Gentle reader, it has been a week since my last update.
Just a week.
And yet, in that time I have been inside 4 boys' bedrooms. I have traversed the wilds of Sydney (such as they are) on several occasions, and only once... maybe twice... gone the wrong way down a one way street when my sat-nav led me astray. And I have come to appreciate, in a whole new way, how Goldilocks must have felt.
But let me go back to the beginning. The very beginning.
Upon first coming to Sydney, I was staying with distant relatives who lived up to their (distant) relationship status, and showed all the warmth, closeness and compassion of the average lizard. If that lizard were having a very off-day. I could only wish that they were physically as distant as they were emotionally and genetically. After a fortnight during which being water-boarded began to sound attractive as an alternative option to their company (I joke... they weren't quite that bad. Although it was an increasingly close call), I decided enough was enough - and it was time to up-sticks and move out.
But where? I'd only just come out to Sydney. I had a job (just) but no pay-cheque due for over a month. Add to the mix a still rather delicate and battle / emigration-scarred psyche (for all my bravado, I'm a delicate flower. Even if I may come across as the kind of delicate flower usually attached to a cactus) and I realised that getting my own place was still a distant dream. Yet I knew that for my own comfort I had to leave. So, in much the same way as Nelly the Elephant did - I packed my trunk, and said goodbye to the circus (they were the circus). And moved to... a family friend's house. Oh, how the thick plottened. Or the plot thickened. Whichever.
One month later, and it's become clear that it's time to leave the FFs behind. The FFs (family friends) have 2 small, yappy dog which are enough to make me - an ardent dog lover (or should I rephrase that as an ardent appreciator of dogs? Hmmm...) - want to create 2 "fun size" fur rugs out of them. Although the FFs have been generous to have me in their home, the point came and went when it was timely for me to leave. And that point was when a 70 year old man (Mr FF), wearing underwear and not much else, expounded his "feelings" about female attractiveness. A therapist is going to make a lot of money from me one day, following that happy episode.
Whilst I wait for the emotional trauma to set in, I have a temporary place to stay organised (with my uncle & auntie, who have never yet been known to sit in their underwear & talk at me, so that's a positive already), am away from the FFs, and can begin the house-hunting in earnest. And let me tell you, of all the many things that house-hunting has taught me so far (for example, that finding somewhere pretty, accessible, and not-too expensive is ridiculously tricky... although I believe that's one of life's accepted facts), one of the biggest lessons I'm taking from it is an understanding of how Goldilocks must have felt, all those fairy-tale years ago.
I'm not joking. Think of her. She's in someone else's environment. She's searching for something just right (ok, in her case it was porridge and she was trespassing, but still) and the poor girl just cannot catch a break. The first bowl is too hot (in real estate terms, I'm not sure what that equates to. But it wouldn't be good). The second bowl too cold (again, not good). But then, finally, she gets it right. I think for me, that translates into the house-hunting equivalent of finding a great apartment around McMahons Point (google it), with good housemates, a good price, and Ryan Gosling (of "The Notebook" fame) dropping by on a regular basis. Alas, for her - as for me - the dream of good porridge is not to be, and she wakes up surrounded by angry, savage animals. Again, she and I have that in common, although sadly for me - that stage of proceedings has happened already. (I joke, the FFs weren't so bad... most of the time...)
So, what can I draw from this?
Well, unlike Goldilocks (who ran away screaming from the bears - which I can, based on my living experiences so far, well understand) - I ain't going nowhere. (Except to a new place all of my own.) I'm intent on getting this process "just right" and sticking it out til the end.
Thus far, I reckon I'm somewhere at the beginning / middle of the process (please, please let me be in the middle! I can't take much more of this!), and have seen:
Just a week.
And yet, in that time I have been inside 4 boys' bedrooms. I have traversed the wilds of Sydney (such as they are) on several occasions, and only once... maybe twice... gone the wrong way down a one way street when my sat-nav led me astray. And I have come to appreciate, in a whole new way, how Goldilocks must have felt.
But let me go back to the beginning. The very beginning.
Upon first coming to Sydney, I was staying with distant relatives who lived up to their (distant) relationship status, and showed all the warmth, closeness and compassion of the average lizard. If that lizard were having a very off-day. I could only wish that they were physically as distant as they were emotionally and genetically. After a fortnight during which being water-boarded began to sound attractive as an alternative option to their company (I joke... they weren't quite that bad. Although it was an increasingly close call), I decided enough was enough - and it was time to up-sticks and move out.
