Steel-Cut Oats??? Really??

So after staring at the leopard print underwear sticking way out above the waistband of the gross guy who smelled like onions all during yoga, I got into my car and listened to a rap song that was exclusively about lip gloss. Catchy, extended jingle for Bonnie Bell Lipsmackers? Not so much. It is honestly an entire song where a girl is singing about how her “lip gloss is poppin’.” Dead. Serious. You can check out the video for this phat and by phat I mean totally and completely reprehensible song here: http://www.kovideo.net/music/video/Lil-Mama---Lip-Gloss/831.html

So both those things were great.

Anyway.

This morning I was making b-fast and noticed a pot on the stove. Took the lid off. It was a pot full of oatmeal that had apparently been sitting there since last night. I was like “yo Veeve, do you know there has been a pot of cooked oatmeal sitting on the stove all night?” Yes, she did. You see, it was “steel-cut” oatmeal and apparently it cooks so slowly (although 20-30 minutes in my book doesn’t qualify really as that long of a time period) that they advise you to cook it overnight if you feel so inclined.

I think this is weird, the whole “steel-cut oatmeal” thing. I first heard about it while walking w/ my friend Ritu on the Promenade, as we’d agreed to be shot for some bullshit weird-ass local tv show thing on “cool people in cool places in Santa Monica.” Mind you I’m not really that cool and we were on the Promenade and hence they could not have been cool places really, so anyway, you’ll never see that show thing.

But I digress. So Ritu is talking about eating brunch at Le Pain Quotidien and saying how they have great steel-cut oatmeal. Whatever I say, oatmeal, is oatmeal. But since then, I’ve noticed it on brunch menus all over town. All over CA for that matter. And on every single one of them, they are charging like $9/bowl b/c the oats are “steel-cut.” I mean come on dude, we’re talking about oats. What does it even mean to be cut by steel? What does one normally cut oats with? Anyone? Anyone? How can you possibly justify charging $9 for a bowl of dusty oaty things that turn into a bowl of clumpy oat things when you add water?

I think it’s a big, giant, steel-cut conspiracy! Anyway, I’m done with that. Just don’t forget I warned you about this conspiracy ok?

Big boobs? Nope. Pretty face? Uh-uh. It's bacon and pearls honey.

You know what’s going to be awesome? The Affiliates cruise. Way super awesome. Who loves you KK?

Anyway. Today I fell down in yoga. I didn’t fall a little, I fell a lot. Like on my hands, on my knees. It wasn’t my fault. Granted, I am the girl who ran into a trash can while stone sober on spring break. But this fall was unavoidable. For the second time in one week Rudy insisted on approaching me in half moon and “opening” me up. This means he grabs your hip and pulls your hips all stacked on top of one another as far as you can stack them. I am guessing you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about but that’s ok. Anyway then you have to transition poses and usually I do it just fine, granted I’m a little shaky but who’s not when they’re on one leg. But when someone is adjusting you they totally throw you off balance and then your equilibrium is destroyed and then you’re f’ed. And you fall. And it's not funny! But then Rudy explains how typically do fall when he spots them cuz he's over-extending you and then you smile a little and feel slightly better. Phew.

So in other news. I have a casual observation. Guess what accessory I am going to try and incorporate into my outfits as frequently as possible from this point onward: pearls. “Old-fashioned!,” you say. “Ridiculous!,” you claim. But conversation piece? I say yes.

The other night was NA Food Fest and I was pent up inside the dreary halls of school tallying scores for the biz plan comp, and nach I was all dressed up. My preferred biz casz outfit is solid black. So slimming! So sheik! And so it’s my new thing of choice. Anyway, so I rocked all black with two long strands of white pearls to set it off. it’s a very good look I recommend it. Anyway so attired as such, I hit the bars when I realized from hell I mean school. Of course I was dressed all wrong. I was like all Ms. Happy Hour but it was midnight u know?

But all night long guys commented: “Love the pearls!” “Wow, lindy, you’re so Jackie O today.” “Hey there, Connecticut.” “You look all NY.” “Nice peals. So east coast. In a good way.” Etc. etc. Those pearls got me two free Grey Goose and sodas. Thank you pearls! Oh and I must back up. Even before hitting the bars, one of the old white VC men judging the comp complimented my pearls; said his wife would just LOVE them.

Anyway, so that’s fun. Do u think that it’s the whole pearl necklace thing? I was wondering about that. Like do guys just like pearls b/c they think about you know that thing? I am hoping not b/c that is so juvenile and really just so gauche and pearls are not about gauche, guys! But hey, whatever.

I will leave you with final observation about men. If you want them to love you lots, don’t just wear pearls, wear pearls while serving them bacon. You will have them wrapped around your fingers. I had fancy (well fancy in the food at least b/c we all know that my dishes don’t match, my crystal is for shit, and I have no dining room table) grown up dinner party #2 last night (and hello of course it went swimmingly), and the hors d’ouvres, a special recipe a la Jane, involved bacon, and for the rest of the night all I heard about was how everything would’ve been better had it contained bacon as well. I think had I served my strawberry shortcakes w/ bacon they would’ve been happily consumed. And that is like eating a blueberry bagel with sun-dried tomato cream cheese. Gross. Who does that?

A most torrid affair. Or something like that.

