on to the next one

Last night, before dinner Carlo took me to to look out over the city. It was amazing to see Rome from up high, and incredible how much Carlo knows about his city. He pointed out monuments, churches, and many more places which I cannot pronounce. I wonder if I should be embarassed because I am barely soaking in all of this information, but I am taking in what I can. And of course, I have beautifulo scenes to capture with my vision... and my camera.

So dinner was great mostly because of the company. Although I couldn't understand a great portion of what was being said, there lots of smiles and tons of warmth. I also got to talk with a few folks about visiting School Lake and Camp Walden. Plus, the meal was delicious. Mirella suggested the linguine with mushrooms. So good. I am guessing it was a butter sauce with a hint of garlic and hot pepper.

Right after coffee came (Mirella had ordered decaf for me) Carlo said that it was time to go. It felt so abrubt, probably because the 5 minute warning had come in Italian), so I stood up, but Cralo told me I could finish me coffee first. Since the cups are only the size you mihgt give to a doll, it didn't take long. I said my good byes with a kiss on each cheek, and we crossed the street to go the ballet, Casanova.

As we approached, I realized that the stage was standing in the middle of the park. It was a small area with seats, stadium style, uncovered, and small. The ballet itself left something to be desired, but I made subtitles in my head for what might be happening to entertain myself and that definately worked. This is not only my lack of taste speaking either- Carlo said he didn't like it as much as others he had seen there.

We drove back home and shortly went to bed, but first I gave Mirella the thank you gift that my mom (Pam) had pickjed out. Mirella asked if she should wait until Carlo came back from the parking the car, and we agreed that it would be nice to wait. However she changed her mine and opened it anyway. She really loved it. She was smiling and repeated thank you over and over. And I thanked her for letting me stay and showing me around Rome, and she said "I wish you wouldn't leave... so soon." We agreed that next time I should stay longer, and I went to sleep with a melting heart.

But not mealting from the heat! I got an AC upgrade! woohooo. I guess there had been a portable AC, so when Carlo offered it yesterday, I jumped at the chance to have a cool sleep.

I set my alarm, and felt ready to wake up at 9:30. I stretched in my cool room, took a cold shower, and headed into the kitchen for breakfast. The maid, who only speaks Italian had gotten pluots, apricots, cherries, cantalope, and biscotti all ready for me, since I said that fruit was my usual. It was all very good, although the pluot tasted sour after brushing my teeth and especially after that very sweet cantalope.

Then Mirella took me to send a letter. We passed her friend at a cafe, and they schmoozed something about the womans hurt shoulder, we continued on to buy a stamp and send off my note. Then we passed an open air market full of produce, knick knacks, and tourists. Mirella knew some of the people at the market from going there once a week for the past 20 years she explained with a chuckle.

Then I cooled off in my room, had some lunch- more of the yummy same. And now I am waiting either for Nadia to call and tell me to meet her somewhere or for Carlo to get a phone call he is waiting for and take me to the hotel she is at. Whichever comes first. And then it will be a whole other adventure.

when in rome

I figure while I have such easy access to internet, I might as well use it.

So, Ill start where I left off, with lunch. Mmmm. Mirella made pasta salad with rigfatoni, mozeralla cheese, tomatos, capers, and olives. It was so delicious. Im not sure that everyone knows this, but I do not like olives. I very carefully spooned out my serving trying to avoid them, without looking like I was trying to avoid them. There was one scoop that had an olive right in the middle, so I decided to be a big kid and try it. I still do not like olioves, but I made it through. I even had another that camoflouged itself in my second helping. There was also a bread/ craker with rosemary that was very tastey. After that there was the juciest sweetest cantalope Ive ever tasted, and a couple dark cherries too.

As I helped clear the dishes Mirella asked if I wanted ice cream, but there was absolutely no room. She did insist on making me coffe, and decaf was not a problem. She was quite a stash of all kinds of coffee, and it only took seconds to make in her little espresso machine. I was glad that she offered milk and sugar, because Im not sure if thats the real Italian way, but it was also very very good.

Over lunch, to make conversation and think towards the future of my trip, I asked about the bus system, which Mirella took and generously manipulated into us taking one after lunch... even though it was the hottest part of the day. After we finished, and she changed into a lovely dress, we set off on my first Roma Adventure. It was beautiful.

We took the bus to Villa Burgheese, walked around the tall trees and monuments until we landed at a small cafe. She ordered in Italian and asked me in English what I wanted and propmtly suggest iced tea, which sounded perfect for such a hot day. Then in italian she just ordered two of the same. She pulled out a look cigarette from her bag and said with a smile "I know in America this would be a scandal, but I have a cigarette every once in a while," and we laughed as she lit it.

