South Florida Boxing

I've fallen off the face of the earth, blog-wise.  It's because of a mix of inertia, ennui, and lack of disposable income.  But, here I go, again!

I've attested to my love of Groupon and Living Social several times already...really, they have some great deals.  I used a Body Shop and American Apparel coupon for my Christmas shopping and even finished up some of the exercise deals I'd gotten, to Skanda Yoga and Dharma Yoga Studio.  I tried out South Florida Boxing with a Groupon as well...and joined the gym.

Let's get this straight, I'm lazy and I hate exercising.  That being said, I know I need to exercise for my health and looks and all that, blah blah blah.  The real impetus for my current push to get fit is that a certain doubting Thomas has stated that I would be unable to hike Machu Picchu cause I'm so out of shape.  Mind you, I have never had any desire to visit Machu Picchu but damn it, NOW I'm going to go to Machu Picchu this year, hike that motherfucker, and send someone a picture of me on top, flipping the bird.

Yeah, I got a lot of hostility going, so joining a boxing gym seems like a good place to work out some of my aggression.  I love yoga, and it's a great workout...if you think it's easy and for pansies, you've never tried a class.  There's more to it than chanting "OM", trust me.  Well, boxing takes a "great workout" to a whole other level.  It's like boot camp, I swear, the last class I took I almost puked in.

The instructor leads you through the kinds of exercises that you could, admittedly, do on your own at home if you had that kind of willpower and drive, but, who does?  Stretches, jumping jacks, squats, lunges, medicine ball, dumbells...then when you're good and exhausted, you get to beat on a bag with gloves on.  It's exhausting, and it's exactly the kind of exercise we all need but secretly hate.  Or maybe that's just me.

It's not cheap, but it's all instructor led exercise, which I require, and I sincerely believe that you shouldn't skimp on your health, exercise, or food.  The owner is a woman, which is pretty cool in its own right, but there is admittedly a bit of a hard sell to join.  I guess that's true of any gym; you always feel like you're selling your soul to the devil when you sign one of those contracts.  Though, if I had sold my soul to the devil I could have all the benefits of exercise without having to break a sweat.

Groupon and Living Social

Even though I like a deal I'm a little wary about online coupons and things that in general seem too good to be true.  I had heard of Groupon a long time ago but, since the website wouldn't open at work (yes, they filter discounts like they're porn) I just didn't consider it.  When Evil G forwarded a discount for yoga classes that were so super cheap (5 classes for $40 at Miami Yogashala in Brickell; since then I've seen cheaper deals but I was a newbie then) I couldn't resist.  I bought that one, then I bought some deals at Living Social, which sometimes has even better prices.

The way it works is that each coupon website offers a daily deal in your area.  They can be for spa services, restaurants, exercises classes...I'm sticking to exercise classes for now since I already know I like yoga and the classes are normally so damn expensive.  You buy the deal and then you have a .pdf file to print emailed to you as a voucher, or you can call up the deal on the website's app on your smart phone as well.  The deals have a certain expiration date that you need to use them by.

I have about five deals floating around and finally used one today, for yoga classes at Dharma Studio ($17 for 5 classes, that's the price of one class in many places!).  I have to admit, I'm very shy about using coupons like this and such; I'm cheap but I hate appearing so.  Luckily, there were a few other people using the same coupon as well so I felt more confident.  The staff there was very cool about accepting the Groupon, which awarded them extra bonus points.

Dharma Studio is located in Coconut Grove.  It's a beautiful spot but sucky because of one of my main pet peeves: inadequate parking and PAID parking.  I hate paying for parking, but even more when it's not to be found.  I'm on vacation this week so I can just take some day classes, when parking is not such an enormous headache, and I'll take some Friday classes (my schedule is every Friday off, every Saturday working) until I finish up the coupon.  Dharma charged a $2 mat rental fee, which really kind of blows since I don't own a mat yet and because I've never been charged for using a studio mat before (I just ordered one but was debating the eco aspects of it for a while, and decided on this one).

The classes offered there seem very femme friendly and yuppie, at least according to the titles (Gentle Stretchy Yoga, Funyasa).  Not much brutal pretzel twists and intimidation factor, which is fine since I am very much a novice who doesn't devote enough time to practice.  I took the Yoga Lowdown class today with Natalie.  She's very friendly and approachable, in that way that makes me wonder if she's the owner?  That's a good thing, FYI. The class was pretty gentle, and devoted to nice stretches in a mostly horizontal position.  No Sun Salutations or Inverted Poses.  I liked the stretching but at the end there was quite a bit of self massage with rollers and tennis balls.   Frankly, it hurt.  I think I'm not muscular, padded, or tense enough to enjoy that deep level of massage, but a couple women there were moaning in pleasure so, each to her own.  It's probably just me.  Tomorrow I'm trying the Gentle Stretchy class to check it out.  My vacation is basically to be spent pretending I'm independently wealthy or retired.  Is it just me or does work really get in the way of life?  Just saying.

The yoga studio I normally go to is Rina Yoga.  The Thursday Hatha Yoga night class with Joan is challenging enough that I push myself without being so difficult that I feel lost.  It works out great with my schedule, is very close to home, and parking is free :)  So far I don't know if Dharma Yoga is offering any competition to Rina Yoga, though if the Friday class I plan on trying is great I may buy a class card just for that; Rina doesn't have Friday morning classes at this time.  Really the only thing I hold against Dharma is the parking situation and the mat fee; the studio itself is lovely (though I did notice a pet pee smell on the ground...the mats?  Ghostly pet presence?  It was weird)  I still have a few other studios to check out and I also got some boxing classes and some passes to the Russian baths at the beach; I'll review those as I use them.

Tutto Pizza/Tutto Pasta

Tutto Pizza is one of those places that you invariably return to, again and again.  Like Moonchine, you will never get a bad meal there.

I've been sleeping over at mom's a couple times a month so she can watch my son while I work (every single Saturday, serving the undomiciled public with a plastic smile!) or take my Ayurveda classes.  My uncle, who must like us or something, has sporadically taken us out to dinner during these sleepovers; we usually end up at Tutto Pizza, which is both child friendly (picky seven year old) and chef friendly (picky seventy year old).  Yes, my uncle is a chef and a baker, and I remember countless meals as a child with him critiquing my eating habits.  I don't know why I smelled everything, even the silverware....kids are weird that way.  Anyway, as an adult I really enjoy meals with him because: A. he has fantastic taste B. he orders appetizers and wine, something I can never afford to do C. he orders for everyone, which is great since I'm indecisive and like these chivalrous throwbacks and D. he pays.  This all adds up to a WIN-WIN-WIN-WIN!

We went there last Saturday: me, my mom, my son, my uncle, and my uncle's girlfriend.  This is supposed to be a point of contention, the girlfriend, seeing how my uncle's divorce was awkward at best (my uncle and aunt still work together, everyday) and how she is around 20 years younger than him...but hell, I don't care, go for yours, Tio.  She's nice to me, and that's all I care about.