The following story has absolutely nothing to do with me. It's about a totally fictional character. But I'm going to tell it in third person just so it flows more naturally. Ok whatever I'm totally lying. This story is 100% from me, about me, starring me, etc. etc. It's my damn story. And it breaks all of my rules as it's completley linked to my personal life and furthermore, it casts me in a terribly negative light by association. But the thing is, it's so utterly ridiculous, I just can't help it. In fact, it happened a week ago, and I have told it in bits and pieces to friends since then, but it was not until tonight w/ Stu, the V, and Aly v. fine that I at last told it in full detail, to the bitter end, and it just felt so good, that I have to do it again.

I guess I have to start at the beginning right? Well I don't really. I mean really I can do whatever the f I want. But it helps if i provide some context. Here u are: Months ago, I go to a bar. I meet a boy. He's hot. A little sketch, maybe, but he's hot, so whatever. Let's move forward several months. I still have motivation to text/call said hot guy. He' still sketch. In fact, he's fully useless. But again, still hot, and that's all that matters, no?

So this all terminates at last Tuesday night. I'm at dinner, receive a text, and I end up driving down to Redondo Beach. Do you know how taxing that is? He gives shitty directions so I get lost. If you know me you know that I HATE getting lost cuz it totally stresses me out, makes me feel stupid, and then I get all sweaty-palms nervous and freak and my blood pressure goes up. So getting lost in my opinion really is not even healthy. Keep that in mind. Oh for the record I gave up a perfectly good TNDC with my friendsies for this trip down south.

Anyway, I eventually arrive at said guy's house. It's a shit hole. No wait, it's just a hole. But if I took a shit in it, it would then be a shit hole. I am almost afraid of parking in the lot, and I think my face looks like I just smelled a pile of vomit as I climb the stairs. The house is frat house from hell. It smells. I don't do smelly places, let alone places with empty vodka bottles hanging out on the random ass ping-pong table surfaces. I guess this is kid's friends house where kid is living temporarily.

After my tour, which includes more smelly places and stinky things including a bedroom that needs to be disinfected for a year solid until it's fit to live in and said kid's "bed" which I shit you not is a giant bean bag chair, I collapse...on said bean bag chair. What really do I say? I have driven myself to this place voluntarily. So I begin my line of questioning. This kid lives with an older couple in a house that is actually quite nice. Why no more? B/c the couple had a baby and he wanted to give them privacy. That was 1+ months ago. So you're still here why? Are you like one of those Christians who wears the shirts made out of hair and you're killing yourself softly in repentance for the sins you've committed? B/c living in this house has to be the equivalent.

So let me give you more vital stats on this kid:
--He live in this shithole temporarily b/c his normal house is rented from...his boss.
--He lives with...his boss.
--He wants to quit his job...so living w/ boss is awkward.
--His job is...I don't really know. Something to do with soccer. And leagues.
--He's in school part time.
--He's in...college...working on his bachelor's...at age 26.
--He's in...junior college. At age 26.
--He has no job prospects.
--He has no car.
--Because it's at his grandmother.
--Because she paid it out of impoundment after his DUI.

And here I sit. On a beanbag chair. With a 26 year old fairly unemployable jr. college non-grad who really has no house, and no car.

I look at myself. I'm in Michael Kors heels. I'm freshly manicured. I have been employed for over 5 months even though I have yet to graduate...from grad school. And I'm dying to hook up, with, this guy?

Thing is, this is only the cake. The icing comes when after some odd behavior prompts me to inquire if he has a girlfriend. Five minutes of prodding and it comes out that he has something. Not exactly a girlfriend, but a something.

So again. I'm here 20+ miles from home at 1am on a beanbag chair with a 26 year old unemployable jr. college non-grad who has no house and no car. Oh wait! He does have a girlfriend though. So at least he's got that going for him. It just doesn't so much go for me. So I did what I had to do and after a brief stare down I removed myself from the beanbag chair, and the scary house, and headed for greener and less stinky pastures. That is where the story ends.

Ok then. So...maybe...I sound rather like a snotty bitch in this entry. And for that I cross myself, and I'm not even Christian so I don't even cross myself but I'm doing it metaphorically b/c we Jews don't really have an equivalent. We do fast one day a year though. And I feel a liiiiiiiiiiitle bad for this excessive snarkiness, but, yo, dude had a girlfriend.

I got drunk w/ my mom.

In the airport this morning I saw this shirt:

Haikus are easy

But sometimes they don’t make sense

Refrigerator

Funny!

Anyway, so I woke up with a slight hangover this morning. Guess Jane and I threw back a few too many last night. We ate at the Slanted Door which was amazingly delicious (thanks for recs friends!) and our meal necessitated many drinks. A cocktail while we waited. A bottle of white to go w/ our oysters. Then a glass of red in between finishing the bottle to complement our beef and lamb. Then a glass of wine back at the hotel bar.

Seriously. Who gets hung over from hanging out with their mom? And if I felt hung over, I must have been moderately tipsy, and if I was moderately tipsy, then Jane must have been hammered. So that gave me something to laugh despite the fact that as my town car (I was big pimping you see as my shuttle was 10 minutes late and I was on the verge of missing my flight) lurched through San Fran traffic my oysters were sliding and my shaking beef was shaking in my delicate little stomach. Vo-mit. Oh but I didn’t, don’t worry.

