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Boyfriend of the Week: Charlie Day

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 11:25:00 +0000

A month or so ago, I had a couple episodes of SNL sitting around that I hadn't watched yet. One of them was hosted by this guy I'd never heard of before, so I saved that one for the very last because I felt a bit "meh..." about it. After all, if I'd never heard of the guy, how funny could he be? Sounded to me like SNL just couldn't find someone cool enough to host that week so they found this semi-famous loser to host instead. I even contemplated not watching it at all--I was so unenthusiastic about seeing it.

But I did watch it.
And I am very happy I did.

This was the November 5th episode with Charlie Day as host and Maroon 5 as musical guest. Obviously, this means that despite the many, many people who have recommended I watch It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, I have never, ever seen a single episode. Fail.

Maybe it the fact that I had incredibly low expectations, but I was stunned at how well Charlie did on SNL. I'd have to put his hosting skills on par with the likes of other hosts I've enjoyed over the past few years, such as Jimmy Fallon, Jason Segel, Paul Rudd, and Justin Timberlake. And that's saying something.
Still, I didn't feel much compelled to watch It's Always Sunny. I had too many other shows I was involved in, I didn't need one more. So, I marked myself as impressed by Charlie Day, and left it at that. No obsessing. No researching. No further interest.

Then, this past week I saw Horrible Bosses. Honestly, I had no idea Charlie Day was in it. I just love, love, loooove Jason Bateman, which you all well know. But I was pleasantly surprised to find Charlie was in it too, and he was great in it. He kind of stole the show for me. And that's when I started feeling the twinge of attraction. Suddenly, I didn't care that he was a little on the short side, or that his voice can hinge on the obnoxious. I started thinking: "Hm, he's kind of cute...like, in a real guy kind of way."

So, yesterday, after years of hearing about how I should watch it, I started getting in to It's Always Sunny.

And I was done--officially lost.
Normally, I think I would be more into the guy guy who plays Dennis, but already being a tad biased toward Charlie, I completely focused on him. I like his facial expressions, and his eyes, and that hair...and his voice has grown on me a bit.
Sadly, he is married, and they just had a baby.
*sigh* All the good ones are taken.

But let this be a lesson to all those mildly attractive guys out there: if you can be naturally and confidently funny--you can have just about any girl you want.

Paris: Part 4

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 20:13:00 +0000

On my fourth day in Paris, I headed up to the Basilica of St. Denis, where a whoooole bunch of the French monarchy are buried, including Marie Antoinette herself. While it wasn't much to look at on the outside, the inside was a whole different matter:

Afterwards, I took a long metro ride down to the infamous Catacombs, ready to see some creepy stuff, and creepy stuff I did find.

For those of you who don't know about the Catacombs, let me educate you. There was once a time when burying people in the city of Paris was allowed, and then, after a while, the cemeteries became overrun. People were being throw into mass graves, that were only closed when they were full. That means open pits of dead bodies in the middle of the city. One of the most sought after cemeteries, Saint Innocents, the ground was completely filled beyond capacity. Not only did it stink up the place pretty bad, but all the lime used on the bodies and decaying organic matter was seeping into Paris' underground wells, where almost the entire city got its water from--hence, people were getting sick. Not good.
Therefore, sometime in the late 1700s, it was decided to shut down all cemeteries within city limits and transfer all the bodies and bones to Paris' system of underground mines. For a long time the bones just kind of sat around in piles, then, later put into the formations of skulls and femurs you see today and opened to the public.
When I was in Rome I went to the Capuchin Crypt where all these Capuchin monks were buried. In the Crypt they have all the bones laid out in intricate patterns. Some of the skeletons are even dressed up. In the very last room they have a plaque, which states: "What you are now, we used to be. What we are now, you will be." Quite jarring. You've just seen all these dead bodies and then you're confronted with a quote like that. No pictures were allowed, but as soon as I got out I wrote it down because it knocked the wind out of me. So as I made my way through the Catacombs of Paris, I couldn't help but recall it. Each one of those skulls was once a person, like you and me. If that's not a slap of mortality, I don't know what is.
But it wasn't all doom and gloom. I admit, I liked it, because I'm a nerd for the morbid.

Then I decided to quit the morbid stuff, and walked on over to Saint Sulpice.

When I got back to my hostel I met one of my new roommates and after the formalities of saying hello and where are you from blah blah blah, I asked her what she was doing in Europe and this is how the conversation went...
Canadian Girl: I've been doing a study abroad program in Germany with a bunch of Kentuckians.
Me: *blinks* Haha. That's funny. When I was in Rome a few weeks ago I met a bunch of girls from Kentucky who were studying abroad in Germany.
Canadian: Really? A lot of people from my program went to Italy recently. What were their names?
Me: *lists some names*
Canadian: *agape* I know those people!
Me: Holy shit.
Canadian: Small world.
And then I made her go to the Christmas Market with me, to eat crepes and sausages and hot wine.

Paris: Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:07:00 +0000

Sorry I'm being so slow with these Paris posts, but as I said before: I'm busy. Graduate school application crap. Writing. Work. Planning trips (my next one is to Pisa/Florence mid-February). The only thing I'm finished is editing Tristina's manuscript. Go me!

Anyway, my third day in Paris I went outside the city to Versailles. It was really effing cold that day, and the place was PACKED with tourists. It was interesting to see all of that stuff, but the tourists...well, they ruin everything. It's like: "Get out of my way! Stop milling around like idiots." Then you realize you're also a tourist, and it makes you hate the whole situation even more, because no one really enjoys being an idiot tourist--especially if you've lived in Hawaii and New York City...
However, I had to go to Versailles and risk being touristic, because I've always been fanatically interested in the French Revolution. So, I bit back my pride and went for it.
It was interesting...ish.

The front of the Palace

Hall of Mirrors. Packed.

Me. In the mirrors. Oo la la. Note, sexy leather jacket and hiking boots. I look like i just stepped off a motorcycle.

I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, BUT I kept running into this cute French guy. Every time we caught sight of each other in a new room it was all ogling and secret smiles. Then I lost him in the Napoleon room, and I figured I wouldn't see him again. But after I'd seen it all, just before I left the main palace, I decided to hit up this side exhibition--where they decorated a few rooms in very modern styles, mixed with old paintings and whatnot, BAM there he was again, and I almost had a giggle fit because it was kind of hilarious.

The cute French guy is the one on the very right hand corner.

The rest of the time I spent outside, half freezing to death, staring at the lifeless gardens. Okay, they had some life, but I bet they're a lot prettier, and about a thousand times less depressing, in the spring.

That night I decided to hit up the Eiffel Tower, because I figured I would just go all out touristy that day.

When I got off the metro, and turned the corner, this was the sight I was graced with: a glittering tower. It glitters every hour at night. So perdy.

After waiting just about an hour, I finally got to the elevators that bring you to the very tippy top of the tower, and then it took another fifteen minutes, but I got to the top, eventually--only to be graced with bitter, sharp wind. So cold and harsh.
What a view though.

The Seine. The Champs-Elysee. Louvre. Etc...etc...

Moi. At the top. BRRRRRR. Note, headphones. Always with the headphones. They are my companion when I'm alone.

After I came down, I walked a bit to a get a good snap shot of just the tower. Tragically, both my cameras hate shooting at night so the best I've got is this:

No picture can capture the actual feeling of standing in the presence of this thing. Seriously. It's aggravating.

