The Lovely Simulacrum

jewels of the interweb (volume 13)

2012-02-17T08:00:00.000-06:00

Oh, Toto...

Seriously, people!

And this... just makes me really happy.

who wants schweddy balls for valentine's day?

2012-02-15T08:00:00.000-06:00

I'm not gonna lie; I'm a really crappy gift-giver. I'm not very thoughtful and I loathe shopping... but I WILL spend too much money if you'll only tell me what you want! Seriously, people, just tell me what you want!

My husband is ridiculously hard to shop for. It took TWO MONTHS for me to get his Christmas present, primarily because he just wouldn't tell me what he wanted.

For Valentine's Day, I thought perhaps I should keep the nagging down to a minimum and at least TRY to intuit something he'd appreciate.

Will's a huge fan of ice cream, and he loves Ben & Jerry's. When the flavor "Schweddy Balls" came out last fall, he drove all over town trying to find it. Unfortunately, there were no Schweddy Balls to be had and he finally gave up.

So... for Valentine's Day I thought: "I must find Schweddy Balls! That will be the perfect surprise!"

I searched high and low for Schweddy Balls, but couldn't find them anywhere. Finally, I emailed Ben & Jerry's. They told me that they no longer made Schweddy Balls but I could find them on IceCreamSource.com.

I was excited! Finally, I'd be able to get my hands on some Schweddy Balls! But to my dismay, I found that shipping for 1 pint was $40.

Who would spend $40 on shipping for ICE CREAM? I thought scornfully, as I found myself paying $40 on shipping for ice cream. After all, I did just get that $29.97 class action settlement check in the mail... why not blow it all on ice cream? (<--this is the exact same mentality, albeit on a smaller scale, that makes lottery winners go broke).

Two days later, a large box was delivered to my house. When I opened it, dry ice smoke streamed upward - just like in a science experiment!

The Holy Grail of ice cream flavors.*

I went to work the next day and told one of my employees about my ice cream delivery. He, too, quickly became obsessed with the concept of Schweddy Balls. "I'm taking my daughter to Ben & Jerry's with her preschool friends tomorrow - do you want me to see if they have any left?" he offered.

I laughed. "Dude, you can check, but there won't be any. I looked all over, and I'm 100% certain there are no Schweddy Balls left anywhere in this town."

That evening, my employee called to say he'd found the last pint, and should he buy it? Then my husband and I could both have Schweddy Balls for Valentine's Day. I sighed and told him to buy it. I couldn't believe how much all these Schweddy Balls were costing me!

And that is the story of how I paid $53 for 2 pints of ice cream. When Will opened his package, I realized that I had no idea which one was the $48 pint, and which was the $5 pint. Theoretically, the $48 pint should taste better, right?

Luckily, Will was thrilled with his gift and I learned a valuable lesson: Never buy Schweddy Balls online when you can find local Schweddy Balls.

Duh.

class action crap

2012-02-13T08:00:00.001-06:00

A few years ago, I received notice in the mail of a class action lawsuit against Bank of America - something about improper calculation of foreign currency exchange rates and bogus service fees.

After reading through the mumbo-jumbo, I remembered all the weird bank fees I was charged the year I lived in Moscow. Every time I used my card, I was charged a foreign withdrawal fee, a percentage of the purchase, and (as it turns out), they were calculating their own unofficial exchange rate. Jeebus!

So I decided to add my name to the class action suit. The attorneys made it very easy - all I had to do was rip off a postcard and sign it or something. I don't remember for sure, because it was so long ago.

And then I totally forgot about it.

But this week, I got a check in the mail! It was my class action settlement!

I'm RICH! And don't come banging down my door begging for a hand-out, people!

It was for $29.97!

I'm pretty sure Bank of America got WAY more out of me than $29.97 during that trip (more like $29.97 a month, at least), but it was still nice to get something in the mail.

That will pay for part of a tank of gas! Or part of my groceries!

It could also buy me a Shakespeare Medium Action Travel Mate Telescopic Kit Combo, a Lalaloopsy Silly Hair Doll, a Hustler Mens Bang Bang Tee, or a VitalCell Dietary Supplement!

Yes, I googled "$29.97."

But I didn't factor in taxes or shipping, so I guess I'm still going to owe something out of pocket. Damn you, Bank of America!

can't... stop... listening... to... this... song!

2012-02-12T08:00:00.000-06:00

This came on my Pandora mix the other day, and now I'm obsessed. Yes, I might be one of those people who likes the iPod's "repeat" function a little too much. It doesn't hurt anyone when I'm by myself listening to the same song over and over again, now does it?*

*I may have a touch of the OCD. Don't tell anyone!

jewels of the interweb (volume 12)

2012-02-10T08:00:00.000-06:00

And God is mean when he's hungry, so FOCUS, kid!

Old School, meet New School.

(don't tell anyone, but Chuck Norris is actually vegan...)

honeymooned, part 7

2012-02-08T12:49:00.002-06:00

I'm astounded by how many posts this damn honeymoon has consumed, so I'm going to summarize the next day a bit (since most of us have a touch of the ADD nowadays):

morning
-back to Montparnasse. Searched for cuff links. Took forever. Wanted to die.
-went to the fanciest mall ever. Took forever. Wanted to die.
afternoon
-ate the biggest omelette ever. Took forever. Wanted to die.
-went back to St. Michel! Had appetizers, cheese, and wine. It was lovely. Wanted to live!
evening
-stumbled upon the most charming holiday market on the Champ du Elysees. Wanted to spend money.
-found the largest tub of Nutella ever. Wanted to eat (again).