Anyway, so over the weekend I picked up a third roommate. Stu and I were joined by our friends Nikki and Elizabeth on Friday, and we opted to join forces w/ Eliz. We figure we can get more for our money going three bedroom style. Regardless of which of the 27 million different neighborhoods that all pretty much look the same to me that we end up living in.

Looks like I’ll be going back up in 2 weeks on a mission w/ my ladies to find a place and sign a lease. I have one thing I can tell you about my future place: I plan to paint my bedroom pink. Yep, pink. Not like nasty pepto pink, something very soft, pale. I have it all planned out – a pale pink beadspread, lots of bright, fun pillows in corals and golds. This…is what I devote my mind space to. The color of the bedroom I won’t have for another few months. But it’s more fun than thinking about, say, how to do the scoring for the biz plan comp I’m co-chair of. That, is not so much fun.

So then, as my mom is no longer with me, there will be no craziness for me this evening. It’s now time for me to return to Law and Order. It’s very hard to multi-task with such a distractingly good show on in the background. I’m out.

Bitter. Over butterknives.

While sitting in advertising the other day, my friend Wai Mei, who’s marrying herself off this June, pulled her wedding registry up. Warren was on her left and I’m pretty sure he could’ve cared less. Jen Y was to her right and to my left (ok so did you follow that? Have the seating chart all figured out?) and she on the other hand did care. She turned to me and voiced something that I’ve bitched about several times this past month: what’s the damn deal with this short-ass stick that singles get?

Here I am, 26 and very rapidly approaching 27 (lucky number 7!!!), and although I have a delightful collection of handbags, a decent lineup of shoes, pretty good clothes on my back, and a makeup collection, which, let’s be honest here, is amazing, you know what I gots in terms of apartment goodies? I have a shitty chair from Ikea that is stained with black dye from some black lace gloves Tracy wore to the 80s party, I have a set of FOUR places settings from TARGET, I have mismatched glasses from Bed, Bath and Beyond, and I have silverware from Dick and Jane, circa 1985. I cook my ass off: do I have a gleaming Cuisinart? No, I have Jane’s hand me down from not 1985, but maybe 1992. My cousin Heather, daughter of Nancy, neither of whom can cook anything much beyond Hamburger Helper – want to know what she got from our family for her recent wedding? She got a shining, beautiful KitchenAid mixer that will likely collect dust in a hidden cabinet 10 feet about the countertops for years to come. Which is pretty much a crime against humanity.

This I call the curse of being single. There are plenty of lovely things that accompany singledom, but loads of gifts to furnish your home – from sparking Bacarat vases, shapely Waterford flutes, shimmering Christophe silver, delicate Ginori china to Le Creuset baking dishes and a full set of All Clad cookware – they, do not. None of them. Not one finely turned butter knife, not a single, lonely ramekin.

Nope, for us, it’s crappy kitchen ware and shitty furniture, b/c we’re in a state of transit. Why start buying good kitchen stuff when in a year from now you might be doing up the registry at Bloomie’s? Why bother getting nice furniture when you’re still renting and may be moving into dream home number 1 getting ready to decorate straight big girl style?

Essentially, the fate of my kitchen, the design of my ideal living space, is tied to someone that I likely have not even met… Conundrum, yes. This is further complicated by the fact that every day I become a little bit more convinced that men are mainly shitheads. Or at least, the ones I have been “fortunate” enough to meet are. Ok maybe I’ve met some that are ok, but they are blind to the fact that they are in love with me. And, yes, it’s true, my angst is heightened by the fact that in a very, very short time I have had two encounters with two very big douchefaces. No, actually, make that three. Number three I hate to include here, but recent events call for hard actions. Ok, now that? That was a rule-breaker. That was a brief window into my “personal” life. Sometimes you have to break rules to break ground. That’s what I always say at least. Umm, actually, I never say that. But it sounds good I think. Think I’ll pick it up.

So, there you have it. I am destined to continue cooking with subpar utensils, eating off sub-bar dishes, and chilling on sub-par furniture until someday, I can register. Or, I can pull a Carrie B, and just go register in honor of my single-dom. That is a thought to entertain… Please do let me know: if you received an invitation in the mail for a big party I was throwing (open bar!) to celebrate…being…27 and single…well, I know you would come, b/c it would inevitably be a super sweet party, but, would you bring a gift from my registry? After we talk, then, I can make the decision. In the mean time, I’ll be in San Fran for the weekend, looking at apartments to furnish with my half-ass furnishings. Ciao punkins.

Is it any better if I say pee-pee platter? No. Def not.

I'm in advertising class right now. We're discussing various techniques used by advertisers to grab attention and break through the noise.
#4: Use of emotions. Typical stimuli include -
--Babies
--Animals
--Sex

Babies. Animals. Sex. Right... A perfectly logical list.

Anyway last night I was at dinner at Canal Club, I like that place. Although the service was so terrible that at one point we called the restaurant and asked them to send our waiter over. We were in plain view of the host and we personally found ourselves absolutely hilarious. I like to think the host did too but I'm not so sure. Also of note was our server, Ivar, who was Bulgarian. His accent was ridiculous. When he came over initially, we simply could not keep our shit together. We couldn't look at him. We couldn't look at each other as we were laughing so hard. I felt so terribly but I couldn't help it. We ordered the pupu platter but it was just too much. Kt couldn't get the words out. With her eyes downcast she pointed to the menu and asked Ivar, "can we get this?" At what age does "pupu platter" stop being funny?

