Surfin' USA

'I'm on a boat....' On a g-funk band boat cruise down the Hudson. Woop!

I was up at 4am this morning, not checking the surf report, but lying in bed wondering where the hell I was – oh jetlag, what a pain in the arse. I won’t whine on though as I always find peeps (such as myself) who moan about having jetlag are bratty. ‘Oh, poor you, you just got back from a kickarse holiday in New York and you can’t sleep. Let me wipe away a tear.’

That’s me though. I did just get back from NYC yesterday. Ten days of wafting through the streets like a mist feeling practically invisible. Totally stealth. It was a bit odd at first because last time I was there I was strutting around like Beyonce, kicking over fire hydrants and owning the town but for this trip I was tootling through the five boroughs, constantly grazing my jaw on the sidewalk as hottie after hottie passed me in the streets. OMG, O.H.B. is in full effect in the Big Apple. I’ve joked around that I plan to franchise the Operation:HotBitch idea and take it global but I realise that if I was ever to take it to NYC it would have to be relabelled Operation:EvenHotterBitch. Oh me, oh my. Those NYC ladies are kickin’ it.

The view from the fire escape where I would have a coffee and eye off the megababes.

The O.H.B. regime would have to change though. I was told that public swimming pools aren’t really common and one that an Australian expat friend went to had a ban on wearing colours due to gang trouble. And here I was imagining a pool scene from ATL (sure, it’s in Atlanta, but you get my drift). I can’t imagine any gang trouble between the gays, the bearded hipsters and the tanning babes at Fitzroy pools. Let’s just all get a soy chai latte and hug it out.

Habitat of the NYC surfer babe

Before I went on this NYC trip a young krumper I met one messy night told me about a surf shop in Soho that I must visit. I was all ‘Pffft.. Surf shop in Soho! What an oxymoron! Why bother?!’ but then went on the website and decided it was a must-see. In fact it was one of the first shops I visited.
It felt really strange stroking longboards, fondling wetsuits and eyeing off the hot surfer babes in the middle of Manhattan. We sat out in the courtyard garden and I eavesdropped trying to pick up any surfing conversations. Nada. I then decided to buy some socks (tradie socks, like the US version of Explorer socks) and use my $12 sock purchase as an excuse to chat to the boys behind the counter. I chickened out. They were all Baberaham Lincolns and I didn’t know where to look.

 Some dudes I was trying to eavesdrop in on.

After a week of throwing the Benjamin$ around in the shops pretending I really was living in a giant loft in Soho and working in ‘media’, I made my way back to Saturdays NYC for one last hit of trying to talk to a surfer. The bestie I was staying with in Soho had rolled her eyes at me when I’d said, ‘I really need to get back in the waves so I can find myself. I don’t know who I am anymore!’ Another one of my friends who I hadn’t seen for two years looked at me almost insulted when I said I’d begun a lifelong love affair with the waves. ‘What?! I don’t even know who you are anymore!’ and dismissively waved his hand. After many hours dancing with him at an amaaaazing gay night, he remembered exactly who he was dealing with. Nothing had changed there.

 A small spot of shoppin'.

But NYC did create a kind of vacuum for me. I began to feel I’d lost my centre and was being sucked into the metropolis. After only 10 days! Pfft. Talk about strength of character – noooot. I have thought about it and put it down to over stimulating myself visually, aurally and orally (no, definitely not like that). Plus I was out of my O.H.B. routine and it made me realise I’m completely addicted. So I did make it back to the surf shop, bought a t-shirt and started chatting to the blondie behind the counter, who turned out to be from Sydney. Once again my jaw hit the floor when he told me that the waves are only one hour away from Soho and they’re pretty good too. That’s a shorter trip to the waves than from Melbourne. Ohhhhh, the irony.

 I stroked every single one of these beauties.

It’s good to be home and I’m pumped about hitting the waves this weekend. I was told by one particular handsome surfer that the southern ocean winter swells are awesome. Better buy me a thicker wetsuit, pour myself a cup of concrete and prepare for an ice cream headache in the chill. Frothin’ up!