It's full of Nutella. I checked.

The holiday market totally made up for our somewhat lackluster day (I blame fatigue from being overly productive the day before). We indulged in mulled wine and oh-so-bad-for-you vendor food, and marveled at the cleanliness of the temporary toilet stands. Then I convinced Will to ride the Ferris Wheel!

The holiday market lined both sides of the street, all the way up to the Ferris Wheel.

View from the top of the Ferris Wheel.

I loved riding the Ferris Wheel and looking at the Eiffel Tower at the same time, since the Ferris Wheel was invented as a response to Eiffel's feat of engineering. Both structures are pretty amazing, folks. It blows the mind when you take the time to think about it: the first Ferris wheel had 36 cars, each of which could hold 60 people and its own lunch counter. 2000 people at a time could ride it, which is AMAZING because modern wheels are so much smaller.

The original Ferris Wheel vs the modern version.

The next morning (our last full day in Paris!) was spent cleaning up our little apartment and packing. I'm an anal-retentive neat-freak, so I scrubbed the place down while Will went to the landlord's flat to print our train tickets. I always tidy up hotel rooms when leaving, but this place was so cozy! I felt it deserved some extra effort.

The landlord's 10 year old daughter was especially interested in how the cleaning efforts were going; she kept giving various cleaning supplies to Will, saying in French: "Do you need a mop? What about sponges? Do you need those?"

Will finally realized - the little girl's job was to clean the apartment if we didn't. No wonder she was so concerned! Will resolved to buy her a Swiffer as a good-bye present but, alas, we couldn't find one.

In the afternoon, we tried to tour the Catacombs but the line was WAY too long (it wrapped around the block!) so we decided to check out Napoleon's tomb instead. It was even more ornate than I'd expected...

"Little man syndrome" manifests itself in a ginormous sarcophagus.

This photo was taken from the second floor, looking down into the tomb area. His corpse isn't even in there, folks! He was cremated, and this giant tomb was created to house a few pounds of ashes. It gave me grandiose ideas for my own final resting place: I want a massive mausoleum on the top of Mt Everest, made entirely of stinky cheese! But make sure to shoot my ashes into space first, ok?

After Napoleon, we went to the WWI & WWII museum. We got all the way through WWI, but we'd only made it to 1942 in WWII when the museum closed and they kicked us out. Just when it was starting to get good, too!

And we never got to find out how it all ended...

For dinner, we went to a cute little Italian restaurant in our neighborhood, where the tables were pushed so closely together that the wait staff could barely get through. A friendly old French dude leaned over to us and strongly recommended the veal liver, which... was tempting... ? I don't know, I just have a hard time eating organs. Especially... baby animal organs. *shudder*

We were leaving in the morning to take the train to Strasbourg, and we knew we'd miss Paris. Paris is so classically dedicated to the aesthetics of life (architecture, society, the arts, cuisine, etc etc) that the utilitarian facets of American life are rather underwhelming in comparison. Hemingway once said: "Paris is so very beautiful that it satisfies something in you that is always hungry in America."

Here are a final few things that made an impression on me:

1. Rollerblading is still very alive and well in Paris. Rollerbladers are EVERYWHERE. There are even rollerblade cops!
2. Wine in France is different and I can't quite put my finger on it... but I like that no one's trying to get me to sniff the damn cork. There's no pretension about wine - everyone drinks it, everyone loves it. So simple!
3. Dogs know where they belong! I saw so many dogs wandering around in their neighborhoods, staying close to their respective cafes. They even mingle with the guests occasionally, although most of the time the dogs are just as aloof as the waiters.
4. French crows don't "caw." They say: "Quois! Quois!" It's true; I totally heard it.

As much as we loved Paris, Strasbourg ended up being our favorite part of the trip. More about Strasbourg in the last (I promise!) "Honeymooned" post...

fear of flying

2012-02-04T08:33:00.000-06:00

At the age of 11, he thought: Perhaps I should fly!

He crafted wings from cardboard with shoulder straps of baling wire; he leapt from the roof of the chicken coop with hopeful arms stretched wide.

When he knew the ground again, he was infinitely wiser.

* This is for the Trifecta Writing Challenge - this week's challenge is to write a whole story in 3 sentences. There's still a day left to enter! Do it!

jewels of the interweb (volume 11)

2012-02-03T08:00:00.000-06:00

So THAT'S what happened!

If you encounter this bear in the wilderness, just give up. There's no outrunning this one.

a.k.a. "Marriage"

honeymooned, part 6

2012-02-02T08:00:00.000-06:00

After the Louvre, we treated ourselves to one big "splurge" dining experience. We went to La Closerie des Lilas, which is an amazing restaurant/cafe with an incredible history. It's been a congregating point for artists and writers (and celebrities) for decades; Ernest Hemingway even has a permanent plaque built into his old seat at the bar. Others include Paul Cezanne, Samuel Beckett, Salvador Dali, Carl Sagan, Picasso, John-paul Sartre, Oscar Wilde, F. Scott Fizgerald, Ezra Pound (oh, and Mick Jagger, Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, John Malkovich, and more).

