POST CARD: Hello, I’m Leaving.
I thought I would write more in Sydney with more time on my hands. But of course, I didn’t fucking care. I took my break from the exhausting Tokyo market and did little more than loaf around in a slightly (okay, enormously) bigger rental apt and watch CSI. This time no English subtitles. SO NOT VALID. I made a pretty sub-par effort to go out and enjoy Sydney night life. One night, possibly my first night here? I went out with some of my model friends and found myself at a place called Back Room where absolutely no one would have a Justin Timberlake style dance off to ironic hipster rap music with me and I sulked like a proper lesbian in my saggy-crotched Nudies and backwards Hawaiian ball-cap. Apparently then I embarrassed all my friends further by insisting I see everyone into a taxi cab to get home safe at the end of the night—because I’m lucky enough to live within walking distance of Back Room. (Since that’s actually embarrassing: I assure everyone I have a really big apt and very nice hardwood floors, and it is in fact the truth. Also, it’s way more hygienic. None of the stripper or prostitute dust of King’s Cross can penetrate these floorboards, and I feel okay about that.) I’m sorry people, I might look like a 20 year old boy, but I’m almost 30 and I’m Canadian. That’s a combination that screams I’M SENSITIVE AND I CARE IF YOU GET HOME OKAY TONIGHT. To further prove this point, I am currently listening to the Out Of Africa soundtrack and drinking white wine alone. Okay, I’m not alone. My boyfriend is here. But John Barry has soothed him unwillingly into a deep slumber and I don’t have the heart to wake him and force him to watch me update my Tumblr. Speaking of, today he said to me “I think I have a blog…” and I almost cried laughing. I know. I know. The most perfect quote of 2013. I think I have a blog. But I don’t remember. Perhaps this is one of the main reasons why this relationship works. For once in the last half-decade I’m dating a man who’s career doesn’t completely depend on the public’s interest in him. He’s just here. No give fucks about ‘likes’ ‘favorites’ and ‘reblogs’…what a fucking concept.
“Spent most of my life trying to get invited to cool parties, just to spend most of my nights trying to leave em without saying goodbye.”
— cailin hill (@modelburnbook)