Alright, first things first.

If you’ve enjoyed this little series, or any of my other posts/photography and want to be besties, head over to Findingravity’s new Facebook page. Click like and be part of the fun. I’ll be revealing a few new projects and fun things for everybody in the next few days, and I want YOU to be a part of it

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ALSO!

Today is BLAKE’S BIRTHDAY.
So I want everyone to:
-Give Blake lots of love
-Openly make fun of his Australian accent
-Give him presents
-Openly make fun of his Australian accent
- Give me presents

You’re probably here today because I promised part trillion five of Not Another Love Story.  If you’re sick of the cuticle peeling, nail biting, teeth grinding series, today is the last day. If you’re new here, feel free to play catch up!


Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

________________________________________________________

PART V

For being remarkably colorful, the world is full of grays.

There are places in this world that we are unsure of, places that seem too delicate to trample on with our elephant feet. There are delicacies we could crush with our fingers if we dared to pick them up long enough to examine them. These spaces, these gray, gray spaces, will never know vibrancy if we allow them to stay in the shadows.

After months of magenta, violet, and bright sky blue, Blake and I became gray.

For like…one night…

The night after our first kiss, Blake and I decided to go out to dinner. It was something comfortable, something familiar, except it wasn’t. We had become creatures of habit together, a wonderful thing. If I was in a bad mood, Blake would habitually drive in circles around the nearest roundabout until I started laughing. If Blake seemed grumpy, I would habitually fall down or break something, and Blake would chuckle and shake his head at me.

The night after our first kiss, everything was different. I shuffled food around on my plate the way I did when I was a child, to fool my parents into thinking I’d actually eaten something. I wasn’t fooling my parents back then, and I still wasn’t fooling anybody. I could see right through my own act, and so could Blake.

Blake looked at me, and then looked around. This two step pattern continued through dinner. Look at Carley. Look down. Look at Carley. Look down. Look at the clock. Look down. Look at the clock. It’s only been two minutes. Look down.

Painful.

After dinner we decided on a movie…”The Other Guys,” not that it’s important. Blake and I stood in line together, and when it was our turn to step up, without thinking, I placed my hand on Blake’s arm. He returned the motion by placing his hand on my lower back. Neither of us said anything, but it was the closest I’d felt to him all night. Not necessarily physically, I just felt comfortable, for one brief fleeting moment, and then it disappeared again.

We were those people in the theater who arrived together, but could not have been sitting further apart. We sat with our shoulders leaning away from each other, in our gray place.

The movie was hysterical, and we laughed. The popcorn was good, we ate it. The theater was dark, and we were happy that we couldn’t see each other long enough to make awkward eye contact, or the clock. That was how the night passed by.

The movie ended and Blake drove me home. I felt a little stupid. Clearly the night before had been a mistake, or an accident, or maybe my subconscious dreamt it up while I was sleeping.

Blake parked his car outside of my house and neither of us said anything for a moment. Finally, Blake spoke up.

“So, that was a funny movie.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”

The roles had completely reversed and now I was sitting next to this person with nothing interesting to say, while he hopelessly tried to fit scraps of conversational small talk together to form a goodnight. Finally, he gave up, and leaned in to hug me. Except, he didn’t just hug me, he PATTED me on the back.

That’s right, a pat on the back. I would have been happier with a high five, or maybe a slap across the face, or a nose flick.

“Talk to you tomorrow.” I walked to my front door, stormed to my room, and looked in the mirror. I checked my teeth to make sure I had nothing in them. My hair was usually pretty messy, but I didn’t have an unexpected birds nest in it. My clothes were on straight, I even managed not to spill anything on myself.

What was the problem?
This was NOT how it was going to end.
Impulsively, I picked my phone up and sent Blake a text.

“Come back.”
Almost instantly I heard my phone beep. It was Blake.
“Did you forget something in my car?”
“Yes.” I responded.

You know when you plan on confronting somebody, and you create the perfect dialogue in your head of how the upcoming conversation will go? Don’t even sit there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about, whoever you are. If you’re shaking your head, you’re lying.

That’s right. I’m calling you out.
If I’m going to be honest, so are you.

I had this conversation in mind, in which I displayed a stellar level of wittiness and competency for the situation, while managing to address the problem, AND look like a bombshell at the same time. The brick walk way leading from my house to his car would probably become the red carpet, and when I opened the door my hair would blow in the wind.

Here is what actually happened:

Blake called me when he arrived, and I felt like I was going to throw up. Nervously, I left my house and dragged my feet down the brick walkway, hoping the ground would part and I would slip into the earth’s abyss before making a fool of myself.

I stepped into his car and buckled my seat belt.

“Want me to drive?” Blake asked.
“That would be great.”

