- Gobbies = Blowj's.
- Oy! Haiyagon', mate? = Hello, how are you doing, friend?
- Far out! = Holy shit!
- Buggar = Damn.
Katie and I took a little trip to this mystical land called Wollongong using the Tom Tom personality of Yoda. No, we weren't high or tripping on anything. It's a real city. Why were we going to this Dr. Seuss town? We went to celebrate a new friend's birthday. Creepy? Adventurous? You be the judge.
Immediately upon our arrival to the city we notice a huge water tower that says "We <3 the Gong!" in big, bold letters. (Later in the evening, I will have a conversation to one of the boys we visited, trying to explain to him that that phrase is riddled with sexual innuendos. He will look confused and ask me why. I will walk away.) I found out they sell t-shirts and mugs with said tagline. Don't think I'm not buying one.
After Yoda successfully guided is to the Gong, we made our way to the hostel we booked. Mind you, we passed it like 4 times because foliage and shrubbery were consuming what resembled a building, but we got there. And when we walked in the sweet aroma of pee infiltrated my nostrils. Pee and mold. We checked in and headed up to our room. With each and every step up the stairs I felt like we were walking up to Satan's quarters. It was so. Hot. If you know me at all you know that I sweat during an arctic blizzard.
So far the hostel is 0 for 2.
I'm on this responsibility leave, right. And it's been wonderfully slovenly. But did you know there are people who do this for a living? They just hop around and stay in hotels and earn money by babysitting or selling drugs or selling drugs to babysitters? They stay in hostels for years at a time. Satan's hostels that resemble the smell of your pee after you eat asparagus. It's a real dream come true.
Anyway, we were under the impression that we ordered a double bed in a single room because everything else was filled. When we opened up lucky door number 15, we were welcomed by 2 sets of bunk beds that belonged in Full House and the stagnant stares of 2 German girls. I think their names were Hefferweisen and Ursula. I don't really remember, I was sweating too much. After we tried to make small talk about Hitler and weed, we claimed out beds and went to grab something to eat. After we ate sub-par food and bought wallet-robbing cheap booze we headed back to the hostel to get ready for the party.
On the car ride home I was earnestly praying to God that he would send an ice storm through our room and that Veinerschnitzel and Vunderbrah would be gone. Alas! They are. But Satan's fiery wrath was still in full force. Douche bag. We start getting ready, play with our self-adhesive bras, have a pillow fight in our underwear and we hear the door begin to open. Za Germans are back? Nine! It's another German. But a boy one.
We exchange the "Your accent is beautiful, are you from Canada?" bullshit and learn that Sheizerben has been staying in the hostel for an obscene amount of time and is making friends with the other hostelians in the house, drinking and carrying along (refer to the dream come true I mentioned above). Hans and his boyfriends just live in the Gong, "go to school" and rent a room in a hostel, rotating roommates and inevitably STD's.
Anyway, off to the party we go.
Now look, us Americans love our pop culture. But Australians are like 13 year old girls who listen to their favorite songs loudly on repeat for 7 months. When we got to the party, that was located in a hotel lounge, it was like the entire night was a laser-lit musical ode to Rihanna, Enrique, JT and some suuuuper gay song about not being an angel and "loving when you do that stuff to me."
13 year olds. All of them.
The night raved on until the birthday boy was thrown out of Lounge de la Technopopmashups. Then everything got boring and sleepy, so we headed back to the hostel. We got back to find that Helda and Zelda were sleeping, so we quietly got changed in the dark and went to the back courtyard to see what the laughing and Rihanna musical ruckus was about. On our way down we found empty bottles of Jagermeister and a cute pathway of empty beer bottles that led us right to the backporch party. We saw Haggendazs and his friends merrily drinking into a stupor and met a ripped-cut Aussie who only eats chicken and vegetables. And was drinking something that had things floating in it.
He offered me some and I told him I don't drink my own vomit. I bid the party adieu and headed back up to Hades.
The next morning Katie and I went to breakfast along North Beach in the Gong. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she wanted to shop in the fancy store. Except replace "shop at the fancy store" with "eat at a cute seaside cafe" and replace the prostitution for smelling like asparagus pee and looking like 3 day old make up.
Eat your heart out, Gerry.
So far the hostel is 0 for 2.
I'm on this responsibility leave, right. And it's been wonderfully slovenly. But did you know there are people who do this for a living? They just hop around and stay in hotels and earn money by babysitting or selling drugs or selling drugs to babysitters? They stay in hostels for years at a time. Satan's hostels that resemble the smell of your pee after you eat asparagus. It's a real dream come true.
Anyway, we were under the impression that we ordered a double bed in a single room because everything else was filled. When we opened up lucky door number 15, we were welcomed by 2 sets of bunk beds that belonged in Full House and the stagnant stares of 2 German girls. I think their names were Hefferweisen and Ursula. I don't really remember, I was sweating too much. After we tried to make small talk about Hitler and weed, we claimed out beds and went to grab something to eat. After we ate sub-par food and bought wallet-robbing cheap booze we headed back to the hostel to get ready for the party.
On the car ride home I was earnestly praying to God that he would send an ice storm through our room and that Veinerschnitzel and Vunderbrah would be gone. Alas! They are. But Satan's fiery wrath was still in full force. Douche bag. We start getting ready, play with our self-adhesive bras, have a pillow fight in our underwear and we hear the door begin to open. Za Germans are back? Nine! It's another German. But a boy one.
We exchange the "Your accent is beautiful, are you from Canada?" bullshit and learn that Sheizerben has been staying in the hostel for an obscene amount of time and is making friends with the other hostelians in the house, drinking and carrying along (refer to the dream come true I mentioned above). Hans and his boyfriends just live in the Gong, "go to school" and rent a room in a hostel, rotating roommates and inevitably STD's.
Anyway, off to the party we go.
Now look, us Americans love our pop culture. But Australians are like 13 year old girls who listen to their favorite songs loudly on repeat for 7 months. When we got to the party, that was located in a hotel lounge, it was like the entire night was a laser-lit musical ode to Rihanna, Enrique, JT and some suuuuper gay song about not being an angel and "loving when you do that stuff to me."
13 year olds. All of them.
The night raved on until the birthday boy was thrown out of Lounge de la Technopopmashups. Then everything got boring and sleepy, so we headed back to the hostel. We got back to find that Helda and Zelda were sleeping, so we quietly got changed in the dark and went to the back courtyard to see what the laughing and Rihanna musical ruckus was about. On our way down we found empty bottles of Jagermeister and a cute pathway of empty beer bottles that led us right to the backporch party. We saw Haggendazs and his friends merrily drinking into a stupor and met a ripped-cut Aussie who only eats chicken and vegetables. And was drinking something that had things floating in it.
He offered me some and I told him I don't drink my own vomit. I bid the party adieu and headed back up to Hades.
The next morning Katie and I went to breakfast along North Beach in the Gong. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she wanted to shop in the fancy store. Except replace "shop at the fancy store" with "eat at a cute seaside cafe" and replace the prostitution for smelling like asparagus pee and looking like 3 day old make up.
Eat your heart out, Gerry.