No, I did not feel any smarter or any more creative after eating there. Le sigh. But the food was fantastic (I had smoked herring in a béarnaise sauce that rocked my face off) and I drank the best Mojito (and wine) I've ever tasted in my life.

La Closerie des Lilas, back in the day.

La Closerie, today.

Despite our overly-productive day of touristing, we decided to stroll around Montparnasse after dinner. We wandered by a movie theater that was showing the newest installation of the dreaded Twilight series, and Will said, "Do you want to go see it?"

I was a bit taken aback by his question and quickly shook my head no: "It'll be dubbed over and, even though the plot isn't all that complicated, I won't be able to understand it anyway."

I thought that was the end of the discussion, but Will decided to go in and ask if they were showing the French version. I wasn't sure where he went or what he was doing, so I lit a skinny French cigarette and waited, trying to look all Euro and shit.

Will returned, excited and crowing: "It's in English with French subtitles! Do you want to go see it?"

I couldn't for the LIFE of me figure out why he was so stoked to see Twilight. Or Breaking Dawn, or whatever the f*ck this one is called. However, I wasn't opposed to the idea of sitting in a dark theater with popcorn watching a vapid Hollywood movie (I'm American, after all), so I said yes.

A couple of French girls were seated next to us in the theater. Will struck up a conversation with them while I went to the bathroom and introduced us when I came back. When he left to get popcorn, I discovered one of the French girls spoke English.

She said, "You must be a big Twilight fan, yes?" Her friend nodded beatifically with the smile of someone who doesn't understand English (I smiled like that a LOT like that while people were speaking French [and while I was in Moscow studying Russian]).

She continued: "Your husband tells us you were begging all day to see this film!?"

I burst out laughing. Begging? All day? To see Twilight? Or Breaking Dawn, or whatever the f*ck this one is called? I took great pleasure in explaining that this was actually all my husband's idea, and he must have been too embarrassed to admit that to them.

She explained this to her friend in French, and we all had a good girl-laugh over it. Then I proceeded to tell them about how he'd read all the books twice, went by himself on a Twilight walking tour in Washington state, and how I'd finally forced him to take down all his autographed posters.*

*you're gonna lie about me? I WILL fight fire with fire.

The French girls seemed a little scared of him after that, but luckily the movie was starting...

Afterwards, Will proceeded to bitch about how awful the movie was, how low the production value was, etc. etc. etc. Apparently his high expectations for the film had been dashed? Whatever.

November 18, 2011, goes down as the day in history when I went to a) the Eiffel Tower, b) the Louvre, c) one of the hippest historical artist enclave/eateries in Paris, and d) the latest Twilight movie.

Yes, I am appropriately ashamed.

unlocked cars & unexpected visitors

2012-02-01T08:00:00.000-06:00

Last night, I went downtown to get my junk waxed. When I was getting in my car to leave afterwards, a man and a woman ran up to the car parked next to me. They seemed like they were in a hurry, so I waited for them to get in and close their doors.

I opened my car door to leave but then I heard the girl shriek; immediately they both jumped out of the car, slammed their respective doors shut, and ran away screaming: "That totally wasn't our car!!! Where is our car???"

The whole encounter lasted all of 20 seconds, but afterward I looked at my own car with suspicion, wondering: Have any strangers sat in you lately?

who vacations in Indiana?

2012-01-30T09:57:00.002-06:00

Well, apparently I do.

I took a day off work and flew to Indiana to see some friends from grad school, Misha and Lizi. I decided to visit them in their Midwestern town as a break from my own Midwestern town. Logical, yes?

My flight was uneventful, except for the large, loud woman who drank excessively through the hour and a half trip. After we landed, she stood up and sang to the entire plane (an impromptu little ditty about how glad she was that we'd landed safely) and invited us all to her show in Indianapolis the following night. She then proceeded to confess that she didn't know WHY her eyes were so blood-shot, but it WASN'T because she'd been smoking reefer.

The Indianapolis airport was in high gear for the Super Bowl next weekend, and I almost had a seizure going down the escalators (so many bright flashing lights!). We went straight to Bloomington and an Irish pub-type place where we ordered a half-yard of beer and fried pickles. The waitress gave us a long lecture about not breaking the glass with cheers-ing or other rambunctious activities. Apparently, one should only drink copious amounts of beer while sitting quietly in church.

That's a lot of beer, people.

The next morning, we went on a mini-tour of IU's campus and a grocery-shopping expedition before going home and allowing Misha the honor of making a ginormous breakfast feast. It brought back memories of when Misha and I lived together in 2008... he did most of the cooking, and I did most of the eating. It was a very convenient set-up for me, which explains why I wept so bitterly (and lost 30 pounds) when he moved to Indiana.

Post-breakfast, pre-shower introspective.

In the afternoon, we went to the Oliver winery and sampled all (or most) of the wine Indiana has to offer. The nice thing about a wine tasting in Indiana? No one spits out the wine after sampling it. They don't even provide receptacles. Why? Because Indiana knows how to party.

