Bondi, Tamarama, and Brente Beach Hike

Number one on my Australian "Bucket list," if you will, has been to partake in the Bondi Beach to Coogee Beach Hike.

I proposed the idea to my housemate, and she happily agreed to join me, explaining that the hike starts at Bondi Beach, loops over to Tamarama Beach, continues through Brente Beach, and ends at Coogee Beach. Yes, it was in fact as spectacular as it sounds. 

We arrived at Bondi Beach (pronounced, I discovered, "Bond"-"Eye") and started off the day by walking through an outdoor market of sorts that is only open on Sundays. "It is on the campus, after all," my housemate casually mentioned. Not having noticed a campus, I looked around and realized we were in a Primary School (grades K-6). I felt a wave of emotions that could be classified as some mixture of awe-struck and a shameful jealousy as I realized these kids attend school mere feet away from one of the most spectacular beaches in the world; I felt like how I imagine a wrongfully convicted criminal would feel if given a tour of the life he could have lived, had he been in a different place at a different time when the crime occurred. Putting on my best smile and trying to remember the world is not fair (please note my humorous tone), we explored the little market. This, my housemate explained, is where designers sell their items before they secure prestigious contracts and subsequently hike up their prices. It seemed like an excellent place to find the kind of items a person would favor in their closet - I made a mental note to return once I am employed. 

We then mosied over to Bondi Beach. I quickly learned what makes the beach one of the largest tourist attractions in Sydney: its turquoise water, rolling waves and golden tan sand instantly had me smitten.

As I was blissfully gazing at the beauty, my housemate casually mentioned, "Ah, looks like there's a shark." From her indifferent tone of voice she might as well have been commenting on the weather.  Edit

I tried to play it cool with my response. "WHAT?!" I peered out at the ocean, noticing the handful of surfers in the water, none of which appeared to be in the midst of a life-threatening attack. She informed me that the large gathering of birds hovering over the water a few yards away indicated that there were many fish in that area, which are the warning signs of a shark. In fact, she continued to enlighten me, the red boat we could spot cruising around was likely searching for said shark. Of all the things I could have been thinking, the first thought that popped into my mind was a sarcastic remark of how I was sure glad I purchased a new bathing suit before I arrived - a suit that, I now knew, I would never get any use out of. 

I had to ask, "Why aren't the people getting out of the water??" 

"The signs are out - they're swimming at their own risk." I learned that if a red boat ever did actually spot a shark, a loud siren would go off.  "Don't worry," she casually told me, "there are plenty of tourists it'd get before you." I don't think she was joking.

Eventually we continued on from the Bondi Beach beauty to embark on the first portion of the hike over to Tamarama Beach. To my surprise, the hike was on a cliff surrounding the water which provided breathtaking views. (Being a top tourist destination, the fact that it was spectacular probably shouldn't have been such a surprise, but the cliff aspect really gave the experience an element of prestige I hadn't been expecting.)

We arrived at Tamarama Beach and it was equally spectacular (it is, after all, the same ocean). Spotting a cafe, we enjoyed a tranquil lunch of chicken sandwiches, and for me, a long black.

I enjoyed the obviousness of finding the obligatory barbecue stations sprinkled around the beach - such as the two under the tents pictured below - for visitors to enjoy. We are, after all, in Australia: the land of the barbecue. 

Brente beach was our next destination. Upon our arrival, my housemate nonchalantly picked up something in the sand. "It's a Bluebottle," she casually stated. Yes, the very jellyfish that I had researched in-depth under the category "Dangerous Sea Animals," learning they gift recipients of their stings severe, burning pain lasting several hours in duration, and providing them with giant erythematous welts. Noting my bare feet, I scrambled to put my shoes on and then froze in place: not wanting to run in fear of stepping on one, and not wanting to stay where I was in case I was standing near a straggler. "No worries," she casually stated, "it's probably dead. They're on the ground all around here, see? Usually they're dead." Pretending to feel reassured, I proposed heading back to the path. 

Although the plan was to hike the whole path, we stopped one trail short of Coogee Beach. It may seem silly from a reader's perspective to not have completed the entire hike, and perhaps it was, but we felt happy with the trip, and my tired legs were beginning to cause me to walk like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. Hopefully I will be able to return some time in the next year and view the undoubtedly spectacular Coogee Beach. 

