spanish wedding soundtrack

In case you were wondering, yes they DO play YMCA, the Grease remix and Mamma Mia at Spanish weddings... haha!

slurrrrrrrrrp

Every single day on my way to work I make a pit stop in the same shady convenience store and buy exactly two peaches. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now I've always liked peaches, along with the rest of the fruit gang, but I've never by any means been obsessed with man's favorite fuzzy fruit. If they're there, great... if not, I'll happily find something else to eat. Like a donut. BUT, these aren't just any old peaches. These peaches are seriously the biggest, juiciest, most delicious peaches ever. This is going to sound rather revolting, but I would say they are approximately the size of a human brain. I know that's gross, because honestly, who wants to think about sinking their teeth into a big juicy brain as they take a bite of their steroid-fed peach. Ew. But seriously. Size-wise, it's the most comparable thing I can think of.

Moving along, this leads me to the second part of the story. There is absolutely no way to graciously eat these monster peaches in a quiet place - let's say the workplace, where I do indeed eat them every day - without calling to mind a pubescent make out session. You go about cocking your head one way and then the other, trying to decide on the approach, and when you finally "go for it", it's just a symphony of slurping and you can't help but bashfully look around from embarrassment. I feel like I should roll my eyes and tell myself to get a room.

cuppycakes

In other news, Joanne and I made cupcakes... because honestly, what else would we be doing on a Saturday night in Europe's nightlife capital?

vroom vroom!

After seeing commercials on tv for several weeks, I pestered Alfonso so much with my not-so- implicit pleas that he finally gave in and took me to see the Red Bull X-fighters... a big freestyle motocross competition being held at the bullring. Alternate name: Hickfest 2008.

I loved it. No, better yet, I straight-up Celine Dion LURVED it. What can I say... like my stepsister told me, "Bets, you're so freakin' random."

Additionally, I like to approach the show as a type of cross-cultural sociological study... in that I think it's the Spanish counterpart of America's NASCAR culture. Let's just say that Madrid's entire population of white trash and juvenile delinquents was packed in the city's bullring that night. Oh, and then me with my obnoxiously cute Vera Bradley bag and Alfonso in his Lacoste polo. Needless to say, we fit right in with the locals... in that Alfonso refused to take out his cellphone for fear of it being stolen.

We were in the nosebleed seats which, while offering great bird's-eye views of the flips and twists, was teeming with impressively pruned mullets, far too many camel toes, horrifying bodily odors, massive tattoos and shirtless guys spitting sunflower seeds and flicking cancer-stick ashes into the hair of whoever happened to be sitting in front of them. Classy folks.

Anywho, here's some visual entertainment I took...

profound thoughts on my way to work:

1) If you reside in an apartment in the middle of a city - let's say, for all intents and purposes, Madrid - and you're in the market for a puppy, why in the name of jeebus would you get a Saint Bernard? I mean, I love the movie Beethoven and all, but a) once full-grown the poor thing doesn't FIT in an apartment, and b) you can't just bring out a little plastic baggie to pick up its bid'ness in the street... you need to rope off the area and go at it with a snow shovel and a heavy duty (get it? duty? doody?) garbage bag.

2) The mid-summer temperature at 9-930am in in Madrid is PERFECT. Seriously. Betsey weather times infinity. Plus one.

3) It has got to suck big fat balls to be pregnant in the summer... and I don't mean "we just found out and we're so excited for this most glorious gift" pregnant. I'm talkin' "ready to pop, waddling down the street with a fully developed human being in you" pregnant. Did I mentioned summer in Madrid hovers around a refreshing 95 degrees? I mean, I practically overheat as it is when I have to deal with an additional bag with my sneakers and gym clothes in it, let alone having to haul Junior around non-stop.

i <3 dolphins, and other selected valencia photos

valencia

This past weekend, we (Joanne, Joanne's brother, Joanne's brother's friend and yours truly) boarded a train to sunny Valencia, home of the best orange juice EVER, for two action-packed days of feasting on paella, seeing fishies at the aquarium and sizzling at the beach like weenies on the grill.

We ate our breakfasts - coffee, OJ and toast - outside at sidewalk cafés, embracing those summer morning hours before the real heat sets in. We wore shorts and flip-flops, took pictures and didn't think about work. We spent 4 hours at the aquarium gushing over penguins, belugas and tropical fish... and oh yes, I had tears in my eyes at the dolphin show (don't judge, it's emotional!). At the interactive science museum, we saw baby chicks hatch and ooh-ed and ahh-ed our way through various exhibits, one of which was all about the woman. Try being with two 18-year old boys in a giant moon bounce meant to be a uterus and then through a laser tunnel of traveling sperm. We took long, leisurely strolls around the city, pausing from time to time to relax in the shade for a snack or a cool drink. We topped it all off with a day at the beach, spent sunning, swimming and nibbling on ice cream sandwiches.

It was lurvely. I love vacations... even two-day ones.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vacation Anecdote:
Joanne, having been inspired by her roommate's raving reviews, decided to invest four of her well-earned euros in a tube of cream that is essentially meant to tighten up the skin in your - cough, cough - "trouble" areas. So, intrigued both by the supposed results and by the advertised "Cooling Effect", I decided to give it a go. I shrugged off the fact that it smelled like Halls cough drops.

Fast forward to 5 minutes later when I'm hopping around the hotel room in my underwear, trying to wipe off the cream with a towel while simultaneously blowing on myself with a hairdryer. Why? Well let's just put it this way: if by "Cooling Effect" they meant "Liquid Nitrogen that may or may not freeze-burn two layers of your skin off" well then bravo! They were spot on.

heaven, with a side of french fries and a dill pickle

From homemade grilled cheeses to gourmet veggie wraps, I love sandwiches like a fat kid loves cake.

