Day 11 - So. Much. Paris. and Day 12 - So. Much. Giverny

Monday was a race to see as much as humanly possible. Naturally this was impossible but we crossed off a number of things on our to-do list.

Champs Elysees

The Louis Vuitton flagship store, which was really just depressing. So beautiful and overpriced. Also, the sales people were so needy...or they thought we were going to steal stuff

Gare Du Nord - where we had to wait patiently for a ticket seller who spoke English. I tried out some French on her and she was amused by my attempts but answered everything in English.

Sacre Couer. Take the tram! Do not take the stairs! It is not worth it. Walk to the tram and take it. Believe me. Oh man, the Europeans love stairs. What a bunch of sadists.

McDonalds! Mmmm, McDonalds lunch.

McDonald's also had the most accessible free wireless of the whole trip. Apparently all the parks in Paris have free wi-fi, but you have to register and it wouldn't let me from the ipod touch. Also I managed to communicate with the non-English speaking cashier and explain that we wanted a 1664, not a six piece chicken nuggets. Progress!

Moulin Rouge - waste of time

Pere Lachaise - Fun gravestones. My most favorite was Oscar Wilde

The idea of desecrating a gravestone with lipstick is not something that ever crossed my mind as an acceptable idea, but its pretty wonderful. Also, Victor Noir. No one ever told me the story of this guy. But we went to check it out and sure enough:

The women of the world are nuts.

After Pere Lachaise we hauled to the crepe place that J. said we had to go to. Naturally it was closed and no matter how many times I said "ferme?" they said "um, yes?" In despair went back to J.'s apartment. We were exhausted but he convinced us to meet him out and enjoy fete de la musique. We listened to lots of bands and had a weak street mojito before finding a delicious Pakistani restaurant with an excellent band playing a bunch of instruments I had never seen before.

Then we came across this drum corps that took up the street of an entire block. They were so amazing. Pictures and videos don't really do it justice but I tried.

That was enough to send us almost right home...with just enough time for a night cap.

On Tuesday we woke up bright and early to use our very last Eurail trip out to Giverny. The train trip itself was fine, except no one stamped our little vouchers which made me mad. If I had known it was going to go down like that I would have planned another trip for us, but c'est la vie.

Once we got off the train we got ready to get on the bus. This was a disaster. You would think the people of Giverny would be better prepared for the influx of people who come ONLY to see Monet's hood and so have enough buses to not have a stampede, but no dice.

Finally we get to where Monet lived and it is adorable and wonderful. We wander around for a bit and then realize that if we actually want to see Monet's house we have to get in this long line of people and pay for it. Sigh. Fair enough.

Since we paid the "young persons" rate it was totally worth it. Monet had quite the house/garden/bridge under the highway to a pond.



I was devastated that you couldn't take pictures inside Monet's house, because it was gorgeous. Especially the kitchen

Thank you Ariane for this gorgeous picture. It was the perfect kitchen and it was connected to a bright yellow dining room. It made me rethink having a yellow dining room was a bad thing.

After we had had quite enough garden and house we went to find a meal that would not cost all our money. Impossible, so we settled for some of our money for a sandwich and the most perfect cup of cider.


We wandered around until the heat made us feel kind of dizzy and then we headed back to the train where once again our vouchers weren't stamped. I was kind of mad, I spent an absurd amount of money on those suckers and the fact that I feel like I didn't use them all the way was frustrating.

After we got back we had dinner, just Bear and I, and I managed to get all the way through that without embarrassing myself too badly. Some of the French people I encountered were so nice and patient as I slogged through my brain to rediscover the french I learned over 10 years ago. It kept me going. Had everyone has been as rude as the women on the first day - I probably would have just never opened my mouth.

Night of Day 9 - and day 10. Train people and Paris.

So as I mentioned - one of the major flaws of Milan was when we got there they told us that our sleeper car was not female only as we thought we had been promised. So I spent a lot of the panicking about what sort of whackado Europeans we would be spending ten hours with. That paired with the fact that when we were in the Police station (confirming that we were not going to get deported because we didn't have Italian stamps in our passports - which we didn't) - we saw a woman who was really, really upset and had no things, so we are assuming had all her things stolen, which was super scary.

Naturally the first thing that happened was we realized that our car was Alllll the way at the end of the very, very long train - I had read multiple times that occasionally trains leave the station very quickly so I insisted we RUN to our car with our 50 lb. bags. Bear was not amused.

Anyway, we get to our car - here were our train roomies:

1- A bitchy french woman (is there any other kind?) - she doesn't understand that she is on the bottom bunk, and then insists its broken and tells the conductor she wants a switch - naturally he fixes it in about 30 seconds which I think pissed her off more. She ALSO had like an absurd amount of bags. WHY? Do you not understand how small the train car is? Where do you think that is going to go, because if you think it is invading my personal space you are SORELY mistaken.

2&3 - A pair of 50 or 60 year-old Italian men. They seemed to be backpackers of the real serious variety. They were far fitter than I could ever dream of being - their backpacks looked so light and sensible. I am sure that a peek inside would have proven that they did not bring a formal shirt, jic. Once they established that we didn't really speak Italian at all they took charge - they got our bunks all set up, put the dumb french lady's bags up and out of everyone's way. Even though one of them snored for most of the night - it was forgiven because they made us feel safe.

4- At the very last minute a gentleman walked into the cabin - he was probably in his late 30's and looked like your stereotypical french man. He was dressed in what looked like a fairly expensive three piece suit and white button up with what had to have been four-figure boots on his feet. He promptly took off his jacket and fell asleep. I was mesmerized by his clothing. How do you sleep in a suit that costs more than my rent? I don't think he said anything the whole trip.

Anyway - the train trip itself was pretty uneventful. I discovered that the rolling of the train does not put me to sleep so much as it keeps me awake. But it was a pleasant awake.

When we got into Paris - we arrived at the Bercy station. I wanted to see if we could get some information about going to Giverny so I walked up to a person sitting behind a desk that said information. In my exhaustion the first words that came out of my mouth were in English. You could see her immediately shut down and get bitchy. She shook her head in disinterest in what I was saying.

I sighed. Of Course everyone was right about the French. So I tried another line and this time attempted some weak French. This girl rolled her eyes and repeated what I had said in a disdainful way. I realized my error and tried to correct myself but the damage was done. She was never going to help me. So I gave up.

We got on the train and went directly to J's. J went to college with my Mom on her first go-round at university. He is tres American but has been living in Paris for a couple years and has had quite the adventure. I would tell you about it, but it would ruin the fantastic book he is going to write in a few years. He was a perfect tour guide and after a quick croissant breakfast he took us right out to experience the Bastille Market.

The Bastille Market is a HUGE farmer's market that has every food I could ever think of. I so desperately wanted to take pictures of all the fish and the piles of tomatoes and perfect pieces of cheese. But there was not that much elbow room to begin with, and the people at this market were not there for photo opps, they were there to buy groceries. So I kept my camera in my bag, mostly because I am afraid of the French.

After a quick coffee J. got us our first Velib. Velib is my most favorite part of Paris. So we tooled around and got a wonderful bike tour (Notre Dame, Louvre, fancy bridges) until we got to the Eiffel Tower and it started to rain.