Misha and his super-hot Polish-emigre boyfriend Hubert were celebrating their one year anniversary that weekend. My visit also coincided with the LGBT pride weekend film festival, so we went to the dance party on Saturday night at the Buskirk Chumley theater. We got ourselves in the "mood" to dance by playing a rousing game of "Apples to Apples," which, by the way, I'm really good at. So watch out, people!

Would anyone care to bust a move?

The dj was pretty good, and we were all in the mood to dance (even Lizi, although we'd had to ply her with vodka). We were having a great time, working up a sweat, shaking our booties, etc. etc., when suddenly this song came on:

lion king 11 sec opening song

My first reaction was a general feeling of malice towards the dj, but apparently he knew what he was doing. When I looked around, I realized that everyone had gone completely primal. Misha had assumed some sort of pseudo-African Disney tribal dance pose, and all were singing along at the tops of their lungs, their faces glowing with (booze-fueled) sentimental appreciation.

I had no idea "The Lion King" resonated so strongly with people, but whatever. I attempted to shake my booty as best possible until the next song came on, but apparently I was missing the point...? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm at least 5 years older than some of these people. That would place me in a different era of the Disney film release spectrum. I, for example, am of "The Little Mermaid" generation. If "Under the Sea" came on, I could see myself getting totally into it. But "The Lion King" came out in 1994 and, by that point, I was 14 and well past my Disney phase.

All in all, the dance party was excellent and I burned off several hundred calories. Most of the party was centered on the stage, where anyone could run up to dance. Something about dancing on stage makes you automatically assume you're a ridiculously good dancer (even if, in my case, you're totally not).

The next day, we went to brunch at the Scenic View restaurant. I would show you a picture of how scenic the view was, but I forgot to take one (trust me, it was lovely).

A view more scenic than any landscape: the Bacon Bloody Mary.

After brunch, it was time for me to hop on the shuttle and leave. Sadness! I adore Misha, Lizi, and Hubert, and they're wonderful hosts (I'll even forgive Hubert for accidentally telling me I looked fat in my wedding dress).

After a weekend full of over-eating and over-drinking, I've settled back into my healthy diet and went for a long run this morning. Perhaps I'll even do my taxes today... *cringe*

Every now and then, we could all use a little escape to Indiana - just to drink a yard of beer, eat a basket of fried pickles, dance onstage with a bunch of sweaty minorities, and reconnect with the friends and freedoms of college. And I didn't even have any assigned reading to deal with afterwards!

The Shoe Tree.

I leave you with this: a fabled tree of shoes, which I have never laid eyes upon, but which I've heard exists somewhere on the IU campus. Next time I visit, I'm going to bring a case of Odor-Eaters as my own personal donation to the tree.

jewels of the interweb (volume 10) - the redneck edition

2012-01-27T08:00:00.000-06:00

Don't worry, this ain't no gas guzzler. It runs on Budweiser!

I actually think this is pretty genius...

For when you're too poor to afford even a trailer.

Or a playpen.

This isn't really redneck-y per se, but straight-up AWESOME.

honeymooned, part 5

2012-01-26T08:00:00.000-06:00

Finally, FINALLY, the sun came out! As soon as we saw a glimpse of the sun, we immediately ditched our plans to go to a museum (ok, not just any museum - the Louvre!) and go to the ultimate tourist attraction, the Eiffel Tower.

Of course, there was a ridonkulously long line to the escalators. I was mentally prepared for a 2-3 hour wait alongside the funnel cake vendors, international tourist families, and pigeon hoards, but Will took off to investigate our options with his super-handy knowledge of French.

He found out that we could have lunch on the first level and, by buying lunch tickets, we could skip the lines and hop on the restaurant elevator when it left it 10 minutes. Totally worth it.

The line we skipped...

Lunch was decent, if over-priced (what do you expect?). It was actually pretty good, and we decided to splurge on a weird blue/pink blended cocktail. We felt spectacularly Euro-trash.

We eventually made our way to the top where, to my delight, they sell champagne! Leave it to the French to sell booze at the top of a tourist attraction.

Champagne? Yes please!

See the gold dome of Les Invalides? This is from the 1st level of the Eiffel Tower.

Les Invalides from the 2nd level.

Les Invalides from the top!

Will and I decided to pack a stupid amount of touristing into one day, so we headed to the Louvre after the Eiffel Tower. Now, theoretically one could spend weeks in the Louvre and still not see everything, but we're not big art aficionados... let's just say we both have a touch of the ADD.

First thing we did was find a place to camp out and plot our plan of attack. We stopped in the Cafe Richelieu with our map, and I dictated our "must-sees" while we drank wine and cafe creme. Will then mapped out a strategic route that would loop us past all the art I wanted to see (and 6 restrooms) within 2-3 hours.

Yeah, yeah, art buffs can tsk tsk all they want. Hey, we're just hurrying to avoid blocking your view so you can ponder brushstrokes for hours at a time... We're considerate, not ignorant!

While we were studiously clustered in front of the Mona Lisa with about 50 other people, an Italian teenager behind me said, in lightly accented English: "I mean, it's really good, but... I don't get why it's so famous."

A dude of indiscriminate nationality in a sweater vest shot him an indignant glare, but the majority of the tourists around us just shrugged in silent agreement as they started to wander off. I was primarily impressed by how small it was (I don't know why, in the movies it looks like a much bigger canvas), but that's probably because they don't let people get within 10 feet of it.

