Cured Meats, Chunky Beats, and a whole lotta love in the Suite.

Bonjour, Hola, Cheerio! I just wanted to let people know that not only did we make it to Madrid (and now Paris) but we have had QUITE a few adventures already.

Brief recap:

In the Philly airport I met a man (our eyes locked across the bar and we bonded over blue moons) and we discovered that we were on the same flight to Madrid- so we drank some more, hopped on the plane, and he convinced the woman next to him that she should really take my middle seat three rows back so that I could have her window. Somehow it worked and over the next 8 hours we fell in love. Thank god we did, because when I landed at 8am i learned that my phone didnt work and I had no way to locate becki and Ryan, who were flying into Madrid at noon. luckily this man helped me text becki a very specific location to find me, and crisis averted. He flew home to Pamplona (no he does not run with the bulls, I asked) and ryan, becki, and i took off for our hotel. The front desk girl took about 3 seconds before she convinced becki to upgrade us to a suite that came with our own personal "experience manager." Jose was his name, and fun was his game. He taught us to use our Wii, play with the ipod, and he showed us around the "moxi bar" (because it was bigger than a mini bar).  He also suggested that all three of us share the king bed (cue eyebrow raising and winking) and then he skipped out the door. We think Jose was pretty gay.
We then went for tapas where we ate our daily serving of cured meats. That night we went clubbing. Think men in no shirts and women in their underpants on a stage with a smoke machine dancing to "chunky beats." Ryan promptly bought a bottle of vodka and commissioned me to be his pimp, bringing hot austrian girls back to the table who wanted nothing to do with him. Thats the last thing I remember was the three of us being propositioned by a random creepy man who I think wanted to kill ryan and have his way with becki and i, immediately followed by becki getting heckled on the street while i cowered in fear behind ryan.
Then came Saturday, where we went shopping and then stopped in for a casual cafe con leche, but the tables quickly turned when Ryan challenged me to a beer chugging contest and the entire day became a tapas/bar crawl through Madrid. Below you will notice Ry Guy and I choosing our meats at "El Museo del Jamon" (the HAM MUSEUM).

Today we woke up around 11 and dragged ourselves to the airport but I managed to vomit in our hotel room, our hotel basement, the restaurant, the cab, the airports (both madrid and paris), the airplane, in my own mouth, and in my bag on the bus. This was all due to my severe dehydration mixed with low blood sugar and overall overindulgence of the sauce. 
In other news, we have seen more hot men since we arrived in Paris at 6pm tonight than we did the entire time in Madrid. Becki took particular interest in the guy who checked us in (he was tres bien) but we are more interested in the Airplane Pilots we saw getting into an elevator after dinner tonight. I made a beeline for them (we had been on our way to creepily walk by the front desk and spy on our check in guy) but when we saw them we changed our direction. However we chickened out and didnt jump into their elevator so that was a waste. There is always tomorrow though.  We stopped into an Irish pub where I fell in love with the bartender although he wasnt all that impressed with me, and we tried to make our waiter love us at dinner but he mostly wanted no part of it. So thats been it so far- now we are snuggling in our big bed, watching le television, and resting up for a big day of sight seeing tomorrow.

This has been a real pain so I  probably won't blog again while I am away.

