Flew to summertime

We are two pasty-white, travel-weary souls stumbling around a foreign city, trying desperately to blend in amongst tanned, eclectically dressed locals who call this place home. Like the orphans tripping through the fur coats in the Wardrobe, we had found the time portal from winter into summer and a land entirely unknown to us. We traded our jeans and winter jackets for shorts and t-shirts. We found comfort in the fact that we weren't the only non-kiwis. Neither of us expected the incredible Asian population here. It makes complete sense but i don't think, in the midst of packing and preparing for this journey, we'd stopped to even consider it. Exhausted, we weaved through the masses on Queen St. in search of food, both feeling overwhelmed and wondering how clearly we thought this venture through. After a night of rest, or stone-dead slumber if we're being completely honest, the city took on a more promising hue. (i awoke with not one but both arms completely useless.) We donned our running shoes and crossed Grafton Bridge toward the medical school. We found what we think is Auckland's version of Central Park. It is absolutely gorgeous. After climbing the hill toward the Museum we had a view of the northwest harbor and ocean. We crossed over toward the south side rugby fields and the district beyond. You can't flick a flea and not hit a cafe/coffee shop. I couldn't believe the sheer number of starbucks on queen st. and now on the other side of Grafton Bridge were even more privately owned cafe establishments. Wearing our exercise duds we skipped the first two, observing ties and high-heels. We settled on "Jones the Grocer". Which may be too early to tell, but could very possibly become our new favorite specialty shoppe. We selected two fresh cranberry/maple syrup muffins and lattes to-go (i mean, take-away) and walked back to the park to sit and process the last 48 hours. We are still reeling but not feeling quite so frantic. Last night we had acquired a loaf of bread, peanut butter, boysenberry jam and fresh strawberries. We sat on a bench outside of the UofA International building. Lacking utensils, we spread the pb&j with our fingers. Sparrows gathered at our feet, waiting not in vain for crumbs. Spending the past month at my grandparents house, which should probably be given national recognition as a premier coastal bird sanctuary, had given me a new affection for our feathered friends who skittishly hopped near our feet. I tossed chunks of crust. One brave beaked fellow grabbed a chunk from my fingers. Another two shared a piece between them. The rest practiced their speed at grabbing crumbs and escaping to the rooftops to indulge. I think word spread over night because by this morning we were discovered and implored by some new winged buggers, who, this time waited in vain. It's a little harder to give up a cranberry muffin than a crust of bread. Disappointed they returned to their friends on the other side of the bridge to call them imaginative liars.

and the winner is...

i've been on a lot of airplanes. enough, i think, to give a valid opinion of ones i like and ones i don't like. i don't like continental. i used to. i don't now. they have this elite class of travelers. if you are an elite member you get to board first and when you board you walk on a 5x3 blue rug instead of the regular airport carpet. while we were waiting to board our connecting flight in houston the flight attendant called for elite members to board first. half of the airport walked up. she then clarified and divided them up, letting platinum elite on first, then gold elite, then silver, etc...i would like to take this opportunity to make fun of every continental elite member in the world. HAHAHAHAHA! they were practically elbowing each other for the privilege of being the first to cross the blue shag of vain grandeur. once on the plane we were strictly notified that there was a specific bathroom for them to use and everyone else on the plane was requested to use the bathroom in the rear. i thought segregation was a thing of the past. i was way off. i will laugh at you, you elite members of continental airways. i laugh at your smugness, your private toilet, and your sub classes of eliteness.

meanwhile, i sit in a cramped seat with padding thats been worn thin by tushes 15x larger than my bony butt, feeling every movement of the feet under my seat belonging to the gentlemen behind me, getting a headache from the altitude and nausea from the turbulence. yet, i still find solace, laughing at the elite.

Pepto Bismol Pink

My grandparents have a bathroom in their house that we grew up referring to as "The Pink Bathroom". The double sink counter is pink. The bathtub is pink. The toilet is pink. (I can't describe the ecstasy of taking a morning constitution on a pink throne. Ask Paul.) The bathtub has jets and when we were young it didn't take much to get us in there. Add a squirt of bubbles and push the timer and we were naked in 3 seconds flat, emitting squeals of joy. Those were also the days when four of us could fit in the tub together. I took a bubble bath in it last night. The bathroom is still as pink as it ever was but i think my grandparents had a smaller tub installed. I should have asked why they decided to keep it pink, though.

Sukara

My friend Dan went to China. I have never really wanted to go to China. Now he taunts me with his pictures. I think i would want to go to the Forbidden City. But only because its forbidden.