Thursday, January 17, 2008

Lesbians+Surfers = Paradise


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Lesbians have it tough. First all of the vagina sex. Enough right there. Then, the big strap-on dildos, tanktops, volvos and menstruation. Big questions: Are you a lipstick lesbian or more likely to dress like the mascot of Bob's Big Boy? Most reasonable people would stop at just the vagina factor but sadly, many of these girls just don't have a choice. They have no control on their lust for hairpie.

I bring this up because I have spent some time with Natalie, a
Surfer's Paradise local whom I know from my party days in Toronto. Dyke city. She is now sober and thus I now have a designated driver faghag. Back to Nat in a second.

Surfer's was just another seaside town until the 1960's, when it was renamed and made famous for its meter maids (girls who traded in shifts at Billy's Topless in order to feed expired meters, a service that gave the area worldwide fame). Now it is pre-fab glitz, tourist traps and Sizzler. It feels like an impotent version of the thing that America does best.

My hostel was a total dump. The town was jampacked so I was forced to stay at a place called Sleeping Inn. Never go there. The rooms get up to 100 degrees and have no aircon. I was trapped in a bunkroom with four lovely irish girls, who had everything going for them except the inability to be tidy. Their bags had burped crimpers, bras, tampon boxes, shoes, hair conditioner, scrunchies and clothes. Lots of clothes. I tried to overlook the mess but it was tough to overlook the accent. "Oh Yee-a. Been 'ter New Yairk befar, 'av I". How can you take a person seriously if they talk like Hagrid?

I can't forget to mention that I carried a two liter box of wine onto my flight. This would have shut LAX down but the screener in Townsville simply said "Good on ya!". Boxes of wine are rather common here and drinking it is referred to as being on The Goon. Goon is about 11 bucks for four liters and vodka is about 42 bucks a liter. The choice becomes simple.

My big night out was at a bar called MP's and it is the only gay bar in SP. Natalie accompanied me. The place filled in quickly, despite the fact that is an unimaginably ugly club. Who decides to put fauxliage over a dance floor? A canopy of leaves. Really?

I was accosted by a french guy within three drinks. He put my hand on his dick and crooned "we go to my hotel?". I took a zero on the french exam and within minutes he had his hand on another patron's package. Talk about working a room. A song with a Loverboy sample finally sent us to the door. My lesbian drove me home on the back of her motorbike. I had the room to myself because the irish girls had all hooked up, most likely with others who talked like half-giants. Me? Well. Welcome to Spanklevania.

I hung out with two british guys for the two days following. We went to wet n wild and picked on other tourists at nightclubs. We bodyboarded and played in huge waves. I want to marry them both, despite their heterosexuality. But I know how this goes - inseparable for days and ill probably never see them again. It sounds depressing but it isnt once you learn the rules of travelling.

The shitty hostel had Pizza Night, at which 60 Dominos pizza's were delivered for an all-you can eat binge. This was exciting because the only food left in the vending machine was - get this - canned tuna with mango and sweet corn. I'd fuck a horse before I would try that.

My stint in SP was followed by a one-nighter in Noosa, an amazing little town on the sea. The Halse Lodge YHA gets major points and I wish that I had planned to stay there longer. I made spaghetti with meat sauce, which costed me $15 in materials and could have easily been ordered at a restaurant for half the price....and been a lot less sweaty. I accidentally drank well into the night, after getting stuck in a two hour Tom Cruise conversation with a local dishwasher. The TC conversations are endless because there are never any answers, only questions and theories.

Now pushing onto Rainbow Beach. Fraser Island awaits.

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