I probably should have sprung for a different metaphor, because now that I look at that, I guess that makes me a fat - or, as my grandmother called me during my shman years, "husky" - kid that loves sandwiches AND cake. What can I say... I'm just another carb-lovin' American.

Okay but seriously. Along with fireworks, puppies and batting cages, there are few things that please me more than a well constructed sandwich. Just ask my coworkers at the restaurant I used to work at. In the three years that I worked there, I ordered the same exact sandwich every single day for my free lunch: a #5 (chicken salad) on wheat, side of french fries and a pickle. Seriously, how mouth-watering does this sound (taken from the website menu): Grilled Chicken Salad Muenster cheese, Romaine lettuce, beefsteak tomatoes & fresh tarragon mayonnaise ...$7.25.

Drool.

So, as I try to ward off the rumbly in my tumbly, three cheers for open-faced tuna melts, falafels and chicken wraps. Warm paninis, pb&j's and ice cream sandwiches. Subs, hoagies and grinders. Chicken clubs, grilled cheeses and blt's. Egg mcmuffins, cheeseburgers and pitas. Gyros, shawarmas and kebabs... and all the rest.

how bad a wife would i really be

Susan read this lil blog entry from jezebel and subsequently sent it to me, after which we both agreed that domestic goddesses we are not. In fact, we should probably come with a disclaimer.

Here's the original 1939 marital ranking scale for wives: http://www.boingboing.net/2008/05/13/1939-marital-rating.html

And here's the blogger's score and commentary. It's pretty fantastic:
http://jezebel.com/5015057/how-bad-a-wife-would-i-really-be

a pretty tell-tale sign that Alfonso needs to work less...

... is when he unwittingly goes out in public like this:

Todd's Story Corner

During college, my friend Todd would habitually send us all short stories that he wrote as a way to both procrastinate and foment his creativity. Not only was he a procrastinator himself, but he was also a world class enabler who provided all of us with just what we were desperate for: a reason to put off productivity for as long as humanly possible.

The Todd's Story Corner fan club (otherwise known as the recipients of his stories) grew and grew over the course of the four years we spent at our respective schools. As Todd himself describes, Todd's Story Corner was "like a secret society, but slightly funnier than the KKK and with more of a "can do" attitude than Heaven's Gate."

Anyways, now that he's a hot shot in LA, he's taken on the digital age by writing and directing skits. Take a look- they're pretty fantastic.

www.ToddsStoryCorner.com

supermarket olympics

So this week in Spain there's a trucker strike to protest the rising costs of fuel. Essentially, this means that the transport of goods, be they eggs, lumber or socks, has ceased until some sort of agreement is reached.

Aside from the congested highways due to hundreds of stopped trucks that are blocking the majority of the lanes and causing massive traffic jams, what's on the news most is the gas situation. Because trucks aren't transporting fuel to fill gas station reserves, gas stations are literally running out of gas. Yesterday, I think I heard that 15% of Madrid's gas stations had already run out of fuel, not to mention the gas stations throughout the rest of the country... and that was just day 1. The gas stations that still have fuel have lines of cars waiting to refill, the drivers not even knowing if there will still be gas left by the time they get their turn. Being the semi-illegal immigrant that I am and having no car to my name, I luckily don't have to worry about getting stuck in traffic or running out of gas- something at which I have proven to be exceptionally talented.

For many people, namely those who commute to work, this is most certainly a problem. I, on the other hand, can focus my worries on not getting deported- HA!

My experience with the strike involved the supermarket, where it seemed like the entire population of Madrid was stocking up for some impending nuclear event. I, like my family, have never been one to worry about running out of the essentials. Whenever there were hurricanes - which, by the way, were usually pretty wimpy - closing in on the shores of southeastern Connecticut, we'd watch flabbergasted as people we knew scrambled to the supermarket to stock their minivans with enough bottled water to fill up the pool in their backyard, enough canned foods to feed a small to medium-sized country and enough batteries to keep their flashlights lit for the next 6 to 8 electricity-less years. We'd buy a box of cereal, a carton of milk and a jug of OJ, never thinking beyond the next day's breakfast. Miraculously, we're still alive and kickin'.

Upon entering the store last night, I was naturally thrown off by the check-out lines that extended down into the aisles. Having just come out of a four - count that FOUR - hour meeting that went two hours past quittin' time and my only desire involving a couch and a tv, I was already grumbling. What really threw me off, however, was the fact that my grocery shopping venture ended being contact sport. I swear to jeebus it was like the videos of people Christmas-shopping during the Cabbage Patch and Tickle Me Elmo fads. Never in my life have I been rammed into so many times by shopping carts and elbows, seen customers climb over each other in the name of yogurt or watched as people unabashedly cut off a handicapped person's path. I think I even saw one old lady use her cane to catapult her way over a shopping cart.

Screw hurricanes and food shortages. I'm just lucky to have made it out of the supermarket alive.

grammar hell

Once, in a high school English class and in relation to a book we had read, we were assigned a writing exercise in which we had to conceive and describe our personal versions of Hell. Had I known then what I know now about the depths of human stupidity, I think my version would have involved constant interaction with bad grammar.

Let me explain. For certain projects at work, my boss - who has since departed thanks to what's being passed off as a "mutual decision" - would hire freelance writers. Being French, however, and no whiz at speaking/writing/listening in any language including his own, his standards for hiring freelance English writers are what I would describe as appalling at best. For example, I don't understand how people, in this case a supposedly native English-speaker from Canada, can get paid for writing like this:

Having a white Martini is common here, a glass of wine or a small beer. Accompanied by yet another little snack. Like; a few mussels, berberechos (cockle in English) or somekind of Tapa.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but there IS, believe it or not, a difference between independent and dependent phrases. A semicolon does NOT have the same functions as a colon, and for the love of God, why is tapa capitalized??? Is it a country? A person? A higher power worshiped by the masses? Since when is somekind one word? Ahhh, my brain is crying.