One thing I particularly enjoyed is, in Sydney beaches, there are swimming pools adjacent to the ocean. Perhaps this is to allow people to experience the beauty of the beach coupled with a safe, man-made swimming experience. They certainly made for stunning photographs. 

I give the hike, without hesitation, a five star review. I spent much of the day fantasizing about what life would be like to live across the street. (My daydreams did not, however, include dealing with the corrosion, which, my roommate informed me, is starting to become a problem.) I even snapped some photos of some gorgeous real estate scenery. I believe these houses go for around AUD $3 million. (Hey dad - interested in making an investment???)

At the end of the day, after I had made it home and woke up from the coma-like nap I had instantly succumbed to, I anxiously scanned myself to verify that the religious sunscreen upkeep I had practiced had indeed left me burn-free. Sure enough, while I had darkened in color there was no red to be found! That was, at least, until I laid back down and felt a sharp pain in my elbows. I looked in the mirror and, sure enough, I had been inflicted with burns on, of all places, my two elbows. That's a new one. I suppose if there is one place I'm not as concerned with premature wrinkling, however, it would be my elblows.

I'd say the ideal sunburn location was the perfect end to a perfect day. I will definitely return to Bondi! 

Sydney Mardi Gras

Tonight I stepped a bit out of my comfort zone and ventured to the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade. 

The Mardi Gras is a very big deal in Sydney; each local I spoke with in the past few days I have been here has mentioned the parade as being a must-see for tourists such as myself. I was excited, as I had never experienced any similar event. Some history on the parade: inaugurated in 1979, hundreds of thousands of people venture into Sydney to watch the parade, a large portion including international and domestic tourists. In fact, the Mardi Gras is one of the largest such festivals in the world. The parade and dance party is New South Wales' second largest annual event and raises over $30 million for the state. With these statistics I became optimistic as to what the night had in store for me.

  (Picture from rainbowtourism.com.au) 

The evening started off well. The parade was set to begin at 8 p.m., and my friends and I bussed into Sydney around 4. We browsed through a grocery store to pick up some snacks, and sat in a park to eat. I discovered Crocodile, Kangaroo and Emu jerkey - especially surprising, as Kangaroos and Emus are Australia's national animals; I can't imagine eating Bald Eagle Jerkey in the States.

    (Above: I also found a dispenser for "Hot Chockee," a name I enjoyed.)

Sitting in the park, I observed locals and tourists alike fluttering about with excitement. It was easy to identify those in the tour, as they were heavily painted in make-up and dressed in costumes a mere spectator wouldn't dare to wear. (Aside from the hubbub of the parade, I was just giddy with excitement to be spending the day in a park in Sydney Australia!) Around 6 p.m., we headed off towards the parade to attempt to find a place from which we could see the event. We spotted a photo op, and I forced my housemate, a Sydney native, to take a picture with me.

  

We scouted around and spotted what seemed like an excellent place to stand - a mere few feet away from the parade and right on a curb, which allowed us a boost to see over the people in front of us. It didn't take long for it to dawn on me that we were going to have to stand there until the parade started in two looming hours. We snapped a quick picture while the light was still favorable.

Eventually the time had passed and it was 8 p.m., the start of the parade. A motorcycle flew down the street at the speed of light, grabbing everyone's attention to indicate the beginning. More motorcycles began entering the street, at a slower pace, revving their engines and honking their horns. Riders included gay, lesbian, and straight couples as well as singles. I was surprised to learn these riders were called - forgive me as I quote the official name - "Dykes on Bikes." (I suppose the name isn't as sensitive when the crowds are gathering in support of the demographic.) I was also initially taken aback to see a gay and lesbian parade showcasing straight couples on several motorcycles, but then I came to understand the underlying theme being unconditional acceptance. This demonstration went on for a very long hour, all the while an increasing number of individuals began showing up, pushing and shoving one another to get the best view. 

