Friday, September 28, 2007

Where I came from Part I

This was me, 14/15 years old, holy crap.

Lately, if you haven't noticed, I have been feeling very nostalgic. It has a lot to do with the whole, going back to the music I used to like when this picture was taken, being friends with a lot of people again that I was friends with ten years ago, hanging out in my hometown (well, where I went to high school) a lot - due to said people who still live here and the fact that my boyfriend lives here...well, until he moves out on Sunday to his new place downtown, and generally being surrounded by an ongoing sense of Deja Vu.

On my Facebook account, I recently frightened a lot of people by posting photos taken ten years ago (btw, for people who are trying to add me on Facebook, I'll totally accept however the email address that I have linked to this blog is NOT the one that I have linked to Facebook). I've taken to looking through old yearbooks and laughing at the crazy stuff people wrote in them (also looking two grades back and laughing at boyfriend's geeky grade 10 picture), as well as perusing old art sketchbooks from Grade 9. In one book, I found an assignment where I had to describe myself in a brainstorm of words:

Who was I at 14 years old?







-Thinks too much

-True Sagitarious

How much of that can be applied to me today as a 25/ 26 year old? I think pretty much all of it. Mind you, the teacher only gave me a 6/10 on that.

Then I ended up finding my diaries from 95-98. OH MY GOD.

It's interesting to me though, why I suddenly have so much interest in my past. Perhaps because I am looking for a peice of myself - as corny as that sounds. I mean, in order to know where you are going, you have to know where you came from - at least, I think that's a saying. Regardless, it's like I am taking stock of my life, comparing myself to the way I was ten years ago and wondering if I had thought I would be where I am today (well, I'm not driving a porsche and I'm not a Hollywood actress, so probably NO). And because I am surrounded by people and places of my past, I am reminded of the person I once was, the person who is probably still a huge part of me (as my head banging at the Pumpkins concert on Monday can attest to).

Luckily though, all this re-examination of who I am is not hindering me in anyway. I used to think I hated high school in all it's glory, and I know I did at some points. But I also hung out with a group of renegades and our hatred of the norm and the school and the conformities were what made us unique. We were looked down on, we were different and looking at everyone as they are today, I can still see that there is a touch of rebellion in everyone of us. I can wear my fancy Italian boots and my lady like dresses but underneath there is the cargo-clad, chain wearing teenager that is just dying to get out. And sometimes, I let her.

Stay tuned next week when I publish some of those diaries. Oh my goodness, the embarassment will be all mine but the laughter will be for everyone.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Pumpkin Smashing Comes Full Circle

Laaaame. Sounds like a totally lame headline I would have had to think up in totally lame journalism school.

Anyway, before I get into that, this is a question for all the women out there (men quickly scroll down until I get to the good stuff): are there certain birth control pills that make you crazy?

I recently switched to a monophasic pill because on Ortho-tri-cyclen - which I have been on for like 10 years - my period has started to come a week early. Apparently that means my pill isn't working as strong as it should...and let's face it, you don't want your pill to be working at half-capacity. So I switched, though I wasn't happy about it because my body was used to the other one and I didn't want to gain weight, get mood swings, etc.

Anyway, I have been going through a rough patch in my life. Family problems that are getting worse, being unemployed, unable to find work that suits my degree and being broke. Not sure what to do with life...etc.

So, I'm kinda depressed. The kind that you sleep all day cuz you don't want to face your crap life - it'll pass though. BUT is it the pills that are making me sad, or is it the present circumstances in my life? I mean, I can't be freaking Pollyanna Positive all the freaking time...or can I, and it's the pills that are making me more negative? Meh, who knows. Just wondering if any women out there had similar problems with their pills, tis all....



You may recall a post I did about the Smashing Pumpkins concert I went to 11 years ago. 11 years ago when I looked like this....

And was a "skid" as they say. Anyway, you can read that post here, I am not going to get into but anyway the point is that 11 years later, I went to see the Smashing Pumpkins...again!

What was weird is that I went with the Rockstar (who, as I have mentioned, is as big as a fan as I was way back when) AND Kelli, the girl I had gone to the concert with 11 years ago. See, it was only 6 months after the concert or so that Kelli and I stopped being friends and we only started being friends a few months ago now, so you can understand how weird it kinda was. Especially since the Rockstar and her have been friends for about 6 years and we were all there together...ahhhhh all sorts of weirdness.