xoxo
Lee Gal and Barkilona

Cloudy with a chance of Sex Slavery

Well- this is it. My final goodbye before I hop on a plane and fly off to Europe, most likely never to be heard from again.
I just watched "Taken" again (Liam Neeson the badass rescuing his daughter from a life of sex slavery). I mainly watched this because I wanted to try to pick up a few tips on what NOT to do when I get to Paris. However, after seeing how things went down, I realized that chances are, I'm going to be sold into sex slavery within moments of arriving. I mean lets break this down: 2 girls land in Paris, and a good looking man asks them to share a cab. Is this something that I would allow? Yes. Without a moments hesitation, yes. Even after seeing Taken, yes. Then the cab drops them off at the place they are staying and the nice looking man asks them if he and his presumably nice looking friends can come over that night to hang out/party/show them the town. Would I allow this? Yes. After seeing Taken, not so much. But at this point it won't really matter because the sex selling men can come find us at any time by simply asking the concierge where we are. I'd be willing to bet the hotel staff is in on it too. Plus I'm traveling with Becki, so lets be honest- she will probably hang a sign on our door inviting in any good looking men that want to hang out. Sorry Becki, I'm just playing the odds.
After thinking things through, I feel safer than the girls in Taken for three reasons.
1. It is probably a lot harder to take two screaming and struggling girls out of a hotel than it was to steal them away from a giant empty mansion- so they're gonna have to snag us somewhere else. Which I admit is a possibility.
2. We have chaperones in 2/3 cities- Ryan Hall has been tasked with guarding our virtue in Madrid, and Tyler's friend/ex roommate (I forget the actual connection) is in charge of keeping us off the street corners of Paris- and everyone knows that Londoners aren't into sex slaves.
3. I would be a TERRIBLE sex slave, and I'll make this clear to the people who are trying to sell me. This is probably my biggest saving grace. I mean, these girls in Taken were heavily sedated/drugged up and then put into rooms where men came to have their way with them. Now everybody knows that I don't do well with most drugs (pills/painkillers/sedatives, specifically), mainly because I turn into a sloppy disgusting raving lunatic. I can state several examples of this happening, my favorite being the time Valarie took me in a limosine to a fancy party at the Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, FL, and I popped some kind of pill and then spent the evening clinging to a pillar with my eyes rolled in the back of my head, mumbling jibberish until she had to stuff me in a cab and take me to Paul's condo where I could try to regain my sanity. I don't see how any man would want to deal with that, no matter how much money he paid.

With all that said, I still don't feel 100% sure that we will make it home. I can see one of us (me) meeting some Londoner and marrying him on the spot, never to be heard from again because lets face it, British accents are my weakness. That is a proven fact- History has shown that I am completely helpless when someone talks British to me. Thats probably why I spend a lot of my time speaking in a fake (and terrible) British accent. Becki has a better history with the Brits than I do (example: the night she left me in the dust at 3am on the streetcorner with 2 british men, hers staring after her with a look of bewilderment on his face), but I guess we'll see! If you don't hear from me on or after the 25th/26th of February, I guess you can just assume one of these two possible scenarios has played out. Lets hope its the latter of the two- although I guess the silver lining to the sex slavery cloud is that I can retire early from climbing the corporate ladder. I realize that isn't the best case scenario, but what can I say- I'm an optimist!

Reflections

Every morning, I have a routine. It's pretty much set in stone, I suppose because I am old and set in my ways. Each night, I set my alarm for 6:30. Once it goes off, I hit snooze approximately 9 times. I realize that is ridiculous, but it helps me in my gradual waking up process. If you know me at all, you know that I am NOT a morning person and waking me up without a warning can cause calamity and disaster. Certain friends of mine ARE morning people (Mando), and they have gotten their heads bitten off on more than one occasion when they were acting too perky for my liking.
Anyway. So I snooze... get up.. shower.. inevitably take too long, and end up racing the clock to get on the red line by 8. Once I make it to my stop, I shove everyone out of my way and fly out of the doors like a bat out of hell. I go right off the train, scurry up the escalator, veer left up the staircase, and I'm free to shove my way down Jackson and into my building.
This morning, as I was going through this very routine, I got stuck behind a person on the escalator who refused to walk up it- he just stood there in the middle of the escalator, not leaving any space for me to squeeze by him on his left. I was pretty annoyed, especially because a line of escalator walkers started to form behind me and I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that I was stuck- it wasn't MY fault we were at a standstill. I started looking around, with pure aggrevation and hatred written all over my face, loudly sighing and generally acting like a snobby bitch so that everyone behind me could see that I was NOT the lazy one who refused to budge. To make matters worse, I looked to my left at the staircase that's next to the escalator and saw people passing me as they lept up the stairs, two at a time, without the aid of an already moving staircase.
I was cursing people in my head left and right- damn this lazy idiot holding me up on the escalator. Damn that energetic idiot racing up the stairs as if his life depended on it. Damn me for being caught somewhere between lazy and energetic, because I wanted to race up the escalator as opposed to just taking the stairs. Suddenly, a realization hit me like a ton of bricks- this was all my fault. Why do people walk up the escalator instead of walking up the stairs? Laziness. Was I being ridiculous for expecting someone to try to cheat the system by walking up a staircase that moves for you? Isn't the whole point of an escalator so that you DON'T have to use your legs? The escalator ride was excruciatingly slow, so I had a lot of time to ponder these things, and I realized: I need to reevaluate my life.
This got me thinking about other aspects of day-to-day life that I get annoyed about, that are probably also my own fault. After some serious reflection, it turns out I don't like to take responsibility for much of anything and I generally throw out blame and judgement left and right. And who is to blame for this bad attitude (badditude)? I think the answer is crystal clear- Patrick. He is the supreme king of looking down on everyone from his golden cloud of judgement, and I guess it's contagious. So my New Year's Resolution (one of the 10 I made so that the odds of not breaking at least one is pretty decent) is this: Be less like Patrick in 2011.