I couldn't help but notice the shockingly wide range of demographics in attendance. There were the expected groups of teenage girls, wearing bright tutus and acting in ways they and only they perceived as "Cool." (Hey, we've all been young once - no judgement here.) To my right was a middle aged couple, passing back and forth what smelled like plain Vodka which had been poured into a water bottle. Behind me was an elderly group of individuals standing on the bench of a bus stop, thus being able to see over the crowd, seeming to enjoy themselves (until a policeman asked them to step down). Somehow as the night progressed a middle aged Chinese tourist had, quite strategically, snuck her way in front of me to snag the ideal spot on the curb. She had the clever strategy to hone in little by little, instead of attempting one swift shove, as was the simple plan of the rest of the crowd. I wondered what could possibly attract this particular woman, conservative in appearance, to a parade that would be classified as wild for an event where valid IDs weren't required. This woman was absolutely enthralled in the parade, reaching her tiny arms as high as they could go to snap picture after picture. Fascinated by her fascination, I had no problem with her poaching my spot, and I was several feet taller than her so my view wasn't impaired anyways. As the night progressed, I noticed she was in attendance with another woman. Not wanting to jump any guns, I wondered if the reasoning behind her desperate clicking of the camera was because she was a lesbian. I'm not sure how tolerant China is as a whole, but simply her age alone would indicate that she may have had to hide her identity for some period of time - if not still currently. It must have been a beautiful event for her, and any others in that situation, to be in attendance of such a large crowd celebrating people as they are. 

I, on the other hand, was quite bored. Although I didn't necessarily care to catch every glimpse of the motorcyclists, who were still circling around and honking, it was difficult to see, even from our ideal location, which was a bit discouraging. I wondered how the hundreds of thousands who didn't have good spots and couldn't see a thing left thing felt. Finally, after a little over three hours of being planted on the curb, the floats began to make their way down the streets, and my boredom became coupled with confusion. This hugely popular event seemed to mainly consist of transgender individuals in extravagant costumes strutting down the street paired with shockingly average-appearing floats. I couldn't help but to wonder: all these people really flock to Sydney for this? (To be fair, perhaps growing up in the San Fransisco Bay Area caused the site of fabulously dressed transgenders to be less foreign to me than others in attendance - such as the Chinese woman next to me, stretching her eyes as wide as they could open, lifting up on her highest tippy-toes and craning her neck to soak up every second.) 

Each float was attended with individuals in varied amount of clothing, generally implementing random, un-choreographed dancing. It was easily distinguishable which inhabitants were gay and which were straight (perhaps the latter simply couldn't - or didn't know how to - say no upon receiving an invitation). My favorite float was one with a pole which featured a man and a woman dancing a very difficult synchronised routine. That, in my opinion, is entertainment - as opposed to the other multiple hours' worth of floats which were simply individuals dancing randomly and taking go-pro videos of the crowds.

 

  

My apprehensions were intensified by new series of floats beginning to drift down the street full of seemingly random religious and political campaigns. "Christian Church for Gays," was trailed by a line of crosses, followed closely behind by a float titled "Athiests Support Gays," written on a giant inflatable airplane that was trailed by "Praise Darwin" signs. "Republicans for Gay Rights" appeared, followed by "Vote Democrat" activists. Huh?! It appeared to me to be straying from the theme, and slightly overwhelming in advertisements. (Perhaps the advertising organizations make up a bulk of the revenue brought in). 

At this time my friends and I decided to hit the road. Maybe parades just aren't my thing. I can accept that, and I absolutely still appreciate an event that brings joy to hundreds of thousands of people.

Trivia Night

Friday had come and gone and I had yet to get out of bed. 

At what point, I wonder, can I no longer classify myself as jet lagged and instead conclude that I am simply lazy? I began the day with full intentions to set off for Sydney and embark on the spectacular Bondi Beach to Coogee Beach walk, but as I attempted to become ready I discovered that I simply didn't have the energy. I figure it's best to listen to my body and take the cultural immersion at a slower pace, rather than try to push my limits and risk over-doing it.

As a consequence, the day had surpassed me with no notable events occurring. Eventually my housemates arrived home from work, and I wandered downstairs to say hello. I learned that one was headed off to a barbecue. (It didn't take long to learn that barbecuing is everything in Australia. One of the first questions I was asked upon arrival, in fact, was if I was a vegetarian. The response to my negative answer was, "THANK GOD!") 

My other housemate and her boyfriend, I discovered, were headed off to a trivia night fundraiser the local high school was throwing. Realizing this meant I would be spending Friday night home alone (an idea which sounded excellent to me; I was actually perking up at the idea of going back to sleep), they took pity on me and extended an invitation. And so begins my year as a third wheel.

