College Party

I can't believe it's been 7 years since I've been to a college party (obviously, I'm too old to relive the experience). But I occasionally pause to reminisce on how crazy they were.

I don't remember entire parties, or even half of parties, as I usually drank as many beers as my 19 year old body could handle. I do, however, remember arriving at a party tipsy, beginning to follow my friends down the stairs towards the keg & majority of the party, loosing my already unsteady footing & sailing down the stairs on my a$$. Only to have my friends turn around and laugh harder than they've ever laughed in their lives, as I sat on the disgusting basement floor of a slummy P*ttsburgh rowhome-turned-frathouse, with all drunken party eyes on me.

Now for my sluttiest evening ever:
I also *vaguely* recall heading to a party in the hometown of a kid I met at work (on campus)- he was a year younger. I didn't know that he was in the middle of a messy break up with his high school girlfriend at the time. So I made out with him (obviously) & his girlfriend and her entourage became irate (rightly so). I had had a few drinks, and I hadn't yet pieced together the sordid pieces of this puzzle, so I recall feeling very confused as to why everyone at the party hated me. But fear not, I didn't let it get me down. When I realized what was going on, I felt bad, and then made out w his best friend in the bathroom (who unfortunately has never forgotten me-- YEARS LATER when I'd see him on the street, he would make sure to say hi, stop & chat, etc..) I'm starting to wonder why I'm retelling this story.... ANYWAY, my poor college roommate who I dragged along (N*atalie) is not drinking and is seeing this through sober eyes. She is understandably disturbed & calls me out of the bathroom. When I emerged, I vividly recall her telling me, "Those girls were calling you a slut (the friends of the girlfriend of the guy who invited me)." "But I was just kissing," I tell her, dead serious. She rolls her eyes and tells me we're leaving. Anyway, we left, but not before I made out with the older brother of the guy who had a gf. But I don't remember exactly where this incident fit into the story becuase I know we left shortly after the bathroom incident. Oh well.

I confessed the story to J before we got married, thinking it might be a deal breaker.
J: "How old were you?"
Me: "20."
J: Silence.
Me: "Deal breaker? Super slut?"
J: "I mean, I probably would've called you a slut behind your back if I were there, but I also would've made out with you that night if I had the chance."

Something tells me he would've had a chance.....

Stinky Me

I'm becoming an old fart for the following reasons:

1. Usually the beagle and I battle for the bed. When J agrees to kick her out, I cheer as she's escorted out the door. Afterall, it's my side of the bed she desires to occupy (the b*tch wants me gone!). Last night was different. Mid-evening, she hopped over to my side of the bed, laid down with the length of her body against the length of mine, rested her weary-wee beagle head right on my chest, and let out a huge sigh of comfort. I always knew the SOB loved me.

2. We paid people to do construction on our house. This is HUGE. They're tearing down the balcony off of our bedroom and replacing it with a new balcony. Then they're installing a deadbolt on our basement door & fixing our fence. We are real people. (These things are necessary, though. Not luxuries. So maybe we're not that real. Maybe we're just cheap & pissed off that we're now homeowners and can't just have the Landlord deal with it.....)

3. At 9pm, I'm often sad it isn't 10pm and therefore an acceptable bed time.

4. I watched UFO Hunters last night.

5. I started letting myself go (at least in terms of my bar class & law school)- I don't wear make up, I don't change from my pajamas, I don't even wipe the residual mascara from underneath my eyes. I brush my teeth and re-apply deoderant. When people try to approach me I get really nervous and think "No! Don't talk to me! That wasn't part of the plan!" And then I spend our entire conversation wishing I did all of the above and then some ("some" being shower, make-up, hair brush, etc..literally, the basics.).

Maybe I'm not becoming an old fart... maybe I'm just gross....

Again, Flat Tire

So ya know how it's been really nice & now its pouring? I woke up, studied for a few hours for the bar exam (Real Property, specifically), brushed tresses, put on shoes (I planned on attending my bar class in my pajamas- the ones I slept in), chucked a carrot in Hannah's crate & stormed out the door. I realized my tire was flat. To make matters worse, my neighbor (the woman) was outside w her child staring at... the recycling truck? Unsure. The stuff of 2 yr olds. She intentionally (but not rudely) didn't turn around when I walked out (probably because she was in her PJ's &, unlike me, doesn't feel comfortable being seen in public while donning them), so I figured I'd get in my car & zoom quickly away. Incorrect. I stared at tire, felt bad for myself, snuck back into my house (she was still on porch, pretending not to see me). I called triple A & purchased my own yearly membership. I didn't use my mom's. Huge step.

As I was on a "responsibilities of adulthood" roll, I also called Terimex & set up a free bug evaluation. Yesterday J noted our wooden balcony was crawling with little tan bugs. Millions. After throwing up in my mouth, I researched "termites" & determined they were probably not termites (as termites look like ants... with wings). Part of me wonders if they're baby termites... Either way, I want 'em GONE. So bug man is coming soon.

Triple A dude just left, reprimanded me for getting my tire patched last month at Pep Boys (who knew?) & told me driving in this sh*tty weather on a donut wheel is dangerous (nice) & said- "Don't you be drivin' around all day on that thing!" "OK," I said, knowing damn well that that is exactly what would be happening.

