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Getting Tested for STD’s in Shanghai

So you’ve spent a reasonable amount of time in China and you’ve had lots of sex while enjoying your awesome new life and kick-ass job. But whether because of a burning sensation in your nethers or because a reasonable amount of time and partners have passed, it’s time for you to be tested for disease.

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I was tested in Auckland before moving to China so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it for as long as possible while enjoying my new city, so I didn’t think that I’d have a story to tell in this area.

Soon after moving to China however I felt like I may have become infected, despite being safe during my sexual misadventures most of the time. Despite my efforts I was exhibiting some troubling symptoms and went to a Chinese hospital to sort it out and discovered I’d picked up a yeast infection that would be cured after a round of antibiotics.

I didn’t feel completely out of the woods yet though so after wandering the internet I found the Shanghai Skin Disease and STD Clinic and decided to get the disease thought out of my head once and for all.

So after much internet searching and googling mapping I wandered into the clinic on my day off and found it a lot easier to navigate than the hospital.
It’s just one level
high and the receptionist spoke English, she took my money and pointed me in the direction of the waiting room for me to wait for a check

After waiting an hour in the waiting room the doctor saw me and asked my symptoms before asking me to drop my pants. This was a relief after my experience in the conventional hospital wherein the doctor had no interest in my junk.
After dropping my pants and standing there with everything — hanging out — the doctor put on gloves and came at me with what looked like a white needle.
My first reaction was to grab my junk and ask him to explain what the hell was happening, but he calmly explained (in the best English he could muster) that this was a thin swab that he had to insert into my urethra to gather a sample to test for disease.
This archaic method has some really terrible reviews online, people have complained of bleeding, swelling and other such symptoms so naturally I was very put off this man and his soft yet menacing penis needle.

After careful thought I deduced that if I had left the clinic to avoid the swab I’d have to search (perhaps in vain) for somewhere that detected disease in conventional ways, such as testing all my fluids, and I didn’t have the energy for that so I closed my eyes and let it happen to me.
My fears were proven right at least in part, there wasn’t any blood or swelling but over the next few days I did develop bruising around the urethric region.

Once the penis stabbing was over I went to the blood center on the other side of the clinic for the blood test.
This method also feels very outdated as the technician crudely pushes a needle connected to a short clear tube into your arm and feeds your blood through the tube until it drips directly into two empty vials. You only have to wait an hour for the results for the syphilis test but the results for HIV takes two days.

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This is my first experience getting my sexual health tested in Shanghai and it was a very classic example of how you hear about Chinese tests being.
I won’t be going back to the same center next time because of my nether-bruises, but I’m not sure where to go instead. Does anyone have any recommendations? I’m hoping other people are having better experiences getting their sexual health tested and staying healthy and happy.

Oh! And not that you asked, but I’m disease free so yay! But next time I check I’ll probably do it while visiting my home country.

Getting Tested in a Chinese Hospital

*Warning – the following post is about disease, hospital and sex related themes*

Anytime I travel I always assume that nothing will go wrong with my health and that insurance is always a scam.
However only weeks into my stay in Shanghai I participated in some very risky and stupid sexual activities and not long after felt some very tingly sensations in my loins.

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The first place I went after feeling these sensations was a nameless Chinese hospital I’d spotted on my way to work.
The first thing I noticed when walking into the lobby was the enormous amount of people and the dark muted colours of the walls and peeling linoleum. Unlike in Australia, general practitioners do not work in their own offices here and can only be found within the large, dimly lit and crowded caverns of the country’s hospitals.

Once I found my way to the front counter I joined a lengthy line to speak with one of the women working the front desk.

The receptionist I spoke with had a very limited grasp of English so using mostly gestures and sign language that included pointing to my genitals, I convinced her to give me an appointment with the relevant doctor.
I had to pay the receptionist 22 RMB and was given a hospital charge card for my procedures to be billed to.

After lots of aimless walking around and misreading signs I stumbled my way into the infection wing of the hospital and joined the many other sick and infected people waiting for their number to be called to see one of the three infection doctors.
After an hour
of waiting my turn finally came and I finally got to see the doctor, however I was in for a rude shock when the doctor told me that he wouldn’t see me as I wasn’t Chinese, he told me that I had to go to a foreigners hospital across the street. This was a pretty surprising thing to be told, but I didn’t really know what to say so I just left and tried to find my way back outside.

