A Belated Tribute to My Favorite Ginger

Even though her birthday was last Thursday, I was too hyped up on coffee, Cali anticipation, and work to compose this tribute. However, something must be said about my favorite ginger, G, who not only inspired me to start blogging, but has also provided me with excessive belly laughs since I met her 7+ years ago (OMG, G has it been that long?! We are an old couple!) Anyway, in addition to a "Happy Birthday to You" reference, I thought I would tell a cute little story about G and I traveling to Africa. But first, you should have some back story . . .

Back in 2006, G and I studied abroad in Florence, Italy (yes- we are lucky duckies) with many of our other friends for 8 months. We ate lots of bread and cheese and drank too much boxed wine. We traveled to more than 14 countries and sometimes wreaked havoc on the natives who lived there. This is not to say that we weren't faced with our own troubles . . . we broke high heels on cobblestone streets, spilled wine on pastel colored Juicy hoodies, walked barefoot in Poland, G was pick-pocketed in Barcelona, Spain and I puked all over our hotel lobby floor in Prague and G had to clean it all up. Despite these things, we had a fabulous time and came back about 15 pounds heavier than when we had arrived in Italy. Adding to these fond memories is, of course, when we spent Christmas in Tunisia, Africa.

We actually spent the night in the middle of the Sahara Desert, in canvas tents freezing our asses off on Christmas Day. Prior to our less-than-luxurious night at the oasis, we were given the opportunity to ride camels throughout the desert. We were all very excited and I insisted on having a "cute camel" (whatever that means) for my adventure. A girl who had just come back from her ride told me that her camel was really cute and very well behaved so I made a rush for her camel. As everyone was getting saddled up and snapping photos, I patiently awaited the commencement of our journey atop my new furry and slobbery creature. Quick side note: camels don't just spit. They slobber everywhere! I mean, they make lugees that any man would envy. It's really gross. All of a sudden, I hear a loud water-streaming noise coming from nearby. I look around, only to find that my camel has decided to take a piss worthy of eventually becoming a small pond. I gave him his privacy and soon the noise ceased. Within seconds I started feeling a light drizzle on my head and back. I wondered, is it raining? Then I noticed the smell. I looked over my shoulder horrified as I see my camel whipping his tail WHICH HE HAD JUST PISSED A LAKE ALL OVER in between his legs and above my head to shower me in his toxic looking pee. I squealed and squirmed and tried to get off the camel but the middle eastern gentleman who was leading our journey would not let me get off and soon we were on our way through the Sahara. So there I was, riding through the damn desert with camel piss all in my hair and all over my baby blue Northface and I was miserable and wanted to cry. Turns out G had the cute camel and helped me see the hilarity in the situation. However, coming back to our tents and trying to shower in the sinks of the Saharan bathrooms was sheer impossibility and I had to stuff my peed-on clothes in a bag OUTSIDE of our tent because the smell was so horrific. Here is documentation for you of G and I with the camel piss babyblue Northface:

So thanks G, for helping me laugh at camel pee and being the best ginger friend a girl could ask for. Happy (belated) Birthday. I LUB YOU!



You Know You're Related When . . .

Your sister sends you the following text message at 11:00 p.m. on a Wednesday:

And you respond with the following within 15 minutes:

And that is the end of the conversation. Bum (aka: my sister L) is the best. Seriously. If you never get to meet her in your life, I feel bad for you because you will be missing out on something really really spectacular. Her text above had me cracking up for a good 15 minutes. I'm so happy I get to see her tonight!





Gettin' Domesticated!