Maturity Disparity

Holy. Shit. My little friend Moe is preggers, she's due in a couple months. She sadly lives in FL so I have not seen her since she got all with child and I won't see her until Sept when she'll have a little munchkin in tow. Fortunately, as she knows that her girls need some a visual, she just sent all of us a pic of her standing sideways. I think i hyperventilated a little bit. It's pretty weird to see this chick that you've known since you were 18 and used to do some pretty stupid shit with all pregnant.

Anyway, she looks rather adorable. Although I always think pregnant women look kinda adorable. They have that glow thing going on. Plus Moe is super tiny; I think I have an inch on her. And she is one of those pregnant women that other pregnant women hate cuz she totally has gained not an ounce; instead she just has this perky little ball sticking out from her middle. I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllly want to post the pic of her but I'm not so sure she'd appreciate that so I won't.

Anyway, so my friend Moe is pregnant. Meanwhile, I received a visit from the cops on Friday night. I see some sort of rift in maturity levels here.

But, anyway, so the cops. Post going out Friday night, we wanted to continue our amusements so we came back chez moi. There was a grand total of 5 individuals hanging out on my balcony. I guess Brent was here though, and he kind of laughs like some crazy hyena and he might have the loudness of say 3 individuals, and his friend who was with us is some weird Brent #2. So doing some quick math, we have me=1+tracy=1+az=1+brent=3+brent's friend=3=grand total of 9. Still seems low for a cop to come. My neighborhood is very sedate though.

In retrospect, maybe the stories being told, namely some tale involving bumperpool and bufoonery at some Newport beach dive bar, was actually so retarded that the neighbors called just so they didn't have to listen to it anymore. After all, it made little to no sense and I think it might've made me dumber. Anyway, just something to think about.

So then, Moe is pregnant, and I have the cops at my house for noise violations at 3:30am. I don't really have much to say beyond that.

I've seen a lot of pastries come and go in my day.

Apparently Frederick is a pastry connoisseur. Who knew? And as such, she has seen many pastries come...and go...in her day. So that's good. Anyway, she was telling Maria and I this over dinner last night - she cooked for us in her new Bev Hills apt (which is in the complex that I'm 99% sure is home to LC and (formerly) Heidi of Hills fame). The food was delicious. The help was delicious too.

You see, little Freds (Eve) lives in NY and has this guy friend who is currently out here in LA for a week to visit a girl, who he met...in a bar. As he got to know her so well given the hours they spent together, he bought a ticket to come see her in her natural habitat and feel their amazing connection again. Except, I guess the connection was gone and his visit sucked. So he bailed. And ended up staying w/ KT (and for the record KT didn't know him previously).

This is weird on many, many levels, so let's just look past that and instead focus on the relevant issues, such as how KT managed to turn this dude (who is hot btw) into her little house bitch for several days. He apparently did her grocery shopping for her meal, made the dessert, served as the sous chef, and was her chauffeur for a day. Again, and we cannot stress this enough, all the while looking most adorable. I sure wish I could rent him for a day or so, but I guess he is heading back to NY, today actually. I'm also not really sure if he's technically for rent. Sad. So then...does anyone know a cute boy who is handy in the kitchen and in need of a couch to stay on? If you're super cute you can be upgraded from the couch perhaps. To Veeve's bed, of course.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with anything, but do you know that the dude at the car wash spent over 5 minutes today trying to convince me to get the special wax deal? I kept trying to explain to him that I"m totally way over my car and don't really care about it hence why would I treat her to a special wax, but he just kept going and going. He really did want to sell that wax. Normally, I would've cut him off a little faster, but thing is, in this lady of leisure life that I lead, I really was in no hurry. I had come from yoga, brunch, and a bit of shopping (peer pressure I say) and really...only had a dentist apt and dinner prep ahead of me. So, I let the dude sell his wax. I guess that this leisure stuff kind of makes me a calmer person. A nice side benefit. Doing nothing sure does pay off. So then kids, that is what I've got. Au revoir and happy pastry watching.

Costa Rica: Let's Finish This Thing

Day Seven. Human or Sloth? Not Sure. But Sloths Are Cute.

7:30am and we’re scrambling to pack in a ½ hour. We pile in with fruit to go and take a 6 hour bus trip to Manuel Antonio, a giant national park that features the rain forest butted right up next to beaches, pretty damn beautiful. Our hotel (Hotel California, ironically enough) is literally right in the rain forest. You know what? The rain forest is hot, no joke. Did you know sloths move so slowly that mold grows on them?

In fact, their ridiculously slow movements actually are a built-in defense mechanism: b/c they are so crazy slothy, predators can’t even find them in the trees. To boot, btw, they even have these crazy long claws that mean if something disturbs them in their tree (say, a shot from a poacher), they don’t even drop…b/c their claws hold them in place (thanks Ritu!!). I mention these crazy lazy animals (which do in fact live in Manuel Antonio) b/c that is what the heat does to you: it makes you a sloth. I laid down on our bed in our 98 degree room and I didn’t want to move.

But don’t worry, I did. We headed into Quepos (town…) for a Mexican dinner before heading to bed. For the record, the boys spent the evening post-dinner studying their diving books which I must say, was super cute.

