For those of you who don't speak Italian, that is something you say when you are full...I'm thinking it is like when we say we are stuffed or couldn't eat another bite or something like that. I have essentially eaten my way through Italy. Many friends of Casey's have invited us over for meals. Meals in Italy are a bit different than in America. They have delicious appetizers, followed by a pasta course, then a meat course (or, in the case of last night, two meat courses), and finally dessert (or two desserts another night)! But this is not what I really want to write about.
A couple days ago we were in Verona, which is a gorgeous Italian city (you know, "In fair Verona where we lay our scene..."). And Verona certainly is "fair". Again, I am getting sidetracked. Casey's friend Costanza lives in Verona. Her family owns one of the biggest wineries in the area, and she and her mom took us to dinner. We began with an aperitivo, basically drinks and appetizers, and then headed to the restaurant. Costanza recommended items on the menu for us to order. One of which was cavallo. For those of you who speak Spanish, you may be able to guess what this is. It is horse. I have eaten it. And it is good. It was braised (sort of like a pot roast) and served with polenta. I also tried donkey that night. Aren't I brave?
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Adoro Italia!
Italy. Where to begin? I could write pages. I had a mild panic at LAX when I realized I'd forgotton my purse-containing my passport- in the car of the person who dropped us off. She didn't happen to have her cellphone with her and has a history of running errands when up early in the morning. So we had to hope she went home immediately to get the message that my passport was in the car. She wanted to stop, but i'm pretty sure God stopped her, because she missed a couple exits and went straight home. One hour later I had my passport and could check in. Aaahhh! Here is a list of some of my amazing Italian moments:
--Wandering streets at night strung from end to end with Christmas lights
--Shops filled with amazing food: homemade tortellini, salami, prosciotto, wheels of parmesan, artichoke, wine, pastries, bread. All lined up and displayed like jewels.
--Starting every morning with cappaccino
--Spending time drinking wine with twenty year old Italians, wishing I could speak their language.
--Walking the winding streets under miles of porticos
--Years old churches on every corner.
So much more. But I only have 5 minutes left. Tonight Lisa arrives. I love you all and Buon Natale!
--Wandering streets at night strung from end to end with Christmas lights
--Shops filled with amazing food: homemade tortellini, salami, prosciotto, wheels of parmesan, artichoke, wine, pastries, bread. All lined up and displayed like jewels.
--Starting every morning with cappaccino
--Spending time drinking wine with twenty year old Italians, wishing I could speak their language.
--Walking the winding streets under miles of porticos
--Years old churches on every corner.
So much more. But I only have 5 minutes left. Tonight Lisa arrives. I love you all and Buon Natale!
Monday, December 12, 2005
Beware of the blog that bites
So, as most of you know, Saturday was my Christmas party and I love love loved it! It was everything I hoped it would be times approximately 500. By the end of the night I just felt so completely blessed and was essentially floating on a cloud. I could not stop smiling the next day (well, at least once the post-proseco effects wore off in the morning). There is basically nothing better in the world than having all the people one loves stuffed into your candlelit home, eating your lovingly prepared food, talking, laughing, and mingling. I felt so loved and had so much fun. Then came last night.
