Peru Pictures III

And a few beach pics to make you jealous... Unless of coarse, you are Richie and live in Hawaii :)

1 Obviously enjoying the sun in my mu mu (sexy)
2 Vicious coconuts
3 Enjoying the bungalows in Mancora
4 View from the breakfast place Green Eggs and Ham- quite delicious seeing that we devoured EVERYTHING on the menu
5 View from the first place we stayed; the balcony hung over the ocean (in what seemed like a very unsafe, yet scenic manner)

Peru Pictures II

Some more delightful pictures for your viewing pleasure:
1 The result of too much rum...please note the clever use of bandannas
2 Jelly fruit cup stand at the massive market
3 The ever delicious (or so I was told) testicle of sheep- doesn't that woman look pleased
4 Soon to be bacon
5 Tallest Irish pub in the world

Peru Pictures

They have arrived!!!! I uploaded some pictures for all to see. Since the optical zoom on my photo taker was not as advanced as Sergio's, I will add to the collection in the near future. The anticipated photo being the infamous guinea pig- who introduced intestinal malfunctions (bitch). Disfruta!

And so here we have (from the top):
1 Me, in a lovely green ensemble- At what our tour guide called "the facebook photo spot".
2 Wayna Picchu, the second mountain we conquered
3 Serg and I (As I cling to him for dear life) on the edge of WP looking onto MP.
4 The "Sacred Stone" that I accidentally touched and got yelled at by many people in many languages
5 Coca tea...Which we drank, chewed, and considered putting in sandwiches for "flavor"

Muy Cuy BAD

In my extraordinary adventure to Peru, I made it a personal mission to accomplish a few goals. Climb Machu Picchu. Check. Sleep in a room crawling with Geckos and not cry. Check. Eat Guinea pig. CHECK!

As I mentioned previously, Serg and I were nearing the end of our adventures in South America. We had been to Lima, capitol of Peru, and experienced their Rum and sunsets. We ventured inland to Cusco and completed a marvelous journey to the top of Machu Picchu and back. We climbed (via first class bus) north to Mancora, or yet Tropical Paradise. As we sat in the bus terminal cafe awaiting our final hours before departing to the Homeland, it dawned on us-

We had NOT yet consumed the Peruvian delicacy- The cute and fuzzy pet in The States, consequently named fluffy, snowball, or Marvin. And when I casually mentioned to my traveling companion that we were to miss the bus on said conquest, the kibosh was put down. We WERE to taste this mysterious creature. Serg immediately abandoned me, and upon his return (3 minutes later) had Peruvian dollars in hand and declared to have a plan!!!

Since we had nearly 12 hours before our air bus was to chauffeur us home, Serg and I had planned to consume alcoholic beverages for the majority of the remaining time. The plan differed a bit, thankfully, and thus brought us to our destination- a 4 star restaurant where the preferred plate was the one and only Guinea Pig.

***Side Note*** A gentleman we met at a hostel in Lima told us about a small town in Peru where they hold an annual guinea pig competition. In this event, people dress the animals up in trousers and hats, shirt and little shoes. The winner (in which I am unclear as to how the decision is made, and on what components it is decided that the GP wins) is declared safe, and can live as a pet while the others are stripped of their tiny clothing, fur, and ultimately, their dignity and thrown to the kitchen; where their destiny awaits to land on some foreigners plate at a 4 star restaurant.

Though I was aware at some point on this trip I would have the 'privlage' of tasting such a 'treat,' I definitely found it necessary to have a big glass of wine pre pig. And after some bread, an appetizer, some more wine, and a brief mental 'pump-me-up-pep-talk,' it arrived. There it was, all intact, like someone had just put it in the deep fryer whole, complete with arms, legs, HEAD, teeth, claws, and even some hairs that hadn't singed off. Yes, I would have been more than happy to pass over this meal, and indulge in a burger, chicken sandwich, or even a bowl of sludge, however, I attached my balls and chowed down on this little monster.

Maybe it's cliche to say it tasted like chicken, but it did. All of the giblets were intact and were not pleasing to the eye or stomach (as Serg claimed, seeing that I was brave, but not that brave), and I concluded that there was not much meat on the bones. I didn't eat too much, because let's face it, it was guinea pig. I am indeed happy I tried this interesting dish, unfortunately, my stomach was not....

...Blasted GP found revenge on Serg and I by blessing us both with explosive, not to mention frequent bathroom visits. It is normal for me to have anything and everything upset my sensitive, pussy of a tummy- but Serg can eat ANYTHING! Meat on a stick, done! 3 week old wedding cake, consumed! Raw fish from a side stand in the slums of Peru, completed! Grocery store cooked Chorizzo, vanished. (And I too ate the Chor y Pan, and unlike Steel Stomach Serg, consequently became nauseous). The Cuy (Spanish for GP) recked us both. Being that Serg ate the majority of the Cuy, he felt worse. It is not to say that I didn't have my own problems, and though I enjoy speaking about every bout of bowl movements, I will spare you the gruesome details- Let's just say it's really and truly BAD!

Finally, I must add that when laying on the beach a few days ago, I was nearly impaled by a momentum gaining, free falling coconut. I was on my stomach, tanning my ass, if you will, and I felt a large splash. Assuming some drunkard spilled their drink on me, I semi rolled over to see a not quite halved fruit emitting juice all over the sand. To think, If I had been a foot in the other direction, I could have been killed and spared all toilets in every facility I have visited in 48 hours. I could have copped out on the 'oprotunity' to eat Cuy!

Salud!

Thanks for Everything, Peru

Our final day in Peru has arrived.

Sad we are to leave not only a wonderful vacation on Tropical Paradise, but more to return to our designated responsibilities. We have experienced every mode of transportation on this trip from planes to trains, from water to land- we even rode in a rickshaw! (No, Kramer was not present). Lazy days in the sun caused a tremendous sunburn, (for the white girl), and a lack of mosquito nets caused for some itchy (hopefully bot fly-less) wounds. Nevertheless, the burn will bronze and the bites will vanish, and the mere fact that I was on a beach while the home land begins to freeze wass all worth it.

We had same day fresh fish, which to say the least, was incredible. I´ve never had tuna melt in my mouth. And I thought it was fancy when canned- dolphin free, hopefully.

I think i´ve learned more ( or at least I´ll tell people I have) and decided some things:

Pisco sours, like mentioned before, are not for me. Though I may apply 90 SPF sunscreen, (all over my body, fogging my contact lenses and everything) it does not seem to matter- let´s face it, I´m white. The Yankees (of New York) do in fact, rule all. Moving to Texas may not be THAT bad. One day, perhaps soon, solid poops will reappear. Food here is wonderful, and fresh; and even though I want to eat as much of it as possible, my stomach does not enjoy when I try and do so. I can endure almost anything, I mean c´mon, I spent close to 40 hours of my life on a bus with PISS LEG.

Finally, after our (yes, cutting it close) 20 hour bus ride back to Lima, we soon too quickly board a plane to the states- just in time for Thanksgiving!

Ps, Serg shaved his chest for the beach :)

New Mexico bound, thanks for everything, Peru!

Piss off First Class

Post Machu Picchu I told you that Serg and I had planned a hopeful trip to the tropics. Well...we made that trip, my friends- and after what seemed like years on the bus, (including wild night rides at 956 MPH on dirt roads on London sized buses) Which really added out to about 40 hours, we arrived in Paradise!

Not of course, with out putting in our (my) dues.

The night before we left to our dream land it was Señor Sergio´s birthday. The big 2-9. And after yanking his chain (and I swear that´s it) all day about being old, (seeing as my youth has only brought me to a blossoming 23), we went out to celebrate. A fabulous time we had in Cusco- listened to live music, and trying every bars finest mojitos. We danced, we sang, (the Yankees had won the world series), there may have been a shove or two to a drunk girl (skank), and off to bed I was around 3 ish......Serg schlepped himself to bed about 5ish.

A tad hung over day later, we boarded our first bus ride. Naturally, we purchased the first class tickets, seeing that we are ¨Proud ´Mericans¨ who don´t travel among the common people. ......I believe the saying goes, ¨happy as clams¨....and that we were, in first class.

I had been preparing to Tylenol PM myself into a blissful slumber for 17 hours. Our 3 hours so far had been going well, with plush seats and room to spare, a scrumptious meal, (which we were served before previously mentioned common people), and the works. I felt GREAT! I had even brushed my teeth...in my seat...with the help of a water bottle and another as the ´rinse-and-spit´ bottle. Assuming a pre sleep urination was needed before I zonked out, I got up. Climbing over Serg in the coach cabin of the double-decker bus may have posed a problem- but in first class, psh, I practically had room to do the splits. I exited our royal quarters and entered the loo. (Lue? lou?...toilet). It became utterly clear that this room was not in cohorts with the first class facade. In fact, to say the least, it seemed as if this embarrassment for a bathroom belonged, not in a bus, rather on the side of a construction site in Oklahoma being occupied by individuals who lack civilization. Literally. Perhaps you can imagine an outhouse...at a camp site...being utilized by aging blind...dogs!!!