Imagine having to revise roughly 100 pages full of this shit. This is when it crosses the line between revising and rewriting.

My job today = awesome.

the (insert witty name summing up person described)

One thing that never fails to baffle me is a character for whom I can't seem to come up with a catchy yet symbolic name, but whose definition would be something along the lines of the elusive, suddenly busy im-er.

A conversation with said character goes a little something like this:

Friend: hey!!!
Me (responding immediately): hey, what's up??? how's everything going?
Friend: (no response)
Me: (rolls eyes after 15 minutes, growls, exits chat box)

I can understand the occasional and unforeseen emergency that may prevent "Friend" from responding. Your IBS is acting up again and you had to sprint to the bathroom. The boss has appeared out of nowhere and is looking over your shoulder. The fire alarm has started beeping and you had to stop, drop and roll before crawling beneath the smoke to put out the fire in the kitchen. Carbon monoxide has invaded your home and you have passed out, possibly to never wake again.

I can understand it happening once in awhile; I take offense, however, at the repeat offenders. My question for you: why bother going through the hassle of clicking on my name, opening a message box and messaging me if you have no real intentions of actually maintaining a conversation involving more than just you? Are you trying to come across as popular or important? Were you hoping I wasn't there are were just saying hi as a courtesy? It's like calling someone on the phone, waiting til they pick up... and then hanging up without saying anything. Pointless!

an open letter to... Mother Nature

Yo, Mama N... what the frijoles?

In times when parts of the world are being ravaged by earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes and floods, I understand that - in comparison - you're going pretty easy on me. After all, the floor has not collapsed beneath me, I don't have to paddle around town in a rowboat and the apartment roof remains firmly in place above my head. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate this greatly.

That said, and with the utmost respect, we have GOT to come to some sort of agreement here.

What's the deal with the overcast skies, constant rainfall and frigid temperatures? Are you pissed? PMS-ing? Vengeful? Depressed? Well it's time to snap out of it Eeyore. It's JUNE (well, in two days) and I'm still donning my winter attire. It's been weeks... I repeat WEEKS!... since I've seen the sun and felt its warmth upon my face. NOT ACCEPTABLE.

"June" and "hold on, let me grab my coat" are two concepts that should not, under any circumstances, go hand-in-hand. So please, pop some pills - be they Midol or Xanax - and bring that fiery yet beloved ball of gas out of hiding so I can put away my umbrella, store my sweaters and sip on cool beverages outdoors while enjoying its rays.

Mkay? Great, thanks.

huh?

So I just spent an exorbitant amount of time choosing a new font for instant messenger when I should have been - cough, cough - working. Because it's borderline embarrassing, I will not reveal how long this selection process took, so let's just settle with "too long". Why did I do this? Because I am bored out of my mind at work right now and it was the only thing within my control to change. You im-ers won't know what hit you when you meet the new and improved Bitstream Vera Sans size 10 font Betsey in a kickin' shade of... navy blue. Can you feel the energy?

So then I got to thinking (again, instead of - cough, cough - working) that, as silly as something like a font change may be, it's only natural to want to tweak the things that we can so as not to be perpetually stuck in a monotonous wake-work-eat-sleep-repeat cycle. Now don't interpret this badly... I don't at feel stuck in a mundane routine and I am FAR from bored. In fact, I'm pretty damn happy. I'm just bored at work right now and feeling a tad over-caffeinated!

Anyways, unless you're a nomadic hippie - which believe me would be appealing if not for the inevitability of b.o. and offspring with names like Rainbow and Ocean - it's natural for life to become a little less up to you and a little more up to others (government, bosses, etc.). After all, society tells us it's a sign of maturity to wake up and be a productive member of society instead of living in a perpetual college mindset of "eh, I'll skip life today because I'm hungover". Blurry flashbacks of rocking out on the air guitar to "Summer of '69" on top of a beer pong table are funny when you're 22 but, when you're a balding 45-year old with no steady job but with a steadily expanding beer gut, that same scenario loses its comical edge and lands you a spot in pathetic creepster territory.

I think this need to exert control over the little things is also why so many women end up with shorter and shorter haircuts as they get older. Sure, they'll say it's for purposes of easier maintenance given that they don't have enough time to primp their mane as much as they once did. This is, of course, valid. I, however, think it has more to do with them feeling that - between working, grocery shopping, driving the kidlets to soccer practice, paying bills, packing school lunches, walking the dog, etc. - the hair is one of those few precious things that you can do whatever the frijoles you want with and it won't complain, cry, bark or grow mold. And, since you can't grow your hair in the snap of a finger and the snip-snip of a pair of scissors, shorter is the only way to go. Once the kids have moved out and the hair can't go any shorter, it means it's time to retire, sell the house and dedicate your days to bingo and grandkids.

Where am I going with this? I have no effing clue, although now that I think about it, I think this sporadic urge to "change things up" is also at the core of why I get deliriously giddy about buying new socks.

I'm sick of long sleeved shirts

Why the frijoles isn't it summer yet?

ode to coworkers

When people ask me, in a natural response to my constant complaints about certain "aspects" at work, about why I don't aggressively look for a new place of employment, I usually don't have a legitimate response. Trust me, it's sometime in the foreseeable future, as I certainly don't plan to be here when I'm 40. Or 30, for that matter. I know I have to move out and up. After all, I WOULD at some point in my life like to get myself out of debt to the US government sometime before i hit menopause... and hey, while we're at it maybe even save a few pennies!

