Cue mangiata!

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?

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!

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.

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.

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?