Please note - this picture is in color - it was just that gray. This was one of the two days of bad weather we had and it was actually a nice respite from the 85 and Sunny of the rest of the trip.

Then there was lunch and then the Hunting Museum. The hunting museum (or Maison de la Chasse et de la Nature) is probably in my top 5 of best Museums ever. For a few reasons.
1- Its a huge old house from back in the day - and it still looks like a house for the most part.

2- the ceiling made of owls.


It was hard to take a picture of but - seriously the ceiling of this (rather small) room, was covered in owl pelts. Many of the other ceiling had antlers and such on them. These paired with the classy chandeliers was pretty much my dream decor.

3 - This guy.


Polar Bears are consistently on the short list for my favorite animal and to get to stand this close to a real (albeit dead) one, was pretty amazing. They are much taller than you think. For reference, I am 5'2.

And many more things (the videos that teach you how guns work, the boar in the hall and the deer in the salon, the pictures of puppies in the touring exhibit) - the bad news? The gift shop was terrible? It didn't even have any good postcards. Just books and books do not do the place justice. I left empty handed and disappointed - try harder Hunting Museum.

Then it was home for dinner (Bear's first duck! So delicious) and game planning for the first full day in Paris.

Venice, yay. Milan, boo. Day 8 and 9

Venice is a great city to spend exactly 2 days in. There is a lot of walking involved in Venice and so.many.stairs. I feel like no one bothered to warn me that anytime you go over a canal, you have to climb way more stairs than feels necessary. But its so small that you can get a solid feel for it in 2 days.


We woke up early and got poppin' on our to-do list that Luigi had so nicely mapped out for us. Most of the things we saw were just big religious buildings, which (again) doesn't really get me all jazzed. But I understood the beauty. I was shocked by the really poor condition of most of the buildings. Chipped paint, exposed cracked plaster - it was so upsetting, because it makes me want to buy one and spend my days fixing it up. But even in those crappy conditions, these buildings cost bajillions of dollars. Sigh.


One of our first adventures was to Piazza San Marco. Venice is a city that has completely dedicated itself to the tourist trade and so on most streets there are signs telling you exactly how to get to all the biggest tourist attractions. It is SO useful (also Venice is like a triwizard cup maze, without those signs people would probably just get lost forever). So we got to San Marco in record time and since we got there really early (like 8:30 AM) we were able to go right up to the top of the bell tower. Fun fact, all the roofs in Venice are red.


Piazza San Marco is pretty during the day, but you should really go at night to listen to all the bands play. And then it was on to more buildings - but mostly the Teatro La Fenice. Which is the main character in one of my favorite books. You should go in and just see the book store, its totally worth it and you can get an idea of how totally gorgeous the place is, post-fire. Or, you know, go see an Opera.

After all this outdoor walking it was time for some indoor time - at the Peggy Guggenheim, natch. Basically she collected art in her gorgeous house and when she died - they made the house an art museum, full of all her art. The best part is all of the pictures of the house when she was living in it with all of the art on the walls. That is exactly the kind of crazy old lady I want to be.

Also she is buried with all of her dogs (there are like 15 of them) and their names are on the gravestone. And apparently she had her own gondola and would just ride up and down the Grand Canal waving at people. Seriously?! Best old lady ever. And her front porch view is not to be effed with.

More walking, walking, walking. Discovering that you pay more for food if you eat it outside at the cafe (boo). Finding the best sheets in the world (they have baby tigers on them!), buying lots of presents for myself (and others), and finally going back to the same bar we ate dinner in the night before to watch more soccer and drink more Beer. I know this was poor form of us but we were exhausted and hungry and didn't want to walk in circles to find something that was in our price range, had the game on and was close to where we were staying. Plus it gave me chances to take pictures of the sunset.

And then we went right to bed to get up (way too early - again) for the train. Most of the getting up early had to do with getting out of Luigi's apartment. He was a very, very, very hospitable host, but also a total European bachelor (nothing creepy happened, but we could tell he wanted his space back).

We got to the train station with our bags that had gotten MUCH heavier in Venice. Oops. We were hoping that Milan would have a bag storage place at the train station much like Venice, Rome and other cities. We get on the train and realize we know nothing about Milan. No problem, won't the Dolce and the Gabana be right there like, waiting for us?

Of COURSE not.

We get to Milan and it is raining, there is no place to check our bags that we can find, and we find out, after a half-hour wait in a line, that we are NOT in a girls-only compartment for our overnight train to Paris. Milan already had its 3 strikes and yet we were stuck there for the next 16 hours.

We haul our duffle bags around the train station for awhile deciding to wait out the rain with some gelato. NO GELATO in the WHOLE train station. Here are some other things that there aren't: wireless internet (even that you pay for), free bathrooms, televisions. What a disaster, Milan.

What there IS, is a fantastic bag store. It is apparently only in Italy (not quite true - but its only in Europe) which gave Bear and me huge fashion boners. The bags are crazy affordable for how nice they are - so we got new purses, which was awesome because then we got to carry them around ALL DAY. (Such geniuses).

Most of our day in Milan was spent walking in concentric circles near the airport looking for something/anything to do, food that wasn't gross/crazy expensive and some Effin' internet. No dice on any of them really. In retrospect we should have gotten on the trolley/tram situation and just gone somewhere, but our bags were too heavy and it was too rainy and we were pretty grouchy. So instead we wandered around and were just mad at Milan, which was far better than being mad at each other in retrospect.

Eventually we went to a cafe to get our last prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich of the trip and OF COURSE it was terrible. They put lettuce on it? wtf? So disappointing. And of course we ordered a beer without choosing a size, so we got 50 cl. beers which was way more than we wanted. So bogus.

Eventually we just went back to the train station and called the day a wash. Bear and I obviously had not packed enough books and so traded which meant she got to read The Namesake (amazing) and I was stuck reading The Summer I Turned Pretty (horrible, so horrible Blogger won't let me tag it). Lose.

Anyway - finally our train got there and we could leave Milan behind.

Day 6 & 7 Rome to Venice.

So, the Venitian adventure started actually on our last day in Santa Severa. It was decided that Bear and I should stay at Eugenio's house the night before our train to ensure that we made it in time. This meant that finally we were going to be on our own. No more hand-holding or translating or standing silently while Dad does all the talking

This was something I was incredibly nervous about. For some reason I wasn't nervous about Venice or Milan, I was mostly terrified of the moment we got to the bus stop in Rome and our ride was not there to pick us up. Then what? No phone, no internet, heavy bags. And like most parts of the world, the bus stop in Rome is not in the best neighborhood. But I sucked it up and got on the bus with Bear, saying goodbye to the lovely beach with the piles of trash and dirty water. Buttmunch lost in an epic game of Egyptian Rat Screw which actually screwed me over, because it meant he wouldn't take all the clothes I had regretted bringing home with him. Instead I still had a 40 lb. duffle bag that I was regretting every minute. If I ever do something like this again (read - travel anywhere) its back packs all the way.

We get off the bus and stand in the designated meeting place. Our bus was running a little bit late which peaked my optimism into thinking that maybe whichever cousin was coming to meet us would already be there.

Nope. No cousins.

We do some laps around the "station" to see if we recognize anyone. Nope. No cousins.