After church Sunday night, I came home and decided to check myspace before heading to bed. Of course, because I willingly admit to internet stalking a particular person I have a crush on, I decided to scope out his page before signing off. Now, this certain someone...hmm...let's call him Bryan Emerald, had made a brief appearance at my party (as if the party wasn't great enough!) where I proceeded to chat with him for a short while before he left, complaining of a headache. I, of course, was thrilled that he'd come and gushed for the majority of the evening about our "great eye contact". Bryan Emerald also happens to blog quite regularly on myspace, and when I viewed his page, I noticed a new entry titled "Christmas Party Cannibalism". It had been posted the day after my party, so with anticipation on what he may have written, I clicked it open and began to read the following blog entry (I hope it's not plagarism to blog a blog):
After going to see Narnia with a bunch of friends, and with a head full of drugs I went to a Christmas party last night. My eyes were like swamps, and I, three days unshaven to boot. I surely looked my dankest. All the champagne, smiles, schmoozing, eggnog, red, green, noise, Christmas jazz music, strung lights, cheer, and crampedness of the place really drove me to the edge. I was so groggy it was like I was viewing the whole scene through a veil of slow-shuttered fog. Other than standing in the kitchen talking to the hostess for a spell, I only remember one thing of my twenty-or-so minutes spent at the party. There was this girl I walked by on my way out. Tall, really tall, and skinny as a rail. Black slacks and a red, really tailored blouse that hung on her frame perfectly. She looked like a real live model, she really did. She was wearing a really gaunt, serious look plastered on her face (though it may have just been her reaction to the sight of me), her nose stuck up in the air so as to almost hit the ceiling. The funny part about her appearance, however, was not her clothes, nor even her expression; it was her accessory of choice. With her left arm bent at a ninety-degree angle, she carried out in front of her a long, skinny, breadstick. The breadstick must have been about forteen inches long, and with one bite taken off the top. The breadstick struck me immediately because it made her look as if she were carrying around a toy model of herself. I could not help but think the breadstick was also her entire dinner for the night.
I finished reading the entry with a sad and heavy heart. I hated just about everything he had written. I was frustrated, shocked, disappointed, and basically pissed off. There were several things, in particular, that were upsetting to me.
1) His use of the word "schmoozing". He was there for all of 15 minutes, and the entireity of that time was spent talking with me in the kitchen. He had no opportunity to see any "schmoozing". If he had been a better, more friendly person, and actually went into the party, he probably would have been amazed at how open, genuine, friendly, and all around amazing my friends are. He reduced my lovely party to something superficial and cheesy, like a random bar scene or office party.
2) Along the same lines was the flippancy with which he described the party as a whole. I spent a lot of time and money on that party. I thought out all the details. I did this not to garner praise or anything like that. I did it because I love my friends and I love to have them together, entertained, and having fun. I tried to be a good hostess to him. I offered him food, something to drink, and talked with him for a while. He did not eat a bite, drink a sip, and he reduced our conversation to "talking to the hostess for a spell." He describes "strung lights" that didn't even exist, and "Christmas Jazz music" that wasn't all that jazzy to paint some sort of shallow party atmosphere that wasn't even there.
3) Finally, and most apalling to me, was his description of my friend. Yes, she is tall and thin. And she actually is in commercials. His comment about the breadstick being a "toy model of herself" didn't even bother me so much. It was the fact that he made the judgement that she must be starving herself that I found so offensive. Since when was being thin and beautiful a crime? God created us each differently. Some of us were created tall and thin. Why is that so horrible? And then, on top of all of that, to describe her as being stuck up with "a gaunt, serious look plastered on her face...her nose stuck up in the air so as to almost hit the ceiling." He didn't even talk to the girl, but apparantly he saw everything he needed to know to make an assessment of her in about five seconds. And she is not stuck up. She is kind, and thoughtful, and friendly, and generous. Had he given her (or anyone else at my party...or even just my party) more than five minutes of his time, he may have realized this.
So I am going to do what he apparantly didn't have the time or decency to do: make a judgement of a person based on evidence, not on immediate impressions. Bryan Emerald thinks that he is great. He thinks that he can write thought provoking and poignant stories at the expense of others. He thinks this makes him cool. In reality, it is mean spirited and immature. I thought we stopped putting others down to make ourselves look better years ago. He is hot, but he most definitely is not worth another glance.
