I said something ridiculous was going to happen and by golly it has! I arrived in Brussels 3 days ago and have since then, been residing in the brand new apartment of a family friend. The fact that he only just moved in half a month ago means very little furniture and therefore an explosion of my belongings all over the place on account of the fact that I'm staying here alone.
Like everything else in here, the kitchen is brand new, straight off the Ikea boat and although the stove top isn't working yet, the oven is and there's a microwave as well. Any normal person would have bought frozen pizzas and lean cuisines but not me, la petite gourmande. My personal morals have lead me to believe that the microwave is the devil's advocate dedicated to giving us all cancer so I nixed anything cooked with that immediately. I then took it upon myself to roast chicken and potatoes for dinner and as if that weren't enough, I went so far as to come up with a makeshift, from scratch dessert.
Rice pudding.
I had mixed up some rice, milk, honey, and butter and baked it until it was golden brown and bubbling. The thing was gorgeous okay? I was really looking forward to eating it but anyone who knows me knows I have a phobia of removing things from the oven and the second I opened the thing I knew I was gonna drop it. And drop it I did...all over the place. Out of a 400 degree oven came and went my masterpiece within 10 seconds. I managed to splatter rice pudding from floor to ceiling all over the brand new Ikea kitchen without getting any on myself or breaking the dish it was in. No harm no foul, I spent the next 45 minutes on my hands and knees (the floor in the kitchen is BLACK slate) cleaning chunky white crap from every nook and cranny of Ikea's ass.
Surprise! You thought it was over but even on a rainy Belgian Sunday, in an empty apartment I manage to find trouble.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Bussian Roulet
Who m'a gonna get...who aaam I gonna get? The question I asked myself before boarding the 19 hour bus ride from Madrid to Rennes where I would then catch a two hour train to Quimper, the home of my father as well as many fish products and varieties of cake all made with the same batter...
I sat down and awaited my destiny, the first person to take the seat was a large man from Togo who was so goddamn excited that I not only knew the location of Togo but also the capital (Lomé) that he took it upon himself to chat until my ears bled and opened my book midsentence, forcing myself to read through the bus nausea just so I didn't have to listen to his squabble anymore.
He got off after about 4 hours and here I am thinking I've won the travel lottery and I dont have to shoot myself in the head when another man got on. I tried to explain there was already someone sitting there but he sat down anyway which made for an awkward and uncomfortable journey when no one arrived to claim their seat.
Another 4 hours and at this point I'm sure it can't get worse until a large Spanish man with a gray, would-be flattened mowhawk/mullet had the top portion of his head not been bald sits down. He smelled like dirty garlic sink water the morning after you get drunk and decide to cook but pass out before you do the dishes. He also took it upon himself to casually ooze his large arm across our one shared armrest and into my seat. For all you fat people I would just like to say...just because YOU can't control your eating in combination with the fact that I happen to be a small person does not mean you get to take over any part of my seat. I paid for my space just like you and lard-induced self entitlement is unnacceptable, have a carrot.
Side note: Unless something ridiculous happens (which it always seems to in my life) this will probably be my last journey blog due to the fact that I head to Brussels tomorrow and hang out for a week before heading home to the land of English speaking, marshmallow fluff eating Americans. God Bless
I sat down and awaited my destiny, the first person to take the seat was a large man from Togo who was so goddamn excited that I not only knew the location of Togo but also the capital (Lomé) that he took it upon himself to chat until my ears bled and opened my book midsentence, forcing myself to read through the bus nausea just so I didn't have to listen to his squabble anymore.
He got off after about 4 hours and here I am thinking I've won the travel lottery and I dont have to shoot myself in the head when another man got on. I tried to explain there was already someone sitting there but he sat down anyway which made for an awkward and uncomfortable journey when no one arrived to claim their seat.
Another 4 hours and at this point I'm sure it can't get worse until a large Spanish man with a gray, would-be flattened mowhawk/mullet had the top portion of his head not been bald sits down. He smelled like dirty garlic sink water the morning after you get drunk and decide to cook but pass out before you do the dishes. He also took it upon himself to casually ooze his large arm across our one shared armrest and into my seat. For all you fat people I would just like to say...just because YOU can't control your eating in combination with the fact that I happen to be a small person does not mean you get to take over any part of my seat. I paid for my space just like you and lard-induced self entitlement is unnacceptable, have a carrot.
Side note: Unless something ridiculous happens (which it always seems to in my life) this will probably be my last journey blog due to the fact that I head to Brussels tomorrow and hang out for a week before heading home to the land of English speaking, marshmallow fluff eating Americans. God Bless
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Spices on Nightmare Hill
So I made a friend in Marrakesh who told me his name was A.D. and he seemed pretty cool at the moment so we hung out most of the time I was there. Afterwards he wanted to come with me to Tarifa which was a bit odd but fine. It was really when he came to Sevilla that things started to get weird...he was acting up all the time and randomly getting angry for no reason. I decided it was a true problem when he was in the middle of one of his fits of rage and insisted I call him by his full name...amoebic dysentary.
Yes yes, I got sick in Morocco. I ate in the market and it came back to haunt me in all the worst kinds of ways. Fortunately, Spaniards give out drugs like molestors do candy and I was able to fix my shit (no pun intended) rather immediately. As soon as I got to feeling better I was able to listen to all of the dribble people were telling me about how amazing Granada was and how I absolutely needed to go there so I booked a bus and a hostel. After 5 hours on the bus with a crazy man woeing me by repeatedly singing the only song he knew in English (Bob Marley's One Love) I arrived to the gigantic cobblestone hill that is Granada and wanted to kill everyone who said this was the place to be in 100 degree Euro heat.
Problems posed by cobblestone:
1. rolled ankles
2. blistered feet
3. shin splints
4. broken suitcase wheels
5. etc etc
All of these problems are magnified by the cobblestone being conveniently located on a steep hill. Fortunately I made it out of that heathen town unscathed and I arrived to Madrid this morning.
Side note: I realized the Moroccan stink was coming from the Moroccan spices I had bought for my sister and promptly threw them under the bed (sorry Sara) in Granada as a gift from me to the city...rest in peace and may the devil spices enjoy the company of the devil city.
Yes yes, I got sick in Morocco. I ate in the market and it came back to haunt me in all the worst kinds of ways. Fortunately, Spaniards give out drugs like molestors do candy and I was able to fix my shit (no pun intended) rather immediately. As soon as I got to feeling better I was able to listen to all of the dribble people were telling me about how amazing Granada was and how I absolutely needed to go there so I booked a bus and a hostel. After 5 hours on the bus with a crazy man woeing me by repeatedly singing the only song he knew in English (Bob Marley's One Love) I arrived to the gigantic cobblestone hill that is Granada and wanted to kill everyone who said this was the place to be in 100 degree Euro heat.
Problems posed by cobblestone:
1. rolled ankles
2. blistered feet
3. shin splints
4. broken suitcase wheels
5. etc etc
All of these problems are magnified by the cobblestone being conveniently located on a steep hill. Fortunately I made it out of that heathen town unscathed and I arrived to Madrid this morning.
Side note: I realized the Moroccan stink was coming from the Moroccan spices I had bought for my sister and promptly threw them under the bed (sorry Sara) in Granada as a gift from me to the city...rest in peace and may the devil spices enjoy the company of the devil city.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Cumin Scented Brains
Tasting sheep brains in the market was the last Moroccan straw for me and after a week long Muslim haul, I finally booked a night train to a city called Tangier in the north where I could catch the ferry to Tarifa, Spain.
I had overheard a guy saying he was going to catch the same night train as me so I asked if I could walk with him and split a cab. From what I understood I had booked a "couchette" which is a sleeping cubicle, however, upon arrival I learned that my first class ticket was in fact in a compartment with six other chairs that recline flat into one gigantic bed because sharing a big bed with Moroccan men is what I really actually wanted to be doing.
I thought I had gotten pretty friggin lucky when I walked in and learned I'd be sharing with a British family of four who had brought a few bottles of wine for the journey that they were keen on sharing. That thought died about 5 minutes after we cracked open the bottle and a Moroccan police man walked in with handcuffs and jangled them in our faces while threatening to arrest us all for public drinking on a Muslim train. We weighed our options and decided Moroccan jail was scarier than the wine was good so we put it away and went to sleep.
After sweating for 2 months straight, I was finally cold...really effing cold on this night train that was airconditioned so heavily that I was huddled with the British mother next to me named Tracie, attempting to stay warm. Finally, 10 hours later we arrived and just 35 minutes on a ferry north, the clocks rolled forward one hour, I bought a bottle of wine for 72 cents and drank it publically while sunbathing topless on the beaches...Hello Spain :)
Side note: I can't get the smell of Marrakesh out of my clothing and I'm now walking around smelling like a strange combination of cumin and spicy armpits.
I had overheard a guy saying he was going to catch the same night train as me so I asked if I could walk with him and split a cab. From what I understood I had booked a "couchette" which is a sleeping cubicle, however, upon arrival I learned that my first class ticket was in fact in a compartment with six other chairs that recline flat into one gigantic bed because sharing a big bed with Moroccan men is what I really actually wanted to be doing.
I thought I had gotten pretty friggin lucky when I walked in and learned I'd be sharing with a British family of four who had brought a few bottles of wine for the journey that they were keen on sharing. That thought died about 5 minutes after we cracked open the bottle and a Moroccan police man walked in with handcuffs and jangled them in our faces while threatening to arrest us all for public drinking on a Muslim train. We weighed our options and decided Moroccan jail was scarier than the wine was good so we put it away and went to sleep.
After sweating for 2 months straight, I was finally cold...really effing cold on this night train that was airconditioned so heavily that I was huddled with the British mother next to me named Tracie, attempting to stay warm. Finally, 10 hours later we arrived and just 35 minutes on a ferry north, the clocks rolled forward one hour, I bought a bottle of wine for 72 cents and drank it publically while sunbathing topless on the beaches...Hello Spain :)
Side note: I can't get the smell of Marrakesh out of my clothing and I'm now walking around smelling like a strange combination of cumin and spicy armpits.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Barrel O' Grease
So instead of heading to Greece like was planned, my oh so smart self decided to book a flight to Africa in the middle of the summer and see just how much more heat my body could endure before I died.