So yeah... the only way we could have gotten through the Louvre any faster is if we were wearing Heelys (which we did consider). Our favorite painting was one we dubbed "Trust Fall Jesus," but I have no idea what the actual name of it was...

Ok, so technically Trust Fall Jesus was falling forward and not backward... but still...

Next time I'm in Paris, I will go back to the Louvre and chart another 2 hour course through one of its wings... or, if I have a full day, I'll spend all day (I'll alternate one art-gazing hour with one museum-cafe-wine-drinking hour until I'm appropriately soused).

Keeping it classy, folks. That's how I roll.

The Louvre after sunset...

National Geographic, Hollywood-style

2012-01-24T08:00:00.000-06:00

If the fall sequence doesn't make you laugh, then you're made of stone.

next time, look twice before you call the authorities

2012-01-22T08:00:00.000-06:00

One morning this week, my sister Laine was running around like crazy, trying to run errands and get to work on time. As she was driving through a parking lot, she noticed a little dog sitting in a dilapidated station wagon. The vehicle appeared to have been abandoned and, as she drove away, she started to worry about the dog trapped in the car.

No, it wasn't 100 degrees out or anything (it's January, after all), but still - the windows were all closed and the car looked like it had been parked there for quite some time. The way the little dog peered out the window was absolutely heartbreaking, as if to say: "Someone, please! Let me out!"

Finally Laine decided to call animal control, just to see if they'd check on the dog. The operator asked if she'd like a call back afterwards. She thought the offer was a little odd and replied: "Um, that's ok. I trust you guys know what you're doing."

The operator laughed and said that some people just liked to know the animal was ok. Laine shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"

A while later, her phone rang. "Where did you say this dog was located?" the operator asked.

"In the Hastings parking lot, away from the building, in an old beat-up station wagon."

"What kind of dog was it?" The operator's tone was a little... odd.

"I'm no expert on breeds, but maybe a Yorkshire terrier?" my sister replied, trying to be as helpful as possible. "If it's not there anymore, maybe the owner came back to the car and they left."

That wasn't the case. The station wagon was still there, along with its distressed occupant. But my sister soon discovered that the dog was in no actual danger.

The operator patiently told her that the abandoned dog was actually a stuffed animal. You know, the kind with the suction-cup feet? Like a "Baby on Board" sign... but a stuffed dog.

I could understand being worried if she'd seen THIS. ↑

But I'm afraid what she saw was closer to this... ↑

She blames it on a lack of morning coffee. I'm thinking it has something more to do with a lack of glasses.

weekly wtf - secret swingers

2012-01-21T08:00:00.000-06:00

Will and I are friends with a very eclectic, free-thinking couple. He's a musician, she's a lovely Turkish wordsmith. They're kind of hippies, I guess (not in the patchouli, white-person-wearing-dreads sort of way, but in an generally unf*ckwitted, open-minded sort of way).

They have a wide assortment of interesting friends, but at their parties Will and I tend to be the "beige" ones. You know, the boring, pseudo-conventional couple in khaki pants. At least, that's how I feel around so many colorful characters.

Apparently, our very beige-ness leads some to believe we have a dark side...

One night before Christmas, Will and I were downtown. After a nice dinner, Will suggested we stop by to see the free-thinking marital duo, since they live a couple blocks away. I agreed, although I have some serious misgivings with the whole spontaneous drop-by thing. I don't particularly like it when people just show up on my doorstep without calling first, but that's partly because I have a tendency to streak when home alone.

"What if B.'s naked? Or worse???" I asked. Will assured me it would be fine.

So we stopped by. B., the husband of the free-thinking marital duo, was working on a recording project with his drummer friend, J. They were pretty deep in the middle of their jam session and, while they were more than polite, it was clear they were in a groove and wanted to get back to work before the aforementioned groove was lost!

So Will and I said our farewells and left, I feeling particularly justified in my "never drop by unannounced" rule.

A few weeks later, Will and I were hanging out with the free-thinking marital duo. B. mentioned his drummer friend J. and the night we dropped by (from this point on, the drummer friend will be called "Fearful J."). Apparently Fearful J. has always been uncomfortable with Will. I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with the fact that Will's a big guy - 6 foot tall and built like a linebacker. Will has a pretty strong personality, which more timid folks tend to resent (I mean, seriously - let them get a word in edgewise!). Fearful J. is pretty quiet, so maybe he finds Will's personality off-putting. It happens.

Anyway, after we'd interrupted their pre-Christmas jam session, Fearful J. watched the door close behind us. "Mark my words," he said to B. "Those two are definitely swingers, no doubt about it."

WTF??? Swingers? We're newlyweds, Fearful J.! We haven't even tired of each other yet.

Maybe THIS kind of swinger... you know, the uber nerdy kind.

B. thought that was pretty funny, knowing Will, but was surprised when Fearful J. continued: "And that Will guy? He's totally into neon colored body paint."

Will DID really like Avatar...

Neon body paint? That sounds messy. But... it's not a bad suggestion. We'll store that one away in the boudoir's Rolodex.

It just goes to show that you never know how you come off to some people. I assumed Fearful J. thought we were kind of boring, but apparently he has a very rich inner life fueled by an overloaded imagination and recreational drug use.

In fact, I was rather flattered he took the time to imagine strange things about us at all. Swingers, us? Aw, shucks!

