Good ol' Southern (hemisphere) Hospitality

One of the first, and most enduring, things I noticed about Australia was the genuine kindness everyone seemed to possess.

From the moment we stepped foot onto our Qantas flight in LAX until those last lingering moments as we hit US soil ten days later it was true Southern Hospitality. Southern Hemisphere that is!

We continuously laughed about one of the flights, in which the "please stow away all electronics and prepare for landing" recording was played, and the flight attendant walked by smiling to us, with a "oh finish your page love, no hurry!"

There was never any annoyance as we fumbled through their coins trying to distinguish between the two dollar coin and the ten cent coin, every ticket station worker smiled and directed us to the correct platform, random people would chime in as we stared blankly at a bus map telling us where to hop off and even offering suggestions for places to visit, waitresses kindly explained the steered us from ordering "entrees" which are more like 'small plates' so we wouldn't be disappointed in tiny portions, random cafe owners would give us the wifi passwords so we could communicate with everyone back home.

Everyone loved to hear where we were from, why we came there, where we were headed, what we thought so far.

There was never a favor too big, a question too dumb, or an unworthy comment. And believe me, this says a lot! I've traveled a handful of places where you just felt like an annoyance.

Being from the midwest we often get praised from visitors as being so kind, for once I finally understood what they meant. The impact it had on is was resounding. I've never felt more welcomed into any place in my life!
    

Auto-pilot.

My clock says it's 8:30 Monday morning... my body says it's 11:30 Monday night.

Against all speculation, I actually did return from Australia. Believe me, it took a lot of talking into to not accidentally miss my flight home.

My mind is on auto-pilot today as I stare blankly at my computer screen at work. I'm here... what more do you want from me?!
 

At least I didn't bring my waffle iron.

Hi, my name is Chelsea and I am a recovering overpacker addict.

Not exaggerating, I would take a different swimsuit for every day we would be on the beach. Every day.

Half of my shoes closet? PACK IT!

Three varieties of perfume? PACK THEM!

Ping pong balls, Catch Phrase, snorkeling masks, football? Yes. Yes. Yes. All of the above!

In my defense, my mother is the woman who took a waffle iron to Florida. I get it honestly people.

Until I realized, lugging around that 60lb suitcase is a pain, paying the Overweight Luggage fee every trip is frustrating, and waiting for the very last bag to drop onto the baggage claim (I swear the unloaders do it on purpose, to punish me for giving them hernias) was annoying.

I present to you, my friends, eleven days worth of vacationy goodness, IN. A. CARRY ON.

Go ahead and bow down to my greatness.

How to afford to eat in Australia.

From the moment we booked our flights back in January, everyone felt it imperative to tell me HOW. FREAKIN. EXPENSIVE. EVERYTHING. IS. IN. AUSTRALIA.

Buzzkill.

So I threw $60 into a mason jar and stuck it on top of my fridge where I wouldn't see it (and spend it).

Atleast I'd be able to buy a few McDonalds cheeseburgers to tide me over for ten days down under.

And then someone paid me in cash for a concert ticket, so I stuck that in the jar.

And then I found $4 in the dryer so I stuck that in the jar too.

And the best part was that it wasn't in my bank account, so I never got to see how much was there, and I never got that 'well if I just transfer this hundred dollars to buy some clothes I will be fine' urge. Out of sight and out of mind, I never took from the jar, just added to it.

Ten months of throwing any cash I happened upon into a jar, and it actually began to look substantial.

Last week I dumped it all out on my living room floor to count it.

And kept counting. And kept counting. And I had about three times what I anticipated would be shoved into that jar.

Heck, I might even be able to value size my fries now!

Oh how things change.

It was our first semester as freshman in college, one of my best girlfriends and I logged a LOT of hours at the local Barnes & Noble. Counltess nights were spent sitting in the Starbucks with our triple grande white mocha, sub 2 pumps raz (see... I can throw down at 'bux if I HAVE to)- it was our chance to catch up on magazines, girl talk, and just hang out somewhere that wasn't our parents houses. (Woe is us, little 18 year old babies).

One night, sitting crosslegged and giggling over that months list in Glamour's "Hey, It's Ok..." section I spied someone approaching our table from the corner of my eye. I fidgeted, picking at my brown & pink vans as he introduced himself and apologized for interrupting. Rattled something off about how he studies there often, was attending the same college as us for pre-med, and then how we had caught his eye, and he proceeded to ask if he could give me his number, in hopes of taking me to dinner sometime.

Time out. 

I remember thinking to myself "IS THIS WHAT COLLEGE IS LIKE!?" 
You mean boys don't send their friends to ask your friends if you want to go out sometime (ahhem, I'm lookin at you high school)... they actually APPROACH you, shake your hand, carry on a conversation? WEIRD. SIGN ME UP.

(Because I know you will ask.... we went on a few dates and had a good time, but our schedules never quite meshed up, and newly collegiate Chelsea had minimal interest in committing to anyone in particular that early in the game.) 
The whole scenario came back to mind a few months ago, when I was approached, again, by a guy who's eye I had caught.

We were at a bar one evening, a whole mashup of random friends and strangers, he at one end of the table, me at the far other.

And my phone lit up.

Oh how things have changed.

It was a Twitter DM saying I was hot or something equally as charming. (sarcasm).

A twitter message. From the other. end. of. the. table.

Chivalry is dead.