Anyhoo, the concert was pretty awesome. I know that the one we saw in Seattle was better because the sound was awesome, we were at the front and it was only 2000 people there but I can't really remember much of the actual music, whereas on Monday night I totally did.

And yeah, they are missing D'arcy and James Iha but all they did was stand in the opposite corners of the stage and not move. Here we had Jimmy and Billy and they are pretty much the whole band anyway. Fuck me, Jimmy has to be the best drummer alive!

Sweet part of the night was during the awesome song 'United States' (off their new album, which rocks like it's 1993) he started soloing the Canadian Anthem. Pretty cool that he learned that.

He also took time after the show to thank Canada for being such great supporters of the band and for making the album number one here. In the States, they lost the primo spot to Bon Jovi, lol. I guess he does have better hair...

Of course, no concert can go without controversy. Though we were smack in the middle, we were thankfully out of the way of crowd surfers and moshers (though I didn't notice too much of that). Turns out (well, I found out today after reading Perez Hilton of all things) that a person actually died at the concert. Isn't that twice now?


Oh yeah, and to leave on a lighter note, the bf and I went to the Death Ray Global Comedy Fest on Thursday and it was amazing. Fucking hilarious performers like Bob Odenkirk from Mr. Show, Bob Posehn from pretty much everything and, the crown jewel, David Cross.

David Cross, if you don't know, played Tobias Funke on Arrested Development and is one funny motherfucka outside of the show. He was bloody brilliant.

Oh and look who I ran into after the show...

I went to the bathroom and as I was coming down the stairs I noticed that David was standing right beside Rockstar. Only Rockstar was busy watching me coming down the stairs (he wanted to see how I was going to gracefully manuever getting over this velvet rope) that he didn't even notice he was standing right beside him.

"OMG! Let's get his picture!"

"Whose picture?"

"You're standing beside Tobias!!!"

If you are wondering why I have a nervous expression in the photo it's because my camera kept dying just before Rockstar took the picture. Thankfully David had the patience of a saint (probably helped that no one else was bugging him) and when I told him he was awesome, he seemed really humbled to hear it.

Though he was probably just glad I didn't ask him if he "blue" himself.

Monday, September 24, 2007

I get by with a little tact from my friends...

I saw the movie Across the Universe the other day and it was AMAZING! If you like Moulin Rouge AND The Beatles (and trippy musicals in general) you will love this film. I thought the cast was brilliant, even Evan Rachel Wood (whom I don't really like due to her "I'm so cool cuz my boyfriend is Marilyn Manson" thing) was fantastic. Most of the songs were recorded live as they were sung which is a testament to how well the actors did their job. The guys who play friend's Jude and Max in the film are cute as hell and how much more do guys get sexier when you find out they can sing? Raaaaar! I expect to see more of those actors in the future.

Anyway, quite a crap review but I just wanted to tell you all to see it - however, if you don't like The Beatles, don't like musicals and don't like films that are a bit trippy and out there, stay away. You'll probably hate it :)


So, my boyfriend is moving out (thank God, though I will miss his mom's brilliant meals) with two friends. So far it's been kind of a struggle to convince landlords to give three young guys a chance so they've been kind of missing the mark. However, I went along to look at a place on Saturday and his friend's girlfriend was there as well.

I was kinda of dressed like a bum - and when I dress like a bum, it kinda means I am dressed like everyone else in this town. Yoga pants, a ruched, fitted Bench hoodie and flip flops. My hair was in a ponytail, I had no makeup on my face but didn't really need it so that was fine.

We went to the apartment type thing and had a little tour. While the boys were being shown around, I got to talking with the other girlfriend. I had never met her before but she seemed quite sweet. An American too, but let's not hold that against her ;) Honestly though, she was from Portland, Oregon which is a rad place, and in general I think everyone from the entire West Coast of North America are all kinda similar anyway. We should have our own country.

Anyhoo, she seemed nice, let's call her M. And she seemed good for her bf, S, because she was pretty much his first girlfriend even though the guy is 24. Of course, it was quite long distance, her being from Oregon and all, but anyway, he looked happy.

