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Ani Moller: Jetsetter The last week has been a blur of airports, bus stations, states, cities, restaurants, highways, turnpikes, people I don't know, drugs and alcohol. If I don't write about it, I will soon forget and all pieces of memory will decompose and end up in the black recesses of my memory banks, to stay there untouched for eternity. But thankfully, and lucky for us all, I am sitting in the departure lounge in Washington Dulles Airport with a laptop and a bottle of water. Type, type, type. Drink, drink, drink. And soon, I will need to pee. There is a man, sitting just across the way from me, with a strange American accent. I'm guessing he is not from Washington DC, in fact, I think he is probably from some backward, crazy, hick state, where they eat tonnes of meat, and beat their "bitches" up. Aforementioned man is talking about the internet. "I want a website - I don't care how much it costs." I should approach this man, and say; Excuse me, my fine man. I am the Principal Designer for a New Zealand-based design company. I overheard that you would like a website. Please step into my office and I shall offer you a proposal. You will be overwhelmed with my wealth of knowledge, and soon you will be offering me a big fat cheque, drugs and you will ask for my autograph. This is because I am world-famous, just not in Washington Dulles Airport, just everywhere else. There is a woman on the right of me. She has, what I like to call, "laptop eyes". It doesn't matter what I'm typing - whether it be my soon-to-be published erotica novel, or a recipe for my mother's wonderous chocolate chip cookies. When you sit next to someone on a laptop, you can't help but stare. Because of this, when I am typing on the plane, I will try to include the words "bitch", "fuck", "pussy", and "cunt" often. I will also start writing a porn screenplay for a movie aptly titled, "Anal Lord". Woman on right, and new woman on left just commented on "my" laptop. "What sort of computer is that? It's really nice. I like the colours. I'm fascinated how you can just sit in the middle of an airport, using that." And then, "Are you British?" I am not from England. The reason I can sit here and type in the middle of a crowded airport, is because I am a porn star. It says it, right there, on my shirt.
I am not from England. How many times do I have to repeat myself. I am a cracked record, and I am stuck on, "I am not British." I do not have an English accent. I do not have an Australian accent. Half of the time, no one understands what I am saying. I am a cracked record, and I'm stuck on, "Could I please have apple juice?". Excuse me? What did you say? I am not British. The man next to me on the airplane asked me if I live in Austin. A girl standing near me on the Metro in New York asked me how to get to a certain stop. I do not know. I do not live here. Now, back to the last five days. I have been in, and passed through, so many states, that I can't even name them all. I have done so many things, and been to so many places, that I will soon have trouble remembering everything. You may think that I'm writing this for you, but really, I'm writing this for me. All these years of doing drugs, and having obnoxiously hammering hang-overs have caught up with me. Now, it is time, to break it down. THE DEPARTURE - BAD COFFEE Back to Austin airport last Sunday with Ben to catch our respective flights. We couldn't get on the same flight, so we ended up on different airlines, that arrived in different airports. I can't even stress how annoying this was. Bad coffee, cuddles, kisses, salutations. THE ARRIVAL - NERVES Sweat beads on my upper lip, my bag is heavy which causes my shoulder hurt. I am nervous. I am nervous because I am meeting Ben's youngest brother and his mother, whom I have never met. I walk slowly through the tunnel which connects the airplane to the terminal. I step into the terminal. I walk slowly, because I do not see anyone that appears to be picking me up. I walk slower. I stop walking. There is no one here to meet me. Fuck. I walk over to a seat and sit down. I take off my denim jacket so my bright yellow t-shirt is visible. Ben told them I would be wearing a yellow t-shirt. I see a man that looks like Ben's father in a photo I once saw. He looks at me curiously. Perhaps Ben's father is picking me up? Pseudo-Mr Brown has one and a half arms. How could