30 am NZ time and you cannot check into the hostel until 1 pm.) Down in the Viaduct we find a 4 hr whale/dolphin watching boat tour. It leaves in 15 min (8 am) so we buy a ticket and board. No time for sun-screen. Never mind it is summer in New Zealand and that pesky hole in the ozone layer is relatively close by. Never mind that is was winter in the states when I left. And never mind that I have not seen a tanning salon or a beach in ages.
The tour was amazing. Guide was funny, we saw heaps of dolphins (no whales), a shark, and a penguin. Not to mention the scenery. New Zealand truly is a place you have to see for yourself, descriptions do it no justice. After 4 hrs on the boat, I am the most sun-burned I've been in my whole life. I'm talking tomato red and swollen ankles and cheeks.

Second thing I learn: Cankles are a fate worse than death.





What I'm listening to: 'Song Writes Itself ' - Pela