Cut to: later that night, I am in Tsawwassen and going to watch a friend's soccer game. The bf and I pick up his friend (and Ex from like ten years ago...but it's OK, she's super rad) J and head out to the game.

"Hey J," says the bf, "you get to meet S's girlfriend."

"Oh yeah, what is she like?"

"She seems really sweet...."he kinda of let the last part hang in the air, so I added to it.

"Yeah, laid back and easy going, nice girl." I say.

We get to the soccer game and see M and S embracing by the dugout. We all say hello again and introduce J to her.

M smiles politely and then looks me up and down.

"How nice of you to dress up."

I look down at what I am wearing, jeans, boots and a nice top. That wasn't me dressing up, that's how I normally dress. Then I got what she was trying to say. I looked like such a bum this morning, it was nice to see I could fix myself up. Nice, in the sarcastic sense.

I looked at my bf and he looked totally taken aback. Was she just trying to insult me? Regardless, I just laughed it off, exclaiming to him "I told you I looked like a bum this morning!" (it's true, I did say that....fuckin last time I wear yoga pants out of the house).

Later, J and the bf and I headed to the pub.

"Um, the other thing I was going to say about his girlfriend is that she sometimes blurts out really innapropriate things. I had never seen it happen before but I think it just did," he said.

"No kidding!" I exclaimed, "I meet her for the second time and the first thing she is does is insult me?"

"Yeah, it's not like you guys were even talking about clothes earlier."

"You weren't?"asked J, "so she just said that out of the blue?"

"Pretty much."

Then J got excited because she wanted to hear the girl say more innapropriate things. She wasn't dissapointed.

We got to the bar and of course M and S showed up like they said they would.

I finished my first rum and coke pretty fast so I asked for another.

"Holy you lush, you sucked that back fast,"M commented. "In a hurry to get drunk or do you always drink like that?"

Once again I wasn't sure what to say. J started to laugh and my bf came to my rescue, "well she's going out with me, isn't she? I'll drive anyone to drink."

Awkward laughter followed. The bf and I exchanged a look. Then the bf and S exchanged a look. S looked pretty embarassed.

Soon, M got up to go to the bathroom. J looked over at S and said, "Your girlfriend seems pretty cool."

He breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh good, I'm so glad she's nice to you."

And of course I get insult central.

Now, I don't think this girl was trying to be mean or anything or like purposefully being a dick ("funny how she insults the way you look when you are absolutely stunning all the time and she looks like that" my bf told me) but she seemed like she absolutely lacked any tact. It's not like she blurted it out and then was like, "Oops, didn;t mean it like that." She totally meant it like that. I mean, how can you just say stuff and just think it's OK? The bf and I came to the conculsion that she is a psychopath. And what's worse is that his friend S totally knows but since it's his first gf and all, I don't think he'll be going anywhere.

Thank God she lives in Portland, though even a once a month visit will be too much once the guys are all living together. Regardless, you can be sure I'll be blogging/venting/bitching about it :)

Friday, September 21, 2007

The Merits of Dating a Younger Guy

Okaaaay, totally promising to not get mushy here. My day of mush is over, whoooo-boy it was bad though. Gee golly, golly gee. Seriously, Monday I was just useless. You know when you get really depressed and all you want to do is lie in bed and think about how sad you are? All I wanted to do was lie in bed and think about how happy I was. It was disgusting, really, like I was on some weird heroin high (never done heroin but I am just assuming here).

I have to say that as much fun as the loved up, head over heels, gaga stage is, there IS a reason why feelings fade a little bit over time...I shouldn't say fade, but the passion meter is turned down a notch.


We would all be unemployed, broke, fat etc, sitting around on our large asses and sighing. The world would fall apart.

I am, of course, not at that stage yet where the passions are tempered (I give it a few years - damn, a few years of uselessness?), so I am trying to make do.

Here are some reasons why dating a younger man is great (lol total non-sequiter, but whatever, you'll require that a few months ago I had a post about dating a younger guy and my "problems" with it, so here is how I was so very wrong):

1.Dating a younger guy means you get to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time. I have noticed cycles in my life, I'll party when I'm in college (Auckland, Kamloops) and then there are periods where there is no partying since May last year till three months ago.