However, right now I'm not in a rush and I'm trying to concentrate more on the positive aspects than the negative. So, there are a few key reasons that keep me here.

1) I'm in it partially for the papers, and a dim light is slowly coming into focus at the end of the tunnel otherwise known as Spanish bureaucracy.

2) Relaxed atmosphere. We take 1/2-hour coffee breaks. We drink too much wine at lunch on "social Fridays". We can just about go to work in our pj's if it strikes our fancy, and nobody will care. In fact, if someone were to show up wearing what others in the workforce know to be "work attire", we'd either laugh or assume he/she has an interview.

3) When it comes down to it, I DO like what I do. Sure there are a lot boring parts, but I write, I translate, I plan entire websites, I pretend I'm an internet guru and learn more each day about html and SEO. Nerdy, yes... but if my career path shapes up to be the path I think I'm starting out on, all of this stuff helps beef up my resume.

4 and most important) I have fantastic coworkers. While there's a constant flow of people coming and going, we somehow always have a great group of people. We laugh non-stop. We get drinks after work every Friday. We have inside jokes. We spend more time with each other during the week than we do with our significant others, and yet we still voluntarily choose to hang out with each other after work and on weekends.

Being from abroad, it's hard to form your own group of friends. Our childhood and college friends don't live in this city, in this country and, in many cases, even on this continent. There's no circumstance that forces you into befriending your dorm roommate, the strangers down the hall or the people sitting next to you in philosophy class. Instead, the tendency for us outsiders is to try to infiltrate the group of friends of some "link", whether it's a classmate, a roommate or a significant other.

At work we're from all around the world - USA, France, Germany, Spain, Russia, Dominican Republic, Brazil, Italy... - and yet here we are, each with their own reasons, in Madrid. Luckily for us, we're not just coworkers but we're legitimate friends beyond the workplace... and that's pretty special thing to leave behind.

city living thought of the day

How much dog poo do you think blind people unwittingly step in?

yikesabee

I found quite possibly the least aesthetically pleasing dog breed ever. It's called a "saluki". How the frijoles do you cuddle up on the couch with that??

Unfortunate.

As I scurried to work this morning, I saw a woman (or maybe not..) who looked exactly like Adam Sandler's androgynous assistant in 50 First Dates. Remember? The one who dove headfirst into a barrel of fish and later got covered in walrus vomit? Yeah that one.

My list of day-to-day grievances

That squeaky feel/sound of fabric rubbing against fabric.

Yorkshire terriers

Pistachios that won't open

When the metro leaves just as you get to it

Alarm clocks

When the daily puppy isn't cute

The Electric Slide

Facebook application invitations

When people can't keep their their/they're/there and effect/affect straight

The tangle-prone Ipod earphones

Bad coffee

Kids sitting behind you on flights

Bread bag twisties

Pigeons. May they all perish.

Slow drivers cruising in the left-hand lane

Tuesdays

Looking at the clock and getting excited to see that it's 6:00pm. Then you realize that no, it's actually 16:00 and you still have 2 and a half hours of work left. Damn you military time.

Overzealous patriotism

The size of the towels at the gym

Subjunctive mode

Clementines with seeds

Mushy strawberries

The effect of gas prices on international flight fares

When your ipod keeps going back to the same songs even when it's supposed to be shuffling through your whole play list.

Incorrect weather forecasts

Music from Grease. Especially the Grease medley.

Traffic

Pennies and their international 1-cent equivalents

Bad grammar

When every single crosswalk you get to is a red light.

Reality shows

Any word in Spanish that has the combination of r followed by d in it.

Stupidity

Forgetting to buy something at the supermarket

B.O. in the metro

Cheap alcohol in plastic bottles

Ham-flavored chips.

When nobody posts new photos on Facebook

The dubbed voice in Spanish for Stewie in Family Guy. Just doesn't compare.

Slow news days

cat fanatics

From one of my favorite comics, this is pretty funny:



www.nataliedee.com

what a novel idea

On occasion, I have mentioned half-jokingly the idea of some day writing a book. Unfortunately, I've got a few speed bumps in my way, not the least of which is my attention span and patience, or lack thereof. This unfortunate combination barely allows me to maintain a blog with any degree of regularity, let alone create a 300-page work of literary genius. Plus, nothing has ever come to mind to which I could imagine dedicating myself for weeks, months or even years.

Anyway, this morning we went to the bar for our coffee break, which is really the daily opportunity to release our collective workplace anger so as not to explode and/or resort to violence. In a sudden moment of clarity, the skies opened up, the birds chirped, heaven's angels sang, and I realized the it had been right there in front of me all along- my working experience in Spain! Well, more specifically about my time in the company I work for. Believe me, there's more than enough material.

My nearly two years here have been laden with unusual anecdotes and bizarre characters: the Slovakian intern constantly and unabashedly perusing x-rated websites; the owner's bat shit crazy mother who flies through the office in a whirl of hairspray and Burbury plaid, with her ridiculously small Yorkie tucked under her arm a la Jacobim Mugatu; and, of course, the ridiculous boss, quite possibly afflicted with multiple mental disabilities, that blows Michael Scott outta the water. Seriously.

Really, the only thing left - aside from actually writing it and getting my multi-million dollar book deal - is deciding upon the genre: comedy, drama or tragedy.

my new set of wheels

I bought rollerblades - woop woop!

That's right, I'm just a Ninja Turtle t-shirt, a pair of stirrup leggings and a few heinous scrunchies away from 1990.

kids vs dogs, round 2

The second installment of the children vs dogs series.

