It was October 2002. The Hoz were going on their first trip outside of the USA.
Our Destination: Mexico.
Our Transportation: Cruise Ship.
Our Mission: Have a kick ass time!
We arrived at the airport and after securing the "HO-mobile" in long-term parking; we were off to check in. This was the HOZ first airplane ride since 9/11, so we were not prepared for security screening. Apparently, my boobs had been deemed by Homeland Security as Weapons of Mass Destruction. I was separated from the rest of the HOZ, taken behind a screen and felt up by a scowling Filipino lady you kept saying "I will touch you here mom. Now I touch you here mom." I had my footwear taken and checked for explosives. When my breasts and shoes were deemed safe, I was allowed to join my friends.
We immediately headed to the bar. You see, Roxie is afraid of flying. Normally, a fear of flying wouldn't be funny. But Roxie is in the Air Force Reserves Nurse Corps. She needs a minimum of 3 drinks before boarding a plane. (If there is turbulence or it is a long flight, we must re-dose her mid-flight with at least 2 cocktails every 90 minutes.) No HO shall drink alone, so we all join her. About 3 rounds later, it is time to board.
The flight and the van ride to the ship were typical for us; we were entertaining and a wee bit loud. Embarking on the ship was tedious, but we muddled through. Our first night at sea we found the ship's piano bar and that is where we spent a good portion of our evenings. Cocktails, cigars and 6 seats around a piano...we were happy HOZ.
We had picked a historical tour and wine tasting as our excursion in Ensenada. It was just a few hours long and then we would be let loose to do as we pleased for the rest of the day. What happened on the tour is a hysterical story, but it has to be told in person. It requires the nuances of voice and movement that I cannot convey with written words. So if we ever meet up in person, ask me about it.
Anywho, the six of us got off the bus and headed out to explore the city. We made arrangements that if we split up, we would meet at a bar called "Papas and Beer" at a designated time. We didn't even get 3 blocks down the street when Brittney and Trixie disappeared. So the remaining four HOZ set off to shop, we all bought some silver jewelry. I bought a couple of really cool crucifixes. I am not a zealot, I just like rustic crosses and interesting art featuring BVM, Blessed Virgin Mary. I also found this diorama portraying Elvis in Viva Las Vegas, Dia de los muertos style. It was colorful and fun with all of the little "Calaveras" decorating it. I loved it, but I let the HOZ talk me out of buying it. I will never let that happen again!
With our arms full with wonderful trinkets made by local artist, we headed to the bar to meet up with the two straggling HOZ. The scene at the bar was alarming. Women baring their breasts and drunken frat boys cheering them on. There was also some sort of tribute to the "Bride Stealing of Kazakhstan", where a girl would be grabbed by the staff of the bar, held down, tequila forced down her gullet and then her breasts would be exposed and a "Papas and Beer" sticker would be placed on her bare breasts. Now before some of my friends get their panties all in a bunch, these girls were active and willing participants. How do I know this? When we walked in an eventually got to our table, we told our waiter that we did not want to participate in any of that crap. Our request was honored and we had great service and a fun time.
We found Brittney and Trixie sitting in the back of the patio, with a bucket of Coronas and a plate full of munchies waiting for us. For some reason, Brittney was holding ice to her lip. Sally, the most caring of the HOZ, inquired what had happened. Trixie started to tell the story, but was overcome with laughter and fell off her barstool. After she recovered, she shared this story.
While walking down the streets of Ensenada, Brittney and Trixie were approached by a man wearing a sombrero and a serape, holding an iguana. He introduced the reptile as "Juana" and asked if they wanted a picture with her. Brittney agreed instantly and gave the man 5 bucks. As she was posing with Juana and her keeper, Juana started to crawl towards her. Brittney thought that Juana wanted to be friends, so she moved closer and started to pucker up to give her a kiss. Apparently, Juana was more chaste than Brittney and promptly bit her on the lip.
Immediately, Roxie and I (the two RNs of the HOZ) went to inspect the wound. Knowing that Brittney is desperately afraid of needles, I started teasing her and telling her that she was going to need a shot. A BIG HUGE SHOT. A big shot full of antibiotics that would HURT REAL BAD. Then Roxie started to run off a list of possible diseases carried by iguanas. Brittney started to get pale. Once again, it was Sally to the rescue. She reassured Brittney that alcohol would kill all of the bacteria and she was sure the ship's doctor would be able to give her pills to treat her iguana bite. Brittney liked Sally's plan of care wholeheartedly and ordered some tequila. Several hours and many rounds later, it was time to head back to the ship. We all hopped into a station-wagon taxicab and bid Papas and Beer a loud Adios!
The line to get back on the ship was long and our buzz wore off before we boarded. We quickly took Brittney to the ship's infirmary. The look on the nurse's face when we told her what had happened was priceless. She took Brittney's vital signs and went to fetch Dr. Bricker. As he inspected her wound, he shook his head and said in a thick accent; " I haf been a sheep's doctor for meeny jears. I haf neber hat a laydee who get bit by leezard."
Well of course you haven't, Dr. Bricker...this was the first time the HOZ had gone to sea!
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Hoz Go To Vegas
First of all, getting the schedules of 6 busy, professional women to meld...nearly impossible. Eventually, we did it and picked President's Day weekend in 2000. Sally (whoosh, that girl) was in charge of travel arrangements for the trip. She found us a great deal. 5 days and 4 nights at the beautiful and glamorous "Westward Ho!" Our rooms were right next to each other in the rear of the property. PERFECT!
Four of us flew in on Friday afternoon. The last two HOZ, Roxie and Izzy, would be meeting us later that evening. Since Roxie (who is in the Air Force reserves but cannot fly on an airplane without at least 4 or 5 five cocktails pre-flight) was not with us AND it was a pre 9/11 trip, we arrived as usual.... 20 minutes before the plane was scheduled to take off. We must have been quite a sight in our furry-animal-print cowboy hats and "Knock-me-down, fuck-me-NOW!" boots, running down the concourse to make our plane in time.
We all get situated on the plane and get ready for take off. Sally (whoosh, that girl) decides that each of us needs a "Commemorative" Barf Bag for our HO weekend. She proceeds to ask the surrounding passengers if she can have their Air Sickness bags. They gladly give them up, thinking that otherwise she might HURL on them. Unbeknown to them, this is just another one of her "craft" projects. She spends a good part of the flight "personalizing" each HOZ barf bag.
Because we were the last to get on the plane, we could not find seats together. We proceeded to shout across the aisles to each other. The flight attendant asked us to keep it down and had the brilliant idea to quiet us with drink coupons. (She must have studied "Strategery" at Regent University.) The free drinks left us friendlier and louder. I have never seen a flight crew happier to land than that night.
We deplane, get our bags and thanks to the free drinks on the plane, become illiterate. We can't find the area where the taxis are. We end up finding a rather timid Russian man with a Limo and hire him (it) to take us to THE WESTWARD HO, IN THE REAR! (And that is just how we said it, yelling and with great glee and enthusiasm) With only 2/3rds of the HOZ in town, the first part of the night was pretty mellow. When Roxie and Izzy arrived...THE PARTY BEGAN!
I could give you a blow by blow of the whole weekend, but you all have lives and I do need my right hand to perform cervical exams at work. So, I can't really justify getting carpal tunnel syndrome to tell you about a drunken weekend I had 7 years ago...so I will just tell you about Saturday night.
Every HO trip involves one BIG night. The night we get dressed up like floozies (or HOZ, as it were) and set out to torment, tease and titillate. There isn't a specific dress code for HO Night, but there are some "givens".
Number One: Glitta! You folks probably know it as glitter, but to a HO, it is pronounced "Glitta".
Number Two: Big Hair! At least 1/3 of can of hair spray is required.
Number Three: Cleavage! Hoist the girls up, put some glitter on 'em and take 'em out for the evening.
All of us had dressed accordingly. Our plan was, a nice fancy dinner, then to Studio 54 for a night of dancing. Dinner went fine. We had no problems getting into Studio 54. As soon as we walked in, we knew IT WAS ON! The music was great and there was this gorgeous man dancing in a cage wearing fuzzy, pink hot pants. After a dance or two, we head to the bar. It was a zoo. Sally (whoosh, that girl) and I take the drink orders and enter the fray. Just then, the DJ starts a Michael Jackson "Don't Stop Till Ya Get Enough" mix. Brittney with a precision not expected from a drunken blonde girl, grabs her crotch and squeals along with the song. This smooth move attracts the guy standing next to her and they start to talk. He is instantly enamored with Brittney. By the time I get back from the bar, they are dirty dancing. I ask one of the HOZ what happened while I was at the bar, I mean, I was only gone a few minutes and already Brittney has snared a MAN!
The music is so loud, when she tells me what happened, I heard; "Brittney met a bomber from Oklahoma!"
I immediately respond with; "That's not funny. The Oklahoma City bombings are not something to joke about."
She replies; "Not a bomber, an EMBALMER!"
Incredulous, I respond with; "A what?"
Other HO: "He's an undertaker and he showed us his embalming license. You'll never guess what his name is...Rocky! And his license says 'Rocky (insert middle and last name), II:"
Me: "You have got to be kidding me! He's a Sequel?"
Other HO: "Yep, Brittney is dirty dancing with Rocky II, The Undertaker!"