Ben not tell me this? I soon conclude that this is not Ben's father. I am also soon greeted by Ben's mother and brother. God, I feel like a dick. How can I make an impression when I can't talk properly, my shirt is sticking to my back and my shoulder is killing me? The answer, God only knows. We drive and drive and drive some more, and we eventually get the other airport in Washington to pick up Ben. I talk some, I listen more. I am so bad at first meetings. THE FIRST NIGHT - DINNER AND DRUGS I think this is what I did the first night. Already, five days have passed and strangely, I am having trouble remembering what I did. I believe we went to Ben's parent's home in Rockville, Maryland, had dinner with "the family", and smoked drugs with Ben's brother. At least, I think that is what we did. Ben's brother, Alex, is a very cool young lad. He is five or six years younger than me, but still I enjoyed his company. 2 x Brown + 1 x Moller = Fun THE FIRST DAY - WASHINGTON DC We caught the subway into Washington DC. We walked from the train station, through some grassy area, to an art museum. There was some amazing art there. Art that I'd only dreamed I'd see. Art that made me go, wow, this is amazing. We then caught a cab to Georgetown and went to Wrapworx for lunch/dinner. I danced around to the crappy pop they were playing. I had the best smoothie for a long time. We walked to Urban Outfitters, and I finally got to shop. I bought a gorgeous, mid-calf length, lavender, shiny skirt for US$12.99. It is sexy. I know this because I have been told (see New York). I bought gloves for my poor, DC-blown hands. They make my hands feel like muppet hands. Ben and I bought kick-scooters which we assembled outside Urban Outfitters and proceeded to scoot around DC and back to the train station like two sexy, hip tourists. Which we were. Later on that night, we went to dinner with two of Ben's friends and ex-workmates, Herb and Alison. They are two extremely nice people. We went to a very nice Italian restaurant, and I ordered like an absolute idiot because I don't speak Italian, and good one Ani, you are a complete retard. Why won't the waiter look at me when telling us the specials and taking our orders? It is because I am a celebrity, and he is just trying to avoid my glance, as not to appear nosey and intrusive. It is because I am super-attractive, and he fears public erections. We leave the friendly Herb and Alison, we pick up Alex and head off to the movie theatre to watch Charlie's Angels. I am most impressed. I like fight scenes, and there are lots of fight scenes. I like explosions, and there are lots of explosions. I love sexy girls, and there are them too. THE SECOND DAY - SALISBURY Driving to Salisbury was amusing. Alex got pulled over and given a warning. I ate far too much candy. We arrived in Salisbury in the late afternoon. I met Ben's middle brother, Simon, and his crackhead flatmates. We walked around his university, which is so nice, I want to go there. We drove to the beach, some beach, about thirty minutes away. We rode our scooters along the boulevard, and walked on the sand. The three Brown brothers and me. We drove back, and met Simon's girlfriend, I believe her name was Kelly. She is a very nice young lass, attractive and smart. I need to get a girlfriend like her. We had coffee together at the university, and started our drive back to Rockville. This time, Ben gets pulled over, and lucky old Ben, he gets a ticket. Ben Brown, he who loves tickets. Ben Brown, always in trouble with the law. THE THIRD DAY - NEW YORK We wake early, get a ride to the train station, catch a train to DC, catch a bus to New York. We arrive in New York some time between midday and 3pm. I can not say what time it was, because my mind is most often drug-addled and no longer serves me well. We walk around New York, Ben holding my hand to stop me getting hit by cars and buses that shouldn't have been driving along when I go to cross the road. I am completely, and utterly, overwhelmed. There are a lot of people in New York. We walk for hours and I find some wonderful shops. I buy a checkered, fluffy, grey, black and white, roll-neck vest for US$10. It is sexy, as I am to be told later. I buy two pairs of shoes. One pair of bright, blue, slip-on trainers, one pair of shiny, grey and black, lace-up, shoes that resemble bowling shoes. I buy two pairs of coloured sunglasses. I am the happiest girl in the world. We