Uh, can you just come get me?

So. It's been a while. And I'm fresh out of interesting/droll posting ideas. So we're going to go back to my Swiss escapades, and revisit one of those; namely the time I probably almost died on my way to Heidelberg. 

To be really fun, I'm going to narrate in third person. Let's begin.

It's late evening on some day during the week. The narrator can't remember. It's been a while.

Anyway, Jordan is travelling to visit her friend in the idyllic city of Heidelberg, a city that's been described to her as quaint, charming, and probably a lot like the place Belle from "Beauty and the Beast" lived in, if Belle had been cool and German, instead of French. Whatevs.

What I should have seen.

A nervous adventurer, Jordan begins questioning her decision to embark at night, since now it's dark which makes her uneasy. Having already made her 4 scheduled connections, she clutches her over-packed suitcase tightly as she waits to make the 5th and final transfer, since European trains are confusing; Jordan surmises this is just for spite.

Upon hearing "blahioehah;jakj;dfHEIDELBERGjiohaiheaoha" Jordan promptly gets off the train, visions of pigeons singing as bakers break out some freshly baked night bread dancing through her head, when she is met with.....darkness. And scary youths leaning against what looks to be an abandoned barn that is ACTUALLY a ticket stand in the light of day because that's not creepy.

Not wanting to linger and see what the German teens who linger by dark train tracks do to viel spass at night, she promptly heads up to the main street.....and there is nothing. She knows now that something is terribly wrong, because this town was supposed to be cute, and this place is dark and shady and probably full of meth-heads. She surmises. It's dark out. She can't really see.

What I actually saw....not really....but maybe

She decides to pick a direction and walk. There's light to the left, so off she goes. Don't worry though, the source of the light is not a musical Disney town, but instead, a factory. Of what Jordan did not discover, as she had to collapse on her suitcase and sob for a moment. It might be a good time to let you, the reader know, that at this point she discovers her phone doesn't work, since it was Swiss, and well, she wasn't in Switzerland. Moron. 

Her sob-fest is soon interrupted by footsteps, and she looks up to see a man walking on the other side of the road, towards her. He is clearly a serial killer and she begins speed-walking towards the train station while resigning herself to either a short life in white-slavery (she'll never make it long who are we kidding), or a roadside death. 

Salvation appears in the form of a phone booth, and Jordan quickly steps inside, only to discover that all the windows have been broken out, since this is clearly a really swanky part of town. She hastily pulls out the 10 euros she has in her name, several of them coins, and deposits them into the coin slot. While trying to punch her friend's number (which she later learns was changed prior to this evening; we're really great at planning) she calls the Steiner family twice. Does she know them? Of course not. She considers, briefly, asking them where they are, where she is, and if they could maybe pick her up. But the second time she accidentally calls, they sound angry (well, angrier than normal German already sounds) so she decides against it.

She despondently makes her way to the bench by the train station, determined to wait either for dawn or her kidnapping, when a Rastafarian girl with dreadlocks comes into view. Leaping up with the morale of Amanda Bynes' agent, Jordan runs over and asks her if there is a hotel or hostel anywhere near there. Boho German  chick responds that indeed there is....in Heidelberg. 

Jordan then learns she got off at (rough translation) "Heidelberg outskirts" and not "Heidelberg Main Town". 

She'd just like you to know that the fault here is obviously Germany's gross deficit of creativity and not, in fact, her poor planning and shoddy German skills. I mean, that's basically the same name....for two towns within 10 miles of each other. I think I know what we're all thinking: Go home city planner. You're drunk. 

"Moses, MOSES!"

Happy almost-end-of-Lent friends! Even though I'm not super Catholic anymore, I have (and probably always will) love Lent. Believe me, I'm as curious as you. I know for most it's a somber, introspective time full of sacrifice and fish fillets (I hear Wendy's has the best), but still, for whatever reason I love it. Maybe I have an over-developed guilt complex (very likely since I went to Catholic school my whole life). Or maybe I just like purple, or hearing the frustration when my friends who swear like sailors attempt to give up curse words for 40 days. Whatever.