Normally, I would have sooner peed my pants before stepping foot in such a disgusting mess- this evening in particular though, I was feeling confident, bold. Please keep in mind how difficult it is to hover for women, especially in a moving bus. I managed quite well. Didn´t even pee on the seat. I was flabbergasted about my triumph, looking at the wreck of a toilet, wondering how anyone else could perform such an immaculate whizz, and then I had to make a decision....Flush or no flush? This is not like a normal potty where one is faced with the remnants of day old Mojito, coca- cola, and truck loads of water mingling in a bowl, it´s more airplane quality. It just kind of disappears, like magic. The only reason you flush on a plane is because that´s what you´re supposed to do............

And because that´s what you´re supposed to do.............

I DID......

BIGGEST MISTAKE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In less that a second, I went from Courtney dry pants, to Shitty Soaked Leg!!! I was mortified to see that my leg, shin and all, was SOAKED.IN.PISS.

What The Fuck?!?!?!?!

- and this was not just a cute spray. We´re talking knee to ankle, with parts S.O.A.K.E.D! In Pee...remnants of day old mojito, coca- cola, and truck loads of water. The worst part is that it may not have all been mine!

Pissed as a bitch in heat (almost literally), I stormed out of said trash-can-of-a-bathroom and back to first class. When I entered, everything seemed crappy. I mean really, what is first class on a bus, anyway...it´s a bus. The once plush sea-foam colored pleather seats now seemed the color of vomit. The chairs appeared so close together that I could only possibly do the splits with my fingers... AND EVERYTHING SMELLED OF URINE.

Three hours into a 40 hour bus ride and I get peed on...Fuck Me!

Crawling back over Serg to my seat, was not so delightful according to him. I reeked of pee.

Silver lining: After arriving in Lima (Our half way point), I changed pants, washed my leg, and silently cursed all toilets. From Lima to Mancora we rode with the common folk. My piss leg was a disgrace to VIP everywhere and they would no longer have us. (or there were no more seats available for purchase)...and hours later (16 to be precise), we arrived.

Though the trip to Peru´s version of Fuji began with piss leg- I have since scorched my shins with deliciously warm days on the beach...complete with sand in places that sand should NEVER be. I have been living in a bikini, drinking fresh coconut juice (quite the laxative) and sleeping to the sound of the ocean.

...I´d even consider taking a back splash via shit-bowl again if I was guaranteed a week in what I will now call my Tropical Eden!

Cheers!

Good day!

Sorry to all i promised up to date blogs, I´ve been busy drinking rum, traveling on buses...oh, and climbing Machu Picchu...you know, the usual!

I have yet to try cuy al horno, or oven cooked guinea pig, but worry not, all in good time. I did however chow down on some street meat the other night. (No, no you pervs) It was pretty much greasy cow on a stick topped off with a hunk of potato, the same way you would top the Christmas tree with an angel or star. And for my Jewish friends and sister who don´t get that, get a little google search engine going on that.

Post our 21 hour bus ride from Lima to Cusco where I had insta-gas and Serg smelled of a bottle and a 1/2 of rum, we arrived at the gateway town of MP. So far, I have decided that Pisco Sour´s arn´t for me, and Peru has a ton of Alpacas. In order to save money for our next venture up north, we began cooking for ourselves. The feature of the evening...Raman Noodles! Oriental Flavor, naturally!

.......................

As for MP, lets just say it was more than amazing. Feel free to be jealous. Besides my mini melt down (which included me refusing to speak Spanish in order to get my way and haggle/lie about being students for student priced tickets to MP) all went well. Peruvians are exceptionally nice considering they put up with a ton of drunk tourists, and everything has been great thus far...including the weather. We were prepared for cold and rain and wind. If you can remember, I spent my last few days at REI with a chub looking at all of the wonderous water proof items I could (and did) purchase. Since days have been warm and evenings just barley cool, i was thinking about returning my 80 dollar rain coat upon my return. Though my better judgement (and by this, i do mean Serg) told me to pack my jacket for MP. My thoughts were that my non h2o proof jacket was MUCH cutier and would look more fabolous when i posted my blog photos...vain?!?...I think so!


And in being to vain, I picked out the right outfit for said photos. I showed up to This Peruvian wonder of the world with my coat (rain proof, thank goodness) tied around my waist, my magnificent REI (complete with flouresent orange rape/ save-my-life whistle) backpack buckeled aound my waist (Oh yes, above the big knot created by the arms of my jacket) AND around my chest. (Easy access to the whistle). I completed my charming look with my NY Yankees hat...just to scream Tourist!!!!!!!!

Enough about myself and to MP, After God saw my ensamble, he laughed and refused to let the sun shine and topped it off with a bunch of rain. Despite it being overcast, we managed some incredible pictures that cannot bring justice to the real deal. The tour was full of information, the climb wasn´t too bad (seeing as we worked out 3 times before the trip), and we even met some great people.

Since I practically forced Serg to get up at 250 am with me in order to be in line for the bus at 4 which left at 530 when MP doesn´t open until 6, we still were pretty energized. We even got tix to adajecent mountain called Wyanna Picchy(?). They only allow 400 people up per day and i was defuckingtermined to get them. (Especially since we paid full price for enterence tix. Clearly Serg´s ID from 1998 when he still had a full head of hair and my 2004 ID when I was a blond virgin didn´t make the cut.) I decided I was tired 3 1/2 hours into our trip and didn´t find it necessary to climb the 2nd mountain. Serg did not agree. He decided that since we awoke at a time when we should still have been out that we were going to climb the shit out of that mountain...And we did, all 2000 and some odd feet of it. And this wasn´t a cute windy lets not get dirty hike. This was a huff and puff, grunt at times, UGLY, steep, straight up 2000 feet climb. We did it up and down, managed to have lunch at the top, and take some cool pics all in 2 and a half hours. Champs?!? Damn Straight.


..........And for that, and because on the tour, I ACCIDENTLY touched the holy stone of energy and got yelled at, on our way out, as we sifted through hords of toursits with big white socks, waterbottle holders, and bad Machu Picchu enscribed hats, our jelly legs couldn´t find our way out of The Inkan Maze. I cried as God again laughed, and then threw some rain on us.

FYI, It was all out of this world, and though we slept for what felt like 39 hours afterwards, I´d do it again...maybe in a month or so, but still again!

Finally, just to let everyone know, We´ll be spending some time in Mancora. It´s up North. It´s sunny and warm....Oh yeah, It´s on a beach!!!!!!!!!

Enjoy your winter friends, I´m going to find my razor!!!


XOXOXO

hello Peru,

I just wanted to say what a lovely Country you are. Minus your Rum.........bad choice on my end. And I wasn´t super fond of the 21 hour bus ride to cusco, nevertheless, we are here!!! Guinea Pig, here I come. I tried testing the waters in my body like an idiot to see if the water of Peru would do me some harm...so, far so good!

Now all I need is a tasty shower, which I am OVER DUE for and a beer and things shall be good yet again!


Cheers Amigos!!!

Ps, Happy Halloween- We´ll be going as 2Pac and Biggie Smalls...thanks to those trusty bandannas

Checklist

Duct Tape...check
Bandannas...check
Bug repellent with an excessive amount of deet (enough to make me sterile, I'm sure)...check
46 shirts...check
19 different types of meds (advil, pepto, Ativan, NyQuil, Tylenol PM, Poop Pills)...check
3 pairs of shoes...check
2 pairs of pants...check
Too many socks...check
Not enough undies...check

It's here!!!!! Peru, is that you? As a matter of fact, that's what I named my playlist on the trusty ipod...Only to have it almost backfire on me. I'm telling you, Apples are for eating, not computing.

I'll keep the updates coming. You'll continue reading. The vicious cycle repeats itself. This time around, I'll do my best to add some photos upon my return (good looks pending).

And FYI, I wasn't joking when I said bandannas...I'm wearing them every which way possible. 2Pac style, here I come. Arm & Hammer lady, you don't stand a chance...and woman on Simpson's with red bandanna who is the awkward neighbor...I'm on to you, babe.

Peace out kids, see ya in 3 weeks!

I'd Hold for REI

It happened. It was amazing. I'd do it again and again if money permitted. The REI shopping trip was all that it could be and more. From the green raincoat, to the rinse and reuse mesh undies- all the way to the colorful bandannas...Every part of my being was fulfilled Saturday morning at REI.

