My flatmate is a bit of a hippie. That was the first thing that popped into my head the first time we met. We met on a Friday, if I remember correctly. That was my fifth day of intense flat-hunting, and I was getting desperate. I had a couple of options -- 1) Broadway with the creepy landlord who has keys to all the bedrooms and takes the liberty to show them off to potential rentors, 2) Newtown, with the gorgeous couple whom I so wanted to live with, but I doubted my chances, given that they were looking for people who could stay the whole year, 3) the "studio" in Ashfield which was more of a stuffy shack in a backyard and 4) Newtown, with the queers. I had been going around Sydney that whole week, meeting people, trying to present myself as the best flatmate you could ever have, but as with most things, there's a lot more than that involved. There's your lifestyle, sexuality, careers, etc, but I digress.

Like I said, my flatmate is a bit of a hippie. You can tell with her choice of couch colour: deep purple and warm red. The house is adorned with exotic-looking greeting cards, woven baskets, pictures of old people, flowers and coloured vases with peacock feathers. I immediately wanted to live with her. After all, it's what you like that matters.

We've lived together for over three months now. After all the alternative meds, herbs, yoga, organic toothpaste, soothing salts, dead sea soap and barley soup, I realise that I don't think I have what it takes to be a real hippie. Being a hippie isn't just about looking like one, it's also about living with downside of being one (eg. being plagued by coughing fits because your herbs aren't working).

Thus, I am a Sportsgirl -- a just want to look like one.