One of the definite major reasons is Cecil B Demille's thoroughly dramatic classic, "The Ten Commandments". Every year ABC plays it on Holy Saturday-except that year a long time ago when they tried to do a remake with that guy from "Ever After" and we all shuddered a lot and went to bed angry-and every year, the REAL version is a wonder to behold. Sure, some people (like my family) see it as an out-dated snoozefest but I see only the greatness of Charlton Heston's Moses beard.

I will forever cherish this movie. Here's why:

1) It's like 18 hours long

Ok, so maybe I appreciated this more when I was 9 and bedtime was thwarted in the name of my viewing this cinematic gem in its entirety. I got to stay up until 11, which was like dawn.

2) The dialogue

is ridic. And so melodramatic. And magical. I've never heard the world "bondage" more in my life. Say it ten time fast and try not to giggle. 

But my favorite line has to be when Moses is about to part the Red Sea with a little help from the Big Man, and the narrator, in his epic narrator voice says, "God opens the sea with a blast of his nostril". Is that supposed to be poetic? Because now all I can think of is God with a sinus infection. Which raises many questions. Does he have a neti pot? Does notorious G-O-D use kleenex or a handkerchief? Has he checked WebMD to make sure it's not more serious? Way to go Cecil, now I missed the Jews crossing the Red Sea.

3) I'll be a slave if I can have skin that dewy

So I mean, slavery is wrong. So wrong. But have you SEEN THE SLAVES IN THIS MOVIE?? They are beautiful. They are shiny. They are ripped. The Egyptians were clearly supplying them with trainers, seaweed wraps, and algae moisturizer from the Mediterranean. Maybe we got it wrong, and really Egypt was just the Hollister of it's day; you had to be asked to work there, and only if you were gorgeous, and they were loath to let you quit since finding walking talking angels of beauty to employ is hard.  

(No but seriously slavery is terrible and any country that practiced it should be embarrassed). 

4) Because no matter how many times you watch it, you're always a little concerned about Joshua and Lilia

Also note the dewiness and hot bodies.

Ok, so they're two slaves and they are adorable and in love. So then in the grand tradition of drama, they are torn apart by the evil fat gross Egyptian dude. I forget his name. We'll call him Neil. He's the worst. Like finding a hair in your hummus.

Naturally,  Neil takes a shine to pretty Lilia, finds out about Lilia's love for Joshua and is all "Muhahaha (evilly twirls the mustache he has since he is such a cliche) you have to love me because you are abnormally beautiful and I must have you and if you resist I will kill Joshua because somehow I totally know about your intense love for him".

So of course she gets all forcefully gussied up like an Egyptian woman and plays along, blah blah blah, I'm fuzzy on it because I only let myself watch it once a year to retain the magic, blah blah blah,  for some reason Joshua gets whipped and it's unrealistic and depressing and Moses conveniently arrives and accidentally KILLS NEIL (dun dun dun), runs away and later finds out that HE'S JEWISH!? It's like a soap opera!!

Only if knew the Bible story you totally saw it coming.

5) And lastly: Charlton Heston is shirtless for like, the entire first half of the movie:

And sure, maybe rumor has it he was kind of a bigoted jerk, but, well, look: 

Thanks Egyptian dress-code.

My mom said the nuns at her school took them to see this like 10 times because of the film's "Godly message".
Uh-huhhhh.

I would totally have followed him around a desert for 40 years.

So there you have it. And I'd write a good closing only IT'S ON RIGHT NOW SO GO WATCH IT, BYE!

Flirting: A Guide

Ok. I'm going to be extremely general in this intro, so you can all relate. 

We've all been there. There you are now. Eating whatever you're eating. Drinking whatever you're drinking. Doing whatever you're doing. And then BAM there he or she is. That cute person you see when you do that thing or go to that place. And he or she just said "Hi." 

Now, if you're anything like I used to be, nothing could make me (even) more awkward than this situation. Worse than my ability to run into stationary objects laid out in plain sight was my ability to do the ever so awkward silent-panic stare. Oh I rocked that move like Betsy Ross rocked stars and stripes. I was as smooth as Rocky Road ice cream. Until I learned the following.