Four of us flew in on Friday afternoon. The last two HOZ, Roxie and Izzy, would be meeting us later that evening. Since Roxie (who is in the Air Force reserves but cannot fly on an airplane without at least 4 or 5 five cocktails pre-flight) was not with us AND it was a pre 9/11 trip, we arrived as usual.... 20 minutes before the plane was scheduled to take off. We must have been quite a sight in our furry-animal-print cowboy hats and "Knock-me-down, fuck-me-NOW!" boots, running down the concourse to make our plane in time.
We all get situated on the plane and get ready for take off. Sally (whoosh, that girl) decides that each of us needs a "Commemorative" Barf Bag for our HO weekend. She proceeds to ask the surrounding passengers if she can have their Air Sickness bags. They gladly give them up, thinking that otherwise she might HURL on them. Unbeknown to them, this is just another one of her "craft" projects. She spends a good part of the flight "personalizing" each HOZ barf bag.
Because we were the last to get on the plane, we could not find seats together. We proceeded to shout across the aisles to each other. The flight attendant asked us to keep it down and had the brilliant idea to quiet us with drink coupons. (She must have studied "Strategery" at Regent University.) The free drinks left us friendlier and louder. I have never seen a flight crew happier to land than that night.
We deplane, get our bags and thanks to the free drinks on the plane, become illiterate. We can't find the area where the taxis are. We end up finding a rather timid Russian man with a Limo and hire him (it) to take us to THE WESTWARD HO, IN THE REAR! (And that is just how we said it, yelling and with great glee and enthusiasm) With only 2/3rds of the HOZ in town, the first part of the night was pretty mellow. When Roxie and Izzy arrived...THE PARTY BEGAN!
I could give you a blow by blow of the whole weekend, but you all have lives and I do need my right hand to perform cervical exams at work. So, I can't really justify getting carpal tunnel syndrome to tell you about a drunken weekend I had 7 years ago...so I will just tell you about Saturday night.
Every HO trip involves one BIG night. The night we get dressed up like floozies (or HOZ, as it were) and set out to torment, tease and titillate. There isn't a specific dress code for HO Night, but there are some "givens".
Number One: Glitta! You folks probably know it as glitter, but to a HO, it is pronounced "Glitta".
Number Two: Big Hair! At least 1/3 of can of hair spray is required.
Number Three: Cleavage! Hoist the girls up, put some glitter on 'em and take 'em out for the evening.
All of us had dressed accordingly. Our plan was, a nice fancy dinner, then to Studio 54 for a night of dancing. Dinner went fine. We had no problems getting into Studio 54. As soon as we walked in, we knew IT WAS ON! The music was great and there was this gorgeous man dancing in a cage wearing fuzzy, pink hot pants. After a dance or two, we head to the bar. It was a zoo. Sally (whoosh, that girl) and I take the drink orders and enter the fray. Just then, the DJ starts a Michael Jackson "Don't Stop Till Ya Get Enough" mix. Brittney with a precision not expected from a drunken blonde girl, grabs her crotch and squeals along with the song. This smooth move attracts the guy standing next to her and they start to talk. He is instantly enamored with Brittney. By the time I get back from the bar, they are dirty dancing. I ask one of the HOZ what happened while I was at the bar, I mean, I was only gone a few minutes and already Brittney has snared a MAN!
The music is so loud, when she tells me what happened, I heard; "Brittney met a bomber from Oklahoma!"
I immediately respond with; "That's not funny. The Oklahoma City bombings are not something to joke about."
She replies; "Not a bomber, an EMBALMER!"
Incredulous, I respond with; "A what?"
Other HO: "He's an undertaker and he showed us his embalming license. You'll never guess what his name is...Rocky! And his license says 'Rocky (insert middle and last name), II:"
Me: "You have got to be kidding me! He's a Sequel?"
Other HO: "Yep, Brittney is dirty dancing with Rocky II, The Undertaker!"
Friday, October 23, 2009
We Interrupt Breast Cancer Awareness Month To Talk About Accidental Sex
I was chatting (well, not chatting, tweeting really) with Twammogram co-founder Laura tonight and the subject turned to "accidental sex". I told her I had a story about accidental sex, but it did not involve any actual sex. There was no way I could tell this story in 140 characters-so here I am on my blog, over-sharing, AGAIN.
Some of you already know, before Mr. Misha I was with a man named Mark. He was a wonderful guy but he died. And then later I met Mr. Misha, so it's all okay- so don't start giving me the widow treatment in the comments or on twitter, I'm already feeling kinda stabby tonight. You don't want to mess with me.
Anywho, so I was living with Mark. One night, while I was preparing for a trip to Mexico with The Hoz, Mark started talking about safety precautions I needed to take on the ship and in Mexico. I listened, because he was a cop and he took safety very seriously. Then his speech took a weird turn I wasn't prepared for:
Some of you already know, before Mr. Misha I was with a man named Mark. He was a wonderful guy but he died. And then later I met Mr. Misha, so it's all okay- so don't start giving me the widow treatment in the comments or on twitter, I'm already feeling kinda stabby tonight. You don't want to mess with me.
Anywho, so I was living with Mark. One night, while I was preparing for a trip to Mexico with The Hoz, Mark started talking about safety precautions I needed to take on the ship and in Mexico. I listened, because he was a cop and he took safety very seriously. Then his speech took a weird turn I wasn't prepared for:
Him: So, I know you guys are going to have a good time. I don't want you to feel like you can't party like you normally do with The Hoz just because we are together.
Me: I know. I have been on trips with them while we have been together before. Remember when we were in Vegas, I drunk dialed you all night and told you about all the bald men we were accosting? I'll get drunk. I'll get loud. I'll dance, sing and yell. But you know at the end of the night, I'll be back in the cabin with Melissa, as usual.
Him: Well, I just want you to know, well, um if you had a little too much to drink and well you made-out with a dude or accidentally had sex with him or something. I'd forgive you.
Me: What? How in the hell do you accidentally have sex with someone? Do you think that I am going to get so drunk that I'll fall down while simultaneously having my pants fall off and then- AT THAT EXACT MOMENT, some random dude, whose pants have also fallen off, will trip and fall and his penis will end up inside my vagina? Is that what you mean by accidental sex?
Him: Well, no. That's not what I meant.
Me: Number One: I don't have accidental sex. I have purposeful sex. Number Two: I am going on a trip with 5 women who love you to pieces and if they saw me anywhere near another man's penis they would beat me about the head and neck until I was unconscious and then drag me to the cabin, where they would restrain me for the rest of the cruise, occasionally berating me for even thinking about another man's nether regions. Number Three: Just because you'd forgive me for accidental sex does not give you a free pass on anything. We are monogamous. If you are not happy with that arrangement, speak up and we can end it. You have sex with anyone else, accidental or not, you will have to deal with the wrath of an angry redhead.
Him: Alright. I'm glad we got that cleared up.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Laughter IS the best medicine, but Appletinis help a lot too!
I just got back from my weekend with the Hoz. We stayed in a little house in Gurneville, near the Russian River. We never left the house. The six of us ate, drank and laughed from Friday night till Sunday brunch. I laughed so much my cheeks and sides ache.
This get together was long overdue, since we had not gone a trip together since 2002. What a blast. My shoulder/neck injury did not bother me too much. The HOZ were awesome and didn't let me do anything except relax and have fun.
Here are the HOZ (I was taking the picture and couldn't figure out how to use the timer on my camera):
Here I am, hungover and exhausted, eating a Pop Tart and drinking coffee out of my new mug:
The mug was a present from my Goddaughter, Gwenivere.Ninang means Godmother in Tagalog.
Two days of Mimosas in the morning, Appletinis in the afternoon, wine with dinner and White Russians for nightcaps definitely had an adverse effect on my exterior.
The 40 hours of laughter and good friends has done WONDERS for my interior. I feel like the happy Misha I was 30 days ago.
I hope to have more pictures (maybe some video) and some great stories posted later on.
Hope everyone has a great week!
This get together was long overdue, since we had not gone a trip together since 2002. What a blast. My shoulder/neck injury did not bother me too much. The HOZ were awesome and didn't let me do anything except relax and have fun.
Here are the HOZ (I was taking the picture and couldn't figure out how to use the timer on my camera):
Here I am, hungover and exhausted, eating a Pop Tart and drinking coffee out of my new mug:
Two days of Mimosas in the morning, Appletinis in the afternoon, wine with dinner and White Russians for nightcaps definitely had an adverse effect on my exterior.
The 40 hours of laughter and good friends has done WONDERS for my interior. I feel like the happy Misha I was 30 days ago.
I hope to have more pictures (maybe some video) and some great stories posted later on.
Hope everyone has a great week!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
PANIC! (on the airplane)
Mr. Misha and I had been wanting to visit Las Vegas for quite sometime. But being of the fair-skinned and squishy persuasion (we don't tolerate desert sunshine and heat well), we had to wait until the fall. When we found out that two other couples we dig were going on Veteran's Day weekend, we decided to book our trip.
The day before we were set to leave, our friend and adopted "Noni", Babe, passed away. Paul and I really didn't feel like partying in Vegas. I checked to see if we could postpone our flight and hotel reservations. Changing the plane tickets...no problem. Changing the room reservations, no such luck. So we talked with Babe's family and they told us to go. They reminded us that Babe loved traveling, gambling, cocktails and a good time. They told us she would be pissed off and would quite possible haunt us if we didn't go and have a good time. We decided to go and party in Babe's honor.