We arrived at the event and my housemate, a teacher, gave us a tour of the school. The Australian school system offers students two campuses: K-6 and 7-12; we were touring the latter. A new school, built only six or so years ago, I was surprised to learn that it did not provide air conditioning. I pondered this for a minute. I am arriving at the very end of summer when the temperature is said to be dropping, and the past week alone has been in the high 80s and low 90s, and quite humid. To learn that children and teachers spend all day in even higher temperatures without the simple luxury of air conditioning further solidifies my hunch that Australians are the strongest bunch of people I have ever encountered. 

We then entered the woodshop room, the subject of which my housemate is an instructor. I was told that woodshop is an integral part of the Aussie curriculum; they learn how to build and repair things from an early age. I thought of the thousands of dollars my parents have spent on their handyman in the past year alone and realized what a spectacular idea it is to offer students practical skills they can actually apply in real life. I attempted to recall if my high school offered any similar courses and concluded that it, to my knowledge, did not. I did, however, learn to find invisible numbers in mathematical equations - a whole lot of good that's doing me. 

We entered the room where the event was being held and I eagerly scanned the hallway for coffee. It was, after all, my accustomed 1 a.m. I was surprised and dismayed to discover that there was no beverage table. In the States, it would be rare to find an event without, at the very least, pitchers of water, and more commonly, coffee and snacks as well. This doesn't seem to be the case in Australia, and locals started trickling in with stocked coolers and lunch boxes, unpacking plastic wine glasses and filling them to the top, cracking open beers and tossing bottle openers across tables to the various blokes who forgot theirs, spreading out cheese and crackers, peanut m&ms, and gummy snacks for communal enjoyment. I felt ill-prepared arriving empty-handed, but no one seemed to notice or care. (I did spend $3 to contribute to my team entering the "Double points" round, so hopefully that made up for it. Hey, that's a lot of money for an unemployed Sheila with bills to pay!)

The game progressed, and of the ten questions per ten rounds, I knew all of two answers - I was able to name the songs "So what," by Pink, and "Pump it," by the Black Eyed Peas. The Istanbul skyline, on the other hand, I was not able to identify. Nor was I able to conclude who the Greek God of music is (Athena). Eventually I began to tune out - especially as my native time zone began to creep into the 4 a.m. range - and I simply watched as the teachers somehow knew the answers to these unimaginable questions. I did prove to be a disappointment to my team once, as opposed to being viewed as simply an empty chair, when a question was asked regarding the name of the ice skating champ who was involved in the "Skate-gate" scandal, and was stripped of her title after failing to report knowledge of a plot to physically harm a competitor. When my entire team looked at me and I abashedly stated I had never heard of the event, one woman exclaimed in a competitive fury, "But the ice skater is American!" (I later learned the answer is Tonya Harding. I was two years old when the scandal occurred in 1994.) 

Later rather than sooner the games had concluded and it was time for prizes to be distributed. First they announced the winner of the random drawing (the prize was, not surprisingly, a barbecue). Next the trivia winners were announced. Out of, let's say, 20 teams, they named those who placed 19th-5th. Then they announced the "Wooden Spoon." This captured my attention, and I felt compelled to inquire about this category. The "Wooden Spoon," I learned, is an Australian tradition where the loser of an event is awarded - you guessed it - a wooden spoon. Even professional sporting teams are awarded the prize upon losing. "What do they do with them?" I asked, baffled.

"Throw them away." 

So the wooden spoon was awarded, and then teams 5th-2nd were announced. I realized my team hadn't been called yet; sure enough, no thanks to me, we had emerged victorious. 

(Being neither a teacher nor an Aussie, I didn't make it into the picture.) 

Our prizes: a bottle of wine paired with either a movie or a box of chocolates. 

Which brings me to another topic I am gathering: alcohol seems to be as common as water here, if not more so. 

Things I learned today: Aussies are tough, smart, and like to have a good time. (And, if I ever attend a trivia event again, I should bring lots of snacks because that is the only contribution I'll be able to make.) 

A Divine Intervention

Today I was set to start my first day of work as a Funeral Salesman. I woke up early, became as ready as I could with the meagre supplies of clothes and everyday items I have, packed a lunch and set off towards the bus stop - all the while trying to keep my mind off of what the day had in store for me.

I walked to the bus stop, sat down on the bench, and waited. And waited. And waited. The bus never came.