I bite back my panic.

We make a plan that if no one is there in half an hour we look for a payphone. If that doesn't work, we go back to Santa Severa on the next bus and admit defeat. We're not proud (a trait comes from the other side of the family).

After about 20 minutes a cousin shows up!! We are not going to be kidnapped or robbed or anything. Miracles. Ricky was just running late, and had been given the wrong time anyway. Like I said - a very loose relationship with time.

Ricky takes us back to their house on the subway. The Roman Metro only has two lines. Apparently this is because anytime they try to make a new subway line they start digging and run into ruins. Like actual historically significant old things. So they gave up. Which I found hilarious.

After a delicious dinner and much translating by Ricky (the oldest of Eugenio's kids with the best English) we go to bed. I decide that insomnia and a massive panic attack are exactly what I need before a 6 hour train ride and brand new city. So I am very worse for the wear the next morning.

I wanted to give us at least an hour to negotiate the train station that wasn't in English. Ricky said we would need 20 minutes. I won, as I tend to do with things like this and we got to the train station WAY too early. Of course. But we got to people watch and panic about why our train was the only one without a track number before getting on the train.

I had never been on a train in Europe before. I guess I just thought that they'd be situated like American Amtrak trains with the rows of two seats. Naturally - this was incorrect (at least for 2nd class, who knows how the rich bitches seats look). The seats are 3 across and they're each in their own little compartment. And there is not a ton of space - particularly when the stereotypical Italian lady and her "Ma-Ma" get on with their 6 pieces of luggage.

Anyway - it was a long 6 hours. But it ended in Venice! Venice is kind of amazing, because you have to go over all this water to actually get there - and then you're in the train station and you've kind of forgotten about all the water (mostly because you're appalled that they're asking you to pay 80 euro-cents to use the bathroom) until you get outside and there is the Grand Canal. Amazing.

We had another fun/terrifying wait for someone to pick us up. This was way worse because all we knew was that his name was Luigi, he was 37, had brown hair, and was tall. As you may have guessed, this describes about 98% of men in Italy. So basically we just stood around saying "Luigi?" in an a-little-bit-louder-than-normal voice. Then half an hour or so later, we see a guy with a sign with our names. Of course!! Luigi works in the tourism industry (which is pretty much the only industry left besides trash collector and gondola driver) and so knew what he was doing.

Luigi believes that all American girls between the age of 17 and 30 only have one goal - to get drunk. This, naturally, was not really our scene and despite our insisting otherwise, he was sure we wanted to get wasted and come home at 4 AM. I am sure that after we were in bed by 11 every night he is just confused.

The first day we were pretty confused and exhausted but we went on an adventure to find gelato. Instead we found a prosciutto sandwich which was almost as good. Luigi gave us a map that only had about half the streets labeled on it which, if you know Venice, is almost more trouble than its worth.

I tried to calm my OCD and allow us to just get ourselves lost and it worked out okay. There was a lot of excess walking but it was fun. There was so much to see.



We didn't talk to that many people, but the ones we did encounter were all incredibly friendly and willing to work within the confines of our limited Italian. We explored until 8 when we watched our daily world cup game and each drank an Italian beer which was surprisingly delicious before heading back to Luigi's and going directly to bed, despite the fact that we were American girls.

Day 4 - 6: More Santa Severa and Universal Health care

The next three days were very low-key for me. Which was nice in preparation for the tourist-gasm that was about to go down a few days later. I spent the time sleeping, discovering that the castle was closed for repairs (lame), and working on my sweet tan.

The best part of the last three days was the meal we had up in the countryside of Santa Severa. It was about a 20 minute drive into the mountains from our beach house. We got to spend time with Lei Lei and Christine, his wife, who is the ONLY person (out of all 4 adults) who remembers me from when I came when I was four. She said I looked exactly the same, which I have no doubt, is totally true.

The restaurant we went to was basically in this huge enclosed porch off of an old house. It was the traditional Italian country dinner you've heard about. We started with three types of bruschetta and appetizers, then two or three different types of pasta, followed by Pork, Beef and Mutton. All probably killed within the week and served with greens and potatoes. Bear really liked the pork, and the mutton was over done and dry (although I think I was expecting lamb, so over done is probably normal) but the beef was perfect. It was just rare enough. It was amazing, and we just ate and ate and ate until I had literally made myself sick, but I so wanted to keep eating because I hardly ever get meals like this. It was perfect.

While we were living a life of hedonism, Buttmunch was also kind of dying.

Its a long story, but the moral of it was Buttmunch was on antibiotics when we got to Italy. The first day I notice a red rash developing on his arms, and back and legs and really everywhere. The rash got worse and worse and basically left the kid a pile of hot mess by the time we were in Rome.

He was a champion about it - dutifully walking around with us as the sun blazed overhead. But it got to a point where he was resembling a tomato more than a human and was too tired to be sarcastic.

So he and Dad hoofed it to the pharmacist where he was told that he was for sure having an allergic reaction to something (probably the antibiotics) and he needed an antihistamine and he should go have a chat with a Doctor.

The next day, Buttmunch, Dad and Lei Lei drove out to one of the two or three doctors within a 20 mile radius and just walked in, saw a doctor - found out what the dealio was (a reaction to the sun while on the antibiotic) and got the medicine he needed. Total cost - NOTHING. Not a dime. (Well, the drugs might have cost something, but the doctor's visit was on the house).

Can you imagine if someone from Italy walked into a clinic (any clinic) in the US (especially in a resort/beach/country area) and had a crazy rash? No matter what kind of explanatory paperwork they had - there would be a battery of tests, an epic wait and then a bill akin to dinner at Alinea.

So THEN, Buttmunch takes the antihistamines and feels moderately better, until he takes the antibiotics again and busts into a Oscar-worthy asthma attack. We no longer have access to a car (and so the clinic from the day before) so they hoof it back over to their new bff - the pharmacist - who tells Buttmunch to throw those antibiotics away - and gives him an alternative drug and an inhaler to deal with the whole not-breathing thing. Sure these cost some Euros - but here's what they didn't cost - a prescription, a doctor's visit, or a waste of everyones' time.

I was consistently amazed by how much treatment he got for so little. What a civilized society.

*** edited to add the part about our delicious meal, that I had forgotten all about in the discussion of health care***

Day 3 - Roma

One of the things that remained completely unplanned during this trip was our schedule while we were in Italy. When I left, I dutifully typed out an itinerary of where I thought I would be day-to-day (as told to me by Dad) and then it promptly was untrue. Thankfully nothing bad happened as no one would have known where I was.

So after much changing of plans, on Sunday, we took a bus from Santa Severa into Rome. The bus is apparently for poor people and foreigners (of which we are sort of both) but was very comfortable and air-conditioned (sort of).

When we got to Rome we met Eugenio, my dad's other cousin. Eugenio (pronounced exactly like that because I don't know how its actually spelled) wears black Armani Jeans, drives a car with two sun roofs, and speaks a very little bit of English (but is excited to try).

He was about fifteen minutes late picking us up. This is also a common theme of Italy. Everyone takes their time, or forgets the time, or is meh about time. Trying to not panic about this was something I didn't really get better at all week.