After church Sunday night, I came home and decided to check myspace before heading to bed. Of course, because I willingly admit to internet stalking a particular person I have a crush on, I decided to scope out his page before signing off. Now, this certain someone...hmm...let's call him Bryan Emerald, had made a brief appearance at my party (as if the party wasn't great enough!) where I proceeded to chat with him for a short while before he left, complaining of a headache. I, of course, was thrilled that he'd come and gushed for the majority of the evening about our "great eye contact". Bryan Emerald also happens to blog quite regularly on myspace, and when I viewed his page, I noticed a new entry titled "Christmas Party Cannibalism". It had been posted the day after my party, so with anticipation on what he may have written, I clicked it open and began to read the following blog entry (I hope it's not plagarism to blog a blog):
After going to see Narnia with a bunch of friends, and with a head full of drugs I went to a Christmas party last night. My eyes were like swamps, and I, three days unshaven to boot. I surely looked my dankest. All the champagne, smiles, schmoozing, eggnog, red, green, noise, Christmas jazz music, strung lights, cheer, and crampedness of the place really drove me to the edge. I was so groggy it was like I was viewing the whole scene through a veil of slow-shuttered fog. Other than standing in the kitchen talking to the hostess for a spell, I only remember one thing of my twenty-or-so minutes spent at the party. There was this girl I walked by on my way out. Tall, really tall, and skinny as a rail. Black slacks and a red, really tailored blouse that hung on her frame perfectly. She looked like a real live model, she really did. She was wearing a really gaunt, serious look plastered on her face (though it may have just been her reaction to the sight of me), her nose stuck up in the air so as to almost hit the ceiling. The funny part about her appearance, however, was not her clothes, nor even her expression; it was her accessory of choice. With her left arm bent at a ninety-degree angle, she carried out in front of her a long, skinny, breadstick. The breadstick must have been about forteen inches long, and with one bite taken off the top. The breadstick struck me immediately because it made her look as if she were carrying around a toy model of herself. I could not help but think the breadstick was also her entire dinner for the night.
I finished reading the entry with a sad and heavy heart. I hated just about everything he had written. I was frustrated, shocked, disappointed, and basically pissed off. There were several things, in particular, that were upsetting to me.
1) His use of the word "schmoozing". He was there for all of 15 minutes, and the entireity of that time was spent talking with me in the kitchen. He had no opportunity to see any "schmoozing". If he had been a better, more friendly person, and actually went into the party, he probably would have been amazed at how open, genuine, friendly, and all around amazing my friends are. He reduced my lovely party to something superficial and cheesy, like a random bar scene or office party.
2) Along the same lines was the flippancy with which he described the party as a whole. I spent a lot of time and money on that party. I thought out all the details. I did this not to garner praise or anything like that. I did it because I love my friends and I love to have them together, entertained, and having fun. I tried to be a good hostess to him. I offered him food, something to drink, and talked with him for a while. He did not eat a bite, drink a sip, and he reduced our conversation to "talking to the hostess for a spell." He describes "strung lights" that didn't even exist, and "Christmas Jazz music" that wasn't all that jazzy to paint some sort of shallow party atmosphere that wasn't even there.
3) Finally, and most apalling to me, was his description of my friend. Yes, she is tall and thin. And she actually is in commercials. His comment about the breadstick being a "toy model of herself" didn't even bother me so much. It was the fact that he made the judgement that she must be starving herself that I found so offensive. Since when was being thin and beautiful a crime? God created us each differently. Some of us were created tall and thin. Why is that so horrible? And then, on top of all of that, to describe her as being stuck up with "a gaunt, serious look plastered on her face...her nose stuck up in the air so as to almost hit the ceiling." He didn't even talk to the girl, but apparantly he saw everything he needed to know to make an assessment of her in about five seconds. And she is not stuck up. She is kind, and thoughtful, and friendly, and generous. Had he given her (or anyone else at my party...or even just my party) more than five minutes of his time, he may have realized this.
So I am going to do what he apparantly didn't have the time or decency to do: make a judgement of a person based on evidence, not on immediate impressions. Bryan Emerald thinks that he is great. He thinks that he can write thought provoking and poignant stories at the expense of others. He thinks this makes him cool. In reality, it is mean spirited and immature. I thought we stopped putting others down to make ourselves look better years ago. He is hot, but he most definitely is not worth another glance.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Reverting to childhood
What is it about being sick and wanting your mom? I mean, I'm not particularly fond of my mom at the moment, and she hasn't been incredibly maternal as of late. But, when I'm lying in bed at night, coughing in a such a way that I'm pretty sure all my internal organs are going to pour out of my mouth at any moment, all I can think about is how I wish my mom were there. It makes sense, I guess. She was always the one who took care of me when I was sick as a kid, so it only seems logical that I'd want her to care for me now. But still...