I woke up early Friday morning with puffy eyes, lingering tears and a headache after Thursday's events. I finished packing, showered and dressed and then headed to
for my usual drink. I decided to get Mr. Misha some coffee and a snack too. He likes the egg salad sandwiches from Starbuck's,
so I picked one up along with a butter croissant for myself. I got home, woke him up and we had our breakfast together. We drove to Erika's house. She was going to drive us to the airport and then patrol the greater Sacramento area for the weekend riding in the "Misha-mobile".
Erika dropped us safely at the airport and we checked our bags and headed through airport security. All of a sudden, Paul didn't feel good. He said his stomach was upset and wanted some meds for it. I went and bought some water and tums. He took them, along with some pepcid I had in my purse. I was thinking I could nip this ailment in the bud. He seemed okay as we boarded the plane.
As soon as we reached cruising altitude, something happened to my husband. He looked pale, he started to sweat, he kept clenching and unclenching his left hand. He told me he was nauseous. I started to freak out. These symptoms, added with his family history of cardiac problems......made me think he was having a heart attack. I took his pulse, it seemed fine. But there was no way to be sure without putting him on a cardiac monitor. I didn't want to panic the flight attendant, so I just waited. Paul just kept looking paler and paler. He said he had to go to the bathroom. The other guy in the row and I got up and let him out. It seemed like he was in the bathroom forever. Our aisle-mate tried to distract me with small talk. It turns out he is the stage manager for a Ska Band called Reel Big Fish. He was a really nice guy and offered to go and check on Mr. Misha for me. As he got up to go check on him, Paul was on his way back to his seat.
He sat down and seemed okay for a moment. Then he grabbed the airsickness bag and hurled. I have to say, my husband is the best airplane puker in the whole world. He did it silently, with no spillage and sealed the bag quickly so no one smelled it. I was still really scared, but proud of my husband's stealth-puking abilities. The RBF dude kindly got the attention of the flight attendant, who gave us a garbage bag and some extra airsickness bags. Paul thanked him with an apologetic look on his face and RBF dude replied; "Dude, no worries. I travel with a band. I have seen it all."
Paul continued to look like shit. He continued to clench and unclench his left hand. I knew that airplanes were outfitted with AEDs (Automated Electrical Defibrillator) and you need some room to use one of those things. I had no idea where I was going to find the space!
The last 20 minutes of the flight were scary. We would be landing at Long Beach International Airport for a 1 hour layover. I just wanted to get him off the plane. I knew if I could get him on land, I could get paramedics to him quickly. I also knew that we had family in southern California, so if I had to get him to a hospital, I would have some family support.
The day before we were set to leave, our friend and adopted "Noni", Babe, passed away. Paul and I really didn't feel like partying in Vegas. I checked to see if we could postpone our flight and hotel reservations. Changing the plane tickets...no problem. Changing the room reservations, no such luck. So we talked with Babe's family and they told us to go. They reminded us that Babe loved traveling, gambling, cocktails and a good time. They told us she would be pissed off and would quite possible haunt us if we didn't go and have a good time. We decided to go and party in Babe's honor.
I woke up early Friday morning with puffy eyes, lingering tears and a headache after Thursday's events. I finished packing, showered and dressed and then headed to
for my usual drink. I decided to get Mr. Misha some coffee and a snack too. He likes the egg salad sandwiches from Starbuck's,
so I picked one up along with a butter croissant for myself. I got home, woke him up and we had our breakfast together. We drove to Erika's house. She was going to drive us to the airport and then patrol the greater Sacramento area for the weekend riding in the "Misha-mobile".
Erika dropped us safely at the airport and we checked our bags and headed through airport security. All of a sudden, Paul didn't feel good. He said his stomach was upset and wanted some meds for it. I went and bought some water and tums. He took them, along with some pepcid I had in my purse. I was thinking I could nip this ailment in the bud. He seemed okay as we boarded the plane.
As soon as we reached cruising altitude, something happened to my husband. He looked pale, he started to sweat, he kept clenching and unclenching his left hand. He told me he was nauseous. I started to freak out. These symptoms, added with his family history of cardiac problems......made me think he was having a heart attack. I took his pulse, it seemed fine. But there was no way to be sure without putting him on a cardiac monitor. I didn't want to panic the flight attendant, so I just waited. Paul just kept looking paler and paler. He said he had to go to the bathroom. The other guy in the row and I got up and let him out. It seemed like he was in the bathroom forever. Our aisle-mate tried to distract me with small talk. It turns out he is the stage manager for a Ska Band called Reel Big Fish. He was a really nice guy and offered to go and check on Mr. Misha for me. As he got up to go check on him, Paul was on his way back to his seat.
He sat down and seemed okay for a moment. Then he grabbed the airsickness bag and hurled. I have to say, my husband is the best airplane puker in the whole world. He did it silently, with no spillage and sealed the bag quickly so no one smelled it. I was still really scared, but proud of my husband's stealth-puking abilities. The RBF dude kindly got the attention of the flight attendant, who gave us a garbage bag and some extra airsickness bags. Paul thanked him with an apologetic look on his face and RBF dude replied; "Dude, no worries. I travel with a band. I have seen it all."
Paul continued to look like shit. He continued to clench and unclench his left hand. I knew that airplanes were outfitted with AEDs (Automated Electrical Defibrillator) and you need some room to use one of those things. I had no idea where I was going to find the space!
The last 20 minutes of the flight were scary. We would be landing at Long Beach International Airport for a 1 hour layover. I just wanted to get him off the plane. I knew if I could get him on land, I could get paramedics to him quickly. I also knew that we had family in southern California, so if I had to get him to a hospital, I would have some family support.
We landed and de-planed. I got Paul situated in a quiet area and went to inquire about a first aid station, local hospitals and changing our flight. Paul continued to puke in the barf bags I got on the plane. He didn't want to go to the hospital (which is quite common for someone having a heart attack). I tried to convince him that he needed to be seen by a doctor. He wouldn't have any of it. He said he just wanted to get to our hotel room in Vegas and lay down. While Paul went to the bathroom, I changed our flight for a later one and texted our friends to tell them we would be late or might not be there at all.
When he came back from the bathroom, he told me not only was he still puking...but now had problems down south too. I instantly felt relieved. He seemed a bit annoyed that I was happy that he had diarrhea. I told him that the added symptom reassured me that he was not having a heart attack, but probably food poisoning. I was relieved. I medicated him with some anti-nausea medication, some Immodium and some Tylenol. I figured he would be safe to fly in a few hours.
The flight to Vegas was uneventful, thank goodness. We rescued our baggage that had arrived 6 hours before us and headed to our hotel. Paul still wasn't feeling great....but I was pretty sure he would be okay. I was also pretty sure that he would never eat another egg salad sandwich from Starbucks.
Stay tuned for the next Vegas blog post tomorrow.
If you ever find yourself in a similar situation...
here is some info.
Heart Attack
Each year over a million people in the U.S. have a heart attack. About half of them die. Many people have permanent heart damage or die because they don't get help immediately. It's important to know the symptoms of a heart attack and call 9-1-1 if someone is having them. Those symptoms include
* Chest discomfort - pressure, squeezing, or pain
* Shortness of breath
* Discomfort in the upper body - arms, shoulder, neck, back, stomach
* Nausea, vomiting, dizziness, light-headedness, sweating
Food poisoning
Definition
Food poisoning is the result of eating organisms or toxins in contaminated food. Most cases of food poisoning are from common bacteria like Staphylococcus or E. coli.
Symptoms
The symptoms from the most common types of food poisoning generally start within 2 to 6 hours of eating the food responsible. That time may be longer (even a number of days) or shorter, depending on the toxin or organism responsible for the food poisoning. The possible symptoms include:
* Nausea and vomiting
* Abdominal cramps
* Diarrhea (may be bloody)
* Fever and chills
* Weakness (may be serious and lead to respiratory arrest, as in the case of botulism)
* Headache
Treatment
You will usually recover from the most common types of food poisoning within a couple of days. The goal is to make you feel better and avoid dehydration. Drink any fluid (except milk or caffeinated beverages) to replace fluids lost by diarrhea and vomiting. Children should be given an electrolyte sold in drugstores. Don't eat solid foods until the diarrhea has passed, and avoid dairy, which can worsen diarrhea.
If you have diarrhea and are unable to drink fluids (for example, due to nausea or vomiting), you may need medical attention and intravenous fluids. This is especially true for young children. If you take diuretics, you need to manage diarrhea carefully. Talk to your doctor -- you may need to stop taking the diuretic while you have the diarrhea. Medications should NEVER be stopped or changed without discussing with your doctor and getting specific instructions.
For the most common causes of food poisoning, your doctor would NOT prescribe antibiotics. Antibiotics can actually prolong diarrhea and keep the organism in your body longer.
If you have eaten toxins from mushrooms or shellfish, you will need to be seen right away. The emergency room doctor will take steps to empty out your stomach and remove the toxin.
Expectations (prognosis)
Full recovery from the most common types of food poisoning usually occurs within 12 and 48 hours. Serious complications can arise, however, from certain types of food poisoning.
Complications
Dehydration is the most common complication. This can occur from any of the causes of food poisoning.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Meat and Weapons...The Californians enlighten the New Englanders!
So, I made friends with this chick that I had "met" via Mr. Jones' blog. Her comments were funny and I think she thought mine were too, so we became friends on the myspaces. She lives all the way on the other side of the USA
in a little state called Rhode Island.