I went across the street to be treated by the foreigners hospital and was told by the receptionist that I needed a specific level of insurance to be treated there (a level I do not possess) so I went back to the Chinese hospital.

After finding my way back to the doctor’s office in the original hospital and being sufficiently brazen with the other patients trying to elbow past me I (on my knees) convinced the doctor to see me despite not being Chinese.
Begging seemed to have worked in convincing the doctor into seeing me but strangely he wasn’t interested in seeing my junk, he instead ordered me to get my urine tested and charged my card.
This was then followed by me meandering around the dozen or so levels of the hospital until I found the urinalysis lab and was given a cup and vial and shown a bathroom.

Once in my toilet stall I realized I was expected to pee into the tiny dixie cup then pour the contents into a vial so thin it’s only other use could be to hold a single pencil or no more than 4 needles.
5 minutes and a whole lot of mess later I handed the skinny open vial of urine over to the lab technician and waited half an hour for the results to show up on a vending machine in the lobby.
Using my charge card I accessed a large screen of nonsense on the vending machine that I was able to print and take to the hospital pharmacy. The pharmacist looked at the nonsense paper and handed me 12 boxes of drugs and gave me some instructions for their use, luckily he explained that I only had a non serious lil sum sum (yeast related) and not a deadly sexual infection.

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I did however feel unsatisfied that I was completely OK so I decided that I should also go to a sexual health clinic, not to mention start making better choices to boot..

Are We Eating our way into an incurable Sexually Transmitted Disease?

First a warning, this post includes content of a sexual nature, reader discretion advised.

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Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STD’s) should be on the on the forefront of the minds of all expats living kick-ass sexually active lives in China, although we don’t always like to think about it when things start to get hot and heavy.
It’s always been risky sleeping around the Middle Kingdom, but lately it seems like the risk has only been increasing.

Infections are becoming more serious and more untreatable as our resistance to antibiotics becomes stronger, research is showing that our ability to treat infection is waning as these infections evolve faster than our ability to treat them.
The hot infection to watch these days is gonorrhea, the infection that may one day move onto the infamous list of untreatable diseases.

A recent Plos Magazine study looked at 4,000 cases of gonorrhea around China and tested the infections response to the two antibiotics currently being used to treat it. They found that 19% were resistant to azithromycin, 11% to ceftriaxone, and 3.3% to both. These results may look like small percentages, but it’s growing evidence of bacteria’s ability to evolve quickly overtime and beat us.
This slide in our ability to treat gonorrhea follows a global trend of antibiotics becoming less effective.

A new drug called zoliflodacin is in trial stages, but this isn’t going to solve the problem until some of the root causes can be addressed.
The reason we’re all becoming resistant to antibiotics however, in a nutshell, is because of overuse.

According to The Washington Post we are all taking antibiotics too readily and are treating them as a first response to illness, rather than the last resort we should be treating them as.
Even if you don’t take antibiotics, whether because you (correctly) see them as a last resort or, like me, you can’t be bothered going through the fuss of getting a prescription, you’re still being exposed in many other ways.
Antibiotics are being used in antibacterial creams and these creams are being used too liberally and often in place of simple everyday hand washing.
Another thing we can do in the fight is keep up with our vaccinations, prevention will keep you from needing the antibiotics at all.

The next cause of our resistance to antibiotics is the most delicious one of all, and the hardest one for someone like me to avoid.

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The U.S National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health writes that the livestock we eat including cows, chickens and pigs are regularly treated with and fed antibiotics to combat illness brought on from horrible living conditions and overcrowding for animals living in factory containment.
The animals become sick from being kept too close together and not being cared for to maximize profits and keep the food as cheap as possible, this then passes down resistance to antibiotics to consumers and prevents our ability to be treated with these drugs once we become sick. This includes resistance to last line defenses like ‘Colistin’.

Colistin is a last resort drug that can be given to a patient usually exposed to infections within hospitals and is a last resort when all other attempts have failed. Colistin can be read about at The American Society for Microbiology

Regulation has tried to keep administration of Colistin as limited as possible to ensure that bacteria builds a resistance to it as slowly as possible so that it can be used to keep us from dying when all other drugs have been tried and an infection might otherwise kill us.
This attempt has failed unfortunately as it turns out that chickens and pigs in China and Vietnam have been given Colistin for years to combat illness. This means that this final line of defense can’t be relied on to work within people who may have developed a resistance unknowingly by eating pork and chicken.

