If At First You Don't Succeed...

Day 12

Not proud of it from a Yoga stance, but had to get drunk in order to make my last night in London happen.  Clearly not too drunk to type this blog, but just drunk enough to GO without grabbing onto the first hot guys leg that I see and hold on with all of my might screaming, “Don’t leeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaveee meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!”.

Tonight was amazing.  Went to see “Hair”.  My brother knows the star and another guy who is working on a production here in London and so we ended up having dinner with some of the original Broadway cast.  What did YOU do tonight? 

Yeah, didn’t think so. 

In addition, we jumped onto the stage for the finale of “Let The Sun Shine In” and subsequently marked one of the best nights of this entire trip, if not one of the more poignant moments of my life.

Put that in your pipe…you know what to do with it.

Now for the lame (and typical of me) part of today…

So, we are leaving Victoria Station to go to Buckingham Palace when we spy a hot guy with an Adonis bod walking a few feet ahead of us…sans shirt.  Um…hello!  So, we start to joke about how I should go up to him and tell him how I want to have ten thousand of his babies when he just stops…stops right there in front of us in the street.  So…like any hot-blooded American Woman who happens to be eating an apple in the middle of Victoria Station I say, “Heeello!” (you know, like I think I’m May West)…and he says (with an embarrassed laugh—cause he’s topless), “Too hot, too hot”.  Now keep in mind, this is “Too hot” with an English accent.  I meeeaaaaaaaan.  I laughed and kept on walking and muttered, “Yes, it is…”.  Well, my brother and I get a few steps away and start to deduce what the hell is going on here.  Why did he just stop in the street?  Why is he still staring at us every time we turn back?  Should I go say hi?  I already said “Hi”, what else can I say?  Should I go talk to him?  Is this my chance to score on vacation?  Is he a hooker?  Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?  This IS London after all, it’s not freakin Nice for crying out loud!  Oh my God, he’s still looking!  Should we stop walking?  Should we turn back?  Would YOU go up to him? I ask my brother.  Probably not, but that’s probably why I’m single, YOU should totally go talk to him.  But what would I say?  Go say “hi””.  I ALREADY said “hi”.  Go ask him for directions.  But shouldn’t HE be thinking of a way to approach ME?  I don’t know, it’s different in the Gay world. 

Ugh. 

So, my brother walks away and pretends to go look into this pub while I finish eating my apple without being cock-blocked for the zillionth time on this vacation and Hot Topless Guy continues to stare at me from down the block.  I contemplate what to say and what to do (after all, I’m leaving in the morning, where could this go? What would be the point?---why can’t I see that this DOESN’T MATTER!!!! Until after the fact?), but I’ve been too brain washed by “The Rules” to make a move and after about five minutes HTG decides the jig is up and turns down the street and disappears. 

I pout for the next two hours while hopelessly scanning every crowd of tourists that he won’t ever in a million years be a part of.

Before that two hours is up, we decide to grab a hot dog from a stand in the park near Buckingham Palace.  Here we spy the cute French Hot Dog Guy.  Now, normally, I wouldn’t pay any mind to a dude who works in a park at the Hot Dog Stand, but…I’m on vacation, and he’s pretty, so all bets are off.  Freshly rejected and dejected and mad at myself after what happened with HTG, I decide to not repeat the same mistake twice.  So, while FHDG is grilling my bun (no pun intended) the girls he’s working with start to pester him about who he’s “in love” with.  He gets flustered and embarrassed, so as I go to put mustard on my dog I ask one of the girls:  “Who’s he in love with?”  I don’t know what the F was going on back there, but she claims to not know who he’s in love with although I think he was talking about ME in French.  I then relay this whole episode to my brother who has not been within earshot of this whole scene and he tells me that while this is an improvement from playing too hard to get with HTG, that I should have straight up asked the Hot Dog guy and not one of his co-workers what was going on.

I guess I have to just chalk it all up to a learning experience and know that next time, I just have to be more direct.  F$%^ “The Rules” once and for all.  They suck…and they don’t work…At least not on this side of the planet.

One thing is for sure…the only straight dude we had dinner with from the cast of “Hair” was into me, and although I didn’t do anything about it…

Well, for tonight anyway…

After all, tomorrow is another day!

See you on the other side of the pond!