So before I was enjoying being sick, but now I hate it. I want to go out and do things and see my friends and this stupid bronchitis is getting in the way of all my fun. And today I had a headache which made me not want to read, or watch TV, or anything, which really takes all the fun out of being sick. But now I have REAL drugs. No more of that fake, over the counter stuff. The doctor said they should make me feel better in a day or two. So hopefully I'll be back out in the world again soon and I can write about more interesting and cheerful things than being sick.
So before I was enjoying being sick, but now I hate it. I want to go out and do things and see my friends and this stupid bronchitis is getting in the way of all my fun. And today I had a headache which made me not want to read, or watch TV, or anything, which really takes all the fun out of being sick. But now I have REAL drugs. No more of that fake, over the counter stuff. The doctor said they should make me feel better in a day or two. So hopefully I'll be back out in the world again soon and I can write about more interesting and cheerful things than being sick.
Friday, December 02, 2005
The Optimistic Side of Illness
Here are some reasons I am enjoying being sick:
-Sleeping in
-Lots of hot tea
-Reading a tabloid magazine
-Sweats and slippers all day
-Movies
-Dozing in and out of sleep
-Taking the day off work
Is this God's way of telling me I need to slow down?
-Sleeping in
-Lots of hot tea
-Reading a tabloid magazine
-Sweats and slippers all day
-Movies
-Dozing in and out of sleep
-Taking the day off work
Is this God's way of telling me I need to slow down?
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Celebrity Radar
For some reason, I've been blessed with a particularly acute celebrity radar. This often comes in handy living in Los Angeles. One day, standing outside of a restaurant, I saw a giant, old, black Cadillac (or some other car of that sort) pull up to the valet. I noticed the person getting out of the car and almost instantly recognized her as Drew Barrymore. She was with Fabrizio from The Strokes. I saw Julianna Marguilles at Coffee Bean, Jamie Lee Curtis at Blockbuster, Kristin Davis walking down the street in Santa Monica, Kobe Bryant at a hotel, and just this weekend I saw Gary Sinise at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego. For some reason I'm always the first to spot them. I've seen celebrities at places you would expect them to be (movie premieres, parties, awards shows), but there's something disconcerting and surreal about seeing a celebrity walking down the street. I suppose seeing celebrities as normal people is always difficult. I know they are actors playing parts, but to me Drew Barrymore IS Josie Gellar with a little bit of Charlie's Angel thrown in. I mean, I knew her when she was a little towhead in pigtails. So seeing her hunched over her Italian dinner, whispering to her boyfriend just seems so odd. Perhaps this is why celebrity breakups affect me so much. I feel like I know these people. The news of Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson's divorce bummed me out. I chose not to believe the smattering of headlines on the tabloid covers. I don't even particularly like Nick and Jessica, but for some reason I was rooting for their marriage to work. Brad and Jen. John Stamos and Rebecca Romijn. Same affect. Maybe it's just the ending of a marriage that makes me sad. It just seems like if anyone should be able to keep things together, it should be a celebrity. They have beautiful clothes, homes, bodies, and can afford excellent therapists. I guess it just makes me realize how empty those things are. Not only are celebrities real people with real problems, but no matter how perfect things look on the outside, perfection is an unattainable goal. It makes me thankful for a God who allows for failure and mistakes. Grace is one thing that no amount of money could ever supply. Knowing that fulfillment will never be found in fame, riches, beauty, or another person is, in the end, encouraging.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Beginnings and Endings
This is my first blog. The fact that I'm starting a blog seems sort of self-centered to me. I feel like, why should anyone really care what I have to say or what I'm thinking? But maybe they do. And if they don't, then at least this can be a place for me to write and think and process. Which seems to be all I've been doing lately. At least the thinking and processing part. Over the last month I feel like my stress level has reached mammoth heights. Generally, the best monitor of my stress level is the length of my nails. Over the summer, my nails were the perfect length, not too long, not to short. Now they are nubs. I hate the fact that I bite my nails. It's disgusting and ugly, but i'm not sure what to do about it.