Come and I shall teach you my ways:

1. No matter what keep talking

The cute person who freaks you out is choking on a mint? Doesn't matter, someone else can do the Heimlich; keep talking. You have nothing else to say? WRONG. Roam and ramble and DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO. Hopefully they'll ask you something you know a lot about. For me, the golden question is book related. For example:

Cute boy: "So, you studied Eng-"

Me: "Oh well, I love Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, really anything by the Brontes or anything British or anything ever written ever (pick up tempo here. I already speak as quick as lightening thanks to natural ability, but you'll get it) and did you know Shakespeare just invented a bunch of words hewasprobablymyfavoriteincollegeamibreathingrightnowdoesn'tmatteryoujustkeeptalkingbecauseTHEREWILLBENOSILECE!

If the other person has time to respond, you're doing it wrong.

2. Say how much you hate something they love:

So nothing is more charming to a potential love interest than a guy or gal with his or her foot in their mouth. Now, the stars kind of have to align for this one, since you haven't been giving them time to tell you what they hate (see #1) but it happens to me allll the time so I'm sure you'll find opportunity. Just try and hate something general that most people love like Christmas Carolers or friendly baristas and say:

"God, aren't chatty Cathies at Starbucks the worst? Friendly people suck in general, but especially the ones who make me talk a ton before I get my coffee fix."

If your luck is anything like mine, your crush's response will be this:

"My uncle owns a coffee shop and is really nice and all my friends are really friendly."

...Perfect. You're on your way.

3. Make no eye contact

Want to look totally obvious? Want their beautiful eyes to distract you? Thought not. This is why even when you are in the throes of a conversation, you never look at them. I don't care if they are on fire. You keep the mystery alive and your eyes on the floor.

3.5 In a somewhat related vein to #3, act like you hate them

They can't know you like them. There's really no reason except that if they do know, it's terrifying.

4. When all else fails, RUN

Did the impossible happen and you ran out of stuff to talk about? Did you make the mistake of looking your crush in the eye? Did you tell the heartwarming tale about how at that one appointment your doctor wouldn't shut up about your good birthing hips?

No matter. You may think there is no escape, but rest assured there is. Run. Run with the clobbering grace of a 3-legged dog. I don't care where you are. Volunteering at a hospital? On a moving train? Bolt.

I don't care if you have to mow down children and/or the elderly. You get outta there as fast as your uncoordinated legs will carry you. Not only will it showcase your sub-par athletic abilities, you might get to mow down children and/or the elderly. 

5. Learn to look good, while looking awful



Cause you know with luck like ours you're going to run into that special someone after  30 minutes of sleep thanks to a sinus infection which is making your nose run with all the ferocity of a Russian gymnast careening at that vault thing.

You will likely be bathed in Pledge your sleep deprived self thought was Febreze air spray since your shower is broken. If you are a girl you will be holding tampons and Preparation H creme (it's for under eyes dammit!). If you are a boy you will be holding GasX and lice shampoo. You will both be glistening with the putrid perspiration that accompanies the infected. Girls, (or boys. no judgement. I don't know your life.) no make-up will balm your dry, tired face. 

Also, you will have just consumed Caesar Salad with extra onions and garlic. Your TMJ doesn't permit you the luxury of gum. Now. MAKE 'EM WANT IT!

And there you have it. I know that my flirty pointers will have you beating them off with sticks. Godspeed, all. And you're welcome.

Why I want to be BFF with Nina Sayers AKA The Swan Queen, and so should you!

We all know that the world of Ballet is competitive (and often times malnourished). If movies like "Center Stage" have taught us anything, it's that ballerinas' lives consist of 30% bulimia, 40% unrequited love, 20% dealing with parental landmines, and 10% dancing. 

The drama. The hook-ups. The bloody toes and retirement at the age of 28. I am obsessed and fascinated by this world, and I for one think the participants would make wonderful friends. I think one deranged dancer in particular would make a particularly wonderful chum. Remember Nina from "Black Swan? Chick would be devoted as hell. Here's why:
                                                      1. Undying (until she dies) loyalty

Think about it. If she was THAT dedicated to ballet, how dedicated would she be to your friendship?? If her track record with dance is any indicator, I'd wager she'd be the kind of pal who would always be there. Always. Sure, maybe hidden in your closet or under your bed, but still, THERE when you really needed her. Or needed to get smothered with your own pillow. Bet she'd be all over that.
 