Last night, I did a total 'Mama Bigley' thing of which I thought was initially impossible and all-time consuming. Sometimes I feel inspired to cook lavish meals for N and I . . . what ends up happening is I either buy all the ingredients and become too lazy upon returning home to actually cook, thereby allowing said ingredients to rot in my fridge OR neglect to buy all the necessary ingredients, therefore foiling my plan before it can even manifest itself. Wellllll, last night as I was walking home from the gym, I gave mama bigley a ring-a-ling and requested of her the recipe for the red pasta sauce w/ meat that she so seemlessly cooks sometimes. I thought pasta sauces took forever to cook (see: Food Network- they will tell you pasta sauce w/ meat takes 4 hours!) . . . but NO! Mama Bigley came to the rescue and taught me a fancy cheat sheet way to make a delectable pasta sauce! N and I were eating within an hour and I gobbled mine up within 15 minutes it was so delish! I added basil leaves and ricotta on top for my own personal finish and Voila! Romantic spaghetti dinner for two :) . . . with meat sauce left over- yummmmm

This photo doesn't really do the dish justice because N took it with my blackberry for time-saving sake and the poor device is so old and decrepit that it just can't manage color that well ::sigh:: it will have to be replaced soon :/

Anyway, hit me up if you want the recipe to the sauce because it is BOMB! And so so easy peasy to make!

Succumbing to the Ugly Shoe Trend

OH. EM. GEEEEE.

I did it.

I bought the ugliest shoes I thought I had ever seen.

TOMS.

When I first saw these canvas-wrapped burrito shoes on the streets of cities thoughout the West Coast, I made the "Elise face" and scoffed in disgust. I thought, "Gross, how can shoes so hideous be soooo comfy?!" Pshhh, impossible right? So I continued to neglect buying Toms and giving into the must-have shoe of the season. A girl's got fashion principles, ya know? Anyway, that was before I laid my eyes on these:

I mean, hello?! THEY ARE TIARAS FOR YOUR FEET! I mentally debated this purchase for the past 3 weeks . . . stopping to stare at them in Nordstrom before shaking my head, and running back to work without trying them on. Obvi by the picture above, you can see I bought them. My feet were on little tiara clouds when I tried them on in Nordstrom. And the best part was, I wear a size 7.5 (yay!) in them instead of an 8 or 8.5. So my feet look extra cute and not long and awkward like some flats make my feet look.

Something that spurred this purchase was the fact that N and I are going to Disneyland (eek! Fave place on Earth!) on Friday with my family and I couldn't think of a better way to display my love of sparkle and practicality in an amusement park. And then all fashion hell broke loose when I saw the hot (hot! hot!) pink chino shorts at J. Crew and I thought duhhhhhh! Disneyland shorts! So now the bottom half of me will look like this while I'm prancing around Disneyland on Friday:

And I will probably resemble a brunette Malibu Barbie (minus the blonde hair, big boobs, and uber tiny waist part) and my family and N will be embarrassed . . . but I don't care because I will be wearing tiara shoes and be at the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH! Wheeeeeeee! :)





Bookey Wookey

You guys . . . I don't know what to do. I just spent a lovely afternoon browsing through my local downtown Borders bookstore. Of course I made a purchase (duh . . . my upcoming trip home to Cali deemed it necessary) and while walking back to work in the Seattle sunshine (!!!) I started to actually think about giving up books. Not like reading them (God, no!), but giving up purchasing them. If you know me at all then you know I love books. Like, totally and completely love. And not just reading them. I love buying them, owning them, displaying them . . . it's gotten to the point that I simply have no more room in my apartment to store them so I've started displaying them on my bookcase shelves in my office here at work (whatever- they totally add color and life to the otherwise monotonous tone of black legal binders that grace most of my shelves). If N didn't call me four-eyes and/or whine about how we are becoming an 'old' couple when I try to read before bed, I would totally make this an every night ritual. But no- we are stuck watching Sports Center and I have to cuddle with Monty (our stuffed pet monkey that N bought us at the Zoo a while back.)

Anyway, I figure since I read so much (and travel so damn much), I should invest in either a Kindle or an ipad2. At first I was all about the Kindle, but then I started thinking that if I'm going to spend nearly $200 on a "reading only" electronic device, I might as well splurge for the ipad2 and be able to read and/or play that bursting bubble game that I love so much (my mom has the game on her ipad and I basically steal it anytime I'm home to play- but her annoying Wii farm always interrupts me while I'm playing and I have to pause the game to feed the ugly fish or plant more lettuce every 10 minutes . . . sooooo annoying! And I think this is why my sister has the high score still on the bubble game, because she got to sit uninterrupted to play. harrumpphhh!).