My uncle ordered Focaccia al Rosmarino, Salmon Carpaccio, a Margherita pizza, and a Portobello and Pollo.  I'm still on edge when eating around my uncle, a childhood holdover, so I just sat back and waited for them to move.  My uncle's GF dressed the mixed greens that came with the salmon with balsamic, oil, and lemon juice; I've never added the lemon juice to balsamic but it's a great idea, it really brightens the salad and mildens (if it's not a word, it should be) the vinegar.  We dipped the focaccia into olive oil, stared meaningfully at the last bit of salmon, poured fizzy water and wine, oh, the wine...Malbec by Santa Florentina.  For me to actually remember that name means I said it to myself about ten times.  It was so good, without that tannic aftertaste.  The four of us went through two bottles and my mom got tipsy, which was cute...she kept trying to turn off the alarm when we got home by turning it on.  And she giggled.

Seriously, go eat there.  If you're not in the mood for pizza, Tutto Pasta is right next door.  I haven't eaten there in many years, but I remember it as being great, if noisy.  I don't mind the noise, really, I want them to remain popular.  I can't take another heartbreak like Siam Lotus Room.

Pura Vida

Didn't do the frugal thing and pack a lunch today, so I went to the local  hippie and healthy restaurant, Pura Vida.  With the day I was having at work, I deserved a little lunchtime treat, and everyone knows that food made by someone else tastes better anyway.  This is especially true of sandwiches.  And, Pura Vida is within walking distance.  You know how I feel about walking distance.

I've had my eye on this place since moving to my new work location, but it's about the same walking distance as Burger King and when comparing both price and shameless indulgence factor, BK has won previously...but not today.  I have to admit, I don't like denying myself anything, and when the job gets to me I end up soothing myself with cigarettes, a Twix bar, a soda, or something like BK.  Today I was doing the healthy thing, dammit.  I'm not letting this job drive me to an early grave or a bigger dress size because of stress eating.    Pura Vida lacks the crunchy vibe and extensive menu of Juice and Java and, of course, the sandwiches are not in the same galaxy as La Sandwicherie, but, did I mention it's within walking distance?

I bought my coworker some lentil soup, trying to improve my karma through good works, and got myself the lunch special of a turkey sandwich and a juice.  The staff there was pretty close to awesome (I remember witnessing what appeared to be a lover's spat between two gorgeous Juice and Java employees and man, did that make the atmosphere cold...which helped, actually, since they don't really run the AC there).  Anyone who has ever waited tables tends to be kind of picky about food workers, and I'm no exception. 

The cool counter chick with some serious tattoos and perfectly adequate English (don't pretend it doesn't matter) was efficient and genuinely friendly.  I ordered a strawberry juice since the special included a single (fruit) juice, but she threw in a banana extra because, "it tastes better" that way.  You know?  That was really damn nice of her.  THAT'S how you guarantee a repeat customer.  The turkey sandwich was fine, but, most sandwiches are just fine with me.  Good enough to satiate hunger but not enough to gorge on; I just ate half of it.  It came with what I believe was miso dressing on the side, which was also just fine. 

This place is known for their Acai items, especially their Acai bowl, but it sounded too much like breakfast to me.  The place is not super cheap but, when you take into account the sizes of the portions and how healthy the food is, it really is a good deal...I mean, I know I'm cheap but what more do I want?  I exasperate myself sometimes.  It was 15 bucks for my lunch special and the extra soup I bought, and this lunch could feed me two meals.  I'll definitely be back, but probably not for a sandwich again.  I'll stick to smoothies and try that Acai bowl at some point.  And I say to BK, "Get thee behind me, Satan".

Are you Ayurveda?

Ok, I'm starting a second blog, Are you Ayurveda?, where I'll be sharing the things I learn and my experiences during this adventure...

Pei Wei Asian Diner and Sai Ayurvedic College

I enrolled in the Sai Ayurvedic College, partly because I've had a growing interest in natural, preventive, and holistic healthcare, and mostly because, if I end up working at my government job long enough to collect a thirty-year award someday, I'll blow my brains out in front of all my collected colleagues.  I guess I'll be starting another blog about Ayurveda for all you crunchy types out there that I love.  Because, hippies and I are likethis and we can finish each other's sentences, baby.

I had lunch with my fellow students and my teacher (and man, am I ever outclassed by my classmates...Reiki Masters and Yoga teachers and Massage Therapists and the owner of Camden-Grey Essential Oils!) at Pei Wei Asian Diner in Kendall.  I would have pronounced it "Pee Wee" but they said "Pay Way" and I bow to their assuredly superior knowledge.  It was jam packed so I figured it would be good...and it actually was.  I had Fried Rice, which was hardly a bold choice, but I was feeling like a bland meal would be good and a lot of their choices are spicy.  The portions were generous and since they sizzled up at least the finishing touches of the meal upon order, it had a nice, fresh taste.  I had mine with tofu since of course all my classmates are vegetarian and it was satisfying enough.  I consider myself to be pretty healthy but nowhere near as hardcore as these people; my teacher had her meal with hot water (hot water aids in digestion) and I had a coke...and no one took their leftovers but me because according to Ayurvedic principles eating leftovers create aam or ama in the body, which is basically an accumulation of toxins in the body.  Hey, I learned something already!  I forgot my leftovers at school so I emailed the teacher to trash them; apparently, the Dhanvantari was looking out for me.  OMG I'm going to become sooooo annoying from all this!

Havana Harry's

Nothing like being a professional third wheel.  I am in the yeti of relationships so I end up going stag to a lot of things.  Let's not pretend, it's awkward, no matter how happy I am with mythological/elusive guy.  I went to Havana Harry's to celebrate MG's MBA graduation and it was me and 4 other couples.  Luckily I sat across from Migs who got into the critical spirit with me, bashing the food which everyone else found to be "all right".  Well, sure, it was all right, but what's the fun in saying that?  No need to be polite, we're among friends, and it's not like any of us cooked it.

I strongly believe that there is an inverse relationship between how much you pay for Cuban food and how good it is.  It's always a mistake to try to make Cuban food into Cuban *cuisine*; it's much better tasting when you pay practically nothing at the cheap places.  The restaurant itself was fancypants, though there were some dissociative touches like linen tablecloths and napkins with paper napkins and tablecloths on top...it's as if they didn't know whether to hand us crayons to write on the tables or sneer at us.  And the food...

Ok, I got a steak sandwich.  Trying to economize, doncha know.  I ate my frozen-then-fried fries and limp-handshake of a sandwich, all the while eyeing Leonard's scrumptious looking churrasco.  Facepalm.  Migs and I had a simultaneous eureka! moment when we realized why we hated the black beans: liquid smoke seasoning.  For real?  In Cuban beans?  Meh.  I tasted someone's pork and it was too salty.  The Passion Fruit tea was tasty and not too sweet.  Basically, it was a very uneven meal.  Heck, I didn't even take home my leftovers, which is a highly aggressive act on my part.  A virtual slap on Harry's face.

Luckily the evening was redeemed by drinks and smokes on MG's balcony, where the changing characters braving the humidity with me relieved potential loser discomfort.  I even learned that, if you have the spins after a night of drinking, keeping one foot on the floor when you lay down in bed will stop that.  And, here!  If you look closely at this grainy, black & white photo taken from a great distance, there's the guy I'm dating!  See?  He does exist.