Kids:
http://www.news4jax.com/news/15761895/detail.html

Here's a little excerpt:
Three of the nine Ware County third-grade students suspended after accusations that they were involved in a plot to harm their teacher will face some serious charges in juvenile court, according police. Waycross Police Chief Tony Tanner on Tuesday released pictures of the evidence, which includes a steak knife, a paperweight, handcuffs, gloves and several rolls of tape.


Dogs:
http://dailypuppy.com/index.php?itemid=1798

And the accompanying excerpt:
Nissa loves to eat our garden, and we will quite often spot her with a few flowers or some grass hanging out of her mouth. Nissa is also a sucker for a good belly rub, and will happily sit for ages if she scores one. She loves to run and jump - it was hard work getting these photos, because so often she'd move so fast that we'd end up with a photo of the ground!

an open letter

Dear Jelly Belly Candy Company,

Ye pioneers of the palate and gods of glucose delight my senses and speak to my soul with your potpourri of mouth-watering Jelly Belly jelly beans. Even the random and decidedly strange flavors (see: "buttered popcorn" and "toasted marshmallow") have grown on me. Well, all but the jalapeño ones, which are, to be frank, quite horrid.

My relationship with your beans began circa 1994 on a venture to Washington, D.C. with my dad and siblings, when a good friend of his bet me 1000 jelly beans that I couldn't name the statue on top of the capitol building. He quickly learned never to underestimate the knowledge of an 11 year old.

A couple months later, when he traveled up to the good ole nutmeg state, he paid in full with three giant boxed assortments of Jelly Bellies. I was eating jelly beans for months. In fact, it's probably what added the chub factor to my already awkward teenage years (see: school photos, grades 6 through 12).

I was also quite fond of my tour of your factory back in the summer of 2002. I felt like Charlie entering Willy Wonka's humble headquarters; let's disregard the fact that Charlie was like 8 and I was 19. Regardless, for several weeks following the visit, I fantasized of practicing my backstroke in a vat of bubblegum-flavored Jelly Beans, which happened to be the flavor your employees were making on the day of my tour. I can only liken my fantasy to cartoon scenes in which Uncle Scrooge splashes about in golden coins, except I wouldn't emerge smelling like dirty metal.

So, as I sit here at work munching on handfuls of my "Christmas Mix" (yes, I am aware that Christmas was some time ago), I can't help but be moved to express to you my undying gratitude.

Sincerely,

long-time Jelly Belly consumer/current green-tongued enthusiast,
Betsey

Dogs are the New Kids

Mark and I worked together for a couple summers during the good ole college years in this ghetto ass store/easiest place of employment called Odd Job. It was kind of along the lines of a small-scale Walmart, but with even more crap and even less English-speakers.

It was, without a doubt, the easiest job ever.

Aside from eating Hot Tamale and Mike & Ike candies for dinner and being the only all stars to have a) a high school diploma and b) teeth, we/I would keep a tally based on all the bratty 9 year olds who ran around the store screaming uncontrollably, knocking things off shelves, and generally living in a constant state of obnoxiousness. What made things even worse was that as the fruits of their loins launched slotted spoons and whisks at each other, the parents would just shrug and wander off to look at suitcases, insect repellent or four-dollar bras.

Moving along. From time to time Mark would hear my voice across 4 aisles yelling "dogs: 458", which was understood to be the first part of the score in the ongoing contest of dogs vs. kids. The second part was never necessary to include, as the little demons never managed to break into the positive numbers. During those summers, I truly don't know how many times I swore off ever having children.

In related news, last night Susan and I decided that I should start up a new blog called "Dogs are the New Kids", which would essentially juxtapose - through articles, photos and my ever witty commentary - the loving innocence of our cherished canine companions and their polar opposites: children. Why? Frankly, because every day there are new reports about children doing increasingly horrific things to each other. They shoot each other, stab each other over video games... anything seems to be game these days.

So, if I were to dedicate an entire blog to the kids vs dogs issue - and believe me, this is hyp-o-thetical - today's article contribution would be this:
http://www.kirotv.com/news/15547029/detail.html

• Excerpt: A 10-year-old boy is in critical condition at Children's Hospital in Seattle after being buried in a backyard sandbox by his playmates.

Which would then be compared to THIS, today's dailypuppy.com photo.
http://dailypuppy.com/index.php?itemid=1747\


In conclusion, children possibly killing their playmate by interring him alive versus a beagle puppy playing fetch with a stick. I rest my case.

Questions?

SO ready for warm weather...

This weekend it's going to be practically 70º in Madrid- woot!!! Bars and cafés had better get their outdoor tables set up!

Ch-ch-check it out: Madrid's 10-day

tuesday morning randomness

• How is it not at least Thursday?

• Joanne might come back to Madrid in June... to stay! Yay America.
  

• While a smidge embarrassing to admit, Britney Spears' newest album is great for the gym. With the exception of a ballad or two which I promptly skip, the beats of practically all of the songs are right on par with my rate on the elliptical: a nice range of 60 to 65.
  

• I don't care how screwed up she is; Amy Winehouse totally rocks. She adds a touch of sultry sass to the mundane nature of my workday.

• No matter how painstakingly careful I am when winding them up, my iPod earphones ALWAYS tangle themselves into knots. Wtf?

• No Movistar, I don't want a cell phone contract. Please stop stalking me.

• 45 days til vacation- Hallelujah!

• How beyond fantastic is the Sarah Silverman / Jimmy Kimmel video duel? HIL.AR.I.OUS.

Her video:


His revenge:

me = idiot

Going to the gym in the morning, when you're still groggy and trying to figure out why the main characters in your dream were dancing forks, inevitably increases the possibility of leaving something behind. Luckily, such items are generally negligible... hence their being forgotten. Salad dressing. Socks. A spoon. Occasionally a bra. When these things are left behind, it's just a hitch. You can make do, even if it means eating dry lettuce for lunch or keeping the gals hidden with a sweatshirt.