London Calling

Day 11

“As long as I gaze at Waterloo Sunset, I am in Paradise”~The Kinks

Well, nothing could have prepared me for London.  I am truly, madly, deeply in love.  That isn’t to say that Paris isn’t incredible, but something about London is speaking to me.  Maybe it’s that I can speak the language, maybe it’s those beautiful accents, maybe it’s the street fashion on the kids, maybe it’s the crowds of people spilling out into the street from each pub, or maybe it’s that “Disneyland for adults” feeling.  Whatever it is, I am not going to be satisfied with two days.  In addition to my vacation coming to an end, I will be broken hearted about leaving this place especially.

I am so tired as I write this that I almost passed out in the tube coming “home”.  I slept in the airport leaving Barcelona, and slept off and on on the plane ride here.  If London wanted to know I was in love with it, it wouldn’t be able to tell from my demeanor.  But, I assure you LDN, you are my new flame.

We are staying in North Afton which is a 10 minute tube ride from Central London (and from what I can see is a pretty crappy part of town, but I haven’t really seen it, so I can’t say for sure).  We decided to check out Covent Garden at the suggestion of our concierge as night was falling upon us and we wanted to catch the flavor of the night life.  Before we hopped back on the tube, we made a stop at Tesco for a snack.  I hate to say it, but my first London meal came out of three packages: 1) Egg Salad Sandwich, 2) Sun Chips, 3) Apple Juice.  It was 6pm and I had only had an apple and a banana, so…I was desperate.

The energy in Covent Garden is amazing.  There are crowds of people everywhere, you almost have to walk in the street because the sidewalks are so crowded.  I love that.  In LA there’s no one on the sidewalk…except the bums.  The street performers are hilarious, the buildings each have a unique character of there own, and the people are full of life.  I’ve noticed that on the whole trip.  The people.  I’m getting emotional even typing that.  I wish I could stay long enough to get to know them.  I will be back.

We started to search out an Indian estaurant and ended up in the Theatre District in the West End.  So…we popped in and saw Avenue Q.  It was soooooo good.  Two thumbs up.  It was so spontaneous and exciting to go into this amazing old theatre (Wyndhams Theatre--something you would see in a period piece), and watch a hit show just on the fly.  We got an amazing deal (25 pounds each), and great seats because the show was starting in 7 minutes.  Ha!

After the show, we had dinner in (Starts with an L---sorry, so tired) Square and then walked through Soho (The Gay Part) and then came back to the hotel.  And here I am.  Waking up tomorrow will be like waking up on Christmas morning. 

I can’t wait to unwrap my gifts.  


P.S.  Long live the Queen.

Melessa Christopher Barcelona

Day 10 (Primero)

Today will be our second, and last, day in Barcelona.  We had to set an alarm for this morning because otherwise we won't have enough time to do everything.  There is so much do see and do!!!

I'm not sure what we were doing wrong last night, but everyone kept telling me that Barcelona gets started late (dinner starts at 11pm) and that it's known for it's Tapas and Sangria, etc.  Well we apparently couldn't find the neighborhood where that was happening last night and ended up eating at a so/so place somewhere off of "The Ramblas".  We had tapas and sangria, but the vibe wasn't at all what I was hoping for and they closed at 1am.  I know the restaurant that is living in my imagination is out there somewhere, we just need to know how to find it.  I had asked this random concierge at a random hotel to point us to an authentic, non-touristy place and he sent us to the most dead place in all of Barcelona that felt like a borderline Cheesecake Factory.  Um...gracias senor.  Needless to say, we didn't eat there.

We keep getting lucky on this trip in that we keep stumbling on the cities as they have something neato happening.  For instance, when we were in Nice, they had this huge music festival on Monday night.  Now I don't know if they have it every Monday, or if it was just that Monday, but either way, we were only there for two nights and we got to experience this awesome event of live bands, drum lines.  And now, last night was the celebration of "San Juan".  I don't know he he was, or what he did, but he causes people to light fireworks all night long throughout the city on the shortest night of the year, which was last night.  Kinda cool, also kinda scary...it sounded like Bagdad circa 2003.

Buenos Dias!

Later...

Day 10 (Segundo)

Whoever says money can't buy you happiness is an imbecile.  And here's why:  If you have lots of money and you are on vacation and see something cool that you want to by for someone else, you can totally buy it, no problemo.  When you buy people shit, they love you more, that's all there is to it.  So there.