I double, triple, and quadruple checked the schedule, each time confirming that I was indeed at the correct station. After an hour of sitting in the baking, humid heat, it dawned on me that the bus not arriving must be a sign of divine intervention. Accepting this theory as truth, I - perhaps a little too eagerly - headed home and emailed the boss my resignation. Who am I to turn my back on God's wishes? 

I figure waiting a week or two to secure another job will help me become more acclimated to the area, and hopefully give my jet lag time to subside a bit. The worst case scenario would be if I am never accepted at another position, run out of money, and have to return home within a short timeframe. Sad as that scenario may be, I would still count it as a success, because I wouldn't have had to work as a Funeral Salesman. 

Day 1: Check!

Today was my first full day in Australia and I was determined to find a job. I leisurely woke up around 2 a.m. (yay time change!), and, feeling like a child on Christmas morning, I headed to Sydney around 9.

I've previously been comparing the bus commute to the Bart system in California, but now that I've made the trip I realize the two couldn't be more different. The trip to Sydney is beautiful (unlike Bart, which either travels underground or through the ghettos of California). While I only traveled three stops, the 45 minute trip overlooked beautiful trees (similar to Costa Rica, in fact) and spectacular ocean views. The only problem is there doesn't seem to be any way of knowing the name of the stop you are arriving at unless you are a local and know the area. I'm not sure if there's some subtle sign that I'm missing, but luckily, as my trip was only three stops, I exited at the correct time and made it to my first interview with minutes to spare. 

I stepped off the bus, and I was in San Francisco. Well, San Francisco with a little more cigarette smoke and even more beautiful ocean views (although nothing in any country can beat Fort Funston dog beach, which holds a sentimental spot in my heart). I made it to the first interview, which was to register at a recruitment agency for potential openings in the future, and I grabbed a quick snapshot of the view when no one was looking: 

I never wanted to leave. 

After the meeting I headed to - don't judge me - Starbucks. It's comforting to have a little piece of home (although my plain black coffee, or "Long black" in Aussie lingo, cost $6!). I had planned some well-thought-out agenda for the afternoon, but when I asked a local for directions and they instructed "Away from the water," I identified the opportunity and headed toward the water, finding myself at the stunning Sydney Harbour, where I spent the afternoon. (I never was good at taking advice!)

When the time arrived for the next interview, I realized I wasn't quite sure what the position was for. The job title was "Warm Outbound Sales!!!!!" and I knew something with that many exclamation marks couldn't be good. However, this lifestyle ain't cheap so I downed another cup of coffee, put on my most confident-looking smile, and headed in. 

To my surprise I was placed in a group interview with four additional interviewees - awkward! To my surprise again they all left before the interview started (a couple traveling together received an offer from another company and one nomad simply changed his mind - maybe because he, too, was freaked out by all the exclamation marks). I tried not to take personally the look of disappointment the interviewer was attempting to hide when she realized that I was the only candidate left.

The interview started and the recruiter finally began detailing the role to me: outbound sales to existing customers for one of the largest banks in Australia, yada yada. And then the bombshell.

The position is to sell funeral arrangements.

Ummmmmmmmmm........ 

I quickly reflected on my desire to make money (or rather, my desire to not become broke) versus my extreme discomfort with this category of sales. Then I gave her my biggest smile and said, "Perfect!!!!!!!!" 

I received the green light from the recruiter, which meant I then had to take a train to some unknown part of Australia (Greenwich, to be exact) to interview directly with the company. As my native time zone began to trickle down to the 9 p.m. range, I forced myself to fight through the exhaustion of the already-long day, find the train station, exit at the correct stop after the hour-long ride, walk to the proper destination, and complete the interview.

The only thing worse than putting yourself out there to apply for a funeral sales job is to be rejected from that position. Luckily for me that was not the case: I start tomorrow morning. Lord help me. (And, perhaps more importantly, Lord help those I will be selling to.)

Flight

I am currently sitting in the SFO airport, eating the most expensive taco salad I'll likely ever cross paths with. While it did cross my mind that I shouldn't stuff myself with Mexican food directly before a 14 hour flight, Andalés was calling my name this evening. Now all I can do is, as they say, let go and let God. 

Prepping for the flight was a bit more cryptic than I anticipated. A mid-morning conversation with my brother, his girlfriend, and my parents took an unfortunate left turn to a discussion of recent international plane crashes, which is never uplifting, much less when you are about to take a long international flight. 