The thing is, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I do like to get my drink on and have a good time. So it's beyond cool, to me, that I found someone who is as up for it as I am. No longer do I feel like a lush at lunchtime when I order a ceaser, cuz he will order a beer. When I suggest "Jagerbomb? Wanna do shots? Wanna get shitfaced?" he just nods and does it. And he WANTS me there with him, shooting those things back.

I guess it comes down to the fact that he is also a Rockstar and well he parties like a Rockstar, as does the rest of his band. Good times and it keeps me young lol.

2. When you date a younger guy, you are the older woman. This usually means (at least in my case it does) that they think it's super cool that they landed a really hot older woman (yeah, yeah just two years, but give me a break). Which in turn means they revere you and are in awe of the fact that they even got a smoking hot babe like yourself. Very important.

3. When they complain about how they are getting older and don't know what they are doing with their lives, you can just pat them on the head and give a knowing sigh.

4. Sex. Is. Awesome. It's all the time, constantly and there is energy like no other. No wondering here whether you are sexually desired or not, it's pretty darn obvious and obvious all the time. Wheeeeeee!

5. There is no pressure from outside sources and therefore less pressure on the relationship. No one talks about big scary issues like marriage when the guy is 24. He's got 4 more years of ignorant bliss before those talks start to come.

6. Though people are jaded at any age - in fact I was MORE jaded when I was 24 - the fact that he has two LESS years of being screwed over makes a big difference.

So tell me, women, do you agree with this? And men, any positive perks about dating older women (aside from the fact that we can teach you some pretty cool sexual things ;)?

Monday, September 17, 2007

Shouting from the top of a mountain

Please forgive me, I am slightly delirious as I write this and I am afraid this blog is going to be a tiny bit self-indulgent. But I can do that, you know, cuz it's my blog and all.

First off, my haircut went great. Maybe too many short layers near my face but in the end it was what I wanted. The hairdresser was sweet and she didn't lecture me or say anything derogatory about my hair...the closest thing was "perhaps more long layers since your hair is quite fine, you don't want to lose volume." I could totally live with that. Anyway, here is a pic. It really does not look any different from before but whatever. I like it.

Anyway, I had to just throw a picture of me and my boyfriend in there as well, for the reasons that are about to follow....

The other night, I did something which I have never done before.

I told my boyfriend (AKA the Rockstar) that I was madly in love with him.

This might not sound like a big deal, but since not only had neither of us said it yet, I had also been feeling this way for the freakin' past two months.

I don't know how love works, but when I got into this relationship, I did have my doubts. Not about him, but about the timing. I had just gotten out of a relationship, was I really ready for a new one, was it just a rebound, etc.

Also, because he had gotten out of a bad breakup too and was single for many years before that, I wasn't sure about that. I had so many testimonials from people who know him saying what a fucking awesome guy he is...but there is a difference between being a good friend and a good boyfriend. Even his best friend didn't know how he would be as a boyfriend.

Well that answer is he is a fucking awesome boyfriend and it's pretty much impossible to NOT fall in love with the guy.

(For those who are wondering, yes he does know about this blog but for his own reasons he doesn't read the same time he doesn't care what I say about him, so as long as it not intentionally mean. And like I could even say a bad thing about him).

OK, I realize that I am veering dangerously close to inducing nausea in a lot of you. But since I have never been this happy before in my life and have never felt THIS way before, you are just gonna have to bear with me (or click the Next Blog button).

Yeah so basically I knew I loved him not even a month into our relationship. I didn't think it was possible to fall so fast (nor did I think it was healthy) but suddenly he started occupying every thought in my head. Everytime I was with him I had to bite my lip from saying it. I started telling everyone that I knew that I was in love. And I even started thinking that for once in my life I was going to say it first. I didn't need to hear it back, I just wanted to be able to say it, to scream it, to yell it, to let him feel it.

It's obvious I completely lost my head. People in Italy would comment on it ("you are so very in love, aren't you?"). Friends would comment on how blissed out I seemed. My mother even told me just the other day, "You don't look like you anymore. You look so happy. You are glowing all the time." Even my boyfriend said at one point, "I see these old pictures of you when you don't look all smiley and happy. It's hard to imagine you without a smile on your face. I would assume you were always like this." ...... And the thing is, I don't think I was always smiley. He thinks I've always been like this but I've only been smiling like an idiot because he is in my life. It's all totally him.

