Back in the USSR

I'm not. I'm back in the U S of A. But every time I called someone after landing back in the US, I found myself singing, "I'm back in the USSR! You don't know how lucky you are!!". Which is weird because #1 - I've never even been to Russia (though I'd love to go - Russia? Are you listening? Roaming Gnome? Someone send me for free. I'll fly coach). And #2 - because I don't particularly care for Paul McCartney songs. Is he the one that sang that? Was he with the Beatles when he did it? I feel like it was a solo effort. Like "Set on You" by George Harrison. Nope - bad example. I loved that Harrison song. Remember the video? Relax, it's right here:



I can remember loving that video as a kid. I desperately wanted a house that could move in time with my various musical whims. I didn't have it you see, our house in Buffalo was just a regular house. I spent hours and hours singing to the walls and clocks and stuffed animal heads to no avail. And then I had to see a "family therapist". Lame.

Anyhoodles, I am back from two weeks in New Zealand. It was amazing, and exhausting. I was only there for so long, and my friend Katy wanted to show me as much of the South Island as possible. This meant a lot of hours in the car and a lot of nights in random hostels along the way. I learned a lot about myself on this trip. For example, I'm way too old to be staying in hostels. Some of them were very nice - and some of them were the hostel we stayed in when we were in Queenstown. We were staying in a room for 6 people that was about the size of my kitchen in my apartment (my kitchen is not big). It was a decent room considering the price and the cleanliness, so whatever. But it was less than ideal thanks to the Benetton ad of roommates we had staying with us. They came home super drunk the one night (they were also early twenties drunk, which means they were insufferable at 5am, whereas I was 30s drunk, which means I made some judgmental comments at 11:45pm and passed out), and the Dutch girl tried to give the British guy a blowjob, while the German guy sat on his bunk eating a hamburger he had left in the room 9 hours before. So all Katy and I heard were weird wet noises and a Deutschland accent crooning, "Oh, Fergburger! I forgot you were here! I love you, burger! I love you!"

Needless to say, we checked out the next day. New Zealand was a great exercise in controlling my neuroses though - because the entire country was crawling in all manner of 6 and 8 legged insects, and the only person who seemed to care was me. Bugs and spiders EVERYWHERE. Every time I went into a public restroom I sang a song to keep myself calm (to the tune of "Der Kommissar"): "Don't look around...uh-oh! There could be spiders in this town...Oh, uh-oh!!!"

We stayed at one of Katy's friends' places one night, and he had left the window open the night before. So I walked in and immediately started smashing every bug that would land on a wall long enough. This guy got pretty upset, telling me (and I quote) "You can't kill EVERYTHING, Erin." I was like, "Whatever, hippie." And then I killed him. J/K! He's fine. You can't prove he's not.