28th in the world baby!--part 1

so much has gone on that i don't know where to start (from the beginning, proceed until the end, then stop). i reserve the right to write in installments.

The beginning:

I took the redeye there friday night. my apartment looks like a garbage monster threw up in it. there are random ice skates, taekwondo belts, plugs that don't fit any sockets, and ropery strewn all over the floor. that's what happens when you use your suitcases as storage for useless american things that perhaps should've been thrown out (no athena paper though, sigh). the highlight of the night might've been the popeyes i found in the airport. YES! the hk airport hosts a popeyes and a burger king. the chicken disappointed, but given that it was nearly midnight, i guess expecting fresh food was unrealistic of me (we'll try again next time, yes we will). nicole baked us chocolate chip cookies for dessert. the dearie even used orange food coloring and put them into a flourescent orange box for us (orange is our team color).

the flight was uneventful. i wasn't gonna eat their inflight meal, but the stewardess woke me up and insisted that i unincline my chair so the person behind me could eat, and i was so pissed off at this that i took a meal just to spite them. fuckers. it hurt.

(oh, and i met ben wiggins! we were handing out the left over cookies to other frisbee players at the terminal, and i said, "hi, is your name ben? ben wiggins? GASP! you totally won the callahan my freshman year, wow and boy!" while pumping his hand enthusiastically...or i may just have been holding his hand, i'm not sure, but it was awkward--more so for him than for me cuz i'm shameless, and i had this clear picture of myself as yelena simpering at him as nancy).

at customs, i made the mistake of telling them that my friend roberto (the venezualan) and i were traveling together, which meant that we got flagged down and searched. the conversation went something like this:
customs officer: "hi, welcome to australia, where are you guys from?"
us: "hong kong"
co: "ah yes, avian flu."
us: "um, ha ha...cough"

then they confiscated all three pairs of my cleats (for washing). the poor lady who came back with them had mud patches down her white shirt (whoops). i was supposed to declare my cleats (any athletic equipment carrying dirt), but i lied. this made me slightly nervous, but it was nothing compared to the orange feather boas that my diplomat friend planted on me (never trust a canadian). the co takes one look and yells "contraband" or some word meaning BAD GIRL and flips a switch attached to a flashing yellow light (some of this might be my imagination, but i felt like i should've been in black and white stripes, squeezing against a concrete wall, dodging searchlights...and there probably should've been a small grey dog named porkchop cowering alongside me). anyways, she's like are those real feathers? and i'm like um, no. i had the good sense not to tell her that the boas were actually bought in guangzhou--why stop lying now? ok, so then the feathers turn out to be ok, and i think she's pretty suspicious of me by now, so she takes a swab of my suitcase (for explosives or drugs, she says). i'm not worried...those are two things i definitely don't have...or so i thought. the reading comes back medium level alert for cocaine. WTF?! i look pleadingly at roberto: if this is your fault, now's the time to fess up...are you using me as your mule? what did you do to me while i was sleeping? what exactly was that white magic powder you used on my skinned knee...OH SHIT the white powder! YOU TOLD ME IT WAS ANTISEPTIC YOU CRIMINAL! please, officer, take him, i've been framed, i tell you, i'm innocent...

so then they take an xray of my suitcase, with said incriminating white powder in the front pocket, and miraculously, nothing. no flashing lights, no arrrouuugas, no cuffs, no butt rape. she swabbed again just to be sure, and it came back negative. false positives are common, she says, cocaine is one of those really sticky things, after all. but then, why medium level? why not low? i am so licking my suitcase lining when i get home. to sooth me, my wallstreet journal friend told me about her columbian friend who snuck out with his coke scattered inside the binding of his lonely planet. the customs officer held the book in his hand while searching the rest of the suitcase and came away none the wiser. phew.

i thought about laura as i packed the trunk of the rental. they said i couldn't do it, but i did. shuangy helped some too. the turn signals in aussie cars are located solely on the right of the steering wheel and you flick them up or down to turn left or right. flicking the lever on the left of the steering wheel activiates the windshield wipers. we had really clean windows by the time we got to the apartments.

the crotchety old man at the front desk gave us the wrong apartment number. when the random guy in 304 opened the door, the first thing i said was, "hi, i'm lily, and i hafta pee. oblige me?" he blinked at me for a bit, and i blinked right back at him. when he realized i wasn't joking, he closed the door softly in my face, and we trooped back downstairs to get the right apartment number from crotchety old man. 204.