Alright, my work here is done. On to Torts....

Jon & Kate

So I totally watched it last night. GAHHH, I suck. I was even embarassed that J knew that I was watching.

Venice Hotel Rooms

So the Venice Hotels pride themselves on being "Venetian," obviously. They're mostly owned by families who have owned them for hundreds of years. They have NEVER been redecorated. And I found them creepy. The floors creaked, the paint was dark, mirrors tarnished, ceilings gold, furniture better suited for a haunted house, bedspread heavy satin & blood read, bed was rickety, bathroom window looked out upon a courtyard featuring a bunch of Italian hotel-workers smoking cigs.... All in all, the picture of romance. The only modern aspect of our hotel room was an extremely mismatched flat screen TV- which I thanked God for & insisted that we keep on at all hours of the day & night.

Before they escorted us to this luxurious room, they took us to a room with two twin beds. With a nightstand in between. The silence was deafening. Shortly thereafter, they informed us that we were in the wrong room.... our correct room might as well have had 2 double beds. In the end, it would have made no difference.

Our room was not near any other rooms, it was next to the maids' quarters- this large area where the maids convened, along with anyone else in the hotel who was going to breakfast or arriving at night, etc.. (basically, coming or going). We could hear every. spoken. word/breath/cry. So obviously, they could hear every word we said. Not cool. We spent a large portion of Venice hiding in our room freaked out. At night, both of us had nightmares (no lie). Mine involved a ghost haunting our hotel room- & usually nightmares make no sense (like me running from a kidnapper who turned into my mom and then into my cousin) (Note: Venice was our favorite city, but our least favorite hotel. Apparently all the hotels are like this- they pride themselves on being Old World).

I cracked up when we were checking out and I read the guest book. NOBODY in that hotel spoke English (which is rare for an Italian hotel in a major city, I've found), so they probably weren't able to read the guest book. Someone wrote, 'Your hotel is a piece of sh*t! Thanks for nothing!' That comment still brings a smile to my face.

Unfortunately, we don't even have pictures of this gem. It was too depressing.

Blah

I can't update for realz today because I'm too tired. I have to head "home" today for my great uncle's funeral (I didn't know him well at all, just going because it was my grandpa's last living sibling & he's really sad). RIP, great uncle. He was old and it was totally his time. Maybe it was his time a few years ago-- ya know-- one of those situations. Much suffering.

I also desperately need a haircut. Like, a real one. Because of my constant moving around, finding a new salon is SUCH A HASSLE. URGH. Particularly for me, as I don't need my hair "styled," just cut. In a straight line. I asked J to do it (with hair cutting scissors) & he gets all upset. I'm like, "J. Can you cut in a straight line?" J: "it's not that easy!" Me: "Yes, it is. Straight line." Halfway through the haircut- literally half of my hair is 3 inches shorter than the rest-- he drops the scissors and tells me to go to a professional. He didn't understand that NOW, with my hair 2 dramatically different lengths, THAT is not an option. So I cut the rest of it myself. I couldn't understand why he was upset with me when I was the 1 w crazy hair.

I then felt bad because he told me he was just overwhelmed at the prospect of ruining my hair. Laugh. Little does he know how I take negative pride in my hair &, in fact, hate it. Poor guy.

The Gondola Ride

As it was our honeymoon & we were in Venice, etc... we decided we should take a gondola ride. We didn't want to do it in the day because all tourists (myself included) stop, stare & usually photograph the gondola & subsequently, whoever is on it-- way too public. Words cannot express the amount of tourists in Venice in August. I've never felt so claustrophicin my life. Nonetheless, the most beautiful city I've ever visited.

So the gondola ride- we knew it needed to happen at night. My tour book said that it should cost no more than $X but the number of gondoleers is limited at night. So we ended up overpaying for sure, but whatevs, right? We hop on and we're cruising around these little canals. Coolest thing ever. The drawback: Our gondoleer. Think used car salesman in stripes. Awful. We weren't like trying to whisper sweet nothing and kiss and crap- we were just trying to enjoy the ride-- look around, point out crazy sh*t-- in relative silence... but to no avail.

1. He kept trying to upcharge.

example:

Me: can you take us on the grand canal?

Him (internally: oh, that's where she wants to go. they will pay a lot) externally: beautiful! an extra $50 euro)

Me: WHAT? nevermind.

Jim, under his breath: f*cking goon.

Me, under breath: I hate him.

Jim, under breath: me too. whatever.

2. He kept trying to TALK to us- & turn this into some sort of f*cking guided tour!

Him: Pssst! Pssst! Look at me!

We have to turn our bodies ALL the way around (there is a reason we had our back to him!) and ask what?

Him: That is where Hemingway stayed!

Me: Nice.

Turned back around. WHO CARES?!!!

Him: Psst! Psst! Look at me!

We comply, staring at him. This time I'm impatient becuase he's so irritating.

Him: That building is really old (or some other f*cking obvious factoid).

We don't respond and just turn around.

I was so pissed. It would've been so awesome if he would've just understood that gondoleers are to be seen and not heard (unless they want to sing or whatever). He was such a creep.

Our prayers for a cool and non-irritating boat trip came true, however. We took a private taxi from the water entrance of our hotel to the airport in Venice. Best. Boat trip. Ever.