Afterwards, I walked to the Christmas Market again, for German sausages, hot wine, and crepes--all for under 15 euros total. A perfect dinner.

Paris: Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 20:43:00 +0000

My second day in Paris, I spent almost entirely at the Louvre, and why not? Really? I mean, the place is MASSIVE. Did I expect to see everything? Hell no. But I had to see everything I should see--everything I would be sorry about not seeing later.

When I first laid eyes on the famous Pyramids, I was quite overcome--much more than I expected. There wasn't a lot of people there. It was sort of quiet, besides the traffic. And I suddenly felt very excited and happy when I saw that giant glass pyramid. It definitely a "holy shit, this is really happening" moment. The day before I saw sort of soaking it all in, in a daze, but that day--it felt real. It was the same moment I had at Shelley's grave in Rome. It was great.

Then I went inside, and there were a lot of people in there and the moment was over. But I'm not complaining. I spent most of my time with the statues. For some reason, those are always my favorite, especially when they are depicting the Greek myths.

Athena

Cupid and Psyche

Hermes

The famous Venus de Milo

Apollo

Artemis

Victory

Then, of course, I had to see the Egyptian stuff, which was awesome. Mummies. Sculptures. Hieroglyphics. I was in Archaeological nerd heaven.

Look at the colors! So much more vivid than I expected.

The green people are dead. How appropriate! Haha.

Oh and you cannot visit the Louvre without seeing its most famous resident...as about two hundred other people also had to do at the same time as me.

The Mona Lisa! It was small, but not as small as I expected.

I saw some other paintings, but if I keep going like this you, well be here for days. So here's my last one:

Romeo and Juliet

Then I left the Louvre and walked through the Tuileries Gardens, which weren't so impressive because it was November and all. No flowers or leaves. Not much of garden. However, I did stop tp sit down and these little fellows sat across from me.

My dad dubbed them Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and the really brave one on the table is d'Artagnan.

My first view of the Eiffel Tower, through the fog.

Finally, I ended the day with a walk along the Champs-Elysee, where I stumbled upon a Christmas Market! The first stall I came across was a place, selling €3 Nutella crepes. It was warm, chocolaty goodness. Mm, mm, mmm. I ended up coming to this Christmas market just about every day I was in Paris, to eat crepes and German sausages (no jokes please *glares*), and drink hot wine. So freaking tasty, and cheap.

Of course, the Champs-Elysee ends with the Arc de Triomphe!

Day Two in Paris: tout fini!

Paris: Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 14:55:00 +0000

When I first got to Paris I went to my hostel to check in. I was a little wary of the place because it didn't have the best reviews, but as soon as I walked in I knew it couldn't be so bad.

They told me they were switching me to a six person room, despite the fact that I booked myself in a ten person. Nice. Then I left my luggage and went out again, ready to explore.

I was staying in the Montmarte area, so I decided that the best thing to do was to head straight for the Sacre Coeur, which is a Basilica that sits high up on a hill (and you can see it from the clock at the Musee d'Orsay. It was Sunday, so I knew I was in for some problems. I got hounded for money by gypsies on the steps up to the basilica--they pretended they were deaf and mute. I was like...uhm...get out of my way, but they wouldn't leave me alone until I gave them a few euros. Bastards. And I thought NYC beggars were bad...

But it was all worth it when I actually got into the church. Since it was Sunday, there was a service going on, and the choir was singing and it was just...amazing. I don't think I've ever been in a Catholic church of that size and magnificence on a Sunday, ever. It was quite a thing to take in.

Then I made my way to Notre Dame.

I grew up with that terrible Disney movie about the Hunchback, so I've been waiting to see the real thing for a loooong time. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to articulate how it felt--how it almost always feels when I finally have places like this within my sight. It's a mixture of awe and disappointment. The disappointment part comes from the hundreds of tourists who are having the same moment as you, making it seem less than special. The awe is a given. I mean, all the history, the people who have walked through those doors and marveled...it's impossible to find the words.

Going inside was a different experience altogether. Like the Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame is a fully functioning church, so it too was holding mass. There is nothing quite like seeing these places as their meant to be seen, alive, filled with a congregation. Not to forget the fact that it's simply beautiful inside.

When I was done there, I was exhausted. So I thought I would go back to the hostel to take a nap.
I arrived at the same time as three other people who I would be rooming with: three African guys. As a woman, I am allowed to be initially frightened by this situation. I AM ALLOWED. Especially given the little I know about Africa--one of those things being the fact that HALF, 50%, one in two women in South Africa will be raped in her lifetime...so, yeah, I'm allowed.
BUT they were dressed very nicely, so I tried to tell myself it will be fine.
I talked to them a little, they seemed alright, one was a bit too forward and asked too many questions, but other than that--fine. And they left.
Then I took a nap.
When I woke up, the chatty one was in his bed, they'd had a long journey, okay.

However, he started talking to me, and he wouldn't really let me get out of the conversation...for ONE HOUR. We talked ourselves into circles. He kept talking about how I should visit Africa. Why hadn't I been to Africa? He would gladly arrange a whole trip for me, and pay for it.
Uhm...
And there I was, still sitting in bed, giggling awkwardly, and fake smile plastered on my face.
He asked me if I believed in God, was I a Christian? And I said, "I don't know about God, but I've definitely not a Christian." He promptly told me I should convert. I just blinked.
He asked if I was married, and I SHOULD have said yes, just to get him to stop, but I'm a terrible liar. Then he told me how he felt like it was God's will for us to meet, and I should come to Africa.
Uhm...
Luckily I was meeting a friend in the lobby of the hostel, so I finally had an excuse to get out of that room. I sat there for a long time, waiting. Meanwhile, the guy left. I thought about asking the guy at the front desk if I could switch rooms tomorrow, because I found out that the African guys were staying as long as I was and I knew I just couldn't deal with five more days of that.
And out of no where, the guy from the front desk walks up to where I'm sitting and asks me if I wanted to move to an all-female room.
"YES!"
So, I moved to a four person, all girl room at that very moment, and I was SO GLAD. I even told the guy at the front desk, "Thank you SO MUCH." Being in that room made my whole trip about a hundred times more awesome than it would have been. I'll explain why later.

Anyway, I went out for dinner with my friend, drank a lot of wine, and we exchanged stories about being nannies. It was a nice and interesting first day in Paris.

This Post Is Not About Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 22:45:00 +0000

Remember that time when I went to Paris and wrote all about it in my blog?!

Oh yeah. Wait. That never happened.

Well, I went to Paris; however, I have neglected to write anything about it. Sorry.

But I have a good excuse! Kinda...not really...

I was busy not studying for the GRE, which I was supposed to take on the sixth, but it turns out the sixth is Santa Claus No One Works Day here in Luxembourg. So I got a call the night before--no test. Why they let me get an appointment for that day? I have no idea. Then I was supposed to take it on the eighth. And I get ANOTHER call, the night before, saying that my testing location is experiencing power outages--so no test. I thought to myself, "Wow, the Universe REALLY wants me to study for this!" And then promptly didn't study at all.
Because I'm WRITING STUFF.
Actually, I'm more like researching and planning out how I will WRITE THE STUFF.