We sent messages and comments back and forth, subscribed to each others' blogs and harassed Mr. Jones together. That is how I became friends with Leah.
I have self-diagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, OCD. Unfortunately, my OCD doesn't make my house clean and organized. It does make me compulsive about my calendars. So, when I planned our recent trip to Boston, I compulsively noted it in all of my calendars, including the one on my myspace page. So Leah was checking out my page and saw that I was heading east...her neck of the woods. So she sends me a message and says something like "I am only a few hours from there!" So we message back and forth, I check with the bride, the groom and Mr. Misha to find out what night would be best to arrange for us to meet. We decide on a date and wait for it to be Saturday, October 6th.
The night before the big meeting....Mr. Misha and I were at a wedding. There was an open bar, it was really hot and humid...I got a little intoxicated. We spent all day Saturday in the hotel room ordering room service, pizza and watching a Law and Order marathon. Around 5pm, we started to feel like it was possible to venture out. Via email and cell phone calls we firmed up our plans with Leah and her friend, Matt. We decided to meet at a place called Midwest Grill, in Cambridge.
Frommer's Review:
As soon as you open the door of the Midwest Grill, the aroma of garlic and meat starts your mouth watering. Distractions abound: personable waiters, lively music, the salad bar-like selection of side dishes (superb potatoes, black-bean stew, salads, olives, and rice). But you can't ignore the scent of meat juices dripping onto an open fire. Finally, here come the waiters, bearing the long, swordlike skewers of meat that make up rodizio, or Brazilian barbecue. They slice off portions of perfectly grilled pork, lamb, or beef, as you help with salad tongs. They return with sausage, chicken, and even chicken hearts. Take a break and check out the gregarious families, voracious students, and other carnivores (there's also a vegetarian plate), then flag down a circulating waiter and dig in again.
Some other pretentious Dude's review:
The focus of the Midwest Grill is churrasco rodizio -- roughly, "rotating barbecue." In this year of interminable, globe-straddling menus, there's something refreshing about a restaurant built around not just a single cuisine, but a single dish. Though "single" may be the wrong word: the churrasco is really a cornucopia all its own, an array, a profusion, an endless parade of . . .Meat. Oh, man. Vegetarians be warned. Seven kinds of meats, minimum, turn on huge motorized spits in the restaurant's open kitchen; order the rodizio, which the menu cheerily refers to as the "Brazilian BBQ Banquet", and each of the rotating swords will, in turn, be lifted from the rotisserie, carried deftly to your table, and carved onto your plate. And then the cycle begins again. You can request skewers, too: ask for pork and you'll get pork. All night long.
For the grillmaster, a churrascaria is a balancing act. Keeping the right amount of meat on the cusp of readiness requires close attention to diners' tastes, and a constant eye on the coals. The proprietors -- Brazilian transplant Gilmar Pinto, former owner of Allston's Café Brazil; his brothers Marcelo and Gilnei; and their Portuguese partner João Pinto (no relation) -- pull the trick off with dexterity. The meat arrives with a uniformly crisp surface and a moist interior. Most of it is marinated in wine, vinegar, salt, and pepper; sirloin is rubbed with sea salt, and lamb is studded with garlic. The only exception we found were chicken hearts, which came on a sinister-looking double spit.
I got into the shower to scrub the booze smell out of my skin. When I went to use the hotel's hair dryer...it didn't work. Argh! I slicked back my mop of Chaka Khan hair with a bunch of straightening products and threw it in a ponytail. I woke Mr. Misha, he showered and we went down to the lobby to get a cab. It took forever. I was so worried we were going to be late.
Eventually, the cab arrived and we headed off to Cambridge. The cab driver dropped us off in front we were late. Mr. Misha and I looked around, we didn't see our friends. We decided to have a smoke. We looked in the front window and saw it, just like our friends and my travel book had described:
MEAT, ROASTING ON SWORDS!
( You can see the hot and cold bars in the background of this picture!)
(This is not me, Leah, Matt or Mr. Misha. I don't know who this woman is!)
A cement mixer is: a shot of Bailey's Irish Cream and a shot of limejuice. One puts the Bailey's in one's mouth and holds it. Then one adds the lime juice. The concoction reacts, the Irish Cream curdles and then you swallow it. (Sounds great, doesn't it?)
Well, Mr. Misha was not prepared for the volume expansion that takes place when the two ingredients are mixed and I thought he was going to spew.
He didn't and decided he wanted another one.
(I had to show you the close up of the state, that is how small it is!)
We sent messages and comments back and forth, subscribed to each others' blogs and harassed Mr. Jones together. That is how I became friends with Leah.
I have self-diagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, OCD. Unfortunately, my OCD doesn't make my house clean and organized. It does make me compulsive about my calendars. So, when I planned our recent trip to Boston, I compulsively noted it in all of my calendars, including the one on my myspace page. So Leah was checking out my page and saw that I was heading east...her neck of the woods. So she sends me a message and says something like "I am only a few hours from there!" So we message back and forth, I check with the bride, the groom and Mr. Misha to find out what night would be best to arrange for us to meet. We decide on a date and wait for it to be Saturday, October 6th.
The night before the big meeting....Mr. Misha and I were at a wedding. There was an open bar, it was really hot and humid...I got a little intoxicated. We spent all day Saturday in the hotel room ordering room service, pizza and watching a Law and Order marathon. Around 5pm, we started to feel like it was possible to venture out. Via email and cell phone calls we firmed up our plans with Leah and her friend, Matt. We decided to meet at a place called Midwest Grill, in Cambridge.
Frommer's Review:
As soon as you open the door of the Midwest Grill, the aroma of garlic and meat starts your mouth watering. Distractions abound: personable waiters, lively music, the salad bar-like selection of side dishes (superb potatoes, black-bean stew, salads, olives, and rice). But you can't ignore the scent of meat juices dripping onto an open fire. Finally, here come the waiters, bearing the long, swordlike skewers of meat that make up rodizio, or Brazilian barbecue. They slice off portions of perfectly grilled pork, lamb, or beef, as you help with salad tongs. They return with sausage, chicken, and even chicken hearts. Take a break and check out the gregarious families, voracious students, and other carnivores (there's also a vegetarian plate), then flag down a circulating waiter and dig in again.
Some other pretentious Dude's review:
The focus of the Midwest Grill is churrasco rodizio -- roughly, "rotating barbecue." In this year of interminable, globe-straddling menus, there's something refreshing about a restaurant built around not just a single cuisine, but a single dish. Though "single" may be the wrong word: the churrasco is really a cornucopia all its own, an array, a profusion, an endless parade of . . .Meat. Oh, man. Vegetarians be warned. Seven kinds of meats, minimum, turn on huge motorized spits in the restaurant's open kitchen; order the rodizio, which the menu cheerily refers to as the "Brazilian BBQ Banquet", and each of the rotating swords will, in turn, be lifted from the rotisserie, carried deftly to your table, and carved onto your plate. And then the cycle begins again. You can request skewers, too: ask for pork and you'll get pork. All night long.
For the grillmaster, a churrascaria is a balancing act. Keeping the right amount of meat on the cusp of readiness requires close attention to diners' tastes, and a constant eye on the coals. The proprietors -- Brazilian transplant Gilmar Pinto, former owner of Allston's Café Brazil; his brothers Marcelo and Gilnei; and their Portuguese partner João Pinto (no relation) -- pull the trick off with dexterity. The meat arrives with a uniformly crisp surface and a moist interior. Most of it is marinated in wine, vinegar, salt, and pepper; sirloin is rubbed with sea salt, and lamb is studded with garlic. The only exception we found were chicken hearts, which came on a sinister-looking double spit.
I got into the shower to scrub the booze smell out of my skin. When I went to use the hotel's hair dryer...it didn't work. Argh! I slicked back my mop of Chaka Khan hair with a bunch of straightening products and threw it in a ponytail. I woke Mr. Misha, he showered and we went down to the lobby to get a cab. It took forever. I was so worried we were going to be late.
Eventually, the cab arrived and we headed off to Cambridge. The cab driver dropped us off in front we were late. Mr. Misha and I looked around, we didn't see our friends. We decided to have a smoke. We looked in the front window and saw it, just like our friends and my travel book had described:
MEAT, ROASTING ON SWORDS!
After our cigarette, I called Leah on her cell. She and Matt were running late too (and she couldn't find a bathroom), so Mr. Misha and I had a few cocktails. By the time our friends arrived, we were feeling pretty good. The girls hugged and the men shook hands. Then we sat down at our table, ready to eat. The waitress came by and explained how their establishment worked. In a thick Portuguese accent she told us; "You go to the bar, there is hot bar and cold bar. You get side dishes you want to eat. Then you sit, men come by with meat. You take what you want. When you need break, you take this sign and turn it over. When you want more meat, turn it back to other side. That is how it work. You need more drink, you tell me. Okay?"She then handed us a laminated card. One side was green and in English and Portuguese it said something like; 'Yes, please bring us all of your sword-roasted meats so we can gorge ourselves silly!' The other side was red and all I remember is that is said; "BASTA!" (I really wish I had taken a picture of this card, dag-nabbitt!)
We head over to the side dish bar and choose some food. There were salads, beans, rice, fruit, veggies, etc. We then headed back to our table and waited for the men with swords to come.
