Hello, again. Remember me? I'm the "blogger" of this "blog."I use these " " because I realize that I am far from being a real blogger and this is far from a real blog. This is the definition of "blog:" a Web site on which an individual or group of users produces an ongoing narrative. With the key word being "ongoing," you can see now my obvious misnomer. Yet, here I sit, attempting to give you some idea of my goings-on in the Wonderful Wellington. Or Wacky Wellington, as I so stereotypically called it a few blogs ago.
So forget everything that I've written about so far in my "blog." Let's just start over, shall we?
I was told a few things about Wellington before I traveled over here. I wrote about the things that I saw as I wanderered around the capital city, but most of these observations were tainted by what I was told. For example.. "Cops don't arrest people who run red lights." Yes, they do. The cops aren't as numerous or as nosey as they are in the States, but they still do their job. "People will think you're crazy if you call the bathroom a bathroom. It's called a toilet." Nonsense. Most people do call them toilets, but no one will think you're crazy if you slip up and say "bathroom." Or, my personal favorite, "All Kiwis hate Americans and resent us being here and taking their jobs." Tim and Scott actually work with such nincompoops, but I personally haven't encountered such people. Everyone I have met has seemed very open and interested as to why I'm here and where I'm from. I guess it really depends on who you talk to. So, I am here to right these misguidances. Actually, I'm here to write more of these misguidances. (Hah, did you notice that nice pun in there? "Right" and "write." Clever, eh?) I have noticed so many things about Wellington that I would love to write about, but they would just end up being more wrong stereotypes or generalizations. The people and the happenings here are just as unique to the person as they are back in the States. Each person/family has their own opinions and actions which differ from another person/family's opinions and actions. For example, many people here (so I am told) already think of Americans as the typical fat, lazy, loud, money-hungry, power-hungry monsters that we sometimes can be. But, I really hate being stereotyped as that, so I, in turn, will try not to stereotype the laid-back, ignorant, proud, stubborn Kiwis.
Just kidding.
I actually had to rack my brain for negative words for the Kiwis. I didn't do a great job of it either. The Kiwis as a whole are a very friendly, stylish, giving, and relaxed people. For example, my boss's husband let me borrow his car for the night because the buses didn't run that late into the evening. I explained to him that I am used to driving on the opposite side of the road, so I felt very uncomfortable. And, besides that, I don't actually know how to drive a manual. He replied with, "Well, it's an old car anyways. Have a go at it, and if you can't figure it out, just leave the f-ing thing on the side of the road and call a taxi. We'll just get it tommorrow." Astonishing. Who in their right mind would let an American girl try to drive a manual car alone on the opposite side of the road in New Zealand's capital city? But he honestly didn't care. And I got home just fine. That's the Kiwi way. But I'm not stereotyping...
Another non-stereotype is that this city is fueled by coffee and alcohol. The entire city literally becomes drunk at about 9 p.m. on weekends. If you are as lucky as I am to be working late into the night on weekends, you'll see what I mean. Just driving through the city, you'll see fights in the middle of the street, people puking behind lightposts, traffic having to stop because some genius thought lying in the middle of the street was a good idea, nerdy guys boldy trying to talk to pretty girls, bars full of drunken dancing, and idiots trying to drive home. It's outstanding. But, during the weekdays (and at about 11 a.m. the morning AFTER said partying), the entire city has a cup of joe in their hand. Cafes can be found at every corner and usually somewhere in between the corners. They are packed in the morning, during lunch, and just after work (and just before happy hour starts). I, admittedly, am a part of this crowd. Coffee is life. Their coffee is much stronger, tastier, and more costly than back home. It also might contain cocaine. I can't seem to get enough of it. In fact, as I type, I'm also calculating just how I can squeeze in a cappuccino before work today... Oh, I think I've just figured it out. Gotta go.
Cheers.
My Ohio-en friend, Rachel, and I being awesome at my house (or as she calls it, "The U.S. Embassy).
Scott, Maria (from Germany), Tim, Me, and Marco (from Germany) near Red Rocks. The wind was blowing so hard that day that we literally had to curl up in a ball everytime a big gust came. I came away with very very red, raw skin. It was very painful but very beautiful. 