We drove, and drove, and drove, and eventually I internally convinced myself to speak up.
“We kissed last night.” Okay, so that wasn’t the smoothest way to start.
“Yes. We did.” The corner of Blake’s mouth curved into an upward smile.

I was already flustered. I didn’t know what to say next.

“Well?” I asked. Nice, Carley. One word sentences. You sound so intelligent.
“Well what?”
“Well, if that’s going to be how it is now, we kiss and then not talk about it, I’d rather just stay friends.”

Blake didn’t say anything. By this point, we’d driven around the block and were sitting in front of my house again. I didn’t want any of this. I wanted my best friend back. I wanted dance lessons and late night coffee trips, and funny text messages while I was at work that distracted me from getting my work done. I wanted competitive bowling and stealing street signs together, and sitting in the car overlooking the city discussing music all night. If I had to trade all of that in for THIS, I wanted no part in it.

As I was getting ready to get out of the car, Blake finally spoke up.

“If the kiss upset you, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not upset that you kissed me. I wanted you to kiss me again.”

And we did.
The brave girl with all the right things to say had finally shown her face.

Our friendship returned to its authentic, organic state, except better. There was this whole new realm to our friendship that hadn’t existed before. Everything went from gray to saturated with high definition.

Unfortunately, Blake was leaving Australia in a month.

It felt like he had just arrived, but he explained to me that he’d accepted an offer in Ireland to play rugby for seven months. Part of me was sad, part of me was excited for him, but no part of me felt hurt or scared. I wanted him to go. I never wanted to be the person that held him back from the things he was meant to do in life. We were both meant for wonderfully great things, and I knew we could accomplish them separately, and manage to stay intact.

Instead of focusing on the fact that he’d be leaving in another month, we decided it was time to cross something else off our list. #32 on our list was to tell somebody your deepest secrets. I asked Blake to drive to the lookout overlooking the entire city, where we’d spent many nights with our seats reclined talking about music.

I unfolded a piece of paper and began reading. I picked ten things about myself that only one or two people knew, and a few that nobody knew. I shared thoughts that might have made me a bad person to anyone but Blake. I knew I was vulnerable, but I didn’t feel it. I felt like he was the person who I was meant to share these secrets with.

That’s how it always should be.

It had been a two weeks since Blake revealed his plans for Ireland, and three weeks since our defining conversation in the car where I tried to come off cooler than I actually was, and Blake tried to humbly apologize for what I’d wanted him to do all along. I only had two weeks left with him, and he wanted me to meet his family. I agreed to go shopping with Blake so he could pick up a new suitcase and some things for his trip. After, we planned on going to the grocery store to pick up ingredients so we could cook dinner for his family.

While we were at the mall, Blake’s phone rang. His future coaches in Ireland were calling him. They wanted to Skype when he arrived home. We decided it would be a good idea to leave so Blake could get the video call over with before his parents came home for dinner.

When we arrived at Blake’s house, I made myself comfortable in the living room. Blake set his computer up in the kitchen. Moments later, Skype rang through his computer

I tried to focus on the television, but the tone in Blake’s voice quickly transformed from shocked to distraught.

“I don’t understand.” His voice became cracked and broken.
“We’re really sorry, but we’re going to need you here a lot sooner than we originally planned.”
“So when would I have to come?”
“Well, we need you to be registered in the next few days.”
“So when would I have to leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You mean I have 12 hours to say goodbye to my friends and family?”
“We’re really sorry, Blake.”

Blake hung up and I was scared to turn around. I knew he was devastated, and I thought I’d be able to hold it together as long as I didn’t look at him, but I also knew that he needed me.

I stood up and walked over to him, and gave him a hug. He buried his face in my shoulder, and we both began to cry. I was heartbroken for him. It had taken me weeks to say goodbye to everyone before leaving for Australia, I couldn’t imagine having to do it in 12 hours.

“Bring me home, Blake.”
“No, I’m spending the night with you.”
“Blake, be realistic. You have to pack, say goodbye to your family, and your friends. I can’t be selfish.”
“I’ll pick you up after.”

The following two hours were filled with a lot of waiting and tears on my end and rapid packing and goodbyes on Blake’s end. He picked me back up at 10:00, and we knew we’d only have two hours together. We drove straight to the cliff that overlooked the city, parked the car, and reminisced over the previous two months. There were beautiful moments of stillness and repose, and there were somber moments of reflection and what if. Neither of us spoke about what would happen in 12 hours, after he stepped on the plane. We expected to have an extra few weeks to figure that out, and we were faced with it so abruptly, that we decided to leave it alone.

At midnight, I knew that I had to go home. I’d have to be up early for my internship, and he had a plane to catch. We both cried the entire drive home. I sat in his car with my feet curled up to my chest and my head against the cold passenger side window. This was not the right moment to be distant. I relaxed, and let Blake hold my hand.

