My Mucous Just Cares For Me

I am bored out of my sodding brain, which makes me incredibly nervous.. as generally when i’m bored I like to make trouble for entertainment. And as i’m here, living in an environment which is covered in cameras and bound by an 8 page legal contract that pays me a lot of money, it’s really not in my best interest to make any trouble. Thank God at 31 i’m able to rein in the beast.. because ten years ago this hotel would have had to deal with a whole HEAP of trouble. It’s like being on Big Brother.. but not being watched by 6 million people, and not having to communal shower. 

Tonight, I’m sorry to say, in my brief singing career, I lost my voice. Three weeks of singing 4 hours a night – went out, got drunk, smoked cigarettes, caught bird flu a WEEK AGO and tonight.. TONIGHT! No voice. See you later alligator. Opened the old gob and nada came out. And anything that DID come out was not what I expected at all. I now feel a strange kinship to the male race and their unruly pubescent utterings.

Made the call this morning and started a course of antibiotics.. thank god. So hopefully by Monday if I don’t speak at all for two days i’ll be a bit better. Unholy nightmare.. fuck bird flu.

So the band came through with the goods tonight, and filled in for me – as I was actually totally unable to sing at all after more than 2 songs in a row. The bass player was delighted I think, as he got to belt out Careless Whispers and Strangers in the Night. The Spaniard turned up again, and tried to make a date with me for the flower market in the morning.. but I declined due to illness (thank GOD for the germs). He squirmed around in his seat for a while, and then wrote down his room number as he’s leaving tmrw and told me i’m missing out if I don’t hang out with him. Amazing how that wedding ring flashed in the ambient light every time he moved.. Fucking men. Enough to make a heterosexual romantically orientated woman want to kill herself immediately. He’s actually very very nice, very charming, very attractive. But that is worth half a pinch of nothing when you’ve made a promise to someone you are meant to LOVE, that you have CHILDREN WITH,  to keep your penis in your pants.

On the whole married subject, it seems that the habit of complete strangers commenting on my relationship status or lack thereof as SOON as I step foot out of lethargic Australia extends into Hong Kong as well. The Spaniard wanted to know what was wrong with me – as apparently someone as lovely as me being single was unheard of and it was obviously my fault I wasn’t married (possibly something to ponder). Then as I made a quick getaway after the gig clutching stacks of music books and teetering around in a sweaty malaise on my high heels towards the lifts a pair of Indian guys stopped me and wanted to know why I wasn’t married. My stock standard answer is going to have to do fine, and I may have to learn it in 30 languages.. “Nobody’s asked me”.. “nessuno ha chiesto”..

I might put in an “I have virulent Syphilis” in there too.. maybe I can get a phrasebook to help me. I’ve heard they’re out there. But now.. with my lack of voice, aching muscles and hyperactive brain I suppose i’d better go to bed. Wheee.

Valse of the Valkyries

Right. Well i’m in Hong Kong – it’s been three weeks now and i’m about ready to start blogging.  With great trepidation as I have such an overwhelming urge to speak the truth, the whole truth so help me god.. that I fear i’ll get in a bit of tribble. Mind you, nobody reads this anyway.. so whatever.

Tonight, I was given 2 presents by old business men of varying degrees of attractiveness. On a scale of old business men – one was pretty hot. On a scale of young guys my age that I find sexually attractive and would like to take my kit off for.. neither did so well. Big fails on both counts.. tho the Spaniards accent gets bonus points.. an accent that incorporates a lisp – whoot.

One guy, a very sweet sweaty American, gave me a Kiehls bag – and I thought “OH MY GOD… FACIAL PRODUCT” (being an aficionado of every girl orientated cleanser, mattifier, exfoliator, buffer and whatnot I can get my grubby hands on) . It was, an exciting moment. Unfortunately I opened it and discovered bags of Hershey’s Kisses.. which, being chocolate – was ok.. but which, referencing a prelude to intercourse – ie: the kiss – which was mentioned twice by the sweaty American as I nibbled on the candy, was not okay.  A lovely man, he advised that once i’d “finished the music part of my life” he’d be very happy to keep me in a fabulous manner and allow me to do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life as he was loaded. He then had a bout of gas and had to leave, telling me (literally) that he needed time alone so he didn’t add a percussive element to the music.  Thoughtful.