We head over to the side dish bar and choose some food. There were salads, beans, rice, fruit, veggies, etc. We then headed back to our table and waited for the men with swords to come.
( You can see the hot and cold bars in the background of this picture!)
They came in a wave; men with beef, then pork, then chicken wrapped in bacon (Shout out to Eleanor!), sausages (both Kielbasa and Linguisa), chicken hearts (only Leah was brave enough to eat those) and then they had these yummy rolls warmed over the fire and basted with garlic butter. It was fabulous! At one point, Matt looked over at Leah and said something like: "I can't believe that we had to meet people from California to find a place that showcased MEAT AND WEAPONS!"
(This is not me, Leah, Matt or Mr. Misha. I don't know who this woman is!)
So we ate, and ate, and then we talked and then ate some more. Finally, we could eat no more. We turned our card over and said "BASTA". The Midwest Grill had won.
While we digested, we chatted and Matt started talking about some drink called a "cement mixer". It sounded gross to me, but Mr. Misha wanted to try one. We said good-bye to our Portuguese bartender, paid our tab and started to walk around in Cambridge.
We figured that since it was a college town, we would be able to find a bar easily. Yeah, not so much. Apparently, we were in the non-party and unintelligent part of Cambridge. We walked and walked. We came upon a bar, only to find out it only served beer and wine. When we came upon another bar, we asked the guy at the door if they served "Full Bar". He said; "No, it's not too crowded." Leah and I snorted with laughter, Mr. Misha said: "No. Dude, what we mean is that do you serve drinks other than beer and wine?" The Fulbright Scholar stated that they did and asked to see our IDs. Mr. Misha and I handed him our California IDs and he said that he needed a second form of ID because we were from out of state. Well, Leah didn't have anything but her Rhode Island ID, so we left the Fulbright Scholar and set out to find another place to drink.
And that is when we found this place:
While we digested, we chatted and Matt started talking about some drink called a "cement mixer". It sounded gross to me, but Mr. Misha wanted to try one. We said good-bye to our Portuguese bartender, paid our tab and started to walk around in Cambridge.
We figured that since it was a college town, we would be able to find a bar easily. Yeah, not so much. Apparently, we were in the non-party and unintelligent part of Cambridge. We walked and walked. We came upon a bar, only to find out it only served beer and wine. When we came upon another bar, we asked the guy at the door if they served "Full Bar". He said; "No, it's not too crowded." Leah and I snorted with laughter, Mr. Misha said: "No. Dude, what we mean is that do you serve drinks other than beer and wine?" The Fulbright Scholar stated that they did and asked to see our IDs. Mr. Misha and I handed him our California IDs and he said that he needed a second form of ID because we were from out of state. Well, Leah didn't have anything but her Rhode Island ID, so we left the Fulbright Scholar and set out to find another place to drink.
And that is when we found this place:
We bellied up to the bar, cement mixers for the boys and oddly decorated beers for the girls.
Matt brought the drinks to us with a devilish grin.
A cement mixer is: a shot of Bailey's Irish Cream and a shot of limejuice. One puts the Bailey's in one's mouth and holds it. Then one adds the lime juice. The concoction reacts, the Irish Cream curdles and then you swallow it. (Sounds great, doesn't it?)
Well, Mr. Misha was not prepared for the volume expansion that takes place when the two ingredients are mixed and I thought he was going to spew.
He didn't and decided he wanted another one.
This time, Leah joined in on the fun!
and Matt was nice enough to show us the beautiful results of the Bailey's/Lime reaction...
After the "Cement Mixer Experience" it was time to go outside.
It was also time to take more pictures, so Erikatt would not get mad at me!
We then walked around looking for a different bar. The Druid was not our style, there was nowhere to sit, it was really small and it was a bit snobby. After eating all of that meat, we needed a kick back, plus-sized bar to relax in. We couldn't find one.
So, tired, full and a little tipsy...we decided to call it a night. Mr. Misha hailed a cab for our new "real life" friends.
So, tired, full and a little tipsy...we decided to call it a night. Mr. Misha hailed a cab for our new "real life" friends.
We hugged and promised to stay in touch. And off went LeeLee Lewinski and Matook...
A great time was had by all!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Only in America
Last Tuesday, I went to Boston for a week. Mr. Misha and I flew across the country for the wedding of two very dear friends, Sam and Amy.
I was trying to think of how to tell the story of these two.
Their wedding took place in Boston. Home of Ben Franklin and Paul Revere and where the colonists rebelled against England and tossed their tea into the harbor.
Their romance began in Holland. Home of hash bars, Ann Frank's house, Van Gough, tulips, windmills and wooden shoes.
Sam is of Sikh Eastern Indian desent, but British born.
Amy is of Portuguese and Irish descent and is Boston born.
They were married last Friday by a lawyer wearing a kilt.
Amy's Maids of Honor were her two sisters: her identical twin, Meg and her little sister, Maeve.
Sam's best men were a big sweaty Polish man from California
and a tall, not as sweaty, Italian man from California.
A good time was had by all.
There were tears of Joy.
There was dancing amongst the young,
and the young at heart!
Some danced better than others...
The party went on through the night. A blend of different cultures, different religious beliefs, young and old, east and west, liberal and conservative, tipsy and sober. All of these people brought together by their love for a couple. Celebrating their union as the Red Sox beat the Angels in Game 2, just a few blocks away. Everyone had a great time.
Congratulations Sam and Amy!
Thank you for letting Paul and I be a part of such a wonderful event.
Here is some video of me and Michelle channeling our inner Aretha!
Sunday, November 12, 2006
New York, Days Three and Four (incomplete)
Day 3, Sunday
I made a bad shoe choice. I went for fashion instead of comfort and set aside my sneakers and put on my brown boots. We were, after all, going to be taking a boat tour in the morning, then lunch, then a bus tour, with a little shopping thrown in. I thought I could hang!
Of course, we stopped at Starbucks and Ess A Bagel on our way to the subway, sustenance for the morning. We took the subway to Times Square where we hopped on the double-decker buses Uptown Loop. The Uptown Loop would take up within 6 blocks of the dock for our New York Harbor tour. This is where the shoe choice started to rear it's ugly head. As we walked, the balls of my feet started to burn.
We finally arrive at the Circle Line dock and get ready to board. Ahead of us in line are yet another group of Brits (I think Virgin or British Airways must have had some deal, NY was crawling with 'em). We get on the boat and pick our seats. It is a foggy and chilly morning for sight-seeing. Dave, our tour guide starts to give us his schpeel and we are off. He announces that we are on the "Trust Me Tour", as in, "To your left is the Empire State Building, trust me, it is there, you just can't see it right now." I now hate the Empire State Building and could really give a shit if I see it ever again. We go cruising through the harbor and I learn way more about New Jersey than I have planned. We finally get close to Ellis Island and learn it's history. We see the Statue of Liberty and like most celebrities, she is much shorter when you see her in person. She is beautiful and her symbolism is not lost to me. We then cruise back to the dock and our tour is over.
Deb and I are now ready for lunch. Since my feet are hurting, we decided to take a taxi. What we end up doing is hiring a car (it is a nuance thing that I do not fully comprehend- taxis are yellow, cars are black?) The guy who is driving our "car" is named Howie, he is an ex-cop for NY's finest. He does the usual, "Where are you gals from?" We do out usual "Napa". He then goes into the predictable responsorial of "Oh wine country, I like wine, etc..." I am very curious about how one learns to drive in NYC, so I make the mistake of asking Howie if he has ever had an accident involving a pedestrian. (We have had several near misses with pedestrians each time we have boarded a vehicle, no matter what size) BIG MISTAKE! He tells me I should never ask that question and gives me a 5 minute lecture on pedestrians. He takes us to Resturant Row.
Joshua Tree
Uptown Loop in the rain
Bergdorf-Goodman
Bloomingdales
Serendipity 3
Let's just watch a little of this game
Day 4, Monday
I made a bad shoe choice. I went for fashion instead of comfort and set aside my sneakers and put on my brown boots. We were, after all, going to be taking a boat tour in the morning, then lunch, then a bus tour, with a little shopping thrown in. I thought I could hang!
Of course, we stopped at Starbucks and Ess A Bagel on our way to the subway, sustenance for the morning. We took the subway to Times Square where we hopped on the double-decker buses Uptown Loop. The Uptown Loop would take up within 6 blocks of the dock for our New York Harbor tour. This is where the shoe choice started to rear it's ugly head. As we walked, the balls of my feet started to burn.
We finally arrive at the Circle Line dock and get ready to board. Ahead of us in line are yet another group of Brits (I think Virgin or British Airways must have had some deal, NY was crawling with 'em). We get on the boat and pick our seats. It is a foggy and chilly morning for sight-seeing. Dave, our tour guide starts to give us his schpeel and we are off. He announces that we are on the "Trust Me Tour", as in, "To your left is the Empire State Building, trust me, it is there, you just can't see it right now." I now hate the Empire State Building and could really give a shit if I see it ever again. We go cruising through the harbor and I learn way more about New Jersey than I have planned. We finally get close to Ellis Island and learn it's history. We see the Statue of Liberty and like most celebrities, she is much shorter when you see her in person. She is beautiful and her symbolism is not lost to me. We then cruise back to the dock and our tour is over.