We parked the car in the same spot we had weeks prior. The red carpet pathway had turned into a walkway of solitude.

Blake took my hand and placed it on his heart.
“This is yours. Take good care of it.” He whispered.
“Come back to me soon, Blake.”

We shared one last kiss and I opened the door. I couldn’t sit in his car anymore. I couldn’t cry or look at him again, it was too hard. I blew him a kiss and turned my back and began to walk into my house. The only sound I heard was his car pulling away and a voice in my head telling me there were words I should have said, but chose not to.

I cried myself to sleep that night, knowing in the morning Blake would be leaving me and Australia behind.

Blake and I spent the next four months in separate countries. We wrote each other letters every week. Yes, I said letters. Like…snail mail. Old school

In between the packages and the letters, we Skyped daily.

I finished my internship without Blake, the way I had initially planned. I knew that losing Blake was not going to determine the rest of my trip, because I knew that I had not actually lost Blake. People told us both it would be an impossible task to stay together, but I can honestly say there wasn’t a single moment that either of us doubted the other’s commitment.

I returned home from Australia in November of 2010, and a month later, Blake took a break from Ireland and made his first trip to America. We took a trip to New York City, and had the chance to celebrate our first Christmas and New Years together.

Saying hello again

NYC

After three more months, I travelled to Ireland to visit Blake and to meet all of his new Irish friends. We celebrated St. Paddy’s day in Dublin, and road tripped through Northern Ireland.

St Paddy's Day in Dublin

After being all around the world together, the goodbyes never became easier, so we decided to put them to an end once and for all. In June of 2011, Blake packed his bags one last time and moved to America.

Neither of us can believe that three years ago we were having our first conversation, and that a year and a half ago, we were saying goodbye to each other in Australia. We now live together and every mile that was put between us has only made us closer.

"Love is friendship, set on fire."

Thank you ALL so much for the wonderful feedback and comments. Blake and I are so amazed at how receptive everybody has been of our story. If you have any more questions or comments, please feel free to speak up and ask.

I also have a post aimed at helping anyone who is currently in a long distance relationship called, How To Make It Through A Long Distance Relationship Without Wanting To Jab Your Eyes Out.

Looking forward to sharing more of my crazy life with you all.

Cheers

Not Another Love Story Part IVXYZ (4)

I looked up the roman numeral for the number four…IV
I’m not really sure why I bother with Roman Numerals.
They look more official?
In actuality, prefer letters to numbers?
I like looking dumb?

As usual, in case you’re new here, this is the completely unconventional, slightly agonizing at times, full of cliff hangers story of how Blake and I came to be Spiderman and Mary Jane. Except Spiderman is slightly cooler than Mary Jane and I don’t have red hair. My similes are off today, sorry.

Here’s Blake



Except that’s not really Blake, but you can see/read about the real Blake in parts 1-3

Part I
Part II
Part III

Returning to Australia is to this day one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life. Oh you’re only 24, that will change as you get older. No, it won’t. I will always look back at the leap that I took to return to Australia by myself as one of the bravest moves of my life. I was not enrolled in a study abroad program like my previous trip, I would be teaching in a foreign school system, I would be navigating around another country alone without a car, and I would be 10,000 miles away from my closest friends and family. Just in case any of you are picturing me living in a cardboard box, befriending possums, and sustaining only off of the Australian wildlife, I did have a normal life in Australia. I had plenty of Australian friends that I had kept in touch with from my first trip.

I arrived in Australia and Blake was already in Europe. Nothing had changed in our friendship. Every night after hours of grading papers and creating lesson plans, I would sit on my bed and wait for him to get online. He would tell me his latest European travel stories, and I would share with him my crazy tales from the classroom. Despite the fact that the only face to face interaction I’d had with Blake was brief and rude…unforthcoming on his part, being in Australia without him felt strange. He’d been a better friend to me than many friends I had known for years. When the clock struck 12 on my birthday, his phone call was the first one I received, take the time difference into consideration and it becomes pretty wonderful. When my best friend’s mom passed away, he was the only person I called after the funeral. I had so many people I could have called, people I loved, people who I’m sure would have consoled me, but none who understood the numbness I was feeling, why I couldn’t cry, and how frustrated I was that I couldn’t fix things. Blake was just different.

I had been in Australia for three weeks when one day, Blake popped up on msn and told me he had something to tell me, but he was only able to hop online for a few minutes.

7/24/2010 Blake: I have to go
7/24/2010 Blake: We have more of Paris to explore
7/24/2010 Blake: I got a story for you when I’m back
7/24/2010 Carley: Okay! Have fun. Don’t kiss too many French girls.

^ This is part of our the ACTUAL msn conversation, copy and paste style.