In addition to being in post orgasmic shopping bliss, this energetic excursion means that time is nearing for my big Peru adventure! It's true, 2 weeks from 2 days from now, I will be on the Pacific coast of South America. I began getting some things in order...banking, emails, Dr visits, and I came to understand why people dislike being put on hold. My life on hold seems to have multiplied lately. To my recollection, I have never been put on hold so many times for such an extensive period in a matter of 3 days. (The only other time was my 1/2 day spent on hold for Wells (Fucker) Fargo Student Loan line.) In the past 72 hours, I have had the privilege of hearing various hold-tunes for Bank of America, Women's Health, Travel Center for Vaccinations, Bank of America again, ABQ Health Partners, my own dad, Wells Fargo, Continental Airlines, and Bank of America a 3rd time. I had an attractive sounding automated woman tell me that she was sorry for my wait, but they were assisting other customers at the moment. But to ease my worries, they are "looking forward" to my call. I have been thanked for my patients, told that these corporations have been experiencing a "higher than usual call volume" and my time on hold is greatly appreciated. The music I heard ranged from awesome Kenny G style to sad elevator music to rockin' oldies.

But my time in queue hasn't been a total waste; as a matter of fact it was rather productive. I did the dishes, printed important documents, spoke to other people on my house/cell phone, and even made and devoured a scrumptious sandwich.

My conclusion:
If I waited such a substantial amount of time, others must be waiting, too. Why wait alone? There should be a telephonic chat room you are diverted to whilst in progression to your future call. We could all talk at once, and bitch about how we have better things to do than wait for the representative at QVC to tell me that they have just sold out of the last pair of Clarks, chestnut brown with the gold clasp.

Oh well, can you imagine I did most (no, not all) while on hold:)

toodles

It's Really Real...Now

And the countdown begins! Yes friends, (family, and lover(s)), One month from today I will be heading out to Peru. It's really real, considering I purchased the tickets and am making a long awaited trip to REI! Travel blog will continue!

The main purpose of this exciting excursion is to scale a little ruin by the name of Machu Picchu. There may be some beach-front camping, pisco sour drinking, and perhaps even some uncomfortable bus traveling (just a guess), but I'm ready. I got the courage yet again to return to the devil gym and prepare myself. No, the Stair Master and I did not reunite, however, I fondly remembered the treadmill, and will again visit the old spinning classes.

Hopefully, tales of greedy gypsies, living food, and bubbling blisters will make it to the blog. Life just doesn't seem to be too exciting minus said staples; plus, everyone seemed to like the fact that I got urinated on and stepped in the Machu Picchu of dog shiza whilst in Argentina.

see ya soon!

Climbing Machu Picchu on a Stair Master

In the past month, I have begun to prepare for my upcoming trip to Peru. (I guess I better go now, since I've made it public). By prepare, I do mean look at plane ticket prices, backpacks at REI online, and dog ear pages in my borrowed Lonely Planet. Sometime last week, I realized that prepping myself to climb a massive mountain means more than just finding cute, affordable, and practical hiking shoes, but physically and mentally gearing up for such an event.

I'm not a morbidly obese person. As a matter of fact, I'm not even fat. (Some say I look good, really good). But since arriving home from Argentina in June, I have made it my businesses and personal goal to be l-a-z-y and not exercise. Walking to the mailbox is strenuous enough for me. This morning, I got up and after about an hour of listening to the coverage of Kanye West's shit fest on Taylor Swift, my mind was made to visit an old friend- the gym.

So I put on my rusty workout sneeks, a sports bra, and enough deodorant to make it through a strenuous session of self inflicted ass kicking and headed out. Upon arriving, I couldn't figure out what to do first. Spinning class? Treadmill? The options were endless. Thinking that climbing a mountain takes leg strength, I hopped on the upgraded StairMaster. 15 minutes on that butt blaster and on to free weights, followed by a core pumping routine I have perfected over the years and I'll be golden...........or so I thought.

I lasted 7 minutes on the DevilMaster (formally known as the Stair Master) and just about fell off. Fuck you exercise masochist machine. I gappishly walked over to the water fountains and was almost unable to consume what felt like the breath of life (water) because I was so literally out of breath that I kept exhaling out all of the water...all over the mouth piece in the fountain.(Gross, Courtney). Being as cool as possible in this awkward situation, I moved on to the mats, taking the long route to snatch a 10 lb free weight. Please know that after picking up the weight and placing it next to me, I never touched it again...not even to bring it back to its respective place on the free weight rack. As a matter of fucking fact, I laid on the mat and did absolutely NOTHING for my remaining time! I attempted a sit up or two. I rolled from my back to my stomach, and then back over, again. Then, I proudly pealed my ass and thighs up off the red, white, and blue, (oh, how patriotic to be slim) mats and fled to the locker room. I stole my items from the rented locker and just about allowed the door to hit my negative ass on the way out. (I'm just about positive I muttered Fuck you, Gym on the way out.)

Thought you might enjoy that!

Perawaii

Originally intended for travel purposes, this blog is once again (hopefully) going to be put to it's designated use.

New plan?!?! Peru!!!

It is true, I am planning yet another adventure in the Southern part of the world. I thought of conquering Europe, however, the idea that I could entertain Italy and squeeze some romance out of said Italian country sparked thoughts of inviting Man Lover. Considering the vacay flexibility on his end of the job spectrum is somewhat more limited than my gypsy way of working, that'll have to wait. The conclusion you ask... Going with an equally bored 'industry' worker (not in the porn sense), and climbing the shit out of Machu Picchu.

But why stop there???

My intentions are to keep this trip substantially shorter than my past adventures in Argentina. Now, I was not in the market to do such extensive traveling within these few months, let alone this year itself, nevertheless, a tiny little Hawaiian native friend of mine invited me out to the island for a week or so. Fun in the sun, beach bathing, boogie boards, and coconuts?!? I think so!

In beginning to plan this lavish beach and tropical excursion, the idea of Peru landed on my radar as well. A not so tiny Mexican (in the Mexico sense) friend informed me that he would be making a trip to the land not so down under and anyone was invited. I thought of which one I most wanted to visit. It dawned on me and realized that picking ONE place was for people not named Courtney. Instead of choosing (BOO) one over the other, the decision became clear to expose myself to both. Sure, I do mean expose in every way possible! (Why yes officer, I would like to have my cake and eat it too!)

So there you have it; why not get my fanny over to Hawaii and hang loose (but not too loose) with the locals using out of date phrases like "tubular, man" and "cowabunga, dude" and post Honolulu Hangover, hike 'Maddness Mountain' with the other pal. There is potentially no downside as of yet.

Ill keep the information readily available as I understand it is vital for everyone to know exactly what is going on in my life. (All 7 of you who read this...thanks:)

Until next time....

Love, Not Gas

I'm not really one to write about love (c'mon, I'm not Carrie Bradshaw), yet the other day I began thinking more and more about it. For many people's love stories that I've been told, they are these magical, serendipitous tales that spark out of the rarest circumstances. Sometimes they are classic versions of growing up together and falling madly in love and other times they spark from a thrilling night while traveling abroad; in between the drunk loving and urge of capturing yet another flag, true love emerges from beneath the fermenting bean burrito purchased at the nearby road stand and blossoms. Mine was contrary to all these extravagant (or not) scenarios and honestly, unless it was gut-busting (Almost literally) I would not be divulging such personal tales.

Life has taught me that there are numerous types of love. I mean I love my cats and I love gin on the rocks. I love traveling and I love all things cheese. Only recently did I learn the difference between loving something and being in love with someone, which perhaps is why this story is rightly so funny.

Close to a year and a half ago I was getting ready to graduate college, crunching down for finals, and making plans to move to NYC or even Madagascar. The last thing I was thinking about was starting up a relationship. About the same time, I started "hanging out" with this guy...mostly to kill time. We went out, we had fun, and surprisingly he brought interesting insight and mind provoking ideas to the table. (Considering he's from Texas). Hmm?!?!

So we kept "hanging out..."

He met my friends, opened doors, laughed at my jokes, and even tolerated me when he came encounter with my drunk crossed eyes and slurred speech. Still, as many of my friends will tell you, I was just in it for the time I had left and nothing more. That bastard saw it another way!


**I should probably mention that I'm a bit addicted to risk and a minor thrill seeker. In cohorts with that, this guy and I worked together and he MAY have been my indirect superior... hmm, oh well, we kept it on the DL for the duration of out stint at the college.**

Graduation crept around the corner and I was counting down the days. Things continued with the guy and before I knew it, my family was coming down for the big ceremony. (No, no, not a wedding, fools). I'm a pretty laid back person, especially when it comes to relationships and the likes, but I realized he was going to have to meet The Parents. This brought up many questions of what "we" were and I had a nice and big shit fit. How was I supposed to introduce this kid?!?!

"Hi mom and dad, this is the guy I've been sleeping with for a few months."

I didn't see that going over too well with the parentals. So I boldly informed the guy that I would be introducing him to my family as a boyfriend for fear of the alternative, and if he disagreed, he had the option to cop out of the situation. With surprise to me, he graciously accepted the invitation to meet my parents as The Boyfriend. It was at this point that he informed me I was known to his parents as The Girlfriend. (Did I miss a step, should we have discussed this? Oh well, I was still new to the game, maybe this is how things go).


