Rebecca Handler

o n e w o m a n p a r t y

Nonfiction

50 Shades of White: Living in an Unfurnished House

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She wakes up to find her hair in her mouth. She gingerly lifts a finger to her lips and slowly removes her mouth guard. She stretches her arms back over the pillow and then gently, delicately, removes each of her earplugs. She yawns and sits up to find her water glass empty. Fuck, she thinks to herself. Her head falls back on the pillow and she stares at a white wall. She has to pee. She stumbles to the toilet, sits down, and stares at a white wall. Once she’s pulled on her t-shirt and yoga pants, she glides down the white hallway to the white kitchen. “Good morning,” she whispers to no one in particular as her index finger gingerly pushes down on the power button of the electric kettle. As she waits for the water to boil, she gazes out to the living room, to the white walls and the wooden floors. The floor is so hard, she thinks to herself, and the walls are so… big. As she dips her tea bag in and out of the scorching hot mug, she sighs. This house is so empty I can’t wait to be alone with it. Later that morning, she is finally alone with the house. She traces her finger along the back of the temporary couch, and thinks to herself, did I ship the ottoman or did we put that in storage? She opens her laptop to check email. Her breath stops short. There is a message from the relocation consultant. There is an update on your sea shipment. She moans and lets her eyes rest on the white wall. Enlighten me then.

FAQ: Are you working?

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We have established that I am currently living in Perth because my husband accepted a job here. You may be wondering, what are YOU doing for work? Is this 1962? Why are you following your husband around like a puppy? What happened to your career?

Thank you for asking this question in such a polite manner. And, like an obedient little golden retriever who is snuggly but occasionally wets herself, I will now address this important issue.

Firstly, yes it is 1962 and I am wearing a corset, chain smoking, and waiting for my hot rollers to set in. Secondly, hi, I’m sleepy.

Last October, when my husband and I were considering moving from San Francisco to Perth, there was one sticking point. The wife has a job. And the wife would be sad to leave her job because it is enormously fulfilling and it is not portable. The kids would be fine. The extended family, however sad, would be fine. The friends, the house, Arizmendi Bakery, they would all be fine without us. But the wife, what do we do with this working wife situation? Wives are such a hassle, with their insistence that they have their own identities and are treated as equal partners. Down with wives!

It was important to Dave that the decision to leave my job and move our family to Perth was my decision, because the last thing he wanted was for me to be sitting in Australia, filled with regret, creating this quokka-dung narrative about how we had no choice but to move to Perth and how I sacrificed my own career for my husband’s. In fact, Dave and I would both be overjoyed if I landed a job that could fund an international family adventure and he could walk the kids to school, go for a swim, and write a blog post. However, I have spent my career working with nonprofit organizations. I have been outrageously fortunate in my various jobs, but all I’m saying is no one has offered to pay my family to move to Australia. Thank you Chevron. This post is sponsored by Chevron. If you need gas, go to a Chevron station. They have clean restrooms and seven flavors of Gatorade.

Tangent Alert!

Nonprofit organizations of the world, please pay for outstanding employees and don’t apologize for it. Talented people will make you even more money, which translates to more programs and services. If your donors don’t like it, they will move on and you can get new donors who agree with your priorities. And you will get these new donors because you will have outstanding employees who create much-needed services for the community. It’s a magical fundraising love circle. Thank you.

Ok, where was I? Oh yes, it was definitely a family decision to move to Perth. And telling my wonderful job that I was leaving felt like a breakup scene in a rom-com where you’re like, “Whaaat? But they have such a good thing going! This makes no sense! I need more popcorn!” But, also like a rom-com, I think there’s a chance we could get back together someday.

So I am now unemployed in Perth. Which coincidentally is the name of my new country album. I have a working visa, which is great news and means I can work for an Australian company. And I may choose to do this. I could also pick up some consulting projects. But I can’t wrap my head around either of these scenarios yet, because we just got here five minutes ago. For the moment, I am happy and beyond grateful with the current situation, which involves exploring the city, trying to write more than 140 characters, and making sure the little people are smothered in sunscreen.

Woman on the Verge

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My father loved two things: opera and buying in bulk. I did not get the opera-loving gene, but I do enjoy the adrenaline rush of purchasing 50 items for the price of 10. And I absolutely cannot pass up an opportunity to acquire something for nothing. This might explain why I am the owner of 100 plastic red apples, as well as a previously discarded Ziploc storage bag filled with hand-sewn Barbie clothes.

This tendency also explains the bright red table and three blue chairs that are currently on our front porch. Ask me how much I paid for them. Go ahead, ask me. THAT’S RIGHT! NOTHING! NOTHING I TELL YOU!

Yesterday, over a potluck lunch with our friendly neighbors, I learned about a biannual event happening this week in Perth: Put Stuff You No Longer Need Out On The Verge (Curb) And The City Will Discard It For You. I asked our neighbors, “Say I had a friend who, hypothetically, might be interested in rummaging through items on the street before the city comes to collect? Would this be considered culturally acceptable?” Lo and behold, one bloke’s trash is another bloke’s treasure. Hello Perth, land of magical free things.