Fearful J.'s comments got us thinking about our slutty pasts, so Will and I started telling the free-thinking marital duo some of our best stories from being single. We probably told them too much.

The free-thinking marital duo probably thinks we are swingers now. Whoops.

jewels of the interweb (volume 9) - Harry Potter edition

2012-01-20T08:00:00.000-06:00

This kind of makes me feel dirty... aren't they all still 10 years old???

"And if you don't learn your lesson, you'll be watching the movies next."

Seriously, wtf happened to his nose? Why did his ears grow back but not his nose???

honeymooned, part 4

2012-01-17T08:00:00.000-06:00

When we were packing for the trip, I decided to leave my laptop at home. I was perfectly happy to live without the internets for a week or two. My new husband, on the other hand, is a techno geek and couldn't deal with the subpar free wi-fi in Paris. This led us to the Great Search for the Perfect Wireless Card. I swear, we wandered ALL OVER. Twice. He finally found what he wanted, but it was an all-morning ordeal and earned me the right to drink at lunch that day.

View of Paris from the steps of Sacre Coeur.

Montmartre was a short walk from our apartment. Did I mention it was up the only hill in Paris? We had crepes for lunch at Cafe Au Petit Creux and then took in the view at the top of the hill next to Sacre Coeur. It's the second best view in Paris! You don't really realize how flat the city is until you see it from above. After taking the obligatory photos, we wandered downhill past the cafe where Amelie was filmed, by the Moulin Rouge, and stopped at the Museum of Erotica.

The musée de l'érotisme is basically FIVE STORIES of historic porn. That's a lot of porn, folks! It was interesting at first, but then I just got over-porned. I walked out of the museum with an overwhelming gratitude for the modern institution of the bikini wax.

Lesson learned: people have always been perverts.

After the Museum of Erotica, we went to the Notre Dame cathedral. It's a logical step (from porn to confession), right?

All I have to say about Notre Dame is: SANCTUARY!!! I read the Victor Hugo novel a couple years ago but never allowed myself to look at a photo of the cathedral. I wanted it to be a surprise when I actually saw it in person! It was an incredible structure, but nothing like I'd imagined.

I don't remember what I was expecting, but it was nowhere near as impressive as this bad boy.

We showed up just in time to sit in on some sort of Mass (?).

It was a beautiful, balmy night. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was all a-sparkle; they were doing some sort of light show that night. We had plans to go to a different light show, "Noel en Pixels." It was billed as being an artist's debut of a digital 3-D snowfall. It turned out to be the most boring 2-D display I've ever seen. It was basically just some digital snowflakes floating and rotating, projected onto a shopping center's wall. Super lame!

So... we ditched out and went to dinner.

Dinner ended up being somewhat hilarious (albeit disturbing). Will speaks fluent French, but a lot of menu items were still mysteries to him. That night, he was feeling adventurous and randomly ordered the Andouillette de Troyes (it sounds pretty, right?).

Does this look appetizing to YOU?

Our waiter brought the food out and set it before us. Will's dish basically looked like a sausage, so he started eating. After a few moments, I noticed he was picking at his plate.

He looked up at me. "Do you want a bite?"

He had a weird expression on his face, but I'm pretty dense so I said, "Sure!" He loaded the world's smallest portion onto his fork and passed it over. I looked at the tiny portion and thought: "Thanks a lot, stingy!"

Then I took a bite and understood why. He hadn't been stingy; he'd been trying to spare me - because this "sausage" tasted like ass.

Now, before you ask how I know what ass tastes like, I'd just like to say: "None of your beeswax."

Focus! : the most important detail here is that this was a pig's colon (or intestine, or whatever), which was stuffed with the "edible offal from the stomachs of various farm animals."

Edible offal??? WTF????

Will spread the poo sausage around on his plate like a little kid pretending to eat vegetables, and assured the waiter that everything was delicious. Eventually we gave up all pretense and ran away to Cafe Boheme for cheese, wine, and crepes (the good witch of French cuisine).

Afterwards, whenever we told a French person about the experience, we'd only have to say "andouillette de Troyes" and they'd shudder, saying only: "Tres bizarre!" I got the impression it isn't the most popular menu item...

Ahhh! I just noticed this on the Wikipedia entry: "The French parliamentarian Edouard Herriot once said; "Politics is like an andouillette – it should smell a little like shit, but not too much."

See? I'm not exaggerating here.

I ingested some weird things in Russia (fish head soup; a gelatinous concoction of meat and fur; homemade "whisky"*), but this was a bit much.

Lesson learned? If you don't know what it is, ASK. Otherwise you may end up with a mouth full of ass.

*homemade Russian whisky = medicinal spirits, lemon, sugar, and Nestea. It will DECIMATE you.

telephone - not just a lady gaga song

2012-01-15T09:49:00.002-06:00

Remember when cell phones looked like this?

1996 - When I was 16, I was pretty impressed when my friend's parents got her a bag phone. A mobile phone! Amazing!!! What will they think of next?

Of course, she never actually got to use it since the rates per minute cost more than a gallon of gas at the time. It was strictly For Emergencies Only. Kind of like the red phone in the White House, but on a smaller scale.