The reason I’ve been thinking about infection and STD’s lately is because of an article I read in Shanghaiist

I’ve tried to be as careful as I can while living in China and having a sexy time, but a spot test of condoms by the General Administration of Quality Supervision, Inspection and Quarantine on assignment from the Chinese government found that of the 133 batches of condoms tested, one third failed quality tests.

Brands tested included Jissbon, Elasun, Okamoto, Sixsex, Donless, One Topeak, and True Sex and after stress tests 43 batches were found with holes, or made with bad quality that led to holes and bursting.
This is hugely alarming for those people that just want to live their life and actually do the right thing and always practice safe sex.

We shouldn’t feel like we should cut down on having fun, but I guess we do need to be more careful about what protection we trust, and make sure that we are being tested regularly for infection.

Although being tested in China is a whole other ball game, but that’s the subject of another post.

 

Coffee is liquid gold in China

When everything I eat in China is so inexpensive, why does my coffee cost so much?

Shown above is a screenshot of my payment app AliPay after paying for my Starbucks coffee.

What I bought was a venti caramel macchiato and it works out in my homeworld currency (Australian dollars) to be just shy of $8.

At first I questioned my memory of what things cost back in my home world of Australia, but I’m in New Zealand right now and I’m paying half that!
If I’m going out for a meal in Australia and I pay $20 for lunch, I’m not feeling too vexed when my hot, caffeinated delicious venti sized and flavored beverage costs under 50% of what I paid for the meal.

But when I go out for lunch in Shanghai and pay 32RMB for a meal (what I pay usually) or 28RMB (what I pay on weekends) it feels strange to always pay more than 100% of what it cost to eat to become re-caffeinated.

If nothing else it’s complete proof that I’m horribly caffeine addicted, what lunatic pays more for a coffee than a meal?
Without doing research or finding a related podcast I’m left to speculate wildly about the cause.

I personally feel myself concluding that the reason is because so few people drink coffee here when compared to the amount of people that drink coffee back home in the West.

When I worked in Australia the majority of our office drank coffee, easily more than half. Some of the others drank tea –
black tea with a splash of milk for Becky who’s watching her figure but sneaks a naughty biscuit anyway. Herbal tea for Margery who’s hip has been acting up but is excited for a good weekend because her son always calls on Saturday’s.
Finally there’s Trenton, the super fit gay part time spinning instructor who drinks fruit blended teas and has always had a rough night the night before.

The remaining portion of the office drinks water and talks constantly about burying the rest of us.
When I worked in the US nearly 100% of us drank coffee, enormous ones with up to 6 shots in cups the length of your arm. (Occasionally I exaggerate).

Whereas here in China I’m the only coffee drinker in my office, two of my friends drink it and literally everyone else drinks tea.
A Korean friend of mine drank cold tea from the fridge exclusively for the first 10 years of her life, she thought it was water until she was a tween.

Therefore I conclude that due to the fact that the only other people I see in Starbucks are well adorned rich people and super fly entrepreneurs making it big and business-typing on their notebooks I have to make my non-informed conclusion.

That coffee here is for foreigners, the wealthy and the fabulous young.
Oh God literally everyone in the queue is ordering tea. Bless my dehydrated soul.

Personal Space

Now that I’m back in New Zealand I’m really starting to realize how cultural conditioning really affects even the smallest parts of how we act every day.

One such observation I’ve been making is the distance people stand apart from each other here in New Zealand.
I was in line at a cafe this morning waiting to order my coffee, and the distance between everyone waiting was at least 60cm without exception. In China however I’ve become use to queue lines wherein everyone is touching each other even if there’s plenty of space in the room.
People cut the line, go around the line and jostle and push. I’m use to lining up for my coffee in China and standing uncomfortably close to the front counter when I make my order to avoid risk of someone edging in front of me at the last second and stealing my place.
With the entirety of New Zealand’s population being only a tiny fraction of the population of just Shanghai City alone it’s easy to understand how we have developed entirely different perspectives regarding personal space.

I was waiting to buy a cake at a Bakery in Shanghai a few months ago when I learned my lesson about where to stand in relation to the front counter of a busy shop.
I’d been standing about a foot away from the counter at the time and was about to point to my choice, but as soon as my hand went out towards the cake my vision was eclipsed by the body of an older gentleman who had silently and quickly edged his way in front of me.
He literally had to slide against my body and the counter to fit, and still felt comfortable standing there and ordering while sandwiched between a person and a bench. Whats worse is that the person working the front counter took his order! His queue-cut was accepted and he was rewarded for it, however from then on I’ve learned my lesson and have never again repeated my error in distance calculation.