From there we strolled through different Piazzas and landmarks. Most of which I can not remember because her pronounciation is not something I can say back correctly. However there are some pictures, and I know I saw the famous fountain thats in lots of movies. Plus some catherdrals and lots of government mansions.

We also passed a ton of tourist shops, which were fun to look into. Maybe Ill grab some schwag with fellow tourists later in the trip.

Now is some down time, before dinner and the ballet. Plus Ill be taking another shower. This might not be such an important marker for some, but for me that could tell just as much as a thermometer. Yes, I might even shower 3 times today. Who knows!

all for now and all my love,
Amy

buongiorno

Hello loved ones,

I would love to write and write and write about my miniadventures and hiccups along the way thus far, but Mirella (Pams dads first cousins wife) is waiting for me to have lunch. And I already skipped breakfast, and I already skipped meeting the maid who apparently wants to meet me and already knows Savta. Now dont worry, I wast being rude or neglectful... on purpose. But I woke up a bit after noon.

But in brief: Yesterday I look a long walk around Dusseldorf, Germany. I was looking for Old Town, because Sam looked it up and its supposed to be the best part of the city. However the roads are very loopy and too small to get their name on the map (plus my awful sense of direction was working against me). I did stumble upon a beautiful park with lots of shade, so I walked around there and sat to stop from sweating so much for a while which was nice. It was quite an event getting back to the airport because I couldnt figure out how to buy a ticket... again, but this time the nice German gentleman trying to assist me didnt speak any english. It was pretty funny, and I eventually got back to the airport, where I wished the air conditioning was stronger. I was able to get a nap in before leaving for Rome.

Then Carlo (Mirellas husband) picked me up from the airport after I finally got my bag. His English is probably perfect but his accent is like each word has been dipped in molasses, and they stick together to form new sweeet ItalianEnglish words that dont actually exist in either of our native languages. This lead to him telling me that Mirella has been retired for 5 years, and then me asking a few minutes later if Mirella was still working. But besides that I smiled and agreed with him on details about the family and the city.

When I got back to their beautiful apartment in the heart of the Capital, Mirella showed me my room and bathroom, and kitchen, where we had a conversation when she convinced me I should go to bed right away because I was too tired. I was then surprised to see a fully set dining room table complete with a delicious vegetarian meal, that Im pretty sure is being converted to lunch right now.

Before I went to sleep I took the coldest shower I could in preparation for a hot and sticky night with no AC. I dozed off 2 pages into a new book, but woke up at 230 feeling suffocated by heat. I went to see if there was another room with AC, I went to see if there were ice cubes, but I was out of luck. I went back to bed with a coolish glass of water, but couldnt sleep. I called Sam and he suggested that I get a damn cloth, because thats what Say (nickname for Sarah, Sams mom) used to do when he had a fever. So I have to thank the Landenwitsches because it worked! I slept from about 1030 to 1230 with a one and a half hour interruption to sweat.

Now its lunch time. Im not sure what Ill do after that because Mirella said it might be too hot for sight seeing (which might mean that I get suckered into doing whatever she thinks is best) and this evening we are going to see their child and grandchild... I think, for dinner. Then Im going to the ballet.

Nadia gets to town late tonight, and Im supposed to meet her at her hotel early tomorrow. So, thats the plan and I just got paged for lunch.

Love you all,
Amy

ps No apostrophes on the Italian key board, or at least none that I could find.

gettin lucky in kentucky (part one)

This is not actually about "gettin lucky in kentucky." Please! My mom reads this blog. However, Brandy had been repeating the slogan for about three weeks before I left, so I'm paying her some homage.

Last weekend was my first time to Pittsburgh, Washington, PA, Cincinnati, and Kentucky. As someone who rarely ventures far from states other than New York and California, you might be wondering "why," and the reason is simple: Sam's cousin was getting married in Northern Kentucky. Before going to the hotel for the wedding on Saturday night, we stopped by Cincinnati to see his sister's apartment and have family lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. The night before, I flew in from Oakland to Pittsburgh (Sam flew in from Denver), and his parents picked us up there. Friday and Sunday night we stayed with Sam's folks at their beautiful home in Washington, PA.

Where to begin...?

I guess I should start from the top.

