I drove down into the central business district today to drop off the letter to immigration. I just get so proud of myself when I make it somewhere on my own. I remember how terrified I was of driving in New Zealand just six months ago and now, though I might be terrifying other drivers on the road, I’m just happy as a little clam.
The one thing I still do is look the wrong way when I’m reversing. I look over my right shoulder. To you American drivers this would be the equivalent of looking over your left shoulder when you’re reversing. It requires a yoga-style twist that isn’t too comfortable and of course, is just completely wrong, but for some reason I don’t feel like I can keep an eye on the other side of the car properly if I look over my left shoulder. Sometimes I actually see people do a double-take when I’m reversing towards them and they see me twisted like a pretzel in the car, looking like I’m staring at the door handle rather than making sure I don’t run over them. One day I’ll learn.
I can now actually enjoy music in the car. I used to be hunched over the wheel, white-knuckled, and music was like the devil’s distraction. But no more. Half way to the CBD I got the desire to hear this cheesy old song that I hadn’t heard in years. Cravings for bad songs pop up for me the same way pregnant women get cravings for chocolate-covered pickles or whatever other weird food item. Today, for some reason, while driving over the bridge I played “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden and it was magnificent. Maybe better than I remembered. I was singing along, punching my fist into the air, bringing the hand to my heart. If I’m gonna be totally honest….I listened to it twice in a row. I couldn’t help it, I was making myself laugh.
I got a new phone recently and unwittingly set the language to English (UK). I didn’t realize I’d done this. When my navigation started talking all proper-like I just thought my new phone was super smart and knew I’m a Kiwi now and decided my navigation should have a New Zealander’s voice because…when in Rome…
Tom rolled his eyes at me and said, “That’s not a Kiwi accent, Leah, that’s British. You must have hit something different when you set the phone up.”
I was kind of disappointed by this.
And you know what? I think that British chick is waaaaay bossier than my American navigation. How many times driving down a motorway does she really need to say, “Continue driving down Route 1”. Today in the car I was getting really frustrated with her and yelling, “I am!! Just tell me when I need to do something different! You’re ruining the song!’
Seriously, she’s a bit uppity.
Tomorrow I fly on a fancy little Air Force jet to the South Island. Tom told me the jet I’m flying on will feel like a private jet which of course gives me visions of sofas to stretch out on and champagne served in fluted glasses by leggy flight attendants. I know it will be nothing like this. But it will be an experience flying on a little jet and I’m excited.
Tom is staying in Blenheim, in the middle of Marlborough wine country, and I am really hoping we get to hit up a few wineries. I can’t do too much walking with this bung knee of mine, but after enough wine I’m sure I will feel no pain.
Hopefully I’ll get some good pictures too. I tried to take pictures downtown today but there were so many people around and I hate looking like a tourist so I tried to be really incognito with my camera and ended up with a bunch of pictures of the sidewalk…and this one kind of good one of Sky City…
So, last night I was looking at a title list of other people’s blogs on WordPress. And right there between “Kayla’s Birth Story Pt. 2” and “How I Deal With Anxiety” was my post from yesterday “Otters Are Rapists and Other Super Important Stuff You Should Know”.
This is pretty indicative of myself and my life.
Stay weird, everybody.