Is inner dialogue a sign of a lonely self?

Officially, I’ve been in Sydney 1 month. Last night I went to my first event to try to meet some new friends. I thought a pretty safe place to start would be with the Jewish Community, so I went to a young (25 – 40) professionals happy hour event. Joaquin was planning on meeting me there so I arrived alone to a large bar, with a DJ spinning some tracks and free house wine and beer for an hour.

Before I go any further know these stats:
# of people I knew* in Sydney before I arrived: 6 (including Joaquin)
# of contacts my friends have connected me to: 5
# of people I have found on my own via internet (not the scary kind of internet): 2
*knew = had met in person at least once

So, that is lucky 13? Ok, not bad, I gotta start somewhere. I think most of the ‘Rainbow’ readers who know me would agree that I am pretty outgoing, and generally enjoy chatting up strangers.

We now return to the networking event: As expected the room was buzzing with conversation, decently attractive people – the usual of what one would imagine at an event like this – people in small groups shouting at each other trying to have a normal conversation over the music. In a place where I know more than 13 people on the continent I would usually be working the room, saying hi to people I might have met a few times before, introducing friends to each other, meeting new people, catching up with friends I haven’t seen in a while, but this event in this bar feels nothing like what I know. There are some surrogates (faces that somewhat resemble people I know from a life before Oz) but it settles in that I am not in a familiar place. I grab a Chardonnay (clearly my wine of the moment) at the bar and search around the room for a good place to stand. I rule out any corners or tables against the wall with low chairs and find a tallboy table that some people are standing near in the center of the room. I take my wine to the table and ask if they mind for me to place my bag on the stool. “No worries” someone says. I think “Ok, made first contact.” I look around the room keenly aware that being totally anonymous in a room full of people is a situation I have rarely experienced. In a way I want to savor this moment. It doesn’t feel lonely, it feels special. Like knowing a secret that everyone in the room doesn’t know yet– I know what I have to offer as a potential friend and the lucky people I meet tonight don’t have a clue what might be coming to them – Perfectly content I sip my wine and try to imagine what conversations would be like with some of the people around me.
There are two guys in suits standing closest to me and I make eye contact with one of them. We smile courteously at each other and he continues a conversation with his better looking friend who I imagine to be a total A-hole.

SIDEBAR: Part of the fun of being anonymous in a room and in my brain is that I can make meaningless snap judgments (snappies) about people and there are no consequences. Now, hold your snappies towards me right there, readers…nothing would please me more than to have my negative snappies bite me in the bottom and teach me a lesson. After all, it would be duly deserved to someone who makes snappies in the first place. I shouldn’t be rewarded with true predictions about people if I am judging them negatively on their appearance alone. END OF SIDEBAR

I hear the smiling guy mention something to his friend about the fact that I have a ring on and they continue their conversation. I begin to wonder if tonight’s meeting people adventure will be more challenging than I expected. I remember to smile and look friendly, so I don’t scare away a Sydney version of Buckogirl. All of a sudden I have switched from feeling like I have something to offer everyone in the room to feeling self conscious.

I think:
---Am I at a singles event? Will people see my ring and wonder why I came to this event and not bother talking to me? How am I ever going to meet people?”

I give myself a pep talk :
---Ok, Bucko.g - you need a strategy. I need to figure out a way to break into some of these conversations. If only I had a wingman – where is Joaquin anyway?”

My mind is blank. Everything I think of sounds like it came from a book written by a socially awkward gym teacher or a creep monger.
“Hi. I thought it was time to stop being anonymous so I wanted to introduce myself.”
---NO.
“Um, do you know what time it is? Oh. So that is X more minutes until the tab is over?”
---NO.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt your likely interesting conversation to report that I just moved to Sydney and I don’t know anyone.”
---Nah – has potential, but needs a bit of editing.
“Wanna new friend?”
---what the hell is happening to me? I’m just going to stand here, look friendly and hope that someone talks to me.

So, I wait and look around the room for other people who are standing alone. I eye someone who looks like they were actually the writer of the lines above. Errr, I really hope HE doesn’t talk to me.

Eventually I met a woman who also came alone. We chatted for a bit and decided to walk about the room. I get caught by a group of 3 people who are talking about the amount of pheromones in the room. As I pass them I say “to get the sex you have to really want the sex” they laugh and ask me about my accent and I think…I AM BACK.

Last night I realized that meeting people is going to take a lot more time and effort than I hoped. I want to make the most of my time here and feel motivated to try this again. So, here is the deal: Last night, was the first of a series of social experiments I will be conducting as I place myself in situations where I don’t know anyone. I imagine that the places I hit will not always be structured events, some will be bars, some coffee shops, some stores, the gym…etc. If you have suggestions for opening lines or would like to share stories about being in a room of strangers, please feel free to post below. I will report back on my progress.

Cheers to feeling encouraged to go on with my social self and turn lucky number 13 into something that isn’t a prime. clink.

Waaaaa, I don't like the way you look.