Deb and I are now ready for lunch. Since my feet are hurting, we decided to take a taxi. What we end up doing is hiring a car (it is a nuance thing that I do not fully comprehend- taxis are yellow, cars are black?) The guy who is driving our "car" is named Howie, he is an ex-cop for NY's finest. He does the usual, "Where are you gals from?" We do out usual "Napa". He then goes into the predictable responsorial of "Oh wine country, I like wine, etc..." I am very curious about how one learns to drive in NYC, so I make the mistake of asking Howie if he has ever had an accident involving a pedestrian. (We have had several near misses with pedestrians each time we have boarded a vehicle, no matter what size) BIG MISTAKE! He tells me I should never ask that question and gives me a 5 minute lecture on pedestrians. He takes us to Resturant Row.
Joshua Tree
Uptown Loop in the rain
Bergdorf-Goodman
Bloomingdales
Serendipity 3
Let's just watch a little of this game
Day 4, Monday
Saturday, November 11, 2006
New York, Day Two
Day 2, Saturday
(Written by Misha with guest contributor, Deb)
Well, we slept in. Each of us woke up on the hour, every hour starting at 7 am; however, we neither of us could manage to muster the energy to get up before 10:00. Through the night,
I made continual attempts to spoon Deb and squish her out of the bed- as I do to Mr. Misha, but Deb was totally unaware due to the combo of a cocktail, jetlag and Ambien.
OK, back to the day.
By noon, we were out of the hotel and ready to face the day. We were definitely groggy and somewhat puffy due to lack of H2O.
***Note, I had bought a liter of water yesterday, but did not drink a drop until 9:00 pm last night***. However, lugging the frickin' bottle around was a great way to fit in a workout for the day!
We bought bagels with schmears, coffee and water (hopefully to be consumed throughout the day) and were off to Times Square. We were heading back to Times Square to be total tourists; we bought the all-inclusive sightseeing package of double-decker bus rides around NYC. With cameras on and maps in hand, we boarded the bus anxiously awaited the tour to begin. We were off! Our tour guide was a redheaded, New York accented woman named Claire. She had a plethora of advice for us and threatened to kick us off the bus if we did not follow it. We were told not to eat in Times Square (Oh crap, we had already screwed up)
The Downtown Loop is just what it sounds like, a loop taken around the downtown area of New York City. It was a beautiful bright and sunny day and Deb and I were perched atop a red double-decker bus, Tourist Style. As we went through Times Square we were told about it's past. How it used to be filled with crime, strip clubs and porn shops. (The garish commercial space that now resides there cannot be less vulgar than it's previous inhabitants) The lights are really pretty at night, but it does make one a little nauseous during the day. We then crossed over Broadway and saw the Veteran's Day Parade. My favorite parade marchers were the All-Male, Purple-clad, Marching-Band with Rainbow Flags! So much for "Don't Ask, Don't Tell!" We then continued through the Theatre District, Madison Square Garden and onto the foot of The Empire State Building.
This is where I began to feel stupid. Claire, the tour guide, kept saying there is the building and for the life of me, I could not see it. She went on and on about why they change the colors of the lights that illuminate the top of the Empire State building, what colors for which occasion, etc. I still had no idea which building she was talking about, so I asked Deb. She pointed out the HUGE, but non-descript building directly in front of me. Then I realized my mistake, I had thought the beautiful Art Deco Style building I had seen in a million movies and pictures of NYC was the Empire State Building, it is not. It is The Chrysler Building. The Empire State Building sucks, it is just tall with colored lights on occasion. I was both embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.
The bus then took us to The Flatiron Building, now that is a cool building! I took some pictures of it and we were on our way again. Through Union Square and into Greenwich Village, then to SoHo. We stopped in Chinatown and bought did some shopping. I did a little bargaining for our stuff and it helped rebuild my self-esteem that the Lame-ass Empire State Building had left in a shambles.
A quick pee and we were back on our bus. Off to City Hall and Brooklyn Bridge. I saw where a lot of the exterior shots of all of the Law and Order episodes are shot. I took more pictures. No sightings of Jack, Elliot or Munch!
The next stop was St. Paul's Church and World Trade Center. We de-bused and headed toward the church. First, let me say that it is a really pretty church. It is also were a lot of the 9/11 rescuers went for a nap, a meal or moral support when they were looking for bodies at ground zero. I didn't realize how much it would get to me. Within the first 2 minutes of being in the church, I was tearing up. The church has been turned into a museum/memorial and the exhibits were tasteful and touching. There was a photographer/firefighter from the FDNY and he was talking with people as they left the church. I felt like a dork, all teary eyed, so I just headed out of the church after taking one quick picture of the church's altar.
We walked through the church's courtyard and then on to the WTC site. The site itself is just a big construction zone, but the exhibits, pictures and memorials were moving. Especially since in the background a man was playing a flute (first vagrant sighting). He played Amazing Grace, God Bless America and the national Anthem as hundreds of people read the names of those killed that day.
***RANT ALERT***
Given the current political state of our country, I had not been feeling very "Gung Ho America", but at that moment, I forgot that our president is an retard, we are slowly losing all of our civil liberties and that judgmental, hypocritical, bible thumpers are trying to brainwash the entire nation (being led by a pudgy little troll named, Karl) into drinking their particularly putrid flavor of Kool-Aid. I felt patriotic and sad, all at the same time.
Well, we got back on the bus. But this time, instead of our New York accented tour guide, we had this indiscernible Chinese woman on the loud speaker. Deb and I were in the back of the bus with a bunch of rowdy Welshmen. All of my work in high school at Robert's China Garden was finally about to pay off! I became the Chinese ESL to English translator for our area of the bus. It was hysterical. She would say something and I would then translate it. Deb was about to pee herself. The Welshmen were thrilled; they had been on the bus for over an hour and had no idea what the hell the lady was talking about. We went through Battery Park, South Street Seaport, and then the Lower East Side, all the time I espoused the history of the particular area.
We left the ESL tour guide and took off for Katz's Deli. It is well known for the fake orgasm scene in "When Harry Met Sally" and it is also famous for it's PASTRAMI. I am not particularly a pastrami fan. But this stuff kicked ass! It melted in your mouth. They hand-slice the meat, no slicing machine to be found in this joint. Our "slicer", Eddie, was an aspiring actor (surprise!). He wanted Deb and I to take him back to California with us. He even gave us his card, yikes!
Thoroughly sated, we got back on the bus in the Lower East Side. Much to our elation.......It was Claire! We were so excited to tell her where we had been. (It had been one of the commandments of Claire, ..Thou shalt eat a pastrami sandwich from Katz's Deli..). She made Deb and I part of her tour and had us speak, on the loudspeaker (like we needed one), about the culinary delights we had just partook of at Katz's.
Still on the bus, we toured the East Village. We went past the United Nations, the Waldorf Astoria and Rockefeller Center. The Christmas tree had arrived that day, but was not lit up. The skating rink was filled with ice skaters and the surrounding ginkgo trees were covered in white lights. We passed Central Park but couldn't see anything because it was now DARK. Finally, back to Times Square and off the bus.
WE HAD TO PEE! This is a nearly impossible task in Times Square. We also decided that we needed some coffee to keep us alert for the Nighttime Loop. "Why not kill two birds with one stone and pee @ Starbucks?" We thought we were so smart, but the Times Square Starbucks has no bathroom. After obtaining our lifeblood (Coffee), the Barista kindly pointed out a few places we could find a bathroom, but upon arrival to those locales, we found them to be out of order or a line as long as the Prime Meridian.
***Light bulb***
I bust out with my "Irreverent Guide to Manhattan" book and went to the section titled "Where to Pee" (No Kidding). The guidebook tells us to just pop into the lobby of a hotel and use their facilities. We stroll in to the Marriott Suites Times Square and cool as cucumbers make a beeline for the potty.
***The light bulb dims***
My first thought is to hold Deb's stuff, including her coffee, while she goes and then have her reciprocate. My bladder gets the best of me and I just get into the stall next to her. I hang my bags on the hook and place my brand-new-completely-full Starbucks coffee on the convenient little shelf (BIG MISTAKE). I do what I came there for and as I reach to gather my things, CRASH! Down goes my coffee and EXPLODES onto the floor. (This is almost as bad as the loss of my TIDE pen, see: day one) I wash my hands; lay some paper towels on the floor and out comes Deb. She starts to create this big lie to tell the hotel staff. I, on the other hand, decide to go the Mea Culpa route. I go out to the desk, smile, and say, "I have a confession" to the desk clerk. She thinks I am about to tell her where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, but instead I calmly say, "I dropped my coffee in the bathroom, I am really sorry." The desk clerk says no problem and calls housekeeping. Deb and I casually stroll back out to Times Square. I felt so frickin' smooth! Deb was impressed. I have almost recovered from the Empire State Building moment.