My flight through Rome connected in Casablanca and I was quite excited to be on my way until I learned that my second flight had been cancelled and I was to wait around in a Moroccan airport for the next 5 hours. Luckily the people I was with threw a fit until the airport personnel gave us all meal vouchers; Baloney is what we were given...literally baloney. Never in my life did I imagine I'd be sitting in an airport in Casablanca eating a processed meat sandwich. At some very early hour we made it to Marrakesh and found the hostel.
When I awoke the next day I sat down to breakfast with some girls discussing something called a Hamam that they described as a massage which sounded really good so I decided to give it a go because I was feeling refreshed and energized after my first legit shower in weeks.
Turns out, a Hamam is a bath house where an old woman in a thong with boobs hanging over her panty line literally ripped my clothing from my body and plopped me down on a rubber mat in a steam room with crumbling tile walls...surprise! Not sure if this endeavor was going to make me cleaner or dirtier I sat there and waited for her to return with a vat of black grease that I was promptly rubbed down with. Then she "exfoliated" my skin to the point of chaffing with what can only be described as steel wool all the while pointing out how dirty I was and how much crap she was scrubbing off of me. I tried to explain that I only wanted to be washed from the neck down and I thought she understood until she threw a bucket of water on my head that was poured from a rusty spigot on the wall.
After that I decided I had been through the most Moroccan of Moroccan things and it was now safe to eat street food, walk around without being covered from head to toe and drink the water...ok well not the water but everything else. So far its all been lovely minus the bug infested dates I bought from a man with a rickety cart covered in flies.
My flight through Rome connected in Casablanca and I was quite excited to be on my way until I learned that my second flight had been cancelled and I was to wait around in a Moroccan airport for the next 5 hours. Luckily the people I was with threw a fit until the airport personnel gave us all meal vouchers; Baloney is what we were given...literally baloney. Never in my life did I imagine I'd be sitting in an airport in Casablanca eating a processed meat sandwich. At some very early hour we made it to Marrakesh and found the hostel.
When I awoke the next day I sat down to breakfast with some girls discussing something called a Hamam that they described as a massage which sounded really good so I decided to give it a go because I was feeling refreshed and energized after my first legit shower in weeks.
Turns out, a Hamam is a bath house where an old woman in a thong with boobs hanging over her panty line literally ripped my clothing from my body and plopped me down on a rubber mat in a steam room with crumbling tile walls...surprise! Not sure if this endeavor was going to make me cleaner or dirtier I sat there and waited for her to return with a vat of black grease that I was promptly rubbed down with. Then she "exfoliated" my skin to the point of chaffing with what can only be described as steel wool all the while pointing out how dirty I was and how much crap she was scrubbing off of me. I tried to explain that I only wanted to be washed from the neck down and I thought she understood until she threw a bucket of water on my head that was poured from a rusty spigot on the wall.
After that I decided I had been through the most Moroccan of Moroccan things and it was now safe to eat street food, walk around without being covered from head to toe and drink the water...ok well not the water but everything else. So far its all been lovely minus the bug infested dates I bought from a man with a rickety cart covered in flies.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
That's why God Invented Salt
Today I woke up early and tooted on over to Naples for the day. When I got there I decided I might as well head to Pompei too so upon arrival I boared yet another train there. Lucky for me I picked the best train ever! I was sitting in an unairconditioned car across from a woman with so many bottom teeth I opted to put on my sunglasses so I could stare shamelessly. She had so much going on on the south side of her jaw that I decided she must have evolved from a rare species of shark because no one with that many incizers decended from an ape. When I got tired of that I looked at the bumper sticker plastered to the window that read "I heart bombing" and then we arrived!
For those of you who don't already know, Pompei was a city at the base of Mount Vesuvius that got preserved in time when the volcano blew up and surprised everyone with a blanket of volcanic ash that hardened and killed them all. Sounds nice eh? It was actually pretty cool minus the fact that its about 100 degrees every day and I literally drip sweat when I stand still in the shade. I learned today that this is the hottest summer ever on record for Italy and that the heat is killing people throughout Europe!
When I had finished mulling around the ghost town, I returned to Naples which I was pretty friggin excited about it because a little birdy told me that not only is Naples the birthplace of pizza, but the food gets better as you head south on account of the sun. Here in Rome all of the recipes seem to have been borrowed from the most famous chef I know...Boyardee. Everything tastes like goddamn spaghetti-o's so anything Naples had to offer was going to be an improvement. I arrived to what looked like a huge heap of garbage on a hill and set out looking for the first ever pizza place. On the way I stopped and got some lemon granita to cool me down which was deliciously amazing (a good start). Well I found my pizza place and that too was fantastic and dirt cheap. I made the executive decision to test out a brioche...best brioche of my life, then ricotta pear gelati...so delectable. At this point I tore myself away from the place before I turned into a meatball with legs but not before buying a small pizza to take back for dinner and thanking the people of Naples because unlike the Tuscan region, they use salt in their cuisine.
Side note: I just googled the weather in Marrakesh next week and its going to be 110 degrees...may your thoughts and prayers be with me.
For those of you who don't already know, Pompei was a city at the base of Mount Vesuvius that got preserved in time when the volcano blew up and surprised everyone with a blanket of volcanic ash that hardened and killed them all. Sounds nice eh? It was actually pretty cool minus the fact that its about 100 degrees every day and I literally drip sweat when I stand still in the shade. I learned today that this is the hottest summer ever on record for Italy and that the heat is killing people throughout Europe!
When I had finished mulling around the ghost town, I returned to Naples which I was pretty friggin excited about it because a little birdy told me that not only is Naples the birthplace of pizza, but the food gets better as you head south on account of the sun. Here in Rome all of the recipes seem to have been borrowed from the most famous chef I know...Boyardee. Everything tastes like goddamn spaghetti-o's so anything Naples had to offer was going to be an improvement. I arrived to what looked like a huge heap of garbage on a hill and set out looking for the first ever pizza place. On the way I stopped and got some lemon granita to cool me down which was deliciously amazing (a good start). Well I found my pizza place and that too was fantastic and dirt cheap. I made the executive decision to test out a brioche...best brioche of my life, then ricotta pear gelati...so delectable. At this point I tore myself away from the place before I turned into a meatball with legs but not before buying a small pizza to take back for dinner and thanking the people of Naples because unlike the Tuscan region, they use salt in their cuisine.
Side note: I just googled the weather in Marrakesh next week and its going to be 110 degrees...may your thoughts and prayers be with me.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Noodle Me
The travelling Gods must have felt bad that they treated me so badly because the hostel I'm staying at in Florence is pure heaven and when I arrived it was like a shining beacon of hope at the end of the bed bug road. I walked in and was handed clean sheets and towels, a map and brochures, as well as a little welcome pack that had mini toiletries in it. They also come fully equipped with a pool, sauna, restaurant, AC, and blowdryers in the girls rooms.
I found a cooking class that was offered in one of the brochures and went downstairs to book it immediately but couldn't get in until Wednesday (today) so I opted for a Tuscan wine tour in the Chianti region on monday and mulling around the city on Tuesday. The wine tour was excellent, I couldn't understand a word the tour guide was saying but she gave me free wine and I speak that language fluently. We went from place to place tasting and smelling until ending with a multi-course garden lunch at a lord's house up in the Italian countryside where we were given enough red wine to stain our teeth and then headed back to the bus where everyone fell asleep and snored...God bless the siesta.
Today I got up early to meet my cooking group in the heart of the city where we first toured the fresh market and purchased items for lunch, then headed back to the chef's apartment to make it. He gave us all little recipe books to write down what we were doing as we sat around a large marble island in the middle of his kitchen and prepared bruschetta (the true Italian way), homemade bolognese sauce, fresh pasta that we rolled by hand, and tiramisu all from things he had bought in the market. It was all fun and delicious games until the instructor decided to confess his affinity towards me and propose: a party, boat ride, dinner of chicken and risotto...etc. This was all done in an alarming public way and I chuckled a bit and sweated profusely while whispering to the girls next to me to make sure I didn't get left behind. At the end we all got certificates of completion and after I made sure I had made it out unfollowed by my new Italian lover, I promptly spilt hazelnut gelati on my diploma.
Side note: after ruminating on my plans to head to Greece, I decided it was too far out of the way and booked a ticket to Morocco instead, surprise! Africa, here I come.
I found a cooking class that was offered in one of the brochures and went downstairs to book it immediately but couldn't get in until Wednesday (today) so I opted for a Tuscan wine tour in the Chianti region on monday and mulling around the city on Tuesday. The wine tour was excellent, I couldn't understand a word the tour guide was saying but she gave me free wine and I speak that language fluently. We went from place to place tasting and smelling until ending with a multi-course garden lunch at a lord's house up in the Italian countryside where we were given enough red wine to stain our teeth and then headed back to the bus where everyone fell asleep and snored...God bless the siesta.
Today I got up early to meet my cooking group in the heart of the city where we first toured the fresh market and purchased items for lunch, then headed back to the chef's apartment to make it. He gave us all little recipe books to write down what we were doing as we sat around a large marble island in the middle of his kitchen and prepared bruschetta (the true Italian way), homemade bolognese sauce, fresh pasta that we rolled by hand, and tiramisu all from things he had bought in the market. It was all fun and delicious games until the instructor decided to confess his affinity towards me and propose: a party, boat ride, dinner of chicken and risotto...etc. This was all done in an alarming public way and I chuckled a bit and sweated profusely while whispering to the girls next to me to make sure I didn't get left behind. At the end we all got certificates of completion and after I made sure I had made it out unfollowed by my new Italian lover, I promptly spilt hazelnut gelati on my diploma.
Side note: after ruminating on my plans to head to Greece, I decided it was too far out of the way and booked a ticket to Morocco instead, surprise! Africa, here I come.
A Venetian Nightmare
I haven't blogged in forever and here is the reason why: Venice. I left Nice, FR July 7th with the hopes of making it all the way to Venice that day. I was then bombarded by a flurry of unairconditioned trains (4 in all) and as I sat there in a pool of my own sweat trying as hard as I could not move I made the executive decision to stay in Milan for the night seeing as how it was already 7pm and Venice was another 3 hours away. Not to mention the idea of showing up in the dark to a city where even the travel books say maps wont help was mildly terrifying.