Anyway, I had kind of given up on letting him know though and just decided to wait till he said it. I was putting way too much pressure on myself, better to just leave things be.

Well, that was until Friday night. He had a party and for a certain reason, I was a bit put out (a familiar situation that I had been in a past relationship). He noticed this, asked me what was wrong. I told him that it had absolutely nothing to do with him (cuz it didn't, it was someone else...when your boyfriend really is that awesome, it's only natural for some biyatch to think so as well) and that I would tell him when the party was over cuz I didn't want to bother him with it.

The problem didn't go away though, but I dealt with it the best I could. Then at the end of the night, he suddenly kicked everyone out. It was late, but I thought it odd considering he wasn't like dying to go to bed and there was like 10 people still there. But he got them to leave, then took me by the hand to his room and sat me on his bed.

"OK, so what's wrong?"


"Earlier, you said there was something you wanted to talk about when the party was over. Well, it's over now, what's wrong?"

"Did you just cut your party short so you could ask me what's wrong?"

"Yeah. I didn't like knowing there was something bothering you. I didn't like to see you upset. I don't care about anyone else."

Right. So this is the part where I started to feel bad because it honestly wasn't that big of a deal and I didn't want to cut his fun short but then I started to feel softer than butter. I couldn't believe that he did that just because he didn't like the fact that something was bothering me.

So, after I told him about my problem (and of course, he was beyond supportive), I lay there thinking about how impossible it was for me not to tell him that night. I had to do it. I decided to take the plunge.

Of course, I was drunk and nervous and taking the plunge lead to me laughing maniacally for about ten minutes. Then I let it spill...."There is something I have to tell you and I'm not sure if you are going to like it or not. So please, just promise you won't respond to it or comment on it for at least a few weeks. Can you promise me that?"

He nodded, I could tell that he was freaking the shit out, thinking it was something horrible.

"I'm desperately in love with you. I love you. I've been waiting so long to say it and I just couldn't keep it in anymore. I just wanted you to hear it, that's all."

He breathed a sigh of relief because he thought I was going to tell him that it was over or something stupid (ha ha GOTCHA!) and then fell silent for a few seconds.

"Well, it's not really fair that I can't say anything in response to that."

"Yeah, well you promised."

"Yeah....well Fuck that! I love you too!"

"No, don't say that because I said-"


And so on...

What's funny was once we got talking about it, he had been going through a very similar thing. We both brought up the fact that when we were watching Paul McCartney's Back in the US DVD the other day, everytime a love song came on (most notably our favourite, "Maybe I'm Amazed" the way I love you all the time) we both wanted to sing it but we were afraid to without scaring the other person. He also told me that he felt this intense connection to from the moment we first met and I know I felt EXACTLY the same thing. And the sex, MY GOD! But I won't go into that haha :)

Anyway, that is that. Now I sit here, almost crying while I write this because I don't ever think I have ever been this happy in my life. I don't care that I was just fired. I don't care that I am jobless and that my future is uncertain and I have no money. I've got everything I need to feel like the Queen of the World.

Fuck, I am so cheesey. Promise it won't happen again.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

To Hairdressers Everywhere...

I am going to get a haircut tommorow. I desperately need a trim (and when I say trim, I mean it, take off as little hair as you can, don't whack off three inches because I "needed it") but I keep putting it off for one reason: everytime I go to the hairdresser, I get a lecture.

It doesn't matter which hairdresser I go to, whether they are students or well-known, first visit or billionth. I keep getting the same lecture.

So please, Kristin, I hear great things about you and what you can do with hair. I want a trim, and I'm going to say half an inch because I know you will double it. I want my bangs trimmed, if you think I can pull off shorter, go for it, but ONLY if you think it will look good. And I want some long layers. Nothing choppy.

I also implore you to please refrain from telling me the following because I already know it:

"You have very dry hair"

"Being blonde is quite damaging"

"Have you always been blonde?"

"How about letting your natural color (dirty blonde) grow out and getting blonde highlights?"

"Your hair is breaking at the back. Do you wear a ponytail?"

"Promise me you'll never wear your hair in a ponytail again"

"It's so damaged. I don't know what I'm going to do with it"

"See this! It's breaking off here!"

"Do you blowdry or flatiron?"

"Never blowdry or flatiron your hair again"

"Your hair is so dry, it's hard to comb"

"Do you want to try our $100 deep conditioning treatment?"