...Everything went better than smooth. Butter had nothing on this event. Skip forward a few months, things were still going great. I even tell people he's my boyfriend. (Of this statement, all of my friends and basically anyone I know was overjoyed. It is my belief that they all thought I was forever doomed and cursed with the 'commitment phobia' bug). Now, I thought things were going just fine. We were having a good time, he met my friends and family, I was introduced to his fam, he didn't make me vomit...nothing could go wrong.

Murphy's law proves that when things are going great, why not throw in a curve ball and stir some shit up! He dropped the L-Bomb. I saw it coming like a car accident approaching in slow motion; like a card house with one ill conceived move, all to end in the demise of a messy display of hearts, spades, and kings laying lifeless on the table. Oddly for as morose as that sounds, it didn't disturb me that much... I just wasn't quite ready. I managed to squeeze out of that situation with dignity upon replying not with a "thank you," however, with an all presumptuous "I know." Seemed to work for the time being, go figure.

Now, this is where things get uncomfortable. A month or two later he and I went for beers at a favorite Albuquerque bar. We were just hanging out, having a splendid time. Out of nowhere I was hit with a massive rumble in the intestinal region. It was quite possible that I may have an accident in my pantaloons. My palms got sweaty and I remember giggling like a 5th grader at a cute boy. All of a sudden a love song that I appreciated for it's catchy lyrics and popularity made sense. It was like birds and bees actually existed to sing divine love ballads. Was this gas?!?!?!? Perhaps I ate something rotten. At that very moment it was like lightening hit and a energy saving light bulb went off... LOVE. (Really, I was convinced it was gas for a while.)

Naturally, I couldn't let him know this. I'm not cute enough to just blurt out I LOVE YOU and smooch, snuggle, and adopt the actions of cutsie lovey words. So, I kept him in the dark about my feelings. This eventually blows up in my face. Clearly, the story wouldn't be complete sans humiliation of Courtney.

Move up to my vacation in NYC. We are 5 months deep in our relationship. I've left him for a week to the only other thing I have openly declared my love for- New York City and the Yankee game! My gal pal and I settle in with our supporting NY hats and massive beers. The game starts getting intense, the beers kept arriving, and then I got a phone call. I pick up to speak with The Boyfriend for a quick minute and realize a homer is being hit in the stadium. I quickly hang up with him, but not before I drunkenly and accidentally slip in an 'I love you." It actually went more like:

"OH! I gotta go, Iloveyou...AH!" .....dial tone.

I look to my friend who is glaring at me, eyes wide and jaw grazing the floor. With the exchanging of WTF looks, I inform her I am retreating to the facilities, (presumably to vomit) and that we better have more beers when I return. I leave her my purse to pay for the 95 dollar bruskies. Day goes on, The Man and I don't mention a thing, and I think I'm in the clear. Whew, dodged that one... I figured he didn't even hear it, especially since there was no mention of it. (How sweet to think he just didn't want to point out what an obvious fool I had been..... oh yes, that was reserved for later.)

So upon my return, he and I spent a lovely weekend together. I had almost forgotten the Yankee-Game-Incident, when I got a cheery phone call from my friend. Mind you, this is the same friend I attended the Yankee game with and who witnessed my surprising word-vomit incident. We speak for a minute and she tells me to say hi to the BF for her. We hang up and I nonchalantly deliver the message to BF. I tell him more or less, "even thought you don't know her, she says hi..."

(The rest of this will be in conversation form so you can get the equivalent feeling of angst I had at said disturbing moment).

ME- "even thought you don't know her, she says hi..."
BF- "Oh, cool. I've talked to her on the phone though."
ME- "Um......what? When?" (I ask this cheerily)
BF- "When you guys were at the Yankee game"
ME- "WHAT?" (This was more of a panicky tone) "When? I was with her the whole time. I don't remember this."

-- I began wondering. Was I too intoxicated and don't remember handing the phone over for them to say hi?

BF- "Yeah, she called me. I think you were in the bathroom."

-- This is when the gears began turning in my head and I dreaded what was next to come.

ME- "Wha- she called you- bu why- um well what?"
BF- "Yeah, she asked me if I knew what you had just said."

--My face is actually buried in my hands at this point out of sheer embarrassment. To make matters worse, I may have been lacking clothing. (sorry mom and dad).

ME- "Uhh.............."
BF- "Yeah, she said that it was a big deal." All of what he is saying at this point is said with a smirk and a 'haha, 'youthoughtididn'thearyoubutireallydid' tone.

My only response, "Well, uh, I suppose I love you." And to be quite honest, it felt wonderful to say.

BF and I had a laugh and then I phoned my friend to yell and secretly thank her. Who knows if it would have even come out. And now the Sony and Cher songs and Celine Dion outbursts (also knows as songs) make sense.

Please know that I'm not a lovey-dovey person, but my lovers advice would be now to tell people how wonderful it really is. Oh, and if you're not sure, take Gas-X...if that doesn't help, you know it's love!

Broken Family

I was dreaming of summer on a dock. I was walking around listening to the waves gingerly crash against the underside of the wooden deck. There were tables and food, and cocktails. I could feel the mist of the water and smell the crisp afternoon heat. Everything was perfect...

until...

I was bothered when I heard some heavy breathing and grunting. (Not the fun kind, either). It took me a moment to realize this awkward noise was not coming from my blissful dream: full of serenity and calm, but rather in my house, the kitchen in particular, and it was seven am. (Yes, naturally on my day off.) The next phrase I heard was more disturbing than my initial thought of hearing my parents having sex..or worse, my dad masturbating. It was my mom saying, "well, do I need to call a doctor or EMT???"

I immediately reached over to de-blind myself and rammed my hand into my lamp. In my hasty attempt to jump out of bed and save my dying father's life at seven am, my mind failed me... I rearranged my room the day before and switched my Chinese paper floor lamp with my nightstand, and wrong-way-reached.

After gathering my senses and slapping on my binoculars, I ran to the kitchen where the uncomfortable noises were coming from. I was greeted by my Old Man dressed for work in what appeared to be a crumpled crooked alignment. I look at my mom, as if to suggest I was prepared and willing to preform surgery with my Swiss Army knife and a spork for what I once thought might be the death of my father. She half smiles and says, "Courtney, your father had somehow screwed up his back." The face of my father looked a bit twisted and drunk as he said, "Deb, AHH UHH take me UGG, fuck (which was whispered to suggest he might REALLY be in pain) to the bed, bed, to the bed WOO SHIT."

Around this time, I have been awake for approximately 2 and a half minutes and am just now realizing that my dad is not in fact crawling towards the bright light, however, having back issues. (Back issues that potentially could have let me sleep in a few more hours if they were a bit quieter).

A thing or two someone may not know is that I am in fact a morning person, and even though I was stricken awake with panic and fear, I also found myself to be awake enough for jokes and fun...Unfortunately for my crippled dad this meant making him flinch and watching him wither in pain. (Okay, it's not as bad as it sounds...mostly). About an hour later, I did take him to urgent care where they injected my poor scared-of-needles-and-shots father with 2 massive doses of pain killers and muscle relaxers. The ride home was a bit silly. He found it necessary to tell me that his body is immune "those types of drugs" (hmmm??) and laughed at all the cars. I on the other hand drove my fathers vehicle where the chair happens to be stuck and broken in his proximity from the wheel. The result: Courtney driving with my arms and legs extended almost to their fullest being that my father is close to 7 inches taller than me.

Bad news for the day: Had to wake early on day off, had to drive awkwardly in car, and got assaulted by a man at Walgreen's.
Good news for the day: Pops was not dying, developed pictures of Vegas, and picked up dad's Vicodin prescription!

Adios

My Birthday with Kathy Lee Gifford

As I lounged around on this wonderful 23rd birthday of mine, I began pondering on life goals and future employment.

I was watching the Today Show with Kathy Lee Gifford. She and brain absent Tori Spelling sat around discussing fecal matter. My mood went from happily groggy to uncomfortable outraged. It was not that I was particularly disturbed by their choice of conversation on national television (because I often enjoy talking about bowel movements myself). It was, however, the fact that they both were getting paid for such material. I want to make money by engaging in conversation about stool samples and wiping rituals. On top of that, they were eating lolly-pops as I was informed that it was National Lolly Pop day, and drinking champagne. Now, I'm always a fan of drinking in daylight on a patio somewhere, but this is preposterous. Gifford actually said "this is Happy Hour on Today," and just popped up with 2 glasses of bubbly.

Damnit, I'm funnier than 94 year old Kathy Lee, I love talking about poop and all of it's adajecent topics, and I may even have supported her long forgotten child labour sweat shop incident. How is it that I'm now 23 living with my "roommates" again watching the Today show when I should be ON the Today show drinking champagne and sucking on a lolly pop! Ann Curry and I would sooo get along.

Now I have come to the conclusion that I am going to apply for her job at the NBC studios. I'm going to skip the internships and ground level work of being a coffee runner and just advance my way up the chain to drunkenly laugh with Al Roker and Matt Lauer. Move over Kathy Lee, it's time for Courtney B.