Eugenio picked us up and took us right into the Vatican. Where he found parking thanks to a handicap hang tag he keeps around for situations just like these (being tourists at the Vatican on a Sunday - or I guess taking an elderly aunt to doctor's appointments...but mostly the first one).

I found the walls around Vatican City somewhat intimidating, but was excited to learn that the Pope used to walk along the top to get to Castle St. Angelo when things got rough at St. Peter's.

When we got to St. Peters we met up with some of our first-cousins-once-removed (Eugenio and Lei Lei's kids - who are Bear's age, and younger). They are all very nice, but all of them were over a decade younger than I am so we didn't have really anything in common, but it was interesting to see Rome from teenagers' perspectives.

We got to St. Peters right before noon which meant A- it was blazing hot, and B- we were told that if we waited a few minutes we might get to see the Pope. The Pope is a big enough celebrity that we were willing to wait a few minutes (once we found some shade) to sneak a peak.

According to my cousins (the younger ones) the Pope's Italian is terrible, and he has a very heavy German accent, making him almost impossible to understand. He also did a few verses in German and English which was interesting to listen to as we walked down to get in line to go into St. Peter's.

St. Peter's is a very large church. While I find churches somewhat interesting, they don't quite get me whipped up into the historical, theological, artistical frenzy of some others. The most interesting thing that happened at St. Peter's was that when they attempted to enforce the dress code (no tank tops) on my 18 year-old cousin she refused to put on a sweater or figure out a plan B. Instead she just sat outside and waited for us - her reasoning being, "if they're allowed to molest small children, I'm allowed to wear a tank top." I was impressed with her ballsy-ness. Especially since it seemed like no one else was remembering that the Vatican is embroiled in some pretty messy business right now.

I really wanted to see the Sistine Chapel because its one of those things I felt that I should see but we were on a pretty tight schedule, apparently - so this ceiling was going to have to do. I enjoy all the sky lights I discovered in European churches. I feel that sunlight is probably as close as you'll ever get to "God" so you should let it shine in from on high.

After St. Peter's there was a very fast trip past the Coliseum, and the University of Rome, Engineering Building before going back to Eugenio's house for lunch. We didn't actually go into the Coliseum because the family said it was a waste of time. It was one of those things where people in Rome have much different opinions on what you should and shouldn't see. As I am sure people in DC/New York/Chicago are opinionated on what are the most important landmarks. It just seems different because the Coliseum is so much older? I don't know.

Lunch was an amazing yet, so simple, affair. Pasta with tuna, basil and tomatoes were served first. We assumed that that was all we were getting because it covered a fair number of food groups so Bear and I had two helpings each (tuna in the Med. is so delicious, it has something to do with their water). But then there was a buffalo mozzarella ball the size of my whole head
This picture doesn't really do it justice, but it was huge and so delicious. And then after the big, milky pieces of cheese, there was prosciutto, and then cantaloupe to eat with the prosciutto. And by this point my stomach couldn't possibly take anymore. So we stopped for a while before having this amazing ice cream cake desert (the name of which totally escapes me, but it is loaf-of-bread shaped and it has like a hard chocolate top and vanilla-y ice cream and there are various flavors - tiramasu, neapolitan etc. Ugh...this is going to kill me- please leave a comment if you know the name of what I am talking about, it starts with an "S?").

After an enormous lunch there was more walking around the city with family. We saw all of the typical tourist landmarks which was satisfying, and I eavesdropped on my cousin and sister as they talked about the differences in teenage life in Italy versus America. Mostly I just looked. I really, really love European architecture, and this will become a serious obsession when we get to Venice. But there is something about the structure and colors of older buildings in Europe (or at least Paris and Italy) that I really love.

Eventually we headed back to the bus stop, where we discovered there was no where to buy bus tickets. And then we discovered that apparently no one buys tickets for the bus because they hardly ever check it. Naturally, my father insisted that on every other ride we buy a ticket - but for this one, we rode home like locals - for free.

**edited to correct some silly mistakes - 7/6/2010**

European Adventure Days 1 & 2

So I kept telling myself that I really needed to write things down while I was abroad over the past two weeks (the 10th - 24th of June). I kept reminding myself over and over that I would forget all of my favorite things if I didn't take the time to write them down.

But if there is anyone I have a very hard time listening to - it's myself. So I didn't. I wrote 2 postcards and that's all. Which means now the memories are already starting to slip away. I'm forgetting what things felt and tasted like. Luckily - its Europe, its not too far/too expensive to return to someday. But there is something about your first* memory that is so important. They should really all be written down.

To readers- these blog posts will probably be unendurably long. Due to my tendancy to overwrite. Feel free to not read, or skip around...you won't miss much.

So my vacation started in the airport - as they all seem to do. I hope that when/if I have kids, they are awesome, fearless fliers. That they completely and totally trust in the magic of airplanes. Because I just don't. I hate every second of take off, and every bump of turbulence. As we desend I tend to tear up because I am sure that death is imminent and I've gotten so close to home/this other place it just doesn't seem fair.

But I make it to airport one, and then airport two. Where I proceed to wait. Luckily, my waiting is made less miserable by a Chipotle vegetarian fajita bowl (with guac, no sour cream). Dulles is easily the worst airport in the DC area, but I like that they're trying to win me over with delicious food options.

Naturally because we're flying commercial airlines, and its 2010 - there is a problem with our flight and so instead of spending moments in JFK, those moments will now be spent in Charles de Gaulle. And by moments, I mean actual, countable minutes as we race from plane to customs to security to gate, a race that would have been easier in English, but luckily the French (despite what I'll say about them later - have a very foreigner friendly airport).

Once we land in Rome, Rachel has her first panic about Something Bad. This time its that we did not go through customs a second time after getting into Italy. No amount of reassurance from various sources would pacify me. We were seconds from being deported.

Also we meet our first Cousin. Lei Lei (pronouced exactly like the necklace, except twice). Lei Lei drives like a blind bat out of hell, wears a fanny pack and a gold chain and speaks some English. But most of the car ride is spent listening to Dad and Lei Lei speak the gibberish of Italian while the three kids sit in the back, silently (and not-so-silently) fuming that we don't know the words.

Santa Severa has that wonderful mediteranian landscape of business in the front


and party in the back.
So its gorgeous no matter which way you turn.

Santa Severa is a wee little beach town, but it has its own castle, which is probably more impressive in the US than in Europe where castles are a dime a dozen. This one was nice though.
Our first day (Friday) was pretty lowkey. We got to the house and then went out for lunch. We had radicchio lasagna which was delightfully cheese-y and didn't taste nearly bizarre as it looked. I also had my very first bottle of carbonated water. Mmm. I love that carbonated water is so common in civilized parts of the world. Its such a better addition to the meal.

After lunch we tried to get Bear's and My Eurail pass all in order. This was the first of many times that the Italians were not cool with me wanting to be prepared. My cousin insisted that all of these reservations and validations could be made later, later and I shouldn't worry so much. But I kept pushing - which was good, because I think we may have gotten two of the last bunks for our overnight train to Paris. Everything else, I probably could have been a little more lax about, but that's not really my travel style.