So that's what I'm thinking. But it makes me sad because I love my books and don't like to cheat on them with electronic items. I don't want to become one of those people that just stares at computer screens all day and never sees the sun. Too bad my idiot dry cleaning lady charged my debit card $555.00 instead of $55.00 on Saturday and now my account is being held for that amount until her stupid bank recognizes the voided transaction . . . I might be able to buy the damn ipad2, but nooooooo. I have to wait :/ Boowhore!

La Toilette

The word 'toilet' in French is so much prettier than the English word. Even if there isn't much variation on the word itself, putting 'la' before anything just makes it sound tres chic.

Anyway, in more or less words, my idiot rental agent for my apartment basically accused me of flushing feminine product down the toilet. First of all, why would I flush tampons down my own toilet? That makes no sense. Any girl that "came of age" by the time she was 13 is aware of the cardinal 'don't flush your tampons down the toilet' rule. The reason he accused me of such nonsense is because I had to email him this morning informing him that the toilet had clogged. And NOT because of feminine product OR #2. It's just an uber crappy (haha . . . wow- i'm so immature) and dysfunctional porcelain mess! The flusher has already broken once and been repaired to the point that it looks like a 5-year-old fixed it. I think this actually has something to do with the fact that its currently clogged because the flush isn't aggressive enough so nothing gets sucked down. And clogged toilets totally scare me because I always feel like its going to overflow and I will be stuck in less-than-clean and disease-infested swamp water. So duh, I had to email my rental agent. And THANK GOD he is sending someone to fix it while I'm here at work- wheeeee! But of course, he had to send me the "apartment brochure for reference" to not flush items other than toilet paper down the toilet first. What a brat. Too bad I'm not even deeming his last email with a response.

Another gripe I have about my agent is that he has this way of trying to accuse me of breaking something when really it has NOTHING to do with me and EVERYTHING to do with the cheap way in which parts are adhered to various apartment appliances. For instance, a couple months ago, a shelving unit in my dryer-washer/utility closet just came tumbling down out of nowhere. I had the same coats hanging there from when I moved in, and Pretty Pretty Princess was still stacked on top of the shelf. There should be no reason for it falling down 5+ months into my living there. Anyway, my agent tried to tell me that "It seems like there would need to be significant weight on the shelf to rip screws and brackets out." I stared at my computer indignantly with my mouth agape as I typed, "I understand. However, I have never added any significant amount of weight to the shelf since I moved in back in October. There were hats and a few board games on the shelf, and about 7 lightweight coats hanging on the shelving rod. I see no reason as to why it would fall other than the fact that the plastic attachments used to secure the metal rods may be an insufficient way in which to hold the shelf in place."

Well, that shut him up. I am more than happy to dig into people with words- it's one of my favorite things!

HAPPY HUMP DAY! (and hooray for clean toilets!)

A Farewell Letter

The following is a 'farewell letter' of sorts, containing all the things I would sincerely love to say to my current gym upon discontinuing their services as my sole workout provider . . .

Dear VQ,

As a precursor to finally ending my relationship with you, I thought you deserved to know the real reasons I am choosing to leave you and never look back without shedding one tear. Truth be told, you know this has been a long time coming. And that the only REAL reason I even choose to employ your services is because my boyfriend signed a two-year contract with your sorry ass, and we are now both waiting for it to be up so we can move on to bigger, better, and cleaner things. But I digress . . .