Today is the day before Thanksgiving and I have so much to be thankful for. But right now I'm sitting in a room crying. I hope that's not too personal. See, here's where the beginnings and endings part comes in. My parents marriage is officially ending. That in itself is sad, and stressful, but I think what's really upsetting me is the fact that I am discovering the flaws in my parents, and I'm finding that difficult to overcome. It is the end of that naive, innocent view that my parents are perfect. And the beginning of trying to understand and get past that. How do you have a relationship with someone when so much of what you've believed to be true about them isn't? I love my mom. I love my dad. But right now, I don't really like them all that much. And I know that's cliche, but I feel this tension between wanting a relationship with them, and knowing how I feel when I'm trying to be around them. There's this line in "Garden State" that Zach Braff says in the swimming pool with Natalie Portman about coming home and realizing that it's not that secure place anymore and that's when you've really grown up. And I've always really related to that line.
It is also the ending of a perception of a perfect childhood. I honestly always thought that I had some fairly tale life as a little girl. I just looked back at pictures of when I was younger, and it was like I was looking at them through some crazy alteration glasses that distorted scenes that were once happy and comforting into scenes of dissension. My mom was not smiling in many of the pictures. In fact, she looked stressed and upset in several of them. The fact that most pictures were taken at high-stress times such as birthdays, holidays, and family trips could be a contributor. I also noticed that I was not a cute child. And I don't mean I had bad hair or was wearing some crazy 80s outfit, although that was a part of it. But I never, ever realized before that I was fat! I mean, really, truly honestly fat! It was like once I hit about 4th grade I became chunky, and like some well-nourished amoeba, just kept growing and growing. All the way through college. It made me surprised I had any friends at all. The fact that guys were always commenting on how hot my sister was (what about me??), suddenly made perfect sense!
Maybe it's time for some beginnings now. Because I think beginnings are times of hope, and Lord knows I need all the hope I can get right about now. I have new friends that I really really like and just adore spending time with. I am living on my own for the first time ever and loving that freedom and autonomy and the beauty of truly having my own space. So, as I mourn the ending of certain areas of my life, I take joy in the fact that beginnings cannot be far behind.
Today is the day before Thanksgiving and I have so much to be thankful for. But right now I'm sitting in a room crying. I hope that's not too personal. See, here's where the beginnings and endings part comes in. My parents marriage is officially ending. That in itself is sad, and stressful, but I think what's really upsetting me is the fact that I am discovering the flaws in my parents, and I'm finding that difficult to overcome. It is the end of that naive, innocent view that my parents are perfect. And the beginning of trying to understand and get past that. How do you have a relationship with someone when so much of what you've believed to be true about them isn't? I love my mom. I love my dad. But right now, I don't really like them all that much. And I know that's cliche, but I feel this tension between wanting a relationship with them, and knowing how I feel when I'm trying to be around them. There's this line in "Garden State" that Zach Braff says in the swimming pool with Natalie Portman about coming home and realizing that it's not that secure place anymore and that's when you've really grown up. And I've always really related to that line.
It is also the ending of a perception of a perfect childhood. I honestly always thought that I had some fairly tale life as a little girl. I just looked back at pictures of when I was younger, and it was like I was looking at them through some crazy alteration glasses that distorted scenes that were once happy and comforting into scenes of dissension. My mom was not smiling in many of the pictures. In fact, she looked stressed and upset in several of them. The fact that most pictures were taken at high-stress times such as birthdays, holidays, and family trips could be a contributor. I also noticed that I was not a cute child. And I don't mean I had bad hair or was wearing some crazy 80s outfit, although that was a part of it. But I never, ever realized before that I was fat! I mean, really, truly honestly fat! It was like once I hit about 4th grade I became chunky, and like some well-nourished amoeba, just kept growing and growing. All the way through college. It made me surprised I had any friends at all. The fact that guys were always commenting on how hot my sister was (what about me??), suddenly made perfect sense!
Maybe it's time for some beginnings now. Because I think beginnings are times of hope, and Lord knows I need all the hope I can get right about now. I have new friends that I really really like and just adore spending time with. I am living on my own for the first time ever and loving that freedom and autonomy and the beauty of truly having my own space. So, as I mourn the ending of certain areas of my life, I take joy in the fact that beginnings cannot be far behind.
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