Also, I developed a strange quark where I feel the need to suddenly start yelling words that make me excited. Must be all this time I spend with kids all day--everyday. Fun fact: kids are incapable of conversing at normal noise levels, and no matter how many times you tell them "inside voice please" or remind them that you are right next to them and they don't need to shout, they still talk unbelievably loud. *eye twitch*

Anyway, yes, I am in the process of writing something, and by something I mean a novel, which will probably have a few follow up novels and a prequel here and there. I guess I'm talking about a non-linear series of some kind. I've spent hours upon hours trying to figure this thing out. Naming characters the perfect names. Coming up with backstory. Blah. Blah. Blah. There are still huge gaping plot holes I need to knit together in my head before I can move forward with some serious writing.

Besides my own writing, I am also working on editing someone else's.
Two months ago (as of tomorrow), Tristina (from Mr and Mrs Wright) posted about the book(s) she's writing and sort of asked for volunteers to read/edit for her. Lots of people commented on it, but no one else offered to volunteer. I was surprised. I love editing. My creative writing classes were my favorite partially because I got to edit stuff (but mostly because I like writing, of course). So I was like, "I will gladly do this!"
And then I heard nothing about it for a long time...like a month, but I knew she'd have to say something about it eventually, even if it was only to ask me if I was serious about my offer (which I totally was). Then one day I got a long email from her, and it was pretty much the most awesome email I've ever received. But to summarize, she was like, "Do you really want to do this? Let's be writing friends!" Except she was a bit more professional...I think.
And I was like, "HELL YES! Let's do this!"
Now we share oddly cryptic tweets over Twitter about things almost no one else understands, and I get to wake up every morning excited that there might be words to gobble up with my eyes for my brain to digest. Then I write really long emails that involve a lot of English-major-ish type vocabulary and ideas about said words. It's exciting.
Honestly, it's the most fun I've ever had doing something that some people might consider work, and I'm doing it for free! I could do this for the rest of my life and be totally content. If I could get paid to do it...well, that would be amazing.

So, that's the story of why I've been neglecting to write about Paris.

Tragically, I'll be headed to Switzerland, AGAIN, for two weeks. You know the drill. No internet there, therefore no pretty words about Paris from me until I get back. Sorry lovelies. But here's a picture to get you through the next few days:

24th Birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 15:23:00 +0000

Well, I know it's been a while, but the 22nd of November was my 24th birthday, and while it wasn't exceptional or anything I feel like sharing.

I woke up to find €20 sitting outside my door with a note from Frau S (the woman I work for), telling me to buy whatever I want at the bakery for a special birthday breakfast. Breakfast is my job in the morning. I usually go to the bakery across the street for bread every morning and every morning I stare longingly at my favorite pastries wishing I had slipped a couple euros in my pocket to buy one (but I never do, because I have will power!). But that morning I could go all out. So I did.
:-D
Two of the boys even went with me and picked out their favorites. They were being so adorable that morning.

When I went downstairs I was greeted with this sight at my spot at the table.

In the afternoon I had planned on rotting my brain at the movie theater to see the newest Twilight installment, but Frau S suggested we go visit the Christmas market in Trier (Germany) which had just opened the day before. Apparently, Germany is quite well known for their Christmas markets.
So I had my first German Christmas market experience that day. We ate giant gingerbread cookies and German sausages (no jokes please).

Overall, it was a pretty great day.

Then a couple days later, after getting some terrible flu that seems to only attack Americans, I made Thanksgiving for the family and some of our friends came over and I had about 12 people singing happy birthday to me, which felt kind of epic for some reason.

But let me just say, it had more of a birthday month, and it was amazing. I went to Rome AND Paris all in the month of November. Best birthday month ever? Yes. I think so. I doubt I will ever be able to top it.

Rome: Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 19:51:00 +0000

My last day full day in Rome I spent entirely in a place outside of the city called Ostia Antica. It was once a harbor city, and the main seaport for Ancient Rome. Now it is an abandoned ghost town of excellently preserved ruins, which, due to the silting of the Tiber River, and a drop in sea level lies 3km from the sea.
I have to say this was probably my second most favorite place I visited (first being the Protestant Cemetery): it was out in the open, there weren't any security guards pacing around, and you could touch everything. It was amazing, being able to explore unimpeded like that. I walked up ancient steps and down ancient roads and on ancient tile floors. There wasn't much left off limits, except for places where people might get hurt. I was climbing all over the place. Oh and did I mention? There wasn't a complete mob of people there. So serene. Ah. Lovely.
I just can't describe how much fun I had being in this place. When I was younger I wanted to be an archeologist, and that day I got to live out all my nerdiest little anthropological dreams. Even as a writer, I was in heaven--the inspiration I got out of that day had been endless. Not even the rain could ruin it. I found a nice little dry place and wrote for two hours. I could not have imagined a more perfect day.

Part of the "Necropolis" aka City of the Dead. No dead were allowed to be buried within the walls of Rome, which is why there are so many catacombs and necropolises as you head out of the city. On the right are two spots where ashes would have been interred.

My feet on the mosaic floor.

Temple of Ceres

The Theater

Kitty in the theater!

Another mosaic floor.

The Capitol Building.

Public toilets. For reals. Ancient public toilets.

This is where I sat for two hours, writing, while it poured outside.

In the museum. These are the strangest eyes I have ever seen on an ancient sculpture. HA!

I was very sorry to have to go, but the whistles started blowing (meaning the place was shutting down). It was getting dark and cold, and there more rain was on its way. So I had to go. If any of you ever get the chance to go to Rome, you have to set aside a day just for exploring Ostia Antica. You have to. I guarantee it will be worth it, €6.50 well spent.

Rome: Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 17:24:00 +0000

I visited two of the catacombs that lie on the outskirts of Rome. Catacombs, for the uninformed, are mostly known for being underground mass burial sights. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, catacombs "originally [referred to] the region of underground tombs between the 2nd and 3rd milestones of the Appian Way [in Rome], where the bodies of apostles Paul and Peter, among others, were said to have been laid." Which is exactly there I was. Teehee.
I had to take a bus to get out there, and it was quite obvious that I wasn’t the only tourist heading to the catacombs on that bus. I thought that maybe these people knew a little more than I did about what stop to get off at because they had guide books and maps and I was just kind of winging it. But that was a bad idea. They all got off on the wrong stop and I with them. It was immediately clear that I was not where I wanted to be. Grrr. Stupid tourist mistake.
Anyway, I knew the catacombs were somewhere along Appian Way, which I was lucky enough to find myself on. I just had to walk southeast (with the help of the compass on the iPhone my dad sent me) until I found what I was looking for.
Unfortunately, I was a lot farther away than I anticipated, and that road is not meant for pedestrians. There is no sidewalk, almost no curb, and it is lined with a wall most of the way. So if some idiot Italian with his little Fiat wasn’t paying attention I could easily be sideswiped or smashed up against that friggen wall. Awesome. But I braved it, and eventually I started seeing signs for the catacombs, which was how I found myself on this deserted road...to take this picture.