Exactly a week ago, I was shuffling my Vera Bradley carry-on (a gift from my mom's friend/ boss/ partner in crime, she is a wealthy hippie with a huge house and a huge heart) and my Jeep bag on wheels (a token from Brandy because after I left for a business trip to CO, Tanya TFR took run of the house allowing a stranger in my beg and Aires the Cat to pee in my giant purple duffel on wheels, which all of the Parkers have: Adam, Daniel, Pam, Lee, and even Alyson ended up getting the same ridiculous luggage by chance). The Friendly Cab picked me up, which is a lime green SUV, and it was mainly a non-eventful ride. The driver told me he played volleyball, so he could handle my luggage, no problem. All was quiet until, I get a call from an unknown number which I very rarely pick up, but because of the job search have changed my policy to answering: Hello, this is Amy.

There wasn't a person on the other end of the line I realized, glazed stare out over the highway. Just a recording from Southwest alerting me that my flight won't be taking off until 3. "Shit!" I startled the driver as we exited the highway, and he asked where I was going. "Pittsburgh... I hope" trailing off at the end, and then realized he was asking not out of curiosity, but he wanted to know which of the two terminals to drop me off at. He still seemed a little nervous that I screamed a curse into my cell phone, so I went on "I'm on JetBlue. I have a layover in Vegas, so at least if I don't make it..." and he picked up telling me about how he flew to Toronto for cheap, but now the tickets are expensive or something like that.

I told myself not to get all worked up about missing my layover, having to ask Sam's parents to wait at the airport until 4am, freaking out on the poor soul who was about to think he or she was only needing to assist me in weighing the Jeep bag and tossing it on the belt. I waited in the not-too-long line, noticed the woman monitoring the line was wearing the sneakers that answer the question: What would happen if Richard Simmons and the Spice Girls had a baby? Impressed with myself for maintaining my cool, I asked if those were those new exercise shoes, the same way one of my four grandmas might (I'm picturing Lenore). She said yes, and I continued with a smile "Do you like them?"

"They make my feet swell if I wear them for 8 hours in a row," I smiled before I recognized the complete flatness of her tone. She continued her rounds up and down the line of 15 people or so making sure none of us had printed boarding passes already.

When I actually made my way up to the consul, my palms were damp, and after I told the woman about my predicament she scolded "Too bad you didn't get here earlier. I could have switched you to an earlier flight."

As I fought the urge to slap her, she pulled up something(s) on her screen and called someone else. This Someone Else told her that the flight was back to being on time, because they switched out the flights. I was so relieved that I thanked her, even though it clearly was not her doing and she wasn't very nice either. My phone rang as I made my way through security and the automated voice told me that my flight had moved from 3 to 1:50. Ass holes. A few older women ahead of me in the Southwest A,B,C lineup were appalled by the situation, and seriously concerned that what if someone turned around after hearing the first message. Then What?!?!

I had a layover in Vegas, and put one dollar in the Wheel of Fortune slot in honor of the adventure that was the Summer of 2008. Lenore, Marilyn Reich (Lenore's bff), Alyson, Lisa D and I stayed at the Belagio for a magical week. I called my mom (Alyson) so we could bitch about being in the same place but forced apart by TSA. We discussed a business proposal, which we often do. Everything from bicycling trash to traveling poker lessons.

I also took the liberty of explaining the situation that was my outfit. Afraid that Fred and Sarah Landenwitsch (The Boy's Parents) might think that due to my stint of unemployment that I had become homeless, I thought I should talk it through with my mom (Alyson).

To start, I explained that in Oakland one can often find a rectangular patch sewed over the crotch of someone’s skinny jeans. And not just any someone, but a composting, bike-riding, queer-identified, Do It Yourself enthusiast. These ladies are all about the crotch-patch. So I decided a couple of hours before my flight, with bags slightly packed, to patch my black stretchy jeans. Unfortunately, I only had an off white plaid old collared button down from my dad. And that was the project that became my pants.

workout videos: a revue

Work out videos are wonderful.

While I was recruiting for Green Corps down at Stanford, I met my friend Carolyn for lunch. Her and I had co-counselored during High School summer months at Ardsley Day Camp. We had almost completely lost touch, but I figured while I was in her neck of the woods, it might be fun to see her.

She told me about her boyfriend (the same one since we worked together 5 years ago- wow), her family, and her state of unemployment. When I asked how she was keeping herself busy, she confessed her new addiction: workout videos. I think she might have called them workout DVDs, because that's really what they are, but I feel that "workout video" captures the essence of spandex and sweat right in the comfort of your very own living room.

I laughed as she interpreted the ripped sweaty men and women that take up an hour of each day. I can't remember if I admitted to joining Carmen Electra in getting Fit to Strip in spurts over the past few years.