2. She could teach you Ballet

Come on. The girl has some skill. Especially after she loosened up after some very weird Mila Kunis hallucinations that will not be discussed. She floats with the grace of 1,000 crazy angels, and she could teach you. Oh she could teach you. Unless you mess up and she is then forced to saw off your feet and eat them. I'd remember to point my toes if I were you.


         
3. You'd look SO normal

Yes, we all have days where we feel as insane as that bag lady muttering about the end of days while she eats live pigeons and Taco Bell wrappers. That's normal, I think. But if you were friends with Nina, you could leave the house covered in glitter and lemon curd while singing calypso, and you would look. so. sane. And yes, I think lemon curd would make stellar moisturizer. 


4. She taught you life's greatest lesson

It's this: If you really love something, kill yourself for it. Nina loved ballet. More than her mother, her alter ego, and her hallucinations of Mila. And when her white swan character was supposed to die, Nina really DIED. I mean, I've heard of method acting, but she took this to a whole new level. Ya hear that, small child who yearns to one day become an astronaut? Go jump off a bridge in the name of NASA, and make all your dreams come true.

I'm just gonna go be a Killer Whale

That's it. I'm done. Job search over. Where's the towel? It's thrown in. So now what?

Will I cop-out in any of the usual ways you ask? Join the Russian Circus? Marry a wealthy 80 year old investment banker? Move to New York under the pretense of becoming a method actress only to nab a job at Hooters and five roommates in a two bedroom apartment? Go to beauty school, drop out, develop a nasty meth habit and a cardboard box address on 6th and Madison with shoebox throw pillows?

Negatory.

I want to be a Killer Whale. Sure, you say it's impossible, but my mom and pop, and my old friend Mr Rogers said I could be anything dammit. And that's my choice. I think it's a fine one. And I think I'd be a great fit.

First off, I love team work, and I love being part of big family gatherings. So hunting parties? I got this. My veganish taste buds could totally develop a love for raw seal meat. Cute, chipper, innocent seal meat. 

Small price to pay really when you get to call a pod of Killer Whales family. The underwater version of "The Waltons",  Orcas hang out fo' life. As loyal as Lassie before the rabies, they have each others' backs, er, fins. You get plastic six-pack rings stuck on you? They'll find a way to get them off. You get stuck on a beach? They are not going to come get you since that's certain death, but they'll hang around off shore and "eeeeeeeek" out some encouragements.

You don't see that with people these days. Pretty sure if I got plastic trash stuck on my nose I'd get ridiculed, not rescued. Clearly I hang with the wrong species.

Secondly, I love the ocean. Seriously, love it, like most people. But I bet your bottom dollar the goal of those other people is to live NEAR the briny deep. I'd get to live IN IT. Who's laughing now? Huh? While you're watching from shore as I majestically leap into the air and dive down for however long Killer Whales can hold their breath and get to whine out weird sonar, know how you'll be feeling? Jealous, that's what.

Thirdly, come on every girl and gay guy child of the 90s. You still love Jesse from "Free Willy". I know I do. Snarky. Sandy wavy hair. Those hideous oversized sweaters. The fact that this kid could run around a coastal town and hijack boats and FREE WHALES HE'S BEFRIENDED with no parental supervision....that's everything on my ideal male checklist. And I could BE that whale he becomes BFF with. AND I could eat that doe-eyed chick with the bad cut-offs he's into, and blame it on sheer instinct. "Ooops did I eat her? Jeesh THAT'S embarrassing. I don't even LIKE scrawny, needy, stringy haired chicks. Sorry. Want me to make it up to you by leaping over you standing on a rock as you point upwards dramatically? Great."

Lastly, cards on the table. I am a messy eater. TERRIBLE. When I'm through with a meal, it looks like the aftermath caused by a mini table twister. There is carnage. And so many crumbs. Eating with me is like sitting down across from a hulking denture-wearing Hungarian at a liverwurst eating contest, only I'm messier. On land, this is sometimes problematic. In the sea....EVERYTHING FLOATS. I'd never drop ANY FOOD. I'd look like a classy lady all the time. Life complete.

