Great Adventures of a Green Goddess

Club Snark

I saw this babysitter’s club book at a used bookstall in Essaouira.

As you can see it is in French. I don’t know what the translation to le club des babysitters Melanie garde la tete froide is, probably not Melanie tries it with girls…

Anyway since it was french the character’s names were different too. I think that Melanie is the new name of Maryanne.

But wow I used to freaking love to read those books. The thrill I felt when I had a one I hadn’t read yet in my little hand. I used to scour the library shelves regularly. A couple of times I was even bought the new books! But that was a rare treat indeed.

I sometimes wonder how much those books affected me. For example in the babysitters club special edition when they went on a cruise (Babysitters On Board). Kristy was super excited and her stepsister Karen said how the air bridge when they walked on to the plane smelt like coffee. I swear that to this day every time I walk on an air bridge I smell it to see if it is coffee scented. So far it never has been.

In Mallory and the trouble with twins the girls all go to get their ears pierced.

Dawn got her ears pierced twice in each ear and I wonder if this influenced me to now have my two holes in each of my ears.

Yeah I’m just that sad.

So anyway my point and I do have one is that I discovered the babysitters club snark and ha! I nearly wet myself laughing. Its brilliant snark!

How did I not see how bad Claudia’s outfits were? That Janine was fucking Charlie when he drove Kristy over for the meetings? The cult like qualities of the BSC? Oh the sweet innocence of youth!

 

The bikini rumba ban

We arrived in Essaouira on the coast of Morocco after dark and after enduring a long bus ride. Both the Gherkin and I felt a bit sick. I had a dodgy belly and was tired. But I was well enough to laugh when The Gherkin was called a girl by one of the many touts who met the bus. Well he does have quite a girlish figure and long hair!

Things were looking up when we found the hostel, its bathroom and it’s free wifi. I was lying on my bed online and feeling better. That’s when I noticed a bug, and another and another. They were bedbugs and they were swarming! When I had lain down on the bed it had been clean and clear, no sign of anything untoward. Then suddenly there were masses of the creepy little insects all crawling around and biting.

The teeming terrors were everywhere. I woke the Gherkin up from his pestfulled slumber telling him we had to move.

We got a new room up at the top of the hostel. I spotted 2 bugs that I guess had stowed away on my bag to our new destination (be a bedbug, see the world!) and dispatched them to vermin hell with a quick stomping. It left a smear of blood on the floor and the Gherkin called me a bad vegan but I am sure it was my blood dammit!

The new room was up 3 sets of steep spiral stairs. But we had a kitchen just outside our room which was handy. My favourite meal was to get a fresh still warm baguette and fill it with sliced avocado. So delicious!

Mostly I liked to hang out at the hostel and wander around the old city. We did go to the beach one day but it was very windy. The Gherkin and Devil Duckie splashed around in the water (the Gherkin made sure my duckie didn’t make any seaward escape attempts) but I just got my feet wet.

We walked around to the fort area. I liked the green rocks and blue boats. Such a picturesque place! But I warn those with a fear of birds that they were swarming almost as much as the bedbugs.

Back at the hostel there was no reappearance of any bedbugs. This was good, plus the hostel had some amusing signs. I took a photo of one that said not to sing Michael Jackson songs after midnight and the Gherkin took one warning not to do the rumba in your bikini!

A noteworthy event was that I finally got my laundry done. After so long washing it a bit at a time in hotel sinks it was lovely to have everything done at once, so nice and fresh and clean. I was a bit worried when my stuff was hung out to dry on the rooftop terrace area and the wind blew it down to outside my room. But I appear to have gotten everything back unharmed by any adventures they may have had.

The other significant incident in Essaouira was that The Gherkin and I had a fight at a restaurant. It was a silly little silent fight. I was unhappy that he was smoking and the stinky smoke was blowing over me. Then he told me that I could ask for the bill anytime I wanted to. This just annoyed me even more. I was pissy because he has 10 years of French classes and I have no years. So all I could think was that he can ask easier than I can, so why make me do it? So we sat there waiting to see who would give in first.

This came to a conclusion with him throwing down some money and saying he would meet me at the hostel. So I paid the bill and kept his change.

 

Grand Granada

Day 1

So there I was in a bus station in Granada Spain. Risking Hypothermia by spending the night on the evil seats of perpetual discomfort. With the coldest hours before dawn upon my shivering body.

