8 Hours and Counting

OMG! (As Usher would say)

I have been so wrapped up in my own self induced coma of fudge, cheap champagne, and sweater shopping, that I forgot to inform everyone I was leaving to Europe in a mere 8 hours. Luckily, I am not that far removed from how into myself I truly am; therefore, I was able to find time between making the perfect Europe iPod playlist and packing all the good looking undies to blog for a moment.

So.............

-Leaving to Spain tomorrow
-FINALLY, taking the lover (lucky him)
-Supposed to return in 2 weeks
-Purchased hemp body wash from REI, (Not Lucky for all passengers on plane in 2 weeks)
-Planning on spending 2500 dollars on Hostels, Eiffel Tower, wine and Tapas
-Yes, I am aware Effile Tower is in France, not Spain!


XOXOXOX

E.U.R.O.P.E

Dearest friends, family, loves and old lovers,

It's official.....................

WE'RE GOING TO EUROPE!

Tickets were purchased yesterday, backpacks were scouted at REI, Lonely Planet's were revisited.

For New Years, I will be in Barcelona, Spain! And best of all, this trip (finally) includes the lover.

Naturally, no sooner than we purchased the tickets did the Obama Administration "warn[ed] Americans of potential terrorist threats in Europe and urged them to be vigilant in public places, including tourist spots and transportation hubs." NPR
Well, that's as fancy as Dijon mustard. Oh well, I'm going to scoot on over to Paris with a big fat smile and show that Eiffel Tower who's boss. And while in Spain, I'll do the conversing and Jarred will keep his Texas mouth S.H.U.T!

The best part about this trip is that no longer will everyone have to suffer through my rambling blog posts about obese Wal*Mart folks, or how I really feel about corn dogs. Here and now marks the commencement of TRAVEL BLOG. Long awaited and almost worth the wait. Expect news on REI shopping sprees and the complete break-down of how to pack 3 different pairs of brown leather boots in my one backpack.

Cheers

State Fair with a Side of Heart Attack

For 2 weeks in September, New Mexico celebrates annual The State Fair. For children, this includes fluorescent pink cowboy hats, face paintings, and taking a gander at the shaved sheep. For angsty teenagers, it includes cruising the Midway looking for their next great love, or since you're in Albuquerque, it includes a plethora of gang members perusing their next victim. Adults are drawn to concerts, the hot tub vendors, horse races, and the beer gardens sporadically located throughout the fair grounds. Recently, I began questioning which age group would I fall into? I'm certainly a bit old for face paintings- plus, I'm really not a fan of having things splattered upon my face (Stop it). I could pass on the concerts, as I lived for 4 years in a small cow town; my exposure to country fried music and other folks has since expired. The Midway carnies aren't what bother me, it's the fact that I cannot walk fast enough pass the awkward adolescents who stroll steps in front of each other, displaying their affection and possession by wrapping their arms around the waist of their significant other. Also, I'm not risque enough to ride the infamous Zipper. It must be clear then, that I go, as many others do, indeed for the food...The fatty age group, welcome to any and all interested in depleting their healthy lifestyles for the satisfaction of greasy finger tips and clogged arteries.

As of yesterday(or 2 weeks ago, since I'm a bit tardy in posting this), it's truly amazing I did not participate in my own self induced heart attack. After attending The Fair for years on end, a native Albuquer-ian understands what to expect. There are specific landmarks made famous by particular past incidents, or fond memories. The Beef Jerky vendor can always be found next to the cloth rose vendor. Not seeing the Peruvian Pan Flute players will surly make your trip feel incomplete, and as for me, passing up the opportunity to indulge in a NM State Fair Corn Dog is sheer madness.

For the last 2 years, I have made it a mission to experience the 'cholitas' mixed with the FFA kids, all watching the Native American dances, complete with headdresses. More importantly, other than seeing the caged bunnies (animals, not not women) and refraining from touching their ever so soft fur, the first stop is FOOD! Every year or so, there is a new fangled food fad. Recently it was the deep fried Twinkie. Then it was the fat curly french fries. Later it was BBQ chicken Nachos and mini doughnuts. (Not together, however, I wouldn't be opposed to participating in a BBQ-Chicken-Nacho-Mini-Doughnut-Extravaganza...Sweet and salty? I think so!) This year, it was the "Brick" of french fries.