Maybe this is just wishful birthday thinking, and perhaps I should drowned in some birthday cake...But let it be known that I HAVEN'T blown out my candles yet and there is still time for me to make a wish! Bahahaha

Feliz Cumple a mi!

Job? What about Vegas?

After being away from home for a few months, I have decided it is time to get a job. I thought I may be able to make it through August, but my recent trip to Las Vegas proved me wrong. Financially, not working until the end of August would be suicide. I also came to the conclusion that I wanted to move away from NM for good. Not too many people liked my "moving to Asia" idea, so I compromised and decided to stay in The States...for now. Moving, whether it's to China or China Town, NYC costs money- something that currently my bank accounts is unfamiliar with. I started thinking that saving money was the most important of my current tasks and put the kibosh on the moving out idea. Yes friends, I am living again with my roommates...AKA, parents. They're cooler than me, so it's actually a step up!

I was also unsure on what type of job to get. Did I want a 9-5 job? Did I want to have to train for a career that I may potentially leave in 6 months? Are there any jobs available right now? Fear not, I took comfort in my home away from home at Seasons.

Up side- Dinero!
Down side- Starting on my birthday! Feel free to send me flowers.

I assumed I would be a little depressed about beginning a job again,but after the Vacay, I think I will be happy to get busy once more...Here's why:

Post 3 wonderful, relaxing, and mind blowing months in the America South, I (with Man Lover), took a trip to Las Vegas. And before that, we made a pit stop in Laughlin...which lasted 24 hours. (There may have been a Joe's Crab Shack involved, along with dollar Busch Beers). After arriving in Las Vegas and checking into our hotel which I would compare to shit laced Motel 8, we began the Vegas tradition, and drank. Man and I met up with some friends (being that we were there for a wedding not ours) and had a night out on the town. In short, the weekend included Sapphire Gentle Men's Club, Arcades and plastic rings, Captain Morgan and Bud Light Lime, security at Caesar's Palace, Tight dresses and Penis nosed glasses, dancing, Bombay Sapphire, bumps and bruises, a wedding, a speech, some Red Bull, and a ton of pizza! Oh Vegas. (I will reserve all the awkward cabbie stories for another blog, there are many).

The weekend was concluded with a trip to The Grand Canyon. And please take my word on this, it is GRAND! Since we were driving, there was contemplation on skipping it. I lucked out on not having to drive, therefore, I was not as tired as the hungover Man already having drove for 6 hours. The decision, nevertheless, was not disappointing. I was blown away. Who knew the earth's crack was so good looking? I sure hope my crack is that captivating!

Oh, the wedding itself was pretty amazing. Bride was beautiful, groom was sexy, cake was delicious, and the shots of vodka were life saving! Even though I broke the bank and now have to get a job, I wouldn't have done anything different!

Cheers to Vegas

Proof... In Color

Whilst in Argentina, I sometimes wondered if I was missing out on the wondrous world of Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter. I have wanted for sometime now to post some eclectic photos of my travels, and have just now figured out how do do so. (It should be known that if I had a networking account like the previously named, I was successfully prepared with glamorous photos I took of myself documenting the days I thought I looked my finest. I also decided that if I possessed access to such an account, I would make a folder labeled "ME photos" and only post the ones where my hair looked good, my boobs looked perky, and when I appeared to be Hollywood anorexicly skinny).

Instead, for your viewing pleasure, the random, funny, and scenic pictures will be posted. Enjoy!

New Found Glory

Ladies and Gentlemen...

I have done something many have done before me.
I have experienced something I once believed to be foolish and dirty.
I have lived in a new way.
I have been camping!


Yes, I was a camping virgin before this past weekend, and let me say, it sure felt good! I had been once before with my family years ago, but it wasn't real camping... more like playing the game " just the tip." Yeah, it doesn't really count, but you still have to mention it.

Many people have asked that after living in beautiful NM how had I not been camping before- that it was bizarre. My response: "Ugh, bugs, duh!" I"m not a cutesy gal with painted nails and worried about getting my hair wet, but nature and I haven't always gotten along. I approached the decision that I was grown up enough to be keen with mother earth and got my behind to Ute lake and did some camping! Yes, there were tents and sleeping bags and lanterns, oh my! There were 30 packs of beer, and hot dogs, and jet skies galore. There were friends and sunblock, and sunburns, too! Unfortunately, there were no s'mores...thanks a lot fire ban.

And you bet I didn't even shower. Yes friends, I was a dirty stinky camper with crazy hippie mandles (the Jesus Stomper kind, very REI), and loved every minute if it. I sort of prefer peeing in bushes and behind trees; very rustic. I could have gone without the trillion other campers who all seemed to have young offspring on Saturday, but after a beer or 8, it didn't matter.

Because of my new found affection towards the wilderness, The Boyfriend and I have decided to take a detour on our road trip to VEGAS and conquer The Grand Canyon. (Mandles will be necessary). We may swing on to Laughlin post sight seeing and do some pre gambling before we hit Sin City...assuming we both don't have 3rd degree burns from the wondrous earth's crack! I tried combining camping and Grand Canyon and suggested we throw the kibosh on a hotel and just pitch the tent (and by we I do mean I will watch Man set it up), and then I realized drinking on The Colorado River surrounded by millions of tiny flashing neon lights would be much more fun than sleeping shore side by lantern light. I think that this may be more cammperriffic than I am prepared for.

Conclusion: Camping is fun when surrounded by friends, lake, food, and leisure activities such as drinking and throwing water balloons. Camping at National Parks is way out of my comfort zone and may result in ugly sunburns and crying.

I'll post a hot picture of the Mandles soon. (Of which I was very apprehensive about purchasing for reasons of shallowness and being too vein to wear them- I caved)

Hasta Luego

Responsible Gin

I'm Courtney and I'm a Blog-Aholic.

I came to a conclusion at about 5 this morning when I awoke to find all of my clothes still on, my eyes on fire from desert like contacts, and the faint smell of gin leaking from my pores. To me this seems rather normal, however, when I got up, instead of regretting the final gin cocktail, I chuckled to myself wondering who turned my lights off and my fan on. (Thank God for younger sisters). The problem I ran into after consuming a gallon of water and reminiscing about my evening was not that I became too intoxicated to take off my own pants, but rather I was thinking about how I could fit this into blog format.

I was pleased to set a good example and elated to know that I chose to drink to excess in a responsible manner. I actually kept it quite tasteful and paced myself. The downfall came when my sister called and offered to pick me up. Almost immediately my drink was full and I was safely on my way to Hammered-Ville.

After arriving home thanks to the 17 year old sister who relieved me from my bad habits, I decided it was a fine idea to make a phone call. Sadly, the person on the receiving end of the line did not care to hear about my responsible drinking. Shortly after that, my sister has just informed me that I passed out- one foot on the floor, one arm above my head, definitely drunk-passing-out-pose!

The most exciting part of my shenanigans is that currently I am sitting around drinking coffee and am headache/ hangover free. I was positive that aging and excessive drinking did not go hand in hand, yet I have been proved wrong- and I like these results!

So even though I have apparently matured, it's obvious not by much because here I am ranting and raving about a drunken escapade like I'm a freshman in college! The only thing this blog needs is a self important "Myspace" pic.

Cheers

Famous Photo

The bowl to the left is where my feelings towards bidets forever changed!

Bienvenidos Estados Unidos

Hello America!!!

It is true, I have returned! I was welcomed to The States with a lovely 10 hour layover in DC while holding tight to what I thought may have been Swine Flu. I somehow managed to inherit a massive viral fungus that felt like it was eating away my insides. Nothing tops off a 10 hour layover like a 10 hour flight with explosive bowel movements. Too much info? I think not! To be quite honest, I am not exactly sure how I was let into this secure country we call The United States, seeing that other individuals were being scanned via inferred light to check for high temperatures. Lucky for me, I purchased an array of drugs similar to the mix of Vicodin and Cyanide. As a matter of fact, I believe I floated onto the plane.

After becoming acquainted again with American culture...IE Starbucks and obesity, I crashed out with the return of my fever on some chairs located near gate D17...also known as gateway to Beijing, and survived my 10 hours in the airport.

Sadly, I do miss the South American world I was living in, yet, it was refreshing to watch television in English and actually understand everything that was going on in customs. I decided that I have about 2 months where I can use the line "I just got back from Argentina" before it stops becoming true and I have to actually get a job. In the meantime, I have begun to visit some old friends, travel around NM, and I will even make my way to Vegas for a wedding. (No, not my own). I'm planning on living off the little savings I have left, mooching off my parents, making several trips to the lake, drinking cheap champagne and tasty gin, allthewhile (one word?) keeping up with this Blog. I may even try and seduce the loan office where my student loans are to be payed. Apparently if people are late on payments, these people get turned over to the collection agency...Boo!

So stay tuned for more awkward updates on life in The States, living with the fam, and my continuous yelling at dogs in Spanish!