Despite the fact that your establishment is indeed where my boyfriend and I first met, and our relationship has remained successful and loving, our relationship with you clearly has not. When you first swooped in and took my beloved Xplore Fitness away, crushing them with your almighty conglomorate and corporate chain power, I was disappointed. However, I thought I would give you a chance since sometimes I choose to be nice, and hey- maybe you caught me on a good day . . . maybe the sun was actually shining in Seattle. I was naive to think that all gyms conducted themselves the same, and that there was no more to a workout facility than eliptical machines and fresh towels. You truly take the cake when it comes to being the WORST. GYM. EVER.

I only whined a little when you dropped monthly membership fees so low, that you attracted the entire homeless population of downtown Seattle and then some, to attend your facility. I attempted to hide my disgust when I received an un-wanted whiff of someone who was so obviously NOT wearing deoderant while bench pressing free weights. I subtley tried to cover my ears upon hearing the "encouraging" screams of your new trainers attempting to "pump up" their oh-so-suffering clients. I was grateful to have been blessed with quick reflexes while dodging the giant sumo tires being pushed around by various gym-goers all throughout the floor. I ducked and weaved when faced with some idiot who chose to display their jump roping skills dead center, in the middle of the workout floor. I was starting to get angry. Really.

And here comes the kicker . . . the day when I walked in and was told that you would no longer be providing members with shower towels unless they were really going to shower after working out. Seriously? WHAT THE FUCK AM I PAYING FOR? Am I paying $30 per month so some asshole can leave their 45lb stacking weights in the middle of the gym so I can trip over them? Am I paying to use machines that are so beyond needing maintenance that they provide no resistance at all while in use? Am I paying to use your totally nasty cut-up trashy "washcloth" towels that provide about as much coverage as a napkin instead of an actual shower towel to sweat all over?! NO. The answer is NO. I am paying you to provide me with a clean workout space, a fresh towel, a relatively stress-free environment. VQ, you have completely FAILED.

Furthermore, if I have to encounter one more of your pushy salesmen while on my walk to the gym, I will undoubtedly punch him in the face. At 5:15 p.m. after a long day's work, no one wants to be solicited to. Even me, who is on their way TO your establishment. I cannot stress to you enough how much I now loathe going to the gym. I used to look forward to it and now I simply fear getting smacked in the face with a jump rope, stubbing my toe on a free weight, and/or having to smell someone else's sweat the entire time. And don't even get me started on the locker room situation . . . I've already ranted and raved in a previous post about THAT ordeal. FYI: only 3 of the sinks in the women's locker room work, the foamy shit that you call "soap" and put in the soap dispensers is nothing more than scented air, and the paper towels are the equivalent of sandpaper. 

In conclusion, and for lack of a better term, i simply HATE you and all you have to offer. A new member recently asked me what I thought of you, and I more or less explained to her what I have just stated above. I will be leaving you soon and taking my money and personal cleanliness elsewhere. 

Sincerely,
A VQ Hater


Happy Hunp Day all!

A Legit Complaint

Some time ago, my friends and I had a rather mind-jolting experience at my fave sushi restaraunt, which was UBER sad, but prompted me to write the following letter. I have high hopes that this would never happen to you, however it recently happened to a co-worker of mine (at a different sushi restaraunt, no less!), so it inspired me to share my letter with you :)

To Whom It May Concern:

 

On Friday, December 17th at 6:00 p.m., I visited Umi Sake House for dinner with three other girlfriends. We had made a reservation one week in advance and were told that the time and number of guests for that date would be fine. Being a more than frequent visitor of your restaurant for over 3 years, I was looking forward to this evening in celebration of the holiday season with three of my closest friends. Upon entrance and check-in to the restaurant, one of my friends was told that our table was ready, however we would need to be “out of the restaurant by 8 p.m. due to another party’s reservation.” My friend not only found this odd, but extremely un-professional and rude. Being in the service industry herself as a marketing coordinator for a major food cooperation, my friend takes customer service very seriously. Although this comment put her off, she attempted to brush it off and have a nice meal with the rest of us.