Friday night we went for drinks and which come with various short eats (olives, potato chips, peanuts) which is kind of a nice deal. We drank Corona, which was absurd, especially when they put a lemon in it. But my taste for Italian beer had yet to be developed before dinner and gelato.
This is the kind of gelato that people write love poems about. Its so amazing. This particular flavor (Chocolate Fondant) was so dark and rich. It was easily my favorite part about Santa Severa. It felt so indulgent and hedonistic to eat something so good. Especially when (later in the week) it was combined with world cup soccer and free wi fi.

Day two was dedicated to beach lounging and eating more delicious, yet simple food. Day two's shout out goes to the prosciutto crudo e mozzarella panini we had for lunch. It was just a pre-made sandwich sold by the beach stand near our house, but it was by far one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten and I have a wicked thing for sandwiches.
At this beach apparently you don't bring your own umbrella and beach chair - you rent them from the establishment, which is pricey but hands-free.

There were far too many kids in the water for it to be an acceptable option for a grouchy senior citizen like myself. So we just sat, and read and napped. And then when it got to hot we went back to the house where it was dark and cool and sat, and read and napped.

I had forgotten how nice it was to be on vacation and not feel like it was necessary to *do* stuff all the time. And the rest of this vacation was so manic, that these first couple days of quiet were, in retrospect, kind of perfect.
Stay tuned for days 3 - 14.

Masters of our domain

I've been taking classes, working and performing at iO for over 3 years, which is like 6 months in improviser time. Most people here are lifers, if they're for longer than just a year. Its a little different for me because my focus here has been on working rather than performing. For many reasons - but one of the simplest is - you get paid to work here, and you have to pay someone else to perform. And I am an economical girl at heart.

When you perform you spend most of your time before the show hiding from people to "prepare" (read: start drinking) and then after its mostly people fawning over you and trying ingest your harold team Aura. My job is all about interacting with people and for the most part, it leaves me wanting to claw my eyes out - but it has it's highlights. Talking to tourists is always way more fun than you think its going to be. And they all take everything you say as the word of God. Also people ask me my opinion, and who doesn't love dishing that out? Improvisers pretend that they like/remember me so that I'll give them free tickets for their friends and put up with their tedious requests. Sometimes I see new friends, and even better - old friends and have a nice opportunity to catch up. And there are long stretches when I don't have to talk to anyone.

All this being said - I love this place. I talk a lot of crap about it, but it was one of the first places that made me happy in Chicago. And it consistently has been a place full of people who get me, and so make me feel comfortable in my own skin...something that happens less than you may think.

So there is this certain subset of people I've noticed when they come in. They're almost always students - most students who have gotten past their third class in level one, understand the student protocol of just going where you want and not actually bothering to pass go. But they're students who are bringing non-students in - and so must stop by my door and buy my wares (not dirty like...I'm just trying to keep my job as vague as possible). While its fun to watch students explain to their muggle friends how exactly buying a ticket works - as if the friend is some sort of imbred ginger... its more fun to watch students bring dates to iO. I don't see it very often because I only work week nights - but occasionally it happens and most nights the crowd is slow enough for me enjoy the show.

These students are so full of pride for themselves, for the performers, for the building. They ask me who is playing and then nod knowingly, occasionally throwing a trivia nugget to their muggle date about someone, just to show that they know everything. The student always pays - even if its a girl. As if to say - "I'm bringing you here as my date, this is a special gift. More special than a V-card. You get to go to an iO show with someone who Knows."

I'm sure throughout the show they lean over and whisper explanations of what is happening. "See how he said that? Its called a callback - and its funny because he's now said it twice, but it'll be more funny when he says it the third time." They'll buy the beers - explaining that iO is superior because of their wide variety of specialty brews and perhaps you would like to try this one, its called PBR - they serve it in a Mason Jar here. Its so funny and improv-y"

At the end of the show they'll stick around and talk to the one person they know who has just performed. And by know, I mean, maybe saw once in a workshop. Or had for a class. Or if they're really lucky, got obliteratingly drunk with at 4 in the morning one time in this very room before a taco bell run and an endless wait for the 22 bus. That celebrity will patiently talk about whatever you can come up with, because improv people (for the most part) are totally awesome like that.

And then that iO student will take their date back out into Wrigleyville. Occasionally I get a half-hearted wave as they brace themselves for the drunkenness waiting outside. I always wonder what happens to them. How the dates feel about this place. Do they get it? Do they get the magic? Do they know why we come and sit and watch shows until all hours? Or why we sit (or stand) and wait on parents from Rockford or bachelorettes from LaGrange?

I hope so. I really hope that they walk home with their iO catch - and maybe give them a hug (don't give away the milk, people - its just a $12 ticket) and say goodnight. And assuming their iO student is not a horrifying ass bucket in real life...they keep them around. For the how to be funny lessons and the education on imports and microbrews and the opportunity to come back to this place every now and then.

Steps of Knowledge

We're sitting on the couch watching youtube clips of old Nickelodeon shows this evening. A few things -

The hosts of these shows were cracked out of their minds. Kirk Fogg has cocaine dripping out his eyeballs. Also the host of Nick Arcade could not look more ridiculous. He basically spent the whole show wearing Bill Cosby's hand me downs. But more white.

You Can't Do That On Television is maybe the most unfunny thing ever. Like state funeral unfunny.

The aggro crag was really just a junk heap. I used to think it was made of like, synthetic mountain material but its really just razor wire and old CPUs. All those kids had tetanus.

Why were kids so terrible at the wave pool on Global Guts? They were filming this in Florida (California?), one would think they had experienced water with some current to it at one point in their lives.

Seriously - it was like the part of SNL after the music act plays unfunny. So terrible.

I don't quite understand the mechanics of Nick Arcade but 1 - apparently neither did any of the kids and 2 - that show was just a desperate plea for kids to buy video games. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that show is why the kids of today are build like baby elephants.

There was a moment in time where the show was called "Super Sloppy Double Dare." That sounds like the beginning of a very low budget creeper Porno.

Also! On double dare there use to be a challenge where you had to pop balloons?! Ugh.

I would have never taken the physical challenge, because I seem to know the answer to every single question on that show.

Wild and Crazy Kids was just a gratuitous waste of resources. Apparently we didn't really care about the world when that show was on. No need to conserve anything. Just pour it all over each other while people laugh at your misfortune.

Sing sing

Excuse the extended break - I've been trying to be better about posting at least a few times a week but I went home to the land of crab cakes and football (with a quick stopover in the land of moose and lakes) and did not have a ton of blogging time.  My younger-but-not-smaller siblings both managed to maintain the family average by graduating on time from various academic institutions.  Buttmunch from Plymouth State University and the Bear from our local High School.  I am very proud of both of them, mostly for actually graduating and also not puking/falling during the ceremony (our family standards are pretty low).  

After the graduations (which themselves seemed utterly endless.  Seriously - so so so boring listening to people's names) there was the obligatory graduation party.  Thanks to father time and uh, mother tedious there was an obligatory 4 day lull between the last graduation and the party itself.  Which was good- because it gave everyone time to prepare and call maids to come clean the house (the maids themselves should really be their own blog post - maids are awesome).  It also gave me time to see people I love and hardly ever see - also eat crabcakes, play bar trivia, imbibe a little too much and spend some serious quality time with my siblings.   