Kon Chau Chinese Restaurant and Fifteenth Street Books

Don't let me order at restaurants anymore.  Please.  I don't care if I'm to be the death of feminism, please, just order for me like they did in the olden days.   It's definitely a universal law of some kind, like the Law of Attraction or Murphy's Law or something - whatever my dinner companion orders will be far better than what I order.  Went in for some dim sum at Kon Chau Chinese Restaurant with GS a whiles ago.  I dutifully compiled a list from Yelp reviews and used that to order.  BIG MISTAKE.  We basically ended up with a mishmash of starches that just didn't go together at all.  I guess it's kind of funny.  I had a bunch of leftovers.  Like Argentinians say, there's nothing that a fried egg can't improve.  The place was described as shabby on Yelp but I thought it was fine, though GS did mention the men's restroom smelled like a cat litter box.  I went to smell the women's room to compare and it wasn't so bad.  What do you guys do in there anyway?  We walked over to Lucky Oriental Market, which is in the same strip mall, to look for something that could wash the taste of failure out of my mouth.  God, I love that place - talk about local color.  It's run by Chinese Cubans who only speak Chinese or Spanish; to hear a wrinkled old Chinese lady call someone, "Caballero" is a freaking treat, let me tell you.  They have a whole bunch of weird things with undecipherable labels, it's a blast to visit.  I think that whole strip mall is being taken over by Chinese, actually.  There is an acupuncture place there, and since my last visit they opened the seediest looking Chinese Massage parlor.  For reals!  It looks straight out of Amsterdam.

GS likes used bookstores so we checked out Fifteenth Street Books in the Gables.  It's the location of the old Books and Books and on the same street as the new location.  Newish, I guess it's been like ten years by now.  The place is one of those utterly charming, wacky places that you can't figure out how they make enough money to pay the rent.  Obviously, they're laundering money.  Half bookstore, half antique store, it's run by a whispery gentleman who is in charge of the used books section, and by a pair of Hispanic ladies who run the antiques section.  Poor GS doesn't understand much Spanish so he was not able to appreciate the most awesomest lady there who made us Cuban coffee (in glass cups!  with saucers!) and proceeded to tell me the most hilarious details about her work relationship with the used books guy.  He asked me later what she and I were giggling about so much.  Ah, again, local color.

DeJongh Acupuncture Clinic

So even though I am broke and just had a pay cut and who knows what will happen with the layoffs and such...I decided to try acupuncture because I suffer from a whole host of vague maladies that make eating, drinking alcohol, smoking, relaxing, and sleeping difficult.  That's serious.  What else in life do I even have left to enjoy?  I'm in a constant state of discomfort.  And, as Wendy can attest to after our trip to Amsterdam, listening to me gag every morning and after every meal is no treat for anyone. 

After having a bunch of specialists look at me and diagnose gastritis, and chronic sinus infections, and a slipped disc, blah blah blah I decided I'd be better off looking for a more holistic approach, rather than treating my body like it's made up of separate organs/systems that have no influence or bearing on the others.  And frankly, I think all these symptoms are *in my head* - not that I'm a hypochondriac, but that they can be attributed to stress, or a blocked qi, or some such thing - I'm not actually sick.   I think.

The process of finding this acupuncturist was...a process.  It seemed a lot like dating: I got stood up once...and then someone knew someone that was perfect for me but they never hooked it up.  I found Ms. DeJongh when a patron who likes to *overshare* showed me her cupping  marks.  Long story.  Anyway, I was all like, bingo, my heart racing, thinking, could this be the one?  And when I saw that her office  was literally blocks from my apartment I thought - fate/kismet/destiny.  Yeah, I know I'm a kook.  It's only going to get worse.

She has free consultations, which is a bonus if you're not ready to commit (K, I'll drop the dating analogy, love you, bye-bye).  When I went for my first appointment, I actually had no intention of trying acupuncture.  I was hoping she'd have some super Chinese herbs that would spruce me up, but then I realized, I have got to really do something.  Cause I feel like shit, all the time.  The acupuncturist diagnoses you by listening to all your symptoms (who knew my excessive, old lady sighing was a symptom of something!), looking at your tongue, and taking your pulse at different spots.

My first treatment was today.  The room was set up pretty much like a spa, all good smells and new age music and dim lighting; the table you lay on in your undies is a massage table.  Personally, I jump at the chance to undress and pay people to touch and prod me.  My maximum going rate for this type of activity is a dollar a minute.  If I get it cheaper, kewl, but I won't pay more than that.  Haircuts, manicures, massages, all fall under the legal-jollies-I-pay-for category.  I would even put getting a dental cleaning in there, because I am not averse to a bit of pain, wink wink nudge nudge.  Oh, I only undress when it's appropriate, I should clarify.

Soooooo...she actually did begin with a few minutes of massage, a bonus I was not expecting.  She did cupping afterwards on my back, which felt like what you'd expect - getting eight marvelous hickeys from an overly amorous octopus.  The cups were cold, which I didn't expect, because I knew the acupuncturist uses heat to create a vacuum...but, anyway!  She did needles on my back, then on my front; I spent about 15 minutes with the needles in, on each side.  Only a few hurt going in, like in my wrists and tummy, but not so much that it bothered me...and most I didn't feel at all, or barely.

She did give me a bunch of Chinese herbs to take at home, which I am going to do religiously.  It's twelve pills, three times a day.  Luckily among my many talents is the ability to swallow pills by the handful.  I won't say how I learned I have said talent.  Man, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right.  It ain't cheap.  But, if it works, I can't pay enough for it IMO.  So, I don't feel much different right now, but I am doing a total of 6 sessions, so we'll see.  And now, back to the trenches.

FYI The name is Dutch, if you're wondering.  And the pills feel just like swallowing a handful of BB gun pellets.

Pickle Party

Went to a Pickle Party at M&M's apartment.  NO, it's not like hide-the-salami, it's merely a celebration of everything dill and fried.  Fried pickles, onions, and mushrooms, and Wendy's homemade pickles.  We skipped the pickle dirty martinis because, they taste terrible.  To be honest.  Saw the pictures that Monger, Mouse and Wendy took at Flugtag.  They braved the heat and risked heat stroke for good times.  I salute them as proud patriots.  I was at work, but who knows for how long; unless you have your head firmly planted in the ground you've noticed that this county (and country, and world) is broke.  Expect lots of reductions in service from your government agencies and please, try to be civil about it.  We don't like cutting hours and laying off people either, we don't do it just to cramp your style.  That is all.

Downtown

True Story: 
I had some training thingy downtown, and for lunch had some cheap pizza at a completely regrettable place I won't even dignify by naming.  You'd have to wander pretty randomly to find it by chance so I won't worry you'll eat there by mistake...and if you do, it's culinary karma, what I can do about that?  As much as I despise PC behavior, I found the owner's penchant for calling his delivery guy "Mejico" pretty damn offensive.

ANYwho, I took my leftovers to a nearby greenspace where the homeless were hanging and offered them to three different homeless folks, all of whom refused them.  The story in all this (finally):

Me: "Hi, I have some leftover pizza from lunch, would you like to have it?"
Homeless Lady, turns to the imaginary person next to her and asks this empty spot to her right: "This girl wants to know if you want some pizza, do you?"
She paused a moment, and replied to me: "No, she doesn't want any pizza.  Thank you."

On a somewhat related note, I hope I never become someone who won't eat a hot dog from a street vendor.  Just saying.

Tarpon Bend in Fort Lauderdale

I never had much interest in checking out Tarpon Bend in the Gables; whenever I drive by there at night it's always overflowing to the sidewalk with yuppies.  Not my scene.  I'm not crazy about bars that I need to *dress up* to or fight my way through crowds to get a drink, and I hate Miracle Mile anyway; no parking, ever, and you have to pay for it.  I'm willing to drive much farther for free parking.  And the ability to wear flip flops when I'm drinking a beer.