Pig Face

Hello! Due to an overwhelming amount of random requests, I have decided to give in and blog again. Several people have asked for me to write an "open letter" to them but I just can't write that many.. so all in good time. (Laura Phillips, you're first in line).

The reason I was on a self imposed exhile from blogging was mainly because my life got pretty boring for awhile. I got to thinking that I am too young to be so predictable- so I decided to spice things up.
One of the first things I did was visit the psychic who lives downstairs. She is back, in all her former glory... and more. She got a new sign, refinished her floors, and basically got a whole new look to her psychic gypsy studio. She wasn't very helpful and in the end I decided that I doubt her abilities as a clairvoyant because all that she told me is that I will be taking a trip soon, and it will be "enlightening." The only trips i have planned are for bachelorette parties, so unless male strippers and an abundance of alcohol is enlightening, that lazy eyed gypsy is a phony.
Another thing i decided was that I need a hobby. I chose running, mainly because its easy and I can have a goal (mini marathon). I also chose this because of the massive amount of weight I have put on as of late. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing me this year, the amount of weight I've managed to gain is actualy alarming. So I figured I would kill two birds with one stone. Now, as a rule I have stayed away from running for an extended period of time due to the size of my chest. It can get painful. However, I decided to pop on an extra sports bra and see how long I can run without stopping. 7 miles later, I was very impressed with myself, but apparently its not meant to be because my big toe nail promptly fell off after this initial test run. Mini Marathon- 1, Lee- 0.
It's gotten very cold in Chicago over the past few weeks, and as a result I am in need of a new winter coat. However, instead of buying one, I have taken to stealing coats from bars. I don't know what it is, but when I get a little boozy, I also get a little klepto. A few weeks ago, I couldn't find my coat at a bar. Instead of chalking it up to another lost coat, I browsed through the available coats and chose a nice North Face fleece for myself. I figured North Face girl would find my (much nicer) coat and be pleased- however the next day, a BIRTHDAY MIRACLE happened. Long story short, a friends friend is the bartender at the bar where I left my coat, she put in a quick call to him, and next thing you know, boom. My coat, back in my possession. So I actually walked away from that situation plus one North Face.  I acquired yet another coat last week from Social 25. This trend is not one that I am ok with and I am going to make a conscious effort to stop my thieving ways. Karma is gonna get me big time for this.

2 closing thoughts- 1. last night I ate at a new place- the Girl and the Goat. We ordered something called "Crispy Pig Face." It was literally pieces of a pigs face.. and it was delicious. Seriously, soooo good. Even Rebecca C. Leonard, my favorite fake vegetarian, loved every crispy bite. 2. With James Cleary following me on Twitter and Pitsy Patsy Cleary monitoring my Gchat status, the only remaining place that I can post my inappropriate thoughts is facebook. So strap in- I think I am going to become one of those pesky status updaters that I hated with the fire of 1000 suns just a few weeks ago.

An Open Letter to Patrick- Part 2.

Dear Patrick,

I still haven't been able to reach you over gchat- you must still have me blocked, but so much has happened that I think it's time that we communicate again. While I did make some progress in that you answered 2 of my calls last week, I think that progress came to a screeching halt after I was unable to ahere to your friendship conditions. I am so glad that you managed to let me know that yesterday you vomited taco bell so strongly and forcefully that the water splashed out of the toilet and into your face and hair. Hearing that cute little anecdote really made me feel like I was right there with you.