Ah a memory of my trip to cherish forever.

At around 7am we left the bus station in need of defrosting and real sleep.

We caught a bus into the city centre and went to find some accommodation. During out search we met a couple of English guys who were also looking for a place to stay. We followed them and it lead us to an oasis. The oasis backpackers. They offered us the free breakfast when we arrived and I napped on a couch while they checked if they had space for us.

They did and I had a lovely well needed hot shower and snooze.

At around 7pm I went for a walk with one of the guys we met in the morning.

We went up the cobblestoned lanes of the backstreets behind the hostel. It’s called El Albayzin and it was up hill but not too bad. Found a nice area with fountains and a play area.

Then went back down and I found an ATM that eventually worked for me. I was quite worried that I wouldn’t be able to get cash and be stranded with no money. But it worked! so feeling cashed up I wanted to find a supermarket. A nice random stranger from the street showed me the way.

Day 2

My little gherkin and I went for a walk around the streets of Granada. We went into a church and past the cathedral but I was more entertained by seeing a store named yellow rat bastard, it just has a lovely ring to it!

I needed a European plug adaptor and eventually found a hardware store to buy one at (they seem to be the cheapest place).

For food we got a whole bunch of veggies at a stall and then went to the supermarket for a sauce. They didn’t have any real stir-fry sauce so we just bought a random bottle and it was delicious!

Later went for food at El Piano, I remember previously seeing it when Happycow had listed it (they have a branch in the UK) but I never thought I would end up there. Funny how that works out. Anyway it is awesome. The food is served in little wooden boats and you pick 4 items for €3.

Day 3

We got up at 6.30am for the whole reason we came to Granada. La Alhambra! We had to get up before sparrow fart and walk up hill as quick as we could to hopefully get tickets. We lined up in the credit card line as we had been told it is faster. The gherkin was gonna use his as it is actually a credit card, but his doesn’t have a micro chip or pin so we ended up using my debit card. Thankfully it worked.

It was just after 8am when we got the tickets and we had a palace entry time of 9am so we went to find that first. It didn’t help that they don’t seem to give out maps there. Also not good was that it started raining, hard!

At least we were mostly covered inside the palace, it was amazing stuff. Big, old, ornate and historical. It has Moorish architecture with ponds, fountains, gardens and arches.

After the palace we went to the toilet block and hung out longer than we should’ve just because it was dry. There we ran into the guys from the hostel. So we continued our tour with them.

Saw lots of fortress (the Alcazaba), a church and the gardens (the Generalife) while the rain continued to pour down. I didn’t let that stop me from taking lots of photos.

We left at 2pm and as soon as we did the rain stopped, the clouds cleared and the sun came out. Typical!

We stopped for food at a Chinese place that since it was in Spain did tapas. It was pretty cool as I got a drink and some noodles for less than €2. They actually recommend doing a pub crawl for food here, excellent!

Day 4

Today was an easy day, mostly looked at the shops in the city. In a supermarket we came across something to amuse us. The funny item was bimbo brand bread. Hmm get some bimbo buns and combine with himbo hotdogs and you could have quite a satisfying meal…

Another thing I was entertained by were the questions on the tag that the hostel put on our bunk beds. Not sure that criminal history space is big enough…

It was a good hostel, met some good people too. My fave was a lovely Ivy League educated young man who bought me an avocado (I’m so easy for my fave fruit). The gherkin liked him because he asked him if he wanted to have sex with him (he wasn’t a fruit, just proving a point). And we (well ok not me) got merrily drunk.

Screw stranger danger!

So the secret society of vegans  is not that secret anymore. They have a market stall in Camden. I went there with a guy from the hostel I had freshly made friends with. I shall call him my little gherkin because he calls me Onion. This came about when we were in a market and I saw some huge onions and pointed them out, they were seriously big globes of tear producing vegetables. Anyway since then he has called me Onion and I just say yeah I have layers, like an ogre.

Anyway we were at the stall and I was shopping (got a vegan passport, and some sugary goodness snacks) told him that I would take him for some vegan food after and a couple of girls also at the stall invited us to go and get vegan ice-cream. How could we resist this invitation?  Who worries about stranger danger when there is vegan ice cream on offer? So we said ok lets follow some random strangers and got on a bus to Hackney.