I went to the Tarpon Bend in Fort Lauderdale for lunch with GS.  All I can say is, thank the baby Jesus for dropping people into my life who are: A. not vegetarians and B. pick-up truck owners and C. willing to do chick shit to make me happy.  He really deserved that burger after taking me across two counties, looking for an elusive thrift store dresser that I've realized I won't find (though I did get my *landing strip* table, so the day wasn't a total loss).

I like hanging around in Ft. Lauderdale anyway, it's full of exotic whites with their quaint customs and charming accents and such.  I want to make like an aborigine and run my fingers through their pale hair and over their fair skin.  We both had burgers in the company of those poor, Godforsaken souls on their *lunch breaks*; me, not being on any kind of break at all and not even driving, had a couple of beers with my burger.  I glory in those moments.  In your face!

The burger was tall (I like them with everything you got, please, and thank you) and I had to employ the lady-like trick of cutting my burger into pieces to eat it.  I'm not much of a lady, myself, but luckily have spent years observing them in their native environments.  I don't know what they season their burgers with, but it's absolutely perfect.  Whatever they use, I wish upon a partial lunar eclipse that every burger I eat for the rest of my life is seasoned just that way.  Cooked perfectly medium rare, which is great because most times you get as much result for your request for a medium rare anything as you get for lighting a candle to Saint Anthony (still haven't found those sunglasses, my sanity, or my common sense).  The fries were ok, but I didn't have much space for them.  I'm not a fan of shoe string fries, anyway, there is a proper ratio of crunchy outsides to mealy insides that they don't meet.

A thoroughly excellent burger experience, and yes, I was wearing flip flops.

Adventures in Thriftlandia

It's really great having like-minded friends.  How many people like music festivals, camping, beer, thrifting, and pickles, as much as me?  My friends, that's who.  It's also nice having friends in the same line of work to talk about our jobs endlessly with; I refrain from talking about work too much with civilians because I'm sure it's boring as hell.  (Note: true and revealing personal account follows): one day I prefaced a story I was telling my ex about work with the comment, "The most interesting thing happened at work today."  Before I could continue he stated, deadpan, "I doubt it was at all interesting."  Sometimes, but not often enough, he was pretty darn funny.  I could completely sympathize with him.  ANYway, I spent my day off with Lydia and Wendy, thrifting (we were later joined by Kitty).  Is thrifting in the dictionary?  Let me check...hmm, not listed in any authoritative source but it's getting there, I predict it.  All right!  Focus!  Wendy took on the special role of map router-outer and navigator and planned out a full day of thrifting adventures in North Miami and Broward.

We started out at the Douglas Gardens Thrift Store on NW 27th Avenue.  As I pulled into the parking lot I had several thoughts rapidly flit through my head: Hmmm, not a window in the place...it's really big...are there three cop cars in the parking lot?...man, I'm glad I'm not here alone.  I parked by the cop cars (naturally) and we went inside.  I'm looking for furniture today...and dresses, of course, I'm ordinately attracted to dresses.  The place had some really good furniture finds and I decided that I need to borrow/bribe someone with a pick-up truck and come back to get a dresser...there is some solid ( real wood), sturdy, reasonably attractive in an pseudo/noveau antique-y way, furniture there.  Especially if you feel up to refinishing furniture.  The clothes sucked.  The place is clean, smells fine, has approachable staff, and has something or the other on sale most times.

We then went to the Douglas Gardens on Hallandale, which I didn't like as much.  Again, the clothes sucked.  The furniture was reasonably decent, but not as nice as the other location; there was a really nice futon for sale there.  Realizing the quality, appearance and price of the used furniture available, Wendy said she doesn't plan on buying new furniture ever again, and wished she had a big house to fill with thrift furniture finds.  I agreed, stating it works if you if like an eclectic look (I said eclectic and Kitty mistakenly heard it as neglected, which was much wittier than I could have been).  You can't go into these places hoping to closely match anything you may already have.  I have that simple, espresso-colored, furniture trend that's so prevalent nowadays doing in my living room, and not much of what we found goes with that.  Of course, not much doesn't mean nothing.  That's a bit of foreshadowing for you :)  The clothes thrift store is separated from the furniture thrift store by a sex shop; yes, the location is pretty seedy.

As we were heading to our next location we noticed a Goodwill, right down the road from Douglas Garden.  It is the biggest Goodwill I've ever seen.  Lydia said it looked like the Nordstrom of Goodwills.  No furniture - all clothes, books, and random bric-a-brac and tchotchkes - very clean, well lit and good smelling inside, though it may have been a good smelling PERSON I was noticing.  I didn't find anything but both Wendy and Lydia found some clothes.

By this time we were starving so we went to eat lunch at LaSpada's in Davie, based on the recommendation of the Paul and Young Ron Show (I get all of my news from them and from perezhilton.com, which creates a pretty skewed world vision).  Just a sub (excuse me, hoagie) place but, sometimes,  all you want is a sub.  I mean, a hoagie.  The trick to that place is that they slice the lunch meats fresh to order; it makes all the difference.  I ate the whole damned thing, which reminded Wendy that her dad had said about me, approvingly, "that girl eats".  That, I do.

We headed to Thriftarella's, our last stop, in Davie.  Tiny place but packed with well-edited selections at very good prices.  I finally had some luck here and found a West Elm-ish side table for $20 (color: Espresso!).  Kitty got a great Mid-century lamp and a vintage travel case, Lydia got a Gremlins book/album and some awesome drink glasses ("Name your Poison") and Wendy got a puzzle and some Christmas lights...I may have missed something.  This is a place worth returning to; the turnover is very fast and there are some terrific finds.  We kept whispering to each other, "I love this place, I LOVE this place" as we passed each other.  As if Ms. Thriftarella herself was going to raise prices under our noses due to our unseemly enthusiasm.  It's worth going there just to meet her (Christine), she is pretty awesome in many respects.  Now, all I need to do is find someone with a pick-up truck...

Mixed Nuts

Went to that tiny little gem of a space Hoy Como Ayer to hear the Spam Allstars, the perennial Miami fusion band; I first heard them about 16 years ago and have heard them several times since.  This without hardly trying, honestly, it's hard to get away from them.  I feel like they're dutifully trotted out whenever Miami is trying to put on a respectable face.  They are easy to enjoy even if a bit formulaic: you got your hip-hop, your Latin influence, and a turn table, and some dark-skinned Latin woman in a turban.  After the professional Salsa dancers humbled us with their perfection and vacated the dance floor to us lesser mortals, we all got up to dance, to the best of our abilities.  If anyone is able to resist Latin music without wiggling, they have to have no soul whatsoever.  There was even an Asian dude, dutifully dancing away with his girl.  I get the feeling the place is no longer *cool* (as if I am) but no matter, I had a good time and for once was one of the youngest people there.  *Smile*

Visited the Habitat for Humanity ReStore because I've finally caught the decorating bug and need just about everything.  Wow, that was ghetto: the location, the store, everything.  Thank God for my GPS.  I'd hate to drive around aimlessly in that hood.  It was a complete bust and all I could think was, imagine how awesome the ReStore in Seattle probably is.  Just looking through Craigslist in a decent city makes me weep.

I'm doing this Ultimate Detox & Cleanse because I enjoy making things difficult for myself, apparently.  I really have been feeling rather toxic, lately...