1999 - When I was a freshman at college, my roommate had a mobile phone. It was much smaller than my high school friend's phone, and had no bag-like accessory. It was still strictly For Emergencies Only. I was only slightly jealous of her, because I just saw no use for it at time.

As we all know, cell phones caught on fast. It wasn't until I saw my friend's grandma using one that I realized how technologically backward I'd become.

2003 - We got a family plan! My sister and I were giddy, messing with the settings and ringers and doo-dads of our totally awesome new flip phones. We referred to them as our "cellular telephones" in nerd voices with the kind of self-deprecation that can only come from the knowledge that you're arriving late on the end of a trend.

2005 - In Moscow, buying a cell phone was my first big "I'm-living-abroad" triumph. It was an ordeal in and of itself: my Russian was awful and my finances were limited. We ended up at this place called Gorbushka, which is a bajillion football fields' worth of retail space crammed tight with stalls selling anything and everything. It's so over-stimulating that it wouldn't surprise me if Gorbushka caused seizures in some people.

Anyway, I finally found a place that would sell me a decent phone for a decent price, and a SIM card as well. I was in business! I could run out and load money onto the SIM card at what looked like an ATM machine, and I'd have a link to my loved ones at home! Once I had that phone, I felt I could finally relax and breathe in my new surroundings.

Years later, my husband would break my Russian phone while using it in Africa. We definitely got our money's worth out of it!

2010 - A wire-haired dachshund named Jack kicked my phone into a mug of coffee, which I thought was bad at the time (although I was impressed with his aim). But then my phone fell into something much worse...

2011 - One night, I went into the bathroom before bed and set my phone on the toilet tank. The phone slid off the tank faster than my (not very) ninja-like reflexes could respond, landing in the open bowl. I darted my hand into the toilet bowl with the instinctual impulse to JUST GET THE PHONE OUT OF THE WATER AND MAYBE YOU WON'T HAVE TO BUY ANOTHER ONE.

Unfortunately, my brother had taken a crap earlier but forgotten to flush (awesome!). I don't think I even registered this until it was too late, so intense was my fight-or-flight response.

I've gotten my phone wet before and the bag of rice trick has never worked. I tried it again, actually hoping that it wouldn't work this time. After all, the phone would forever be tainted by its brief contact with my brother's fecal matter.

And of course, the bag of rice trick actually worked this time. My phone was saved (yay?). I disinfected it as well as I could; and yes, I did feel the normal amount of revulsion to it - but I'm cheap, and I didn't want to buy another phone, so I made do.

2012 - I'm still behind the times. I have no fancy smart phone; it's hard enough for me to take care of my not-smart phone. And now, after all we've been through, I can't just ditch my poo-phone for a smart phone! It would seem disloyal.

Maybe I'm too nostalgic... I bought a vintage rotary wall phone for my kitchen, partly to cover up the ugly old phone jack in the wall - but mainly so I can remind myself how to dial from time to time. Who knows what old school skills one might need in the zombie apocalypse? It's best to be prepared.*

*Which is why I'm building a bomb shelter in my backyard. But I swear I'm the normal amount of cautious. Really!

jewels of the interweb (volume 8)

2012-01-13T08:00:00.000-06:00

Because... it's detachable. Get it?

A little nerdy music humor for those band geeks out there.

.... No comment.

honeymooned, part 3

2012-01-12T08:00:00.000-06:00

When we arrived in our little Parisian flat, we discovered that the landlord had left us fresh croissants, fruit, and jam! I'm madly in love with croissants now... I want to learn how to make them, but fluffy/flaky/amazeball pastries are f*cking complicated so it may be awhile.

After unpacking the first day, we showered and took a nap - which was a terrible idea. Dealing with jet-lag is very simple: stay awake as long as possible (until at least 10pm) on the day of your arrival. You might wake up early the next morning, but it will still help your body sync with your new time zone. We screwed up and took a nap. Whatever, we were tired!

By about 6pm, we were pretty hungry. We went to a restaurant nearby, Cafe Boheme, where the bartender was super nice even though we wanted to eat dinner way earlier than Parisians. Early bird special, anyone? First dinner observations: 1) Cheap French wine is WAY better than cheap American wine, and 2) they eat cheese for dessert! Brilliant.

After dinner, we headed north on the metro to this hipster-type art gallery where a Tuareg guitarist, Bombino, was playing a concert. They call him the African Jimi Hendrix, and I have to admit he was pretty amazing. But I actually preferred the music of the opening band, Tamikrest.

The whole event was utterly surreal. It was in a small auditorium, painted all in black, with smoke machines. Saharan fans were dancing around in their turbans, right alongside hipster Europeans, right alongside us, the jet-lagged Americans. It was almost trance-inducing.

The next day, we accidentally slept till noon - but who cares? We were on vacation, damn it! In the afternoon, we went on a river tour of the Seine armed with mini-bottles of wine. Our first view of the Eiffel Tower was somewhat obstructed, but kind of awesome. The top was shrouded in fog, growing more visible as we approached.

This photo looks totally photoshopped because of the flash, but I swear it's real. If we were going to fake it, wouldn't we have worked in a sunny day?

Will's favorite part of the day was when we almost got "gypsied." We were walking along the river when some random dude came up to us. He pointed at a ring on the ground near Will's feet and picked it up, asking (in French): "Is this yours?"