The something he had to tell me when he returned was that rugby club in Newcastle was helping to fly him home for the last few games of the season, so he could be a part of finals if they made it that far. In one short week, Blake would be stepping onto a plane that would bring him back to Australia. We talked about doing all of the things we’d always joked of doing, like being able to cross items off our list together, and having an overly competitive reenactment of the World Cup on the beach (which I’d win, of course).

The following weeks flew by at a speed which can only be attributed to late nights and early mornings spent lesson planning, and the unbelievably long and busy days I’d spent at Newcastle High School. On Wednesday, August 11th, I took the day off from my internship in honor of the day that my brother passed away. It’s always a difficult day for me, and I just needed space for quiet comfort. By 7:00 at night I was feeling overwhelmingly homesick, when I received a text from Blake. I decided I’d had enough sadness, and it seemed like a good idea for us to take advantage of the fact that we were actually in the same country together.

Dinner seemed appropriate.

NOT a date, definitely NOT a date. Just dinner.
People eat. That was appropriate. Just two people…eating…food…because humans eat food…
We both liked food…we were both humans…

This was the explanation I attempted to give people when they asked what was going on between Blake and I. The truth was, there was absolutely nothing going on. How could there have been? We had been living in different countries for the last year, and the only face to face conversation we’d ever had resulted in me contemplating my entire personality.

Blake arrived at 7:30, and without even THINKING, I opened the door, giddily skipped over to him, and gave him a huge hug. To my surprise, he hugged me back. I’m totally a hugger, and hadn’t taken even a moment to consider the likely possibility of him putting his arms up and requesting that we stay at minimum of 12 inches away at all times.

Dinner was refreshing. That’s the only word that comes to mind when I think of our first actual sit down conversation, without fluorescent computer screens and 10,000 miles of distance between us. We discussed out list, he told me more Euro-tales, and I confessed that student teaching made me want to crawl into a dark hole some days. We made plans to attend a mutual friend’s birthday party the following weekend, and laughed about the fact that neither of us considered how potentially awkward this dinner could have been, and how remarkable it was that we just assumed we’d get along so well, as if we’d known each other forever.

Three days later, Blake picked me up for our friend’s birthday party. It was at ritzy third floor piano bar, and we were all told to dress nicely. I had picked out a black cocktail dress, and Blake arrived looking dashing in dress pants and a dress shirt. We stayed glued together the entire night; unfortunately, people kept bringing up my ex boyfriend. Nothing kills a party mood quicker than exboyfriend talk. It was as if people thought I was not aware that my ex boyfriend happened to live in Australia, and they wanted to know every thought and feeling I had on the matter.  (This won’t make sense to you if you haven’t read part 1. Do your homework. *Wrist slap*)

By the end of the night, I left the bar.
I may or may not have been in tears.
Okay, I was totally in tears, and I had no idea why I was crying. I just knew that I felt like everybody was pointing at me and whispering all night. Didn’t your parents teach you that pointing is rude and secrets don’t make friends? Without saying goodbye to Blake, I turned my back on the party, and tried to find the quickest escape route.

Blake was apparently speedier than I was aware of, and caught up with me before I was able to step into a taxi.

“Carley, wait.”
“No, Blake. I look so stupid to these people.”
“Who cares! I’ll take a cab with you.”
“Just let me go, Blake.”
“No, I’m not going to let you just run away.”
“I look stupid.”
“You look beautiful when you smile.”

Blake took the cab with me to make sure the emotional wreck of a girl he’d taken to the party arrived safely home. Fortunately, nobody really remembered the lame girl that was crying at the party. One sentence Blake said kept repeating in my mind that night, and no, it wasn’t the part where he told me I looked beautiful. I’m sure most girls would have been swooning over the handsome, blue eyed Australian and his thick Aussie accent. I was too aware of my make up running down my face and the realization that the heels I’d picked out were not suitable for a stealthy escape.


“I’m not going to let you just run away.”


I was pretty good at running away. My entire life, I’d always been able to handle everything, and when I couldn’t handle things, I’d just leave them behind and start over. This nomadic lifestyle temporarily alleviated certain situations, but now, somebody was telling me I wasn’t allowed to run.

The next few weeks were filled with dinner, coffee sit downs, phone conversations, and rugby games. We made a point of crossing things off our list, and we had a blast doing it, while managing to be extremely unsuccessful in such endeavors. (If this “list” confuses you, then you clearly haven’t read parts 1-3. I SAID do your homework! ).

#34 on our list was to take a dancing lesson. A friend of Blake’s had passed away days earlier, and I could tell he had been feeling a little sad. I wanted to think of something that would get him out of his element, and more importantly, get him laughing. Keep in mind that I am one of the clumsiest human beings on planet earth, and I’d be willing to bet that I’d beat out all other life forms in space for the title as well. We went out for late night coffee and I revealed my plan to him, and to my surprise, Blake was nervous, but agreeable when I reminded him how funny it would be watching me take a dancing lesson.