Not too long after I took this picture I came up to a small row of trees. They looked planted specifically to surround this…I didn’t know what. An underground tomb? A bomb shelter? I honestly didn’t look hard enough because there was a motorcycle parked in front of it, and the owner of said motorcycle was leaning against the little fence bordering the…whatever it was, staring at me.
I had only seen one other person and one car since I turned onto this strange road ten or fifteen minutes before. So I smiled at him and kept walking at my NYC pace. I didn't really want to stop and chat, although, not gunna lie, he was mighty attractive (and motorcycle?! ahem...). Momma didn't raise no fool.
But then he started talking to me...in Italian, until he realized I was American. Then he attempted English. Attempted.
We talked for about five minutes, I explained what I was doing in Rome, my name, age, that I was headed to the catacombs, and that was about it. His name was Marco, and he was 31. Just thought you'd wanna know. He also told me that he liked me, *giggle.* However, I really had to keep going because the catacombs were closing in an hour and a half and I didn't want to walk all the way out there for nothing.
So, on I went.
About five minutes later I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle from behind me, and I had to smile. I just KNEW it was him, and it was. It totally was.
He stopped, give me his number, and asked me if I liked sex.
I think I blinked at him a few times, like...ah...what? And then I laughed, because that's what I do when things get weird. How does one respond to a question like that?
If you're wondering, no, I did not get on his motorcycle. I had a catacomb to get to--remember.

I have no pictures from San Callisto. Out of observance of the dead, photography was not allowed. So yeah. All I have is that picture up there, and the memories of Marco and the feisty old Irish priest who led the tour.

Saint Sebastian's also didn't allow photography, but they had a church I could take pictures in. So, check it.

Saint Sebastian. He survived several arrow wounds only to be beaten to death. Fun times?

Finally, I had to go find another bus stop. I found this gem by the side of the road. YEAH! Drugs!!

No but seriously. What the frick is a string doing just lying around like that? Not cool...

The rest of the walk to the bus stop was much nicer. I believe these are the ruins of Cecilia Metella's tomb.

Rome: Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 15:39:00 +0000

On my third full day in Rome, I decided to go to the Vatican, hit up the museum and check out St. Peter's. I was wary of long lines (just like at the Colosseum), but it's wasn't nearly as bad as I was told it would be. I got in to both places rather quickly, considering I thought I would be waiting for hours and hours. I think I only waited an hour total.
The first thing I did when I got into the Vatican Museum was go straight for the Sistine Chapel. I was so focused on my mission that I neglected to look at the signs that said you can't take pictures in the Chapel. I had seen other people taking pictures of other things in the museum along the way, so I figured it was all up for photography.
Apparently not.
This was the only picture I had the chance to get before a security started yelling at me in Italian. I think I only got caught because my camera decided to turn the flash on by itself, as if it wanted to tattle on me. *grumbles angrily*

Not the best picture, but what can you do? Still kind of epic.

The Vatican boasts some of the most amazing and historic sculptures I have ever seen, and I used to live in New York City, where I had the MET at my whimsical disposal.

Augustus Caesar

Athena

Apollo, my favorite Greek god.

St. Peter's. Can you see the Pope balcony?

Inside St. Peter's

FLOATING JESUS!

Silly guards in silly uniforms. Teehee.

One of the fountains in St. Peter's Square...or should I say it's more like a circle? Check out all the statues on the roof.

Rome: Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 20:37:00 +0000

My second day in Rome I dedicated to seeing its famous archaeological monuments, and some other stuff I stumbled across along the way.

The Colosseum

What is there to say about the Colosseum? It is magnificent, and just as big as I always imagined. I went there about ten minutes before it opened and there was barely anyone there. I had been prepared for a long line, but there was none. Maybe it was because I chose to go on a Wednesday, which is one of the days the Pope speaks in Vatican City. Who knows. I went by the Colosseum again a few days later and there was a massive line, so...lucky me.
Anyway, I really enjoyed it. The anthropology geek in me was having the time of her life. I could almost hear the crowds of two thousand years ago cheering and screaming.

Palatine Hill

More ruins in the middle of the city. They had a stadium here too. It was like a nice park with paths and whatnot. It used to be the fancy part of town, where all the rich people lived back in Roman times. Supposedly it is where Romulus killed Remus and founded Rome.

Roman Forum

Originally the Roman Forum was an Etruscan burial ground. OoooOooo. But it's more famous for being a covered market place (kind of like a mall), a civic center, and a place of religious worship. You could go there for almost all your needs. It was a hub of public activity. Now it's just a bunch of poorly labeled (in Italian) rubble. Still, I know how to take a nice picture.

A beautiful piece of art I found as I was roaming around.

At Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II

The actual monument isn't even in the picture because all the ones I took were awful since the sun was sitting just behind it. It's a massive marble building. Supposedly the locals hate it. It's beautiful, but I could see why the Italians might not like it.

The ceiling of the Pantheon

The Pantheon wasn't as cool as I wanted it to be. It's been converted into a church. So it's just kind of...meh. But the ceiling was nice. There's a big hole in it!

The ceiling at the Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola

I sort of just stumbled upon this church when I was trying to get to the metro. I walked in and was a bit amazed, which is saying something considering how many churches I've seen since I've been in Europe.

At the Church of Saint Cecilia in Trastevere

My Mom grew up Catholic and for as long as I can remember she's kept a book of saints sitting in the bathroom. Why the bathroom? Don't ask me. But I can guarantee it's sitting there right now. Anyway, I've always known that my birthday is Saint Cecilia's day. It's fascinated me a bit. So I figured I should visit. Her incorruptible body is entombed under the church. The statue in the photo is an artist rendering of how her body was found when her tomb was opened some one thousand plus years after her death.

Isola Tiberina

As I was walking back to the metro the sun began to go down and all of a sudden there were birds everywhere. I don't know why it happened, and didn't happen again while I was there. I was a bit afraid of being pooped on but it was fantastic to watch them dive and dart in their separate flocks, seeming all coordinated by one mind. A great way to end the day.

Rome: Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 15:44:00 +0000

I got back from Rome on Monday and I have to say that it was amazing.

I am the kind of person who has realistic expectations. I've had too many bad travel experiences not to be rational. However, I am also a writer and therefor a huge daydreamer; so, I have to admit I often tend to make up grand fantasies about my adventures before they happen. Sometimes I get disappointed, because when you've waited half your life to see something and there are about five hundred other people crammed in trying to get a glimpse of it too--well that kind of kills the mood. It drives me into this "I just want my souvenir photo and to get the hell out of here" state of mind. It's hard to feel awed and overwhelmed with all those people around, getting in your way, being obnoxious.
I really hate tourists.
However, there are times when I am simply blown away--Rome was one of those times.

The trip did not have a promising start. I woke up way too early to catch a bus, to catch another bus, to get to the airport, and I was so, so, so sick from a nasty cold one of the kids gave me. Then, after a good hour of standing in a line to get on the plane (Ryanair has free-for-all seating, like Southwest), we were informed that the flight would be delayed for FIVE HOURS. Five hours in that stupid little airport in no-where-ville Germany. I was already pissed that all I could take on was a tiny little carry on for a week's worth of clothes and such (only ONE, no purse allowed) or else pay a €40 fee to check a bag, both ways. No thank you.
When I finally arrived in Rome about six hours later (and another lovely bus ride), I got lost trying to find my hostel--in the dark--on Halloween--in a sketchy part of the city. FUN!
The trip would also be rife with me losing stuff. Two days in I had already lost a €16 metrobus pass (which I had to replace), a plastic earbud on my headphones--forcing me to spend €10 for new ones, and my €12 Colosseum ticket that would have given me free passage to Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum (so I had to buy another one). Oh, and I almost stepped on/broke my $200 glasses at the Colosseum, THEN I almost lost them forever when I left them sitting on John Keats' grave while taking pictures, but luckily I realized they were gone a half hour later and they were still there, unharmed. Jesus Christ. Usually I am not this kind of person. I don't lose things like that, and I've certainly never put my glasses in so much danger before. So all of it was a tad annoying.
Then there was the fact that I had a lovely, nagging, tuberculosis-esque cough the entire trip. I went through all the lozenges I brought with me and three packages I bought while I was there. I felt sorry for my hostel roommates, but what can you do? I drank so much water, nothing helped.