The next morning I awoke and hopped on the first train to Venice, showered and ready. When I arrived at my hostel, it was less than desirable but some hostels are and that's all just part of the student travel experience I suppose. However, this place got worse and worse. There was a girl from Canada literally covered head to toe in bed bug bites and no one considered the fact that she might still be carrying them so we were all just going along our merry way in this godforsaken hostel until another guy showed up who was literally crawling with bugs head to toe. They took him outside and hosed him down with alcohol...then let him stay there but only after spraying all the rooms and everyone's belongings in them with something that had a smell resembling sour toe jam and fermenting fruit. The fact that there were only two showers for about 50 people ended up working to my advantage because I ended up skulking around so filthily the bed bugs didn't want anything to do with my stank ass and I woke up each morning surrounded but untouched by them.
The hostel's one claim to fame was the free dinner that they boasted about. Well, the very first night the "free dinner" if you can even call it that was overcooked pasta mixed with tuna and tomato sauce. I assumed it was just a newby in the kitchen until I was informed that they serve the same thing EVERY night and that would be my free slop for the next 4 nights. At that point I tried to get out of my reservation and they wouldn't let me so I sweated out the next 4 days (literally because Italians don't believe in AC) and then crossed over a million little bridges back to the train station and headed to Florence.
The next morning I awoke and hopped on the first train to Venice, showered and ready. When I arrived at my hostel, it was less than desirable but some hostels are and that's all just part of the student travel experience I suppose. However, this place got worse and worse. There was a girl from Canada literally covered head to toe in bed bug bites and no one considered the fact that she might still be carrying them so we were all just going along our merry way in this godforsaken hostel until another guy showed up who was literally crawling with bugs head to toe. They took him outside and hosed him down with alcohol...then let him stay there but only after spraying all the rooms and everyone's belongings in them with something that had a smell resembling sour toe jam and fermenting fruit. The fact that there were only two showers for about 50 people ended up working to my advantage because I ended up skulking around so filthily the bed bugs didn't want anything to do with my stank ass and I woke up each morning surrounded but untouched by them.
The hostel's one claim to fame was the free dinner that they boasted about. Well, the very first night the "free dinner" if you can even call it that was overcooked pasta mixed with tuna and tomato sauce. I assumed it was just a newby in the kitchen until I was informed that they serve the same thing EVERY night and that would be my free slop for the next 4 nights. At that point I tried to get out of my reservation and they wouldn't let me so I sweated out the next 4 days (literally because Italians don't believe in AC) and then crossed over a million little bridges back to the train station and headed to Florence.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Nice Nice
I escaped the cold grip of Paris finally after a month long stay and have moved on to Nice. Its pretty legit here, looks just like all the pictures of the French Riviera that they put on the post cards...go figure. When I arrived I took it upon myself to first find the hostel, then get drunk at it which is easy to do when the common room is an old chapel with stained glass windows and a bar that comes fully equipped with cheap drinks and cute Aussies. Perhaps it was the amount of sun that I got but the next day I was borderline incoherent and my plans to travel to the market in Ventimiglia were hindered by the overwhelming urge to vomit and I opted for a smaller market here instead.
The next night I learned my lesson and sipped on chocolate milk instead which allowed me to make it to Monaco the following morning. I went with two guys I met here. One was a really nice Aussie and the other was a fucktard from Canada who first told me he thought I was going to be socially awkward when he first met me and then asked me if I rowed because I had a big back. I'm pretty sure the poor bastard has Asperger's because he later informed me that it takes him two hours to get ready to go out at night because he has to blow dry/flat iron his 1/2 inch of hair and sometimes, on really special occasions, he wears makeup. He's aspiring to be a model and I didn't have the heart to tell him that agencies usually don't seek out assholes that look like Kermit the frog with dinosaur teeth. It was legitimately sad to be in the presence of such a loser.
I recovered from that day by heading to San Remo today which is just across the border into Italy and went to a big market there that had so many different shapes of pasta I got overwhelmed and went home. All in all its been great here but I leave Tuesday for Venice or Milan...haven't decided yet.
The next night I learned my lesson and sipped on chocolate milk instead which allowed me to make it to Monaco the following morning. I went with two guys I met here. One was a really nice Aussie and the other was a fucktard from Canada who first told me he thought I was going to be socially awkward when he first met me and then asked me if I rowed because I had a big back. I'm pretty sure the poor bastard has Asperger's because he later informed me that it takes him two hours to get ready to go out at night because he has to blow dry/flat iron his 1/2 inch of hair and sometimes, on really special occasions, he wears makeup. He's aspiring to be a model and I didn't have the heart to tell him that agencies usually don't seek out assholes that look like Kermit the frog with dinosaur teeth. It was legitimately sad to be in the presence of such a loser.
I recovered from that day by heading to San Remo today which is just across the border into Italy and went to a big market there that had so many different shapes of pasta I got overwhelmed and went home. All in all its been great here but I leave Tuesday for Venice or Milan...haven't decided yet.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Goodbye Cruel World, I'm off to Join the Circus
After a long haul here in Paris I finally have plans to leave tomorrow and head to Nice which is the southern coast. Thanks to my eurail pass that I anticiated would make my life infinitely easier, I have to go around my ass to get to my elbow but I managed to book a week in a gigantic hostel on the beach so I suppose its give and take.
I'm pretty sad to be leaving here now that I've gotten so comfortable with my family including my uncle who resembles my father so much I pooped my pants a little when I saw him. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure I'm welcome back in Paris anytime. I know this because Paris christened me as one of its citizens last week when I wore an outfit I had purchased completely on location and got shit on by pigeons twice that day. A bittersweet memory I like to think...
Thus far the best sweet thing I've eaten is either a palmier at a local bakery or my cousins chocolate almond cake; best savory was steak tartare and the best coffee (prepare to die) was McDonald's D'aim cappuchino. Its a coffee with little pieces of D'aim candy which are chocolate covered toffee. Europeans are always braging about how strong their coffee is and I'll tell you what, their teeth say it best: brown and rotten. I like my coffee particularly bastardized with loads of sugar and steamed milk, that's my American half. In addition the best thing I've done was by far Disneyland which I did today. My uncle says I have a shark smile (lots of big, white, teeth) and I spent the day with that smile plastered on my face as I ran around, rode every single ride, and noshed on candies. It was effing great, especially round two on It's a Small World and Space Mountain. I also want to make it clear that Disney Euro and Disney USA are NOT the same and even though some of the rides are titled similarly, those too are different. That being said I'd like to pay homage to the wheat fields behind my aunt and uncle's house because they come second, but not closely, to Mickey and his many companions who smoke, drink, and wear striped shirts.
For anyone who hasn't seen, check out my facebook for post voyage pictures. Sadly there won't be any from Disney Paris for a while because I forgot my camera battery and had to buy a disposable that cost me my life savings.
I'm pretty sad to be leaving here now that I've gotten so comfortable with my family including my uncle who resembles my father so much I pooped my pants a little when I saw him. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure I'm welcome back in Paris anytime. I know this because Paris christened me as one of its citizens last week when I wore an outfit I had purchased completely on location and got shit on by pigeons twice that day. A bittersweet memory I like to think...
Thus far the best sweet thing I've eaten is either a palmier at a local bakery or my cousins chocolate almond cake; best savory was steak tartare and the best coffee (prepare to die) was McDonald's D'aim cappuchino. Its a coffee with little pieces of D'aim candy which are chocolate covered toffee. Europeans are always braging about how strong their coffee is and I'll tell you what, their teeth say it best: brown and rotten. I like my coffee particularly bastardized with loads of sugar and steamed milk, that's my American half. In addition the best thing I've done was by far Disneyland which I did today. My uncle says I have a shark smile (lots of big, white, teeth) and I spent the day with that smile plastered on my face as I ran around, rode every single ride, and noshed on candies. It was effing great, especially round two on It's a Small World and Space Mountain. I also want to make it clear that Disney Euro and Disney USA are NOT the same and even though some of the rides are titled similarly, those too are different. That being said I'd like to pay homage to the wheat fields behind my aunt and uncle's house because they come second, but not closely, to Mickey and his many companions who smoke, drink, and wear striped shirts.
For anyone who hasn't seen, check out my facebook for post voyage pictures. Sadly there won't be any from Disney Paris for a while because I forgot my camera battery and had to buy a disposable that cost me my life savings.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Baby Poop
I am still in Paris, however, I've moved on to staying with my cousins: Marie, David, and their two daughters Lucie and Louise (5 and 2). Although very happy to be here, the babies are either screaming, laughing or crying at any and all points of the day and I'm on the verge of sickness so I took it upon myself to invest in a pair of earplugs that come in a package marked "scilence is golden" as well as an eyemask. I use them for both sleeping and life.
Meanwhile I've gained about 5 lbs in cheese and another 5 in croissants because all the people I've visited remember one thing about me as a child...my affinity for food. It feels like someone took one of those big cheese wheels, cut a hole in the middle, and placed it around the middle of my waist. Muffin tops are infinitely less attractive when they're made of Saint Felician cheese (which just so happens to be in season right now).
In addition to getting fat I've managed to see all the major points of Paris at least once if not twice and am now skulking around parks like a creeper with sandwiches in my purse trying to find something to do while I pass the time until next weekend when I go to a wedding in Brittany followed by my immediate departure to Avignon where I'm ecstatic to be going because it will be warm enough to wear dresses and I won't have to crisco my fat ass into my skinny jeans anymore. Not much else to say, the sparkle of Paris wore off when I learned that getting shit on by pigeons is a huge fucking problem here, its probably the reason everyone looks so angry all the time. On a happier note, I am now the proud owner of a real Parisian striped shirt courtesy of my aunt.
Side note: out of everyone at home, school, and everywhere in between, I miss coeld blankie the most.
Meanwhile I've gained about 5 lbs in cheese and another 5 in croissants because all the people I've visited remember one thing about me as a child...my affinity for food. It feels like someone took one of those big cheese wheels, cut a hole in the middle, and placed it around the middle of my waist. Muffin tops are infinitely less attractive when they're made of Saint Felician cheese (which just so happens to be in season right now).