The other guy, who out of the two, was the hot one – and not only because he’s from Barcelona, was mortified that I would be alone at Christmas – and so produced out of his knapsack (which was an Israeli brand called Kapa or something.. very cool) a white watch he bought in China.. probably destined for his wife or daughter.. but being a watch fanatic I had NO qualms about taking that one thank you very much. He has a matching black watch and will be hanging out by the pool all day tmrw no doubt as I said I was looking forward to going for a swim.

What else to report? Not much really. I’ve contracted a case of Bird flu, and though i’ve been told that it’s incredibly inappropriate to call it Bird Flu when it’s just a common rhinovirus.. I will continue to call it Bird Flu if not only for the rest of my contract here.. but quite possibly for the rest of my life. It was entirely my own fault contracting this particularly virulent case of SARS as I went out after my last shift and drank copious amounts of booze, then decided it would be a GREAT idea to smoke cigarettes too. Other brilliant notions that popped into my noggin over the evening / morning involved disrobing at a club after dancing with a 6 foot tall transexual angel and then losing my top – allowing me the great priviledge of coming back to the hotel at 9:30am with a red headed tongue wrestling skateboarding techno DJ in nothing but my bra.

No wonder I have the bird flu.

The last time I went out, I woke up at 3pm the following day with a massive hangover, a trashed hotel room  – with a bra in my vegetable curry and reindeer antlers stuck to my face. Hong Kong, my friends, is a dangerous place. FRAUGHT with danger. Luckily I am flat broke, have no friends and am sick so this week have managed to avoid any bad behaviour.. though I feel tmrw night may encourage me to throw caution to the wind and break free of my self imposed house arrest.

Delayed Plane. Quel Surprise.

Well.. my last night in Melbourne went off without too much of a hitch – though I can proudly report I managed to stuff it full of verbal lechery, champagne and embarassing moments. Apologies to all the recipients. Leaving for overseas does strange things to a person. And I have been wishing for carte blanche to let rip with what I really think (yes.. even though I share my verbose opinions with all and sundry, theres a lot I don’t say!) . haha – some things are probably better left unsaid. Though heavens to betsy, leaving things unsaid (as gorgeously romantically tragic as it may be) is nigh impossible right now.

Am now waiting to get on the plane.. Eggs Benedict in my belly, 3 bags around my feet, sitting on the carpet, plugged into the powerpoint, with 2 and a half hickies on my neck, no makeup and greasy hair. Meanwhile my 55kg of baggage and brand spanking new digital piano, is being drawn through the peristaltic bowels of Melbourne and Im listening to the tannoy remark about other flights to America and trying not to feel sad that its not me on THAT flight..

Furthermore am not sure if im surprised or not at my utter unemotionality at leaving Melbourne. I suppose its unremarkable as I dont have a house, or a car.. so am rather footloose and fancy free anyway. I just, to be honest, dont really like Melbourne all that much at the moment collective gasp here and feel much more inclined to read the next chapter of my life elsewhere in the world. I shall very much miss some people.. and am very much glad to get the hell away from others. Man. I tell you what.

Speaking of people and how very peculiar they are, myself included, its been a very interesting 2 months back from the States. Joyous moments have appeared very unexpectedly – with unexpected people. Giving me a lot to mentally masticate over the coming months of self-enforced solitude. People. What they think. What they want. What they do (often NOTHING). Love, life, laughter. Blah blah. Life can be so extraordinary. Just when you think you have a handle on whats going on.. a curve ball hits you in the head. Im desperate to skip forward a few chapters and find out what else happens! Mind you, having said that.. life can also be very boring. Waiting patiently for someone or something to sprinkle fairy dust on your day.. bloody nightmare. I suppose it all comes out in the wash.