By Brick, I do mean that the long curly fires are stuffed in a fry-basket full to the top, then deep fried. Though that was enough to murder a small group of LA models, The boyfriend and I took it one step further, as most people in the Beer Family do. "Add Cheese to that brick, bitch!" Yes.We.Did. Fat Fatties added not only canned Nacho cheese to their grease pool french fries, but threw some pickled jalapenos on em' too. French fry nachos? Yes please! ....And we didn't stop there.

That was just the appetizer. Fries to wet the appetite, so to speak. We followed that by not 1 but 2 corn dogs, 3 sodas, a few bloody beers, and a Gyro. Needless to say, as the day wore on, we became a bit sluggish. But the memories of cheesy fried potato strings and the Greek version of the taco live on in my heart forever.

The Fair has come and gone; proud, dirty, classic. Until next year my darling, my corn dog...

Bit O' Change

Let’s face it, when I am not forced to be around a computer for educational purposes, or if I am in the United States Proper, getting me to update my blogerrific blog is near impossible. Two constraints working against me and my attempt to “connect” are the expensive fact that I currently do not have internet at my house. (To me, large quantities of cheap wine are more important to purchase monthly than the ever so important internet); and an unfortunate accident with my laptop involving the complete submersion of the machine into a gargantuan amount of liquid. So, as it stands, I am currently typing away on a laptop that coincidently weighs the same amount as MY lap, lent to me by my dearest lover. In short (yeah right) this is an official update.

Recently, I have made it my business to plan an international excursion. Many countries were sought out as potential keepers of my adventures and massive shoe collection I so often carry with my on my trips. China was the latest winner, and up until about a month ago, was a serious contender in the ‘Courtney Chooses Country’ competition. Some minor details and misinformation led me away from the Country that funds Toys R Us, and I began searching anew.

Wanting to travel somewhere daringly off the charts, I ventured away from South America. Central America was too close to home, and Canada was practically home. China, Japan, and the area of Asia became a bit difficult; yet, are in the future plans of world domination (I mean travel) and then Europe popped up.

Europe?!? This was something I hadn’t really considered before. And why not? It seems post high school, everyone I knew was journeying over to Europe. How did I not hop on that bandwagon and jump off the bridge with everyone else? Pass the Kool-Aid and lace me up some Nikes, Europe suddenly sounds cool. I talked a few things over with a few impartial individuals and finally decided that I would make my trip to the big E. And not just Europe, but SPAIN! And not JUST Spain, but perhaps FRANCE, too! Hell, maybe even Ireland (homeland…kind of, but I don’t need to get ahead of myself now). This was all starting to look good- on paper and on my request off of work sheet…..

This was until I realized Europe was more expensive than South America, China, or Canada. BLAST! And with all bad news comes the good. If I held my trip off until New Years, not only will I have more than enough mu-lah to support my trendy European self, BUT, I can also ask the BF along for the adventure. Imagine that, Courtney… in Paris… with her lover…how cute…Post cards will be sent…

Introducing this idea to the man took little to no convincing, so we went out for a few beers, (The Champagne of Beers, to be precise) and spoke of funds and fun, tapas, and trench coats, backpacks and airplane seat backs. We laughed and drank and through the Miller High Life Haze, decided that a few days after Christmas we will hopefully jet off to Spain. From there we will tentatively plan to see Paris and whatever else tickles our pickle for approximately 3 weeks.

Like all things not set in stone, (And even some things stone-bound …Ten Commandments, really Moses?) this is all tentative. Hopefully, however, this will fall into place, because you see, I haven’t traveled out side the Land of the Free in almost a year (Texas doesn’t count), and in order for me too keep my sanity, or whatever is left of it, this trip is a necessity. With this, for the next few months, I will, indeed be rounding up trendy clothes on clearance, keeping the intake of booze to a minimum (solely for financial purposes) and eating a lot of beans!