Something I am learning about the government of Australia, or more specifically New South Wales (NSW), is that they don't like to show the rest of the world Australia's true colors. They represent a glorious 1st world country where everyone is happy and everything magical. You come here and know that this IS the place where skittles fall from the sky. But, when fast food chains and 200,000 Catholic Pilgrims converge on the world down under you better believe that behind the mask of beauty hides a repressive beast.
The Pope has arrived for a week long celebration called World Youth Day. For the occasion the NSW police issued statements warning people of a $5500 fine and jail time for "annoying" Catholics. This included handing out condoms, protesting, wearing a t-shirt that someone doesn't like or just looking at someone the wrong way. Also for this occasion they have removed 130 homeless people from Sydney. Heaven forbid the Catholic visitors see the city's disadvantaged sect.

In disbelief, I have heard reports that Australians have eaten the final cherry and reached the coveted position of "fattest nation in the world". Gee thanks Australia, now what does America have to be a leader in? I'm a Texan girl and have been witness to the "everything bigger" line and it is true in TX and all over the Midwest. In defense of America's heavyweight title I argued this new finding with my Aussie friend James who said "we just hide all our fatties away."
Now I understand that's what they do with all their problems.

Follow up question: What happens to the overbearing moms who point out imperfections to be concealed when the country does it for them?

Cheers to not falling for a typical Aussie trick. clink.

ps. I thought the readers would want to know that yesterday the Federal Court struck down the "annoyance" law and people have happily been handing out condoms and protesting in the nude, just the way god intended it.

Kiss this 'Sideways'

Went to the 'bun (Melbourne) this weekend. It is quite different from Sydney. It is more edgy and funky. There are unique bars and cafe's all over the place, most likely because it costs $300 for a liquor license, where in Sydney it costs $10K. It reminded me a little of NYC, a little of an unidentified European city and a pinch of Austin. Like the Hill Country of Central Texas, Melbourne has the Yarra Valley wine region, known for a climate primed to produce world loved Pinots about an hour away. We visited a few wineries, drank our share of free tastings and without a doubt I preferred the Chard. Don't worry sir Noir, I will continue my attempts at sophistication and pretend to like your acidic aftertaste.

Cheers to a surprising outcome, whoda thought it was always the Chardonnay? clink.

No, I am not Canadian

is the disappointing phrase I am forced to utter when playing a game the locals like to call - - cue the yellow flashy lights and the announcer voice - -"Do you mind if I guess where you're from?" Honestly, I don't mind playing that game. It is nice that people are paying attention to me, I just wonder why they always guess Canadian. Perhaps it is the red sweatshirt with a white leaf that has about 5 points that I wear around, or maybe not.

On another note, I'm really in the mood for a night out on the town with my girls. Imagine cosmos, the deep beats of club music and some frivolous and silly dancing.
I know you're with me - but this dance party is a solo one happening in my head as I walk down the street groovin' to Timbaland on my ipod shuffle. I think "it's cool if I skip and you notice 'cuz I will never see you again, and I'm the one skipping. Jealous?"

Cheers to Canada, my home away, from home away, from home. clink.

Coffee BUZZZZZZZ

Some Rainbow Readers have asked me "what does Sydney looks like?" There is no better way to show you than in pictures. Yesterday I met my friend Terico at the Aroma Festival. We did our fair share of smelling things, but also drinking TONS of coffee in all the different forms (cappuccino, macchiato, flat white, latte, affogato, mocha...etc) that one can enjoy it with the one exception of drip / brew. They just don't violate coffee that way here.

Terico is a photographer and he made a video of his walk to the festival. It shows the Central Business District of Sydney (Downtown).




This is another cool video he shot while we were there:


Good day, bad night. Good coffee, bad stomach.

Cheers to testing the limit. clink.

Wanker! / pron. Wan • kà /

Look at this house, just look at it. When I look at this house I think “the person who lives there is undoubtedly a wanker”. They exist in this perfectly futuristic, iconic glass house, overlooking downtown Sydney and the harbour and they are selling it. So, they are a wanker for owning this house and for selling it. I believe that it hasn’t yet been decided who will own this house next, but I have concluded that unless the individual plans on having a lot parties and inviting me to them, he/she is a wanker too.

A wanker is not the lowest level one can reach. Below the rank of plain wanker is wanker-modern-artist. I cant decide who is worse, the artist that creates a piece of crap with the smallest amount of effort or the curator who thinks that the public wants to see a cardboard box with a piece of Styrofoam at the bottom and a new lamp still in its plastic packaging set upright in the box. I am not at all being uncharitable, that “piece” if you can call it that, was a total piece of trash. A wanker-modern-artist is someone who clearly thinks that their excrement smells of roses and everyone alive cares about what they think. I went to the Museum of Contemporary Art this past weekend to check out part of the Biennale arts festival. Most of the work at the MCA was made by lazy, pretentious wanker-modern-artists who think that laminating 4 copied pages of handwriting and taping this uncut lamination to the wall with 2 pieces of white masking tape is art.
I am an art enthusiast, but I believe that effort and skill are important elements of creating art, the artist's attitude is not.

Cheers to a new curse word that is fun to say…and to the real deal. clink.