"New York was amazing."
"No, I’m still skinny."
These are the three phrases I have found myself repeatedly uttering in the few short days since I’ve returned from my trip to America. I feel that these practically meaningless sentences, so obviously devoid of any real depth, are perfectly appropriate responses to the less than challenging questions people seem compelled to ask me.
"Did you have a good time?"
"How was New York?"
"You didn’t put on any weight? Even around all those fat Americans?"
Thanks to everyone for showing such genuine interest in my trip overseas.
Next time instead of asking me how I managed to retain the figure of a pre pubescent 12 year old girl while traveling through a country where they would deep fry a desk lamp and sell it with a large fries and coke, how about you spare me the effort it takes to curl my face up into a sarcastic smile and shut your fucking mouth.
Ok… clearly I’m not in a great mood at the moment.
Could my bitterness stem from the fact that upon going through the photos from my trip I realized that I have hardly any pictures of me in any of the awesome places I visited because my brother refused to stop for 3 seconds and take a photo? Possibly.
Maybe I’m just a little on edge because although I had a great time I’ll be paying it off for the next 11 years. That is if I’m able to get a job, because nothing says ‘Your poor!’ quite like returning from an expensive overseas trip paid for primarily on credit card only to discover that your job no longer exists.
Or I suppose some of my anxiety could be attributed to the fact that I’ve just booked in my second jaw operation and discovered that the recommended recovery time is a somewhat inconvenient period of TWO BLOODY MONTHS. (I feel the need to point out my brilliant ‘bloody’ pun.) So two months that should be spent completing my final year of university will now be dedicated to laying in bed drooling blood and eating through a straw.
Another possible factor contributing to my current less than joyous mood could be the fact that I stepped off the plane and into the hurricane of my sisters wedding. It turned out to be a beautiful event full of Kodak/Hallmark moments, however the image burned into my brain is one of my parents smiling gleefully and embracing my sister and her new husband followed by a similar moment later featuring my brother and his beautiful new girlfriend. The closest I got to a hug was getting entangled with a particularly nasty shrubary while trying to rewire the speaker system.
I’m the first person to admit that I can be as crazy as Britney Spears on ice, but despite everything going on at the moment I have managed to resist the urge to get out the clippers and go for the Sinead O’Connor look. I’ve been trying really hard to keep my shit together, and I’ve actually been doing OK. Until an hour ago.
This is the start of the conversation I just overheard between my parents.
"Something is very wrong with Michael."
…
I’ll fill in the blanks. They think I’m an unstable loser with no direction in my life.
They haven't even seen the begining of unstable Michael.
It’s good to be home.
Can you tell this photo was taken in the USA?