Memorial Day Weekend

Spent most of Memorial Day weekend with Wendy's family in Lake Placid.  Lots of sunning, floating in the lake, BBQ, cheap beer, and cracker stories.  It's as if they welcome every calamity for its storytelling possibilities.  Even passing a kidney stone becomes a twenty-minute, hilarious story.  And that accent!  All we could hear was, "They took our jobs!  Tertukadoo!"  The pace is so relaxed and people really understand the value of just hanging out and talking.

Went to Moonchine on Friday for Happy Hour, where Allegra and I got shafted on their pricing and blew our budget by eight o'clock.  Then to Harvey's for a cheap beer and a free shot of something nasty, then I met up with some people at News Cafe.  We left there for a place called Bardot.  Freaking pretentious!  From the cigar wielding Ruths and Sarahs, to the Replicants, to the self conscious modelslashbartenders, to the pornographic/crappy art (I don't know anything about art but even I could tell it sucked), it was all hilarious.  We took up prime real estate by the bar and refused to yield, even when the place became pretty packed.  I need never go there again, thank you very much. 

In contrast, my night at Transit Lounge the day before was so much better.  The place looks better, the crowd is so much more (relatively) normal, no damn cover, reasonable beer prices...and the Colombian band (Afro Kumbe) that was playing was light years better than the jazz tards (Ketchy Shuby?  WTF kind of name is that for a band?) playing at Bardot's.  They were tight, man.  That's my judgment, and I stand by it.  All in all, I was pretty merciless on my liver this weekend.

El Chaman & La Rostiseria & Bangkok City

I was fairly successful in filling up my dance card this weekend; I hate having free time because I might get bored, and start thinking, or feeling, or cleaning my apartment...never a good idea.  I decided to shamelessly indulge myself with a good lunch on Friday, so I checked out a place my brother recommended, El Chaman.  The name alone is enough to recommend the place.  Well, I got a sinking feeling when I walked into the restaurant because there were cloth napkins on the table and all sorts of glassware and art on the walls...I can't afford ambiance.  Luckily the prices seemed about average, so I had some delicious fish ceviche and some Peruvian beer the waitress recommended.  I loved the waitress because she: 1. expressed a definite opinion when asked, 2. didn't make me feel like a loser because I was eating alone, and 3. sang along to the lounge-y type music playing -  a female, swingy adaptation of Beatles songs.  Everything was fine except for the tip being included...really, for someone dining alone?  I could understand with a big party but, whatever.

I went to the mall with mom on Saturday and we ate at the food court.  Seriously, what's with all those women hawking bits of chicken at every other food stall?  I feel like I'm being attacked by kids selling Chiclets in Mexico for God's sake.  I did go for chicken, but not for that sweet, glazed chicken crap (I really don't like sweet food very much).  I had roast chicken, cucumber and tomato salad, and mashed potatoes at La Rostiseria.  I don't know which restaurant started off with that fine ass rotisserie chicken but I do thank the culinary gods for it.  I have stolen bits of Publix rotisserie chicken, cold, out of people's refrigerators before.  And, it does seem *healthy*.  For what it's worth.

Restaurants need to stop diversifying and need to specialize.  If I had a restaurant, the menu would offer like 4 choices: vegetarian/vegan, meat, fish, chicken.  You either like what I'm serving, or eat somewhere else.  I can't resist ordering sushi if it's on the menu, but if the restaurant is really going to concentrate on doing something else well, then don't serve sushi! 

I had the lunch special at Bangkok City with the bad kids from work (the ones that sit in the back row, you know which ones I'm talking about) and ordered their sushi.  Well, at least it wasn't expensive...but it was so lame!  The fish had this watery consistency and taste, like it's been frozen and defrosted and frozen and...sadly disappointing.  The Hot and Sour Soup was just all wrong.  And it had baby corn.  If I never eat baby corn again, I could possibly live a happy life.  What kind of mutated, ridiculous, foul ingredient is that?  The texture, God.  And the taste.  Insipid.  One of my coworkers had  the Nam Sod and let me try a bite...now, THAT was pretty good.  The lime-y, fish sauce-y, and ginger-y sauce was very good on what is basically a meat salad.  It looks pretty easy to make, too...

Oh, and I'd like to give a shout out to Valentine's baking skills, especially to my impromptu birthday lemon- coconut-fig (I think) cake...she'll make someone a great wife, someday ;)

One Day Wonder Cleanse and Monkey Joe's

I thought it was fate that I had most of the things I needed on hand for the One Day Wonder Cleanse thanks to Annie's.  I've been intrigued by the idea of a cleanse lately, probably because I'm impressed by people who are dedicated enough or maniacal enough to follow some insane, restrictive regiment such as the Master Cleanse.  Ten days of spicy lemonade.  Huh.  Yeah.  Anyway, I definitely think it's true that people eat too much in general, and a day of fasting or cleansing weekly is a good idea.

I am happy to report that I did follow the plan exactly.  Ended up drinking only water from 4pm on, even though I had a children's birthday party to go to with my son.  I somehow heroically resisted birthday cake and pizza.  Ah, willpower.  I did end up dreaming that night that I had cheated (and it was only one day!) with a bit of delicious pizza crust and woke up feeling all ache-y all over, which I guess is my normal reaction to any kind of detox.  I felt like that after the Russian baths, though, it may have been from the force of 500 pounds of water smashing into my shoulders.  I sometimes wish I would wake up with a professional chef in my bed, other times a hair stylist, but this morning I wished I had a massage therapist in my bed.  Guess I didn't drink enough water, that's what *they* always say, drink water.  Flush it out.  Whatever *it* is.  A mom from yesterday's party told me about 21 pounds in 21 days, a detox diet book.  Ach mein Gott that thing is hard core.  You are supposed to give yourself enemas.  Weeeellll, I'll check it out from the library and consider it, but don't expect me to report how an enema goes.

Anyway, the party yesterday was at a place called Monkey Joe's.  It was all the way by Sawgrass, which is quite a trek, but when I got there, I understood the wisdom of the choice of venue.  Hell for adults, heaven for kids.  It's basically an enormous room filled with a bunch of hugemongous bounce houses.  The noise level in there hits you like a blunt object on the back of the head - just a bunch of insanely happy, screaming little kids throwing themselves off rubber surfaces.  Make any analogy you wish.  The party included pizza, cake, goody bags, drinks, and yes, a visit from Mr. Monkey Joe himself!  The birthday boy was far too sophisticated to react to a six foot purple monkey, but I shuddered, thinking, this is the stuff nightmares or phobias are made of.  Luckily I was too hungry to think of much else.

My son said it was the best day of his life, and I believe him.

La Moon

If La Moon is good enough for Man v. Food, it's good enough for me.  Even though both my parents are Colombian, I rarely eat Colombian food.  In fact, all I really associate with the country are roses and cocaine, I don't know what they actually eat there.  Apparently, if it didn't originally have feet and eyes, it's not food.  And if the grease doesn't make your food slippery enough, they will put multiple sauces on your food to ensure you make a mess of yourself.  In other words, it was pretty great.  I can imagine it's pure heaven at 5am after a late night of drinking and what have you.  Valetine, Allegra and I were drunk on exhaustion after a long day at a work thing on Saturday.  In fact, I'm still feeling the after effects of that day today.  A beach BBQ at Key Biscayne on Sunday was not the ideal way to recuperate, I suppose.