Europe, HERE I COME!

Bit-O-Asia

As some of you know, my 24th birthday is coming up. Other than gravity taking affect faster than normal, things are great. I've been lulling over the idea of a big China adventure for some time now, and it seems, that 24 is going to be the year it happens. My last big excursion took me to the depths of Peru, and a little number you may have heard of called, Macchu Pichu. Post conquering that behemoth of a mountain, I'm off to visit a well known "great Wall." I'll be the judge of how great it really is. I mean, we have adobe here in New Mexico, so I'm truly hoping the Chinese version can match up ;)

The tentative dates for said trip should take place in later September and early October. I'll be visiting a dear friend who was brave enough to live there for a year plus teaching English. I'm taking full advantage of her knowledge thus far about the incredible country... along with the help of an older, most dear friend...Lonely Planet!

I'll let you in on the final plans, and the packing extravaganza that is sure to accompany it.

toodles!

Another Texas Triumph

Ladies and Gents, please prepare for my grand entrance.........

ANNND, I'm Back. After a nearly 3 month hiatus, I have returned to regale everyone with tales. Stories about future travel, revisiting Texas, and a bad rent-a-car situation sure to make you tinkle in your trousers. And because it is that specific story that prompts my writing today, the decision has been made to first share it with you.

So, this is how it all went down!

I must admit I'm a bit behind on the technology consumption and still have an ipod with a turn dial and a flip phone that i have to push all the buttons to:) So, as you can imagine, anything more than a touch screen is a bit foreign to me.

The Boyfriend and I Made our way back to Texas, this time Dallas was our destination. A college buddy of his was due to wed and we made it our business to attend and represent New Mexico in the most fashionable way- High Heels, and massive Vodka Sodas. Well, Jarred and I arrived in Dallas on Thursday night. As soon as we got in, he called up his boys and they decided on a bachelor party- definitely including a strip club. Though I was invited, I decided to pass. This was boys night. Instead, I just funded my darling with a plethora of ones and fives to gingerly place in many-a-g-string. I said I'd have some wine, and read my book. It was already late. After convincing him it was okay that he left me, I decided to grab some take out. Now, our rental was a cute new Nissan Altima 2 door. Very sporty. Very zippy. The best part was that the vehicle was key less. One of those push button starters. I wasn't a big fan of driving in Dallas, seeing that anyone who drives faster than 15 MPH without their hazard lights on terrifies me.... but the place we were staying was smack dab in the middle of restaurants and shops galore. So, I go to get into the car. (We had already driven it from rental lot to hotel, and everything seemed fine.) I get in. Buckle up. Check all my mirrors. Pushed the button once. This is the equivalent of turning the key enough to have lights, radio, and window control. So, naturally, I push the button again. It didn't sound like it had fully started, but i just figured it was new and one of those "quiet cars," like a Prius or something of the like. What ev, so I put it in reverse and I begin coasting back slowly. (At this point, I'm feeling pretty sexy and confident. Here I am in my sporty sleek car, in Dallas, going to get food and booze. Out of my way big hair and Palin lovers, Miss Beer is here, and she's driving!) I pushed the gas to speed up the process of my reversing, and nothing happens...I just keep floating back at the pace of a disabled snail. Immediately, I hit the brake and put it into park. Thinking this was somewhat awkward, I decided to drive it up the 5 feet I had previously reversed to start fresh. Chuckling to myself, I put it into drive, (No joke, still thinking I'm hot shit) and continue to roll backward.

WTF?!?!?!?