Waiting to buy tickets for the ‘Bund Sightseeing Tunnel’ can be even worse.
This Sightseeing Tunnel is a psychedelic drug trip manufactured into a short and slow underground crawl between one side of the Huangpu River to the other.
You travel in a slow moving little car that feels similar to a monorail car, while looking up and around at blinking lights, trippy music and creepy voices saying random statements in English and Mandarin.
Sometimes business is slow and a queue line has formed and is moving efficiently, however on a busy day it’s a mob of people and can feel impossible to get to the front and buy tickets.

My experience working on a China based cruise ship completely turned me off buffet’s perhaps forever.
If anyone has seen a buffet within China please let me know whether it’s similar to my experience. Aboard the ship old people would fight each other for food in the buffet line, particularly if it was running low.
Without being aggressive it was impossible to get to the front and get food, and people absolutely used their hands so the food didn’t really feel appetizing anyway.

There are positive points to be made however.
A Chinese queue line can move quickly as people are often very efficient in choosing what they want and the people taking their orders only ask and say the bare minimum.

Everything is for sale in a Chinese shop.
The other day I found myself in need of a HDMI cord for a recently purchased display.
No shops I could find around my area were selling them, however the gentleman working in my local TV shop went out the back, opened up the box of a brand new TV (within view), pulled out the HDMI cord included with the TV and sold it to me. Was he stealing from the store and pocketing the cash? Absolutely, but who am I to judge?

My last point is that everything can be bought here online anyway, and delivered extremely quickly.
Buying things in person is for chumps these days, even groceries can be delivered. So skip the queue line and join the digital age.

While still in New Zealand however I’m going to enjoy my slow and simple in-person shopping experiences while I can, I’m just hoping I don’t soften by the time I get back..

When Travel is the Worst

Well it’s Spring Festival and all of my acting students have gone home, so I guess it’s time for me to follow suit.

The planned location for my Springtime revelry is the North Island of New Zealand.

I’m going to fly from my beloved Shanghai back to Middle Earth, pick up a hire car and trek the ring from Auckland to Palmerston North. (Basically go from top to bottom of the island, give a few kilometres).

If I don’t sound particularly excited to be returning home then my true feelings are shining through.

I’m a terrible flyer, not at all because of a misplaced fear of dropping out of the sky or hitting a flock of geese, but because of how sucky it is to be a very tall man crumpled into an economy ‘Air China’ seat.

Over the years of flying for work I’ve become accustomed to twisting my body into intensive yoga positions in order to sit in such a way as to not push on the seat in front of me or elbow the person next to me. This fine art of plane yoga is best paired with fabulous seat mates who will listen to my divaish tales and woes of air travel, laugh with me as we discuss the funny parts of where we’ve just flown from and roll eyes with me over other travellers antics.

More often than not I have had charming seat mates and have even met lifelong friends (and

romance) in this manner.

This was not the case today.

Sat next to me was the rudest couple I’ve ever met on a plane in my life.

Not once did they address or look at me or the flight attendants. Polite offers of drinks or snacks from the lovely attendants were dismissed with casual waves of their hands and scowling faces.

My polite and apologetic request for them to let me out to use the restroom midway through the 11 hour flight was met with 10 minutes of ignoring, followed by slow and groan-filled pulling up of their legs to allow me to awkwardly squeeze my way out from the cave they’d trapped me into while accidentally grinding and groping them in the process.

Here’s a mental picture of what I was looking at, try to imagine two blonde and freckled sour people sitting in the worlds most cramped plane seats with their chairs reclined to breaking point and their bare feet up and pushing on the seats in front of them.

Some people are in serious need a stern talking to and perhaps a travel ban.

Fast forward to this moment and I’m on the other side and alive in New Zealand. However it’s now time for the next stage of the journey, a sizeable road trip to our final destination.

Now don’t get me wrong, I like a lengthy joyride with friends. I love tearing down the highway belting Kanye and waving my hand in the wind as much as the next guy, but I am unfortunately prone to intense carsickness. This ensures a thick layer of nausea to distract from joyously hand surfing and Kanye belting.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, teleportation can’t come soon enough.

All this sacrifice is so that I can see and appease my mother, shower her with Chinese gifts and lavish her with attention before I head to Australia and see some of my old chums.