Then today happened, when I found myself standing in the gym locker room - showered and otherwise ready to go - in leggings, boots and a tank top. Noticeably absent from my gym bag was the dress meant to go over said leggings.

I had 10 minutes until work, which is 5-10 mins from the gym, and I had to weigh out my options: A) go to work a la Catwoman, or B) scamper the 15 minutes home, put on the dress and then scamper the 20 minutes to work, hoping to make it in by 10. This is all up and down the same long street, mind you. A shop worker said hi to me three - count 'em THREE - times this morning.

In the end, tardiness prevailed over what would likely have been the saddest attempt at a Catwoman costume ever. Interestingly enough, I probably burned up more pesky calories outside of the gym this morning than inside it.

yay yay rah rah

Is it just me or is Hillary Clinton always, always, ALWAYS clapping in pictures taken of her as she campaigns. I personally - and especially when you throw in the over-exaggerated facial expressions - find that it comes across as quite awkward. Like when parents try too hard to act "cool" or when scrawny, acne-prone teenyboppers in the throes of puberty try to break dance. Or rap.

Then again, I bet a hearty dose of self applause does wonders for your self esteem. That way, you know that you've always got at least one cheerleader on your side. Or in the mirror.

... go Obama!

morning encounters

So there's this girl who I see at the gym pretty much every time I manage to drag myself out of bed in the name of physical well-being. I refer to her simply as, well, an abbreviated nickname stemming from a particular part of the female anatomy. It may seem crass, but trust me... it's appropriate. I will explain why. Plus, she's about an 11 on the bitch meter, so I don't feel too bad about it.

Now I'm not a prude; I understand walking to and from the shower naked. It's normal and doesn't bother me in the least. However, while most folks then put some clothes on or at least use a towel post-shower, this particular lass keeps on in the buff for another 20 minutes as she blow-dries her hair, puts on her make-up and goes through the rest of the steps of her a.m. beauty routine.

Then comes the fun part: when she apparently needs to exfoliate her entire body with this coarse loofah of sorts. This involves her - completely naked, mind you - throwing her leg over her head into a position that can only be compared to that of my cat when he is getting ready to lick himself.

a note from frank

So today I get the following email:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Elizabeth,

As Senior Vice President of Holy Cross, I am writing to ask you for some very valuable feedback. Our records indicate that you have not recently made contributions to the College. I am not asking for money at this time; I am merely looking for information. Will you share with us why you do not give?

If you take a moment to let me know why you don't give to Holy Cross, I promise to respond to you personally. We are working to make Holy Cross the top choice for ambitious students eager to discover themselves in an intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts environment. We need the support of alumni to make that happen. That is why it is imperative for us understand why some alumni do not give. If you're willing to share that information, I would be very grateful.

Just email me at (email address) with your response, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Thank you in advance for sharing your thoughts with me.

Frank ________

Senior Vice President

College of the Holy Cross

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notice the strategically italicized "Will you share with us why you do not give?", as if it were Mother Teresa herself making a heartfelt plea for grain to feed the hungry. In reality, Holy Cross has bazillions of dollars that it invests primarily in schmoozing rich alumni, catering meals for the Jesuits on campus and, of course, plenty o' mulch.

Well, Frank... unfortunately for us all, I'm still looking at 10 years of paying off that intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts education. Ask me a decade from now and then maybe we'll chat... perhaps when I have a bit of cash in the bank to complement my valuable intellectual affluence.

major peeeeeve

If there's one thing I dislike about the gym more than my feet falling asleep on the elliptical, it's the obnoxious folks who plant themselves right in front of your machine in the gym and then attempt to will you off the elliptical/treadmill with their raised-browed eye rolls, piercing stares, exaggerated sighs and frenzied toe-tapping.

That's when I generally decide is a good time to test my physical threshold and go for as long as my endurance will keep me conscious, upright and breathing. And then I do a relaxed, very drawn-out cool down. Mwa ha ha.

SUCKAS.

why are sneakers exciting?

I bought new sneakers yesterday, which is always exciting. No, not because I'm a girl and all girls intrinsically love adding new footwear to their collection... ahem, Elaine.

These babies are my first pair of Nikes since I was like 12, when I boycotted them. 'Why?' you may ask? Some would respond that it's because of the exploitation of young'ns in the Chinese work force. Nope, not my reason... though I certainly commend those folks for their noble nature.

It all goes back to when my brother went through his infamous head-to-toe Nike phase, when a typical outfit would feature Nike basketball sneakers, black Nike socks, Nike mesh shorts, a Nike t-shirt, a Nike sweatshirt and of course - the cherry on top of his bowl haircut - a Nike hat. This "phase" lasted for several years, and the over saturation of Nike apparel floating around the house made me shudder at all things swoosh-related. Only yesterday, 13 years later, did I finally break down and invest in a pair of Nike kicks that caught my eye and hugged my feet like little clouds of heaven. And, I must admit, they're pretty rad.

Why is it that buying sneakers excites me so? Well, to begin, anything new is exciting and there's definitely something to be said for the beneficial powers of retail therapy. But secondly, there was always something thrilling about buying new sneakers as kids, when the parentals loaded us up in the family station wagon (hell yeah wood-grain panels!), shuffled us into the local Stride Rite store and deposited us at the feet of some archetypal frumpy store clerk, who then embarked on the tedious process of getting us to stop squirming, measuring our feet, and then testing how much room we had in the various footwear candidates that came through the swinging door.

Eventually we'd narrow down the options, whining our way out of the personal favorites of our parents, and finally select the winning pair of gleaming white sneakers that would make us the masters of all outdoor pursuits. We'd proudly and squeakily wear them out of the store, our dingy and probably ill-fitting ones hidden away like illegitimate children.

