It's warm Down Under

Australians are tall. True, compared to me even Taiwanese seem tall, but Australians really are tall.
 If you meet a short Australian man, chances are, he has Italian blood. Or Taiwanese.
 Australian men shave their legs. First thing I did, after noticing their shiny, silky legs, was to buy a new razor. Under no circumstances I will  accept any man around me whose legs are smoother than mine.
 With or without hair, noticing legs is unavoidable, here. Virtually everyone walks around in shorts, including those women who, in my humble opinion, their huge sausage legs should chop off, not show  off. I do love huge sausages, but not when they are attached to female bodies.

 When they speak, Australians seem to put emphasis to the end of each sentence, so that every statement sounds like a question. I keep being confused about when and how to answer. When someone says: "it s a beautiful day, today?", I wonder : does he want me to answer that? Or is he telling me? And either way, of course it s a beautiful day, we are in Australia. Australia! Not England. People don't have grey skin here! People still have hope in the functionality of umbrellas, here! Look at those smooth male legs, so shiny that the sun reflects on them! (Yes, they have 'sun' here). We can only be in Australia.

 This country is EXPENSIVE . In fact, it s so expensive that even after 2 months of me being here, I still say : "are you absolutely sure you re not mistaken?! Hand on heart?! Promise to God?!" to every single cashier who serves me in the shops.
 And each time, I look at my purse, clinging onto it, with eyes filled with tears as I reluctantly hand over note after note....and I only bought a pint of milk, for God' s sake! Does my pint come with an entire cow attached to it? And is a horny young farmer (whose legs are unshaven) attached to the cow which is attached to my oh-so-expensive pint of milk?! But no. No cow is ever attached. And most certainly no horny farmer either. So I started drinking my coffee black.
 Everything 'fun' is expensive. Cigarettes? Man, they re so pricey that these days I collect grass from my back yard, dry it in the sun (have I mentioned they have 'sun' here?), roll it in toilet paper and smoke it. And since toilet paper is so bloody expensive, I can only use it to make cigarettes but then I have to wipe my ass with my bare hands.
   Drinking alcohol? You are having a laugh.  These days I get tipsy by drinking glass cleaner. You need to drink quite a lot of it, to be honest, but you should see how shiny my teeth are! (My window are filthy, but you can't have it all).
 So if you want to have fun in Australia by smoking or drinking excessively, quite frankly, you re fucked. The Government will punish you for wanting to get shit faced! I think they even have a tax here, called "the Shit faced tax", but I'm not so sure.

 Bottom line is: in a Country where the sun  shines bright every day (as you might know by now), where beautiful beaches are scattered everywhere, where the grass is always green (until I smoke it), who would want to have fun with the aid of harmful substances? Well, me.
 Since I refuse to pay the "Shit faced tax", I'm trying to have fun in a healthy way. I have spent time in parks and beaches, but even this, per se, create problems: parks make me want to smoke joints and beaches make me want to drink beers.
 Thank fuck it s sunny. (It really is).

 Drinking copious amount of glass cleaner made me put on weight, so I joined a gym.
 Yes! You guessed it! Gyms are expensive too, but very, very effective: after you pay the membership fees, you' re left with no money to spend on food and you lose weight. Effective!

 Since I no longer have crazy Friday nights, I no longer wake up on Saturday mornings looking like Michael Jackson in Thriller, wondering where I left my phone/my head/my underwear. 
These day I wake up and my phone is on the bed side table, my head is firmly attached to my shoulders and my underwear....well, that really depends, actually. 
Anyhow, I wake up SOBER and I walk to my gym as early as 7 am.
 If you walk at 7 am on a Saturday morning in England, you re likely to come across women who wear only one stiletto shoe, wearing glittery tops stained with  their own vomit and a single, sad, oversize fake eyelash clinging on to a mascara smeared eyelid.
 In my neighbourhood, all you see at 7 am on a Saturday, is happy people jogging. Tall, fit men with smooth legs, accompanied by skinny, fresh faced women with bouncing pony tails, all wearing high tech jogging gear and fluorescent Nike trainers.
 Everyone looks so fit! And happy! And so full of energy! Fuckers.

Since I'm known all over the world for being a spectacular dancer, I confidently chose the "Step Class" as my first ever gym class. The concept is simple: you dance around a step. I am GREAT at dancing around steps. Steps have been my friends for as long as I remember!
 I walked into the class room with the same confidence Beyonce shows when coming out on a stage. "Move your fluorescent trainers on the side, bitches! The stage is mine!".
The instructor was an Asian woman who looked a little on the heavy side. 
I thought : "look at this chubby lady, she thinks she can shake it like me?"; then she announced she was due to give birth in less than a week and I felt like a twat. 
Could she shake it? Oh yes, she could. Could I? Oh no, I bloody could not.  
My friend the step betrayed me and 3 lousy minutes into the dance routine I couldn't, in the name of God, follow once single dance movement. 
When everyone was going UP, I would be going LEFT.  And when I finally understood that I was supposed to go LEFT, everyone was going RIGHT.
 So I gave up, but instead of admitting defeat and leave the class (and keep some of my dignity), I stubbornly stood there, going up and down my bastard step, following my own personal dance routine, under the astonished look of several bitches with bouncy pony tails. "Don't mind me, bitches, I'm having the time of my life!".
 After class I decided I'll start weight lifting, instead. After all, I'm known around the world for being a spectacular weight lifter. Nothing could ever go wrong. Could it?.