My chuckling has turned into a fear stricken panic. I can't figure out what's going on. I proceed to turn the car off, on, reverse, drive, everything I can think of short of pulling out the manual. Nothing works. I'm literally moving further and further back out of my parking spot into the 'point-of-blocking-trafic. So that's right, I nerd out and search for the operators manual. Surely this is a common occurrence, in these new fangled automobiles. I search all the once clever compartments, now mocking my driving, (and for that matter, living) ability for the "THIS IS HOW YOUR START YOUR CAR, MORON" handbook. There's no such manual. Fuck.My.Life. The last thing I want to do is call Jarred. He's out with the boys, and I really don't want to look like a crazy needy girlfriend, nonetheless, an incompetent one... "Uh, hi, baby. How do you start the car?? Also, can you change my diaper later?" This is what I felt like. So, I rummaged a bit more and to my delight, discovered a blue little paper that actually says how to start your car. Gleefully, I begin reading, and find that it says, as if pointing a finger and saying 'nanny nanny boo boo', "Put key in ignition. Turn keys. Car is started." AH!!!!!!!! It's outdated, and I feel like a buffoon. Near tears, with my sporty car that is now looking gimpish, small, and anything but profound, I cave and call the man. He answers and I can practically smell stripper perfume through the phone. Sure that he has a massive pair of dirty pillows in his face, he still tries to help me. He tells me everything I already know, and can't figure out why I can't drive. He asks if I'm drunk. Nope. He asks if I've moved it out of park. Yup. I'm feeling like an absolute goon. I tell him I'll figure it out, and hang up...trying to save some dignity. Finally, I take my situation into perspective; car half-assed out of it's parking slot, and laugh. This bull shit of a predicament is outrageous. I turn the car off (if it was ever on) and walk across the street to Chile's. I consume my weight in Gin and Tonics (Which only amounts to two this particular evening) and eat shitty food. Walking back to the hotel, I stumble, not because of the drinks, but because of the oddly placed sprinkler in the middle of a gravel parking lot, and almost drop my left overs. I get into bed. I think at those point I might as well order a 'good movie.' Apparently the Comfort Suites in Dallas does not offer such 'good movies.' Fine, I'll read my damn book...

And no sooner does Jarred text me for a ride. (FUCK MY LIFE) Not only did I have a few drinks, but I can't even start the car. Instead of trying to explain that to a drunk lover and his friends I opted to ignore all calls. That's right, completely ignore. And there were many. I started to feel bad, but thinking that I'd have to explain my failure of life situation I was more embarrassed. I win, no ride for you. Finally, he took a cab, and I may have told him I "fell asleep" and didn't hear the calls. (Later, we laughed about the situation). The next morning, we decide to go to 6 flags. We go outside to see the rental half in it's parking space, and half in the way of everyone trying to dodge it as they drove around the corner. Jarred didn't say anything, just looked at me, shook his head and laughed. We get in the car, (I'm in the passengers seat) and I tell him EXACTLY what I did and to show me EXACTLY what he's doing. First things first. He PUSHES THE BREAK AND THE BUTTON to start the car. It starts, with the proper car starting noises and everything...........


I blame the fact that my parents never taught me to drive a stick on not knowing to push the break when starting a car. BLAST!

Expect some photos soon friends, and some exciting questions on my (potential) journey to China in the early fall!

Spring into Cold, Ya'll

I realize how cliche my title for this story truly is. I do pity the fool(s) who use the phrase "spring into..." anything referring to an event occurring in the beginning days and weeks of spring. But living in New Mexico, and in Albuquerque to be exact, the weather here is just a fickle as my using the "spring into" phrase.

Watching the weather channel recently has been my form of entertainment. The degrees from cold to hot fluctuate as much as Oprah's weight issues. Finally, where there claimed to be a 3 day period of potential shorts wearing warmth, I jumped at the idea of having drinks on a patio- wearing such footwear as flip flops or other strappy sandal ensembles, to begin the tanning process for summer months to come.

And on the first days of spring, the weather was both wonderful and miserable. It really did snow in the morning and warm up to sunny clear skies in the afternoon. My sandals became very confused. Used to hot pavement beneath, and sweaty thong indents between the first (and for some, evolution toe) second toe, both flip flops and feet alike were cold and sweat less. Even more confusing, the day post confusing weather arrangement, it was rainy, cold and wool sweater worthy!