From this point of view, the Rome trip looked like a failure.

But the rest of it was astounding.
The first thing I did the morning after I got there was head straight to the Non-Catholic Cemetery (aka Cimitero Acattolico di Roma) where the British Romantic poets Keats and Shelley are buried. You all should know by now that Shelley is probably my most favorite poet ever. I find everything about him completely fascinating. One might call me obsessed. In fact, I was reading a non-fiction history about Shelley and his whole circle when I went to Rome, called Young Romantics: The Tangled Lives of English Poetry's Greatest Generation. It's all just so tragic and inspiring.
Anyway, there I was in this cemetery, and I was desperate to find Shelley. I could not find him fast enough. Then, before I found him I come across this:

Now I had seen pictures of this grave a while back, and I wrote a really great short story about it coming to life and grabbing this woman who was taking pictures of it. I had no idea it was in this cemetery. I had no idea it was even in Rome! I was a little taken aback. What were the chances?
I quickly took some pictures and set out for Shelley again, because, as I told you, I felt desperate to find him. I marched off, thinking I would be looking for a while longer in this jam packed graveyard, but not even three yards away I stumbled upon Shelley.

Percy Bysshe Shelley. Heart of Hearts. Born Aug 4 1792. Died July 8 1822. Lines from Shakespeare's The Tempest.

At first I was sort of shocked. I couldn't believe it was there. I didn't know what to do. Being the ice queen I can be sometimes, I didn't expect to get emotional about the grave of a person I had never met. But all of a sudden I was overcome by my own imagination as I thought about the man Percy was--this great visionary, full of passionate life, snuffed out by the very nature he love so much--and it made me deeply upset. I got all teary even.
Then I took some obligatory photos and tried to move on because I still needed to find Keats. However, every time I took a few steps away I felt overwhelmed by misery--like I could just sit there and sob. I also felt incredibly ridiculous for being such a silly fan-girl, but what can you do? Finally, I sucked it up and headed over to Keats. As soon as I was out of sight of Shelley's grave my composure returned. Still, I had to visit Shelley again before I left the cemetery completely, and I had the same problem trying to leave again. I am so weird.

John Keats' grave, per his dying request, did not have his name written on it. He was only 25 years old and died believing he was a failure. The line, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" perfectly defines him: his life, his philosophy, his personality, his death.

Afterwards, I went to the Keats-Shelley Memorial House at the Spanish Steps. It's the actual house John Keats died in, and they turned it into a museum for relics of both his and Shelley's and even some of Byron's stuff. They had actual clips of hair from the poets, some letters they wrote, casts of Keats' face done when he was alive and dead, paintings of them, etc, etc. I liked the letters the best. I think seeing someone's handwriting says a lot about them, especially handwriting from back then when it was so much more important.

Shelley's is nearly illegible.

Of course, since I was at the Spanish Steps I had to check them out too. But there were so many people it made it hard to really take it all in.

Then there was the Piazza del Popolo.

And I ended the day with a trip to the Trevi Fountain. Legend has it that if you throw in a coin it will ensure your return to Rome someday--throw in two and you will find romance soon (possibly with an Italian)--throw in three coins and you will marry them. You're supposed to throw them over your shoulder as you face away from the fountain. So, I took three whole euro coins and did just that. Will it work? Who knows. Maybe the Italian guy I met a few days later was a gift from the fountain, but that's a story for another day...

Grad School Applications

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 20:53:00 +0000

I know it's been a while but I've been busy organizing, planning, and working on three "projects" I'm really excited about:
1. My grad school applications.
2. Writing (a story!).
3. My trip to Rome next week.

The last time I blogged I told you all about my plans for grad school. Well, usually once I've made up my mind about something I go for it and I don't look back. I researched schools. I made a long list of places I would like to go. The list included all sorts of information, like tuition, application requirements, and fees. This long list included some insanely out of my league schools and several from all over the country. I had Colorado, Washington, Boston, New York, Washington DC, and Virginia. Then I did more research and really thought about what I wanted until I narrowed it down to three universities.
1. The College of William & Mary - Williamsburg, Virginia.
It's the second oldest university in the US. Thomas Jefferson, my favorite president, was an alumnus. W&M has a great reputation and it resides in a beautiful historic town, not too far from the beach and only a short train or bus ride away from my Dad in DC. Honestly, it's my top pick and I have no idea why.

2. George Washington University - Washington, DC.
This is one of the schools I considered when I wanted to leave Hawaii, but then I got NYC stuck in my head, and as I said before, once I've made my mind up...
Jacqueline Kennedy was an alumnus. Fancy.
DC is close to my Dad, and I do like it there--all those free museums and the monuments and the history. DC's public transportation is decent. Like NYC, there is always something to do.

3. New York University, New York City.
Go back to the big bad city? Sure, why not? I actually have friends there now. I know I thought I would never live there again, but life is funny like that. I do love NYC.

I am pretty much done all three applications. I got my recommendations in order, transcript request forms sent, essays written, resume revamped, etc, etc. I am a friggen pro at this stuff. I mean after going through application processes at least five times in my life before this (first time, three transfers, and one failed attempt), one would hope I'd be a natural.
Turns out I am. (So if anyone needs help, ahem...I'm here.)
Anyway, I've submitted my W&M application, the other two have to wait until I receive my transcripts because they prefer to have the transcripts scanned and uploaded to the application rather than mailed in. Annoying. But whatever. At least then I'll have copies of my transcripts.

When I come back from Rome I'm going to get started on studying for the GRE. I have no idea how to go about it. I tried studying for the SAT (I took after-school lessons even!) and that didn't go so well. I got a mediocre score. Since none of these schools posted what kind of scores they usually accept, I'm just going to hope that it's not THAT important in the decision process. Test scores aside, I am an amazing applicant. However, am I concerned I might not get into any of them? Yes. That would suck.

My backup plan?
Stay in Europe as long as possible.

The Newest Plan in a Long History of Plans

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 11:38:00 +0000

It's that time of year again when I need to figure out what to do with my life beyond this. I have to say, I'm rather sick of this routine. Why can't my life just figure itself out already? Why does it all have to be so damn hard? Why must it always be me who has to work this junk out? Sometimes I miss the days when I had no choices, no big decisions...

My problem is this: I know what I want to do, but no one will let me do it on my terms. As in, this will not be easy and I am NOT looking forward to it.

What do I want to do?
I want to do a Postgraduate Certification/Diploma in Education in the United Kingdom. That is what I want. I have wanted to live in the UK ever since I was seventeen years old and I have failed to make that happen every step of the way. First, my guidance counselor pretty much refused to help me get into a foreign school. She said I could always study abroad. Since I had no idea how to do it without her help, I had to give in. So lame. Every single year of college I wanted to study abroad, but it never happened with all the transferring I did. Why did I never think of transferring to a UK school? I have no idea...I did have a habit of transferring last minute so maybe I missed deadlines, whatever, it didn't happen.