I have seen soooooo many things that I want to buy for people, it's not even funny.  No matter where you are there is always going to be something that reminds you of someone, or something that you think someone you love will get a kick out of or appreciate.  It's a bummer to not be able to fulfill the "idea that counts".

Today we took a bus up to the Parque Guell which is the home of a bunch of amazing Gaudi stuff.  There are a slew of super talented musicians and some cool street performers, as well as some vendors up there selling souvenirs.  I finally had a guy pay attention to me!!!!  But then I had to pay him.  He was a mime.  He picked an imaginary flower for me and then my brother threw some change in his hat.  Great.

Let me tell you something...those people make BANK!  At least a couple hundred, if not thousand, folks must pass through there each day and everyone is buying stuff and tipping the performers.  It's great.  It was inspiring to see people making a living doing their art, their way, in such a beautiful setting too.  There was this one band up there playing World Music/Reggae.  They were REALLY good and I don't know what it was about them, but I cried through their entire performance.  It wasn't melancholy or anything, it was actually very upbeat, but it was just the whole thing:  Being in Barcelona, in this beautiful place that was created by one of the most genius artists who ever lived, watching these hippies enjoy themselves doing the best job in the world (performing their music), and I guess I was just overwhelmed with what a great moment it was, and it was one of those glimpses into joy...and these people doing their best to spread their little piece of that.  I dunno, it just really moved me.

After that we headed down to check out this house that Gaudi built.  There's nothing else like it in all the world.  I'm not going to describe it, you would have to see it for yourself.  Amazing!

It's funny, we almost didn't do either of those things today.  The Parque was a last minute idea I had because I thought it might have been featured in the movie "Vicki Christina Barcelona" (arguably one of the best movies EVER!).  I 'm still not sure if it was or not, but it did give me the FEEL that I had been looking for of something exotic and "Spanish".  Then we went by that house that Gaudi built and they wanted 20 Euros to get in.  We were kinda like, "They straight trippin!", but then we decided, "Hey, if they are charging more than the Palace of Versailles, then this shiz MUST be good!".  Thank goodness we took a chance on it.  It was worth every penny.  Today was one of my favorite days on the trip so far...

...Except the part where I went to the ATM to get another 20 Euros out to last me tonight and tomorrow morning (when we get to London tomorrow we have to switch to Pounds), and then 15 minutes later we went to buy a smoothie and I couldn't find my money.  Either my bag ate it, or I didn't take the stinking bill out of the ATM machine.  So lame.  

That's 20 Euros I could have used to buy some love from some people.  Doh!

For dinner we stumbled on this cute little Mexican place near the Modern Art Museum (closed on Holidays dang it!) where we had dinner.  This place REALLY reminded me of the Cha Cha Cha on Haight Street in San Francisco.  It was really bright and colorful and even had the same table cloths.  It was definitely the Hipster Mecca of Barcelona.  I'm not the biggest fan of hipsters, but it was nice to finally see some peeps in that town who had some style (these people are TAAAACKY--especially when you've just flown in from Paris).  But everyone in this place was really cute and very very very stylish.  I've seen a lot of brave haircuts here on women and the men wear their hair long, but not gross Michael Bolton long (Thank God).  More like...jeez, I don't even know...just loose curly messy.  It's beautiful.

Have to sign off now.  Getting up at 7 to run to Fed Ex to ship my extraneous crap back to the US so I don't have to cart it all over London for the next 3 days.

Buenos Noches!!!

Tres Bueno

That's "tres" as in "very"~french, and "bueno" as in "good"~spainish...it's weird to wake up in one country and go to bed in another...especially when neither of them are yours...


Day 8


Due to the fact that they almost didn't let us on the plane to BarTHelona, my brother and I have decided to FedEx a bunch of our crap back to the states.  We are THOSE people.  You know, the fat, lazy, greedy, over-consumptive Americans?  Yeah, that's us.  With luggage too big to meet the weight limits and the entitlement to think we "needed" to haul all of our junk to Europe with us.  Well, I REFUSE to ever be one of THOSE people ever again.  It's gross.  I don't want to be gross, I want to be Grace.