As I attempted to shake off the negative vibes beginning to sneak over me, further conversations with various people throughout the day took similar directions. Warranted and legitimate advice regarding cautions a single traveler should take (always followed by the cryptic sentiment of "Just in case...") caused a few gray clouds to appear over the cheerful oblivion that I had been previously experiencing. I began to wonder: what if the person picking me up is going to abduct me? I don't have a Liam Neeson-character in my family to travel internationally and kill everyone in their wake until I am rescued. It was an abrupt awakening that the world is not full of the kind, trustworthy people I am used to being surrounded by, and I only have myself to depend on for safety. Yikes. 

I blinked and suddenly it was time to go. I packed the car, said goodbye to my mom, and set off to the San Francisco airport with my dad. On the drive my dad mentioned, "Half of me thinks this will be a great adventure for you, and my other half wonders why you are making this trip." I guess I feel the same way. While I don't feel ready to settle down, the thought of leaving my dog in the States causes me to feel sentimental and want to immediately turn back around. I suppose I won't know if the trip will be worth it until I'm living there. I recognized the same apprehensive reservations I felt when going to college for the first time, which ended up being exactly the place I needed to be, so that gave me a bit of reassurance. 

Despite my pre-flight jitters,  the Universe seems to be giving me every sign possible to tell me this is the right move. My suitcase was exactly 50 pounds - the weight limit. My flight was exactly the route I was hoping to get. My flat is exactly the right price, and with two great flat mates. My job hunt landed me a great-paying position right next to the bus stop in Sydney, and will allow me to start the day after I arrive. It seems as if canceling the trip now would be rudely turning a cold shoulder to the Universe's generosity. 

Luckily for me I have learned from previous travel mistakes and have been able to navigate the San Francsico airport smoothly and successfully. A few years ago I flew alone to London and was too inexperienced a traveler to realize that when no one was sitting in front of the assigned gate, a change was probably made in the itinerary. I ended up missing the flight and had to re-schedule (which actually ended up scoring me a better route). This time around, I kept an eager ear out for announcements, and sure enough my gate was changed and I coolly scooted over a few yards, feeling smug with experience. 

Likewise, when I flew to Costa Rica a year and a half ago my bag was several pounds over the limit, forcing me to take items out one by one and re-weigh the bag enough times to where the piercing glares of the passengers stuck in line caused the applicable employee to let me through (my bag never quite touched down at 50 lbs). This time, however, I had the wisdom to weigh my suitcase beforehand and ditch the necessary casualties prior to departing for the airport. It was quite a relief. 

I am being called to board my plane. I am noticing with dismay that it's boarding an hour before liftoff- meaning my 14 hour flight to Auckland will be extended to 15 hours stuck on the plane. See you on the other side! 

Destination

I admit that I hadn't done much research on Australia before dedicating myself to this adventure. Once I discovered the realistic possibility of living and working abroad, I didn't hesitate to empty my checking account to apply for my visa and purchase a plane ticket. 

I can't put my finger on why, of all places, I chose Australia; in addition to the stunning, unique beaches, Keith Urban's swoon-inducing accent, and its fun animals such as kangaroos and koalas, something about it has always intrigued me.

After my experience living in Costa Rica among extremely poor conditions - even without warm water - I am looking forward to a less ghetto and more fabulous trip, so that was the basis of my decision (and the primary reason I ruled out living in the Outback, where television in a new luxury). 

So I took to the internet, and although I was prepared to create long pros-and-cons lists of several cities, I surprisingly found my answer fairly quickly. The overwhelming response regarded - drum roll - Sydney as not only one of the most livable cities in the world, but also one of the happiest. Highlights include over 100 beaches, beautiful sunrises, kind people, and plentiful public transportation (a necessary logistic since I won't be buying a car). Plus, with it being just a short distance from Melbourne, I can easily hop on a plane for an excursion to experience the artsy city.

So Sydney it is! Next up, I will search for apartments and look for jobs until my March 1st departure date. (Because of the time change, I will arrive in Sydney on March 3rd, so I will not exist on March 2nd. I hope no exciting world events go down that I'll have to miss.) 

Until then I will be dreaming of walking along the beach under the sunrise, eating fish and chips, having my own apartment (off my parents couch!!!!) and, oh yeah, working.