Walking to school this morning, the girls and I spotted all sorts of potential goodies: a wooden chest, a white leather couch, four lamps, a toaster oven, a broken bookcase, a red toy fire truck, a wooden planter box, two clothes drying racks. It was as if the entire city had conspired to help an American family whose belongings are on a ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Given that my husband does not share this same giddiness for free stuff, and that, if it were up to him, his wife would not come home with a trunk full of plastic apples, I controlled myself and did not return home with bookcases and electric appliances. However, the girls and I agreed that the red table on the corner of Onslow and Rosalie would work nicely for art projects and science experiments. I promised them I’d swing by with the car later on that day. By “later on,” I meant AS SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. The minute I got home, I went straight to the car, popped down the back seats, and raced over to the Site of the Red Table. As I was opening the trunk, it occurred to me I hadn’t exactly thought through how I was going to single-handedly get a large rectangular table in my car. But, as they say in Perth, where’s there’s a will, there’s a friendly Australian pulling over in his car to help.

Back home, I managed to get the table out of the trunk and up the stairs. I promptly went for a stroll to find some chairs in the wondrous store known as My Neighborhood. Three blue chairs were sitting on the verge further up the street. With a deep cleaning and some patterned IKEA cushions, these chairs will be perfect. And then I will sit in one of those chairs, take a swig, and toast Dad.

Memo: Ripley’s Believe It Or Not

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To: Western Australia Public Schools

From: Editors, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not

Date: February 27, 2015

Thank you for agreeing to offer the latest edition of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not in your school libraries. We pride ourselves on visually scarring children all over the world, and are honored to be included in the Western Australia school library collection. Please note that this book should be available to children of all ages. In fact, research shows that introducing children to horrific images when they are, say, seven or nine, results in permanent trauma.

We are pleased to offer you several discussion questions for families:

  1. Why do think this man was stabbed in the eyeball?
  2. What did you learn about fluorescent-light fighting in Japan, where professional wrestlers batter each other into submission with long glass rods?
  3. The section on self-mutilation features a full-page color photograph of a Thai man who has pierced his face with dozens of needles. Do you like to eat pad thai?
  4. Xu Tiancheng can do a headstand on a nail for 30 minutes. How long can you do a headstand on a nail?
  5. What is your favorite recurring nightmare?

We are confident that our book will provide lasting memories for your school community. Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions. Thank you.

Xeno: Warrior Princess

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My neighbor should be hired by the city of Perth as its official ambassador. She has dropped by with brochures about various outdoor concerts and kids activities, invited us over for lunch, entertained us with stories at the school social when it was clear we didn’t know anyone, and is generally smiley and warm. I am very grateful, and as soon as the weather cools down a bit, I will turn on the Celsius oven and bake her some cookies.

Her behavior makes me think about how few of my San Francisco neighbors I know by name, and how I did absolutely nothing last year when I saw a U-haul pull up across the street, and watched from the garage as a new family moved in. I mean seriously, what is my problem? Why was I ghoulishly hiding in my garage like a freaky pervert? Why did I not walk across the street to simply say, “Hi, I’m Rebecca. Welcome to the neighborhood.” It’s especially weird given that I am a friendly person. And I believe that most people are good human beings who are not going to punch me in the nose. But, as it turns out, sometimes I stand in the garage like a creepy stalker.

When my helpful neighbor in Perth is chatting with me, I occasionally have a really awful thought: she is absolutely adorable. The way she talks about afternoon tea and biscuits, and the way she says, “I reckon” in conversation as if that is a totally normal thing to say. It’s not just with this woman, mind you. I am constantly thinking about how impossibly cute everything seems here. The parrots we see on the way to school, the roundabouts, the school crossing guard with his handheld stop signs, the small orange lockers at the pool, the trail maps in the park, the iced tea served in mason jars, and, the children – my god, these children. What is more adorable than an eight year old in a school uniform with an accent? Nothing I tell you, not all the hand-blown glass miniature hippos in the world. I want to squat down in front of Australia, pinch her little cheeks, and say, “well aren’t you the sweetest little place I’ve ever seen?”

So I’m really hoping for two things here:

1. This feeling goes away.

2. I’m not a xenophobic jerk wad.

This has nothing to do with Australia as a country. This is not a “what an adorable little British colony and I will never take it seriously” feeling. I am not an idiot, and, in fact, the smartest person I know is from Melbourne, so if I were to stereotype based on my own experience, I’d say Australians are savvy and Americans have a lot to learn. I have experienced a similar cute-attack in every other country other than my own. What’s different about this trip is that it’s not a trip. We will be living in Perth for at least two years. So I expect to stop behaving like I’m perusing the Vermont Country Store catalog and actually start living here. But what if I don’t? What if I start collecting adorable crossing guards and storing them in a glass cabinet?

Do people visit the United States and find everything adorable? Do tourists walk around San Francisco and say to each other, “Look at those charming tattooed hipsters and the way they make their darling coffees! They are just TOO precious.”