What’s Your Preference?

A couple months ago, I went to lunch with a friend. We were catching up about my time in Australia and about life in general.

We were probably talking about Facebook when she told me my page says to ask about my relationship status. I told her that was because I'd taken off that I was single and interested in men a few years ago, right when Facebook started targeting ads based on your info. Because I find targeted ads creepy and was sick of getting ads for dating websites and that the ads stopped immediately after taking that info off. 

She persisted and questioned if there was anything to ask about, then interrupted herself and said she thought she already knew. “What do you think you know?” I asked, and she said, "There's a girl you had posted a picture with a while ago, and she changed her profile picture to it recently."

Me and Alli

"Oh, Alli? Yea, we're soul mates, but I'm straight." By soul mates, I meant we like the same music and reading and maps and tequila and random dance parties. She asked if I was sure and said she'd talked about it with her boss about it. He'd told her some people who travel long-term are asking themselves questions about life and that they go off to travel, meet new people, try different things, and come to some answers. All of which I agree with, so I asked her what the question was. "Your preference."

Yea, still straight.


ETA: My point was that I just don't understand the curiosity about other people's sexuality.
Just wanted to make clear that it's not an insult to be asked if I'm a lesbian or bi-sexual.

Sloppy Joe

On a somewhat regular basis, Tracy, my boss at On the Wallaby, would ask me to cook dinner for those of us working there. We got barbeque (steak and sausage or veggie patty, salads, and mashed potato) every night, which could get a little old. Since I love to cook, I was happy to help.

Tracy is a vegetarian, so I had to make sure to leave the meat out of whatever I was preparing. For a couple weeks, I’d been talking up these vegetarian sloppy joes my sister had made, having to explain to Trace what sloppy joes are in the first place (because it’s not a dish in Australia) and how I would make them vegetarian.

I had finally remembered to get the recipe, so the next time we did a grocery run for the lodge, I picked out the lentils and everything else I would need. The plan was make them that Friday because Judith, one of our regular guests who is friends with the owner and Tracy, was coming up for the weekend. Trace had texted Jude to bring her appetite since we were having Monica’s sloppy joes for dinner.

Tracy’s roommate was also over for dinner and was going on blind faith that the meal would be edible—he’d had my food before so wasn’t worried. He works with Americans and had asked them what sloppy joes are, but they couldn’t explain how I could possibly make them vegetarian, seeing as the main ingredient is ground beef.

When Jude showed up, she was confused that our meal was called sloppy joes because, never having heard of the dish, she had interpreted the message “Monica’s sloppy joe” as a new euphemism for some guy named Joe who I was messing around with, like the whole thing was a sloppy mess. And that Joe would be at dinner.


* For any non-Americans, sloppy joes are a crumbly hamburger with onions, green bell peppers (capsicum), celery, and a ketchup-based (tomato sauce) sauce mixed in. They’re served on a hamburger bun (bread roll) and may be eaten picked up as a sandwich, but they’re usually so sloppy that it’s easier to consume open-faced with a knife and fork.