In addition to getting fat I've managed to see all the major points of Paris at least once if not twice and am now skulking around parks like a creeper with sandwiches in my purse trying to find something to do while I pass the time until next weekend when I go to a wedding in Brittany followed by my immediate departure to Avignon where I'm ecstatic to be going because it will be warm enough to wear dresses and I won't have to crisco my fat ass into my skinny jeans anymore. Not much else to say, the sparkle of Paris wore off when I learned that getting shit on by pigeons is a huge fucking problem here, its probably the reason everyone looks so angry all the time. On a happier note, I am now the proud owner of a real Parisian striped shirt courtesy of my aunt.
Side note: out of everyone at home, school, and everywhere in between, I miss coeld blankie the most.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Mal au Pied
Paris streets weren't meant for walking, they weren't planned for driving or biking...they were planned by drunks with trucks full of cobblestones who had nowhere else to put them. For the last three days I've been attempting to see this city on foot and serves me right I suppose that today I walked until my feet bled, literally. With sandals its a matter of the straps rubbing your feet. In anything closed toe feet begin to swell and toes rub together causing mayhem in ones shoes that can't be seen but is very apparent through its crippling effects. I also want everyone to know that the shoes I wore today...the ones that caused the bleeding, were my tennis shoes and I blame you all for telling me they were better than my other crap ones.
On a lighter note, in the last three days I've managed to visit: the Eiffel Tower, Luxembourg Gardens, Sacre Couer, Musée d'Orsay, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, Grande Epicerie du Paris, Fauchon, and a lot more other crap. Today it rained and was humid so no pictures exist to keep record of my hair/face however, I did decide to treat myself to a sit down lunch at a Japanese restaurant in the Latin quarter which was strangely better than all the fancy French food and fresh crépes I've been eating. The woman could tell I was starving and exhausted so she gave me free lychee dessert and immediately afterwards I had someone pay for my metro ticket which I consider karma for the fact that I gave my louvre ticket to a couple who culdnt afford to go in once I had finished in looking at all the stuff.
The Mona Lisa is actually BIGGER than I thought it'd be after I had so many people tell me it was small. Now I'm too tired to type and dinner is ready.
On a lighter note, in the last three days I've managed to visit: the Eiffel Tower, Luxembourg Gardens, Sacre Couer, Musée d'Orsay, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, Grande Epicerie du Paris, Fauchon, and a lot more other crap. Today it rained and was humid so no pictures exist to keep record of my hair/face however, I did decide to treat myself to a sit down lunch at a Japanese restaurant in the Latin quarter which was strangely better than all the fancy French food and fresh crépes I've been eating. The woman could tell I was starving and exhausted so she gave me free lychee dessert and immediately afterwards I had someone pay for my metro ticket which I consider karma for the fact that I gave my louvre ticket to a couple who culdnt afford to go in once I had finished in looking at all the stuff.
The Mona Lisa is actually BIGGER than I thought it'd be after I had so many people tell me it was small. Now I'm too tired to type and dinner is ready.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Bonjour à Paris!
I arrived in Paris yesterday morning and have been living my life as an elite socialite ever since. When we got here we napped and then Helen informed me that we would be going to a very chic part of town so we took the metro into the subway where she bought me a gorgeous celadon dress that comes with a silk slip that only old holywood glamour and people in Paris are allowed to wear anymore. Afterwards we wined and dined then went to sleep.
When I got up this morning, the woman we're staying with immediately brought me espresso, oragnce juice, toast, honey, jam, four different types of cheese and a big bowl of fruit...cause I guess thats standard for breakfast. Afterwards I painted my nails red to match the premier of my red lipstick in Paris and out we went to some circle where the women have Kelly bags on their elbows and the biggest gold Chanel watches you've ever seen on their wrists. I'm pretty sure I'm too poor to be looking at these people. Afterwards I dragged Helen and Marie Pierre to the Eiffel Tower but they didn't want to go up so I drooled for a while, then moseyed on to continue my life as a fabulous Parisian. the best way to get people to theink you live here is to make a face like you just smelled shit and don't speak to anyone...especially not in English.
We wined, dined, and shopped all afternoon until my wedges gave me blisters then ate dinner outside a restaurant near the louvre with a zillion courses. Paris is so fucking fabulous and filled with beautiful men who know how to cook the best things you've ever tasted, I don't know how anyone who ever came here left voluntarily.
Mom and Dad: I'd like to cash in the new car you're supposed to buying me for my French passport because here the government gives you money, fashion school costs nothing and the dentist cleans your teeth for free! Granola-crunching Oregon can suck my big toe.
When I got up this morning, the woman we're staying with immediately brought me espresso, oragnce juice, toast, honey, jam, four different types of cheese and a big bowl of fruit...cause I guess thats standard for breakfast. Afterwards I painted my nails red to match the premier of my red lipstick in Paris and out we went to some circle where the women have Kelly bags on their elbows and the biggest gold Chanel watches you've ever seen on their wrists. I'm pretty sure I'm too poor to be looking at these people. Afterwards I dragged Helen and Marie Pierre to the Eiffel Tower but they didn't want to go up so I drooled for a while, then moseyed on to continue my life as a fabulous Parisian. the best way to get people to theink you live here is to make a face like you just smelled shit and don't speak to anyone...especially not in English.
We wined, dined, and shopped all afternoon until my wedges gave me blisters then ate dinner outside a restaurant near the louvre with a zillion courses. Paris is so fucking fabulous and filled with beautiful men who know how to cook the best things you've ever tasted, I don't know how anyone who ever came here left voluntarily.
Mom and Dad: I'd like to cash in the new car you're supposed to buying me for my French passport because here the government gives you money, fashion school costs nothing and the dentist cleans your teeth for free! Granola-crunching Oregon can suck my big toe.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Buttery Belgium
On my last night in Amsterdam, that guy Ron cooked us dinner again (this time it was chicken tacos) and then we all went out dancing until the same came up, at which point I immediatey boarded a train for Brussels.
Words learned in Dutch:
Kaas = cheese
Prost = cheers
Winkel = store
So far Brussels has been like one really huge bad first date...except the reason we aren't talking isn't because we don't have anything to say, it's because we don't speak the same language. I am staying with Bertrand (dads friend) and his daughter Clementine who he said was 14 but is actually 13 going on 14. Whats with French people and telling people you're older?? His daughter is teeny tiny, she cant be more than 60 or 70 lbs and comâred to her I look like one huge ogre. She also speaks zero English but really enjoys talking at warp speed and trying to understand her is like having my head placed in a Chinese torture device.
Since I've been here we went to a BBQ where, upon arrival, there were desserts on the table. I just assumed a European BBQ was a get together not a cookout and took the liberty of trying the cheesecake, rhubarb tart, and mini cupcakes along with a cherry beer that was friggin excellent. Then apparently the cookout started and the had food up to my eyeballs (two different types of sausage, about 5 salads, three different quiche, and bread). As if that weren't enough they then brought out dessert round two that consisted of Chocolate covered strawberries, Belgian chocolate cake, and a strawberry cream tart. I died, went to heaven, then exploded.
In the mean time I've also managed to get completely lost, freeze my toes into submission, eat a fish just like in Julie and Julia cooked in butter where you have to pull the bone from the middle, discover the utter bliss of Belgian waffles/ french fries and attend another dinner party last night where they cooked couscous and served me beer in a very strange glass nearly impossible to drink from called "kwak."
Words learned in Dutch:
Kaas = cheese
Prost = cheers
Winkel = store
So far Brussels has been like one really huge bad first date...except the reason we aren't talking isn't because we don't have anything to say, it's because we don't speak the same language. I am staying with Bertrand (dads friend) and his daughter Clementine who he said was 14 but is actually 13 going on 14. Whats with French people and telling people you're older?? His daughter is teeny tiny, she cant be more than 60 or 70 lbs and comâred to her I look like one huge ogre. She also speaks zero English but really enjoys talking at warp speed and trying to understand her is like having my head placed in a Chinese torture device.
Since I've been here we went to a BBQ where, upon arrival, there were desserts on the table. I just assumed a European BBQ was a get together not a cookout and took the liberty of trying the cheesecake, rhubarb tart, and mini cupcakes along with a cherry beer that was friggin excellent. Then apparently the cookout started and the had food up to my eyeballs (two different types of sausage, about 5 salads, three different quiche, and bread). As if that weren't enough they then brought out dessert round two that consisted of Chocolate covered strawberries, Belgian chocolate cake, and a strawberry cream tart. I died, went to heaven, then exploded.
In the mean time I've also managed to get completely lost, freeze my toes into submission, eat a fish just like in Julie and Julia cooked in butter where you have to pull the bone from the middle, discover the utter bliss of Belgian waffles/ french fries and attend another dinner party last night where they cooked couscous and served me beer in a very strange glass nearly impossible to drink from called "kwak."
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
A Death in the Family
This morning when I woke up I was waiting on the internet at the hostel and trying to add up what I've spent and convert the euros in dollars so I know where I stand. As I was trying to do this my phone kept pulling cracked out moves every time I tried to open the little bitch. It began doing this the night before I left and I assumed it had something to do with the international plan I set up and if I turned it off for a hot minute and let it chill it'd be fine when I decided to reboot so that's exactly what I did. I was in the middle of buying my leopard print flats and when I walked out and turned my phone on. Just my luck that my phone should commit cellular suicide less than a week into my trip. I asked someone if Holland has AT&T and promptly got laughed at so I went into the first T-mobile I found and bought a new phone that resembles a black candy bar, has like 3 1/2 buttons and is so goddamn primitive I want to run myself over with my new bike. Thank the lord that I don't need to text people because in combination with all the shopping/no buying stress...I might have actually died.
Sans phone dilema, I walked around and tried to look for things to do indoors because it was chilly today. Today made me glad that I am travelling in summer because being alone in cold weather with nothing to do = non-stop eating. Eventually 6 oçlock rolled around and I met up with a guy named Ron and a bunch of people he studied abroad with including two Dutch guys, one Dutch girl, two Japanese people (guy and girl), a guy from Korea and Moi. He made us dinner (pasta with a ragout and a pudding thingy for dessert) and we watched the Holland/Mexico match and chatted over wine.