Where should I begin?! I think the first thing I want to tell you about is the Big 10 Bar Crawl that I went on with Sister Moley a few weekends ago. It was a lot of fun and I was definitely in college mode, but my fun fell short when I found myself unable to walk home. I lost function of my legs and arms and toppled over 3 blocks from my house and couldnt get up again. I rolled around trying to gather the strength to get up but I just couldnt muster it... and I had my headphones in listening to 'colors of the wind' by pochahantis. Some man on a bike stopped to assist me and basically carry me the 3 blocks home. It was really special. I really think that I proved then and there that no matter what anyone says, jager bombs are NEVER a good idea.

My new apartment is still fine, minus a minor fire and the fact that my landlords wish me dead. That part is mainly Becki's fault though, since she fell asleep in the hallway last weekend for a good 3 hours because they didn't believe her when she tried to tell them that she was actually me. I got a harsh scolding from the landlords, explaining that no matter what happens, I can't use them to let in my friends when I can't be bothered to come home yet. Sorry for partying. In other news, I am almost done with LOST. Jin and Sun just died and I swear I cried harder than when you told me my tatoo was ugly that time at Lairs' lake house. Remember that? I do.

The psychic next door got SHUT DOWN, which proves the point that I was trying to make all along, which is that she is either a prostitute, a drug lord, a prostituting drug lord, or just a crazy woman with eyes that look in 2 different directions. I'm really disappointed though, because I really wanted to get more involved in her little operation and maybe do some kind of an expose. But I guess too little, too late. I think Ashley Manning is the most disappointed, as she was the one who insisted that we knock on the psychics door at 9:30am on a Saturday until she answered. When she finally answered the door all wild eyed and disheveled, it scared us both so much that we didn't even try to find another psychic to see that day.

Not much else has happened- James came into town last week and he and I drank coors lights/blue moons all night long. One of the bartenders kept buying us more and more drinks. Eventually dad made some kind of a rude comment and alas, the free drinks stopped there. When I told him that you had been spreading rumors that I was dead, he laughed. I was a little hurt by this- especially when I told him that you had told people I was facebooking from the beyond- specifically, purgatory. All he said was "Well at least he doesn't think you're in hell." Not a very fatherly response, but I guess it's safe to say that you won James over long ago. So thats about it for me. See you Thursday? Perhaps we can even rent Ponyo?

Your friend,

LGC

Cockroach Wishes and Serial Killer Dreams

When I first got to Chicago, I decided to sublease an apartment from a possibly gay man. I hoped that his sexuality meant that the apartment had been kept clean, and that since he was potentially gay, he maybe was afraid of things like bugs and murderers, and therefore wouldn’t have lived in an apartment that was under siege by both of these things. Apparently that’s what I get for stereotyping, for that was obviously NOT the case. Someone came a knockin' on my sliding glass door within a few nights of sleeping there. I don't think a killer would knock, but I wasn't about to answer to find out. Then came the real trouble. I first noticed 8 dead cockroaches under the sink on my third day. I almost threw up, but swept them away and told myself they had obviously been dead for awhile. It wasn’t until I saw the live one go sauntering by Jixy Meow (and instead of attacking it, he watched it go by as if they were old friends), when I realized that I might have a real problem on my hands. 5 more live roaches and about 10 more dead ones confirmed my fears. I immediately packed up my stuff and got the hell out.

Well actually that’s not entirely true. I didn’t pack it, I hired some “movers” to pack it. Mind you, these were people that I found on Craigslist, so they weren’t legitimate movers, per se. That was mostly unfortunate because that meant that I couldn’t make them pay for my coffee table that they shattered, or my couch that they destroyed whilst trying to shove it out of the doorway. The couch situation made me sad because when they showed up they were quite cheerful, filled with hope based off my promise that it would be a “quick, easy move.” After they had to remove the door to get the couch out of the roach motel, (and then couldn’t get the door back on), their attitudes deteriorated quickly and soon they were staring at me as if they wanted me dead. Luckily I had my friend Brooke with me as a witness if they tried to feed me to the roaches.