Oh god. Flights to San Francisco and New York.. why am I torturing myself and listening to this. Its like being away from a beloved (id imagine) my heart sings for America.. sings sings sings all the time. I could weep with it.

I am at Gate 11. Not even sure if its the right Gate. But im sure ill find out in the next hour whilst I wait here. And have just realised I put the book and magazine I just bought down somewhere, maybe by the other internet place, maybe in the ladies loo, maybe over there on the couch. I am so tired (and hungover) I cant be bothered looking!? What the hell is that about?! I just bought the fucking things.. but im comfortable.. I have my little Eee PC out and im happy here. In an airport.. on my way somewhere – whilst being nowhere at all.

Before I sign off I must apologise for the lack of apostrophes in this.. my Eee has decided it aint doin apostrophes.. or quotation marks.. in a bid to make me look like some git with bad grammah. Huzzah.

Warning. Explosive Balls.

I decided to fly to Chicago from Louisville Kentucky on Friday night after the music camp.. Kentucky was a bit much – after a few nasty run ins with “Biscuits & Gravy” and unpleasantly watery “Sweet Tea” which was as close as I can imagine to drinking an old person’s bath water, I had to get out to the Windy City to see what this Fourth of July palava is all about.

And the vision I beheld flying over lake Michigan at 9:30pm was something pretty special! The city stretched out in golden veins twinkling across highway and suburban streets.. and every few seconds or so flashes would ripple across the vista – upon closer inspection and a we flew lower I saw the detail and colour of the fireworks – most looking like instant palm trees growing upwards in red, green, white and blue. Amazing, peaceful and exciting.

However upon getting to Tim’s house I walked into a war zone.

Though fireworks are illegal in Illinois, this does not stop every man, child, dog and itinerant letting off colourful explosives of every shape size and safety level in all residential streets, yards and car parks. Crackers were going off like pistols and fireworks shook the windows every 30 seconds. I thought i was going to die. Especially when after a beer and a chilli dog, Chicago Tim dragged me outside to the backstreet with a flashlight, brown paper bag and cigarette lighter to let of his own fireworks – which were, he happily informed me, left overs from last 4th of July – making them a year old (he had not considered the fact that perhaps after a YEAR cheap chinese fireworks may become not just unsafe, but entirely deadly).

Flashes of the first scene from the movie Arlington Road came to mind – and as I bunkered down behind 6 plastic wheelie bins in the laneway I pondered how many children were blowing off their hands and fingers around the country.

Chicago Tim (aka. Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player) had lots of little cracker bomb things.. which you are supposed to light and put on the ground, but which are apparently more ‘fun’ when you light them, wait for the fuse to almost completely disappear then throw in the air. The male brain confuses me.

A penis measuring rocket competition erupted between a rotund couple who set up their blast zone about 30 metres away from Chicago Tim (and me, still hiding behind plastic bins). The couple had some serious hardwear, massive fireworks which shot miles into the air with an enormous whoosh and sprinkled the sky with reeling colourful sprites as my retinas burned and my ears bled.

Tim let off his ‘big gun’ – which had the encouraging phrase stamped on the side “Warning – Explosive Balls” and was as long as my arm. It was quite impressive .. but not to be outdone the couple across the road let off a volley of even BIGGER rockets – one narrowly missing the mans head, not that he seemed too concerned. Kindly I told Tim he’d lost out and was obviously the lesser man. So he lit some small rocket trucks (fire on wheels) and attempted to set a tree on fire for comfort.

University Life

Well I’m all checked into the University of Louisville, unpacked, organised and at a diner having some salad and a small pizza for an early dinner/late lunch. This place is huge. Bloody huge. And I am thoroughly over-excited!

Starting with a late checkout at the hotel, enabling me to watch repeat episodes of ER and The Family Guy from the comfort of my King Size bed.. today is a good day indeed. I caught a cab here (expensive!) and had a completely mad driver who lectured me on American politics from the moment I shut the passenger door.. he was overweight with very long grey hair, a lazy eye and glasses – and waxed lyrical on the downfall of the republican party, explained that he was a conservative, not a republican and George Bush had personally let him down by being a Republican in Conservative clothing.

