Someday I’ll own a newspaper full of only good news

I found some dumb and comical articles in the Australian News today while I was frantically searching for a hilarious report about this family banned from McDonalds somewhere in Victoria. I couldn’t find anything about the piece on-line, but basically it went something like this: A family (need I say they’re on the larger side?) was banned from their local McDonald’s when they advised the girl at the drive through window that she had overcharged them 40 cents. The two customers in the car were a father son team. The son had once worked at that very McDonald’s, but had quit when he and the manager argued over his schedule.

So the father says, “Hey, sorry, but you over charged me 40 cents.” and the girl at the window must have gone to get the manager, probably because she couldn’t issue refunds or something stupid like that. So the manager takes a look into the car and sees the son whom he once had a minor disagreement with and mumbles something like, “oh no, not you again.” And then the chaos begins. An argument is born and the family is banned from the local Micky D’s.

The whole news report went on for about 10 minutes with clips of the father and son saying they were outraged that it had come this far and couldn’t believe they weren’t aloud back to their favorite restaurant.

 The best part of it all was a clip of the Mom driving into the same drive through with her trouble making son in the passenger seat. She tries to order some type of Big Mac nonsense and the employee says, “I’m sorry mam I cannot serve your family.” The mom was furious. “You’re not serving him! Just serve me!”

The dad couldn’t stop pointing out the fact that Mackers is a “family restaurant” and he can’t even take his family there. He was saying it in a tone that implied, “If a man can’t take his family to McDonald’s than where else? Where will they eat? What is this world coming to?”

Is there not another McDonald’s on the other side of town? Or a burger king? FYI, they are all the same. Fat turds.

So I failed to find an official version of my hilarious McDonald’s story, but I did find a few other dumb news clips on ABC. Check these out:

‘Girl’ at school was 39-year-old man

A Japanese man was arrested for trespassing this week after turning up at a high school dressed in a girl’s uniform and a long wig, local police said.

Thirty-nine-year-old Tetsunori Nanpei told police he had bought the uniform over the internet and put it on to take a stroll near the school in Saitama, north of Tokyo, on Wednesday, the daily Asahi Shimbun said.

When students standing outside the gates started to scream at the sight of him, he dashed inside the school grounds, hoping to blend in with the crowds of teenagers, the paper said.

They also screamed, forcing the man to flee, losing his wig in the process. A school clerk pursued him and stopped him at a nearby riverbank, the paper said.

Police confirmed the arrest of the man in school uniform and wig but declined to give further details. 

Who the fuck would think that would work? I want to meet this guy. Do you think it was Rad Rob?

All I could think of when I read this next article was that Michael Moore movie all about crime in America and how Canada is soooo safe. Granted this story is funny, drunk driving is not safe. C’mon Canada.

Drunk driver parks at police station

Posted Sat Feb 23, 2008 2:15am AEDT

Police in the western Canadian town of Wetaskiwin did not have to do much work when they arrested a drunk driver at the weekend – he had parked his car next to their offices and wandered inside.

Police discovered the man as they drove by early on Saturday morning to respond to an unrelated call.

Although the police office was locked, the lobby was open.

“There was a vehicle parked about 10 feet outside our front door. The gentleman had walked into the front lobby and he was displaying many indications of being intoxicated,” Constable Mark Scheck said.

“So at that point we did take him into custody … it’s pretty unusual.”

The 28-year-old man has been charged with impaired driving.

what an asshole.

check out the original site so you know i didn’t just make this up.


A weekend of tanning followed up by a game of cricket, mate

I have been in Sydney Australia for 1 week and 1 day. I spent the entire weekend happily, frying in the sun. Friday was spent lying on Bondi beach with Nicole and Saturday on Manly Harbor with a whole crew of hyperactive, drunk, Aussie boys. Grace and I had to keep our distance so we weren’t drown while our boyfriends and the rest of the crew did back flips into the ocean all day. We walked to a rock jump in the woods and after staling for about 10 minutes I finally jumped in, screaming the whole way down. It was just like the old days when we used to jump off the train tracks in Maine, or the “secret” rope swing in Leominster…or maybe it was a town near leominster… I can’t remember exactly.