Now, I have lived in NM for all of my years (minus a glorious one here and there) and for the most part, every spring is the same. The promise of sunny days sweeping up clouds away is guaranteed to always be followed with the disclaimer of "but not before you unpack all of your warmer-wear-gear to face a random Wednesday with a high of 47 and wind gusts at 45 mph, 100% chance of rain..." I must admit, I enjoy the spontaneity of the unpredictable weather, but it makes it difficult to plan a afternoon on the perfect patio double-fisting Red Stripes, and obtaining a massive Kim Kardashian sunglasses tan-line.

Another great aspect of Spring time that I have found to be unforgivably true is that there is enough distance away from New Years, that many individuals begin forgetting their annual resolutions. Gym goers tend to fizzle out a bit, and because when people are faced with sun and warmth, nothing screams GOOD IDEA like Margaritas and out-door seating. Afternoon imbibing, and evening strolls minus winter coat??? I think so!!! Cute shorts and cuter mini dresses!!! Who doesn't like to see a little leg action? With the secret promise lingering in the air that summer is just around the corner, it seems appropriate to renege (note to self, double check spelling and correct definition of word to prevent looking like an ass) on my daily yoga "resolution" and instead lather myself in a mix of SPF 45 and tanning oil to achieve the less than perfect burn while lounging on my plastic fluorescent lawn chair in my roommates backyard.


(Since today is rather chilly, I am indeed writing this from indoors, in a sweatshirt, on a Lazy Boy watching Harriet the Spy- the equivalent to what was previously mentioned, minus SPF 45).


And to complete the spring-time-saga of which this story has become, the Ty Murray Invitational is this weekend and (begin reading in a thick Texan accent) The boyfriend and I are going. That's right, ya'll, I'm fixin' to go to the Bull Riding with all them other buckle bunnies. I intend to wear my big buckle, and plaid shirt, and boots, and drink Coors (pronounced Keeers lite) and enjoy the shit outta my self. Damn Skippy!!

Welcome Home...Again...and Again

Yoza!

2010 has been a bleak writing continuum. That New Years resolution of write more, fuck up less, and do more hot yoga has ceased to exist...Well actually not the Hot Yoga part, as I had been going frequently until this week when I caught the inevitable airborne illness everyone I know seems to possess.

As a matter of fact, this year has been going splendidly if I do say so myself-

I finally got off my caboose and decided to join Americorps. (By joining this means taking 3 months to complete an application) I compromised with the Boyfriend, carefully conveying to him that that moving would really tickle my pickle (In a more modest, less subtle form of phrasing). Since he, however, is not too keen on NYC, the one place I've been packed and ready for since day-after-graduation-2008, I decided to apply to Denver, San Fran, Washington state and the Portland area, randomly New Hampshire...

I decided that March first would be a fabulous start date, and even better, after a completed year of Americorps, I can choose a decent chunk of money and apply it to outstanding student loans. (The soul cause, other than wanting to help and move, for joining Americorps). Seeing that I accrued close to 1000 skanky dollars in my frivolous year of traveling and jerking it to re runs of Sex and the City, (in addition to the twenty-some-thousand-dollar student loans I have out) I thought this was a magical opportunity. And since my dear lover too thought this was wonderful, he decided to apply to the same city's in which I was applying...now, this only seems befitting...

March first will be his start date for his new job...in Albuquerque. (Not quite the big move I was hoping for, huh?) Giving the state of economic hardship in our country, it seems no one in any of the city's I wanted to live in were hiring. Oddly enough, the only noteworthy nibble the BF got was from the Albuquerque job. So, as I predicted, March first would have been a fabulous start date, and for him it will be...here...in Abq.

In the beginning, I was less than thrilled, and quickly realized (the moment loan deferment ended and the 300 dollars due per month for said money lenders came in the mail) that living here was not that bad. In fact, I came to the insane conclusion that living at home momentarily (or for somewhere near a year) is considerably cheap. I mean, how else will I afford 2 foreign country trips this year??? Some would say "grow up Courtney"....and those people are jealous their roommates are not my parents! Suckaaas, Grandma's boy ain't got nothin' on me.