Staying in tonight...I'm walking my feet flat and I'm short that if I have disgusting feet its plausible people might think I'm a hobbit.
Sans phone dilema, I walked around and tried to look for things to do indoors because it was chilly today. Today made me glad that I am travelling in summer because being alone in cold weather with nothing to do = non-stop eating. Eventually 6 oçlock rolled around and I met up with a guy named Ron and a bunch of people he studied abroad with including two Dutch guys, one Dutch girl, two Japanese people (guy and girl), a guy from Korea and Moi. He made us dinner (pasta with a ragout and a pudding thingy for dessert) and we watched the Holland/Mexico match and chatted over wine.
Staying in tonight...I'm walking my feet flat and I'm short that if I have disgusting feet its plausible people might think I'm a hobbit.
One shoe, two shoe, red shoe, blue shoe
First of all, you're all out of control...I purchased ugly but practical tennis shoes from H&M the day before yesterday. They're blue and white striped like a railroad conductor's outfit and I'm pissed that I had to put 10 euro towards them instead of the pink blazer, navy leggings, or powder blue, lace up, suede saddle shoes that I so desperately want. I also managed to walk so much in my flats that I walked a hole right through them so they're going in the garbage and I'll be purchasing a lovely leopard print pair I spotted that I think will compliment my red lipstick nicely.
The good news is that I've managed to save a whole slew of money because the other night I went out with people from my hostel and an Amsterdam native who, after cooking us Asian dumplings, was asking me why I hadn't biked around at all. When I explained that I was on a budget and my feet were free he bought me a bike! So I am now the owner of my very own transportation here in Holland. He also fed us dinner and I still haven't paid for a single drink since I've been here (last night I swapped the bartender my pack of American bubble gum for a pint of Heineken). At this rate I could probably save enough to buy the blue shoes!
Today my plans include going to a flea market nearby, taking a boat ride on the canal and meeting up with some people in the park, then a dinner party at the Dutch guys apartment. I've run out of museums to visit that I actually want to see which is good because I'm taking a train either tomorrow night or Friday morning to Brussels and meeting up with Bertrand and his daughter Clementine who is 14. He told me he was going to feed me coffee, waffles, and french fries which is all I ever really wanted out of life.
P.s. mom my phone is breaking (fuck) and don't send me my keds. Btw I just want you all to know that my cowgirl boots have been excellent and were well worth bringing!
The good news is that I've managed to save a whole slew of money because the other night I went out with people from my hostel and an Amsterdam native who, after cooking us Asian dumplings, was asking me why I hadn't biked around at all. When I explained that I was on a budget and my feet were free he bought me a bike! So I am now the owner of my very own transportation here in Holland. He also fed us dinner and I still haven't paid for a single drink since I've been here (last night I swapped the bartender my pack of American bubble gum for a pint of Heineken). At this rate I could probably save enough to buy the blue shoes!
Today my plans include going to a flea market nearby, taking a boat ride on the canal and meeting up with some people in the park, then a dinner party at the Dutch guys apartment. I've run out of museums to visit that I actually want to see which is good because I'm taking a train either tomorrow night or Friday morning to Brussels and meeting up with Bertrand and his daughter Clementine who is 14. He told me he was going to feed me coffee, waffles, and french fries which is all I ever really wanted out of life.
P.s. mom my phone is breaking (fuck) and don't send me my keds. Btw I just want you all to know that my cowgirl boots have been excellent and were well worth bringing!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Cosmos Hostel
The new hostel I'm in is much smaller but in a more central location which comes with the perk of smelling like urine. When I got here I approached a staircase that has steps with a 3" depth, 9"rise, curves around to the right and should definitely be marked with a sign that reads "Come home drunk and expect death." I found a nice Canadian boy to carry my bag up the steps because I can barely lift it on account of all my shoes.
The ridiclous range of shoes I brought is already coming back to bite me in the ass. I 'm pretty sure I'm walking my feet flat so yesterday I wore my most practical shoes and people were looking at me thinking "There goes that tacky American with her god-awful shoes." For the most part no one thinks I'm American though until I open my big mouth and my ugly accent comes out so I've begun speaking in French to people who I don't think will know the language and if they do...run the other way.
I decided to venture out and shop a little...maybe for some tennis shoes since there are 6 H&M's on this street alone. Unfortunately I can't afford to buy anything and instead I wandered around in a state of depression looking at all the things I can't have. If at any point I came across something I could half-afford I considered buying it even if it was monkey-ass ugly just because I want things. At one point I took a wrong turn and walked right into the red-light district where I was startled by half-naked girls in windows at 10am offering up sex for a negotiable price...classy.
I was so exhausted at the end of all that that I came back to the hostel and it turns out...Argentina sent it's two ugliest citizens to be my roommates. One guy with the hairiest back I've ever seen insisted on rummaging through a stack of plastic bags while the other 300 lb Argentinian slept on the bottom bunk topless, very large nipples exposed, and snoring at full volume. I hadn't planned on going out but to sleep through this beer is a necessity.
The ridiclous range of shoes I brought is already coming back to bite me in the ass. I 'm pretty sure I'm walking my feet flat so yesterday I wore my most practical shoes and people were looking at me thinking "There goes that tacky American with her god-awful shoes." For the most part no one thinks I'm American though until I open my big mouth and my ugly accent comes out so I've begun speaking in French to people who I don't think will know the language and if they do...run the other way.
I decided to venture out and shop a little...maybe for some tennis shoes since there are 6 H&M's on this street alone. Unfortunately I can't afford to buy anything and instead I wandered around in a state of depression looking at all the things I can't have. If at any point I came across something I could half-afford I considered buying it even if it was monkey-ass ugly just because I want things. At one point I took a wrong turn and walked right into the red-light district where I was startled by half-naked girls in windows at 10am offering up sex for a negotiable price...classy.
I was so exhausted at the end of all that that I came back to the hostel and it turns out...Argentina sent it's two ugliest citizens to be my roommates. One guy with the hairiest back I've ever seen insisted on rummaging through a stack of plastic bags while the other 300 lb Argentinian slept on the bottom bunk topless, very large nipples exposed, and snoring at full volume. I hadn't planned on going out but to sleep through this beer is a necessity.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Moving on up
Yesterday I decided it was a great idea to walk to a farmer's market I had seen on a map and ventured out early in the morning with food I had smuggled from breakfast to try to save some money. When I got there it was packed with a ton of people selling produce, fish (wish I had something to cook longoustine >sp), and clothes! I spent a really long time oogling a pair of trouser capris that I desperately wanted before walking away and buying a salami instead. The market ended up being a lot closer than I had anticipated so I made the executive decision to walk to another that seemed far but not unobtainable. Wrong. It was hellaciously far and filled with pushy foreigners...which I suppose is also what I am. It was decent anyways and I managed to mull around a bit before treating myself to a tram ride home.
When I got back I peed and then wandered to the main strip in search of a journal because I forgot one and wanted to get on the bandwagon before I forgot what I had done. Then I plopped myself down at a cafe over a glass of rose wine and wrote until my nose was fried by the sun, then went home. I had intended to go out to a pub with two girls I met in the hostel from New Zealand but ended up being too tired and crashed instead.
This morning I am switching hostels to one uptown near the Anne Frank house and plan to explore a bit around that area. Wish me luck lugging my little but brick-like purple suitcase.
When I got back I peed and then wandered to the main strip in search of a journal because I forgot one and wanted to get on the bandwagon before I forgot what I had done. Then I plopped myself down at a cafe over a glass of rose wine and wrote until my nose was fried by the sun, then went home. I had intended to go out to a pub with two girls I met in the hostel from New Zealand but ended up being too tired and crashed instead.
This morning I am switching hostels to one uptown near the Anne Frank house and plan to explore a bit around that area. Wish me luck lugging my little but brick-like purple suitcase.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Mom, I need more money.
For those of you who are not yet aware, I am travelling through Europe over the course of the summer. I bought a one-way ticket to Amsterdam and that's it. I'd like to think I'm going to make it 3 months but my mom seems to think I'm going to run out of money in two...a likely possibility.
This whole journey began with a flight to Toronto on which I was presented a snack bag of corn chips marked "maized and confused" at which point I knew I was off to a very good start. I spent my 10 hour layover there wandering around and trying to stay awake based on the notion that I would be sitting for five hours on the way to Iceland (which is brown not green, but also didn't have any exploding volcanos so I'll take what I can get).
A million hours later I finally made it to Amsterdam and began calculating how much I was spending, minus the two bagels, three coffees and Chinois chicken salad I managed to eat in the Toronto airport. I hopped on a train and thought I was doing pretty well considering I had no idea what I was doing but then I got completely lost on my way to the hostel and even more lost after I had found it. Eventually I figured my ish out and walked to get a caffe and a tosti.
This morning when I woke up I went to breakfast and then walked to the Van Gogh Museum followed by the Rijksmuseum (Dutch people feel it's necessary to place random "j's" in the middle of their words). By the end of the two I was up to my eyeballs in art and decided to have a cafe and a baguette sandwich (prociutto with ricotta, salad, and sundried tomatoes...i died) in the plaza. After that I walked back to the hostel and met up with two new friends I had made and we spent the afternoon in Vondelpark.
Eventually I made my way to the main strip where I split from my group and stopped into a local grocery for dinner goodies. The guy working was my age and let me taste all kinds of noshies before I decided on a mini baguette, dutch cheese (his gift to me), salami...all for a sandwich and an apple strudel. The food is so good it's hard to pick. I munched, I napped, I'm staying in tonight to read some magazines and I'll keep everyone posted for when I venture into the redlight district etc etc.
This whole journey began with a flight to Toronto on which I was presented a snack bag of corn chips marked "maized and confused" at which point I knew I was off to a very good start. I spent my 10 hour layover there wandering around and trying to stay awake based on the notion that I would be sitting for five hours on the way to Iceland (which is brown not green, but also didn't have any exploding volcanos so I'll take what I can get).