We'd get home, anxious to show off our fabulous new high-tops in a game of neighborhood 4-square or tackle football, fully-convinced that with our brand new footwear we could run faster, jump higher, throw stronger and certainly look all sorts of good. We'd open the front door and wave regally to our friends like pint-sized popes greeting the hoards in Saint Peter's Square (otherwise known as our front yard). Just as we'd open our mouths to brag "Hey look at my new..", our mother always appeared out of thin air.

"No, no... those are your 'good' sneakers. Go put your old ones back on to play outside." And in that moment, all the fun was squeezed right out of the situation and our athletic prowess was placed back into the box... to be saved for more appropriate childhood activities that did not entail anything that sneakers are technically designed for.

So to answer the question, I just get excited that I don't have to "save" my new sneakers.

just gettin through the work day...

1. Name someone who can always makes you smile? alfonsito, marky, my familia, dogs

2. What were you doing at 10:00 this morning? moving to our new office... and then trying to make it less hazardous

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago? workin'

4. What did you do last night? slept

5. Did you watch the Super Bowl? sadly, i did not

6. Explain why you last threw up? ill

7. What color is your hair brush? purple, i think?

8. What cell phone company do you use? in the states, cingular... in spain, movistar

9. Have you text voted for an American Idol? hell nah

10. Have you ever run out of gas? touchy subject... aka twice. what can i say, i'm a procrastinator by nature and sometimes it backfires.

11. Hot tea or Iced tea? i like it hot and i like it green

12. What was the weather like today? chilly and cloudy

13. Where did your last hug take place? at work

14. What are you excited for? work ending for the day

15. Ever smoked pot? moi?

16. Closest thing to you that is green? box of green tea bags on my desk

17. Last person you spoke to? fabienne

18. Are you very random? quite

19. Do you want to get your hair cut? i think i'm gonna grow it again

20. Are you over the age of 25? gettin' old... i know

21. Do you talk a lot? nope... only if i'm drunk or hyper

22. Do you watch The O.C.? ew

23. Whats your screename? no, you can't stalk me

24. Will people IM you now that you posted it? see above

25. Do you make up your own words? spanglish does wonders for one's vocabulary..

26. Are you ticklish? don't touch me

27. Do you own rollerblades? somewhere in my mom's basement

28. Are your ears pierced? yup

29. Bar soap or body wash? whatever's in the shower

30. Are you a jealous person? sometimes

31. What brand of shampoo do you use? pantene

32. Do you chew on your straws? not obsessively

33. Do you have curly hair? HA!

34. What is the next concert you are going to? no clue

35. Where did you go today? let's see... old work, new work, bar downstairs for a coffee, back to new work, lunch, back to work. WOO!

36. What 1 item do you always pick up at the grocery store? juice

37. What is something you say a lot? holler

38. Last time you wore panty hose? ugh, i hate the word panty.. shudder

39. Red or White Wine? rouge, si'l vous plait

40. Do you think you are pretty? sometimes

41. What are you doing tonight? i love my will & grace reruns...

42. What was your last missed call? mom

43. What should you be doing right now? work

44. Do you have a nickname? betsey has opened up all sorts of opportunities... betsey-wetsey, buttsey, butts, etc.

45. Are you a heavy sleeper? sometimes

46. What are you listening to? regina spektor

47. What is the best movie you have seen in the past two weeks? juno!

48. Is there anyone you like right now? sure

49. When was the last time you did the dishes? i put dishes in the dishwasher yesterday?

50. Did you cry today? so far so good

51. Do you like Chinese food? some

52. How big is your bed? depends where i am

53. Do you know someone with the same birthday as you? not personally, although according to wikipedia there are quite a few of us

54. Laptop or desktop computer? laptop at home, desktop at work

55. How many pictures are hanging in the room you are in? zippo

56. Red Sox or Yankees? red sox, duh

57. Does anyone like you? hopefully not everyone hates me, put it that way

58. Do you collect anything? junk

59. Do you bite your nails? only in moments of stress

60. How many megapixels is your digital camera? i forget

61. Last time you went on a date? do people still call them dates?

62. How many times have you been pulled over by the police? perfect driving record suckaaas

63. Pancakes or French Toast? pancakes

64. What is on your mouse pad? don't have one

65. At what temperature do you put on a jacket? now that i have the cold tolerance of a 90 year old floridian, i'm always cold. how things have changed since i used to go entire winters without wearing a coat...

66. Do You Like Coffee? we have a very intimate relationship

67. How big is your largest television set? um? whichever it is it sure ain't mine

68. Do you know anyone in the military? yep

69. Do you have a globe in your house? maybe somewhere in my dad's basement?

70. Number of pillows you sleep with? 1 or 2

71. Do you make scrapbooks? i did in high school

72. Could you live without a computer? prob not

73. What are you wearing right now? jeans and a yellow shirt. tres interessant

74. What type of watch do you wear? don't wear one

75. Do you prefer Tile or Hardwood Floors? i guess hardwood?

76. Can you play pool? i have strangely good luck for being a shitty pool player

77. Last time you swam in a pool? not too sure

78. Are your nails manicured? never

79. Do you like maps? i LOVE google maps...

80. Tell me a random fact: i spent a long time wanting to be a dolphin trainer and work at sea world

81. Ever have surgery? negative

82. What celebrity do people say you look like? if i DO ook like someone, i hope it's at least a female...

83. What age were your parents when they got married? like 23... YIKESABEE

84. Favorite TV show? 30 rock & arrested development (never gets old)

85. Does your phone have a camera? yup

86. Favorite flavor of ice cream? moosetracks, cookie dough

87. Have you been to Times Square? several times

88. Who will you vote for in the 2008 Presidential Election? i am what can be defined as obsessed with barack obama

89. How many cars have you owned? actually "owned"? zippo

90. Does your car have a bumper sticker on it what is it? no car

91. Favorite quiz on QuizPox.com ? no idea what that is

92. Do you know anyone that is pregnant? too many for my liking... some chicks have already hatched

93. Last time you laughed at something stupid? like 5 mins ago

94. What time did you wake up this morning? well, i GOT up around 8:30... woke up every 9 minutes between 7:30 and 8:30 (thank you snooze alarm)