So basically, this is happening. My farewell party will be next week at the aquarium. Please bring lots of Tuna and it's been nice knowing you, landlubbers. 

Reasons why I want to hate Ina Garten....and one why I can't

Howdy. I'm the Barefoot Contessa

If you're anything like me, and you like to bombard yourself with pictures of domestic bliss you will never attain, you probably all know this woman. If not, she has a cooking show, try to keep up. And here are the reasons I really want to hate her:

1."Barefoot" MY foot

Yeaaaa right. Have you SEEN that kitchen?? Have you SEEN those trips she and her mysterious husband take?? The woman clearly owns shoes. They are probably $8 million. The tragic thing is, if we take any kind of hint from her hairstyle and ill-fitting blouses, they are probably ghastly. Like super expensive custom made clogs. Or platform flip-flops made out of 14K gold.

2. "Back to Basics"?

(This plays every episode after the intro, and every time I have to wonder which editor let that slide.)

Let's just re-create a scene really quickly and you'll see what I mean:

*Ina walks in placing her custom made bamboo fishing rod in the sterling silver umbrella holder*

"Oh, hello again. Today we'll be making homemade basil-pesto salmon puffs with a horseradish tarter sauce. Here's my handsome fish I just caught 5 minutes ago."

*Holds up fish carcass*

"Now, if you must catch it the night before, that's alright; it'll give you more time to whittle some mixing spoons and construct your own fishing smoker. I have mine all set up here. In you go Sir Salmon.

*She plops in the salmon who is magically cleaned*

"Now I've received numerous inquiries about using fresh herbs over dried. My answer to this, is that if you want to make easy, putrid food to be used as compost or to be thrown at others in ridicule, then by all mean use dried. If you want to make something delicious and edible so your absent spouse will look at you, then fresh is the only way to go.

Also, there have been many speculations about the fact that  I barely seem married, and that my husband rarely appears on camera. I would just like to assure everyone that he is simply a busy economist and is in no way connected to the French-Canadian mob. And the French-Canadians' one legacy Celine Dion is not being held for ransom in our basement  on a diet of my garlic herb bread and seltzer. No. And that yacht was a gift."

*Starts putting on wellies*

"Now to gather long-grain rice from your rice paddy for a pilaf...."

3. "Friends"

For as irritating as this woman is, she's more popular than a rooster in a henhouse. Seriously, why? She makes a Martha Stewart recipe look like a cop-out Lean Cuisine, and her Dutch Boy haircut doesn't disguise the fact that she doesn't possess a chin. She says things like "Chicken Salad Veronique" and "Zucchini Vichyssoise" with a straight face. She'd make Julia Child feel inadequate. All in all, I'd rather rub my arm with a cheese grater for an hour than be in the same room with this woman. I can only assume all her "friends" are highly paid and intimidated into silence by Ina's skills with a paring knife.

4. "She and her husband split their time between their homes in New York, The Hamptons, and Paris"

....Of course they do.

All these are reasons are enough to truly despise a person. And I desperately want to. But I can't....because....

I want to eat her food. I long to taste the zing of Chipotle Roasted Nuts. I want the playful flavors of Smoked Salmon Spread and Cucumber Tartine to tango upon my tongue. I want to live in her perfect pan-seared world. I want to rarely be around her and still reap the flavorful benefits.

I want to marry Ina Garten. 

Guys, grow up, grow a pair, or go home.

Ok. Here it is. Let's get real for a second. Like real Prada and not the fancy knock-offs that fell off the back of the truck and are now being sold half-price by the urine-soaked homeless. No we're talking real, authentic, designer handbags the prices of which could buy me food for a year.

Calm down. This isn't a political or ethical rant. But it is a rant. Here goes:

Men of the world: I'm gonna need you to stop.

I have this friend.....I know people say that, but really, this time I really do have a friend. And something happened to her recently. And it's happened to her and many other friends, many times. And it needs. to. end.

Now, I know we've all done things in or out of relationships involving members of the opposite sex (or same, go Massachusetts!) that we are not proud of. I myself have made many mistakes. Too needy, too clingy, too abrupt, too aloof, I mean, the list goes on and on. I've probably hurt people I haven't meant to hurt, and been hurt myself. Really most days it seems like dating is one big circle of hurt. Like a Curves circuit. Crap.