Traveling Adventures

My big plans to note every detail of my traveling fell through, due in part to long bus rides, lack of Internet service in rural areas, and naturally, booze. I feel now that it is my duty to share with you the divine experiences I have had on my 15 days of travels. Ill run over the main points as to not bore anybody, however, I hardly believe you'll snooze through this.

Mendoza

So Lara and I got on a bus and headed to Mendoza, land of wine! (This really should be enough said). Upon arriving, we met 2 very fun guys from the UK. Yes, their accents and striped manties (not to be confused with panties) entertained us for most of our days. There was a bike riding wine tour, which oddly enough did not turn in to the incident I had predicted, nevertheless, that same evening, Lara and I snuck( or is it sneaked?) into an Asado and ate our weight in Beef and Chorizo, and drank our livers sick. It was until after reviewing the 900 thousand photos on my camera that I realized what fun we REALLY did have. May I say, there were also free tequila shots involved....And I thought I matured after college!

Other than that, I also rode a horse through the Andes, Went to the Grand Canyon wannabe of Argentina, had a brief love affair with a leather jacket, danced on a stage, and managed, with the help of Lara, to score free nights at the hostel we were staying in, a few bottles of wine, and defeated any and all hangovers!

After liver shanking, we went up north and spent a day and a half in a place not blogworthy. Though I did whip out the trusty LICE SHAMPOO! Oh yes friends, it finally happened! And believe me, it was just as disgusting as you are imagining. Ill spare you the details but I will say that the people we traveled to this remote place with who ended up being complete jerks with heinous smelling feet may have a party in their hair in the next few weeks. Suckers!

Chile

I forgot to mention that Lara got sick while we were in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre type town and actually had the balls to go to the doctor. Everything went well and she left with all of her internal organs intact...and she even loaded up on some pain killers (cha ching). We were off to skinny Chile. Arriving at customs was a bit of a downfall when Lara, whose visa was expired, had to pay 300 AR pesos. I figured we were on a roll and we could just slide by, so I put on the cute American-Girl-Batting-Eyelashes-Charm...Didn't work. They had NO sympathy. What was I thinking, this isn't a crafts fair where I can barter my way down, this is border patrol. Shit, Lara is going to be deported! Even worse, we didn't have the money and there was no ATM located in the Andes Mountains...(Which were absolutely stunningly beautiful). The Bus driver who fancied Little Miss Germany forked it over and insisted she pay him back upon arrival in Santiago. Luck was on our side. So, other than being raped of her money and breathing through the thick blanket of smog Santiago wears so well, it was the most amazing time. We ate fresh sea food, we drank delicious wine, and the people we met were unforgettable. We even caught up with Niall and Jono (said like Bono) kids from the UK and had a very festive time. There may have been a point where a hammock got ripped, a lesson on how to blow smoke rings was given, and towels got stolen, but it sure was good fun. And yes, the English really do drink THAT MUCH tea.

We made a day trip to Valparaiso and Viña Del Mar. I got attacked by the Gypsies. They just came up to me and said, GIVE ME MONEY. Nice approach hooker, but Ive got empanadas and beer to buy...out of my way!

The tour we went on was weird and im sure the guide was drunk, but we still had fun. Only downfall was that we had to spend our day with a tag along who spoke no Spanish and said stupid things. She was surprised no one spoke English in Chile and really had that awkward tourist charm going on. I considered slapping her across the face with a nice Chilean Sea Bass. (Instead, we ate the tasty fish and lost our troubles in wine and other native cocktails).

Currently I am in BA. I thought I would take it easy and not spend too much dough, maybe read a raunchy novel....WRONG! Again I met some great individuals and we decided to go out and eat Steak. We went to La Cabreras where its said that you can slice the KOBE beef steak with a spoon. It was delicious and worth every penny...or peso. I will be smelling of garlic for the next 3 days, but this too, I am okay with.

Ill stop here so you can give your eyes a break, but please believe there is more coming your way!

Garlic Night Fights

Upon realizing that I was leaving Argentina very soon, I decided I needed to eat all the food I find delicious and unavailable in America. I made a point to visit to my Panaderia friends. If you remember from my last story, it was at this tremendous place that I had a mini love affair with cattle...or rather me falling in love, head over heals style, with consuming it in it´s entirety. Yesterday was NO exception. We had Pollo Disco. It may actually be Pollo con Disco, Pollo de Disco, or Pollo y Disco, but I´m in a chicken haze and am unable to recall the correct naming. The reason may be because of the amount of food. Sergio cooked 3 chickens. There were only 6 of us. In addition, this dish consists of the amount of garlic equivalent to the amount of Botox in Joan Rivers face. You can bet I smelled rustic!

Post consuming my weight and beyond in garlic, chicken, and various other vegetables, I went to meet my friend in order to discuss our travel plans. I was getting nervous since the initial plan was to leave on Tuesday and neither of us had our bus tickets as of Sunday afternoon. (And being that today, Monday, is a holiday). We sat down and immediately she yanks out 2 pieces of paper and says, SURPRISE. She has bought the tickets. I know I will enjoy traveling with this gal. We celebrated with a beer, purchased the essentials for the 9 hour bus ride, crackers and dulce de leche (no, I didn´t buy wine.........they serve it to you on the bus) and parted ways. There was a point where I skipped down the road to express my excitement.

Even though I ate what felt like the food rationed for a small, third world country (and yes, I realize the irony of me actually being in a third world country), I still decided on dinner. (Ciao hard work done at the gym). It was delicious and even consisted of Champagne and cocktails...My kinda dinner. Andreita asked me earlier if I wanted to attend a Boliche with her that evening. I really didn´t want to think up of a reason why I didn´t want to go, so instead I blatantly said, Nope!

While sitting at the dinner table, she leans to me and in English says, ¨I´m going somewhere tonight and you have to come with me.¨ It felt like a mafia deal while I ate my slice of pizza. I said, okay and asked where she was going, hesitating in fear of hearing some deserted house, or even crazier, a Boliche. She wouldn´t tell me and I got nervous. She just kept insisting that I need to come. Then it occurred to me, we were going to a Night Fight. I got pumped, only wishing I had packed my brass knuckles. I changed out of my stretchy yoga pants, aka unattractive sweats, and packed my Swiss Army Knife. (Naturally if I´m in a night fight, I will tell someone to pause a moment before clubbing me like a baby seal to prepare Le weapon of choice......stainless steel baby, complete with a Philip´s Head and plastic tooth pick). After her friends came to pick us up, and we arrived at his house, it was clear to me that there was no night fight. (Boo). There was, however, a surprise Bon Voyage Fiesta for me, complete with chips booze, and music. (Yay). And actually there was a Machete involved, but only for picture purposes apparently before I arrived.

For 2 hours we danced and hung out, ate chips, took endless photos that if I had a Facebook account, I would post immediately with ridiculous comments. Around 2 am, I was ready to check out. We all piled into the car, 7 of us in a VW Fox, (insert Popes in a Volks Wagon joke here) and started to drive. I had mini deja vu. First, This was a dangerous experience...Cautious Courtney not only is always prepared with lice shampoo and plastic zip lock bags, but I´m a seat belt advocate. I love them. Lap-sitting last night, consequentially, did not permit for such safety habits. No biggie, seeing as we were just going 5 minutes across Villa Allende. Deja vu kicked in when I realized we were driving to the city....at 2 30 in the morning. No, this driver is not particularly dangerous, and I wasn´t even worried when I had to duck when we drove by the police 2 separate times. Needless to say, at this point, I am concerned for the poor lap I´m occupying. Kidding I was not when illustrating how much garlic I consumed earlier. I also forgot to mention a combination of other things. Everything else I ate that day (this is not a lie) contained onions. I didn´t expect to make an evening for myself, so maybe I wasn´t wearing much deodorant (or any). Finally, 7 people in a bedroom dancing and having a good time created for a very sweaty atmosphere. My fear is that I really will be known as the Stinky American. Oh well, lucky for Argentina, I usually smell of roses and fantasticness, one night will be okay.

Well, we arrive in the city around 3, and roll out of the car. We walked around for half an hour, and left. At about 2.57, I lost my patience and just wanted to leave. I´m not one for walking random streets in foreign cities past midnight with no plan or liquor. We re-pile in the peanut sized automobile, and head home. Though the ending got a little random, and though the evening lacked a night fight, I was graciously thankful and happy for MY fiesta.

Finally, I finished my final days with the 2 places I was volunteering. For everyone who said, I´d be so attached to the kids and special people and cry when I left, please reference this blog as an ¨I told you so.¨ No, I did not cry. Who do you think I am? You may also use this as me giving in to my black heart when I say, I was indeed a bit sad. It was hard to leave the both places, especially when the kids ran to me daily shouting ¨Coni! Coni.¨ (Because this is how everyone under the age of 10 pronounced my name. For everyone older it was either ¨Courrley or Corrrney¨). I also received a mini goodbye party from the kids. I think they were more interested in the cake and balloons, nevertheless, we had a marvelous time.