We arrived five minutes early, and to our misfortune, the lesson that happened to be taking place before ours was a six year old ballet class. Something about seeing toddlers in tutus must have freaked Blake out, because before I could explain to him that we were early, he was already out the door.

“THEY ARE DOING SPINNIES!” He yelled.
“Blake we’re…”
“No, Carley, they are doing spinnies! I AM NOT DOING SPINNIES!”
“Blake we’re…”
“I AM NOT DOING THAT!”

I couldn’t take it anymore. The detonation of laughter became uncontrollable. I stood in the middle of the street, bent over, with my hands on my knees. I pressed my chest into my thighs and laughed so hard that it felt like I was going to choke on the very air I was trying to inhale. I fell to my knees in laughter, and it was the sight of this that Broke Blake’s stern scowl and serious aversion to anything pink and frilly. Together, we laughed hysterically until we couldn’t breathe. I laughed until it hurt, and Blake laughed until he couldn’t feel the hurt.

It was the perfect remedy. Mission accomplished.

At one particular rugby game in September, Blake’s good friend Jessie asked me what was REALLY going on between us. I became slightly awkward, a little bit squeaky, and avoided eye contact at all costs. I assured her that nothing was going on, and we just enjoyed each other’s company, which was completely true.
Blake and I were 100% platonic.

This is the part of the story where people usually say, “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” This is also the part of the story where I get defensive and threaten these people with my big muscles and intimidating angry facial expressions.

That night, after the game, we all decided to grab a drink at a pub down the street. As usual, Blake and I stayed glued to each other’s sides for the entire night. I was still in teasing mode from our dancing attempt nights earlier, so I dragged Blake onto the dance floor. Eventually, Blake had to take a bathroom break, so I stepped off the dance floor and caught up with his friends.

Jessie, the girl from the rugby game, piped up.
“So Carley, do you like Blake?”
“What? No! We’re just friends.”
“I can tell he likes you.”
“No he doesn’t! That’s crazy. Girls are chasing him around, lining up for him.”
“I’ve never seen him interact with someone the way he does with you.”

It was true, Blake could have had any girl he wanted. He could have stood blindfolded in the center of a circle, spun around, and pointed. He had so many female friends, all of whom were breathtakingly gorgeous, why would he ever take notice of the uncoordinated American girl.

LOOK! THERE WE ARE! Don't you see us? No, not the guy holding the purse...look closer...Yep! There we are! Now, don't we LOOK like two people who are just friends?!

Hey everyone! This was meant to go up this morning, before I embarked on a day journey to the Blog Better Boston conference in Boston, MA! Unfortunately, at 6:30 am, I was having a big of a technology malfunction. My computer kept freezing right before I had to dash out the door to catch a 7am bus! Emily and I met through a mutual love of travel AND Australia. I guest posted on her blog a few weeks ago, about my adventures getting lost in Australia

She has been kind enough to return the favor! I truly hope she can excuse my poor etiquette in not posting on time.

Tomorrow, I’ll be working on my recap from the Blog Better Boston conference AND going to see the IMAX showing of The Hunger Games, so I won’t be around. Emily is the bomb.com, and has provided us with a fantastic post to keep you occupied while I’m gone for the day.

Everyone say, “HIIIIIIIII EMILY!”
Now, show her some love, or I’ll unleash some ninja moves.

What up, Carley fans!
I’m Emily and I blog over at Emmy June {Born in May}.

Almost nine months ago, my husband and I moved from Redondo Beach, California to Sydney, Australia.  I began blogging as an attempt to capture the experience.
Naturally, Carley and I bonded over our love for Australia {hell, she loved it so much she took one home with her!}
The funny thing about living in a foreign country is that you cannot help but draw comparisons.  Constantly.  Other people may find this annoying, and you’ll compulsively do it anyway.  So here are some things I’ve learned living in Oz.

Shizz Ain’t Cheap
The exchange rate is basically dollar for dollar.  But living here is darn expensive!  Hubby and I calculate that our cost of living is 35-60% higher than it was in California {which ain’t cheap, either!)  Aside from paying $18.50 for a movie ticket, here are a few examples to prove my point.

Yes, you read right, $14.99 per kg of bananas.  {Now, in Australia’s defense, there was flooding in Queensland which supposedly caused the drastic price increase.}  However, when I tried to buy two bananas and it rang up at a whopping $9.00, I nearly lost my mind.

We all know and love Ben & Jerry’s.  I particularly love the flavor featured above.  What I don’t love?  The $12.95 price tag in Australia.  Give me a break!  Not even the gloriousness of B&J’s is worth that cheddar.