It took awhile to get there, about an hour. So we had plenty of time to get to know the girls. They were both vegan and one had many tattoos declaring her beliefs. The other was too young for tats as she was only 16, but she had a necklace with a tattoo gun on it to make up for it. I’m betting she will have vegan tattooed on her wrist within moments of being legally allowed.

In Hackney we headed to the Pogo Café. It was full of many people who were happy to show their views on their skin. I felt quite bare with no tattoos on my body.

I had the burger that came with wedges and salad and then the reason for our journey, a vegan knickerbockers glory ice-cream. It was a suitably glorious a spectacular confection of layers of cream, custard, ice cream, syrup, chocolate, quite possibly the most fabulous thing ever! No knickerbockers in it at all but it was a hell of a lot of glory!

Nobody could argue about vegan missing out of great food if they have tasted this feast! It’s the kind of thing that stupid omnivores eat and then declare to be so good it can’t possibly really be vegan.

When my sweet tooth was satisfied (momentarily) we headed back to the bus. At the stop there was the disturbing sight of pigeons eating some abandoned fried chicken. It just seems a little too close to cannibalism to me. Just a random bit of freakiness on the day.

Anyway on the bus we sat up the top of the red double decker at the back talking about our fave Monty Python moments. We want to have a get together in the future to watch Monty Python and eat vegan food.

When we got back to Camden, we were gonna go our separate ways but then vegan cake was suggested. This is not an offer to be refused so off we trooped to inspiral lounge and more sweet treats. Eventually we rolled ourselves back to the hostel. We survived with our lives but possibly with some new tooth cavities to show for our sugary day with the strangers who are now friends.

 

Hostel high life

So after the last hostile hostel I moved to one that was recommended by a chick who moved out of the bad one. It’s not perfect but much better than the last one. Not that it’s hard to be...

Although another resident of this hostel just told me that she is moving to the bad one. I was seriously shocked! She told me it has been renovated now as is much better. But I think I still scared her with my trepidation about her impending move.

I must admit that I am getting used to living in a hostel dorm room. It’s like camping!

There are a few regulars. This hostel is popular with Aussies, Kiwis and South Africans. So I have a bunch of people in the same situation as me to hang out with.

Ok so there is the issue of the bunk beds. I saw a photo and it was disturbingly familiar.

Yes the beds are reminiscent of a concentration camp.

But I have so far managed to avoid the dreaded top bunk by pleading a fear of heights. I currently have a prime bottom bunk, but I am ok with the middle bunk if necessary.

So there was a rumour that spread faster than my dorm mates legs in the bed above me (those bunk beds can rock!). Everyone at the hostel believed that I slept with the older Spanish guy. So did I ever sleep with him? Ha! Do you even need to ask?

What started this rumour? We both left the living room area at the same time. We chatted in the hallway and then went to our separate beds in separate dorm rooms on separate floors. It’s funny that there have been no rumours about the guys who have actually been in my bed.

One guy is my new gay friend. He wants to call me a fag hag instead of a fruit fly. How unbecoming!

Anyway he had reached the terrifying heights of a top bunk bed but instead of using the ladder to get down he decided to jump (I don’t know what possessed him to do that, he ain’t fucking superman). After that he was too scared to go back up so he hopped into my bed.

Another time a guy I knew came in looking for another girl in the room. He saw that I was awake and jumped in for a chat.

The last guy was in my bed when I was not there. I came into the room and there he was. He had hurt his knee and so got in my bed since he didn’t want to climb up to his.

None of these guys were ones I would have invited into my bed to play sexy time with anyway!

And judging by what happened one day here I guess the guys here don’t see me as someone to get dirty with. So not that long ago, I was hanging out in the dorm room and a guy also staying in the room came in, pulled up his shirt to show me his abs and goes " if you were a girl and horny would you fuck me?" seriously! If I was a girl!!!

Another hostel story? Ok one time the Spanish guy was sharing some cookies and the Irish guy had one and exclaimed it was like an orgasm in his mouth, so I asked him if he was going to swallow. Everyone found that to be very funny. Yeah I do like to pretend to be sweet and innocent until I come out with something really dirty. But I think the long term residents are onto me now, especially the guy who during a discussion one night told me I should just pick someone in the hostel to sleep with so I was like “eeny meeny miney mo, which one do I want to blow…”

But really I should pick a girl since it’s a common joke here that the girls bathroom is like an orgy since the showers only have little curtains. I snuck into the boys bathroom once and oh sweet sexism it’s so much nicer. They have actual shower stalls. With doors! My current theory is that it is a conspiracy by the sleazy male owner because of course lesbian orgies are much sexier than any of those happenings occurring in the male bathroom...