Once finished on that rant – half of which I didn’t understand – and during which I nodded encouragement as he swore and spat on the steering wheel.. he launched into the gun ownership debate – and whilst staring at me with his lazy eye.. and concurrently watching the road.. he said “If you were a burgler would you break into a guys house who HAD a gun, or the guys house who didn’t!? I mean.. sure – the guy with the gun will have nicer stuff.. but at least if you burgle the no-gun house you’ll come out with something AND your life.” – it was logic I couldn’t dispute and so I continued to murmur support and encouragement.. at least to get him to train both eyes on the road (as impossible as that seemed to be).

Just prior to settling into this restaurant I visited the University Bookstore for a bit of a lark. I love stationery and thought maybe (as if I don’t have enough crap to carry) I could pick up something freshly pressed, lined, and ruled with spiral binding.. But instead I walked into the store only to find it open up inside like a giant stadium with two young guys behind the counter who reminded me VERY much of the comic book store guy in The Simpsons, crossed with the guys in Clerks.

I had a look around and chanced upon something most extraordinary – which really prompted me to sit my ass down and tell you about it.

They have SORORITY AND FRATERNITY merchandise. MERCHANDISE!!

Not just a book cover.. we’re talking colour coded nail files, shot glasses, cosmetic items, post it notes, pens, diaries, hair accessories and car license plate covers. Apparently it’s big business, and according to Clerk 1, and Clerk 2 students don’t think twice about dropping buy to pay $200 or so for their colour coded greek items. I’m going to sneak back in there, and chat with the geeky boys to see if I can take a photo of the stand as really?! Its ridiculous.

Apparently the Delta Zeta girls are the slut blonde sorority – so I’m going to buy some of their merchandise to support the whoring and show my appreciation for bimbos who can comfortably rest their ankles behind their heads for hours.

How to Pick up Chicks 101

1. Hang out in Walmart with an empty trolley

2. Push it around the feminine hygiene section

3. When you see a girl on her own, ask her “Hey, didn’t I see you in Walmart the other day?”

4. Ask her out for drinks and tell her “there’s nothing to do around here, we should hang out, I’m lonely.”

—- fool proof —–

Yes this did happen to me.. and after much deliberation with some American friends we have decided that I have a mental condition which means I am UNABLE to differentiate between a crazy American and a normal American. To me – all Americans are good, and appropriate fodder for friendship and conversation.. hence me being propositioned in Walmart with a boxful of tampons and fanny freshener in my hand.

After some more deliberation I would like to put it forth that I actually have a very limited ability to differentiate between a crazy an non crazy Australian too. This explains a lot in my life.

- – - -

Am now sitting at an internet cafe, with a sore stomach from drinking a bottomless bucket of coffee on an empty stomach, in downtown Chicago. Apparently the ghetto area. The cafe is divine and the sandwiches are tasty, and I’m waiting for someone to pop a cap in my ass. I’d pay good money for a Mylanta right now though.

Today is a day of rest. Am back from the wedding in Decatur Illinois – and slept in and am preparing myself for an evening of doing not much. I think the new Batman movie is out – so I am off to see that fo sho. Opposite me is Chicago Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player who is 6′5″. He has an avid dislike for people who come barrelling up to him asking him if he “plays ball” or telling him that “they have a son who is tall too…” – Apparently this is a common affliction of tall people – us shortarses think that all tall people have something wonderful in common. They are tall.

This actually means that they have NOTHING in common and don’t care a jot if your nephew, uncle, neighbour, dentist, son or cousin is tall. Please take this to heart and think next time you speak to a tall person.

Chicago Tim is on his Macbook – a white and worrisome thing – and is planning his week out whilst dealing with a mad Aussie who has descended upon him. I think on Wednesday we’re driving to some guitar repair shops and visiting his mother to collect an amp. And on Thursday I fly out to Kentucky at 10:30am. Yeah. The land of Sweet Tea, Mint Juleps, and mosquitos the size of chihuahuas.