Thrifting

Ever since I was a little punk girl I've loved thrifting.  At the time I was into granny cardigans, men's jeans, and vintage dresses...and, nothing's changed.  I love that I can get 4 or 5 things for $20.  You already know how the piece will stand up to wear and washing because, it's been worn and washed already (ideally).  It's good for the environment, if you care about those kind of things.  And, you'll find stuff that probably no one else has.  I find it difficult to resist the siren song of a thrift store if I drive by one...and I'm blessed to have friends who have the same peculiar tastes and interests that I do.

I'm wearing such a pretty dress today! that I got to cheer myself up after some soul-draining work event at a Goodwill on 97th Avenue and 8th Street SW.  I go to this store all the time, and it's the first time I've bought anything there.  That's another great thing about thrifting: it's all about luck.  You can have great success at a certain store one day, and never find anything good there again.  It's pretty addictive.  Of course, sometimes a fight breaks out (true story) and you decide you're better off just dumping what you've picked up and leaving before the cops come.

La Sandwicherie

Or as I like to say it, La Sangwicherie.  Ok, ok, private joke.

It's a great day when I'm focused enough to listen to my body, hear what it's craving for, and then can give it exactly what it wants.  I wanted a cold sub on my last day off, and, of course, the best cold subs are from La Sandwicherie in South Beach.  Just like how the special sauce at Sarussi "makes" their sandwiches, the french vinaigrette they use at La Sandwicherie makes their sandwiches the ne plus ultra. Careful, guys.  Only God can be perfect...you'd better put some cornichons on mine to not incur any divine wrath on your heads.

It's only a outdoor counter, and a smallish one at that.  There is no parking, and, very likely, no seats available. There is a water misting fan that may or may not be on when you are there.  Still...the food is the perfect antidote to a hot, sun-baked day at the beach.  Watching those sandwiches being made is mesmerizing (I envision Mr. Sandwich-maker-guy with a salad shooter in his hip holster).  My friend is one of those people who live on steamed broccoli and brown rice (and occasionally spends a day just absorbing moisture from the air, like an air plant), and I just assumed we'd be taking half his sandwich (and half of mine, cursed femininity) home...damn if he didn't eat the whole thing, so that gave me free rein to stuff myself. 

Wanee 2010 & Steak 'n Shake & Sushi Chef

Bad vibes at Wanee 2010, man.  It was like living in Bartertown with too much beer, too few women...and to add insult to injury, Wendy's hammock got stolen.  Some other victim posted a sign: Stealing a hammock is bad karma.  Indeed.  Where's the love???  At the very least, I got a new Facebook profile picture out of it.

After we left Wanee I was dying for a burger.  With onions.  We went to Steak 'n Shake because you can get a burger at 10am there.  Seriously, breakfast menu?  Screw off, I'm an AMERICAN, and AMERICANS sometimes want a burger before 11am, and damn it all, as an AMERICAN I demand all my needs, wants and desires to be fulfilled instantly.  So, since God is an AMERICAN, he created Steak 'n Shake.  It's no In 'n Out but, since we all can't live in that glorious paradise on earth called the West Coast, it will have to do.  It's not death row food, but it is release from captivity food.  I may or may not be speaking from personal experience.  I may or may not have kissed the asphalt of the parking lot at the Gainesville Steak 'n Shake in a past life. 

That menu is crazy!  Chili on spaghetti.  Chili on everything.  And, Kool Aid milkshakes!  I forgive Evil G's heresy of ordering that mutt of a burger, with guacamole on it, because she likes weird things to eat.  I mean, she ate tuna stuffed olives at Wanee.  I still love 'er.  Wendy and I went the more traditional role of double burgers with cheese and, just everything, put everything you got, on it.  Then, Wendy topped it off with boiled peanuts from the nearby fruit stand.  She fills me with patriotic pride.

My neighborhood is great for tapas but is lacking in sushi.  Sure, I took the proximity to work and my son's school into consideration when I moved, but obviously I forgot to think of this key element.  The closest place is Sushi Chef, a kind of run down, unspectacular looking place in a strip mall on Coral Way.  I finally stopped in there for a menu and man, that is some sexy reading.  The sake selection is pretty extensive (if you like that kind of thing) and I can't figure out what half of the stuff on the menu even is.  It's a mystery slash adventure!  Luckily the in-restaurant menu has lots of pretty pictures that at least give you an idea of what you're getting yourself into.

I had a spicy tuna roll that, though it wasn't amazing, it certainly was interesting.  A ton of spicy mayo.  Clever little sushi chef.  You madman, you.  Though I didn't love it, and won't order it again, I certainly liked your coy take on my old standby and respect your inventiveness.  The spicy salmon tartar was another story.  I wish I could chew long and take smaller bites.  Yes, that dish and I will meet again, no one night stand there.

Sarussi Cafeteria and Captain Jim's Seafood

Ok, so you've gone and done it, and now so-and-so is lying on a cold slab and you're awaiting execution.  What's on your mind?  Forgiveness?  The afterlife?  No, of course not.   You're thinking about what delicious aftertaste you want lingering in your mouth as they flip the switch and you pass into the, uh, afterlife.  I do hope they serve beer in hell, but I'm sure the menu is rather limited.  Well, I am very indecisive so I've planned this out carefully in case I ever find myself in this situation.

One of my death row meal items is a frita from Rey de la Fritas, and the other is an original sandwich from Sarussi Cafeteria.  Apparently there are other delicious things on the menu, such as the churrasco sandwich, but I wouldn't know...I love the original too much to be led astray.  I went with a bunch of lucky, lucky coworkers after some meeting and we had lunch at the Sarussi on 107th Avenue and 8th Street Southwest.  Oh Em Gee, the smell alone when we walked in made my stomach drop in lustful anticipation.  We all had either the churrasco or the original, on separate checks which the waitress handled like a pro.  I mean, it improves her overall tip, doncha think?  Ok, stop thinking, start eating.

Well, it was fricking awesome, what do you think?  I harassed my two Sarussi-virgin coworkers repeatedly for their opinion, and they assured me it was the best thing ever and that the day they befriended me was the best day ever.  Of course.  The perfect alchemy of pig product, special mystery sauce, toasted, lightly greased bread, cheese, and pickles.  I don't have many fond childhood memories, but I do remember going to the beach during the summer (it felt like we would go everyday but I'm sure I'm remembering that incorrectly).  My family would pick up a few sandwiches from Sarussi, along with a bunch of Chek soda (back then they sold them singly and it was sooo exciting to pick my flavor lol) and we would eat lunch on the beach after working up one of those ferocious, beach-induced hungers.  The taste of those sandwiches was somehow enhanced by the crunch of the sand that would work its way in.

I went to Captain Jim's Seafood to indulge in the perfect sensual experience of eating a plate of raw oysters.  I was so looking forward to it and so hyping it up that by the time we got there...well, it's a mistake to look forward to anything so much.  Don't get me wrong, everything was still the same and the service was fine and the oysters were great but somehow food tastes better when you are not expecting it to blow you away.  I had the shrimp cocktail as well, which seemed a bit tough.  My friend had the fried conch sandwich and hush puppies, which were more than respectable, even reheated the next day.  But the experience fell flat, don't know why.  I really don't care for breaded, deep-fried food, that's for certain.  Oh, well, we'll always have sushi.  Even the cheap ass sushi in a place like Iron Sushi on Miami Beach is just fine, thanks.