A million hours later I finally made it to Amsterdam and began calculating how much I was spending, minus the two bagels, three coffees and Chinois chicken salad I managed to eat in the Toronto airport. I hopped on a train and thought I was doing pretty well considering I had no idea what I was doing but then I got completely lost on my way to the hostel and even more lost after I had found it. Eventually I figured my ish out and walked to get a caffe and a tosti.
This morning when I woke up I went to breakfast and then walked to the Van Gogh Museum followed by the Rijksmuseum (Dutch people feel it's necessary to place random "j's" in the middle of their words). By the end of the two I was up to my eyeballs in art and decided to have a cafe and a baguette sandwich (prociutto with ricotta, salad, and sundried tomatoes...i died) in the plaza. After that I walked back to the hostel and met up with two new friends I had made and we spent the afternoon in Vondelpark.
Eventually I made my way to the main strip where I split from my group and stopped into a local grocery for dinner goodies. The guy working was my age and let me taste all kinds of noshies before I decided on a mini baguette, dutch cheese (his gift to me), salami...all for a sandwich and an apple strudel. The food is so good it's hard to pick. I munched, I napped, I'm staying in tonight to read some magazines and I'll keep everyone posted for when I venture into the redlight district etc etc.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Coffee Fingers
After having been in the tunnel of fabric for what seems like forever, I can finally see the light at the end. The date of the show is rapidly approaching and accordingly, we've all lost our minds in the mad scramble to finish everything. In the last three days I've spent a total of 36 hours in the dungeon slaving over navy crepe. I've begun my sixth and final dress which is a work/masterpiece in progress. Unfortunately I still haven't finished the disaster that is number four. Actually, I placed it in a garment bag so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore and there it will remain until I decide to tackle the hot mess.
This week was filled with model fittings which, in combination with the all the sewing and flat tire my car left as a gift for me yesterday, have turned me into a caffeine addict. I'm up to about 2.5 coffees a day which with a broken coffee machine is sort of a problem. Luckily a friend of mine (you know who you are devil child) told me her dad filters the French press coffee...genius! Having decided to give homemade brew another go and save some cash I attempted to filter my coffee by placing the filter atop my to-go mug and pouring directly into that. Basically what happened was a whole lotta non-percolation. It spilled everywhere but in the cup and I was forced the hold another filter in a circular shape with one hand while trying to pour with the other...sound confusing? That's because it is, even while in action. Four coffee filters and two burnt fingers later I was left with a pretty decent tasting drink and hands that wreaked of Trader Joe's "Breakfast Blend." Even more ridiculous than that mess is that I attempted it again this morning...using the same method and expecting different results but getting the same ones. I'm pretty sure they call that insanity.
My next greatest tackle is the head pieces that will go with the dresses and I'm near positive that I'm going to die down here trying to make them because the only thing fueling me were sugar-coated candy oranges that look like sunshine smiles because that's secretly what they are. They bring happiness to everyone and anyone...or at least they did until I bought and ate every single pack the campus store had. Keep an eye out around my work area for a withering away me surrounded by empty candy bags and beads.
Side note: My devil friend forgot to tell me her dad has a contraption that holds the filter...
This week was filled with model fittings which, in combination with the all the sewing and flat tire my car left as a gift for me yesterday, have turned me into a caffeine addict. I'm up to about 2.5 coffees a day which with a broken coffee machine is sort of a problem. Luckily a friend of mine (you know who you are devil child) told me her dad filters the French press coffee...genius! Having decided to give homemade brew another go and save some cash I attempted to filter my coffee by placing the filter atop my to-go mug and pouring directly into that. Basically what happened was a whole lotta non-percolation. It spilled everywhere but in the cup and I was forced the hold another filter in a circular shape with one hand while trying to pour with the other...sound confusing? That's because it is, even while in action. Four coffee filters and two burnt fingers later I was left with a pretty decent tasting drink and hands that wreaked of Trader Joe's "Breakfast Blend." Even more ridiculous than that mess is that I attempted it again this morning...using the same method and expecting different results but getting the same ones. I'm pretty sure they call that insanity.
My next greatest tackle is the head pieces that will go with the dresses and I'm near positive that I'm going to die down here trying to make them because the only thing fueling me were sugar-coated candy oranges that look like sunshine smiles because that's secretly what they are. They bring happiness to everyone and anyone...or at least they did until I bought and ate every single pack the campus store had. Keep an eye out around my work area for a withering away me surrounded by empty candy bags and beads.
Side note: My devil friend forgot to tell me her dad has a contraption that holds the filter...
Saturday, March 27, 2010
1/4 Tank of Gas
Aside from the fact that there is a demonic mockingbird living outside my bedroom window that enjoys chirping for lady friends at 4am every morning, things have been progressing nicely. I've begun dress #5 and I'm ahead of schedule for the class. I figured, what the hey hole, I might as well come in early Saturday morning and do a little more work to keep up the pace.
Fuck.
I left the house this morning at 9am with my grainy French press coffee in hand planning to go to the dungeon and slave for a few hours but little did I know that there was a marathon happening...all over the place. As I approached the main street that separates me from campus, I noticed a slew of breathless people running along it. I headed West: closed. I headed East: closed. Even the part that runs through downtown was blocked off and since Raleigh's roadwork is planned by drunks, I had to go around my elbow to get to my ass and drive about 3 miles in the wrong direction to get to a highway entrance and take that to campus. Unfortunately the exits off of the highway were also shut down so I was forced to drive to the opposite end of town and then back track on small streets scattered with unnecessary stop signs until I reached campus or died trying, whichever came first. At least its Saturday so I can park anywhere I friggin feel like...wrong again.
Apparently its someones birthday today and all of the children in Raleigh were invited! I know because when I finally got to campus they were all over the place, swarming and drooling on everything in a crowd around a giant blow up jump-jump like satanic spawn with grubby little jam hands and cotton candy plastered to their faces. I finally found a parking spot a million miles away and walked back to the building. Its now almost 11am and I'm finally starting sewing, thank God for small favors.
Fuck.
I left the house this morning at 9am with my grainy French press coffee in hand planning to go to the dungeon and slave for a few hours but little did I know that there was a marathon happening...all over the place. As I approached the main street that separates me from campus, I noticed a slew of breathless people running along it. I headed West: closed. I headed East: closed. Even the part that runs through downtown was blocked off and since Raleigh's roadwork is planned by drunks, I had to go around my elbow to get to my ass and drive about 3 miles in the wrong direction to get to a highway entrance and take that to campus. Unfortunately the exits off of the highway were also shut down so I was forced to drive to the opposite end of town and then back track on small streets scattered with unnecessary stop signs until I reached campus or died trying, whichever came first. At least its Saturday so I can park anywhere I friggin feel like...wrong again.
Apparently its someones birthday today and all of the children in Raleigh were invited! I know because when I finally got to campus they were all over the place, swarming and drooling on everything in a crowd around a giant blow up jump-jump like satanic spawn with grubby little jam hands and cotton candy plastered to their faces. I finally found a parking spot a million miles away and walked back to the building. Its now almost 11am and I'm finally starting sewing, thank God for small favors.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Kissed by the Angel of Death
Our two garment critique that was supposed to be today got moved to Monday on account of the fact that the majority of us were worthless slugs over spring break. However, I worked my patooty off before I ever left for Atlanta and therefore I'm pretty much done with those dresses so when I woke up this morning with a skip in my step, I was feeling pretty good about my decision to brave Joanne's and all its minions.
I showered, put on my face followed by my clothes etc etc...the usual morning routine and then I headed into the kitchen MOTHER TRUCKER SHUT THE FRONT DOOR WHAT THE FRENCH TOAST: broken coffee machine. The only thing that keeps me sane and functional decided to just up and quit like the little bitch I always knew it was. I shook it, unplugged/replugged, opened and slammed the lid a few times. I did everything I knew how to do to fix things and then I resorted to the crusty old French press I had lurking in the back of the cabinet. Thinking I had beat the system, I went to recover my milk: expired. After pacing the kitchen a few times my ultimate decision was that if I used enough coffee, I wouldn't be able to taste the sour milk and still have enough caffeine pumping through my veins to fuel the sewing.
By the time I got to the car I had a raging headache and reached into my bag to grab an Advil. Everything in the endless abyss that is my book bag feels the same when I'm driving so I took out what I thought was the pill and after having swallowed the bastard, I came to the realization that what I had downed was in fact a bead and instead of relieving my head was probably going to give me cancer...excellent.
When I finally made it to Joanne's I perused the aisles, got what I needed and headed out. The friar wasn't working but apparently her friend (who I'm also pretty sure is the devil) was. I swiped my credit card and she looked at me with her cold and beady little eyes "denied." I immediately called home to tell my parents my card had been rejected and my Dad's response was "you're such a felon."
I have no money, I have no coffee...I fell off the deep end and I'm wading around in the crazy pool.
I showered, put on my face followed by my clothes etc etc...the usual morning routine and then I headed into the kitchen MOTHER TRUCKER SHUT THE FRONT DOOR WHAT THE FRENCH TOAST: broken coffee machine. The only thing that keeps me sane and functional decided to just up and quit like the little bitch I always knew it was. I shook it, unplugged/replugged, opened and slammed the lid a few times. I did everything I knew how to do to fix things and then I resorted to the crusty old French press I had lurking in the back of the cabinet. Thinking I had beat the system, I went to recover my milk: expired. After pacing the kitchen a few times my ultimate decision was that if I used enough coffee, I wouldn't be able to taste the sour milk and still have enough caffeine pumping through my veins to fuel the sewing.
By the time I got to the car I had a raging headache and reached into my bag to grab an Advil. Everything in the endless abyss that is my book bag feels the same when I'm driving so I took out what I thought was the pill and after having swallowed the bastard, I came to the realization that what I had downed was in fact a bead and instead of relieving my head was probably going to give me cancer...excellent.
When I finally made it to Joanne's I perused the aisles, got what I needed and headed out. The friar wasn't working but apparently her friend (who I'm also pretty sure is the devil) was. I swiped my credit card and she looked at me with her cold and beady little eyes "denied." I immediately called home to tell my parents my card had been rejected and my Dad's response was "you're such a felon."