Happy as a Cat up a Tree

I am on a train, and slowly losing any connection or care regarding Australia, Melbourne, Car Registration payments, outstanding bills, and winter weather. Each little stressful memory of this past year, builders and real life crap is rattling it’s way out of my pores like salt from a saltshaker with each rumble of this carriage. I’m surrounded by lush green cornfields, the other passengers are peaceful and it’s romantic, tragic and enriching all at once. God bless this vacation, God bless bottomless coffee, and God Bless America.

Chicago was such a divine experience that I’m not sure it’s really sunk in, but i can be sure to get back up there as soon as I can. I’ve sung, drunk copious amounts of vodka, been chased around by German Police Officers who’d like to have a shower with me, caught the bus, looked at gigantic mirrored beans and hung out with some lovely musicians (who all think i’m a mental alcoholic – which is not far off what lovely Australian musicians think either.. maybe it’s the truth.. but being away from any driving responsibility is a big loosener for one’s self restraint.)

And now i’m 31 years old. Best birthday ever. I’m a grownup now.

On Sunday night I was invited to Andy’s Jazz Bar – the last night of being 30 – and had a great time with my new friend who plays 5 String Electric Bass (and is on the run from the Chicago Jazz Police), I drank martinis and toodled around… leaving with the band to go to a great bar with an ENORMOUS jukebox consting of all the best Jazz Albums you can imagine. I got over excited – put in too much money and ended up having to pick 45 tunes.. which in itself was very difficult as there were about 100 albums in there. Still over excited I started slamming down vodka like a woman posessed, dancing with the door man and chatting to all and sundry (which is when the wheels fell off the evening). It was a man called Kevin. Damn you Kevin. Damn you.

Kevin and his friend (total randoms) hijacked me on the way back to the band table from the Ladies Loo. My friend Tim looked over (apparently) to see me climbing over the bar to sit with them and then chugging tequila shots whilst laughing hilariously – he (being a sensible bass player) saw the light, realised disaster was imminent, and launched himself in his 6′5” way across the room to rescue me from myself (those of you who have tried something similar will nod and say, yes – like nailing jelly to a wall) only to have me wave him away and slurr “i’m fine”.. “I’M FINE!!”.. (famous last words).

I can’t remember the rest of the evening (not a jot) but do remember being driven home with one eye open to counteract the nausea, vertigo and the inability to focus both my peepers at the same time. God alone knows what the Chicago Muso’s thought.. I can’t remember a damn thing.. Though i do have the photos and they are attrocious. Let’s hope Australian charm will carry me through that social faux pas – and at least I didn’t set myself on fire (NYC 2005) or vomit on anyone.

My birthday, obviously, was spent being very hungover. So hungover, that when I arrived at the Greyhound bus station at 2:15pm – which is like a concrete toilet block resurrected from the depths of hell with every kind of derelict bum loitering with intent inside and outside it – I was very unimpressed to have to queue 3 times in separate queues to get the ticket I’d already bought online. Whilst waiting I was treated to an attractive vision involving a larger Mexican man wailing in Spanish whilst disrobing and changing into his jeans and t-shirt in the middle of the bus terminal. It was hot, it was smelly, it was full of bums, bogans, the mentally challenged, the financially challenged, the personality challenged and the entire production was uttery unorganised. And the idea of sitting on that bus for 4 hours was not that great. Luckily, and unluckily, when I spent my last 45 mins standing in a queue to rebuy my ticket as they’d made my original ticket for a different day – I missed my bus. The very last bus to Decatur.

Though on the run from the Jazz Police, and in disguise, Tim came to my rescue and picked me up, took me home, cooked me dinner, and let me watch him play beach volleyball at Lincoln Park, then we watched a movie (Hostel 2 – my review: utter garbage and not in the least bit scary 3 out of 5)… Thank god for him and his creative out of tune vocal arrangements of classic jazz standards. I’ve slept all day today (Tuesday) and ate a ginormous burrito at the BEST Mexican restaurant in Chicago before getting on this very train to go downstate. I feel almost human – though hangdog at my boozy behaviour – and Tim is the best.. and Chicago is now my 2^nd favourite city in the States. Not sure anything can top the Big Apple. But you never know. One should not get too comfortable on ones throne.