My siblings and I are exactly 4 years apart in school - which is convenient if you think that it means my parents only paid for one college education at a time, but also craptastic, because it means they're paying for a college education for 12 years in a row.  2 sides to every penny, Amigos.

Since we're this far apart, our friend circles don't overlap at all.  In fact, there are a fair number of my sibs friends that I used to make sweet, sweet money baby-sitting for.  And we've always given each other a serious hard time.  Buttmunch for being a lazy boy, Bear for being the baby, and me for being the bossy (always right) big sister.  But in general, these days, we get along pretty well.  Which is kind of awesome...but there are still some things that give me flash backs to being little.

Once upon a time, millions of years ago (when leggings were cool the first time around) - Buttmunch and I told Bear that she was under no circumstances allowed to sing in the car unless she knew every single word to a song.  This was the law and it would be followed.  Mostly by her.  Not so much us.

And now, my sister knows every word to every song on the radio.  Which is impressive (although not that impressive when you consider the lack of variety on the radio these days).  Its nice that we could give her this gift by being bossy d-waffles.  You're welcome, Bear.

Anyway - the rest of the 10 days back East were also really lovely (there was a zoo and a wine/beer tasting - at the same.time), but that kind of stuck with me.  The fact that my baby-sister is all graduated from high school and still follows my stupid rules.

In other news - My summer is going to be very awesome, and I'm very excited.  Also exciting? Nora Dunn just walked into my place of employment.  I get excited from the weirdest celebrities

Adventures with vegetables

There are very few foods that I feel uncomfortable around. There are some I don't like (water chestnuts), there are some I wish I could handle (mushrooms), there are some that I don't even bother with (organ meats) but there are very few that make me anxious.

Enter the artichoke.
I LOVE the taste of the artichoke (particularly when mixed with spinich and cheese) but I've only ever dealt with the canned heart variety. But these landed on my doorstep and I had *just* had a conversation about how I thought it was kind of crazy that I had never actually had a real, live 'choke. So I decided it was time to rumble.

I went to the interwebs, the answerer of all questions, and discovered there are a whole crap ton of ways to deal with these suckers. Not being one to get down with rules, or directions that are complicated, I decided to just do what I want.
I boiled the shit out of them. Seriously, for like 40 minutes. Because I read that number somewhere, and I figured that if there was nasty bacteria in them, it'd be gone after 40 minutes...of course, its very possible I boiled away the taste or most of the meat but what can you do when you hate rules?

And then I took them out of water and felt very, Now what? I had been told that the meat of them was at the center of all the leaves. So I took off the leaves.
Apparently you can eat off the leaves, but thats tedious and weird, so I just got rid of them. And seriously? So.Many.Leaves. This vegetable is so dumb. Anyway. I got to the bottom of the leaves, and what did I find?
Furry shit?! What is this - an ear of corn? Holy crap. I go back to the internet, because I have no idea what of this plant is toxic and what isn't and at this point this has been about as much work as I put into eating a hardshell crab and there are parts of that that I know are no-nos. So I figure out that the edible part is that teeny part in the middle. Ugh.

So little stuff for so much work and it does not even taste like crab. Sigh. Not my favorite food.Anyway, I mixed it up with some eggplant and red pepper and a little garlic and then ate it with some left over injera bread from Ras Dashen. It was pretty good. But there is a lot of work involved in something you can just buy in a can...

like a big kid with walls

Finally! My own personal nation-wide nightmare is over! There is art on my walls!!

I've always had a serious affinity for stuff on the walls. Which totally comes from my parents, who are huge art people (thanks MomandDad). My art is pretty random. A vast majority of it is pictures I've taken myself. Which is pretty lame, I know, but I like them and that's really all that matters, no? The rest is a mix of paintings my great grandmother created, impulse buys and gifts. The one above was given to me by my first ever roommate in college - D. She bought it because she was a vegetarian and it was a reminder of all the animals I ate and how cute they were and how I probably shouldn't eat them because it made the house smell like bacon.

Well, obviously that plan backfired. But these guys have hung in every kitchen I've lived in for the past eight years. It is originally from IKEA, and their frames are a-not actually glass and b- not really built to last. If you get too close to this sucker, its so filthy from eight years of bacon grease splashing around. But it makes me smile.

Its one of the many pieces I've carried from place to place. I use to hang all my own art, mostly by just sticking pushpins in the wall, occasionally taking a hammer to the bad deal. But now this kid lives with me, and its made me super lazy. He wants to feel all strong and man-shaped. So I let him, which means sometimes things take a lot longer than I want. Empty walls are so terrible, especially when they're white. But art helps. I don't really feel like I live somewhere until there are things on the walls.

Naturally my collection has grown extensively in 8 years - and amazingly its always fit into where I lived. Although, I guess it was good that Boyfriend did not come into the relationship with much in the way of art but his collection is growing as well. So we came to an unfortunate realization on Sunday.

What happens when we don't have a nice, long convenient hallway/gallery to put stuff up?

The best-worst part about working at home

She is quite distracting and demanding of affection...and beyond that, she makes it kind of difficult to type. Particularly when she is pulling these kinds of shennanigans


No, no its cool - I don't need that third of the keyboard anyway.

its like a swirly, twirly circle

So. I easily had one of the best Mother's Day humanly possible without actually hanging out with my Mom.

J-bomb and I went to a bottom-less mimosa all-you-can-eat brunch, and let me tell you, we tested that pledge. And happily, the mimosas kept coming along with delicious food (lox! mac and cheese! chocolate fountain!) We walked into the sunshine and perfect spring weather around 12:30 and were delightfully intoxicated. So, obviously, we went shopping. And then after some clothes shopping I decided I would walk the 2 miles home and enjoy a lovely Chicago day and sweet Sunday Funday buzz.

Thus began a 4 hour solo adventure of lazy (the walk, according to google should have taken 45 minutes). I decided to stop at whatever stores caught my fancy and came away with some vino, a few second-hand books, cute clothes and a feeling that I had thoroughly enjoyed the gorgeous day to its max capacity.

My last stop before home was at the Brown Elephant, one of the best second hand stores in the city where I found a copy of Blackhearts in Battersea (one of the best children's books ever) along with some other stuff. While paying for my stuff I told the cashier to keep the change and put it in whatever donation bin they have. The guy was legitimately excited about the change (I think it was 45 cents) and I felt really nice (and still a little drunk).

Cut to today when I was at the bank for work. I was depositing quarters, along with other forms of currency, but the quarters were the important part, because it was totally ridiculous to be depositing $10 worth of quarters into a business account but welcome to the life of a teeny-tiny non-profit. So I have already filled out the deposit slip and entered everything into quickbooks - and at the very end of the transaction, the nice teller gentleman tells me that I am a quarter short. Twenty-five little cents separate me from leaving for the day. Naturally, I brought nothing with me to the bank except a phone and a drivers licence, because that is going to make this better...

I am going over my options with the teller guy, and its looking rough. Extraneous paperwork or trips to the bank for twenty-five cents. I mean, at McDonalds when you go through the drive-thru and you're a quarter short they just kind of wave you through but not at Chase. Oh no...they will nickle and dime you because they are the.man. So I'm throwing my hands up in "whatever-ness" and suddenly a quarter appears from the nice postal worker lady in line behind me.