I'm sorry, I know they're "smiling" and "happy" but that just looks excruciating. 

I digress. So my friend. She's awesome. Like a female Randy from "Say Yes to the Dress". She's sassy, and fun, and she'll tell it like it is. That dress makes you look fat? She'll tell ya you look like a cow dressed up for a cheese commercial. But in a super nice way. She's gorgeous and really just great. Boys seem to like her. I mean, they really like her....at first. Then, suddenly, soooo suddenly, seriously, like less time than it takes for Nicholas Sparks' main characters who used to hate each other to magically fall in love, they drop off the face of the earth. True, perhaps she and these boys weren't in an "official" relationship, but let's examine the evidence:

A) They tell her she's "glowing". Which, yes, could be an alert to a severe reaction to radiation exposure, but I'm thinking it was complimentary.

B) They call her just to "chat". All the time. From all the men I know and have talked to, this phenomenon is about as common as managing to watch a show without seeing one of those damn ASPCA ads during breaks.....I'm saying it's rare. Which I've been told means a guy digs ya.

C) They kiss. Now I know we're all not Amish, and for most of us this isn't as big a deal as it used to be. But  come on. It's not THAT casual yet. Like, I don't walk up to my Starbucks barista and go to town on his mouth because he made me a bomb Earl Grey Latte...I might want to but I control myself. 

The defense rests.

And sure, sometimes it happens. You just don't jive with someone, so you digitally free them from your phone contacts and skip on your merry way. I am a huge employer of the Houdini act. But for men I didn't MEAN to meet. Let me take you back, to a little town I like to call Chicago, 2010. The Blackhawks had just won the Stanley cup. I had won the attentions of this guy, we'll call him *Ben.

*I call him Ben because we met at a celebration at a bar and I have no idea what his name actually is. Also I know what you're thinking, but this was a G encounter. The only one night stand this chica enters into is with pans full of brownies. So much eating at night....so much morning shame at the edible carnage. But that's another story.*

Anyway, I met Ben. And from the moment we met, twas understood that ours was a love forged in the consumption of $4 Long Islands and flamed by the confused, misplaced, fair-weather (on my end) excitement over the win of a Chicago sports team. And like all Chicago athletic legacies, of course it didn't last.

And in a few weeks when he called me to hang out I was perplexed. Not only because he was saved as "Fedora Guy" (his choice of head-wear was apparently more memorable than his name) in the outer recesses of my phone, but because I had always known that our affair was based upon pretentious discussions about Joshua Radin and Percy Shelley, and was doomed to be as brief and fleeting as Patrick Kane's attention span. So I never called back. And that was that. No harm. No foul. Because on some level we both knew. Jeeze, I'm really hitting it out of the park with these sports references tonight. Go team.

No, but it was fine. Because we talked for three seconds one night. We didn't know each other. 

But you boys out there. You know the girls you string along but never call. Why? Cause guess what, I've been on the other end a time or two. And really, we just want to know. Give it to us straight. I promise we won't explode, or god forbid, cry at you. We won't go postal or threaten to jump off a bridge. You're not that great, and we have uteri (is that the plural? ew), not personality disorders. Contrary to popular thought, our ovaries do not make us psychotic. 

So calm down. We're big girls, and we're stronger than we look, mostly because of jerks like you. WE and our uteri (*shudder*; I can't believe that's the plural) will be FINE. You, well? We don't care.

And you. You boy out there. You made sure you got to know my friend. And you had an understanding. And then you chose to cut and run, despite that understanding. And that is why, young lad, if I ever find you, I will strangle you with your large and small intestines, until you  beg for death, provided the removal of said intestines, doesn't kill you initially. Either way. It's gonna suck for you. 

So, men of the world. Stop with the games. Stop with the lies and the evasions. Enough. We can take whatever you can throw at us and then some. Because if you do decide that you want to stay with us, well, ok I guess. But if you are an idiot and ditch us we get to eat ice cream and watch Titanic on loop for a few weeks. So either way. We win.