Excuse me, where's MOooolooooLAbaaa?

Yes we know the blog has been stagnating but these laptops we’ve been traipsing around have become plagued with all kinds of foreign viruses thanks to dodgy wireless networks. One even had a swim...

Where were we.... Aaah yes, The Sunshine Coast, a smokey blurred haze. Weekdays were spent lazing by the pool and “working” the odd shift at a greasy fast food joint, stoned... While on munchies K managed to get a job at the local Chook House, mutilating chickens teeming with salmonella. Annie was doing measly 3 hour shifts at a kebab shop on the esplanade drooling over a 19 year old college boy; cougar in the making. During the evenings we watched series 1,2,3,4,5.... and 6 of Sex & the City over pizza and cones. We relaxed into the true Queensland way of life.

Occasionally, on the more productive days we managed to explore the landscape with the Sunshine coast’s very own Bear Grills.

He took us to waterfalls, showing us spiders, lizards, bugs and on the off chance eating them. He drove us around in his massive 4WD, beer in hand while we forced him to listen to our electro music.

Hype did surround Saturday night where all the Coasties would put down their bongs and surf boards for an evening, doll up and hit the streets of Mooloolaba. Unfortunately due to scarce, pricey white powder, drug taking needed to be more inventive by popping anti-anxiety pills.

Consequences of such actions meant Saturdays were carnage, a whole weeks tempt up frustration was unleashed. Countless bemused Australian’s got escorted out of clubs for being shirtless, trouserless or both.

 Distorted vision meant you wouldn’t register how young, married and or vile the Ozzy hench trollup you were pulling were. We accused waitresses of short changing us, got ice thrown at us, lost sensory-motor skills, pretended to be Scottish and spent the majority of evenings with our eyes closed ....result? photos were undeniably magazine worthy.

The quest to find the perfect male was unsuccessful. K thought she had hit jackpot by wooing a blonde, young, tall textbook of a man. But the whirl wind romance was cut short by police armed with torches and dogs, interrupting a fumble on the beach. The possibility of a hefty fine meant K bolted; knickers round her ankles leaving behind an unsatisfied Aussie and a potentially momentous relationship.

 Annie’s man was less textbook, less blonde but with ten years more experience. Her mysterious diving instructor from Berlin seemed promising at first, after a few Bourbons and valium he wasn’t just instructing her in diving. After an evening of being spanked like a naughty child and an awkward breakfast, a huge language barrier and being accused of wearing shorts too short the remainder of their tender relationship was spent with Annie ignoring his existence.. He can still be found cruising around the Sunshine coast in search for Annie in her short shorts...