We did something today that I would normally frown upon.  We did pretty much the same exact thing two days in a row.  We couldn't help it.  The gardens around the Matisse Museum were too beautiful, too peaceful, and too French.  We had to nap in them.  Sue us.  So yeah, we hiked all up through Nice today, taking pretty much the same route we took the day before.  The only difference is, we didn't stop at the Chagall and Matisse Museums again.  They are both incredible and Matisse was already my very favorite artist, due to something about those red rooms.  I don't know what it is, but I love them.  Well, now Chagall is up there too.  I was already a fan (the piece with the man floating over the woman and kissing her as though he flew in through the window to do just that---sorry, don't know the name of it), but now I am a super fan.  Anyway, we hiked to the gardens, my brother fed the pigeons...by throwing bread near my head and laughing as they disturbed my reading...I'm lucky I didn't get pooped on, and then we walked back to old town where we had dinner and then went back to that same insane ice cream shop.  This time I opted for Blackberry Sorbet and Pistachio Gelato.  Tres Bien!!!

Now we are in Barcelona and not much has happened yet, except that our hotel room is WAY nice and we actually have a tub.  I CANNOT wait to take a bath!  Our showers in France were teeny tiny.

Buenos Noches!

Day 9


Maybe I don't want to get married after all.  It's not too much fun having no guys check you out.  This is what is happening because everyone thinks my brother and I are married.  In LA this isn't a problem because my brother looks gay there, even though he isn't flamboyant or anything, you can just kinda tell. Plus, since everyone in America is used to our American faces, they can tell by looking at us that we are related.  Here, we are a little unfamiliar, so I don't think people see the resemblance right away, you know, how like some people think that all asians or all blacks look alike?...well, like that.  Also, you cannot tell the gays from the straights here at ALL.  Not just in Barcelona, but anywhere we've been.  All Europeans look a little gay.  I'm not saying that in a bad way, I'm just sayin...it's hard to tell.  Even my gay brother even thinks so.

So, the typical scenario that has been happening is this:  We are walking down the street, we spot a cute guy, we both start oggling him to death, the cute guy looks at us, can't figure out what the hell is going on and just keeps on walking.  Maybe everyone thinks we are swingers and we just haven't run across any cute guys who are into that.

Whatever the deal is, it sucks.  Not that it's ruining the trip or anything, but before I left, a lot of people kept saying "oooh, you are going to meet a cute French boy", or "oooooh, you are going to have a little romance on your vacation", or "ooooh, you are totally going to meet someone and fall in love", and I assured everyone that none of those scenarios was going to be very likely considering I was traveling with a man, and it turns out I was right.  I kinda hoped it was going to turn out that I didn't know what I was talking about.  Ho hum.  It is a little bit of a bummer.  Especially when there is an unbelievably attractive man around just about every corner.  And it's even worse now that we've been to the beach. Dios Mio!  Hay Caramba!  It was painful to the point of almost bringing me to tears.  I had to pay some asian woman five euros to rub my shoulders for a few minutes just so I didn't feel like a leper.  So now on top of nobody paying any attention to me, I'm going to have to deal with everyone bugging me about the fact that I haven't seen any action this entire trip.

"Constant craving has always been"~K.D. Lang

P.S. The Picasso Museum was awesome.

Vacation's All I Ever Wanted

"...vacation, had to get away!"~The Go Go's


Day 7


All toilet paper in France is pink.  The French know how to make anything look beautiful.  Why is it that so many people smell though?  Hmmm...

When you get to Nice, go to old town and find the stand that sells the wooden brain teasers.  Here you will meet Ben.  You will never need to meet anyone else.  (Sigh)  Unfortunately, Ben is under the same assumption as everyone else:  That my brother and I are a happy couple.  Must remember Ben and come back and find him some day...

Traveling in European cities requires a lot of walking.  Unless you are really lazy and don't want to experience anything cool, then you can take a cab like a dumbass American tourist.  Okay, so the walking.  You do a lot of it.  Like...a lot.  Like more than you ever thought you were capable of.  So, I suggest bringing an entire box of bandages for your feet.  I brought about 15 individual bandages knowing that I am prone to blisters...well, it ain't gonna be enough.  I've already used six and I had to remove them all this evening for fear that if I left the same ones on for another day that they might fuse to my feet and I may never be able to remove them.  I am bordering on crippled and I am in pretty great shape due to my intensive yoga training.  I would hate to see how miserable I would be if this weren't the case.  The upside is that I don't have to feel guilty that I haven't been working out and that I've been eating like a total pig.