Although, for the record, I got a 29/30 on my chap 1-3 quizzes without ever reading the book. Genius.

Day Eight. Wouldn’t It Be Great If…

Got my diving legs today. Do they say that? I guess people talk about sea legs but not really diving legs. Oh well who cares. I said it. So I went w/ the boys and did a couple hours in the pool and then headed out to sea for two dives. There is something I just can’t describe about how incredible it is to be under the ocean’s surface, 40 feet down, for like 25 minutes without needing to come up for air. The fishies are adorable, and there is this “surge” (underwater current) down there that washes you back and forth and the fish just sway right with you. Very cool. I did have one massive and very creepy fish come up right beneath me face to face at one point. It was a Doempke. I also had a very dumb moment when I asked how deep we were. Geoff responded, “wouldn’t it be great if we all had an instrument that actually tells you how deep you are?” In fact, the gauge above your air gauge is a depth gauge. Who knew. Not me apparently. So anyway, I got my ½ cert and am only two book chapters and 2 dives away from being full!

Neat.

We headed back for dinner

(delicious tuna!!) and then picked up a bottle of wine and headed home. Since we’re nearing 30 and highly mature, we played never have I ever. Btw in the Midwest we all say “never have I ever” before we make our statements. Elsewhere they just say “Never…” Lame. Pretty much the game just turned into people saying “never have i…” followed by ten minute stories that no one else possibly could have experienced. Hence, I can now tell you the sexual histories of meliss, trace, geoff, and mark. Awesome.

Day Nine. Monkeys monkeys monkeys

I was sleeping peacefully around 7am on this fine morning when Doempke started tugging on my leg. I was two seconds away from trying to kick him in the face when he shouted something about “monkeys” at which point I leaped up super fast and ran outside. It was literally a barrel of monkeys (titi monkeys, “monos” in Spanish) right outside our jungle-rific door.

Every single movement in the trees was a mono. They were flying through the trees, muching mangos on the logs, rolling down this one small hill (no joke), wrestling, etc. Hands down one of the top 10 coolest things I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Naturally I took a video which was awesome, and then naturally I accidentally deleted it. I took another one, but by then the monkey population had dwindled significantly as they had climbed off through the trees, and it pretty much sucked.

When the monkey excitement died down we headed into the park

to see some more animals (as the non-divers had seen a sloth, ant eater, and monkeys galore the day before). Sadly for us, they weren’t out in full force as much this day. Or maybe we were just too lazy in the heat to walk far enough into the park to see them. Either way, we ended up lazing around on the beach and swimming.

Our swim sessions were devoted to reviewing all the questions we’d come up with across the course of the trip (seven wonders; what are sloths’ enemies; spf scenarios; why do implants make your nipples hard; etc. etc.). For the record, we did indeed research these fantastic queries upon our return… Yes, we’re incredibly dorky.

When we got home that evening, we went to play in the pool and hot tub. At some point it started to sprinkle. Then it was raining. Then it was absolutely pouring down to the point where you could hardly keep your eyes open.

So we weren’t getting out anytime soon, and instead hung out playing “would you rather” (eat a cup full of bat guano or a cup full of sloth sperm; live in the Zullymar for a year or eat only rice and beans for a year; etc. etc. And yes, I am leaving the good ones out.)

At some point we couldn’t take it anymore and we sprinted back to our room to shower. It was then that the lights flickered. Then they went off. Came on. Went off. Came right back on. Went off. Wait for it…wait for it… Nothing. Lights off. We kind of stood there in the pitch black, rain pelting the tin roofs, huddled in uncertainly. We found our way to some candles and lit up the room. Since uncontrollable singing was somewhat a theme on the trip, I soon broke out into an appropriate song of “that’s the night that the lights went out in Georgia” and somehow I guess God didn’t want to hear my sing and hence the lights came on. Miraculous.

Dinner…nap…11:30pm arrives along with our bus (1/2 hour early) to take us to San Jose, and the airport.

Day Ten. Sure Do Love the SJO AP.

Aside from being ½ early to pick us up, the bust driver also drove so f’in fast that we got to l’aeropuerto in 2.5 hours v. the 4 that we had predicted. Which put us in at 2:30am. Do you know what’s up at the San Jose airport at 2:30am? Absolutely nothing. In fact, it’s closed. Doesn’t even open until 3:30. And at 3:30 there is still nothing really happening. We slept outside the airport,

we slept inside the airport by the check-in, we slept at the gate.

The plane was delayed for 2 hours on the tarmac, so I also slept in the plane but on the ground…but at the airport. So that was a long trip.

All in all, I suppose a small price to pay for such an excellent vaca.

So on that note, I’m done. I’m happy to be done, you’re happy I’m done, we’re all happy. If anyone has thoroughly enjoyed, please let me know. Maybe you’d like to sponsor my next trip so that I can post another travel series. Anyone? We can work out a good deal. I’ll throw in a free…hat. Or something. Well, then, on that note, I’m out. Lates!

Eat Liz's cookies!! (a break from CRica)

Let me tell you a great way to end a long day of animal viewing at the San Diego Zoo: watching 13 Going on 30. Wow this movie is disturbingly good. Anyway so I'm in San Diego - this I think is the only city in the states where the weather is better and sunnier than in LA. So of course, now that I'm here, it's totally not sunny. Anyway, enuf about the weather. Let's talk about how this trip is going to make me fat.