I love old chums, the ones staying in one place and moving forward with their lives. Through these friends I can vicariously do the things people my age normally enjoy, things like getting married, having kids and erecting home gyms to ignore.

I mean it when I say that I don’t envy them, but I also have a healthy admiration for them. I respect the maturity it takes to be responsible for another human long term.

Meanwhile you’ll see me blowing the last of my cash on Aussie essentials like Caramello Koala’s and laminations while waiting to endure the entire travel nightmare again when it’s time to go home to China.

Until then it’s holiday time!

Nausea be damned because I’m going to make the most of it through the carsickness and mean flyers.

This side of the world is sure gonna feel different after spending last year in China, I wonder if anyone here takes Alipay..

Performing for Disney

I’ve been talking a lot lately about releasing a short e-book detailing my adventures up to this point moving to and living in China. The book isn’t ready yet and I’m beginning to feel impatient.
So to remedy this impatience I dusted off an old e-book I wrote years ago about my first gig as a performer for Walt Disney World in Florida. I read it and laughed quite a lot, so I got out the scissors and begun cutting into it.
I edited it, took lots out, put some new stuff in and bam, I had a new version of my old book. So I put it back up on amazon and it’s available once again for 99c Right HERE on Amazon!

I’m keen that you guys see it first so here below is the first chapter of my little Disney book. If you like it, jump over to Amazon and get it to read on your phone, tablet or Kindle. I’d appreciate it! Then come back here and tell me what you thought!

So here below is the first chapter of ‘Becoming the Performer Disney is Looking For’

Im sitting in a bizarre Chinese café drinking the best coffee in the city, thinking about how I will spend my intensely long work breaks at my newly acquired role in Shanghai. This job gives me a two-and-a-half hour break right in the middle of the day, and I can’t afford lavish trips to strange animal-themed cafés forever.
This one is stuffed to the brink with plush African safari creatures and has a strange fruity smell. I’m not one to complain, though – the coffee is strong and the break unending, almost Sandinavian in its generosity. In this long, meditative space to think, it hit me that it was time to reopen the book I wrote in 2013, put onto Amazon, then pulled off the internet mere months later. There are die-hards in the field of Disney memoirs, and details of my glorious experience were not sufficient for them.

I’m Jordan and this is the beginning of a self-published book I originally wrote back in 2013 following a year spent working at Walt Disney World in Florida, which I’ve rewritten and updated with lots of new stories and cleaning up of old content. In 2012 I was a performer for Disney World; coming down from my Disney high, I wrote about my experiences during the boring part of 2013. Following this I worked for Disney Cruise Line for five contracts. A cruise ship contract is a predetermined period of time every cruise ship worker across the industry agrees to before serving their time and being released back onto land to wreak havoc with newfound freedom and a few grand in savings.
I performed for Walt Disney World for just over a year, then Disney Cruise Line for a few years, and finished it all up with Royal Caribbean International so that I could be based in China. Think about Disney shows and imagine what’s happening ahead of time and behind the scenes to bring all the colorful characters and magic to life. It takes a lot of people and a money to make it all happen. Because of its enormous size, Disney obviously needs a lot of people and for a period of about four years I played a small part in the action. Like any meaningful relationship, it was a symbiotic journey though, with Disney shaping me as much I did it.
So here I present my original stories, and some new ones to bring us up-to-date. This book is for people who like to read stories about Disney and about the grit and glamor of shows, but mostly it’s for people who are acting in community theatre and wondering if there’s really a dollar to be made elsewhere and whether any old schmuck can make it. Of course there is! And the industry is almost entirely populated by schmucks. You’ve just got to work really hard, audition millions of times, buy lots of Häagen Dazs, and don’t be a diva. That last one is much easier said than done. I can tell you now that if a crying dancer who’s in a show I’m managing comes complaining to me about a funny feeling in his ankle that might “turn into something” when I saw him on Facebook tearing up the dance floor the night before in the club, still has bloodshot eyes and a boozey body, and know for a fact that he’s fighting with his boyfriend (also in the cast), so help me God the fury comes. Be better, for goodness’ sake, man! Be the professional the industry is craving. Be God damned competent and you’ll be fine – there’s plenty of money to be spent. Why not spend it on you?