95. Wake up next to anyone this morning? the normal entourage... just a few male prostitutes and a pair of goats

96. Best thing about winter? fireplaces

97. Worst thing about winter? cold, lack of outdoor cafés

98. Do you have siblings? 3

99. Name a couple of favorite colors? green, red

100. What are you doing this weekend? sleeping and maybe a bar crawl?

new discovery

Dark chocolate KitKats. Edible heaven.

On a less fat side note, we're now 2 for 2 this week re: gym attendance. I deserved an effing KitKat :D

she just can’t be bothered

While delicious and free, two weeks of big American breakfasts, all the peanut butter products under the sun and the best gosh darn donut place in the world have done their damage. She's noticing the, ahem, “snug” fit of her clothing and she feels about two candy bars away from donning a muumuu and losing all definition between her chin and my neck. She dreads that moment when gravity does its thing and turns what was once a right angle into its hypotenuse, thus connecting her chin directly to her collarbones. And yet... she has failed to get back to the pre-work gym routine that she had gotten pretty good at and was shockingly even quite fond of. Instead, the sweet bliss of sleep, safe and snug in the refuge of her down comforter, has prevailed thus far.

"Meh… maybe this week" she shrugs, as she glances guiltily at the awaiting gym bag at her feet.

Whenever I’m assigned at work to do a travel guide, I end up contracting a severe case of the infectious travel bug. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, and you spend all your time at work thinking about when and how you could jet off to all the destinations that run through your mind. And then you dream of being a rich retired person or at the very least a jet-setting lottery winner who can just pick up and spend a year just traveling. I would be in my g-l-o-r-y.

Over the past six months I’ve been moved up a few notches in the company hierarchy... which means I don't work much anymore on the more interesting and creative promotional websites (city guides, etc.) Instead I get to work on the company’s commercial websites (course descriptions, text for informational brochures, company descriptions, etc.) and haven’t written a single travel guide since then. Now, however, I’m 25 pages into a guide about Pamplona (our company just bought a school there and needs to promote it) and, along with brushing the dust off of my adjective bank and revving up my creative wit, I am struck with "the bug"... and oh is it ever back with a vengeance.

So I present my “to be visited at some point in life” wish list:

Outside of Spain:
Ireland, Ireland, Ireland
Prague
Lisbon
Berlin; Germany in general
Finland (mainly to see the aurora borealis)

In Spain:
Cuenca
Bilbao & Basque Country in general
Cantabrian coastline
Pamplona
Pyrenees
León

In the US:
Chicago
Austin
Niagara Falls
Grand Canyon
Seattle
Denver

Maybe in 2008 I’ll even check a couple of them off!

Winged demons

I don’t care how stupid people think I am for it. I am absolutely, positively, 150% terrified of birds. Well, not all birds. Canaries, cardinals, robins and their fellow birds of the hopping kind are all okay in my book, and who doesn’t let out a little sigh of delighted wonder upon seeing a hummingbird flitting around on a sunny afternoon.

Pigeons, however, are a much different story. There’s nothing cute, melodic or even mildly pleasant about them. They’re ugly and gray. And dirty. Unpredictable. Sly and greedy. And usually missing toes. Also falling under the “not ok” list are owls, hawks and other birds of prey whose TALONS could easily fit around my head and whisk me away to their nest, where their equally vicious babies would probably use me as their new chew toy. If I’m going to be whisked away to a remote destination, I’d much rather it be for vacation, play or romance than to be the
special du jour, thank you very much.

Maybe it’s because urban pigeons don’t fear humans and will dive right at your face without breaking a sweat. Maybe it’s because they sit side by side along an entire ledge of a building… staring at passers-by like beaked Mona Lisas. Maybe it’s because I saw “The Birds” when I was clearly much too young – age 14 - for that startling degree of horror. Maybe it’s even because in a former life I was a small woodland creature that met its end upon being picked off by a circling owl. I don't know- could be anything, really.

What I DO know, however, is that as I walk the city streets of Madrid, those beady little pigeon eyes stare at me.

(Picture description: As we ate breakfast at an outdoor eatery in Granada, the lovely patrons at the neighboring table started throwing food down for the birds and in the blink of an eye no less than 30 pigeons were flapping their wings in my hair and playing bumper cars with my feet as they scavenged for the morsels. I look deceivingly look happy in the photo, but I was actually laughing nervously as I wiped tears and huddled in my seat. The picture was taken when I actually almost started to cry. My friends are obviously sympathetic to my dilemma.)

thoughts of a judgemental globe-trotter

(Written 12/24/07, found and posted today)

Thoughts from Madrid: In an age when airlines are supposedly trying to deter the induction of new members to the internationally-recognized Mile High Club, why would airport stores in departure areas sell approximately 8 different varieties (brands, sizes, tastes, etc.) of condoms? Isn’t that kind of asking – nay, demanding – that people let their hormones run rampant between dinner and the in-flight movie?

Thoughts from Paree: For being the supposed fashion capital of the world, a surprisingly high percentage of travelers passing through Paris (well, the airport) seem to open their closets to decide what to wear and somehow - perhaps having been struck by temporary blindness - reach the conclusion that Crocs are the way to go. Unfortunate.