I'm here to visit my friend Liz, who has gone from big 5 accountant to interior design apprentice to cookie baking entrepreneur. I am not a big sweets person right? But these cookies are insane. I wanted to eat one for breakfast. I waited until after breakfast... She does all sorts of fun varieties but the kicker is that each cookie is filled with a chocolate surprise (and she makes all her chocolate fillings as well...). I am personally in love w/ the choc hazelnut, and YES Warren I will bring some back for you). Find these delights at www.thecookiechew.com and I suggest you buy in bulk. She's in the process of getting her PayPal and shipping stuff set up so give it a week or so...and THEN buy in bulk...

So yeah, we went to the zoo today. Fav of the day: flamingos. They are way more entertaining than anything I expected. They do all this weird shit as part of their mating rituals, like this weird pose where they stand on one leg and and then tuck their beaks into their wings. I think that these birds would totally kick my ass in yoga. Lucky for me flamingos don't do yoga, at least I don't think they do, so I'm golden. The monkey trails were pretty sweet, they weren't throwing any poo or anything, and there is something so cute about monkeys picking bugs off each other. I think if I saw any of my friends picking shit out of each others' hair like for an extended session I might throw up in my mouth. But the monkeys make is 100% socially acceptable. The cat canyon sucked big time, the cats were all sleeping and they smelled, and the Burmese python that was a stunning yellow and white pattern was actually genetically engineered, but to make up for that stuff we did a "skyfari" and btw did you know that it's illegal and punishable by fine of $500 or 6 months in jail to spit from a sky tram? I guess that means that they assume you make less than $100 a month? That would suck. Final attraction at the zoo was mostly of the human variety. I could've had a field day doing makeovers but I think there was too much tragic unfortunate-ness to even get started. I wish I had pictures but all I really caught on my camera phone were the peacocks that were roaming free and a good shot of the giraffes.

Anyway I need to go shower. Showering at Liz's is fun cuz she has one of those shower heads you can use as a hand-held and it takes me back to when I studied abroad in France in HS and that was my only showering option and I found it so novel b/c it totally changes the way you shower. You really get those suds off. Ok. So then. Have a great Sat night. Ciao bellas.

Costa Rica: Entry 3

Day Five. Hey, So, Is the Car Going to Explode or Something?

I believe I have mentioned Greg, the bar dude. Greg is this skinny tan dude from Manhattan Beach who moved down to Costa Rica to smoke pot and own a bar. And snorkel. And hang out with American girls like us. Kidding. Greg was actually a very cool guy and I miss his dog Shadow to death. Anyway, so deal is, Greg took us down to Flamingo Beach which is apparently the “Beverly Hills” of the Guanacoste region. So says Greg. He took us to this white shell beach (Playa Conchal)

which was lovely – the water was way clearer than at Tamarindo. Apparently the reef was manmade. How does one make a reef? Anyone?

So that was cool. We stuck around all day until the sunset, which was beautiful,

and then headed back to Tamarindo. So we’re like 10 minutes into our drive, when we’re like, “umm, hey, Greg, your truck is smoking.” Cuz it was. It was smoking like it was going to explode at any given moment. So Greg starts to freak out a little and we pull over and he dumps a bottle of water in the radiator and he’s ranting about how he just took the car in to get something fixed and why didn’t they check the radiator and the oil? Good question dude.

So we get back going and it is smoking again a second later. But this time it’s smoking even more and we’re all like coughing and gagging on gross exhaust smoke. Someone in the car was like, “umm, it’s not going to blow up or anything is it??” So cursing and swearing we make it back to Greg’s house. This involves driving down really tiny little random roads at like 80 mph in the darkened night time jungle. It’s at this point that I question how intelligent it is that 5 girls are driving around with random Greg. I mean sure he’s great…but is he now going to drive us to a remote jungle location to kill us? We get back to his house now…and he’s like, “yeah, I’ll figure this all out. I’ll get you guys back. I just need to go smoke first.” So he whips out a bong and goes out to smoke up. And now, I don’t want to say anything to my friends, but I’m like, “wow, shit. Are you serious??” Anyway, I bet maybe you thought this story was going somewhere interesting, but it’s not. In fact, about an hour later we had taken cabs which Greg paid for back to our hotel and the episode was over. But prior to dining out w/ Brett, I was rehashing the story to his friends, and it was then that I realized how incredibly sketch it did all sound. They were like, “oh yes, look at that…my car is smoking…and look…there is my house…right there…” Hmm.

Day Six. I’m Trying to Surf…but I Can’t Stop Staring at Your Ass

Today we opted to take advantage of our hotel. We’ve been sleeping there…but there is this is awesome beautiful pool

that we have full on neglected and I sure do hate neglecting a good pool. In the afternoon I got off my butt and headed to the beach w/ Eliz and Kim (new GC) for a surfing lesson. I figured that if I did a lesson, and didn’t get up and stay up for at least a little ride, with a lesson, my surfing days would be officially over. Luckily, while I’m not surfing extraordinaire like Kim, I did get up a few times enough to salvage my future surfing career. And yo! Surfing in warm water is AWESOME.