Although my landlord wasn’t thrilled that I moved out without paying rent or any notice at all, I can happily say that is all behind me. I can also happily report that I no longer have to down a bottle of wine before I go to bed, which makes me feel a little bit better about myself. I haven't been over an hour late to work since the move, so I think my boss is also pretty happy with the change.

My favorite thing about my NEW building is that there is a psychic next door, and she plays loud enchanting music all day long trying to lure in customers. I secretly think she is running some kind of a brothel because there are always creepy men going in and then coming out a short time later looking dreamy and relaxed. Maybe she just gave them a really promising reading, but I can’t be sure. I’ll have to book an appointment with her and see what happens. (This could also be an opportunity to test out my rape plan if things start to go south and she tries to sell me as a sex slave).

Last weekend I was not in the city, as my dear friend Pat Cline got married. It was a lot of fun, and people were being ‘Iced’ left and right, although on the way home I had to battle nausea the entire way. I eventually lost and vomited in my Crock Pot (it was all that I had) so now that thing is pretty much useless.

So that’s the latest- the good, the bad, and the disgusting.

An Open Letter to Patrick

As some of you may know, I recently made a move to Chicago. A long story short, I took a job here and went on my merry way. Patrick Logan Russell did NOT take this well, and he has been rude and callous ever since. He just told me that I can no longer contact him directly to update him on my life- aka no calls, texts, gchats, facebook messages, or pages- so I am going to update him via this open letter.

Dear Patrick,

Good morning. I guess in Indy it is afternoon now. I hope your new job is going well.
I just wanted to give you a brief but thorough update on my life since I have been in Chicago. It's really been a whirlwind.
I arrived Sunday around 6pm. The guy whose apartment I am subletting is "not gay," but he is a hairdresser who wears skinny jeans, and his girlfriend barely speaks english (she is from Hong Kong), so who knows. Anyway, when I arrived they were nice enough to help me unload my packed jeep. When the girl saw Jixy Meow, she pointed, smiled ear to ear, and said "Garfield!" But she had an asian accent, so it was more like "gaaahfeeldd!"
Once they had left me, I got to unpacking. Once I was unpacked, I got scared that I would soon be raped and pillaged so I drank a whole bottle of wine so as to ease my fears, and then I passed out. So that's Sunday.
Monday morning, I got up bright and early for work. I arrived to a warm welcome- even the guy up in the mailroom (whose name in Ponce by the by) sent me a welcome back email. I have been in training and am sad to report that nothing too exciting has happened since I've been here.
Actually that's a lie. We went to lunch on my first day and I immediately decided who I like and hate. The lunch took awhile (12 noon and the most crowded restaurant on michigan ave), but some of my lunch mates decided that this was unacceptable and threw some kind of a hissy fit. One guy nearly cried and another went wild over the fact that he didn't get a roll with his salad. "He needed some carbs," he lamented, although he ordered his chicken grilled and asked for no croutons so I thought that it was his own damn fault.
Also my friend Dave drunkenly shaved his head so that was fun.
Monday night I slept without the aid of wine, although I can't say the same for Tuesday. Wednesday I had date night with my two sweet potatoes, Becki and Tara. We went to a mexican restaurant where I ordered a cheese burger, and then Becki and I drank blue berry vodka for quite some time. After that, we went to my house to sleep like two crack whores on a foam mattress and we turned on my all time favorite movie (besides That Thing You Do! and 500 Days of Summer) - FEVER PITCH. I decided we needed more wine so we killed the bottle I had open and then I put a bottle in the freezer and promptly passed out. I discovered it this morning- total bummer.
Becki, in her usual life ruining manner, allowed me to sleep until approx 7:53 (I have to be here at 8) so i woke in a panic, brushed my teeth, packed some grapes, and flew out the door in a very low cut sundress and a torn sweater, with my makeup from yesterday morning and my greasy hair in a pony tail. So not much has changed in my work life. I forgot my wallet though, so now I am going to go home to get it, because I need a greasy sandwich from the corner bakery. So that is all thats going on with me. Whats new with you?

Your friend,
Lee