There’s no turkey in New Zealand

Two days ago I celebrated my first Thanksgiving away from home. I borrowed my flatmate's car, at her suggestion, and drove to Frankton to the cheap grocery store. This was also the first time I had driven in New Zealand.

Sitting on the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road is kind of an out-of-body experience. It reminded me of the first time I drove to school by myself. I didn't turn on the radio (I found out later that it's broken anyways...) so that I could use every ounce of concentration in my being on not wrecking my flatmate's car. It was one of those situations where I just had to avoid using any of my natural instincts because I knew they would be wrong. I'm sure I pissed off a few locals by driving so slow. My Kiwi friend, Sophie, always honks and yells out her window, "WE'RE NOT ALL ON HOLIDAY!!!" when tourists aren't driving up to her standards. I forgot how much I love driving. That sense of speed and life and death. Walking everywhere doesn't give you those sensations. Well, I guess walking out in front of traffic in Queenstown is taking your life into your own hands, but still, the feeling is different.

I had to pull out all the stops for my Thanksgiving dinner. I wanted to impress my flatmates since they've never celebrated the holiday, so I loaded up on cream and butter and got to work. I cooked the entire meal by myself in three hours. Not to brag, but I felt like quite the culinary badass.

The Menu:
-whipped potatos with chives
-gluten free sage dressing
-blue cheese and pear salad
-cranberry sauce with orange zest
-mustard and tarragon pork shoulder
-apple turnovers with fresh whipped cream

Dude, it was tasty. I ate so much that I had to take a break and go put on my eatin' pants. Everyone enjoyed their first Thanksgiving. Success!

Street Cred

I was sittin' here thinkin', because I do that sometimes. I left "the south" to travel even further south, to the South Island. I guess a southern girl just can't escape that fact. Last night my roommate confided in me that he really does enjoy country music, but he can't tell his wife or any of his friends because that would completely ruin his street cred. And I guess I can see how being a body piercer with a deep, unabiding love for Kenny Chesney, might not go over so well with his clientele. I mean it's hard enough to get people to let you poke holes in their faces, but if you start singing, "Devil Went Down to Georgia," needle in hand, your customer might flench and then you've got a pierced eyeBALL instead of a pierced eyeBROW. I digress.

I have taken it upon myself to educate Dave in the ways of country music. I feel it is my duty as a Texan to do so. The thing is I'm not so sure where to start because a lot, if not most, country music is complete shit. I also feel it is my duty to educate New Zealanders in the majesty that is Mexican Food. I hope New Zealand won't kick me out of their country for trying to push my screwed-up redneck values on them, but in the end, when they have taco grease stains on their shirts and "Whiskey River" in their ears, they'll smile and thank me.

The other day we had a staff meeting at Hell, or Work, where I learned that our hotel is considered "Five Star". Uh, wouldn't that have been something I should've found out at the interview? I probably would've bragged about how I work at a FIVE star hotel. Not four. FIVE. Oh well. Now they're trying to encourage me to scrub dirt out of corners under the pretense that we're a five star hotel and we need to provide "five star service". So now I guess I'll have to stop scrubbing the toilet bowls with the guests' toothbrushes.

the crib

yeah, so this is the view from my living room.

what it do

So first off, I 'd like to say, "Hello, World. I am OK."

I found a flat with a room of my own. And the view. Oh Dear Lord, the view. My floor-to-ceiling living room windows look directly out onto Lake Wakatipu with Walter Peak and The Remarklables mountain range on the other side. I pretty much spend my days off sitting here watching the sunlight change on the mountains. It never gets boring. I live in an area called Fern Hill. This means I have to walk down a big ass hill to get to work in the morning and up a big ass hill to get home in the afternoon. Fortunately a couple of my coworkers live in the same area and have cars. Man, cars are so awesome. You never realize how fun it is to ride in a car until you haven't for a couple months. I got really excited yesterday to just come along to drop my roommates off at a dinner party with my other roomie because I'd get to ride in the car. There was really no reason for me to go. This sometimes makes me feel like a golden retriever with my head out the window and gums flapping in the breeze.

Walking isn't so bad, though. Especially when you get to walk past a postcard everyday. Sometimes it's a little ridiculous how beautiful this place is. And then I get to work and pick up some rich people's towels that they throw all over the floor or I pay $4 for a bag of spinach and realize that this beauty does come at a price. I guess everything evens out in the end. The walking has given me something I've never had in my twenty-two years of existence: muscles. Like, ones on my body. I have some on my arms and some huge ones on my legs. Who'da thunk...

My roommates are really, really cool. That was a dumb sentence, but it's true. Jane and Dave are the owners of the flat. Jane waits at a restaurant in town and Dave works a couple towns over as a chef, but he's opening a body piercing studio soon. And you know what that means! Half-price nipple rings! Dreams really do come true...
My other roommate is Michelle. Michelle is Irish and is looking for a job. I like listening to her talk. She teaches me new words for things daily. A closet/cabinet= a "press". The trunk of the car = the "boot". In the evenings we all sit around and take the piss out of eachother (That's another Irish/English/Kiwi term for joking around.)and watch TV. They're all really nice people and I don't mind having to walk up a big ass hill to live with them in their awesome flat with their great music collection.

My job is getting a little easier. Well, kind of. I think I know what I'm doing now, or I'm giving the impression that I know, so the bitchy girls I work with are not up my ass constantly. Now they're only up my ass occasionally. Gotta take those wins where you can. Also, I've learned how to use the espresso machine, which makes me feel rather fancy.

We don't have wireless internets at home yet, so my internet time has been severely downgraded. In a couple weeks I will post some pictures of the flat and things. Congratulations if you read all of this. I applaud your perserverance and your literacy.