The definition of Irony

I realize that my blog is turning into such a serious matter that it is missing its purpose: to basically entertain whoever comes to check on me and my adventures overseas. Point made, this entry will try to put it back on track.
To achieve such purpose I will unfortunately have to use so coarse language and for that I apologize right now to the more sensible minds. Once again, I’m just trying to get a good laugh out of each of you and if a little bit of cursing will get the job done, what the hell!!!! (Already started…)

This story took place a couple of weeks ago but is still as fresh in my memory as if it was yesterday. I was out on one of the now “classic” Wednesday nights in Bondi beach. This means that we start off in the Beach road hotel and end up after a few beers and some cheap pick up lines under the influence at the Bondi Hotel. (And the answer to your question is yes, traveling overseas is not all about working there is some partying and drinking with good “mates” as well…)
Anyway we were all back at the Bondi Hotel; Dan, Tal, Caroline, Jemma and me. (And if you are wondering, yes that means two couples + 1… me)
So we were having a discussion about the “Internationality” of the crowd that one can actually meet around the Bondi area. French, English, Irish, US citizens (They are not the only Americans, I keep telling them. Americans are from the American continent. Don’t get me started on this… please don’t), Spanish, Swedish, etc. And obviously the Portuguese were not on the list.
You have to picture that the five of us are sitting at a table in a little “outside” area where there are only 4 or five tables pretty close together for the matter in hand. It’s around 2 o’clock in the morning and the night started early so I had had quite a few malted friends over for a chat. And you know that when one is a little “happy”, one has a natural tendency to get a few decibels louder than the “regulars”. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t off my face or anything close to that, I was keeping my game together but in a relaxed way.
So there I am, bitching (sorry) to my friends about how I had never met a “Portuguese person” traveling in my total of four months down under. The very moment I finished my sentence, which I will not dare to repeat online, a little frightened voice comes from behind me:
“I am from Portugal” (in Portuguese)
What are the odds right? I know about the whole “It’s a small world after all”, but give me a fucking break! What were the odds of such a thing happening?
I’ll Tell you… 1 on 1000000000000000000000000000000 millions (if anyone feels like correcting me, please make the math’s and send me some feedback..)
And for some reason it did, funny Hey?
Obviously, with only a feminine voice as a reference, between the moment I heard the voice and the moment I laid eyes one the “voice provider” my imaginative mind started to fly around, dreaming about what was standing behind me. Honestly, the beers gave a hand and took it to the next level. To my mind came the words long hair, bright eyes, dark tanned skin, beautiful smile and so on, I am sure I do not need to draw it to you. You see it often in the movies when the character loses himself into his thoughts with an idiotic face of pleasure on his face, if you know what I mean.
It all died as soon as she came in sight. What am I saying? It was all savagely crushed repeatedly by a monstrous pitiless Bulldozer that you only see on construction sites into a little pile of compost that I would not dare to put outside my front door to be picked up by the garbage truck.
No tan, no bright eyes, her smile was scarier than anything else and I won’t even talk about the figure as a whole. I had brain freeze for an undetermined time.
I say it again, what were the odds of meeting a Portuguese girl right after finishing a sentence bitching about it and that she would be one of the ugliest girls I have seen around here? (I am not trying to be mean, I am sorry if I sound like I am)
Patriotism obliges, we started chatting in our native language which was very good for a change I have to admit. (But not before reassuring my mates that they are not all like that back home as I have been praising the beauty of Portuguese women everywhere I go.) And yes, she was a really nice.
Being Portuguese, she and her English boyfriend I also had the pleasure to meet managed to slip in a bottle of Sprite filled with absinth.
“It’s easy and much cheaper this way” she said
And I couldn’t agree more as I took a tinny tiny sympathetic sip out of it and was brought closer to calling it a night that I ever wished for. That is some Foul stuff I tell you.
So here comes my definition of Irony.
Irony: Work for two years to finally fly half-way around the world praising the beauty of your female natives only to find yourself four months later face to face to a really ugly specimen from Sesimbra talking for 20 minutes about some uninteresting trip back to the place you have lived all your life.

What is there more to say? Destiny works in mysterious ways...

I hope this entry fulfilled its objective.

Have a nice day.