Nice has this awesome ice cream shop in old town that features 96 different flavors of gelatos and sorbets.  Flavors include: Tirimisu, Pina Colada, Lavendar, Watermelon, Avocado, Thyme, Jasmine, Beer, Cactus, Coca Cola, and Violet just to name a few.  We ate there twice today.  It's on the agenda for tomorrow as well.  I mean...we have to try as many of them as possible before we leave, right?  Yeah, I think it's pretty much our duty.

My brother and I were wondering what the harm would be if we brought the lifestyle of Nice to the states?  What's so wrong with having music and dancing in the streets?  Along with drinking in public, and an age 16 drinking age.  It seems to be working for these people.  We haven't seen one fight, or been bothered by anyone beligerent.  And this isn't just in Nice.  In Paris, our hotel was located on a canal and each night people from their young teens through their 50's and 60's would be sitting alone the edge with their bottles of wine, baguettes and cheese just chatting and smoking and peacefully enjoying themselves.  You would NEVER see something like that back home.  And that's just a shame.  A crying freaking shame.  Yesterday we were eating at a restaurant and a group of people came in on their rollerblades and had lunch.  Not on a patio...INSIDE the restaurant!  No problem, no fuss.  Animals too, right inside.  What is it with us American's and our INSANE need to control everything and everybody?

We really need to get over ourselves.

Well, it's getting late and I need enough sleep to repair the damage that's being done to my feet.

Bonsoir!

An American Girl In Paris~Part Deux

Day 4

"Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink."~James T. Kirk

This is the phrase that has most come to mind when looking at all of the hot men here in Paris.  I would be referring to the fact that there are so many hot men at my disposal, but I am not at liberty to take advantage of the situtation.  It's KILLING ME!  The cops are especially handsome, there is definitely something to be said about a man in a uniform.

The one thing you need to know about using the restroom in Paris is this...it ain't a quick trip.  There is always a line and there are no paper towels.  Average time needed to go pee: 15 minutes--9 minutes to wait in queue, 1 minute to pee, and 5 minutes to blow dry your hands.  Plan accordingly.

Lack of sleep causes hysteria.  This time it manifested itself as this...my brother and I were playing with the word "Bible".  Using it phonetically, changing the pronunciation and such.  It got to the point where we were taking our finger horizontally to our lips and shaking it up and down quickly to create that "bpbubpbubupbpbu" sound, and we thought, "What if THAT'S how you had to say bible?"  Excuse me, do you know where I could buy a "bpubupbpuubpbp"?  Have you read the "bpubpbububpbbp"?  I swear on the Holy "BPUBPUBUPBPUBPBBU".

It was pretty funny, you might have had to have been there.

Another church.  This time, Notre Dame.  You really need to see it for yourself.  Once again, we walked in on a service, which once again reminded me of chanting Monks and the smell of incense made me miss my yoga classes.  I decided to pay the two euros to light a prayer candle and I silently chanted "Ra Ma Da Sa"...I'm pretty sure Jesus was okay with it.

Day 5

Red Lipstick and Lesbian Shirts.  This is all you need to know about Paris street fashion.  Now, I've been wearing Lesbian Shirts for quite some time and was about to nix them from my wardrobe because I felt like they made me look like a lesbian.  Well, not so fast K.D. Lang...the problem wasn't the shirt, the problem was how I was wearing it.  If you don't own a red lipstick, stop reading this blog and go out and buy one immediately.

*******************

Okay, now that you are back I will tell you what a lesbian shirt is.  It's a collared button down.  You, know like a man's shirt.  You need one.  And you need to know how to wear it.  Feminize it as much as you can with skinny jeans and a nice necklace, or by wearing red lipstick.  Check out a fashion mag or a website on Paris street fashion, they will walk you through it.  They are also wearing them short sleeved which is super cute.  One of my favorite outfits was a girl in a short-sleeved button down, super skinny blue jeans, and high top converse, read lipstick and her hair was up on top of her head soft curls and effortlessly messy.  Tres chic.

Standing in the metro very close to the train tracks and my iPod randomly chooses Madonna's song "You Push Me".   I look at my brother sideways.

Back to the restrooms.  Could the French underestimate the usage of the restrooms any less?  The Louvre must accommodate at least 10,000 per day, yet their main "Toilet" only has 8 stalls.  I waited in "the queue" for 15 minutes.  Um... just sayin'.  Know that using the restroom eats up about two hours per day of your precious vacation time.  Book an extra two days to make up for it if you have the means.