 

Shopping and friends

 I have been reminded of my friends down on the other side of the world while out shopping in the northern hemisphere. Proving that the other side of the planet can be a strange strange place indeed.

The first time was when I was in Germany. I remember Eggy once telling me that I should get yellow underwear for confidence or some such thing. I cant remember the theory but when I saw yellow bras and undies for sale while in Karlsruhe I immediately thought of her. Not only are they yellow but they actually have a chicken on them. As you know I call her Eggy because she calls me Chooky, which is Aussie slang for chicken. So how appropriate! It could also be argued that I am a dizzy chick...

I did resist the temptation to buy them. I don't think they had my size anyway.

The other product is also not something I will buy (I love my diva cup) and came from my local London supermarket.

The Big Banana once told me a story of how he put a photo of a tulip as the background image on his mobile phone and then one day realisation of its resemblance hit him. As he put it, it was just a bit too vadge! Well really if ya wanna get technical its more vulva than vagina but hell he's a gay man so what would he know? Anyway I saw the tampon box and its like hey he is not the only one who made that connection! Now we are left to ponder, is the red tulip supposed to symbolise a full tampon?

Lesbians, condoms and beers oh my!

Well I have added to my (still sadly useless) collection and gotten some more oh so very cool and pretty condom tins. They are part of the delightfully decorated collector series.

 

As you can see they are a Camouflage, classic summer design and one called 'Whats love gotto do with it'.

Despite my continued celibacy I want to keep adding to the collection. Unfortunately now I don’t even see them for sale anymore. Surely it’s not the end of the Legends?

Is it a sign that I am not the only one who is not getting any?

How sad is it that now even the condom producers aren’t putting out!

I used to get them from my local Woolworths supermarket. No longer are they stocked on the shelves with the other boringly boxed condoms.

Has the company stopped making them?

Or is it just stocked in more remote locations now.

It seems my attempts at a collection may have been thwarted before I even really got going. Or doing anything to that would bring into play the contents of the tins…

What if by some miracle my celibacy ended and I wanted to celebrate with buying up large on the lovely legendary condoms.

Now it seems my chances of finding the tins are slimmer than my chances of ever having sex again (which would be greater if I was slimmer…)

Although (getting off track as is my custom) my chances did seem better than usual one night when I was sitting and talking to a couple of guys at the hostel.  They drank their beers while we chatted. They said that they liked my new haircut and colour (its now shoulder length with red and blonde streaks), told me that I was gorgeous and had a great personality. I was like wow I should hang around very drunk people more often!

Not that I did anything that would require either of them to gnaw off an arm the next morning.

After all I am sticking to my no smokers rule, plus I don’t want to take advantage of intoxicated people.

Besides they thought I was a lesbian!

Yup I really was thought to be a big old dyke, how funny.

I just responded by quoting the I kissed a girl songs. I prefer the classic version by Jill Sobule.  (Plus I’m pretty sure I would be allergic to cherry chapstick).

So after questioning what lead them to the conclusion of my Sapphic nature I discovered it was all just a misunderstanding. Turned out that another resident of the hostel had told one of the guys how there was a lesbian in the room next door to him and they thought I was in that room but I am actually in the next one along. Oh and yeah the chick in that room was totally a carpet muncher.

I am not currently planning on being a togder dodger (But I reserve the right to be a bit bi-curious if I ever come across a chick I wanna kiss).

As for my collection, what shall I do?

Do I have to resort to searching the online auction sites for the old tins I never got to add to my set?

Or just give up on the whole thing and leave it incomplete. This kinda makes me feel a bit empty inside…

Ok perhaps it’s a good thing really since I am going travelling and don’t know if they are sold over in merry old England.

Ha! Shall I just concentrate on looking for hot lipstick lesbians over there rather than condom tins!?!

UK OK!!!

Yes finally I have in my hot little hand my new passport with its shiny new UK working holiday visa inside it!

Oh the excitement, the power, the freedom!

The UK OE is ON!