"Here you go," she smiles and goes back to the queue.

I hand it to the bank teller, get my receipt, thank the lady profusely and walk out.

In hindsight, she probably just realized her time was worth way more than 25 pennies and she just wanted to get the eff out of the bank, but at the time it felt like a totally stranger doing something nice. Which is pretty refreshing. And feels wonderful.

And now some nice lady at JetBlue Customer Service is making my day even better by fixing my colossal bone-headed screw up while simultaneously restoring my faith in this airline that I have come to have a pretty serious Ike-Tina relationship with.

Its a pretty crazy world we live in, people...so when the opportunity presents itself, go ahead and make someone else's day better.

The world is ending

People. Today for the first time since the mid-90's I am wearing leggings. In public*.

This is huge. I shun leggings. I shun girls who wear leggings. I shun Lindsey Lohan for making leggings (among other things). I have been shunning these things for a long time... at some point when I was in college I found myself in an Urban Outfitters and in the never ending piles of poly-blends I found a pair of grey spandex leggings With Stirrups. I looked around, trying to figure out if some how I had time traveled back to 1996. But no, these were in the present day and they cost $35. This was like 5 or 6 years ago. That was when I decided that I was only going to look forward, not back in regards to fashion.

Until recently, when I noticed that all my friends wear leggings and look adorable and not trashy. And I am one to do exactly what all my friends are doing (see: 5Ks, Crobar, being a Badger fan) so I got jealous and bought some leggings and then never wore them. They just sat, tag on, in my dresser waiting for me to give in to my inner hipster.

And I put them on a couple times with a couple different dresses (please note I said dresses - the reason my friends look so adorable is because they wear leggings with dresses, not with tee shirts. The secret to leggings is that your top must cover your whole bottom - with room to spare- for them to look cute, not trashy) but it never worked out.

Well, I've been rocking this sexy pre-summer cold for the last few days which has left me cough-y and snorffle-y and just generally grouchy and cranky. I tried to go to the gym this morning and ride the elliptical which was a disaster of epic proportions because the motion of an elliptical to a person with sinus issues is apparently akin to the motion of a roller coaster to a person with vertigo. I made it about 30 minutes before I realized that I was either going to vomit or pass out and I don't trust the people at my gym not to just leave me on the floor in a heap of sweaty mess.

So I went home and worked in my sweat pants (work from home Thursdays are my favorite) and started to feel a little bit better until 5:30 when I realized I had to get ready to go to iO for job numbero dos. No part of my being wanted to put on jeans... and my boss frowns upon sweats at this particular job...and it is far too windy for just a skirt...and I had just inherited that adorable sweater dress from L.S...

So I put on the leggings, and the sweater dress and the ballet flats and earrings and hair up in a bun (no actual styling happened today) and I walked out the door.

Its kind of windy today, but just the right temperature for this particular ensemble, which it'll probably only be two or three more days before sweater dresses will become weird and impractical until September. And I feel adorable. I'm not going to lie. I feel very cute in this get up...and what's even more amazing is I feel crazy comfortable. I feel like I'm in my stylish jammies, but its a big secret that my boss doesn't know (shhhh.)

I now remember why I wore leggings all the way until 5th grade (no joke, first pair of jeans in 5th grade. Fun fact!). These things are awesome and comfortable and I feel like I can bust out sweet dance moves or cartwheels at a moments notice (which has always been necessary in my life). While I still have some pretty serious rules about leggings (seriously, shirts should cover butts) I am now way more excited to wear them on a regular basis, at least until its warm enough for just dresses.

And once again, I realize that I judge things on a completely insane-makes-sense-to-me way that really needs to be reality checked. While some of the things I've judged before I've tried have deserved my judgement (crobar) - most of them are actually totally acceptable as things. So maybe I should not be so quick to be a dick about...almost everything. Although, at least I can admit when I'm wrong. Even if it takes the better part of a decade.

* so this ONE time my friends got me drunk and convinced me to wear leggings and a long-ish shirt out for ladies-night bar hoping. I was against it pretty much the whole time, but couldn't really pull anything else together that was to the caliber of trendy and adorable that they were all rocking. So I did it. It was pretty bad news. But it was only for a few hours so its almost like it never happened.

Thanks Sylvia

My loverly Anniebelle posted this. And wow. I have (embarrassingly) never read The Bell Jar, but its now shot way up on my list.

This so very much describes me. I think it describes a whole crap ton of my friends (like Anniebelle, dur) although there are also friends who it does not describe. I have a lot of friends who picked their fig and they love it and are perfectly content to eat it all up.

Anyway, this terrifies me, but also makes me feel better about myself. Things turn out okay for Ester Greenwood right?

A Good Sense about Things

So today - I let a stranger cut my hair. Which, for me, is fairly standard as I am not one of those girls to have a "lady/guy who cuts my hair." In fact, since I started paying for my own haircuts, the only place I've been to more than once is Jo Michelle in Middletown, because she does a decent job and is crazy affordable (although the internet says she might not be licensed, which I realized I don't care about--as long as they don't ruin my head).

The kicker today was, I got my hair cut in this girl's parents' basement. Surrounded by old soccer trophies, framed photos and kitchy suburban wall art she cut my hair and we talked about life. It was a great experience. She did a good job (I mean, I still have some hair, and it seems to be even enough) and she let me pay her tip in fruit.

Before I went to her house though, while getting ready this morning, Boyfriend asked if I was nervous about going to some strange person's house to let her cut my hair.

"No."
"How'd you hear about her?"
"CIN." (that's the Chicago Improv Network)
"Do you know anyone else who has gotten their [sic] hair cut by this girl."
"Uh, there were some names I recognized in her post on CIN."
"So you're going to some girl's house after talking to her on the phone once, based on something you read on the internet?"
"Sure."
"Not worried you're about to get murdered?"
"No."

This was apparently surprising, which reminded me of a similar (sort of) experience in my freshman year of college where I saw a craigslist ad for a guy doing free headshots out in Flushing, Queens. ANY sensible person would have ignored it, but I really needed headshots and had no money, so I figured out how to get to this guy apartment, which required about 45 minutes on the 7 train and a 20 minute tour of lovely Flushing. Which was quite the experience.

Right as I got to the guys house I called my mom.
"Hey Mom, so uh, I e-mailed this guy off craigslist for free headshots and now I'm at his house in Queens and this is the address. If I don't call you back in like an hour, can you call the cops."
"WHAT?"
"No, I'm sure its fine, but if isn't, uh, yeah, please call the cops."

So I am sure my mother spent that hour watching the second hand on the clock. I spent that hour with a totally weird dude, who took some pictures (fully clothed, from the neck up, pervs) and then that was it.

My mom had some choice words for me when I called her back, namely - don't ever pull that kind of stunt again.

But I do. I am totally a go into a situation, back out if it gets sketchy kind of girl. Now, of course, this has not gone wrong - yet. But if it did, it would probably go really, really wrong. But I'm an optimist (in this one very small part of my life).