I've had a zit that has decided that it wants to come on trip with me.  He's still hanging on on day 5, with no end in site.  I don't remember inviting him, but he reminds me of Carrie's zit that she has to pop on the train to SF.

Last glimpse of Eiffel Tower + Red Wine = Tears

Day 6


I only have one thing to say about Day 6 and that is this.  Pack light.  The last thing you want to do is drag an oversized suitcase through the Paris Metro.  There are a lot of stairs and you end up looking like a stupid gluttonous American and a travel rookie.  Nice to meet you.

Okay, that's not all.  The train to Nice is wonderful.  Pretty comfy and puts you to sleep like a grandma in a rocking chair...and the views are splendid.

An American Girl in Paris~Part Un

That title is a straight up rip off from Sex and the City.  Too bad.  I'm takin' it.  They ripped it off of a Gene Kelly movie anyway...

Day 1:

Valuum + Ten Hour Plane Ride = No Jetlag.  I highly recommend it.

The men here are all gorgeous and I am really digging the way they dress.  Everyone in the states is a poseur, but we already knew that.

Ended up eating Thai food for my first Parisian meal.  I know.  Blasphemy.  It's just the way things worked out.  After 21 hours of travel and only about a 3 hour nap we (my brother and I) were dehydrated and didn't want to eat Cheese and Wine.  We figured if we weren't going French it didn't matter what hell we ate.  The food was good and the two guys sitting behind my brother were fun to stare at all through dinner.  Hawt!

Since we didn't get in til 8pm there isn't much else to report today.

Did I mention how cute all of the men are?  Oh, I did?  Okay, well then yeah, guess I'm off to bed.

Bonsoir!

P.S.  The men here are really cute...


Day 2:

Woke up at 6am (after going to bed at 1am) and couldn't fall back to sleep...spent the next two hours watching my brother sleep.   Bastard.

Forgot to drink my "Smooth Move" tea before bed last night.  Walked the streets of Paris all day with the stomach of a woman who is about seven to ten months pregnant.  This did not stop me from eating a ginormous Ham and Cheese Crepe in the park.

Walked the entire length of the city and back (the equivalent of walking the treadmill at the gym for a total of five hours at speed 4.0), plus climbed the never ending stairs inside the Arc de Triomphe and somehow managed to still gain about six pounds.  Wtf?

Met up with my sister-in-laws parents for some sightseeing (local style) and dinner.  I know I am supposed to say something snarky here because in-laws are usually lame.  Not so in this case.  They rock the Kasbah.  Got the full on public transit education and the rest of our itinerary mapped out.  Plus had super fun dinner, etc.  All in-laws should rule like this.

Was lucky to get through dinner without face planting into my "Glace" and having a trail of Zzzzz's sprouting out of my head like in a cartoon, so I must go to sleep immediately if not sooner.

Drank two cups of "Smooth Move" while writing this blog.  The fact that I've shared this info might help explain why I'm still single, but whatevs, tomorrow is gonna start with a bang!

Bonsoir!

Day 3


Today did not start with a "bang".  My stomach issues apparently go waaaay beyond Smooth Move's capabilities.  Well, that's not entirely true, I almost had an accident trying to find the restroom when I got off the train at Versailles.  For those of us who are slow, that means I almost pooped my pants.

I ended up using the "toilet" at a very chic McDonalds.  Dang, I mean, the French know how to make ANYTHING nice (except the word for restroom, which is "toilet" and sounds gross as all get out).  I gotta say.  This McDonalds had a lounge/wi-fi area and a cafe with a dessert/pastry case and a real espresso machine.  What the what?!  The States need to get with the program.  I didn't eat at the McDonalds though.  I'm trying not to come home from this trip disguised as a fat cow.

Versaille is AMAZEBALLS!  We must have walked 35 to 40 miles easy.  I'm crippled now and am not sure how tomorrow is going to pan out if I do not have the use of my legs.

After Versaille (which literally takes all day), we took the train, then the metro, to Montmarte (made famous by the genius and beloved film Amelie).  Unfortunately, we were too tired to hunt down the locations from that film, but we did peak in on a church service in the Sacre Coeur.  The smell of incense and the sounds of the priests (or whoever) praying reminded me of yoga and chanting and I got a little bit emotional.  Then we ate at a hip little cafe where this adorable Parisian kept staring at me.