And lastly, there’s the electric bill.  Our first one was nearly three hundred dollars. For one month.  In an apartment that has no central heating & cooling.  F*!#

Driving, Parking, and Public Transport
Driving on the left side of the road is such a trip. I love it now, and it’s like second nature to me.  However, the lanes are very narrow here, so it certainly took some adjusting.  The hardest habit to break was windshield wipers versus turn signal.  I can attest, there is nothing more maddening than trying to signal for a turn, and ending up with your wipers on.

Most of the speed limits are pretty low in Oz.  80kph is the max in most parts, which equates to 50mph.  I’m talking a two lane, divided freeway here.  Seriously?  50mph is all you’re going to give me?  As a California girl, I naturally enjoy ignoring speed limits.  85 in the 65 is nothing to the California Highway Patrol.  However, speeding was a habit I had to quickly break upon moving to Sydney.  Why?  Because I met my nemesis–the speed camera.  These bad boys are everywhere and you cannot flirt your way out of a ticket with them {sadly.}

Parking is another major bummer in Sydney.  You’d think with all the unused land in Australia, they could have spread out the city just a little bit to include more car parks.  But, alas, they did not.  So parking is a pain in most places, and downright ridiculous in others.  In Sydney CBD {which is the Aussie way of saying downtown}, they charge $30 per half hour.

Now before you think I’m just talking smack about Australia, I should add that the driving & parking situation is very well offset by a great public transportation system.  Buses, trains, and ferries oh my!  I love the freedom of hopping a bus and arriving in the CBD 15 minutes later.  No hassle, no need to find parking, no worries about who’s DD that night.  Brilliant!  In Los Angeles, the public transport is terrible and reserved for people of low socio-economic status.  Therefore, the hubby likes to say that Sydney should be known for “beautiful people at bus stops.”  What he means is that even the well-dressed, corporate big wigs take the bus or train to work.

Work-Life Balance
If this were a head-to-head battle, Australia vs. United States, the score would be 9,645,100 – 0.  Aussies own this shizz.  One year maternity leave, standard.  Four weeks paid holiday, standard.  Thirty-five hour work week, standard.  As an employee here, you don’t feel as though the company is trying to suck every last ounce of soul from you.  Aussies refuse to feel like slaves to their employers.  They believe in working hard, but playing harder.  As a culture, there’s a “no worries” mentality that is so, so awesome.

Health Care
I don’t intend to start a political war on Carley’s blog, so I’ll simply say that the healthcare system here is the bomb dot com.  I’ve worked in health in the US and Oz, so I have some authority on this matter.  Australians don’t have to worry about whether or not to go to the doctor in case it’s too expensive, or not covered, or not in network.  That is a stress we have in the US that is totally outrageous and unnecessary.

Birds
And to round out your lesson on Australia, the birds here are pretty cute

Thanks again to Carley for allowing me to take over her blog!  You can find me here if you’d like to stop by and say hi.

http://emmyjuneborninmay.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/tuesday-travel-diaries-australia.html

Hello beautiful people.
All of the feedback regarding the “Not Another Love Story” series has been energizing and just downright fantastic!

Let me preface by saying that I’ve had my fair share of failed relationships, and some of them I don’t even think I would classify as relationships. Perhaps failed attempts at relationships? Is this technically a preface if I’ve already started telling the story?

I’d just like to explain that I’ve spent many a night elbow deep in Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, pitifully crying to Taking Back Sunday on repeat, while simultaneously hiding underneath my covers, and vowing to never leave my room again.

To all the people out there that have experienced similar break ups *fist bump* you are not alone. I’m not some girl who is sitting here attempting to write a Nicholas Sparks novel, being too high and mighty for the pitfalls of the dating world. I’ve been there…many…many…times.

If you are just joining us, this blog, the blogging world in general, or life here on earth (sup, alien?)…WELCOME! I’m glad you’re here; I’ve been waiting for you. If any of this seems random and confusing, that’s because it probably is random and confusing without having read part one and two.

Let’s get caught up:

Part I – I decide I’m temporarily too good for America, and travel to Australia. While there, I meet an Australian boy with blue eyes named Blake, who clearly thinks he’s temporarily too for America also. I’m obnoxiously friendly, and he’s obnoxiously standoffish.
Part II—I return to America. I needed to shower and socialize. Culture shock and depression meant that I wasn’t great at either. Blake and I had a disagreement on beer preferences, which resulted in the best kind of friendship: random and unexpected.

Part III
Disclaimer – I may start to make up Roman Numerals, because I don’t know all of them. Don’t be surprised if I bust out IIVILMNOP

After months of locking myself in my apartment, wearing sweatpants in public, and not doing my homework, I realized I was the reason I was miserable. Here I was, in my senior year of college, whining my last few months of it away. Something needed to change.

