Admin or what

Humor, Travel

Today marks the end of my second week in the Year of the Kiwi–an international/dual-cultural phenomenon locals are calling “What?” and “That’s not real”– and what a week it has been, amiright?

This installment sees our heroine (me) nab a job at a beachfront cafe due completely to the fact that my new flatmate might be the reigning mob boss of northern New Zealand. [ED. NOTE: This claim is unsubstantiated by science at present…] Copious fish&chips™ have been eaten, the term ‘jay-walking’ has been chopped from my vocabulary, cute Kiwi boys have been smooched. I even took part in a thrilling escapade to convince the landlord a cat does not live here! MY!

Things weren’t all sheep and hobbits, though; this week has been chock-a-block with paperwork, applications and, in general, ADMIN. I also remain in a Mexican standoff with the Auckland transit system which will not allow me to be on time (or even on the right bus.) Satisfying progress on the flat’s 3rd jigsaw puzzle and the ridiculous soothing sounds of 95bFM radio’s Freak the Sheep and Amelia Discrete are the only cure.

#Live, Laugh, Louvre, my friends! Xoxo, Em-the-Phlegm

If you haven’t read Week 1, you can catch up here.

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Sweet As, Bro

Humor, Travel

It’s been exactly 1 week since I landed in New Zealand; ONE. WEEK. since I walked off my third plane in 29 hours straight onto tarmac, on through to the waiting Sky Bus that took me into Auckland City. I refuse to utter a judgement yet on life below the equator– after all, the key to Kiwi living may turn out to be a devotion to 007-like secrecy (too early to say, its all very hush-hush down here)– but I CAN say that I am alive and kicking!

So far I have seen morning joggers run barefoot, eaten at a farmer’s market and a night market (one has vegetables, one has noodles), gotten caught in more rainstorms than I can count, taken the wrong bus, worked a trial shift at a hip cafe (only to spill orange juice all over a table, still waiting to hear back on that career opportunity…) and attended a 4-year-old’s dino-themed birthday party.

People are friendly as all get-out, and in fact I have developed a method of pretending I am getting a phone call which I must take outside if I’ve walked into a shop that I don’t actually want to buy anything from.

I move into my flat on Friday, which I hear has a lemon tree in the backyard, so stay tuned for chapter 2, pleebs!

Love always, your International Gal of Mystery

**Oh, they say “Sweet as, bro,” a lot.

Love for the Hair Roof

Humor

 

Hat fashion is really the slowest-evolving and least experimental limb on the ever-changing style tree.(Mixed metaphor or what?) I get it though–BOY, DO I GET IT. In my mind, hats are like cigarettes that will probably never kill you: wear them right and you are balls deep in je ne sais quoi from je ne sais quere! Wear them wrong, though, and it is nothing but misery and awkward fumbling with that cross-body bag for you, mister.

As someone who has been there and done that, I can say it is mainly about practice with hats. It has taken me years to become the competent hat-wearer I am known in elite circles, only to be spoken about in reverent, hushed tones to be today. Strap in for tips!

WINDINESS

The bane of any brimmed-hat-wearer’s existence. It is in times like these that I turn to the only person who can help, Diane Keaton. According to this one photo I once saw of D-Keats, it is proper to remove said brimmed-head-kite-from-hell and carry it. *The preferred method is to perch it atop one hand, outstretched at shoulder height as if a short, invisible friend is wearing it.

Diane Keaton shows off her Fall Fashion sense while out in The Big Apple

Option 2 involves Elmer’s glue…

SWEATSHIRTS AND/OR BAGS

Yeah just take off the hat for a sec. This move will get cooler over time, when you get real one-two about it!

KISSING

The best way to handle a mouth handshake in a hat is to remember that the other person has purportedly seen you in the hat and is still up for the adventure, so the pressure’s off! (If they can’t see the hat, just yell out, “I AM WEARING A HAT.”)  Go in for the kill with the confidence that has likely been imbued by the hat in question and if it falls off in the process, look at it as a test of the kisser’s affections; if they don’t chase after your precious head-topper are they really worth your saliva?

TURTLE HEAD

This is the scientific term for what happens when your hat is too g-dang big and it sinks down over your eyebrows until you look positively turtleicious. So far the only solution I have come up with it to wear a sturdy pair of sunglasses and not take them off for the entirety of your hat time. It’ll be ok, I bet.

As to a more experimental venture in hat fashion, what about wearing old-timey Jackie-O hats with jeans and a t-shirt? HMMM?! (No seriously, I’ll wait for an opinion.)

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