So at the end of my previous post about returning to Brisbane, I informed you all that I actually wasn’t in Brisbane. Yeah, I know, I should’ve changed the title or something, but I am not one to mess with alliteration. Guess I better explain what’s going on – I know my family is aware of what I’m up to, but I’m sure I must be confusing my handful of readers who check back every now and then to see what I’m up to.

I’m currently in the town of Wollongong (or close enough) in New South Wales, Australia. Why am I here, you ask? Why am I not living it up in Bek’s bedroom in Brisbane? (that should’ve been the title of my last post, damn)

The answer, I guess, is that it’s all Dean’s fault. I’m still debating whether or not I should link you to his website – he’s a professional drummer – but that wouldn’t be as much fun as telling you the story myself, would it?

Before the 19th of June, Dean and I had never met face to face. He started following me on Tumblr years ago and one day we started talking properly, and then we Skyped and became Facebook friends and he accidentally gave me his mobile number (long story) so now I constantly annoy him with texts. He loves it, I’m sure.

So, we were talking when I got back to Brisbane and we were on the same time zone again, and when I was coming home I told him I wanted to move to NSW with my dad (who I’m staying with down here) and he got pretty excited we’d finally get to meet and even kinda got me a job lined up – it was just miles away from anything, so yeah, downfall for a girl who doesn’t have a license or car. Anyway, Dean is a terrible nag so he pretty much didn’t shut up about Sydney for days, until I told him “You pay for my ticket, and I’ll come down tomorrow.”

I thought maybe he’d stop nagging me and I could look for work in Brisbane and just see how stuff went. Silly me. He totally went for it, and before I knew it I was borrowing a suitcase from Courts (and then upgraded to a better one from Bek) and I had a ticket booked for the 19th of June to Sydney. And I was being picked up by this guy I’d never meet before – not IRL anyway.

The best thing about this post? My parents can’t even get mad at me for making plans with someone I’d never met before, because my mother married a man off the Internet. It’s some seedy buy-a-husband story that has fake visas and names…. No, I’m kidding. But my stepdad really is off the Internet. And this was back when the Internet was a lot more dangerous – I don’t think those poor people in 2000 even knew what IP addresses were, or how to track them. (a trick I love employing since I figured out how to do it)

But anyway, things went well with Dean, my plane didn’t crash, my luggage wasn’t lost and Dean was a, actually there to pick me up and b, not a psychopath who tried to kill me. Though he did lead me into the woods… We went on a hike, you dirty people!

So my mother marries Internet friends, has a child with said Internet husband, and then leaves said child with new Internet friends for the night and loses him for hours. I accept plane tickets and get into cars with my Internet friends. I think I win. I wonder if my mum is freaking out or telling Gert how absolutely stupid, irresponsible, etc I am for doing this. Oh well. I’m alive, happy and still travelling and for me that’s all that really matters.

Stick around for a couple more brilliant posts that I have thought about writing a billion times and are currently just drafts in my post list. Oops.

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