A weird thing happens when an idea pops into my head. Provided it’s a good idea, and nothing along the lines of dancing a Backstreet Boy routine in the school talent show, I become relentless. On one hand, my tenacity has brought me to some really outstanding  places around the world, and I’ve experienced things that I never dreamed I would have experienced by the age of twenty four. On the other hand, I am positive I drive the people I am convincing to help me, ruthlessly insane.

The only way to end the misery was to return to the place I was last happiest. It’s like when you’re typing a 25 page term paper and you save it once half way through. When you’re nearing the end of your paper, there is a power shortage in the library and you lose all of your current work. You can’t fully retrieve it, but you can go back to the last time you saved it and start again from there.

I was going to start again.

Seriously, this is not just a sweet simile, this actually happened to me two weeks before finals. I ended up getting an A on the second version of the paper, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I still had to retype the whole second half of the paper. *Shakes fist at library*

The last time I had been truly happy was in Australia. I was going to return to Australia. Done and done. There was no negotiating. There was no finding a middle ground and traveling to a new country. My parents thought I was crazy, my roommates thought I was crazy, and a few of my professors thought I was crazy, but I had a plan.

When I realized I still had the student teaching portion of my degree left, the plan came together instantly. I would travel back to Australia, find a school that was willing to host me, and teach. I would be able to communicate with my advisers back at home through Skype, sending video recordings of classes, and email. The principal could be my Australian adviser, and I would be assigned to a cooperating teacher whose classes I would take over for the semester. Over the next three weeks, I spent every spare moment in my school’s Global Education Office, researching schools in Newcastle, Australia. I found contacts for three schools, and with the help of my amazing Global Education adviser (you’re my girl JM), I was able to put together a cost sheet and a very convincing game plan. We even heard back from the principal at Newcastle High School, and he seemed enthusiastic about the idea of an American traveling abroad to teach at his school

It was fool proof!

…Until the Department of Education at my university said no. Without meeting me, hearing me out, or taking a gander at the snazzy portfolio I had put together, it looked like regaining my sanity and reaching new cultural depths in my teaching practice was a no go.

Despite the rain storm that dumped on me the instant my university agreed with everyone else in my life who thought I had gone mad, there was still a little fire burning that just couldn’t be put out. I requested a face to face meeting with the Department of Education.

The meeting was long, intense, and quite confrontational at the start. In their eyes, I was some greedy, bratty student, who thought she had found a way to cut corners. After hearing how passionate and dedicated I was, (and after seeing my rockin’ tri-fold portfolio, complete with high school contacts, train routes, and the address of the place I’d found to live) my university gave me the freedom to return to Australia.

With their stamp of approval, I knew it was a done deal.

That night, I rushed home to tell Blake the good news. He was the first person I wanted to tell any news to, good or bad. Our friendship had grown from our first awkward hello, and by this time, Blake and I knew more about each other than most of our friends knew about us. I hopped online and we talked about the usual—relationship problems, embarrassing stories, and music. I revealed my success story to him and his genuine excitement and happiness for me was endearing.

The Australian school system runs opposite to ours, so I would partake in graduation ceremonies in May. Unlike the rest of the student teachers who would have an entire summer to prepare, I would be leaving America and arriving in Australia during the second week of July. It would give me a week or two to get settled before starting teaching. This was perfect, because Blake and I had always discussed the amount of fun we’d potentially have if I was ever to return.

There was one problem.

Blake dropped the bomb that he’d be leaving for a ten month long trip to Europe.
He would be leaving the month before I arrived.
We would inevitably miss each other.

I had a conversation with a friend over the weekend about photographing landscape vs. photographing people. My good friend loves photographing landscape, and that is where her creativity in photography lies. While I love photographing landscape, and you can see some of this through posts such as “An Irish Lens”, photographing people is where my excitement dwells.

Photographing Children brings a whole new perspective to photography. They are these tiny little beings with immense personalities, and the emotions they display are so true to the moment. It’s remarkable. I have been nannying “Little G” for the last year, and every day I feel I learn something new about myself. I am very close with the family I nanny for, and I consider them to be part of my own family. I wanted to take pictures of Little G that were unique to her vibrant personality. Children approach the world with such curiosity. As adults, we are so quick to respond to each other, that we often forget what it’s like to think before we speak. Children marvel at things that we might find mundane, and they ask questions that make us actually think about the way we want to answer.

Children remind us to slow down.

I’ve had a few requests for the entire low down on how Blake and I came to be such a rockin’ couple. OKAY, those weren’t the exact words used. I’m really not an example of a traditional love story, so perhaps our story will be refreshing to those of you who think true love only exists for the couples who met when they were six, and fell madly in love on the playground in the sand box.