However I must stop drinking vodka, they FREE-POUR in this country. Brain – remember that! I reckon I drank about 450ml of pure Grey Goose as well as beer, wine and martini – and the shots. It’s lucky I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning (won’t happen.. I have the constitution of an ox). At least I’m preparing for NY. Have packed my backpack with flame retardant clothing and have a rucksack full of milk thistle. I’m ready.

Drop it like it’s Hot

It’s 2pm on Sunday 15th June.. and not quite my birthday yet. Though I managed to party until 5am this morning, dragging hapless 5 string electric bass players along with me.  I am beginning to realise an accent and extroversion in this country get you everywhere.. though you do have to sift through the lunatics to find the real gems. Which, I suppose, isn’t far off Melbourne really.

Yesterday I was invited down to Navy Pier to see a free concert by a 11 piece funk/latin/soul band called Power Play (terrible name). The singer had the most enormous boobs I’ve ever seen in my life and the band was very loud, but I enjoyed it immensely. I even took a bus to get there!

The dancing was extraordinary, and I was most impressed by the way these Chicagoans get their groove on, though as a nervous dancer at the best of times I declined to partake, staying safely on a bench with my bucket of Heineken. Which is where I met Crystal and Daniel. This couple – him a native Chicago lad and her a Wyoming native American, were down hanging out – and we got chatting – laughing and had a great old time! They introduced me to the finer elements of Chicago life and accents – which involves turning “th” into “d” and saying Kak instead of cock. I was sent on cigarette bumming duty for Crystal and my opening line was “Hi, I’m Australian and I have a nicotine addiction. May I bum a cigarette from you?” – as long as I followed this with my drivers license to verify my nationality – it worked every time. Crystal was most impressed.

So impressed in fact that they took me out to Due – the best Deep Dish Pizza restaurant in town.. and those babies are HUGE! I have never seen anything like it. They’re about 5 to 8 cm high, with a delicious crust made of cornmeal and are filled with about 4 cms of topping. I managed to squeeze down 2 slices (which I later regretted as they took a LONG time to digest). A table was next to us of (naturally) very hot Italian men, and they really didn’t know what the hell was going on, but agreed the pizzas were good as they staggered out of the restaurant goggle eyed clutching their distended stomachs.

I took a bus back to the hostel (again – kudos to me as I hate buses and they frighten me terribly), and hit the Mylanta to combat the ever expanding cornmeal in my belly – whacked on a pair of jeans and got in a cab to head over to Wicker Park for a party.

Wicker Park / Bucktown is like Brunswick Street I suppose, though way cooler and not as hairy. Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player I met at The Green Mill the other night dragged me along for his friends birthday party and I was surrounded by very curious 25 year olds who kept saying “oh, so you’re the Australian..” – I’m sure they were thinking snack, but kept that to themselves. They are in a Hip Hop Band or something similar, and sport tattoos, cool clothes, hats, baggy jeans.. all in all looked like they should have been in a hipster music video. One of them was decidedly mental, and kept muttering nonsense under his breath which I attempted to decipher then gave up after about 10 mins. He rolled his eyes and mooched along from one club to the next – and I did question Tim the 5 String Electric bass Player

*being hijacked by germans for breakfast bagels.. must run will continue later*

Prison Break.

I just met a man here, who is lovely – like a big Nevada Bear.. called Joey – who is here from Reno. I asked him what he is doing here in the hostel and he said “i’m here to party”.. I’m like ok.. then he said “Sweetie, would you like to know the real reason that i’m here?”

I said.. “Sure!” (with gleaming eyes).

And hows this!? He was on parole in Nevada and skipped the state to party here in Chicago. He’s served his time in prison.. and decided he’d had enough – so got in the car and crossed the state line (well several actually)!