And so on.

The thing is, I end up sitting there and either defending me and my hair ("Actually, I only blowdry once every few days, I always let it airdry first, I use moisturizing shampoos, when I dye my hair I ONLY do the roots, I wash my hair every other day, I try to not wear it in a ponytail, I have been other hair colors and it just wasnt me, I was born with this hair color damnit!) OR I just sit there and meekly apologize.

After all of that you would think I have the worlds worst hair. I don't. I sometimes get compliments on it. Yes, it is fine as shit and greasy at times and is often too flat. But it's manageable, it's very soft and it's very shiny. GIVE ME A BREAK!

So, you can see why I avoid the hairdressers like the plague. Hopefully Kristin will stumble across my blog before she does my hair and I won't have to lecture HER on not lecturing me.

BTW - for those who care (Simon), I have updated my other blog (see sidebar) with my review of my hotel in Rome. Ciao!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

More Mishaps

I've never been very good at telling time with the 24 hour clock. Maybe because it involves adding and subtracting, I don't know. What I do know is that 1600 is 4PM (because 4x4 is 16) and that 1PM is 1300. That's about it.

Anyway, I had just taken a HELL-iSH plane ride from Italy to Toronto and totally underestimated how long the flight was going to be. See, going to Rome, I flew Vancouver to Frankfurt and that only took 8 or 9 hours because of the whole arctic circle route and the going with the wind thing. Then from Frankfurt to Rome was just a quick hop.

But my return ticket was brutal. I didn't find out until I sat down on the plane (in front of a woman who was coughing up a lung the whole time which might explain why I have had the flu since Saturday) that the flight from Rome to Toronto was TEN hours! And then the flight from Toronto to Vancouver was FIVE! Holy crap, why didn't I just fly to New Zealand if it was going to take this long?

To make matters worse, I had the middle seat in the middle of the plane. Lucky a nice Torontonian wanted me to switch seats with his wife who was seated by the window at the back of the plane. SCORE! Other than that though, the flight was most flights are.

We were even late coming into the airport ("I'm sorry, there is a slight delay, some plane is in our gate"...WHY are they in our gate? IF they know we are coming, why are they there? JERKS!) which made me worry abit about catching my connecting flight. But as it was 430PM and my flight didn't leave till 1725, I figured I had PLENTY of time.

Time to go through customs. Time to get my backage. Time to cram my duty free lemoncello back in my luggage. Time to check that luggage. Time to go through security again. Time to find my gate. Time to buy magazines. Time to go to the bar?

I just about had a drink and some bar food when I decided that I should plug in my cell and charge it, in case the plane was delayed or something and I had to text my much-missed boyfriend (he volunteered to pick me up from the airport, which was very nice). So I went to a gate that had an outlet, sat down and plugged in my phone. The phone showed the time as 530. My boarding time for plane was 1725.

"I have plenty of time!" I thought.

A few minutes later I looked back at the clock. "Wait...if it's 535PM now. And I board at 1725....and 1600 is 4PM...which would mean....OH MY GOD!"

I yanked the phone from the wall, jumped to my feet and ran down the hall towards my gate. Luckily they were just calling my row, so I composed myself as if nothing had happened and strode on to the plane.

That was freebie.


Eventually the plane did land, and I couldn't have been happy to run out of it. I made my way to the baggage claim area (after ducking into the washroom to pretty myself up...hello, I hadn't seen my man in two weeks and I was definitely in need of a little something something).

I, of course, had been up for 30 hours or something retarded and my Italy-synched body thought it was 5AM, not 8PM. So, I was a little out of it.

Luckily my boyfriend was understanding of my scary dazed state and we drove back to his house, stopping by my parents place on the way to drop off some bags.

My family friend Rick came running out of the door as soon as he saw me (my parents are away and he is looking after the house).

"Do you have your passport?" he barked at me.

"Yeah, it's in my purse."

"Is it really?"

What was he getting at? Of course, it was in my purse, "It's in the car, do you want me to go get it?"

"Well, it's just that some man from the airport phoned, saying you left your passport in the seatback pocket. Does that sound like something you would do?"

Actually, that did sound like something I would do. I didn't even bother checking my purse.