But where? I'd only just come out to Sydney. I had a job (just) but no pay-cheque due for over a month. Add to the mix a still rather delicate and battle / emigration-scarred psyche (for all my bravado, I'm a delicate flower. Even if I may come across as the kind of delicate flower usually attached to a cactus) and I realised that getting my own place was still a distant dream. Yet I knew that for my own comfort I had to leave. So, in much the same way as Nelly the Elephant did - I packed my trunk, and said goodbye to the circus (they were the circus). And moved to... a family friend's house. Oh, how the thick plottened. Or the plot thickened. Whichever.
One month later, and it's become clear that it's time to leave the FFs behind. The FFs (family friends) have 2 small, yappy dog which are enough to make me - an ardent dog lover (or should I rephrase that as an ardent appreciator of dogs? Hmmm...) - want to create 2 "fun size" fur rugs out of them. Although the FFs have been generous to have me in their home, the point came and went when it was timely for me to leave. And that point was when a 70 year old man (Mr FF), wearing underwear and not much else, expounded his "feelings" about female attractiveness. A therapist is going to make a lot of money from me one day, following that happy episode.
Whilst I wait for the emotional trauma to set in, I have a temporary place to stay organised (with my uncle & auntie, who have never yet been known to sit in their underwear & talk at me, so that's a positive already), am away from the FFs, and can begin the house-hunting in earnest. And let me tell you, of all the many things that house-hunting has taught me so far (for example, that finding somewhere pretty, accessible, and not-too expensive is ridiculously tricky... although I believe that's one of life's accepted facts), one of the biggest lessons I'm taking from it is an understanding of how Goldilocks must have felt, all those fairy-tale years ago.
I'm not joking. Think of her. She's in someone else's environment. She's searching for something just right (ok, in her case it was porridge and she was trespassing, but still) and the poor girl just cannot catch a break. The first bowl is too hot (in real estate terms, I'm not sure what that equates to. But it wouldn't be good). The second bowl too cold (again, not good). But then, finally, she gets it right. I think for me, that translates into the house-hunting equivalent of finding a great apartment around McMahons Point (google it), with good housemates, a good price, and Ryan Gosling (of "The Notebook" fame) dropping by on a regular basis. Alas, for her - as for me - the dream of good porridge is not to be, and she wakes up surrounded by angry, savage animals. Again, she and I have that in common, although sadly for me - that stage of proceedings has happened already. (I joke, the FFs weren't so bad... most of the time...)
So, what can I draw from this?
Well, unlike Goldilocks (who ran away screaming from the bears - which I can, based on my living experiences so far, well understand) - I ain't going nowhere. (Except to a new place all of my own.) I'm intent on getting this process "just right" and sticking it out til the end.
Thus far, I reckon I'm somewhere at the beginning / middle of the process (please, please let me be in the middle! I can't take much more of this!), and have seen:
- A shoebox with a pricetag of $480 per week (this was frankly ridiculous)
- A miniature-palace on the North Shore waterfront. Sadly, this came with 2 very "kooky" housemates, who were so determined to be "chilled out" that I think they must have been amongst the most stressed people I've met. Repeating "I am relaxed, I am relaxed" through gritted teeth and with clenched buttocks must surely defeat the object?! (Perhaps I'm bitter though, they rejected me as a potential housemate, due to my relative youth. This was both a compliment, and a very great irritation)
- A reasonable Kirribilli "unit" complete with one very weird male housemate, who was literally terrifying. I gave him a false name. That's how weirded out I was. He kept wanting me to go back to look at the bedroom. Yikes.
- A Bondi flat with an Israeli Jewish housemate, who looked at me and twitched his nostrils repeatedly. I was terrified that this signified his ability to smell the non-kosher on me. Although perhaps that's a sign of my own paranoia. He may have just had a twitchy nose. I may be being judgemental. Who knows.
So that's how, in the space of just a week, I've been in 4 boys' bedrooms. And that is why my tales are of woe. And humour. And a unique appreciation for Goldilocks.
More adventures coming soon. I'll keep you updated...
Love,
Belle x
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