So now I have the chance, BUT for some ridiculous reason they have decided to make it difficult for me. They require two things that may be extremely difficult for me provide. First, you need to have GCSE English and Math scores. Now you might be wondering what in the freaking world is the GCSE? Me too. So I looked it up and the GCSE's are like some standardized test they make you do in the UK when you're about sixteen. That's right, sixteen. One six. Why in the world would a graduate program care about scores you got when you were 16?! That's stupid and ridiculous.
I'm sure my SATs would qualify as some kind of equivalent, but I would have to somehow get a hold of my SAT official scores and send it to some company in the UK that makes decisions like that, pay them over £100, and wait God knows how long for them to approve it or not. Meanwhile, deadlines will have passed. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
And that's just the first problem.
The second is that I need some kind of experience in an actual secondary school preferably in the UK. Uhm, how am I supposed to do that unless I am currently living in the UK? And do UK schools just let strangers stop by and observe classes or give a lecture or two? I doubt it.

So guess what?
I. Give. Up.
I may not be religious, but sometimes I feel like the Universe gives me signs. There are people who might think this is the Universe's way of challenging me; I should try to overcome these obstacles, so I will learn something or whatever--feel great about myself, who knows. But I call bullshit. Applying to grad school is already difficult. You need recommendations, a resume, an essay, a personal statement, transcripts, to pay application fees, take a stupid standardized test, blah, blah, blah...etc, etc. I do not need this extra crap piled on to an already tough process. I don't have time for it. I don't have the patience for it. I don't have the energy for it. Clearly the Universe is steering me in another direction.

So, I have decided to do a Masters in Education in the US. That is my new plan. I have registered for the GRE. I have asked professors for recommendations. I will spend the next few months working on the rest and studying for the GRE.
It begins now.

Zertifikat

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 19:38:00 +0000

So I got quite a shock when my German certificate finally arrived...

Turns out I not only passed the A1 German, but also A2! I wasn't even going for A2. I didn't even study for A2. But hey, I'll take it. I mean, who am I to complain?

Boyfriend of the Week: Noah Shaw

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 18:47:00 +0000

Couple days ago I started reading The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin. I wasn't supposed to start reading it until I was done my German test, but I was so sick of studying and I was getting so nervous about it's approaching date that I just needed something else to do. I started it in the afternoon the day before the test and I finished it a few hours after the test the next day.
I was so hooked, and it was because of Noah Shaw. One of the most dreamy characters I have ever read.
I love falling for a written character so much more than a pretty face on the computer screen. I mean, writers can say what they want about what a character looks like, but in the end the reader is going think what they want. Therefor, in the end, it's so much more than the surface attributes when you fall in love with a character from a book--it really is personality. How is that character written? What kind of words does the author use to describe this person? How do they smile? What kind of things do they say? How do they make the other characters feel?

Hodkin often describes Noah's smile as wicked. She paints him as the bad boy, a heartbreaker, man-whore, and you're afraid that Mara (the main character, obviously) shouldn't get involved with him. But like Mara, who is also cautious, you find yourself intensely falling for him, despite your fears. Noah is sarcastic, witty, confident (aka cocky), intelligent, sexy, charming, brave, and surprisingly thoughtful.
I had a boyfriend kind of like him once. He was wild and I was sure I was going to end up with a broken heart, but I fell for him anyway because he was just so much damn fun. Luckily I have never regretted it. When we were together all he had to do was look at me the right way and I was gone.

Noah Shaw is that boyfriend I had, except better, because one--he's not a complete commitment phobe, and two--he's British. Win!

But honestly, Noah wasn't the only reason I couldn't put this book down. The writing was just amazing. Michelle Hodkin writes how I think in my head. Her style is so modern and totally unique to anything else I've read in a long time. I suggest you find this book and read it, if not for Noah, but for the great and thrilling tale of a girl who thinks she's going crazy, who might really be going crazy, or is she?

RIP Steve Jobs

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 19:24:00 +0000

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."
- Steve Jobs

When I woke up this morning I woke up in a world where Steve Jobs no longer existed. I don't know much about Steve, but I do know that he made my life so much easier. Life before I got my first Mac was terrible. I went for months without a working computer as my family's PC was bombarded with virus problem after virus problem. Adware and spyware clogged the system, making what use I could get out of the thing extremely slow. That damn computer reduced me to frustrated tears on more than one occasion. It's hard drive had to be wiped at least three times and I had to restore the system probably twenty times at least. I became an unwilling expert at fixing that damn thing. It was the bane of my high school existence.

Then I graduated, and that meant I needed a new, fancy, laptop for college. That was 2006, right in the middle of Apple's Mac vs PC commercials. Those commercials actually convinced me to choose the expensive Mac over a cheaper PC, and when I explained all the benefits of having a Mac to my Mom, she agreed to pay for it. All my pals got PCs and most of them intensely regretted it later. I was the only one I knew who went the Mac route. Now a lot of people I know have Macs and some of them have a Mac (or some kind of Apple product) because I wouldn't shut up about how much I loved mine.
I have only had two major problems with my Macs over the five years since my conversion and both were my own fault (one hard drive fried because I refused to let the computer sleep and one computer I lost to a water spill). But both problems were fixed quickly because of this amazing place called the Apple Store where you can take your computer to be fixed.
I will never go back to a PC.

My life may not have been easy over the past few years, but at least my computer was rarely one of my worries, and I owe it all to Steve Jobs.
Thank you sir.

from my Mac's computer screen to yours

Pancreatic cancer steals another good one.

Dammit.

"The world has lost a visionary. And there may be no greater tribute to Steve's success than the fact that much of the world learned of his passing on a device he invented." - President Obama

Der Deutschtest

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 18:43:00 +0000

So, remember how I had take this German test? Remember how it totally ruined my blogging life, stole all my free time, and had be stressing out for weeks? You all might be wondering, "Why so much drama about this friggen test? You don't usually ignore your blog for crap like that."
Touche.
What I didn't tell you all was that if I didn't pass this test I could kiss Europe goodbye. My work permit hinged on this one point. I had prove that I know enough German to pass the A1 level German test, or else my visa could not be extended and I would have to leave.
Yeah.
So failing would not only affect me, it would affect the family I work for. The thought of letting them down was so much worse than letting myself down. How could I possibly fact them if I failed?

Well, today was the day my friends.
My heart was pounding all morning. Every time I thought about my impending test I had to fight the urge to vomit. So much pressure to succeed. So much anxiety.

But all of the studying and stress were for nothing. It had to be one of the easiest language tests I've done in my entire life. I did the spoken part first and after that the lady giving me the test basically told me I was good to go, "And where should I send the certificate?" Therefore, pending any horrible mistakes in written part of the test, which I doubt there will be cause the writing/reading stuff is what I'm best at--even in German, I should receive my Sprachdiplom (as the Germans would say) in a few days.

I really hope I haven't jinxed myself by basically declaring victory before the scores have been posted, but I'm too excited not to. I finally have my Freizeit back! For two months I've felt like I was breaking the law every time I did something non-German related with my free time. No more!!