Once the sun went down we walked across the street to Jono’s beach apt. and everyone has a few drinks before we decided to go to some shitty club near the manly boardwalk. I wish i could remember what it was called so I could tell you not to go there. Let’s just put it this way, the door man stamped our inner arms with an ink syringe with the bar’s name inside the syringe like it was being injected into our veins. It was pretty much saying, “Welcome to our club, do heroin.” I wouldn’t usually let that sort of thing get to me, but heroin is so far from funny that this was just tasteless. Anyways, Mikey and I didn’t drink enough to hang out in such a bummer of a club, so we left around 12 for Nicole’s place in Bondi.

Sunday morning came around and we took the bus to Bondi Junction to meet up with the family and see a cricket game. For some reason I thought it might be fun and agreed to go when Shaz and Nic asked me if I wanted their spare ticket. Once we got to the Stadium I knew I’d gotten into something I was going to regret.

It was about 100 degrees with out one cloud in the sky and our seats offered no shade what so ever. After about 10 minutes of my ass sticking to a plastic seat I was ready to run back to bondi beach and promise that I would never complain about the ass kicking I’d receive from the brutal, Aussie waves as long as I never had to see another cricket field in my life. It was only 2pm and Mikey quietly told me I’d have to wait for the game to finish at ten. TEN! TEN? I almost barfed. But I was with Mikey’s family, so I tried to act like I was enjoying myself to avoid seeming like a brat. I don’t think it worked.

I read the entire Sunday Herald and did the Suduko to keep my mind of the heat. I ate a lot of french fries and popsicles and watched the clock while one Indian girl behind me screamed OUT! every 2 minutes in the most piercing voice I’ve ever heard. I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, but then I didn’t know if that was aloud at a cricket game, especially seeing as how we were sitting in the India section and the fans might retaliate. They were a rowdy bunch of sports fans with India flags painted on everything, their hats, faces, shirts. They has balloons and random photos of women and men that they would hold up while screaming something in Indian. The sun, the boring game, the crappy expensive food, and the screaming in my ear; it was all just too much to handle.

Clouds finally saved us from the sun’s overpowering heat around 8pm and we decided to leave around 9:30 before the game had even ended. I still have no idea if Australia or India won and I don’t care. Mikey and I drove to his dad’s for the night. I’ve never been so happy to see a day come to an end.

Monday I spent the day handing out resume’s to bars and shops n the city. Yesterday I met up with my old pal Lisa and caught up on life while basking at Bondi once again.

Tomorrow I have a trial shift at G Star Raw. It’s not a writing job, but a girls gotta pay the bills. I guess I’ll take what I can get for now.

California Girl?

Oh yes, right, San Francisco. My layover was from 3pm to 1030pm on the 17th. The lovely Bill Conway was kind enough to meet me (at 3 on the dot, obviously) at the airport. We checked my bags into a travel agency that charged 41 bucks to watch it for the evening, and headed of to the hills.

Bill showed me the trendy thrift store infested area, “Mission” and even took me to a vegan cafe for lunch. I wish i could remember what it was called, but it doesn’t matter so much since there were vegan places on every corner. We mainly wandered around for hours, telling stories of the past chunk of months and catching up on life’s bullshit. It was a really kick as time and I’m in love with that city. I can’t explain it really, but something about it seemed natural and honest. For instance, at one point I peaked into the windows of a natural healing shop, just out of curiosity, and the dread headed guys leaving the shop told us to go in and check it out. They were about to start a jam session and anyone was welcome.  They were showing art and eating snacks and just being creative. I loved that they were open to sharing that with anyone and if I hadn’t needed to catch a flight (or been with bill, who I don’t think would have enjoyed it as much as I would) I would have walked right in and made myself at home. I made it back to the airport in time to grab a bite to eat and still make my flight. I watched some shit movies and tried to sleep for most of the trip. When I woke up, I was 2 hours from Sydney and has completely skipped Feb 18th. Fuck you Presidents Day.

See, my problem, if you can call it that, is that I love everything and everywhere. And even usually everyone. It really messes with my head because I can never decide on just one thing to do, or one place to live. I want to see everything, and try everything, and because of that I’m having a hard time finding something I can excel at. Also, I can’t really call anywhere home. I feel like I belong in Boston, NY, CT, Chefchouen, Berlin, Sydney, and now San Fran? As much as I love being a nomad, I’m getting a little frustrated with myself. I’d like some stability, a place to stay grounded, but as soon as I have that, I’m ready to move again. I guess everywhere is home now.


clear blue skys It isn’t taking long to rekindle my love for a country I fell for 3 years ago. I was really nervous about coming back, mainly because of all the fun I’d been having back home, but I think I will settle in just fine.

