I didn’t make it to Ponsonby yesterday cuz, you know….life.
But I made it today and I gotta say I was a bit underwhelmed.
I wouldn’t call the area “Bohemian” so much as “boutique-y” and “posh”. The kind of shops where I feel like the employees are watching me to make sure I don’t steal something. They were all perfectly nice, but they did seem to follow me a bit closely. But maybe because I’m all elbows and quite clumsy. Come to think of it, I probably look more like I’ll break something than steal something.
I did chat with some lovely ladies at a novelty kitchen gadgets shop who told me where I should be able to find liquid smoke and canned green chilies. The former is so I can try to make coconut bacon and get a good smoky flavor to my tofu meatballs (don’t judge…I promise you both these things are waaaaay better than they sound!) and the latter is because I’m Mexican and I miss them.
The residential neighborhoods were cute…little old houses that were all lattice eaves and scrollwork and quirky-colored doors. I took a few pictures of one especially cool house that was painted all sorts of colors but then a guy popped his head out the front door with a grin on his face and said, “You gonna pay me for those?” and I laughed and said, “Sorry, I just like your house.” But really I was thinking Geez, I can’t even afford to take pictures around this place.
Hopefully the home-owner never accidentally stumbles upon my blog. I might get hit up for royalties or something.
I didn’t find any used bookstores. But in one unused book store my attention was caught by the cover of a book. I’m really fascinated by octopuses (and no people, octopi is NOT correct).
Onn the back of the book it read, “This journey is what I do now. I bump along, in fits and starts, on a perpetual path to finding better ways for me and my mate, Anxiety, to get around. It’s everything I do.”
For a moment I thought, “Wait a second, did I write this book?! Am I a sleep-writer with a nom de plume?!”
Although I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t pick such as ordinary name. My nom de plume would be something like Tacos de la Mora. Keep an eye out….you may see it on a store bookshelf one day.
Then it started raining. And I didn’t bring my raincoat because a bright pink and purple nylon blend jacket doesn’t compliment my outfit so I got wet and shivered my little butt off and decided to head back to the car. And of course, by the time I got there it was sunny and blue-skied again because that’s just what Auckland does.
I have knee surgery tomorrow morning. It’s minor. But I’m spending my afternoon today cooking stuff so that for the next few days I can just reach in the fridge, grab something, and throw it in the microwave.
I will be laying around on painkillers watching Netflix and eating chocolate.
And possibly drawing.
In the past, when I’ve had a prescription drug-addled brain I seemed to enjoy doodling. And I firmly believe, while doing it, that I’ve finally come into my own, drawing-wise, and am creating a masterpiece. When I look at it after the drugs wear off it’s usually just a weird scribbly mess of lines and colors. This also happened the one time, years and years ago, that I took Ambien.
So I’m guessing most pills just turn me artistically delusional.
But hey, whatever keeps me occupied. Some people try to drive when they’re in a drug fugue. I try to draw. One would probably be more of a failure than the other.
One difference between the USA and NZ that I learned while dealing with my knee stuff and getting consultations and an MRI and such is that doctor’s here don’t always get called “Doctor” as a title. I was in the waiting room about to see the knee specialist and the receptionist said, “Leah, Joe will see you now.” and I was so confused. Who the hell was this dude Joe?! After the consultation was over I said, “Thanks, Dr. [ ]!” and he smiled and said, “You can just call me Joe.” It was so weird.
That never happens in the States.
Once, years ago I went with a friend to have dinner with her dad. I shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. [ ] and he said, “Doctor” in a way that made me kind of shrink into myself a little bit. And I remember thinking it was so pompous and he wasn’t even doing anything doctor-y at that moment, just drinking a beer and about to eat some barbecue. And here’s this doctor talking to me about my MRI and I get to call him Joe.
I tickles me to death, the informality of doctors here. For some reason I really like it.
Anyway, off to prep some meals so I can capitalize on my laziness for the next few days.