“Oh Hayyy, I like your pigtails!”
“Thank you! Want to push me on the swings?”
*Commence romantic montage set to the theme song of The Wonder Years*

It wasn’t like that for us.

I gave you a taste of our experience, while simultaneously giving advice to people in long distance relationships, who were looking to get through it before admitting themselves into psychotherapy. For those of you who are new here, Blake is the Australian I wrangled I’m dating. We’ve been together for a year and a half, but we’ve known each other for three years.

Everybody, meet Blake:

This is Blake.
He is from Australia.
He enjoys when people ask him to pronounce:
G’day, Mate!
There’s a shark in the water!
and shrimp on the barbie.
I’m usually shoving a lens in his face,
and he’s usually telling me to put my camera away.

SOMETIMES, Blake comes out of hiding and lets me take normal pictures of him. He’s like Bigfoot.

So here’s part 1 of our story for all of you people out there who are curious about why an
Australian would ever move to America.
…Or something like that…

Once upon a time there was a boy and a girl, and they were JUST friends…
No, really. They were JUST friends. Oh, you don’t believe me?
Wait, are you shaking your head? Did you just roll your eyes?
Okay, that’s it. You wanna go? I’m five feet and six inches of pure….

Actually, I fight like a small bird. Never mind.
Back story:

In 2008 I decided I needed a change. I went to a small university in the mountains of New Hampshire, and while I love all of the amazing friends I’ve made, I definitely felt constricted. I grew up on the beach in a surfing town, where there was just as much sand on my bedroom floor as there was at the beach. In the mountains, I felt extremely out of my element. In the fall and spring I could go hiking with friends, and go running on beautiful off site trails, but the winter months left me frustrated. I have a circulation disease, and my body can only tolerate snowboarding for an hour at most before I start to feel sick, making it an expensive, short lived hobby.

I wanted a change up. I wanted sand between my toes. I wanted to fly somewhere far, far away (perhaps to infinity and beyond? Shout out to Toy Story) where nobody knew my name. I wanted to get lost looking for hidden ally coffee shops. I wanted to stumble into open mic nights where nobody would recognize me. I wanted to see new creatures, create new experiences, and meet new people, and I wanted to do it as far away from New Hampshire as humanly possible.

One day I passed a sign that said “Do YOU want to study abroad in Australia?”
I literally said, out loud, right there in the busy hall way outside of my class, “Yes! I do!”

That was that. I told my parents I was going to Australia, and they told me I was crazy.

I won’t bore you with the insignificant details (My parents telling me I couldn’t go at first, having to find somebody to sublet the room in my apartment, the painful experience of trying to find subjects that would transfer back to my university, etc) but after a year of planning, an entire summer of working 65 hours a week, and an entire semester spent in the Global Education Office at my university, the time had come.

At 5:00 in the morning on February 14th, 2009, I said goodbye to my family and boarded a plane that would eventually take me to Newcastle, Australia.

Six weeks into my trip I met a Boy. Fooled you all, it wasn’t our dear Blake. I bet you all thought that this is where the good stuff begins, didn’t you? Psyche. This boy and I did date for three months, and it was a great experience, in which I learned a lot about myself. I am happy to say that he and I are friends, and even though it did not work out, it worked out for the best for both of us.

One day a few friends and I decided to go to a rugby game. We sat in the stands, clueless, confused, and clearly American. We stared at the strangely shaped rugby ball, which differed from the American footballs we were used to, tried to figure out when we were supposed to clap, and tried to fit in as much as possible. The uniforms were tighter, the crowd was rowdier, and nobody wore padding. A boy with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes sat next to me and laced up his boots.

Now keep in mind, I’m a friendly person. I’ll chat with a tree and walk away having had a great conversation. Don’t pretend like I can’t see you dialing a therapist, it was just an expression. What I mean to say is, I’ll chat with anybody, and this poor boy was the victim of my…chattiness. Usually….USUALLY…People return the simpatico and chat back with me. This results in everlasting friendship, and next thing you know, we’re fist bumping into explosion and making up secret handshakes.

The conversation went a little something like this:

Me: Hi! I’m Carley, I met you a few days ago…I think at your birthday party.
Boy with blue eyes: Oh. Yeah.
Me: Are you excited for your game?
Boy with blue eyes: *Shrug* Not really.
Me: ….
Boy with blue eyes: *Trying not to make eye contact with me by doing that awkward thing where people look at the watch that isn’t actually on their wrist, or pretend to text, to avoid human interaction*
Me:…Um, well, at least it’s a nice day today!
Boy with the blue eyes: Yeah. I’m going to go warm up.

Wait, WHAT? I know. Rude.

Ladies and gentlemen, THAT was the boy I would someday fall madly in love with.

Stay tuned, part two will follow.
For those of you about to publicly throw sticks at Blake, he turned out to be a pretty great guy.