The man had left a number so I called him. He was in charge of checking the planes afterwards and had stumbled across my passport (luckily I had my address and tel number written in there). And even more luckily, he happened to live 10 minutes away from where I was and was happy to drop it off the next morning.

At the time though, I was too out of it to really comprehend that I had nearly lost my passport for the umpteenth time, but judging from the humourously exasperated looks that my boyfriend and Rick were giving me, they totally got it.

That, also, was a freebie. The man upstairs really loves to give me a break sometimes.

Next time, I tell you how I lost a pair of 200$ boots on an Italian bus!

Thursday, September 06, 2007

If Nuns could fly

OK, this is totally out of order, but this is Italian Mishap #2. It happened about a week before Mishap #1 and pretty much involves the same specifics.

The picture above is the view from my teeny tiny hotel room (yes, Simon, I will be blogging all about the travel specifics of my trip in my other blog, in due time ;). It looks down onto the courtyard of an old, beautiful church. The view isn't pefect though because there is some sort of low roof between my hotel and the courtyard, but that at least means that I have some privacy and don't have to worry about closing the blinds when I get dressed because whoever is in the churchyard can't physically see me over the roof.

So I languish around my room, curtains and windows open, head heavy with jetlag, body drenched with the 100% humidity and thus sporting only underwear (no thongs this time).

I sit at my wee table and starting painting my toenails with this shocking blue nailpolish that I snagged at Sephora down the street.

By the time my nails are done, I look down and admire them. Odd, but pretty.

Then I look up.

There is a NUN, on the roof, looking in my room with a look of shock and horror on her face. She has a broom in hand and has obviously noticed me in my underwear during mid-sweep.

Problem now is, I don't want to further scare the lady by acting mortified and embarassed and indignant (which I was), so I smile and continue to sit there and redo my nails like I am so totally used to having Nuns see me in next to nothing.

So for those of you who have access to my Facebook, THAT is why my status was "Is sorry that a Nun had to see her in her underwear."

I'm starting to think my subconcious is an exhibitionist.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Two Weeks Later

Well folks, so much has happened in the last two weeks, some good, some bad. Mainly good though and the bad isn't so bad (just involves my usual travel mishaps and fiascos ala THIS). Most importantly though, my trip to Italy gave me time to think, reflect and relax and I couldn't feel better about being home and starting new. But because I have so much to tell you, I will just do it in short little increments, one day at the time.

Today I will start with Mishap #1.

Yesterday I got up bright and early in the muggy Rome heat and made my way with my huge and extremely heavy backpack to the train station. You see...I bought a lot of clothes and shoes in Rome (as you do, or as I do anyway) and I was straining under the weight. To make matters better (ish) I wore a dress I bought and these heavy combat-ish boots (though of the elegant quality). Yes it was WAY to hot for the 30 degree morning but it was better I wear my heaviest items than pack them.

Do I need to tell you that I have never gone backpacking with a dress before?

Hard to believe considering but true. And thus I did not understand the hazards of wearing a backpack with a dress.

After boarding the Leonardo Da Vinci Express for the the airport, I sat daintly on my backpack, careful to not give anyone a peepshow of my leopard print thong underwear. I am a lady, you see.

When the train arrived at the airport, I hopped off and strode purposefully through the crowd of people, towards my gate. Now there is a fair bit of walking involved, including a few trips on the moving walkway. But I wanted to get to check in on time, so I went forward with force. I must have been walking for about 10 minutes or so, passing people left and right and leaving them in my wake when three giggly American girls passed by me.

"Scuzi?" said one. I turned to her cautiously and seeing that I was not Italian, she said, "Excuse me?"

"Yes" I said, still walking forward.

"We just had to tell you but the back of your dress is hiked up. It's caught in your backpack."

My heart froze. "Hiked up all the way?"

"Yes. All the way."

I think I muttered thanks, or shit or something. The girls ran off towards their gate, laughing their heads off (despite that, I am so grateful that SOMEONE had the nerve to tell me).

So yeah. I had just spent 10 minutes walking through the airport with my bare ass and leopard print thong out for all to see, passing by hundreds and hundreds of people.

To make matters worse, I have a mutilated, red mosquito bite the size of Spain on my ass and my ass has expanded over the last two weeks due to overeating pasta and wine.

And that, my friends, was my last minute on Italy soil.