Back to Starbucks for a replacement coffee and onto the bus, AGAIN. This time for the Nighttime Loop. Our tour guide is a furry, cute little guy named Dave. Dave has an endearing charm and very dry sense of humor, but for a tour guide, not too chatty. For approximately 2 1/2 hours, we FREEZE OUR ASSES OFF as we travel, in the dark, past my nemesis, the Empire State Building and through Greenwich Village, SoHo, Chinatown and Rockefeller Center, ONE MORE TIME. It does look different at night and you get a different perspective with Dave. Then, we go over the Manhattan Bridge to Brooklyn. Why? I am still not sure. What I do know is that the residents of Brooklyn wave to the bus. This struck me as odd, but then, it is Brooklyn. After a few minutes, I start to get nervous. Dave has taken us to some sort of industrial park. I am pretty sure we are about to get WHACKED. Why in the hell would someone want to see a Brooklyn industrial park in the dark? Then the bus comes to a slow rolling stop and I am trying to figure out if the untouched litre of water in my purse will deflect the bullets. After all, I have a husband and cocker spaniel to go home to. I contemplate saying the rosary, just then, Dave comes on the loud speaker and says; "This is the best nighttime view of the Manhattan skyline." Ahhhhhh, a photo op! I stop looking for rosary beads (not) and bring out the camera. Up until this point, I have chalked up my blurry, somewhat Avant Garde night photography to the movement of the bus. It is at this point that I realize....... I do not know how to take a flipping picture with my camera. I feel like I am back at the Empire State Building all over again.
We get back to Times Square, get off the bus and head for the Subway. The plan is to go back to the hotel, drop off our stuff, freshen up and head to this late night noodle place for some Udon.
When we get off at our subway stop, a man has taken refuge in our exit way. He is all curled up in his green sleeping bag in front of Credit Suisse. We take the other exit and note that this in only the 2nd vagrant we have seen in over 24 hours.
Upon arrival to the hotel, we realize it is after midnight and the noodle house is closed. We go down to the front desk and ask where we can eat close by. He sends us three doors down to the "East Side Diner". It is empty, save for 2 drunk, pimply face guys making assess of themselves. Deb and I take a seat at the counter and order food. The two drunks provide the dinner entertainment. Deb and I get our food and that is when I realize...THIS IS THE BEST GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH I HAVE EVER EATEN!
We go back to the hotel; bellies full and hit the hay!
(Written by Misha with guest contributor, Deb)
Well, we slept in. Each of us woke up on the hour, every hour starting at 7 am; however, we neither of us could manage to muster the energy to get up before 10:00. Through the night,
I made continual attempts to spoon Deb and squish her out of the bed- as I do to Mr. Misha, but Deb was totally unaware due to the combo of a cocktail, jetlag and Ambien.
OK, back to the day.
By noon, we were out of the hotel and ready to face the day. We were definitely groggy and somewhat puffy due to lack of H2O.
***Note, I had bought a liter of water yesterday, but did not drink a drop until 9:00 pm last night***. However, lugging the frickin' bottle around was a great way to fit in a workout for the day!
We bought bagels with schmears, coffee and water (hopefully to be consumed throughout the day) and were off to Times Square. We were heading back to Times Square to be total tourists; we bought the all-inclusive sightseeing package of double-decker bus rides around NYC. With cameras on and maps in hand, we boarded the bus anxiously awaited the tour to begin. We were off! Our tour guide was a redheaded, New York accented woman named Claire. She had a plethora of advice for us and threatened to kick us off the bus if we did not follow it. We were told not to eat in Times Square (Oh crap, we had already screwed up)
The Downtown Loop is just what it sounds like, a loop taken around the downtown area of New York City. It was a beautiful bright and sunny day and Deb and I were perched atop a red double-decker bus, Tourist Style. As we went through Times Square we were told about it's past. How it used to be filled with crime, strip clubs and porn shops. (The garish commercial space that now resides there cannot be less vulgar than it's previous inhabitants) The lights are really pretty at night, but it does make one a little nauseous during the day. We then crossed over Broadway and saw the Veteran's Day Parade. My favorite parade marchers were the All-Male, Purple-clad, Marching-Band with Rainbow Flags! So much for "Don't Ask, Don't Tell!" We then continued through the Theatre District, Madison Square Garden and onto the foot of The Empire State Building.
This is where I began to feel stupid. Claire, the tour guide, kept saying there is the building and for the life of me, I could not see it. She went on and on about why they change the colors of the lights that illuminate the top of the Empire State building, what colors for which occasion, etc. I still had no idea which building she was talking about, so I asked Deb. She pointed out the HUGE, but non-descript building directly in front of me. Then I realized my mistake, I had thought the beautiful Art Deco Style building I had seen in a million movies and pictures of NYC was the Empire State Building, it is not. It is The Chrysler Building. The Empire State Building sucks, it is just tall with colored lights on occasion. I was both embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.
The bus then took us to The Flatiron Building, now that is a cool building! I took some pictures of it and we were on our way again. Through Union Square and into Greenwich Village, then to SoHo. We stopped in Chinatown and bought did some shopping. I did a little bargaining for our stuff and it helped rebuild my self-esteem that the Lame-ass Empire State Building had left in a shambles.
A quick pee and we were back on our bus. Off to City Hall and Brooklyn Bridge. I saw where a lot of the exterior shots of all of the Law and Order episodes are shot. I took more pictures. No sightings of Jack, Elliot or Munch!
The next stop was St. Paul's Church and World Trade Center. We de-bused and headed toward the church. First, let me say that it is a really pretty church. It is also were a lot of the 9/11 rescuers went for a nap, a meal or moral support when they were looking for bodies at ground zero. I didn't realize how much it would get to me. Within the first 2 minutes of being in the church, I was tearing up. The church has been turned into a museum/memorial and the exhibits were tasteful and touching. There was a photographer/firefighter from the FDNY and he was talking with people as they left the church. I felt like a dork, all teary eyed, so I just headed out of the church after taking one quick picture of the church's altar.
We walked through the church's courtyard and then on to the WTC site. The site itself is just a big construction zone, but the exhibits, pictures and memorials were moving. Especially since in the background a man was playing a flute (first vagrant sighting). He played Amazing Grace, God Bless America and the national Anthem as hundreds of people read the names of those killed that day.
***RANT ALERT***
Given the current political state of our country, I had not been feeling very "Gung Ho America", but at that moment, I forgot that our president is an retard, we are slowly losing all of our civil liberties and that judgmental, hypocritical, bible thumpers are trying to brainwash the entire nation (being led by a pudgy little troll named, Karl) into drinking their particularly putrid flavor of Kool-Aid. I felt patriotic and sad, all at the same time.
Well, we got back on the bus. But this time, instead of our New York accented tour guide, we had this indiscernible Chinese woman on the loud speaker. Deb and I were in the back of the bus with a bunch of rowdy Welshmen. All of my work in high school at Robert's China Garden was finally about to pay off! I became the Chinese ESL to English translator for our area of the bus. It was hysterical. She would say something and I would then translate it. Deb was about to pee herself. The Welshmen were thrilled; they had been on the bus for over an hour and had no idea what the hell the lady was talking about. We went through Battery Park, South Street Seaport, and then the Lower East Side, all the time I espoused the history of the particular area.
We left the ESL tour guide and took off for Katz's Deli. It is well known for the fake orgasm scene in "When Harry Met Sally" and it is also famous for it's PASTRAMI. I am not particularly a pastrami fan. But this stuff kicked ass! It melted in your mouth. They hand-slice the meat, no slicing machine to be found in this joint. Our "slicer", Eddie, was an aspiring actor (surprise!). He wanted Deb and I to take him back to California with us. He even gave us his card, yikes!
Thoroughly sated, we got back on the bus in the Lower East Side. Much to our elation.......It was Claire! We were so excited to tell her where we had been. (It had been one of the commandments of Claire, ..Thou shalt eat a pastrami sandwich from Katz's Deli..). She made Deb and I part of her tour and had us speak, on the loudspeaker (like we needed one), about the culinary delights we had just partook of at Katz's.
Still on the bus, we toured the East Village. We went past the United Nations, the Waldorf Astoria and Rockefeller Center. The Christmas tree had arrived that day, but was not lit up. The skating rink was filled with ice skaters and the surrounding ginkgo trees were covered in white lights. We passed Central Park but couldn't see anything because it was now DARK. Finally, back to Times Square and off the bus.
WE HAD TO PEE! This is a nearly impossible task in Times Square. We also decided that we needed some coffee to keep us alert for the Nighttime Loop. "Why not kill two birds with one stone and pee @ Starbucks?" We thought we were so smart, but the Times Square Starbucks has no bathroom. After obtaining our lifeblood (Coffee), the Barista kindly pointed out a few places we could find a bathroom, but upon arrival to those locales, we found them to be out of order or a line as long as the Prime Meridian.
***Light bulb***
I bust out with my "Irreverent Guide to Manhattan" book and went to the section titled "Where to Pee" (No Kidding). The guidebook tells us to just pop into the lobby of a hotel and use their facilities. We stroll in to the Marriott Suites Times Square and cool as cucumbers make a beeline for the potty.
***The light bulb dims***
My first thought is to hold Deb's stuff, including her coffee, while she goes and then have her reciprocate. My bladder gets the best of me and I just get into the stall next to her. I hang my bags on the hook and place my brand-new-completely-full Starbucks coffee on the convenient little shelf (BIG MISTAKE). I do what I came there for and as I reach to gather my things, CRASH! Down goes my coffee and EXPLODES onto the floor. (This is almost as bad as the loss of my TIDE pen, see: day one) I wash my hands; lay some paper towels on the floor and out comes Deb. She starts to create this big lie to tell the hotel staff. I, on the other hand, decide to go the Mea Culpa route. I go out to the desk, smile, and say, "I have a confession" to the desk clerk. She thinks I am about to tell her where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, but instead I calmly say, "I dropped my coffee in the bathroom, I am really sorry." The desk clerk says no problem and calls housekeeping. Deb and I casually stroll back out to Times Square. I felt so frickin' smooth! Deb was impressed. I have almost recovered from the Empire State Building moment.