I´m off to eat Locro. Yes, this is a federal holiday, and it´s a big deal...and yes, I did tell everyone I saw all weekend, not Feliz Dia de Patria, but Felize dia de Locro! I´m celebrating the food... after all, this ain´t my country to be patriotic about!

Feliz Dia!

Beyoncé in Cordoba

I attended another birthday party last night. It was for Tati, a friends of Andrieta´s and a girl who witnessed one of my Boliche experiences. I was told it was a family thing and we needed to go, make an appearance, and get home. I though that was okay, seeing that my sultry man-voice causing sickness has now morphed into something rather tacky, complete with the hack of a 90 year old chain smoker and nasal drip that could flood Sri Lanka.

We arrive at Casa de Tati, and are greeted with a plate of food. And it was GOOD food. I looked around, said hello to a few people, and went to town on the empanadas. I noticed on the tables, there was a lot of beer and wine present. Cha-Ching! How can I make this cold better, you ask? Add immune weakening booze to the system, Duh! I finally rationalized it so I could defend my thirsty ways with the idea that booze is good for the throat. So, as the host came to ask us what we wanted to drink, the 3 kids I arrived with answered ¨Coke¨, and that sneaky woman, caught me with an entire empanada in my mouth. I contemplated spitting it out on her just so I could ask for a beer, but that host was a swift one, and before I could down the grotesque amount of animal carcass and bread jammed in my mouth, she was back with massive glasses of coke...or Pepsi.

(Another defeat for Courtney in Argentina).

We stayed around for about 30 more minutes, bundled up, and hit the road. Villa Allende is a smaller town, and it would have only taken around 5-10 minutes to get home, but I realized we were going in the opposite direction. Hmm. I didn´t ask any questions as the scratchy Spanish music stations were too loud, and my position (where my legs were splayed rather innapprotiately around the back of the drivers seat of the 1979 Geo Metro sized automobile) did not permit leaning over and shouting. I realized after about 15 minutes that we are going to the City. Well, I´m okay with this. Maybe they´ll stop for coffee or tea, and I´ll stop for a double vodka on the rocks, lemon please, because I´m sick.

I should know better.

We got to the city, and drove in and around the city. We passed many a pub and restaurant where people sat outside drinking (One of my most favorite things EVER) and laughing....taunting me. I considered at a stoplight to exhale on the window I was pressed up against and write the word ¨H.E.L.P¨ on it. Perhaps someone would feel bad and run over and let me sip their cocktail from a straw through a crack I would have made in the window. That too, did not happen. I was however, was getting curious where we were headed. About 5 minutes later we were on our way back to Villa Allende... We were headed nowhere.

(I would have been cool with it if were were heading to Nowhere, a very cool, random gay bar in NYC, but that´s neither here nor there...it´s Nowhere).

Yes, that´s correct, we drove 20 minutes to the city, 20 minutes around the city, and 20 minutes back (in a DEATH TRAP) to kill time. The highlight was when Beyonce came on the radio. (Those of you who worked with me last summer or had the privilege of being in a car with me for more than six minutes understand my deep connection with Beyonce. It´s not MY fault if I was late to work because the radio timed her 5 minute song wrong and at 2 minutes to four pm I was in the parking lot screaming those lyrics for 3 minutes). Either way, I chanted in delight with my diva and realized that I had NO VOICE to sing. I wanted people to know what would happen IF I WERE A BOY!!! Sadly, mouthing the words had to suffice, because even I didn´t want to be subjected to my teeth clenching performance of Beyonce. Whatev

I´m off to purchase extra-strength cough medicine. I can´t go another day knowing my vocal cords are unable to replicate the sounds of Sasha Fierce!

Toodles

Bidet to you, Sir

I cannot believe I did not mention this from day 1. Maybe because I had a tryst-like experience with it today, it deserves some mentioning.

So, the bidet is very common here in Argentina. In almost every house, and many public places I have been to, there has been a bidet. I wasn´t overly confused as many are the first time they see one, but I was shocked. I figured these were mainly an older European commonality, and to be fair, they did originate in France. In yet another United States Vs. Argentina conversation I had with The Mother, she asked why we didn´t have them in The States. To be quite honest, I wasn´t sure. But you bet I invented a damn good reason after her statement:

¨Todos Los Yankee´s (pronounced Zhankees) tienen culos sucios.¨ -TRANSLATION- All of those American´s have dirty asses.

Oh no she didn´t, (snap)!!!

So I began with the false fact that bidets are in Argentina because it´s a third world country and many years ago, the poorer people couldn´t afford toilet paper. (With this, I thought I was golden, nothing more to be said). The Mother then contradicted my faux history and said that poor people don´t have bidets, that it´s for the mid-upper class. Poorer people cannot afford them.

(Shit).

I then followed with the ever-so made up idea that the bidet is an invention that is derived from poverty stricken individuals who cleansed them selves post potty usage. True, they didn´t have a bidet, however, these people also couldn´t afford the luxury of paper, especially to waste on tushy cleaning, so they washed their tokus in a lake or river, and those more advanced used a bucket of water near their area of waste depositing. I capped it off with the idea that since the US is not a third world country, there was no need for the invention, as we have something more glorious, Charmin 2ply Toilet Paper.

They bought it and I had an immediate and brief thought that I should attend Law School.

My fictitious story still did not stop me from the occasional squat on the bidet. When in Rome....or in my case, When in Argentina....

This was just fine and dandy until this morning. I was hanging out in the bathroom, and decided to get down with the bidet. I have used it a few times here, and mostly it´s just cold and I can barley sit there for more than a second. (I found it great for washing my feet instead). But today I got the nerve and Frenched up to sit down. As my luck would have it, I turned it on just enough to graze my bare bum, and apparently that wasn´t enough. The pipes immediately shot a forceful stream of water ( which should only to be used by fire hoses) in my anal cavity. If felt similar to what I´d imagine an enema feels like- not horrible, but so unexpected I yelped. I did not bargain to be water sodomized this morning, but hey, you can´t win em´ all.

I don´t think I´ll be fraternizing with the bidet in my time left here, it was too aggressive. I usually prefer someone buy me a drink and maybe take me on a date before we get that familiar with the downstairs backdoor. If anything, my hope is that The Mother doesn´t google the History of the Bidet and find out my lying tendencies. Nevertheless, on the ´hole,´ (Pun Intended) it was an experience to mention!

Bidet to you!

Sick and Sultry

For a long time after arriving here in Argentina, I cursed all of the winter clothing I brought. The jacket I gladly jammed into my (borrowed) traveling backpack, the scarf I haphazardly flung in the back of the wardrobe, the WOOL sweaters I used as pillows...all of them mocking me as I slept in a room reading 94 degrees. Well, I take back my blasphemous insults and proclaimed hate towards clothing manufactured for warmth, because today I´m wearing everything I own.

In a matter of days, it went from hot hot hot, to warm days- cool nights, to chilly yet not necessary to put on more than a long sleeve shirt, to me fetching the scarf from the depths of my clothes storage, to me moving the table in front of the heater in a wool sweater, scarf, and tights just to type this. That glorious tan that I raved about will be non existent; just in time for summer in The States. Lounging poolside is no more. (Though I do sometimes peer out the window at the blue hole, drained of its summer debauchery, as if to say I miss you). I knew it was going to be winter at some point during my stay, but I was misled, and confused. I got here with the notion that it would have already been cold...but no. Argentina deceived me, lured me in with it´s taunting sweltering days and large mosquito's- the ones that only the hottest of summer days and nights can bring- and now- stolen right from beneath me.

The best part, and by best, I do mean ironically worst part, is that as soon as the weather changed everyone got sick. Working with 30 children who have constant nose drip isn´t a problem anymore. I fear not lice, I fear not boogers, because for these I have solutions! Larva and Lice shampoo, and Day Quil. Get out of town, Cautious Courtney came prepared. Not only this, but I´m an avid vitamin taker complete with echinacea goldenseal. I was preparing for the storm, ready to watch everyone else drown as I floated by on my wooden door from the Titanic. Apparently the common cold doesn´t give a shit what kind of precautionary measures I took. It waited until my always alert immune system turned its back and launched itself at me, full speed, like a male dog to a bitch in heat.

Fight or Flight quickly kicked into action as I nearly sprinted to the ¨Kisoco¨ for some orange juice and a gallon of water. Being a firm believer that orange juice cures everything when you´re sick, I drank the entire half gallon yesterday. Well, I can´t say that I feel that much better, but I don´t feel worse. In reality, it´s just a tickle in my throat, (not a scratch or a frog, but a tickle) and and a runny nose. I just can´t take the chance of falling ill before my vacay. I have wine to drink while biking through the land- maybe even some glaciers to see. I would rather not do this with said tickle in my throat or snot running down my lips and me be too numb (either from the cold or the booze) to not notice and be the American-Snot-Faced-Girl.

With this, I am off to down some more vitamin c, perhaps pump some water into my body, and get down to planning the vacation.