For the record we couldn’t understand a damn thing our surf instructor said. I do know that we stood on surfboards drawn into the sand and pretended to surf a while before we got in the water (fake surfing is easy!), and I picked up this thing you’re supposed to do, something about “push, push, push” when you need to move faster…but it was pretty much a blur other than that. I was too distracted by the instructor’s tattoo which was in lettering three inches high hovering right over his crack: “Kiss My Ass.” Pure class baby, pure class.

The evening continued on with mojitos right on the sand as we watched the sun set at La Palapa

followed by dinner. We had the restaurant set a table for 20 and then 14 out of 20 departed after determining that they wanted to eat more “authentic” Costa Rican (that rice and beans, just can’t fucking get enough hey guys?) leaving me with Brett, his friends, an attention-hogging Doempke, and Melissa and her South African date, who thought it was sexy to explain he graduated Magna Cum Laude right after asking her what her undergrad GPA was. Awesome.

Costa Rica: Entry 2

Day Two. Surprisingly, Zip Lines in Costa Rica Are Way Better than Zip Lines in Indiana

Wake up relatively early on our first full day as we’re off for a day of zip lining. Eat breakfast at the hotel where I discover that there is more to life than rice and beans – most importantly, some sort of firm and salty white cheese that is truly the bees’ knees, and Meliss and I became instantly hooked (and obsessed) for the remainder of the trip. We take a tractor to the start of the zip lining course. The tractor sucked. We were thoroughly envious of the other people on the trip who opted to ride horses to get there, the pricier option. The tractor moved approximately 2mph and we were driving over ruts approximately 2 feet deep. Whatever, it was all worth it for the zip lining which was AMAZING.

We did 8 lines in all, some slower, some damn fast, some shorter, some pretty freaking long. And all super high up in the trees.

Now, growing up, my next door neighbors had a “trolley” in their yard – essentially a zip line by the creek that ran about 150 meters or so. Let me tell you kids, no comparison. (really? No comparison b/t the zip line in your Indiana back yard and the zip lines 200 feet in the air of the Costa Rican rainforest? Shocking.)

One of our zip lining guides was also quite hot btw. I would’ve let him adjust my harness for any amount of time. Plus he called me “beautiful dimples.” Oh, and he called Jaime “beautiful eyes.” And I am pretty sure he called every other girl in our group “beautiful” something…I guess that kind of ruins the sincerity of his flattery… Whatever. He was still hot.

Let’s see. So post zipping, we ask if we can walk down instead of riding the tractor. We then discover that you in fact take the tractor b/c the road is such a pain in the ass to walk on. It then begins to pour rain. We have to stop the tractor and get back on with our tails between our legs. Except for Meliss and Dorna. They got hot guide boy to take them on his horse part of the way. Not that I’m jealous…

When we return to our hotels, Tracy, Ritu, Meliss and I begin drinking poolside. Just a long island or two. 4 long islands and about 4 hours later I discover that long islands should be left in college with all the other stupid shit you in your undergrad days. We had planned to hit up the other (Tabacon) hot springs that night, but after everyone came over to our hotel for dinner

(and long islands…) we ended up spending the evening frolicking in our pool and totally spaced Tabacon. Damn you, long islands. Oh, btw, near the end of the night, just before falling asleep, Doempke entered our room, ranted for about 5 minutes, and exited, leaving his flip flops (which smell…great) behind.

Day Three. Please Don’t Ever Call My Legs Stubby Again

Doempke can’t find his flip flops. I tell them they’re in our room; he doesn’t believe me.

Anyway, activity of the day: canyoneering. When you say this you have to do it in a sing-song voice, it’s a little tune. I can’t really sing it for you here since these are words not musical notes, but you’ll just have to imagine it. Canyoneering=rappelling down waterfalls=amazing. We did 5 falls; three on the small side that you just kind of walked down backward and perpendicular and then 2 big ones (an 80 footer and a 180 footer) where you just kind of hang on down. And you play on rocks and in the river in between the falls. And you swing back and forth through a big old waterfall on the big one. Apparently I was swinging my “stubby” (f you geoff) legs wildly through the falls on this and looked silly, but hey, I enjoyed it. Mark chose to go down head first. I am most certain that there is no way in hell that this would’ve been permitted in the US, but the Ticos are cool. I couldn’t watch personally, for fear that Mark’s head would end up slamming into the mountain, but he made it down alright.

Post waterfall trekking we hit up the hot tub at the Volcano Lodge for a “shower” before we board the bus for a 5 hour ride to Tamarindo (in the Guanacaste province on the Pacific coast of CR). We check into the Hotel Shitty I mean Zully Mar around midnight. So, yeah, it was…shitty. One room was rather infested with bugs. It wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, but at the ripe age of 26 I’m done staying in shit holes on my vacation. The boys of course could’ve cared less. For that matter Meg could’ve cared less until her breakfast convo the next morning with Geoff, Mark, and Tyson helped her realize that while she could deal with the Zullymar, she could not deal with them for three nights.

Day Four. I’ll Be in the Pool

The next morning we wake up good and early for the sole purpose of finding new lodging. We head straight to El Jardin de Eden (guys that means Garden of Eden, and wow, what a fantastic and novel hotel name. anyway.) So we go there as Brett is staying there and I have been told by him that it is que phenomenal (you have to say that like Marisol does…). They have literally one room available for the night. But the thing about traveling with 15 people is that you want to ensure that everything is copasetic for everyone with you. In the end, of course, it all worked out and everyone found rooms…at the Flamingo next door…but I have to admit that our hotel room there did rock and was a tremendous score.