I even got a nice new passport cover ready for this special moment, just to make my new passport all the more magnificent.

(Did you really expect anything less from me?)

What I think is a nice bit of timing is that the big banana who is a brit got his NZ citizenship at the same time that I got my visa. So now we are both legal for the same countries! Now I just have to convince my pommy pal to come with me :)

Of course now I have the necessary documents I feel a bit overwhelmed with the whole planning and booking of my trip.

I am obsessing over questions such as Do I really want to take the cheapest flight even thou it leaves at 6am? How many days do I really need to spend worshiping a rodent in the happiest place on earth™?  Etc…

Plus I thought that the hurdles would be over when I got the visa. But then I looked into getting a UK bank account and ugh, more hoops to jump thru. Many forms to fill out and many documents to be shown and then apparently it takes 6 weeks to process! When the account is opened a letter has to be sent to the address I prove that I live at and then I have to take that letter to the bank in England. Who knew it was all so complicated.

It’s not like I want to wait around here just for that.

But it’s supposed to be even harder to open an account once you get there and I don’t wanna go across the globe carry all my cash strapped to my body either (a look I would call smuggler chic).

So I have a couple of plans in mind. I have to see which is the most feasible.  

Also remember that I am supposed to be having fun and the time of my life so stop stressing over every little detail.

Plus I should think about the great joy of joys that is quitting my much hated job! :) :) :)

Inflatable entertainment

I bought this balloon animal making kit in Hicksville (A place where one has to search for entertainment options, others in the local population got their inflated amusement from the neighbourhood topless bar…). I got the kit for a couple of bucks so it’s cheap fun. Plus it looked like a good, clean and wholesome form of amusement.

But I managed to change that. But believe me I didn’t even do it on purpose, it started purely as an accident. Honestly!

I started out just trying to make the classic French poodle.

My first problem was that the bubbles would not stay when I made them. They would easily undo on their own. I found I had to try and hold them until I could do the twist lock together bit and then they stayed as they should. After working that out it seemed that then it was all going well. I did the head and the front legs, that’s when I encountered a major problem. I found that I didn’t have enough slack in the balloon to twist the rest as any more bubble attempts would have resulted in a tragic poodle pup popping incident. So I did what I could and kinda folded it together.

I looked at my finished result and that’s when I (with my naturally dirty mind) discovered that it looks like its wanking a big dick!

Next I tried another chaste poodle in an appropriate pink balloon. I didn’t inflate it as much as the last. This didn’t work as I ended up with the opposite problem and didn’t have enough balloon inflated to finish the depressingly deflated dog, it looks like one of those dogs that’s missing their hind legs. I feel I should make it a little cart thing to pull around its back half in. but the instruction book didn’t come with directions for making that.

So I made a lucky shamrock instead.

But that was a bit tame after my previous efforts so I instead did this:

Now I figured that I wasn’t the only one with a deviant mind who would pervert the innocence of balloon art. So I did a quick search and discovered that I was right and there is in fact a whole book showing how to make lewd, crude and just plain rude balloons. Good to know I am not alone with my smutty skills.

No shocks just new crocs

I am not ashamed to admit that I love crocs. It seems that people either love them or hate them and I am firmly on the side of those who are fond of the rubber clog-like (cloggy?) footwear. They are just so comfy and easy to slip on, more super and suitable for me than sandals. I wear mine constantly. Out and about everywhere, even in the shower at the hostel.

I wore my old crocs so much I wore them out and they have now got holes in them, I mean more than the usual number. They had developed a hole in each sole.

So I knew it was time to treat my feet to a new pair.

In what was clearly a divine sign to splurge on shoes I just happened to receive a visa giftcard for the exact amount of a pair of new beach style crocs plus shipping.

I didn’t mind paying the shipping fee as if I had bought them from a standard shoe shop I would have had to pay the bus fare to the mall anyway and last time I looked they didn’t have much of a selection and certainly not the ones I wanted anyway.

If I remember right my old crocs are a shade called sage, this time I got turquoise, such a pretty colour. Hopefully nobody will consider them too clown shoe bright.

Not that adding decorations to them help with such perceptions.

I found out that the big flower jibbitz that I have on my old shoes (I should transfer them to the new shoes and chuck the old pair) now come with a shiny centre and I yearn for the sparkly shoe jewels. But I try to control the desire by reminding myself that I am in fact not four years old.