I have no money, I have no coffee...I fell off the deep end and I'm wading around in the crazy pool.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Shiny Balls of Glory
Somewhere someone some time ago decided that right smack in the middle of the semester, students need a break from all the useless mumbo jumbo that teachers try to cram into their brains and that theory gave birth to one of the greatest mini holidays of all time: Spring Break. My blog may have remained postless but uneventful, it was not.
I'm currently down here in Atlanta schmoozing with my sister and wallowing in my pool of leisure but the road to freedom wasn't paved with golden bricks. It was long and tedious... and made from gravel. This coming Wednesday boasts the deadline of another critique meaning two more garments are due and therefore, the entirety of last week was spent hunched over and cracked out on caffeine trying to finish dresses three and four so I didn't have to think about manual labor during vacationing.
While trying to accomplish an elephant sized load of sewing in a mouse sized amount of time something amazing happened... at Joanne's nonetheless. I walked in and tooted around like I usually do waiting for someone to do something miraculously stupid when I stumbled upon the bead aisle and right there, like a glowing gift from cherubs, were the pearls I've been harassing A.C. Moore about for weeks! Initially I stood there dumbfounded and then, like an over zealous fat kid in the midst of cake, I grabbed every single package they had and ran to the checkout counter to purchase them before some buffoon could tell me otherwise. When I got there Friar Tuck was the only one working the area so I approached the lone ranger, beads in hand. The plan was to be that annoying customer who does a million transactions so they can use a coupon on each one but the Friar let me use them all in one fell swoop. At that point I collected my lower jaw up off the floor and headed out for more sewing.
Thanks to the Friar and her tricky schemes, I finished most of my sewing sans one heinous waistband that refuses to cooperate regardless of my many attempts and differently angled approaches.
The latest news: My sister took me to a fashion fabric store and I immediately developed "shiny ball syndrome" and dropped $100 on a very small bag of sparkly goodies (sorry Mom) and now, the commencement of dress five!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
A World in Color
I've spent the last two years working at the White House Black Market, a boutique in a ritzy little shopping haven for southern country clubbers with too much money who need something to do when they aren't taking tennis lessons or sipping on mint juleps. I sold cropped jackets with matching skirts and jersey jungle print tunics to women who didn't need them in the worst economic slump since the great depression and I did it all with a smile and a magnetic nametag. However, on account of this class burying me in a pile of crepe up to my eyeballs, I was forced (oh so painfully) to put in my two weeks early making today my first official black and whiteless day.
This weekend was supposed to be a celebratory one filled with all the colors of the rainbow and freedom-induced frolicking but instead I got sick...really sick. All those early mornings and late nights in the dungeon finally caught up with me on Thursday when I woke up with a raging headache and booger-encrusted nose. Dreams of spending time with the friends I haven't seen in weeks were replaced by quarantine and Bridget Jones on Repeat. Six Advil, two Sudafed, one box of tissues and an entire roll of Airborne later, I accomplished zero sewing.
Fortunately today, I was feeling optimistic thanks to our very first 65 degree Spring-esque kind of day and wandered out of my apartment for a leisurely stroll in the village with a girlfriend. We were approached by a daisy who asked "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" My friend's response (jokes aside) was "No I don't want any of your million calorie cookies that are going to spread trans fats all over my thighs. What do you need money for anyway? All you do is build Popsicle stick houses...are you going to build those houses in Haiti? When I was a Girl Scout all we did was sing Christmas carols to people in nursing homes. Besides, Sam's Club gives you samples...you don't have any samples. All you have are empty boxes and empty hearts. I'm just glad I'm wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to say no straight into the Devil's eyes."
Side note: We each bought four boxes of cookies and they will be my fuel for dress #4 that I begin tomorrow.
This weekend was supposed to be a celebratory one filled with all the colors of the rainbow and freedom-induced frolicking but instead I got sick...really sick. All those early mornings and late nights in the dungeon finally caught up with me on Thursday when I woke up with a raging headache and booger-encrusted nose. Dreams of spending time with the friends I haven't seen in weeks were replaced by quarantine and Bridget Jones on Repeat. Six Advil, two Sudafed, one box of tissues and an entire roll of Airborne later, I accomplished zero sewing.
Fortunately today, I was feeling optimistic thanks to our very first 65 degree Spring-esque kind of day and wandered out of my apartment for a leisurely stroll in the village with a girlfriend. We were approached by a daisy who asked "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" My friend's response (jokes aside) was "No I don't want any of your million calorie cookies that are going to spread trans fats all over my thighs. What do you need money for anyway? All you do is build Popsicle stick houses...are you going to build those houses in Haiti? When I was a Girl Scout all we did was sing Christmas carols to people in nursing homes. Besides, Sam's Club gives you samples...you don't have any samples. All you have are empty boxes and empty hearts. I'm just glad I'm wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to say no straight into the Devil's eyes."
Side note: We each bought four boxes of cookies and they will be my fuel for dress #4 that I begin tomorrow.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Cancer by the Bag
Last weekend I stated that I was going to drink myself in oblivion and I am happy to report that drink I did...and drink and drink. Sunday morning I awoke with makeup down my face and a glorious headache that can only come from a brew of alcohol types complete with memories that appear in a kaleidoscopical form of view. My intentions to work on my collection seemed like a combination of ridiculous and hilarious so I made the executive decision to retrieve my blankie and become one with the couch for the remainder of the afternoon.
After accomplishing a whole lot of nothing, I got up ready to work with guns blazing on Monday morning. I spent the day constructing the base of a dress that would soon be regurgitated on by the bead fairy but came to a hault when I ran out of fabric which could only mean one thing: Joanne's (kill me). Thinking I could quickly grab the necessities (crepe, tulle, jelly beans) and skiddadle, I ran in and was pretty sure I had made it free and clear until I saw Friar Tuck working the register like a $5 hooker on the corner of some seedy downtown block. The stupidity never ceases to amaze me because out of my three item purchase, she managed to only scan two causing me to make seperate transactions and reconfirm why I despise the store.
Given that the Joanne's disaster for the day was minimal, I decided to brave A.C. Moore and get some beads for dress #3. I was looking for a dusty rose kind of glass bead and just my luck, the only bead in that color was a Swarovski crystal that were priced at a whopping $5/15 beads and just incase that wasn't enough, they come equipped with warning on the backside of the package that reads "This product contains a lead known to cause cancer or reproductive harm." I'd like to shake the hands of the fucktards manufacturing these products.
The good news is that this morning, as I was hard at work attaching my cancer-casuing sparkles, I kept losing my needles (4 in all). On the brink of throwing a tantrum the size of all the teased hair in Texas, I picked up my crappy dollar-store scissors and realized those bitches are magnetic and right there like a little pile of bliss were all my needles hanging out together...having a party.
After accomplishing a whole lot of nothing, I got up ready to work with guns blazing on Monday morning. I spent the day constructing the base of a dress that would soon be regurgitated on by the bead fairy but came to a hault when I ran out of fabric which could only mean one thing: Joanne's (kill me). Thinking I could quickly grab the necessities (crepe, tulle, jelly beans) and skiddadle, I ran in and was pretty sure I had made it free and clear until I saw Friar Tuck working the register like a $5 hooker on the corner of some seedy downtown block. The stupidity never ceases to amaze me because out of my three item purchase, she managed to only scan two causing me to make seperate transactions and reconfirm why I despise the store.
Given that the Joanne's disaster for the day was minimal, I decided to brave A.C. Moore and get some beads for dress #3. I was looking for a dusty rose kind of glass bead and just my luck, the only bead in that color was a Swarovski crystal that were priced at a whopping $5/15 beads and just incase that wasn't enough, they come equipped with warning on the backside of the package that reads "This product contains a lead known to cause cancer or reproductive harm." I'd like to shake the hands of the fucktards manufacturing these products.
The good news is that this morning, as I was hard at work attaching my cancer-casuing sparkles, I kept losing my needles (4 in all). On the brink of throwing a tantrum the size of all the teased hair in Texas, I picked up my crappy dollar-store scissors and realized those bitches are magnetic and right there like a little pile of bliss were all my needles hanging out together...having a party.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
99 Cent Heart Attack
Yesterday was the very first critique in this class and we're supposed to get some good feedback based on peoples honest opinions of our garments but the class is founded on the principles of communism and camaraderie so the "criticism" is slightly honest, always positive and to say the least...not at all helpful. While its very nice to be sprinkled with rolly polly commentary like "That's successful but maybe a ruffle?" the real world doesn't work that way. Out here in the jungle it's dog-eat-dog, every man for himself. No one can benefit from sugar-coated cutsie bits of advice because big fish in little ponds drown in the ocean.
That being said, after the review I took it upon myself to ask the honest opinions from peers whom I knew would give me the real run down and the truth is: the more beads and opulence, the better it translates on a runway. I decided a short time ago that the microwave was the technological equivalent of the devil that was going to give us all cancer and I've been avoiding it like the plague but that all got relinquished on my trip to costco last night where I stocked up on cheap, quick-cooking goodies (easy mac and spaghettios) like a culinary-challenged man who lives alone. Bring on the late nights.
Side note: I knew the beading was affecting my depth perception when I went into the pantry to get some delicious raisins and promptly slammed the door on my head because I didn't realize I hadn't completely cleared the entry...God save the visually impaired.
That being said, after the review I took it upon myself to ask the honest opinions from peers whom I knew would give me the real run down and the truth is: the more beads and opulence, the better it translates on a runway. I decided a short time ago that the microwave was the technological equivalent of the devil that was going to give us all cancer and I've been avoiding it like the plague but that all got relinquished on my trip to costco last night where I stocked up on cheap, quick-cooking goodies (easy mac and spaghettios) like a culinary-challenged man who lives alone. Bring on the late nights.
Side note: I knew the beading was affecting my depth perception when I went into the pantry to get some delicious raisins and promptly slammed the door on my head because I didn't realize I hadn't completely cleared the entry...God save the visually impaired.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
My Life in Shambles
Tomorrow my first two completed looks are due in the Threads class and I'd just like to address everyone who knew the countless hours and undivided attention to detail required to hand bead things that didn't warn me before I embarked on this journey and say: shame on you you satanic little bastards. Lucky for me I'm naturally neurotic so after countless days and hundreds of beads, my garments somewhat resemble a gift from God.
