Stay off the Sidewalks
In case you missed the Tweet, I got my Queensland Driver's License the other day after only the slightest bit of drama. Oh, and I also had my eyes closed the first time, so I had to take not one, but two, horrible license photos. But woo... no test!

Crazy Town
When I'm home alone, I am acutely aware of the sounds around the place, the dogs in the neighborhood, and the noise of the gate. So when I heard the gate open a little earlier, I started to panic knowing that it was an unexpected visitor. Footsteps on the stairs. Oh... poop.

"This is the police". Oh... crap.

I opened the door and was met with a flashlight in the face. It was a very nice officer asking if I had called the police. Turned out that the lady next door had actually called them, as we have sort of the same house number. (Don't ask.)

So of course, I stood outside like the rest of the neighborhood trying to figure out why there were three patrol cars and six officers walking around. Oh, it must be the guy off his face sitting on the curb screaming that he needed help and didn't want to die.

From all appearances, he was being helped and was not, in fact, dying. But he kept up the screaming, nonetheless. Even as they all drove away, you could hear him in the back of the patrol car. Erm. Right. Back to "So You Think You Can Dance."

Linky Links
The Traveler's Notebook and The Nine Commandments of Travel Writing via Write to Travel.