I’d like you to first take a moment if you will, to remember April 2011. Do you recall what you were doing? Easter is just over and . . . like all humans there’s no way you’d remember, but for me I wrote it down and put it online so I’m at a slight advantage. I was sitting in my parent’s living room in northern Australia enduring the heat and trying to avoid permanently sticking to the couch. I had been “let go” from my job and university was growing more skull crushingly boring by the day. Adding to that was an encompassing feeling of age and failure that was growing on me like any other reasonable 22-year-old who hasn’t yet made the big time. Looking back now, nearly 30, and at the tail end of my performance days and the mouth end of my casting days I miss my weight and my working joints. (Hey, cruise ship life really takes the steam out of someone who goes to the gym twice a year). I was practically retired in my mind at the time, ready for hosting bingo nights in Sun Valley. There was something about performing to a tiny audience at the local theatre in my hometown, as fun as it was, that didn’t feel as fulfilling as it once did.

Whether by some misplaced sense of entitlement or gross overconfidence in my performance skill I wasn’t sure. But regardless, I wanted something else. Community theatre is an amazing training ground though, and a fine lifetime way to keep acting throughout what life throws at you – never let it be said that I disparage community theatre.My entire family was sitting in the lounge watching something loud on TV and I was on my laptop searching local jobs when a Disney audition was one of the advertisements on the side of the screen. Disney was running an internship program for a variety of fields of employment; this included a casting call for performers. The casting day was in a week’s time and I happened to have that day off from both work and university. To add fuel to the fires of fate, that day was the very last day for registration. Hoping for a reprieve from the mundanities of my Australian life,

I arrived a week later at the casting, carting half a ton of the requisite paperwork. I watched the nice Brazilian receptionist who Disney had brought with them staple them together and comment that surprisingly everything was there. Essentially, the tough life starts now; it’s not easy getting all of that paperwork together. The website Disney had available at the time was buggy and it wasn’t easy getting through fourteen pages of forms that would stop loading randomly then crash the browser. To be honest, I devoted an entire day to getting this form finished. It’s because of this, and the amount of other forms required, that I believe is the reason several people turned up without everything they needed. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world for these hopefuls – they were sent away to find a computer and finish the job, but I believe it paid off for me to have the forms to create a good first impression.I went to another casting call years later in Auckland, for the city’s first ever Disney casting.

The process has become much easier than when I was jumping through the hoops. I think they figured out that there are better ways than paperwork to weed out the casuals. I also suspect it has something to do with Disney’s more modern worldwide casting database that they now pull performers from, something that sort of pushes today’s performers further into obscurity and out of the minds of individual casting agents.From what I’ve seen, Disney seems to be doing less direct casting for specific needs and more casting using a database. Then when talent is needed across a range of disciplines they can be found and offered work more quickly. It’s an efficient system, but it’s an easy system to be lost in amongst the thousands of people just as talented and pretty as you. Waiting for the results of an audition can be intensely nauseating when you’re still green enough to wait for notice from auditions, but luckily for me this is the casting call that I waited for and it came through. (This of course led to a period of time of me thinking that I was someone who landed roles. Wrong. I barely landed anything again for three years). One night, June 1st 2011 to be exact, I received an email from a lady named Karina from Disney Recruiting: Congratulations!! You have been offered the position of Entertainment Performer with Walt Disney World to begin in January 2012! Please reply to either accept or decline.Seconds later Karina received the world’s fastest reply, then I leaped from my desk and performed my once in a lifetime happy dance.After that came six months of preparation, and by preparation I mean walking around with a permanent cocky smile, throwing money around because I had “made it” and was gonna earn fancy American dollar bills. This was followed up with a gym chaser – once, to prepare my body for the stress of daily entertainment.

The airport goodbye was traumatic. All my friends were in a teary mess. I had already left my family at their house in much the same manner. I never repeated that mistake again, so when it was time for each subsequent goodbye after that point it became a casual wave and a crappy joke. From Brisbane I began my journey to Nadi Airport in Fiji (no, the airport is not a tropical paradise), then to Los Angeles, which was under renovations at the time so a nightmare of a maze. Then finally to Orlando, Florida, which I decided on the bus ride to my resort was not somewhere I would ever live under different circumstances. It’s not really a city that makes a lot of sense; it’s more of a small town but on a massive scale. It almost feels like a beachside city without a beach. Downtown was pretty though – at night it had a Batman sort of feel to it.
This unusual city, however, houses 100 square kilometers worth of Disney, plus every other theme park ever dreamed up since the time of Jesus. You can even meet Jesus at “The Holy Land Experience”, the Bible-themed park just down the road. I could only speculate on the audition and casting process that the holy hopefuls needed to endure.

If you’d like to read the rest Click Right Here!