Well...until I decide I want the A2 level certification so I can stay in Germany indefinitely...

Boyfriend of the Week: James McAvoy

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 18:47:00 +0000

Okay, I know it's been like...two months since the last Boyfriend, but as you all should be aware, I am probably the most busy I've ever been in my entire life. I hope I am never, ever this busy again. To think I thought I would less busy once school was over.
HA!
Anyway, to the point.
I recently saw X-Men: First Class and immediately fell in love with James McAvoy...all over again. Every time I see that guy in a movie, even if I only watch about five minutes of him, my heart just can't take it. Hell, just about any time I'm reminded that he exists I feel myself melting into a squealing fifteen-year-old girl. There is just something about him. Gives me the tingles.

Maybe it's his gorgeous eyes.
Maybe it's the accent, being Scottish and all.
Maybe it's just the fact that he's so damn good looking...

Whatever the case, there just seems to be something really great about him. From what I've read, he's a totally great guy. You know, nice, charming, funny. But he also seems to be pretty darn smart too. He thinks that the Brits are dumbing their films down for American audiences, which, in his opinion, is a shame. Not just because this makes films suffer the indignity of being dumbed down, but it's also assuming American's are too stupid to appreciate wit or deeper meanings, which isn't true. Not exactly his words, but that's what I got out of it. James also can't stand 3D movies and thinks the whole trend is an easy way for theaters to get more money out of their customers. I couldn't agree more. Plus, 3D movies give me headaches.

Movies I suggest you see with James McAvoy? I loved him in White Teeth; Penelope; Atonement; Wanted; Becoming Jane; Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; and of course, the newest X-Men.

I would also like to take this moment to forget the fact that he's married to his soul mate and whatever. This is my dream boyfriend...for now, and I can't worry about his marital status whilst I'm dreaming. *girly sigh* I've really been considering going to the UK to get my teaching certification, and then who knows? Hopefully, I find the man of my dreams...

A Gift from the Danes

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 19:21:00 +0000

Do you remember the Danish folks I met a couple months ago in Switzerland? Well, the other day we (the fam and I) got a big package from them, and it was filled with presents for everyone--including me. I wasn't expecting anything much. I mean, when I heard there was a present for me I couldn't exactly conjure up any ideas about what it could possibly be, but I couldn't imagine it would be something very expensive. I guess maybe I thought it might be a book or some fancy Danish soap or whatever--you know, something potentially useful but a generic gift for someone you don't know very well--like a candle.

Instead I got a SUPER nice winter jacket.

No one (outside of family, and my exboyfriend's parents) has ever given me such a nice gift before, especially not anyone who I've only met once. I was completely shocked, and then I was ridiculously happy...and then I was pretty depressed that we've been experiencing some kind of freakish indian summer (nearly 80F every day), leaving me no opportunity to wear it. It's kind of amazing what a great gift can do: me, wishing for snow. What the heck? That is crazy.

Europe has turned me into a person who owns many jackets. For a while there I really only had about one or two coats, and just a whole lot of sweat shirts. Seriously, I've had the same winter coat since my Freshman year of high school. We're talking nine years people. Granted, I lived in Hawaii for some of that time and had no need for a winter jacket. But still...
Then I bought a lighter cheap jacket at Target a couple years ago. It should have been a classy coat for walking around NYC in style, but I was shopping with my Dad the day I bought the cheap coat, and was in a more rustic, Vermont mood.
Still, I only had one good winter coat, the other was for spring and fall, and no classy coat for going out in NYC. But hey, at least I had two jackets.

Now I own five jackets.
TWO winter coats, one sturdy fall/spring weather jacket, and two raincoats (one is heavier than the other). Oh and did I mention that both my winter jackets have removable fleece liners, with gives me TWO MORE jackets. Haha, yeah. I have so many freaking jackets I don't even know what to do with them all.

I still need a fancy one though...

My Godson!

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 16:26:00 +0000

On September 23, 9:01 PST, my godson was born!!

Unfortunately, there were some immediate problems with his lungs, and the poor little guy had to have breathing tubes and was crammed into an incubator. I can only imagine the stress and anxiety this caused my dear friend, Juno. To have all those postnatal hormones raging through you and something like that happens, something is wrong with your baby...God...can't feel good.

Turns out the problem was some kind of congenital pneumonia, which I have never heard of before. I mean, who knew babies could get pneumonia while still in the womb? Not me. It sounds crazy, but apparently it is possible. He also tested positive for staph in his lungs. It hadn't become infectious though, so, that wasn't a contributing factor to his illness. My guess is that he probably got infected with the staph bacteria from the breathing tubes in his windpipe, but I'm not a doctor or any kind of medical professional, so my guess is probably a bunch of crap.

The good news is that he is doing much better. According to Juno's Facebook updates, all the breathing tubes have been removed and they have moved him out of the incubator.

There is one funny thing about the day he was born. I had decided to write some long overdue postcards to my goddaughters (Juno's other kids) and Juno. In the one to Belle I wrote, "As I write this, your brother has not yet arrived..." Or something like that. I had no idea that literally, as I wrote that, Juno was probably sitting at home at that very moment feeling the beginnings of labor pains. Life is strange.

Oh, and I would tell you the name of my beloved new godson, but like his sisters (who I have given fake names for blogging) I believe he deserves some semblance of privacy. With that said, I give you Flynn, who is obviously not named so, but I think it's cool. I picked it after Flynn Rider from Tangled. Both his sisters have Disney themed names (Aurora and Belle), so he should have one too.

Europe: Essen und Trinken

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 11:56:00 +0000

Every time I move I pick up new eating habits, new foods to pine over when I'm gone. Europe is no exception. So here's a list of all the things I've been loving, and will surely be missing someday.

1. Mineral Water.
I hate water. People say it doesn't have a taste, but I think it does, and when it's warm or the coldest the tap can give, it's even worse. So the only way I would ever drink water was when it was really, really cold. Even if it was from the fridge cold, I would add ice to make it even colder. Then, the only reasons I ever drank water was if I was very, very thirsty, drunk, hungover, feeling too poor to waste money on something else, sick, or there was absolutely nothing else to drink anyway.
Then I came to Europe, and the first day here I was served warm water. Of course, being polite, I wasn't about to shove it away screaming about my extreme dislike of water, especially warm water. Of course, this being Europe and all, it was sparkling water, and the bubbles somehow made it about 10 times more palatable to me. Now I probably drink a good liter of the stuff every day. Warm. Because fridges are ridiculously small here, so you can't waste space in the fridge by chilling your water.
I still would prefer it if it were cold, but I think that once I'm living on my own again, I will be more likely to drink water...if it has bubbles in it.

2. Homemade Jam
I don't know if this is just a thing about all the Europeans I happen to have met, but all of them are totally about making their own jam and jelly. The homemade stuff is so much better than any store bought stuff I've ever had. So far, my favorites have been apricot and blackberry.

3. Fresh Bread
Almost every (week)day I go to the bakery across the street to buy freshly made bread for breakfast. It is so, so, so good. Soft and tasty. MmMm.