I arrived yesterday, Feb 19th, with almost no sleep to speak of for the previous 2 nights. I greeted the sun with a zombie look and my boyfriend with a forced smile. I just wanted to lie down and shower, both at the same time. Poor Mikey had been waiting in the airport since 8am and It wasn’t until around 11am that I finally made it through customs, baggage, and quarantine. The Sydney Airport was chaos. Get on that Australia, seriously, you’re up there with Paris’ Charles De Gaulle (the bane of my travel existence).

So we lugged my overstuffed suitcases to the car and I headed for the drivers seat, forgetting that i was in opposite land once again. Mikey drove us to Bondi and we stopped at the camping goods store that his sister Nicole works at. I hadn’t seen her for about 3 years and I promise I was more excited than I seemed, I was just unable to show it due to exhaustion. She gave us the keys to her Bondi apt. and we made our way to the cute and tidy beach house. I finally showered and Shaz came over and we met up for snacks and drinks, but I needed a sleep and passed out on the couch as soon as we made it back to the house.

 Today, however, has been a day I can not complain about. I woke up around 6 and gave up trying to fall  back to sleep around 7. I made breakfast for Mikey and watched without envy as he forced himself off to work. Once he was out of the picture I stared my own routine, relaxing.

I made some breakfast, went for a jog, and by 10 was glued to my pool side sun bathing spot until about 3. I could tell you all the things I did while laying by the pool, but it would bore you since it only consists of relaxing things, like books, lizards, and salads, but not lizard salads, that’s mean. Instead I will just show you photos of my environment and let you browse with envy.

my poolside experiance

Mikey’s sisters arrived around 4 from the city and Mikey at about 6. Its 7:18 now and the sun still hasn’t set. The weather here is unbelievable. I had forgotten how much of an effect it can have on my mood. Having an endless, jobless sunny day is almost as good as going to the Sil with the rats on a snowy one, or meeting for coffee & hot dogs with my favorite girls, or a damn good time at the Berliner’s. I said ALMOST as good as those things.                                                             

Unorganized Passport Drama

Here I am, sitting at the Shannon, Ireland Airport for a quick, but annoying layover from London to Boston. After a 4-hour sleep on Gen and Pete’s Futon, I was escorted to the Heathrow express train (more expensive than the tube, but so worth it to not wake up 2 hours earlier). Gen and Mikey said their “see ya soon” s to me and I sat down with my suitcases for a relaxing 15-minute trip to the airport.

Oh wait, that’s not what happened at all. Actually, as the doors to the train closed, I sat down and double checked my purse for my passport and realized I still had Mikey’s passport with me. Not a big deal, I’ll just mail it to him or something…but of course it’s not that simple. This wouldn’t be my life if I didn’t have to pay MASSIVLY for my idiot mistakes. It would be the life I wish I had, the one where I was always on time, organized, well dressed and immune to bad breath. But I’ve given up on those things by now. Mikey’s flight to Boston is taking off as I write this, and hopefully he is on it. He is flying from Gatwick, an airport miles outside of the city, nowhere near Heathrow, the airport I flew from.

So what the fuck does one do when they have to not only check them self in and get on their own flight in the allotted 2 hours, but also some how get a passport back to Edgeware road in central London for the equally irresponsible other half?

I rang Mikey in a panic after I’d already checked in and gone through security. He hadn’t realized the situation until I called. Don’t be surprised. Our first solution was to have him get on the damn express train and come pick it up, but that meant I would have to leave my gate and wait for him to arrive (30 min at the least) and hand it over. None of the airport personnel wanted to be held responsible, so no one else would do the deed. This wasn’t going to work, because I would miss my flight waiting for him and going back through security again.