Back to Starbucks for a replacement coffee and onto the bus, AGAIN. This time for the Nighttime Loop. Our tour guide is a furry, cute little guy named Dave. Dave has an endearing charm and very dry sense of humor, but for a tour guide, not too chatty. For approximately 2 1/2 hours, we FREEZE OUR ASSES OFF as we travel, in the dark, past my nemesis, the Empire State Building and through Greenwich Village, SoHo, Chinatown and Rockefeller Center, ONE MORE TIME. It does look different at night and you get a different perspective with Dave. Then, we go over the Manhattan Bridge to Brooklyn. Why? I am still not sure. What I do know is that the residents of Brooklyn wave to the bus. This struck me as odd, but then, it is Brooklyn. After a few minutes, I start to get nervous. Dave has taken us to some sort of industrial park. I am pretty sure we are about to get WHACKED. Why in the hell would someone want to see a Brooklyn industrial park in the dark? Then the bus comes to a slow rolling stop and I am trying to figure out if the untouched litre of water in my purse will deflect the bullets. After all, I have a husband and cocker spaniel to go home to. I contemplate saying the rosary, just then, Dave comes on the loud speaker and says; "This is the best nighttime view of the Manhattan skyline." Ahhhhhh, a photo op! I stop looking for rosary beads (not) and bring out the camera. Up until this point, I have chalked up my blurry, somewhat Avant Garde night photography to the movement of the bus. It is at this point that I realize....... I do not know how to take a flipping picture with my camera. I feel like I am back at the Empire State Building all over again.
We get back to Times Square, get off the bus and head for the Subway. The plan is to go back to the hotel, drop off our stuff, freshen up and head to this late night noodle place for some Udon.
When we get off at our subway stop, a man has taken refuge in our exit way. He is all curled up in his green sleeping bag in front of Credit Suisse. We take the other exit and note that this in only the 2nd vagrant we have seen in over 24 hours.
Upon arrival to the hotel, we realize it is after midnight and the noodle house is closed. We go down to the front desk and ask where we can eat close by. He sends us three doors down to the "East Side Diner". It is empty, save for 2 drunk, pimply face guys making assess of themselves. Deb and I take a seat at the counter and order food. The two drunks provide the dinner entertainment. Deb and I get our food and that is when I realize...THIS IS THE BEST GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH I HAVE EVER EATEN!
We go back to the hotel; bellies full and hit the hay!
Friday, November 10, 2006
New York, Day One
Day One, Friday
Well, it all started off just dandy at the Sacramento airport. I was random bag check girl, so I had to step aside and have my personal space violated and my TIDE detergent pen confiscated. This was the beginning of the end! You see......I must, at all times be in the possession of either SHOUT wipes or TIDE pen. It is never a question of IF I will spill something on my shirt; it is merely a matter of WHEN. Traveling without my spot removers could throw off my carefully thought out travel wardrobe. This was not a good sign. But I digress........
Because I was delayed by security, I was one of the last people on the plane. Everyone was waiting impatiently for the last few stragglers to get seated. All of the overhead compartments near me were full, so my carry on bag had to go almost 20 rows away from me. Goodbye buckwheat pillow and Ambien!
So I get in my seat, a middle seat and try to get comfortable......it is not happening. We take off and everything is cool. I am not comfortable, I miss my pillow and I want my Ambien! I finally fall asleep about three hours into the flight only to be awakened with crazy turbulence. No sleeping on the plane.
We get off the plane in NY and go outside to get the super shuttle to our hotel. We wait for almost an hour! We drive around in the shuttle with this crazy driver named Al. He was driving like a maniac, but he takes us and our fellow travelers (another story for another post) all over Queens and Manhattan. We got off our plane around 7:30 but didn't get to our hotel until almost noon. Boy, did we have to pee and we were in desperate need of a Starbucks!
We checked into our hotel. The room and bathroom are TINY, but nice. We freshen up and head directly to STARBUCKS. Coffee in hand, it is now time for my first ride on the New York Subway. Not bad, a little easier and cleaner than Boston's "T".
We when to a store called "Intimacy" for bra fittings. This stores' owner has been on Oprah, The Today Show and What Not To Wear. It is fabulous! I was fitted without Marille even using a tape measure. (Picture this, you are standing there, naked from the waist up and this woman you don..t know is staring at your boobs, UNCOMFORTABLE!) Marille looks at me and makes this HUGE sigh and says, in a French accent; "I am going to have to go to the basement for you.." and off she goes with me topless in the dressing room. She is gone for what seems like and eternity then she is back and hands me a few bras. I start to put one of the bras on and she says; "I like the way you bend over to get the girls in there!" I am trying to not bust out (pardon the pun) into a fit of giggles, but I did not expect the color commentary whilst I put the bra on! When I get the bra on, this tiny woman grabs onto the front of the bra and starts shaking so hard that I almost fall over! She then says, "You have to shake the girls to make sure they are in there correctly!" This scenario is replayed over and over for about an hour. So, I try about a zillion bras on and find 5, plus a sports bra that fit. And just as Marille predicted, I was a three cup sizes bigger than I thought I was.
Deb and I each bought some Bras and off we were to 34th Street(as in Miracle on) to see Macy's. It looks just like the one in SF, but was HOT as an oven. While in Macy's we took a time out to go pee. There in the Macy's women's bathroom waiting room, we started to talk with this classic New York City woman; lots of make-up, nails, hat, dressed to a "T" and full on accent. She proceeded to tell us of all the bargain places to shop and how she has lost so much of her hair over the past year. She moved on and we cracked up.
We took off to Times Square, visited some stores and had dinner. On the way home, we stopped at Grand Central Station and Deb showed me how they restored the whole place. We bought a slice of cheesecake to share later on. We stumbled on the subway and headed back to the hotel. We stopped at Starbucks, again, and got some decaf....came back to the room, ate our cheesecake and Deb is currently asleep on the bed.
Tomorrow will be busier, but more organized!
Well, it all started off just dandy at the Sacramento airport. I was random bag check girl, so I had to step aside and have my personal space violated and my TIDE detergent pen confiscated. This was the beginning of the end! You see......I must, at all times be in the possession of either SHOUT wipes or TIDE pen. It is never a question of IF I will spill something on my shirt; it is merely a matter of WHEN. Traveling without my spot removers could throw off my carefully thought out travel wardrobe. This was not a good sign. But I digress........
Because I was delayed by security, I was one of the last people on the plane. Everyone was waiting impatiently for the last few stragglers to get seated. All of the overhead compartments near me were full, so my carry on bag had to go almost 20 rows away from me. Goodbye buckwheat pillow and Ambien!
So I get in my seat, a middle seat and try to get comfortable......it is not happening. We take off and everything is cool. I am not comfortable, I miss my pillow and I want my Ambien! I finally fall asleep about three hours into the flight only to be awakened with crazy turbulence. No sleeping on the plane.
We get off the plane in NY and go outside to get the super shuttle to our hotel. We wait for almost an hour! We drive around in the shuttle with this crazy driver named Al. He was driving like a maniac, but he takes us and our fellow travelers (another story for another post) all over Queens and Manhattan. We got off our plane around 7:30 but didn't get to our hotel until almost noon. Boy, did we have to pee and we were in desperate need of a Starbucks!
We checked into our hotel. The room and bathroom are TINY, but nice. We freshen up and head directly to STARBUCKS. Coffee in hand, it is now time for my first ride on the New York Subway. Not bad, a little easier and cleaner than Boston's "T".
We when to a store called "Intimacy" for bra fittings. This stores' owner has been on Oprah, The Today Show and What Not To Wear. It is fabulous! I was fitted without Marille even using a tape measure. (Picture this, you are standing there, naked from the waist up and this woman you don..t know is staring at your boobs, UNCOMFORTABLE!) Marille looks at me and makes this HUGE sigh and says, in a French accent; "I am going to have to go to the basement for you.." and off she goes with me topless in the dressing room. She is gone for what seems like and eternity then she is back and hands me a few bras. I start to put one of the bras on and she says; "I like the way you bend over to get the girls in there!" I am trying to not bust out (pardon the pun) into a fit of giggles, but I did not expect the color commentary whilst I put the bra on! When I get the bra on, this tiny woman grabs onto the front of the bra and starts shaking so hard that I almost fall over! She then says, "You have to shake the girls to make sure they are in there correctly!" This scenario is replayed over and over for about an hour. So, I try about a zillion bras on and find 5, plus a sports bra that fit. And just as Marille predicted, I was a three cup sizes bigger than I thought I was.
Deb and I each bought some Bras and off we were to 34th Street(as in Miracle on) to see Macy's. It looks just like the one in SF, but was HOT as an oven. While in Macy's we took a time out to go pee. There in the Macy's women's bathroom waiting room, we started to talk with this classic New York City woman; lots of make-up, nails, hat, dressed to a "T" and full on accent. She proceeded to tell us of all the bargain places to shop and how she has lost so much of her hair over the past year. She moved on and we cracked up.
We took off to Times Square, visited some stores and had dinner. On the way home, we stopped at Grand Central Station and Deb showed me how they restored the whole place. We bought a slice of cheesecake to share later on. We stumbled on the subway and headed back to the hotel. We stopped at Starbucks, again, and got some decaf....came back to the room, ate our cheesecake and Deb is currently asleep on the bed.
Tomorrow will be busier, but more organized!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)