Mmm, Trop(ical storm Isaac)

Trying to figure out a pun-related title for this blog post was hard.  If you pick up on the terrible 90s pop music reference, congratulations: you’re as ridiculous as I am. So a few days ago there began to be whisperings of a tropical storm hanging out in the gulf, gulfing it up, doing whatever tropical storms do (killing 10 people in Haiti, evidently).  Being from a country where the most extreme weather we tend to get involves fire and burning, this was a curious concept to me.  In Perth, people panic when the rain is heavy enough to cause your socks to become wet through your shoes.  In New Orleans, we call these sock-wetting occurrences ‘Tuesday morning’ (see: sink hole outside my apartment, needing to be piggy backed over the grass by my...

Cats and Catastrophe

I promised to deliver on cat pictures at some point during my sojourn as a blogger.  Let today be that day. Had there been some sort of vote in high school for ‘person most likely to be found rocking in a corner cradling a basket of kittens’ I am confident the voting public would have cast their ballot for me.  I am, generally, a well spoken, articulate young woman.  However, immediately a cat is in the vicinity, an alarming change comes over me.  It’s sort of the way some people are with babies.  Or the way Kirsten Bell is with sloths.  To quote that one crazy lady from that one short lived internet meme “…I’m sorry.  I’m thinking about cats again.” At home (read: in Australia) I have two cats.  They are both...

A room of one’s own

I feel like I’ve settled in/caught up with myself just in time to start school/work/my actual life here.  Throw in a weeks drinking and a horrific three-day demon flu (note: not actually the flu, but I felt nasty and therefore I get to call it what I want) and you’ve got a recipe for one spaced out, sulky, not entirely sociable Kia. This was, arguably, one of the least good times to get sick as this week was the last chance I had (before school starts) to sort out things like a driver’s license, a car, a social security card, and all manner of other stuff you need to get anywhere (both physically and metaphorically) in the United States. It turns out that, since I don’t have an American driver’s license, I cannot legally purchase a...

Baby you can’t drive my car

I promised you a ‘ranting about my car situation’ post, and I never fail to deliver. When I first planned on moving to New Orleans, I was pretty ambivalent about getting a car.  The public transport here (well, the street car at least) is fairly reasonable and if you live centrally you’re never far from a grocery store or most other things you might need (you’re a little more fucked if you’re after a chain store, or a mall of some kind – but hey, you’re living in New Orleans.  Fuck Walmart).  I figured I’d public transport it to wherever I needed to go, up to and including college/university.  I mean sure, I love driving.  Driving is one of my favorite things to do.  But I was kind of excited about the idea of...

Thirteen Days

I have been in America thirteen days.  In that time, I have (with a large amount of assistance from  my mother – i.e., she did it all) purchased a house, rented temporary housing, bought a car (more on this later), met some awesome people, drunk all the wine, lost one of my favorite necklaces, written drunken poetry in a bar where they were playing True Blood on a projector screen, almost crashed into an Entergy truck, gone to a night club dressed as a slutty Hogwarts student, played with a ouija board, gotten a flat tire, petted some kitties, made a complaint to the attorney general’s office and been bitten by roughly 7000 mosquitos. I left it too long to blog due to the extreme amount of STUFF I’ve been packing into my days.  All I can tell...


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