We smoked a (very harsh and enormous) rolled cigarette, and as I picked the tobacco ends out of my mouth, whilst trying not to cough.. we discussed prison life, the death penalty, and general law breaking activities.

If that isn’t the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me in my life I don’t know what is.

Am now off to a bar to meet a bass player dude (this holiday is so full of bass players, they’re everywhere and super nice .. like in Australia).  It’s his friends birthday drinks.. I am the honorary entertainment (and as long as nobody calls me a snack or asks me if i’m married I’ll be fine..)

Not Drowning. Waving.

Americans have an enormous problem with the fact that i’m travelling alone, and seem to believe it’s their duty to rectify that sad state of affairs. An announcement of the fact that I am indeed in the country by myself is met with an incredulous look – closely followed by intimate questions regarding my relationship status “Are you married?”, “Why not?” and “Where are your family?”

Usually once I have established myself as an unloveable orphan I am usually bequeathed my very own American tour guide/confidante/lover (in whichever order) which I do find incredibly kind – but equally incredibly irritating. There is something so beautifully peaceful about being by oneself, and sometimes sitting peacefully with a glass of wine, or walking a strange city street totally alone is like communing with a higher power. Your mind can wander where it will, you don’t have to make conversation.. and can I wax more lyrically? Probably – but i’m even boring myself so i’ll introduce you to my kindly donated companion yesterday… Floyd.

Floyd came upon me as I was walking out of a Borders store downtown. I’d spent the afternoon at Millennium Park and the Sears Tower and was feeling most delighted in the situation I found myself in. I planned to walk up Michigan Avenue, head to Navy Pier, hit American Apparel, eat a pizza and then head back to the hostel for a quick shower before going to The Green Mill for some jazz.

Crossing the road, I get tapped on the shoulder by a very tall man with a booming voice and told “get your ticket out of your back pocket, someone will steal it” – I’m like… what ticket?! (it was the sears tower ticket.. just junk). So I thank him for his kind advice, and we get chatting. He invited me to a show with someone called Dave Roz (?) and someone else called Pee Wee Herman or something.. Peebles ?? No idea. Anyway I declined, but he insisted and was quite bullying and guilting.. so of course – being the pussy that I am, I get bamboozled to going to Navy Pier with him by bus to walk around before the show. (but secretly on the inside I was a bit miffed).

We wander around Navy Pier- chatting away, and he ascertains I am an unloved orphan with no friends and tells me that he’s there for me if I need companionship. Basically – I decline, and try to exit stage left using tiredness as an excuse.

and was in for a bit of a shock… as Floyd wasn’t going to be put off so easily.

Grasping my hand he announces that I can’t go as he’s lonely – to which I replied that him being lonely wasn’t my problem and i wanted to go home. I then got shouted at and told that I had “misled him” and I was “a player”. All in public mind you. I laughed awkwardly and thought he was joking so played along a bit, gave him a pat on the shoulder and made a big deal of being tired and having to go.

We walked to the end of the pier.

By this time he was wailing and pretending to cry. But the icing on the cake was not that I was being defamed and called a ‘user’, but when he started hollering at me “Is this because you think I’m the wrong colour?” To be honest he could have been purple with green spots for all I cared, I just wanted to get away from this enormous 48 year old anxious, lonely man who was behaving like a lunatic.

I finally did get away – though he insisted on getting on the same bus as me and “seeing me to my subway station” – he walked me to the station then put a gold love heart in my bag pocket and made me “give him a hug” like “I loved him”.

I have never been so relieved to get on public transport in my life… and threw the stupid heart out the window. What a f*cking creep! And not only that, I then get honed in on by a guy called Chris on the train – who actually was pretty chilled out – though I was VERY edgy after my Floyd experience. I almost feel like avoiding downtown altogether just in case he bumps into me again and starts accusing me of rejecting him based on colour. It’s not very encouraging when people don’t realise that no matter what colour, race or creed you are – if you’re an asshole. You’re an asshole.

And no – I’m not married, and yes, I am travelling alone. Thanks for asking.