And normally I can tell just by an e-mail or phone call if something is a good idea or a very, very bad idea. And I follow that intuition, most of the time. The times I don't - I normally get to a place (a few pyramid scheme job interviews come to mind) I just get up and leave, sometimes I don't even bother telling people why. It's a you waste my time, I'll waste your time kind of thing.

Of course, this whole process falls apart when there is free food involved. Because I am a sucker for a free piece of shitty pizza and an ice-less dixie cup of RC cola.

But the thing is - a lot of these ridiculous things I try end up going really well. I've made good friends, gotten free movie tickets and now have a super sweet hair cut. She did an adorable job and the fact that it cost less than like, an adult movie ticket, made it even more worth it. And so now I have a lady who cuts my hair in the City. All because of the internet.

Thanks internet.

Ribbon around the finger

As I sit on my back porch with my free Starbucks coffee, a bunch of deliciously tart grapes and some perfect made-to-order Chicago-style Spring/Summer weather, listening to the cheers at Wrigley Field getting paid to do my part to make the world a better place, I am happy and content and know that I have one of the best jobs in the world.

So in six months when things are rough and I'm grouchy because making the world a better place is really hard and not always fun - I hope I remember this day; when my boss told me to go sit outside in the sun.

Spoke tooooo soon

I'm going to my first Wednesday afternoon Cubs game THIS Wednesday. Naturally, once the seed had been planted and the opportunity presented itself there wasn't much I could do. I have the most amazing boss in the entire world and she is perfectly fine with my 4 hour lunch break.

Hey Chicago Whaddya Say?

Happy Home Opener!


This might be the year I play hooky for a cubs game. We'll see how they are doing towards the middle of the season, but there is nothing better than a Wednesday afternoon Cubs game (so I've heard). Really, there is very little in life that is better than a baseball game on a sunny, warm day. Its like a picnic, with 40,000 strangers. And you get to yell and scream and sing.

And Wrigley Field, I think has spoiled me forever. There is so much history in that park. They still have people who change the score board by hand! And there are men screaming, "cold beer! peanuts! hot dogs!" It is comfortingly stereotypical and cliche. Also, Old Style! Its so watery, but it tastes like a baseball game. And you don't have to get up. They just walk past your seat.

There is alot about me that's changed since I moved here, but one of the biggest things (as most people can attest to) is how living here makes you (well, me) a sports fan. There's something to be said about living 10 blocks from a national sports landmark. And it'll change you, if you let it. Plus, its super fun. Really, I promise. Baseball games are fun. If only because its a large, open air bar with lots of boys running in circles on the field.

mile...after...nope, just one

So I now go to the gym 5 days a week (when I can). This is a change from my usual never ever going to the gym ever policy, but apparently my metabolism has decided to just stop. Like Stop. Food goes in my mouth and directly to my muffin top. The choices were to stop eating, or work out. Obviously option 1 is a horrible choice. I LOVE eating. So I have started working out.

I normally alternate between an hour of weight machines and an hour on the elliptical and I try to throw some sits ups and stretching in at the end. And I have seen some weight loss, which is awesome because I still eat as though its going to get taken away from me at any minute. But I am still having muffin top/bingo wing issues.

Apparently, according to my "trainer" the best way to deal with these monsters is straight up running. So I have made myself start running. On weight days I force myself to run a mile before I do anything else. It is a nightmare. It makes my shins and my feets and my back hurt, probably because a- treadmills are terrible and b- I have crappy shoes and c- I am easily the worst.runner.ever.

Aside from the painfulness of running, the thing that gets me is the delirious tedium of it. I listen to music or watch tv which helps, for sure, but eventually my brain starts to wander and I have an existential crisis and complete mental break down.

Here's how it goes.

Oh, I like this song. This song reminds me of high school. Its weird that I still listen to music from high school. I should probably listen to newer music but I think everything is whiny and there is too much guitar. Oh man, high school. That was the best worst time ever. No not even. It was just lame. Why did I think it was so important? High School was useless. I didn't really learn anything. Well, I mean I guess I learned some stuff. But mostly I just was skinny and awkward and I had bad skin. Oooophf. Man I was weird looking in high school. And then college. College was a little bit better I guess. Well, I mean, college was a pretty sweet time. I really had no responsibility and I ate everything and drank everything and still looked pretty great except for the skin. The skin was always bad. I wish I could be in college again. HOW HAVE I ONLY BEEN RUNNING FOR TWO MINUTES?! Why am I doing this to myself? Why can't I just be happy how I am? Am I ever going to be satisfied with anything in my life? Ugh, is there any other way to lose the muffin top? Maybe I'll just buy bigger jeans. But if you buy bigger jeans the terrorists WIN. I HAVE to be almost done right? Wrong. Maybe I can just do a half mile today because I worked with kids. Oh, come on, that's horse pucky. Lets do this.

And then I let myself get distracted by Fox News or Pardon the Interruption or whatever other crap tv is on. And eventually after 10 agonizing minutes I'm done. People say that it will get easier which, at this rate, will happen in 10 years. There is something to be said about the sadistic nature of making yourself run so you look better in jeans. I try not to think about it when I'm not running though.

If people have any good music recommendations, they would be appreciated.

tradition

I thought that I didn't really like Easter when I started writing this post, and then I realized despite its flaws (ham, not as good as lamb or turkey) its got some serious bonuses (Peeps! Robin's Eggs! Cute dresses!). I think my favorite part of it is all the traditions that my family has discovered, lost, and rediscovered along the way.

This was the first Easter I spent with someone else's family (as opposed to with friends or alone with a 104 degree fever which was Easter 2007). I was somewhat terrified about the proper etiquette when experiencing a new Easter. Do I teach everyone the egg game? Do I sit quiet and hope that some else brought an Easter Pinata? Should I tell someone that its not actually Easter if you don't have a mimosa?

Because I am so very awkward in social situations I told everyone else (ie - all the people I would have been playing with if I was at home) I really wanted to play the egg game but then once I was sitting at dinner I got shy and realized that my traditions are mine, and no one else actually has to care or participate. So I kept silent. Until Boyfriend insisted we play. So we played the egg game. His family was willing to oblige although I think they filed this in their "weird East Coast girl" file (which is probably pretty thick at this point).

Everything was fine after this. I had gotten my Easter goobs out and felt like the holiday had actually happened (although it almost made me miss my family more, also -- still no mimosas). I was happily eating food that was eerily similar to all the food I am used to - and so I was happily making myself a ham and potato roll sandwich, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I hear,

"Are you making a sandwich?"

All of a sudden all eyes are on me. I look down at the sandwich in my hand with a face of guilt.

"Um, Yes? Is that all right?"

My family has been making ham and potato roll sandwiches for years. Its not just an Easter tradition, its a forever tradition - is it rude or completely inappropriate to do in mixed company? I was PANICKED.

"Yeah...its fine," I was told hesitantly.

I looked around at all these faces that are still somewhat unfamiliar and put me a little on edge. I quickly finish my sandwich and eat grab for something else to eat, something I know how to eat correctly...

But suddenly my world is upside-down because if you can't put sliced honey ham on a potato roll, what can you do?

I eat slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself. Once again insanely self conscience. Is there a wrong way to eat a deviled egg? Potatoes?

About five minutes later, boyfriends Brother takes ham, and a roll and makes his own sandwich.

Its nice to start a new tradition.