I am enjoying my brother's company, but there is no way that I am going to have a romantic interlude while I am traveling with a man.  We are totally unintentionally cock-blocking each other and it sorta reeks.  That being said, we have too much to do and see to deal with being hungover, so we can't really get into too much of a nightlife scenario anyway.

After dinner we stumbled through the rest of the district and on to The Moulin Rouge...which is on a street that has nothing but sex shops.  Then I remembered how Amelie's boyfriend worked at a sex shop and I sighed longingly...but kept on walking.

Bonsoir!

Fuggetaboutit

I am in love with Tony Soprano.

I know I'm about 10 years late jumping on the "The Sopranos" bandwagon, but that's what happens when you refuse to pay for cable.  Sue me.

So, I'm having this dream last night that I work for Tony Soprano.  I'm at this hotel and I'm on the roof.  I'm  ducking behind this partition with about 15 or so illegal immigrants from Mexico and on a neighboring roof, a sniper is trying to pick us off one by one.  Apparently this is what I do.  I smuggle immigrants into the country.  Gangster Coyote.  Yup, that's me.

Um.

Anyway, I leave the scene (hoping they can fend for themselves, one of my associates is there and is going to finish getting the immigrants to safety) to go do whatever else it is that I do.  Sometime later in the dream I am trying to get back onto the roof and now one of Tony's other "soldiers" won't let me get back up there.  Apparently I don't have "clearance" or some bull crap.  It's a woman and she's a total biznatch and OF COURSE I just assume that she's messing with me because she's jealous of me for some reason.  Whatever.  So, I very bravely (okay stupidly) go to find Tony to talk to him about my situation.  I find Tony in the middle of a conversation with one of his main guys and I have the gaul to actually INTERRUPT him and ask him if we can speak in private.

Am I TRYING to get myself killed?

He's fatter, shorter and sweatier in my dream than he is on the show, but this doesn't stop me from being hopelessly madly in love with him.   I proceed to explain to him my situation.  In the dream he doesn't know about this little side business I'm doing and I'm not sure he will approve, so I'm super scared that at any moment he might lose his shiz and try to shoot me.

While I am telling him what the dealio is, I start to cry.  I am apparently SUPER passionate about the plight of these people that I am trying to help.  I think I'm starting to get somewhere with him, when all of a sudden he walks away from me and goes into a bathroom and shuts the door.  After a few moments I can hear him taking a shower.

Okay, well, it was nice talking to you.  Jeez.  The manners on this guy!

I pathetically wait outside the door for over 30 minutes.  He never comes back out.

I tell you what, my subconscious doesn't miss I beat: 

Here is a man who is wildly inappropriate for me as a love interest.  Number one, he's married, number two he's dangerous, and number three, he's a violent criminal and misogynist.  Just to name a few.  Of COURSE I'm madly in love with him.  What woman who's lost every shred of self esteem WOULDN'T love him?  (No I have not forgotten that he is a fictional character from a television show.)

Then there is the issue of what I do for a living in this dream.  I am a bleeding heart humanitarian who will risk her life for the sake of another human being who is less fortunate for herself.  Well, I wouldn't go that far in real life, but it's true that I have a heart of gold that seems to be about as unappreciated by men as flatulence on a first date.

And then there is my pathetic and loyal devotion to a person who treats me so crappy that they walk away from me mid sentence and shut a door in my face.  While I am CRYING!!!

It all sounds about right.

I can't wait for Season 3.
It arrives tomorrow.

Or Not

Remember the episode where Carrie gets her shoes stolen from that Baby Shower and then she "marries" herself and registers for Manolo Blahniks (Season Six, Episode 9, "The Right to Shoes")?  Well, I'm having one of those kinds of days.

What kind of day is that you ask?  Well, I will tell you.  I'm having the kind of day where my vacation for Europe is coming up in two weeks and I checked my balance today in my checking account cause it's the first and I gotta pay rent, and realized that I don't have any money.  How come I don't have any money you ask?  Well, I will tell you.  There are two reasons why I don't have any money:  Number one, I am a waitress and number two, I am single.