walk some more. Ben has no idea where he is going. Me, the seasoned traveller, and New York citizen, get us back to where we can buy coffee. Enter stage-left, Andy Pressman. Unlike most of the other people I have met since leaving Austin, Andy actually wanted to talk to me. He talked a lot. He is wonderful and friendly, and touches Ben and I on the arm when he is talking to us. We go to a Japanese restaurant for dinner. We talk a lot. We catch a metro to Brooklyn, because Andy lives there. We hang out, I change, we leave to go drinking. My alcohol tolerance has decreased since leaving Wellington. We play pool and drink at a punky pub, the name of which I forget. We play music on the jukebox. A guy at standing at the bar says, "I really like your sweater. It's really quite gorgeous." We leave after a few drinks, and go to another pub, the name of which I forget. We drink some more, and I go for an very pleasureable urination as the previous pub did not have toilet paper. We leave, and go to a bar/club which I liked the most, the name of which I forget. Something X. I have a raspberry cosmopolitan which is fucking tasty and full of alcohol. Oh shit, I'm quite drunk. Ben, Andy and I walk arm-in-arm through the streets of Brooklyn, New York. We get back to Andy's apartment. I am drunk. I want to sleep. Ben and Andy are looking at something on the computer, so I walk into the lounge where our bags are, strip down to my white g-string and lie on the couch. Ani, you're a stripper. At the time, I thought no one was behind me. At the time, I thought I had already asked for a t-shirt to wear to bed. At the time, I think I figured I wouldn't appear naked, although I was almost naked lying on the couch. At the time, I was very drunk. It turns out that Andy was behind me when I took off my clothes. Then Ben walks around the corner and covers me up with his jacket. This, I barely remember. Jump to Ben and I lying on the couch, drunkenly kissing. I say, apparently (apparently meaning I don't remember this at all), you don't know how much that turns me on. I fall asleep. I FALL ASLEEP. I realise, I am no porn star. I am more similar to an old man. THE FORTH DAY - SEX, BUS TRIPS AND DINNER Fast forward to the next morning. I hear moans from the shower. I hear the shower being turned up more. I am still hearing the moaning. Oh, oh, oh, mmm, oh, mmm, oh, oh, oh. Welcome to Andy Pressman's Sexxx Shack. You are currently listening to the musical concerto, Fuck Me Hard In The Shower Baby, performed by the Andy Pressman Flatmate Orchestra. When Ben, Andy and I finally wake, we meander down the road to a nice little cafe. I have my first waffle, and a big arse mug of coffee. We talk a whole lot more. I listen to Andy and Ben a lot. I am tired and hung-over, and they have so many interesting things to say. They talk about writing, ideas, the Beat Poets, Art - I am enthralled. I love listening to intelligent people chit-chat. Eventuallly, we say our goodbyes. I am very sad to say farewell to Andy. In the short time we all chilled together, I grew to like Andy very much. I am very embarrassed about the ass-flashing incident, but since I was drunk and barely remember, it doesn't really count. We make our way to the bus. Another random guy comments on my skirt. "I really like your skirt", which translates into, "I really like your ass in that skirt." New York is full of compliments, good coffee, great shops, and newly-formed real-life friendships that make me wish I weren't leaving. Fast forward a little bit more to the bus ride home. For two very well-known celebrities like ourselves, we did a very poor job of remaining inconspicuous. Not only were we extremely loud, obnoxious, and sickeningly cute, but we were the only ones talking on the bus. It's a wonder no one recognised us. Skip forward to being back in Washington, DC, where I was forced into dinner at a restaurant with a "small group" of friends. Small meaning large, and dinner meaning drinks. Oh, how I love very large groups of people I don't know. Oh, how I love being the crazy internet girlfriend. Oh, yes, oh, baby, give it to me, I love it. THE LAST DAY - FAREWELLS The hectic days of being jetsetting celebrities have taken it out of us. Sleeping, then lunch, then packing and driving to the airport. And here I am, sitting in the Dulles Airport, listening to a man talking about the internet. Originally published in On Tour, November 12, 2000. |