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!