In the mean time, the rest of my life has fallen spectacularly to pieces! Just this week I managed to develop a nice little virus on my computer that gets to pick and choose which websites it lets me on, the "check control" as well as the "check engine" lights in my car lit up, so I'm biding my time until that explodes, I've got what I'm pretty sure in a raging cavity party in my bottom left canine and I'm essentially living off of dots and 100 calorie snack packs. The rockbottom moment was pinpointed when my friend informed me that 100 calorie snack packs aren't really 100 calories if you eat five and have a fupa...
The better news? I don't have jack shit to do this weekend but order pizza and drink myself into oblivion while I wait for it to arrive...stay tuned for garments three and four progress/disasters.
In the mean time, the rest of my life has fallen spectacularly to pieces! Just this week I managed to develop a nice little virus on my computer that gets to pick and choose which websites it lets me on, the "check control" as well as the "check engine" lights in my car lit up, so I'm biding my time until that explodes, I've got what I'm pretty sure in a raging cavity party in my bottom left canine and I'm essentially living off of dots and 100 calorie snack packs. The rockbottom moment was pinpointed when my friend informed me that 100 calorie snack packs aren't really 100 calories if you eat five and have a fupa...
The better news? I don't have jack shit to do this weekend but order pizza and drink myself into oblivion while I wait for it to arrive...stay tuned for garments three and four progress/disasters.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Day No Lace Would Live
This past weekend was the NCSU College of Textiles open house and all of us slave laborers were supposed to be in the studio making the college look good by working on our projects while idiotic parents and their annoying spawn walk around and ask us what we're doing. However, everyone around here has been talking about this great fabric store in Gastonia, NC called Mary Jos and I wanted in on the loot so I informed my teacher that I wouldn't be attending because Raleigh is a wasteland for fabric where creativity comes to die (yes I actually said this) and I needed some legit resources instead of piddling away my time in the dungeon.
Open house free, I loaded up the car and trekked the 3 hours, just beyond Charlotte, to this fabric haven. I apparently was very unprepared because upon arrival I realized I didn't know what I was looking for and spent the next 3 1/2 hours digging through piles of dupioni, feathers, and fringe before reaching my $88 total and state of sewer's bliss.
In the middle of all of this mayhem, I stumbled upon the lace that is on my manager's old wedding dress which was priced at $139/yard. At this point I first crapped my pants and then decided I had no choice but to destroy the dress and capitalize on its components. Once again, thank you to my manager and let the masacre begin!
On a side note, I arrived at Joanne's this morning at 8:45 before realizing they open at 9 and waited impatiently while the imbeciles figured out how to get their scanners working. Once again, why Joanne's is the bane of my existence.
Open house free, I loaded up the car and trekked the 3 hours, just beyond Charlotte, to this fabric haven. I apparently was very unprepared because upon arrival I realized I didn't know what I was looking for and spent the next 3 1/2 hours digging through piles of dupioni, feathers, and fringe before reaching my $88 total and state of sewer's bliss.
In the middle of all of this mayhem, I stumbled upon the lace that is on my manager's old wedding dress which was priced at $139/yard. At this point I first crapped my pants and then decided I had no choice but to destroy the dress and capitalize on its components. Once again, thank you to my manager and let the masacre begin!
On a side note, I arrived at Joanne's this morning at 8:45 before realizing they open at 9 and waited impatiently while the imbeciles figured out how to get their scanners working. Once again, why Joanne's is the bane of my existence.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Swim Little Fish
Its been awhile since my last blog and here is the reason why...SNOW DAY! It snowed here this weekend and naturally, I was forced to drink hot chocolate and eat rice krispie treats instead of sewing.
Now that the snow is gone (kind of) its back to sewing and here is whats going on:
When they throw students into this class we have no real prior experience sewing anything unless its been on our own accord. The university sort of says "swim fishies...or sink, your choice." Due to this overwhelming stupidity I have run into some troubles i.e. I have no idea how to line garments and my order of operations is a little like the Sunday morning word scramble. Last week I spent twelve hours on Thursday in the dungeon and what I accomplished was mostly seam ripping and the slow but sure destruction of my fabric that ultimately resulted in round two of Joannes and another visit with the oh-so-enticing Friar Tuck. Somewhere into the sunset I forsee this becoming easier but for right now I'm on the East coast and the sunset is a long ways away.
In the mean time, big thanks to the people who are supporting me through donation. My aunt offered some old fashioned buttons that Lord knows I can't afford and my manager gave me her old wedding dress covered in absolutely amazing lace that I'm hesitant to destroy. If anyones got more goodies for me...share the wealth and keep an eye out for pictures, they're coming soon.
Now that the snow is gone (kind of) its back to sewing and here is whats going on:
When they throw students into this class we have no real prior experience sewing anything unless its been on our own accord. The university sort of says "swim fishies...or sink, your choice." Due to this overwhelming stupidity I have run into some troubles i.e. I have no idea how to line garments and my order of operations is a little like the Sunday morning word scramble. Last week I spent twelve hours on Thursday in the dungeon and what I accomplished was mostly seam ripping and the slow but sure destruction of my fabric that ultimately resulted in round two of Joannes and another visit with the oh-so-enticing Friar Tuck. Somewhere into the sunset I forsee this becoming easier but for right now I'm on the East coast and the sunset is a long ways away.
In the mean time, big thanks to the people who are supporting me through donation. My aunt offered some old fashioned buttons that Lord knows I can't afford and my manager gave me her old wedding dress covered in absolutely amazing lace that I'm hesitant to destroy. If anyones got more goodies for me...share the wealth and keep an eye out for pictures, they're coming soon.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Slore Who Cried "Your idea is better than mine!"
Day 4 of Threads:
Today we endured 3 1/2 hours of mind-numbing presentations on research and conclusion. The assignment was to research something separate from textiles and pull inspiration from it. This is week three of the class so by now we all know the main themes of eachother's collections. I've been gabbing about doing "The Great Gatsby" for awhile and my research included not only reading the book, but also watching the 1974 movie and making notes of quotations, doodling ideas, etc. Point is, I'm knee deep in this shit and the pile is rising.
I walked into class and sat down with my goodies all ready to show everyone including my fabric selections, a video of the Charleston (a dance from the 20's incase you missed that), a vintage collar from a dress that was hand-beaded (thanks mom) and some other shenanigans. Much to my surprise, the first Yahoo/Slore who stands up and presents is like "I'm doing the 20's cocktail dresses with headbands because I'm a dirty, rotten, coniving, thief who doesn't have original ideas so I steal other peoples." Or something along those lines.
My only saving grace? Her fabric selection is prostitute-chic and her sewing skills are comparable to that of a one-armed mannequin: keep your fingers crossed people.
Today we endured 3 1/2 hours of mind-numbing presentations on research and conclusion. The assignment was to research something separate from textiles and pull inspiration from it. This is week three of the class so by now we all know the main themes of eachother's collections. I've been gabbing about doing "The Great Gatsby" for awhile and my research included not only reading the book, but also watching the 1974 movie and making notes of quotations, doodling ideas, etc. Point is, I'm knee deep in this shit and the pile is rising.
I walked into class and sat down with my goodies all ready to show everyone including my fabric selections, a video of the Charleston (a dance from the 20's incase you missed that), a vintage collar from a dress that was hand-beaded (thanks mom) and some other shenanigans. Much to my surprise, the first Yahoo/Slore who stands up and presents is like "I'm doing the 20's cocktail dresses with headbands because I'm a dirty, rotten, coniving, thief who doesn't have original ideas so I steal other peoples." Or something along those lines.
My only saving grace? Her fabric selection is prostitute-chic and her sewing skills are comparable to that of a one-armed mannequin: keep your fingers crossed people.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Joanne's: round one
Knowing that pretty soon here I'm going to be up to my eyeballs in fabric, I decided to brave the land of old ladies and overpriced sewing accessories...Joanne's. It's always a struggle to keep myself away from the soft fleece aisle but after about 30 minutes or so I had rounded up a nice little collection of bolts in my wagon. The line for the cutting counter wasn't too long so I wheeled on over and waited for my grand total which came to $65. Unfortunately for me I'm raking in a staggering $90 or so every two weeks so 65 isn't an appealing number. The woman refused to supply me with one of her golden tickets (50% off coupons) so naturally my next step was to run around the store like a headless chicken trying to find someone willing to surrender their coupon.
Plan B: ask the woman at the counter to honor it.
She gave me a whole long shpeal about whether it was a page of coupons or a cutout from a paper blah blah I don't know the hell she was getting at and after consolidating with all of her other fugly employees she refused to give it to me. At this point I was considering bargaining and telling her I would give her the extra 50% that I saved so she could use it on a new haircut that didn't completely resemble Fryer Tuck but I gave up and resorted to plan C...charge it to the credit card. Thanks Mom.
Plan B: ask the woman at the counter to honor it.
She gave me a whole long shpeal about whether it was a page of coupons or a cutout from a paper blah blah I don't know the hell she was getting at and after consolidating with all of her other fugly employees she refused to give it to me. At this point I was considering bargaining and telling her I would give her the extra 50% that I saved so she could use it on a new haircut that didn't completely resemble Fryer Tuck but I gave up and resorted to plan C...charge it to the credit card. Thanks Mom.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Threads
Day 1 of my blog, day 3 of class. For those of you who don't already know, I am currently enrolled in a class this spring entitled "threads." For the next three and a half months I'll be hunched over a sewing machine, developing scoliosis and losing my eyesight. The idea is that at the end of all of this patternmaking, seamstressness, and slave labor I will have designed and developed a collection of my own.
Thus far I have established that I'm going with a roaring twenties cocktail dress theme inspired by the "The Great Gatsby." My colours are a dusty rose, ecru, sapphire blue and slight variations of those. As I go through this process I'll keep everyone posted on what's happening.
Thus far I have established that I'm going with a roaring twenties cocktail dress theme inspired by the "The Great Gatsby." My colours are a dusty rose, ecru, sapphire blue and slight variations of those. As I go through this process I'll keep everyone posted on what's happening.
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