Will responded quickly that no, it was not. We attempted to move on, but Monsieur Gypsy was persistent. He showed us how the ring didn't fit on his fingers, shrugging: "It doesn't fit me, so you should have it!" He seemed determined to give it to us, so finally Will took it.

Then Monsieur Gypsy was all, "Hey, you know, I just gave you this awesome ring - you should give me some money" at which point I was like, "Will, give the ring back and let's go. It's gonna turn your finger green anyway."

Will attempted to give it back, but Monsieur Gypsy refused. I hissed at Will: "Just drop it!!!"

Will is a much more experienced world traveler than I, but he's unversed in "gypsy." I, on the other hand, have spent some time in Eastern Europe and am familiar with how they operate (to date, I've never been successfully robbed, but was once spat on by one when I told her to f*ck off after finding her digging around in my purse). Will was befuddled, but finally dropped the ring after I shook him hard enough. Then he proceeded to crow with elation: "We almost just got gypsied, baby!"

I shook my head and told him to make sure his wallet was still there.

Next we went to the Latin Quarter. Although somewhat touristy, I freaking loved it. There were tons of restaurants, lots of shopping, and MORE WINE! We had dinner on the patio (under a heater) at a fondue restaurant, where I ate duck for the first time (note: does not taste like chicken). I might have drank too much wine and decided to spend too much money on a hat and necklace, both of which are flipping awesome... and we fell asleep on each other in the subway on the way home.

St. Michel was blurry because it was AWESOME and not just because I was inebriated.

this just made me blow coffee out of my nose.... it burns!

2012-01-10T07:30:00.000-06:00

Apparently the below videos are a parody of the first, and are even more hilarious...

If I have ever said any of these things to you, I'd like to apologize. I was probably drunk.

NOTE: These are parodies. No need to get your panties in a bundle!

my first "boyfriend"

2012-01-08T14:13:00.002-06:00

When I was 10 years old, I had a crush on a boy at church. Actually, I had a crush on two boys at church. Their names were Robbie and Jake; and, to be quite honest, I preferred Robbie until he got a buzz cut (oh, fickle heart!).*

One day, at Wednesday night church, Jake handed me a Lifesaver candy and asked me to be his girlfriend. I looked down at the cherry Lifesaver in my hand (the first ring a guy had ever given me - it was beautiful! And my favorite flavor, too!) and said awkwardly: "Ok!" I was thrilled; this was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me...

That was pretty much it. I mean, we were 10, after all! He went back to his friends, I went back to mine. I felt really grown up after that. I had a boyfriend, people! I was totally a woman now.

As my parents drove us home, I sat in the backseat and gazed dreamily out the window. This song was playing on the radio:

I remember really connecting to the song at the time (I was such a teeny-tiny nerd!). Jake and I were totally going to give them something to talk about! I didn't really know what that entailed, but it was exciting.

Then, when we got home, my little sister tattled on me and told my parents Jake was my boyfriend and he'd given me a Lifesaver ring (I'd already eaten the evidence, though). My parents told me that I'd have to break up with Jake at church on Sunday, because I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend until I was 16.

I was crushed. After a mere 3 days of "dating," I approached Jake at church that Sunday. With eyes downcast, full of dread, I said: "Jake, I have to break up with you. My parents say I can't date until I'm 16."

Jake replied: "Ok" and wandered off to hang out with his buddies, seemingly unaffected by my announcement. I knew, however, that he had to have been crushed. Duh.

Anyway, I can never hear that Bonnie Raitt song without thinking of my very first, ill-fated relationship. Let's give 'em something to talk about, indeed.

*I have NEVER liked buzz cuts on males. Not even as a child. We'll just call it a genetic predisposition.

jewels of the interweb (volume 7)

2012-01-06T08:00:00.000-06:00

Me and the hubby on a typical Monday evening.

Or else.

Death to the electronic readers!!!! Or celibacy to them, at the very least.

honeymooned, part 2

2012-01-05T08:00:00.000-06:00

Charles de Gaulle airport is fugly, there's no doubt about it. You'd think France would have a charming airport, but nooooooo.... Paris was cold and gray as we boarded our train into the city. We spouse-ishly bickered over the map and got lost in the subway. But then Will carried my suitcase for me all through the metro and up to our flat! Chivalry is alive and well, ladies.

Our station is near the top of the map.

We were staying just outside of Montmartre, in a teeny tiny flat we found on Airbnb. It was only 63 dollars a night (not Euros, people! that is cheap!). We knew there would be some discomforts for such a bargain price, but we didn't care - it was affordable, and in the heart of Paris!

Note: the site said the apartment was on the 6th floor. That's actually the 7th floor - the French don't count the ground floor. I was totally willing to stay in a 6-story walk-up; I don't know why, but the addition of an extra floor was daunting! 7 stories? I need an elevator now! Oh well. I'd need to work off all this wine and cheese anyway...

Our hood.


View from the top of 7 flights of stairs. It's out of focus because I'm out of breath.


It was like our own little aerie amongst the rooftops!

The futon was surprisingly comfortable...

It's just so ... French!


This is where I watched "Le Simpsons" on tv.

Don't overlook the cupboard under the window - it's full of kitchen gear, including the bottle opener!

Coup de grâce: the bathroom. Where you can sit on the crapper while taking a shower! Genius.