Now waitressing isn't really that bad of a gig financially, but when your rent goes up 3% every year, and gas prices go up, and jeans cost $200 (I do NOT own a pair of $200 jeans btw), and you get older and the cost of your lifestyle goes up, but you are making the same money you were making 10 years ago...things get kinda tight financially.  That's not to mention that I don't get paid time off, so if I want to go anywhere, I have to have money for the air fare and hotel, plus spending money, PLUS I have to save enough money to cover all of the days that I miss from work, so vacations cost twice as much for me as they do for a normal person.  Throw in Yoga Certification Training and the time you had to take off from work to afford that (so you could better yourself and crawl out of this financial hole), then things become financially suffocating.

What does being single have to do with it?  Well, for one, I pay for all of my rent myself.  If I had a dude living here, I'd be shopping every weekend and going on two vacations a year, but no dude wants to live with me, we've established that, so I gotsta pay the bills my damn self.

When you are in your 20's, being broke is sort of the "thing".  You just live with it cause everyone else is in the same boat.  But when you get into your 30's and everyone else is buying homes, spending weekends in Napa and Santa Barbara, shopping for day cares, and doing whatever else it is that "grown-ups" (i.e. couples) do, you feel like crap if you aren't doing the same.

Welcome to Crapville.

On top of the home buying and baby having, there's one thing that stands out above all others...and that's the wedding.  Not only do you not have anyone to split the rent with, or to LOVE for crying out loud, you don't get the "Price Is Right Showcase Showdown" either.  What do singles get?  Most likely herpes or syphilis (I hear it's making a comeback), but you sure as hell don't get a new set of pots and pans, of that I am certain.  And well, that needs to change.

We need to implement into our society a system where once you reach 35, if your ass ain't married yet, you get a PARTY!...and a honeymoon AND you get to register for shit.  It's only fair.  I mean, you need a party so you can drink yourself silly and numb the pain of going to bed each night alone and waking up to a new wrinkle each morning.  And you need schwag so you can catch up with the Joneses.  At this age, it's time for nicer sheets, proper cutlery, and Egyptian cotton towels.  You think I'm buyin' Egyptian anything on this single gals income, you trippin' (unless you are getting married and you registered for them, then I will buy them for YOU).  And this is the point they make on SATC, that that same single gals income is reduced even more by all of the wedding and baby shower gifts they have to buy.  It's been an active last few years for some of my lady friends, and I don't get a "buy your friends some gifts cause their life is going way better than yours" bonus at the end of every year.  Those gifts are coming out of my "buy something sexy to wear and go out so that you can snatch up a husband of your own" budget (which doesn't exist while I'm paying for my own health insurance)!

I call bullshizzzzzzz!

I know it's all relative and things could be worse.  There are people without food, shelter, or proper medical care, but I'm about a paycheck away from being one of those people, so...that's a wash.  Our society is changing and traditions need to change with it.  I graduated from Yoga Training and I didn't even get taken to dinner.  If I had graduated from college I would have been showered with money and gifts.  Well, I'm sorry I didn't go into $100,000 of debt to get a "proper" education, but I have been more or less taking care of myself since I was 18 and that's been about 18 years that I've been in the school of hard knocks.  That should count for something.

Our society only recognizes certain things as celebratory, certain people even.  It's total bologna.  Singles are overlooked in so many ways and it really blows because HELLO we are already being overlooked!!!  It would be nice to be celebrated in some special way for all of the things that we have accomplished and all of the things that we've had to endure...alone.  Our strength should be celebrated on a weekly basis as far I'm concerned.  A parade with fireworks would do nicely...or even a Pinkberry.

Carrie said, "The fact is, sometimes it's hard to walk in a single woman's shoes.  That's why we need really special one's now and then to make the walk a little more fun."  Man, ain't it the the truth?

So, yeah, I think it would even the playing field out a little bit if it were socially acceptable for me to be able to register for my European vacation the way other people register for their honeymoons.  Because the fact is, sometimes it's hard to travel to the most ROMANTIC city in all of the world with your SIBLING (no offense dear brother).  That's why singles need lots and lots of cash to spend when they get there, to make the trip a little more fun.

Or not.

(Parental Units, this is not directed at you.  You have both done enough and I thank you a million times over!!!  This is a commentary about our society and how shitty it treats it's single folk.  The single population has grown exponentially over the last 20-30 years and nothing is being done about how that changes things as far as what marks a life changing event, or what should and shouldn't be celebrated, and how.  Something's Gotta Give!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)