Oh, the good thing that has surfaced from my throat condition: I have developed this kind of sultry, sexy, deep, voice. Not quite mannish, maybe more transsexual style. Either way, when I speak to my host family, I sound pretty exotic and a little frumpy!

Ciao.

Happy Anniversary

Happy Anniversary!

One year post graduation...no job...loans on deferment...can someone bring me a margarita???

Maybe I´ll celebrate with vodka, crackers, and cranberry juice...just like graduation morning!

Cheers!

Author´s note

I made a poor attempt in my editing skills. Please understand that in the sentence ¨Teaching English in Asia, South Korea, China, or Japan,¨ that I wrote in the last update, I am aware that Asia is the continent in which S Korea, China, and Japan are countries. Sorry, yes, I appeared to lack some intelligence, but you should understand it was in grammatical corrections and not geography!

Sayonara

Maybe Asia, Maybe Chile

I was sitting around this brilliantly sunny Sunday and I was hit with that anxiety driven ¨what-do-I-do-with-my-life-now,¨ thought. I decided that having a degree truly helped me none in deciding what I currently want to do. Please, don´t get me wrong... getting a degree was by no means a waste of time or a mistake, but I literally am not too sure what I want to do. Technically, I have an idea, but on how to combine, writing, speaking Spanish, traveling, being green (kinda), helping publicly, promoting safety of health, drinking wine, yoga, and women's rights, all while wearing a snappy outfit and making some good money seems like asking for the golden egg.

So I got on google, and just fudged around and finally came up with a thought.........

Teaching English in Asia, South Korea, China, or Japan.

Okay, this includes traveling, helping publicly, learning a new foreign language, and definitely drinking.

So I went to town on some crazy research. After 3 eye crossing hours staring into a computer, I have found numerous reviews, visa requirements, ways to avoid being scammed, ways to avoid being scammed by reading even more publishing's on things like ¨ways to avoid being scammed,¨ accommodations, resources, pay....... I´m sure I´ll have to sit on this for awhile, (like I would a golden egg), perhaps include various people in on my thoughts, nevertheless, maybe my next stop will be Seoul or Beijing.

On a relatively closer note, I started getting some traveling plans together for my end of Argentina trip. I have about 15 days of free time before I need to venture back to Buenos Aries and get on the USA bound Airbus. I will be traveling with a friend I have since met while volunteering. Our only plan is at some point to venture to Mendoza, AR and do a bike riding wine tour. That´s classy my friends, Courtney on a bike, with a triumphant glass of Malbec in one hand and trying to navigate a bike through foreign land! (I hope I remember how to ride a bike, better do a practice pedal pre wine consumption).

After that adventure, (which I´m sure will become known as the Mendoza incident), there may be some traveling to Chile. This would be great for the mere idea of hitting another South American country, yes, and as well I can update my soon to be expired Visa...in case it´s a big deal at the airport. After that, nothing is set in stone. Hopefully, I will be able to meet up with another friend, a native New Mexican on the Argentine-Chilean trail, and we too can see some sights, drink some (more) wine, and have a good time.

If anyone has information or suggestions on my current travels, perhaps suggestions on Chile and where to visit, or on my Asia-Bound-Adventures, please e mail me!

Also, in a previous story(s), I spoke of the traditional drink mate. I was writing it with an accent over the e like such ¨maté.¨ Thankfully, someone informed me that when putting an accent over the e, the word the becomes the past tense to ¨I Kill.¨ So basically I was telling everyone that I was drinking ¨I killed¨ with the family. Sorry...kinda

And before I forget, Happy Mother´s Day!

Thinking in Blog Status

I have begun to think in Blog mode. I find myself narrating situations Í´m in and trying to precisely remember certain events and details to better replicate in word form for this updating forum. Sometimes it goes well. Other times, however, I look like a fool having a conversation in my head...maybe a drunk person. This is the reason for such a story...

As it may well be aware, I am no stranger to the world of liquor. Perhaps there was a point in my life where I was referred to as a ¨Party Animal¨ or something of the likes. Since graduating college, my ways have slowed some and I no longer have the drink-my-face-off-till-I-vomit, though process, rather I am able to enjoy a cocktail here and there. (Please don´t misunderstand me, there are still times when I do drink my face off and it is possible that there is some vomiting, but it is no longer the goal of an evening, as in Freshman-mid Junior year of college).

Also, since I have ¨matured,¨ I have not become a liquor snob either. I have had my fair share of Crystal Palace and Popov Vodka, I believe my main food group in those hazy years of college was Keystone Light and Natty Ice, and I still have ABSOLUTELY NO PROBLEM with boxed wine. I just find that these days, I prefer when taking a shot of booze, that I shouldn´t need to plug my nose in hopes that it will go down smoother.

I´m also not a wine snob. Sure, I have taken a wine class or two, and I work (worked) in a restaurant that had a fabulous wine selection, but pretty much it comes down to the simple basics. I like the way it tastes. Sometime I try and stick with the ¨red with meat and white with fish,¨ but in the end, I really just want to drink wine, regardless of the food. I don´t know what varietal you pair with crackers, but I´ll probably drink it.

This all being said, I think it´s fair to say that splitting a bottle of wine between 2 people doesn´t make anyone a lush. And I think MANY people would agree that it´s very easy to finish a bottle of wine solo and not be inebriated. If anything, at a slow pace, a bottle of vino can be finished in 4 days, (VERY SLOW PACE) if say a person had one glass every night. Well, that´s just what I did the other day, purchased a delicious Malbec and worked it slow. When it was finished, I was called an Alcoholic. Andrea said that I consumed it so fast. It was meant to be light hearted, and almost funny. My thoughts on me being an alcoholic differ somewhat... I thought f saying something like, ¨What? But you haven´t even seen me go to town yet...wait until you at least see my crazy lazy eyes and hear my slurred speech before you come to that conclusion.¨ I thought it was funny. It got even funnier as the week continued.

A woman I work with was given a bottle of wine. She told my host mother to give it to me because She doesn´t drink the stuff. (How she knows I like wine, who cares. She is a saint). I was taking my Saturday easily pool side...(though the pool was actually drained of water, so technically, I was just hole side) reading my book, and soaking up the sun. Andrieta comes out to the patio and asks me if I would like to drink wine with her. This is unusual, as she doesn´t really like wine, and doesn´t really drink much, especially when it is still daylight. Drinking with the sun, however, is one of my favorite pass times. You can imagine my shock.
My response...(translated into English for your reading pleasure)
¨What? Are you kidding? Please never seriously ask me that again. I always want to drink wine. And I always want to drink wine in the afternoon, sitting outside. What am I doing right now? Yes, sitting outside...and it´s afternoon...let´s make it complete, bring the wine!¨

Well, she brought the wine. It turned out to be rather delicious. Sparkling wine. Not quite champagne status, but white wine with bubbles...if that makes ANY sense. We start sipping and having a merry time. About 3/4 through her glass, she gets up and leaves mid conversation. Weird. Was it something I said? Did I have BO? I couldn´t figure it out. About a minute later she returns (semi colon) I am just about finished with my glass... she has no glass in her hands. She claims it was too fuzzy (not fizzy, fuzzy) and gave it to her mom. Well, I though it was just fuzzy enough, so she offered me some more. Decline I did not, and as she poured my second divine glass, she giggles and calls me an alcoholic. I pay no attention to her and those ridiculous, outlandish statements. (Off with her head).
I realized she gave a little stumble while walking inside. I asked her if she was okay, she claimed the wine hit her a little...all 7 1/2 sips...silly shenanigans.

As we were hanging out, the mom opened the fridge. She immediately pulls out the wine (Easily I could have terminated the remaining liquid, but I suppose I wanted it to appear that I don´t always finish a bottle in one sitting) and laughingly asks where all the wine went. I just smiled, doing math in my head. (4 glasses to a bottle...minus the 3 poured today...leaves about one glass left in the bottle...which is less than half) It all added up, I didn´t see the problem. She looked and said, something along the lines of ¨haha, Courtney drinks a lot of wine, she´s an alcoholic...wino.¨ I got nervous, thinking that they were really starting to think I had a problem. I wanted to explain that 2 glasses was really nothing. It all became clear to me when she told me that it would take her a year to finish a bottle of wine. WHAT?!? A YEAR? I think even the highly preservative injected boxed wine goes bad after a few months. No wonder you don´t like wine, you are usually drinking vinegar!

This enraged me, and I tried to explain how wine went bad after being opened. You have to drink it. The wine wants to be drank, let it fulfill it´s destiny. It´s like putting a toy on the shelf and never playing with it again. How sad. We all saw Toy Story 2, drink the wine!!! Even 4 days is pushing it. It´s my opinion that it should all be consumed in one sitting, staining your teeth and sometimes your carpet, but a year...Oh no. It is clear to me why it seems that I have a problem.

After this informative conversation, I started to replay in my head the Blog format of how I wanted to phrase such a topic. I suppose I looked silly, because Andrieta asked me, ¨what are you doing, are you drunk?¨

...Thus, the vicious circle of thinking and Blogging.