And in some more irrelevant news, my 18 year old sister who enjoys nothing more than to make fun of me for living at home again, is getting ready for college. In an appropriate back handed compliment, she stated that she wanted to be just like me, except when she graduates college, living back at home won't be an option. Thanks, a lot sister. Enjoy those trips to Wal-Mart and Mud Volleyball tournaments all paid for by student loans! Nothing tastes as good as mom's homemade, can-opened tomato soup.


So, for the time being, ABQ will be my temporary perma-residence. (Holler, oxymoron). I'm pausing my monumental move and sticking it out, if not for anything else, a little love :)

Visiting the Alamo

So I kind of disappeared after my return from Peruvian wonderment into a landslide of work and shopping. Who knew the holidays could be so 'hustle and bustle' during a recession. Works for me...

And speaking of said economic dissolve, I have all but forgotten that we are in a bit o' crisis- I decided to take another vacay. This time, though I didn't leave the country, the place I visited sure seemed to think it was it's own nation...

Oh Yes, Ladies and gentlemen, drum roll please..... I ventured to TEXAS!!!!!!!


My darling lover (And his family) and I traveled to San Antonio to watch Texas Tech demolish Michigan State in the Alamo Bowl. (Guns Up- and I have officially converted). We spent New Years Eve on the River Walk, enjoyed Market Square, and ate at every Tex-Mex place conceived in the heart of San Antonio. While chomping on a big hot dog at the game and in between my sips of the ever so frothy draught Budwiser, I was over come with a familiar thought. (No, no, not horniness). It became clear that I was taking in the game in a way that I could later convey in a blog. I was head blogging! Sweet Jesus, that hasn't happened since Argentina, and I was with my large bakery friends devouring my second chicken. (Must be food for thought ;)

Trying to compose a blog in a way not to bore, yet to deliver a humorous tale, I came to the conclusion that I will regale all with my trip to The Alamo.

In middle school, everyone was required to take History of New Mexico. Perhaps again in high school, however, my history classes of high school in the elite Albuquerque Public School System were taught by football coaches- so we colored maps and watched Gladiator most of the time. It is my assumption that most pubescent children who learn the history of their state and at some point become very proud of it. Texas is no exception. And on an extremely educational day of our vacation, 3 native Texans ( boyfriend, boyfriends brother, and boyfriend's brother's girlfriend) took me to The Alamo. I couldn't help but think that perhaps I should have Wikipediaed the full story behind the Alamo before the trip. The only positive relating thought that came to mind was 'blah blah blah Davy Crockett... yadda yadda yadda raccoon skin hat...la de da murder..."


..and with that, who knew it was next to blasphemous to casually walk over (purposely stomp on) the famous line drawn in the sand in front of The Alamo and shout "What's up New Mexico?!?"
I was quickly reminded that we were not in NM and Texas would indeed kick my ass, Davy Crockett Style.

Nevertheless, visiting The Alamo was every elementary and mid school teacher's dream. (My mother practically screamed when she heard I was going and demanded photos from all angles so she could enlighten her 5th graders... Since I was more recently a 5th grader than my dear old mum, I felt sorry for her students and only took a few pics...)

And in keeping this blog in the same fashion as the others, I'll say that visiting The Alamo was like visiting a historical monument in another country. I wasn't exactly sure of it's purpose, but knew that if I asked, I'd be looked down upon as an ignorant foreigner, everyone in the building shuffled in a massive line to wittiness the showcased items like the radical vest worn by Mr. Crockett himself while illegally snapping photos with iPhones and Blackberries, and clearly, I didn't speak the native language...Texan, y'all!

It's true I didn't quite leave the United States, but visiting Texas is like being in another world...

...I'll have to do it again

And here you can see the Native Texas 'Gangsters' near the infamous line, while to the right, you'll find me pointing to the line... pre-stomping on it :)