My friends and I had excellent service and the food was delicious, as always. We had not seen one another in a long time and spent quite a while chatting, while ordering drinks and copious amounts of food. Upon the arrival of 8:00 p.m. our waiter informed us that he “knew we were supposed to be out of the restaurant by 8:00, and wanted to let us know that the time was indeed 8 p.m.” All four of us gave him a somewhat funny look, as we still had half of our drinks left and just finished dessert. Though the waiter was obviously embarrassed about this situation, he remained composed and said he “did not want to rush us” and that we “should finish our drinks.” Indeed, we did. And inevitably around 8:20 p.m. a hostess from the front of the house came over to our table and quite rudely stated that we “needed to leave, because the party for 8 p.m. was here and had been waiting.” Never mind the fact that we had just spent over $200.00 on our meal, or that there were two other tables available for seating in our area. She was extremely unhelpful in our situation and made us feel both enraged and embarrassed.

I was personally outraged and disgusted that someone would ask me to leave a restaurant that I was entitled to both visit and enjoy. Never in my life have I had such an experience. I urge you to provide your staff with a fierce ‘talking to’ in regards to this practice. It is unprofessional, rude, and a poor reflection on your establishment as a whole. Quite frankly, it makes me want to never visit your restaurant again.

Sincerely,

A very dissatisfied customer

Wednesdays are the new Saturdays?

The other night (Wednesday, actually . . . duh- it's in the title of the post) I had the girls over for our annual monthly dinner where we drink more wine than we eat food and gossip and catch up on one another's lives. Since I was hosting, I was at the liberty to drink as much as I wanted being that the other 2 were driving. M arrived first and we popped open a bottle of white. We finished it before K got there . . . not a good sign for me. However, K had perfect timing because she brought a bottle of white with her- hurray! I think at this point, in my mind I was going "tomorrow is totally Friday so I can def be hungover at work!" ha- not. Well, away I go! Pouring us all large classes of some fab bottle that K brought. We laugh and talk and eat (finally!), but not before I began to feel the effects of my wine glass. By the time we hit dessert, we were onto a bottle of red I had. I probably should have noticed that the girls were trying to take it easy, but I took the liberty of "topping" (literally- pouring wine to top of glass status) everyone off pretty consistently. M had attached my ipod to the speakers and Counting Crows had crooned to us for a majority of the evening. By the time the bottle of red had been opened, I realized that the same Counting Crows album had repeated itself like 3 times (maybe 4?), but I made no effort to change it or alert the others of this occurrence. Moving 2 feet from couch to speakers was too much of a daunting task at that point.

The girls left around 10, thereby leaving me with 1/3 of the bottle of red and the cork in the trash. Boyfriend was at a concert that night, so I couldn't really wait for him to show up to finish the damn thing. So I basically said 'to hell with it' and continued laying on my couch for about an hour, by myself, listening to the same damn Counting Crows album over and over while finishing the bottle on my own. Don't worry- I was classy about it though and poured the wine into a glass prior to consumption. Classy girls don't drink straight from the bottle . . . even in the comforts of their own home ;)

Eventually I mustered up the courage to brush my teeth, then I abruptly passed out with all my makeup on on top of my bed. This was after, however, I had sent about 50 million text messages to boyfriend to "pleeeeeease come see me when the concert is over!" and "I MISS YOU!" texts. Gawd, thank the Lord he loves me and has been with me long enough where he knows I'm not psycho-texting bitch. Which is all the more reason why he showed up (wasted himself) at 1 a.m. at my doorstep after the concert to see me. I had been passed out for more than 2 hours and was in that totally 'I don't know what's going on phase' when I went to the door to get him. Then the two of us were just swaying around like a couple of drunk pirates, where I was dead tired and he kept ranting about how he was going to puke in my bed and refused to get up off the floor. I left him there for a good hour, then woke up, got him to undress (actually THAT'S a lie- I totally had to undress him and it was really really hard because he was dead weight and did not assist me AT ALL! I am a good girlfriend.) and he came to bed.

Then 7 a.m. rolled around and we both hated life. And hated that it was Thursday instead of Friday. Elise = FAIL.