I miss it L

We spent the rest of the day enjoying Tamarindo’s finest offerings: the beach. Essentially I swam, tanned, swam, tanned, etc. etc. drank coconut water out of a coconut, swam, tanned, etc. A large chunk of the group went to some bar owned by some dude named Greg who you’ll hear more about later to watch the UCLA game. We won. And they got hammered. Which made for an interesting dinner.

I especially liked the game in which we all had to pick two words to describe ourselves. Meg picked “chill whore” for herself and refused to let anyone pick two words for themselves that didn’t include bitch or whore as one of the two. Anyway. We hit up a really bad bar with really bad (but free for the ladies…) drinks and bad music before moving along to Ray Sol, a discoteque. The smoke machines were in full effect,

and the music was techno circa 1997, which brought me back to my days of Sig Ep formals. The drink: Red Bull and vodka. I mean Maxx and Vodka. Ignore the massive neon Red Bull sign on the wall. They don’t have it.

The night ended at the first years’ house which featured an open air pool in its center. Guess who ended up fully clothed in said pool at the end of the night? I’ll give you a hint. It was me.

I truly relished my long walk home clothed in a sopping wet thin cotton dress.

Costa Rica: Entry 1

Umm, well, I have started my CR blog entry. In fact I'm nearly finished. But it's like super super long. And Warren told me he wouldn't read it if I put it all in one giant giant entry and hence I'm forced to break it. I'm going to start at the beginning...a very good place to start...(SOM?). Actually I went hog wild on Day 1 and they get much shorter on subsequent days. That said: my ten day trip to CR...in my own words... (am I in fourth grade? am I writing "what i did on my spring break?" I kind of am).

Day One. What Costa Rica Means to Me: Rice and Beans, Walking! Palms, and “Natural” Swim-Up Bars

At an early 8am we arrive in San Jose which is apparently something of a giant shit hole, hence why immediately upon landing we meet our driver and get the truck out to destination number one: the Arenal region (town of La Fortuna) which is in the northern are of the Costa Rican Lowlands. La Fortuna is most well known for its giant active volcano. The volcano is pretty much ever present. It’s the first thing you see when you drive in and no matter where you go…it’s always there looming over you. It’s also continuously covered by thick, dark clouds at its peak for reasons unknown to me. Feel free to research independently and get back to me… Anyway, we have this 5 hour van ride to get here right, and we kind of fade in and out of sleep and it’s our start at getting really good at these really long van rides that take you over seriously awesome roads that are sometimes paved, sometimes not, but always guaranteed to be riddled with road construction, pot-holes, and scary-ass bridges that seem as if they’ll disintegrate before your very eyes.

We stop for breakfast at some point where we eat a “typical” Costa Rican breakfast. It involves fried plantains, some egg, some meat…and rice and beans. Actually, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all pretty much some meat, some rice, some beans. Now to me, I think this is the most thoroughly unoriginal “typical” food ever. It’s like, “yeah, our typical food is white bread and butter.” Or “iceberg lettuce and carrots.” Whatever. Mark falls in love it and I think if he could he would coat his body in rice and beans in homage to his new favorite food. Anyhoo, our group (me, Meliss, Az, Ritu, Mark, Doempke, Jaime, Kim, Tracy, Dorna) continues on to our hotel(s).

I’m at Volcano Lodge which is pretty adorable, gets the job done for sure, and after some exploration we head into town to figure out our activities.

This is my introduction to what it’s like making decisions copasetic with 10-15 people. I adored my travel group hands down loved them, but wow, tiresome, that is the word. We split into two groups (zip liners and rafters) and try to figure out our plans for the next day as well as the present evening. We are debating, for the night: volcano hike (unguided or guided), hot springs (Tabacon or Baldi) and the various combos you can make with those options. I’d say we squabbled over prices and options for over an hour before heading back with zero plans to our hotels, where we settle on a guided hike and trip to Baldi for a price twice as much as we’d found in town. C’est la vie. It was a good night and a good way to adjust to our discovery that no matter what people tell you, Costa Rica is “NOT” (Mark that was for you, an old school “not” ref) cheap. While we didn’t see any lava, or any toucans, or any howler monkeys (although we heard the latter two), we learned all about walking palms, trees that eat up other trees (at least that is my interpretation) and leaf cutter ants. Our guide, who was very, very hot (Marcos) liked to quiz us. It was like being back in 6^th grade and doing a nature walk to study up on tree rings and shit where your teacher would point at something and be like: explain. Except, guys, I really don’t know anything about rain forest wild life. I was the dumb kid. In fact we all were.

We end the night at Baldi hot springs which are apparently second rate to Tabacon but you could’ve fooled me. It was a dream come tree.

Hot tub after hot tub after tub in any temp you desired (all natural) surrounded by flowers and plants and swim up bars of course. B/c that is quite natural. When we were walking through initially, I got so excited that I turned around to tell everyone, whereupon I ran into a trash can. No joke. I have a totally bad ass scar where I scraped 2 inches of skin off my right shoulder now. I’m awesome.