Taco Bell, Sushi-Thai on the Beach and Titanic

Ah...the fourth meal.  Beloved savior of those in the throes of late night munchies.  The concept has been around forever, but Taco Bell was genius enough to recognize their position in the food chain and capitalize on it.  You got to love Mexicans and their contributions to American decadence and overindulgence:  Taco Bell.  Tequila.  Corona.  Tijuana.  And their ingenuity!  The things they came up with, with just a handful of ingredients.  I went to one after a night at Harvey's, realizing (well, Allegra realized for me) that I didn't have time for a proper meal.  I rather belligerently stated, repeatedly (may have been the Yuengling talking) that I was hungry...so I got five bucks worth of Taco Hell, which is quite a LOT of food...and then put it away for dinner the next day after just a couple of bites.

Went to Sushi-Thai on the Beach on the Hollywood boardwalk.  The place is shabby and run down but it has the ubiquitous deferential Thai (?) staff that I so adore, and one of those horribly extensive menus that is the bane of my existence.  Those menus are why I often look at the restaurant's website in advance and choose what I want, so I don't feel like I'm driving my dinner companions or waiter mad with my indecisiveness.  I already knew, for instance, that I was getting Tuna Rock, which is chopped raw tuna with tempura flakes, avocado, cucumber, sesame oil, masago, scallion, and spicy mayo.  These are a few of my favorite things...I get this kind of thing wherever it's offered, in its various forms and permutations.  I think it's pretty much my favorite dish.  We also got one of those crazy sushi boats for two.  So much sushi we had leftovers, if you can believe that.  I smiled, frequently, during that meal.  It's my barometer for how tasty things are and how happy my tummy is.

Last night a large group of us gathered at Titanic Brewery and Restaurant to check out Wendy's friends' band.  Formerly, Falaz, currently-???  The bar is right by the University of Miami campus but it lacks that sketchy college bar feel like you get in real college towns.  It has pretentions that don't fall quite short; it lacks imagination in decor and menu but it's certainly not offensive in any way.  I just got one beer (I know, I know), their Triple Screw Light Ale, and their ceviche.  The beer is ok, I guess...I'm not a connoisseur, but at least it's cheap at $4 at mug.  It was a mistake to order a dish I like as much as ceviche in a place like that; it wasn't terrible but it was certainly kind of pathetic.  I'm pretty certain all the food at that place is like that.  Food intuition.  A place like is only as good as the company you're keeping, and luckily I was in some of the best...had to cut the night short to get up early for work today, though.  Didn't even get to hear the band!  :(

Paris/Amsterdam - March 18 & 19

We went to the Waterlooplein Flea Market which was awesome!  Just what I was hoping for.  Not too big, so you can walk the whole thing and get an idea of prices before buying.  Cute hippie stuff.  And a frites stand frying them to order.  I heart Waterlooplein!

Wendy and I bought some fabulous skirts that will be the envy of all at the next music fest, and incense, and pillow case covers, and a tapestry...a bunch of stuff.  Mata got a ring and something for mum.  It was just a great variety of things for sale at pretty good prices.

After the market we caught the New Amsterdam Free Walking Tour (yup, same company does both).  We didn't enjoy our tour guide in Amsterdam, Mason, as much as we liked our Paris one, Alex.  Mason seemed a bit condescending, especially to the others, and pretty darn hung over.  To be expected, I guess.  As we walked the city I noticed how few windows had curtains, and you could look into people's homes...and what a great sense of design people employed in decorating their homes.  More beauty, everywhere you looked, but funkier, rather than classic like Paris.  And cats, everywhere!  If you're into that kind of thing :)

After the tour we headed back to the Satellite Sports Cafe, if you can believe that.  We became regulars, sort of!  That night we had some apple flavored tobacco in a hookah at our local bar, Wonder Bar.

We left late to the airport the morning of departure, and through assorted delays and mishaps (don't let your travel agent say it doesn't matter that your name is slightly misspelled, because it does) we ran through the airport and made it onto the plane about 20 minutes before takeoff.  The flight was overbooked but after a few tense moments we all got seats, and then the rest was easy sailing.

At home I really noticed how there is so much empty space, just a really inefficient use of space.  And everything seemed so baked and dull.  Oh, well, it's home.  My apartment was delish to return to.  Went to Home Depot and blew some of the money I didn't spend in Europe on some plants, herbs and such.  My balcony is not too sunny but I'm hoping they'll do all right.  I planted herbs instead of flowers because, if I'm going to take care of plants, they'd better earn their keep!

Paris/Amsterdam - March 16 & 17

The 16th was a travel day, from Paris to Amsterdam.  On our last walk around the Paris hood we stopped in a French Hallmark type store where the shop owner had her English bulldog with her - eating a baguette!  So cute!  We did some last minute shopping at the Paris airport (surprisingly, we did little shopping in Paris and actually all came in under budget for spending money on this trip) and tried some Chicken and Thyme flavored chips and Bolognese ones.  Those crazy Europeans!  The in-flight safety video British Airways  plays was very well done and informative...we actually learned something!  Kudos to the Brits!

We got the I Amsterdam card at the airport, which gives you free public transportation and free admission to many museums.  Again, we used the hell out of the free public transportation feature, at least.  We had some quaint notion that we would be walking less in Amsterdam, since the trams are so convenient.  Well, they are but only once we figured some things out...and some things we were still figuring out the day we left.  The bus driver (*Note: when leaving the airport, take the 195 bus to Lelylaan tram station) took the opportunity to give us his opinion on the Moslem immigrants to Amsterdam.  I say, no comment.

We dropped Yoli and Z at their hotel, then walked to ours.  With our backpacks.  Because someone told us it was a fifteen minute walk.  It may have actually been only fifteen minutes, but time is relative when you are carrying a heavy pack on your back.  We did get to see the mini Red Light District right in our own neighborhood.  How convenient.  We met up with the girls for a quick dinner at one of the many falafel places in the city.  I really liked how "fast food" there is prepared to order.  Thank goodness for all the exercise they get there, cause everything is fried.  But good, if not authentic Dutch food.  I had Shorma, which included meat carved off a huge hunk impaled on the counter (goat?) and was slathered in some tasty creamy garlic sauce.

The next day we very self righteously got up early and headed over to the museums, the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum (free admission with the I Amsterdam card).  We then ended up at an Ach Emm near a sport bar; I had more success in the store this time, and we ate lunch at the Satellite Sports Cafe.  Hey, we didn't name it.  I had spaghetti with Bolognese sauce (there's a trend, there) cause I was craving carbs and we had beer...we really just loved the place, and didn't want to move, ever.  Funny how at home I want to split as soon as I eat but on my trip, I just wanted to sit around and veg after my meal.  How very civilized of me.  We loved our waiter (holla!) who was charming us with his ready wink until we realized it was most likely a facial tic.  We never win lol  Awesome fact: the drinking age for soft liquor is 16 and up, and for hard liquor is 18 and up.