Next Plan, send it back to the apartment in a taxi. So I leave the gate, its now 9am and I’m really hoping that I can make it back through security and to my gate in time for my 10:10 flight. I ran outside, my gigantic bag on my arm, looking like a crazy person who hasn’t changed her socks in 3 weeks or showered in days. I had to walk up the line of taxis, asking them to do me the favor, but was denied by 3. I decided I would run back inside, go to the ATM and take out 50 pounds to bribe the drivers with (they didn’t like the idea of mikey paying them when they got there). I tried a new driver, who looked reluctant until I said I’d pay him up front. He said it would be 50 and I forked over the cash. His name was Bob and he promised he’s get it to Mikey urgently.

I gave Bob the address and our mobile number to ring Mikey once he was out side. I had left the phone with Mikey per chance I would need to ring him once I’d left. I guess I had a prophetic vision that something like this would happen, or more like an experienced knowledge it would. As Bob drove off, I took down his cab number, as if that will help if he decided not to deliver the thing.

I ran back into the airport and made it through security a second time to my gate. They hadn’t started boarding yet and I tried to grab a bite to eat at the only café in a 20 minute walking distance from my gate. Of course the only thing on the vegan menu was a banana and a bottle of water. Disappointed and slightly angry about the lack of consideration for some of the most considerate people, I found a pay phone and rang mikey. It was 9:45 at this point and he still hadn’t gotten the Passport. I needed to board so we said goodbye, Mikey sitting on the stoop in the cold and me stressed out, needing to pee but didn’t have time, boarding a shitty flight to Ireland.

Berlin day 3

After sleeping in as usual we finally ventured out in to the cold Berlin winter around early afternoon. We walked by outdoor skate rink, and ferris wheel that make up part of the Christmas markets in Berlin-Mitte. I was cold and grumpy so Mikey bought me a sponge bob balloon to cheer me up.

We paid 4 Euro each to see an exhibition at the Guggenheim. sl371001.jpg

There were only 12 photographs, all depicting lower class. I wasn’t really impressed to be honest and thought the museum would be a lot bigger and/or have something fantastic on display. I guess I should have done my research before paying for that one.

Once we got back outside we immediately wanted to go somewhere warm again so I dragged Mikey shopping. We don’t have enough money to buy fancy things, or enough room in our backpacks, so I just looked a bit. I don’t know why I do that to myself, its just depressing.

Next we ventured out to a new part of the city to find a metal bar called Access. We read on “heavy metal travel guide” that it only played “Extreme metal: black, death, and thrash” – say no more.

We got off the Metro at Eberswalder Strasse and immediately grabbed a warm brew at Impala Coffee to keep us warm. They have soymilk and good looking babes behind the counter (I don’t think guys are aloud to work there, at least not at that one). They also sell The Berliner – the only weekly English magazine with gigs, theatre and club listings. Its only 2 Euro and well worth the investment.

We had to walk about 20 minutes to find the brutal pub; Access (we could have caught a tram, but we were still getting used to the whole city transport thing). It wasn’t even open when we got there, so we took a tram to Alexanderplatz to find the popular pizza joint, Due Forni. It’s supposedly famous in Berlin for its great food and the graffiti all over the walls (which I was later told is a privilege granted “only for bands and friends of bands”). I was caught writing ‘Pratt Ratt’ on the wall and the waiter decided to inform me of this “priviledge” then.

pratt ratts tag

The walls are completely covered with shitty band tags, “From Autum to Ashes” were among the hundreds of crap bands written around the place. At least the Pratt Ratts have some cred. I’d much rather have a Ratt tag my wall than a horrible shit band, but I guess that’s their problem. The pizza was really good and they had no problem making mine with out cheese. We picked up a copy of Uncle Sally’s, a free German magazine with gigs and music articles.

We made our way back to Access on the M4 tram, and this time it was open. The whole place was dedicated to metal, and the walls had dark murals, upside down crosses and Moterhead posters to set the scene of brutality. access metal bar, berlin

The bar tender looked shocked when I order a vodka soda and I decided most people just get pint of beer at a bar of such fierce mentality. Most people also probably smash their pint against their head when they finish and leave the blood on their foreheads – METAL. Did I mention I still had my sponge bob balloon with me, so I don’t think he though I was quite metal enough to hang – little does he know. We only stayed for 3 drinks or so and played a few games of pool – Mikey winning all of them. We ran out of cash so we caught the tram back to the center and the subway from there to the hostel. A tame night for such heavy rockers indeed. (BUT! We didn’t pay for the transport, EERRRWAAAAAA!!!!! METAL!)