4. Quark
Pronounced kwahg...I think. The German kind is the consistency and color of sour cream, but with more of a sweet, yogurt type flavor. I like it on my fresh bed, topped with jam. I've even had raspberry Quark, which, in my opinion, was way better than any yogurt I've ever had. Unfortunately, they don't really produce this in the states. So I guess I'll have to go back to my onion bagels and cream cheese for breakfast since I doubt I'll have the energy for making my own jam, I won't be able to get any quark, and forget fresh bread...America doesn't really have quaint little bakeries.

5. Beer
Okay, we all know I like beer. Europe didn't do it to me. However, I don't know if it's just the fact that I've gotten really used to the taste of beer, or that beer in Europe just tastes better. Seriously. I haven't had a bad tasting beer since I've been here. Even the cheap stuff is recommendable.

6. Huit Pastry
For the uninformed, huit is eight in French. So, obviously this pastry is in the shape of an eight, and the holes have a custard/pudding, tasty, something or other in them. It is so good. Simple. But good.

Half of a Huit. Note IKEA plate...another European thing I'll need in the US

Helicopters and Big Piles of Leaves

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 11:30:00 +0000

Today I had a moment in the woods with one of the kids when he and I were looking for helicopters. I don't mean real helicopters, but maple tree seeds, which when you throw up in the air spin around like a helicopter propeller.
Anyway, as I was doing this, I suddenly remembered doing the exact same thing with my cousins at my in the driveway at my grandparents house when we were all so much younger. Then I had a horrible thought: I will never have a moment like that ever again--being kids with my cousins and sister, playing with helicopters. It made me so sad that if I had been alone I would have cried. In fact, I could cry about it right now. It's such a painful thought. Sure, at that moment I was having a completely similar moment with my five-year-old charge, but it wasn't the same. I'm not a kid anymore. I'll never be a kid again. And it's just not as fun doing it as an adult as it is when you're young. Something about that really bothers me.
The thing is, I had never thought of stuff like this before I started doing this job. But now it happens all the time. I guess I've never spent this much time with little kids. Something about seeing them doing things triggers these sad thoughts.
I had a similar moment the other day when I was raking up the garden with the kids, and I remembered raking leaves with Blake (my sister) at our Grandmother's house and how we would hide and jump in the big piles. Then, just like the helicopters, it hit me: I will never have moments like that with my sister ever again. It hits you right in the gut.

I really despise growing older.

The "No Internet At The Chalet, So I Might As Well Read...A Lot" Review

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:58:00 +0000

We got back from Switzerland last night, and I'm pretty sure I need a vacation from the vacation. Whenever we go to Switzerland I don't really get a day off, which usually isn't a big problem, except this time we were there sooo much longer, so after sixteen plus days, man oh man. I'm wiped. And it doesn't help that most of my free time should be spent with the German stuff (because I have a test on the 28th...). All that said, I somehow managed to finish six books while I was away. Don't ask me how I did it. I wasn't staying up late into the night or skipping out on the German stuff. I just read too fast. Seriously, it's obnoxious how fast I can read a good book, and all the books I bought for my Kindle before I left were amazingly good. Heck, I even bought two more while I was there and they were good as well... Here's the list for those of you who might be interested:

- The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein by Peter Ackroyd. As a lover of the British Romantics, especially Shelley and Byron, I LOVED this book. Everyone who was in my Romantic Lit and/or Gothic classes last year need to check this book out ASAP. Shelley and Byron and Mary Shelley (the writer of the original) are actual characters in the book. I couldn't get enough of it.

- Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer. I first read this book when I was 13 or 14. I even did a book report on it, which I think my English teacher found a tad disturbing. But after a couple days of playing mountaineers with the kids (where we pretended to be climbing Mt. Everest), I decided that I needed to read it again. Ten years is a long time. I had forgotten so much about it. Unlike his other reputable book Into the Wild, Krakauer was actually there, climbing Everest, during the 1996 disaster. The book isn't for everyone, but it sure is moving and disturbing. If you've never heard of the 1996 Everest disaster, I suggest you look it up.

- Something Borrowed and Something Blue by Emily Giffin. I hadn't seen the movie of Something Borrowed (but one of my friends did and she was SUPER annoyed by the whole thing), and Amazon kept putting it on my suggested reading list, so I figured why not? I enjoyed it so much that I had to read the follow up sequel to find out what happened next. I've never personally slept with any of my friends' significant others, but there was something about the character of Rachel and her whole situation with her best friend, Darcy, that I related to. But the second book was just as good. Yes, both books were very predictable, but sometimes it's nice to read trashy stuff.
Last night I watched the movie. It made me fall in love with John Krasinski all over again and I didn't mind the changes they made from the book. It wasn't the best movie I'd ever seen, and the ending was a total flop, but c'est la vie. I've seen much worse.

- Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. Also a movie I haven't seen. It wasn't the most interesting of the bunch I read. I really didn't enjoy the flip flopping from the present-day and back, because it was the tired old to young routine. Also, I don't like to be reminded that I'll get old and look back like that someday when I'm losing my marbles. Still, it was a fairly fascinating story about a 23-year-old who runs away with a circus after a personal tragedy.

- The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. My friend Gwen recommended it to me a while back and I finally decided to read it. Despite being of the young-adult genre, it was well written and captivating. Honestly I had no idea what the story was about until I started reading. It's about a 16-year-old named Katniss Everdeen, who lives in some crazy post-apocalyptic future world called Panem, which is situated where the US once was. Panem is made up of 12 districts, each of which is required to sacrifice two teenagers every year for the Capitol's "Hunger Games" which serve as a punishment for the districts attempting to rise up against the Capitol 74 years previously. The only way to win the Hunger Games is to be the last "tribute" alive. That means these kids are killing each other. *Gulp* Of course, Katniss becomes one of the "tributes" and we follow her through the whole ordeal. I was absolutely riveted.
I'm in the process of reading the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy, and I'm sure I'll buy the third one as well.

I guess the way I approach reading is exactly like I do everything else in life. If I become interested in something I have to consume as much of it as I can, as fast as possible.

Hiking

noreply@blogger.com (Cassandra) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 18:26:00 +0000

[Written Aug 25, 2011]

I don't think I've been hiking more in my entire life than I have with this family in the short two and a half months I've been with them. If you had asked me before now if I was the outdoorsy type I would have said no. Hiking. Man oh man. Most of my memories involving hiking were not really great ones. One hiking trip in Hawaii ended with amazing photos and a breathtaking view, but I can tell you it wasn't easy getting up that friggen mountain and somewhere along the way I got so fed up I started crying and complaining like a five-year-old...I was 20.

I happen to be sitting on a cliff. For real.

I have a similar memory of hiking up Jay Peak with my dad when I was maybe seven. The point is that while getting to the top of a mountain is really great and all, the hiking part has never been really good for me. I don't like being sweaty and cold at the same time (which can happen on mountains)--well, in fact I just don't like getting that sweaty period, and I suck at staying hydrated.

But now I feel a little different...

Okay, I'm not so interested in hiking as an everyday event. Also, don't really like steep inclines and I don't think anything will ever change that. Oh and having to drag a couple of three-year-olds up a mountain in the rain, not so much fun (although a bit hilarious when your dehydrated and tired). But I do love walking (probably a byproduct of living in NYC for two years) and I love the pictures I've taken while hiking.

So I think that maybe when I head back to the States (or wherever I go when this job is over), I may take it upon myself to go on some hiking trips. Besides, I can't let these wonderful new hiking boots go to waste!