So, Amsterdam.  For some reason, the city makes me wonder about statistics.  It's just so extreme, here.  Bicycles everywhere (nearly 30 percent of all commuters travel exclusively by bicycle) makes me think, what's the average commute time?  You see almost no children - what's the population growth rate?  Crossing the street is insanely dangerous - how often are there accidents?  So many people, milling about, at all hours - what's the unemployment rate?  The smell of pot everywhere and people drinking beer on the street, on trams, boats - what's the rate of addiction?  In the Red Light District I wondered, who the hell actually does that?  In a purely practical sense, paying 50 Euro for 15 minutes, and you have to undress, shower, get hard, cum, and be ready to go in that time...I'd rather jerk off, I think.  The food - how much heart disease is there?  I mean, they have chocolate sprinkles for toast!

We did a free canal tour that was part of the I Amsterdam package, then went to the Red Light District, and were more impressed by the swans than the hookers.  We ate at New York Pizza and Wok to Walk.  Pretty self evident meal choices.

Nice full day!  We definitely made better use of time in Amsterdam.

Paris/Amsterdam trip - March 14 & 15

The free breakfast at the hotel was glorious!  So good we snuck Yoli and Z in to have it :)  They had a traditional English breakfast, fruit, a bunch of pastries, breads and croissants, cereal, cured meats, cheese (fancy ones!), coffee, espresso...and the stewed tomatoes was one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth.  I ate breakfast super early after finishing up on the Internet, then went back to sleep...we all slept until 10am, and we missed the 11am New Paris free walking tour.  This pretty much threw our whole day off.  We got to the site where the tour meets, hoping to catch Yoli and Z...all we saw was what appeared to be the tour group, off in the distance.  So we walk-ran to catch up, and after fifteen sweaty minutes gave up.  We took the 1pm tour instead, and it was great.  History in snack form.

It was a Sunday so pretty much everything was closed.  We tried to find an H&M (which the French call, "ach emm") but nada.  Or, rien.  We headed back to the hotel; I got a ton of smokes at a tabac nearby and we got dinner and a couple six packs of French Beer, 1664 and something else, at the grocery store.  We hung out in the hotel, drinking and eating, and slept like babies.

The next day we determinedly got up via wake-up call and went to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery, where Jim Morrison is buried.  We saw his grave and I got a new Facebook profile picture; I don't know which of the two is more important.  We then headed over to a French Flea Market, Marche aux Puces de Saint-Ouen, which was a total bust.  The affordable part resembled Hialeah, and the rest was an expensive antiques market.  More metro trips led us to the Moulin Rouge, which we weakly photographed and then got back onto the Metro.  God, we used the hell out of that metro card.  Definitely a good value.

Tired.  Tired.  Taking pictures of outsides was all we could manage, being tired and cheap.  We went to a lot of places in Paris, just not in them.  At least we were all in agreement that, that was the way to go.

Wendy had a boot mishap and Mata was suffering in her shoes so we went to the mall to get sneakers for the two of them.  There we saw an Ach Emm but it was a bust, extremely picked over and busy.  I got nuthin', and shock waves ran through the earth as a result.

We ate dinner at a French Friday's called Hippopotamus (Hippo, if you're down like that).  Apparently well-done meat is unheard of in France.  There was a blood bath on Mata's plate by the time she was finished, and Wendy had to send hers back...not that it came back any more cooked, just more charred on the outside.  It's as if they cook with blow torches.

We began our love affair with frite sauce in Paris and it continued through to Amsterdam.  It's either mayo, or flavored mayo, that you eat with fries, and it was the thing to do in both places.  If you want to know how this tastes, just come by any of our homes for a bit of authentic frite sauce we bought in Amsterdam and yes, carried all the way home.

Paris/Amsterdam trip - March 12 & 13

We are here!  Here being, the Holiday Inn - Bastille, bitches!  Man, French keyboards are crazy!  They move just a few crucial keys enough to make you think you've lost your mind.  Anywho, Wendy, Mata and I got to the airport rushing but the flight was delayed, anyway; we ended up leaving at 6:30pm instead of 5:15pm.  The good part is that it shortened our layover in NY to almost nothing.  There was a cute group of French teenagers with a flight delay, sleeping in a pile on the floor like puppies.  Actually, we'd be there at MIA still, lying on the floor reading, if Wendy hadn't had the smarts to check and see if the gate had been changed.  The crappy Delta flight to NY's LaGuardia airport was both lame and sad, as can be expected (doll-sized portions of pretzels, peanuts or biscotti - I hardly fly and it's exactly what I got last time) but dinner on the Air France flight from NY to Paris's Charles De Gaulle airport was something else - the menu (ahem):

Salmon with couscous
Chicken fricasse with herbed mashed potato
Cheese
Bread
Raspberry orange cake
Rice pudding

By far the best airplane food I've ever had.  You hear the French take food seriously, but when you are there you really see it...take their school lunches, for instance...

The airport in Paris was deserted and we walked right through...I still think we missed an immigration step somewhere but, oh wells!  Someone left a big, silver, men's ring at the security checkout which I promptly co-opted, thinking it was some kind of omen.  As I put it on I imagined that it was the symbol of membership in some secret, arcane group and some crazy adventure would befall us because I was wearing it a la Da Vinci Code but so far, nothing.

After a minor SNAFU (the first of many involving public transportation) where I kept trying to put my receipt instead of the train ticket in the gate until the first of many nice French people helped me out, we got to the hotel.  The room was tres chic but we were a trifle bemused, wondering how the three of us were going to sleep in the not-so-big bed, when Wendy discovered the Murphy bed: I promptly claimed it since I have a debilitating inability to sleep near other people.  Mata's friends Yoli and Z met us at our hotel.

Then we started walking.  We saw the Notre Dame as the sun was setting (we got to our hotel room at 4:30pm so we started late) and then the Eiffel Tower at night;  Hmmm..I expected it to be bigger.  We ate dinner at a cute cafe, the Salle au 1er, that we selected after extensive research: we were hungry, it was the first place we saw, and it was cheap.  The place had a prix fixe menu, a three course meal for 8.50€.  I had the Pate de Compagne (it was pork liver, haters), Steak Grille, and Mousse Chocolate.  By far the best part was the appetizers; I never get to have pate and Wendy loved her green soup and finished Yoli's.  The smidgen of steak was nonspectacular, the fries indifferent, the vegetables overcooked but flavorful.  The chocolate mousse redeemed the adequate dinner but I can't complain; I spend more than that on lunch all the time.

Got back to our hotel room a little before eleven.  We tried to grab a six pack of sucky French beer but the market didn't sell beer after nine (Sad face!  Sad face!)  A lot of people speak English but a lot don't, of course, and communicating complex thoughts is tough (Not, can I have a cigarette, or, where is the closest place to purchase cigarettes but, what is the cheapest place to buy the several packs of cigarettes I have been commissioned to bring back home?)  We did good, we only spent 49€ our first day, and 28.50€ was for train passes and fares.  *Note: buy your multi day train pass at the airport!

We got to the room and promptly passed out...then I got up at 5am and came down to the Internets to let the others sleep.  I am getting sleepy again, though...then, free breakfast at the hotel and our new day begins.  I hope to catch a walking tour today, and go to the flea market (why else did I come lol), the Champs Elysse, the catacombs, the cementery where Jim Morrison is buried, anf hopefully get to H&M (it's not really an option).

The weather at night is pretty chilly but the days are completely doable...and everything, everything, is absolutely gorgeous: the buildings, the winter-bare trees, the clothes, the signs...everything.  It's impossible to choose particular sights to photograph.  Every step and every view is equally lovely, from the impressive cathedrals to the charming bakery displays.  Everything is touched by a graceful hand.  Spring here with everything in bloom must be spectacular.