My first experience involving a workout video involved another ADC co-worker: Golsa, a good friend from growing up times and beyond. We tried out a few of the 4 DVDs that came in the set. My clearest memory which still brings a smile to my face, was when we could stand next to each other in front of the TV in the den at my parents house breaking a sweat to the hip hop dance DVD. Awkward flailing, kicking, and booty shaking galore.

Now that I'm unemployed (little cash/ lots of time), I've started up with Carmen again. However I keep it restricted to the normal workout DVD vs. hip hop, stripper dance, or who even knows what the 4th one is all about... but I think it involves costumes. I like it. Some of it is hard for me, but it can get boring to always here the same thing from the screen. Although I laugh to myself every time the guy says "the biggest muscle in your body- the legs!"

At the library, I spotted Hip Hop Abs. A perfect time to branch out. And I loved it. Sean T is the flamboyant trainer who raps his own intro. His whole thing is that he doesn't do crunches. But if your mind isn't overly cluttered by steroids or protein shakes, you might realize that you basically are doing crunches while standing, jumping, or dancing. This is in fact harder than just doing crunches. But I will admit, Sean T's signature Tilt, Tuck, Tighten is f-ing great. He walks you through each part, and intermittently will say things along the lines of "It's OK if you want me. You know I look good." or "C'mon girl, don't you wanna fit in that bikini?"

Sean T: 4/5 because it's fun, you will sweat, but your back doesn't get an even chance so it will hurt the next day

Next time I went to the library I spotted the Belly Twin's Bollywood Blast and Indi-Hop DVD. This had some promise, while looking hilarious. Win. Win. Unfortunately, this dynamic duo (for real identical twins) didn't have what it takes to get my blood pumping. And I was mostly annoyed because they would show a few moves and then put together a routine, that didn't necessarily correlate, and they would just go right to it. How am I supposed to know what combination these belly twins will come up with? I need direction during exercise.

Belly Twins: 2/5

And the of course there's Carmen: 4.5/5

I can always count on DVD #2 for a good workout, and if there's a need to spice things up, the rest of the DVDs are right there. Theoretically. I mean, the other three of mine are in New York.

a moment at 54th St

I got a job offer.

You might find this to be cause for celebration. I find it cause for anxiety. Maybe that's because I'm jewish. And therefore neurotic.

When I read the congratulatory e mail last night, shell-shocked, I made my way into the kitchen to tend to some Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, and took a seat among Tashina, Tanya, and Brandy. As I sat, Tanya was in the midst of doing the catch-up-thing with Brandy. The usual: How are you? How's the job? How's your sisters baby? Ooops wrong sister. To the Usual (for our little house in the bay area): Are you still in therapy?

As it turns out, all of us have been to therapy. Tanya chuckled with a hand tossed onto her forehead "Jews love therapy. They love it." I agreed, and she went on to share intimate details about why she started going like pieces of candy getting tossed from the side of a fire truck during a 4th of July parade.

misadventures of a wednesday in Northern California

Yesterday started out with such an intimate adventure. Just the two of us, hopped in the rav4 (avoiding the final hours of TOR's moms visit) and headed north. We hiked up rolling hills, past blossoms and banana slugs. After the back of my polka-dotted tank top was soaked through to my backpack, we turned to go back to sea level.

Cooling down, our eyes reached over the Pacific without rest until the horizon. I pulled two carrots, two oranges, and a peanut butter and agave syrup sandwich out of my bag. Nicole, my romantic playdate of the day, had packed rice and beans in a plastic rectangle.

Triplets, two girls and a boy, about 2 years old and seagulls circled and squared us.

It was a complete Northern California afternoon. Before returning to the highway, we stopped at the town market to get some chocolate. Nicole struck up a conversation with Manny. He is a twenty-something who can't leave his home town, the good surf, the bikes, and why would anyone want to?

After a pause that lasted a bit too long, a hit the unlock control. It stuck. The alarm sounded, and the serenity o

f Wednesday was taking a cosmic turn. A tall blond 18 year old leapt off the school bus from the stop sign across the street, and nodded "Sweet car alarm," as the swarm giggled as they migrated into Manny's store.

Eventually it stopped, we rode over the Richmond Bridge, and made it home just in the nick of time to see off Tashina's mom. It was a slightly awkward goodbye, lacking hugs, and they walked off to the bart. Nicole and I had about half an hour before TOR would return, mom free, and be ready to celebrate her birthday.

Zanetta came over to be lazy until it was time to grab a drink and some food. TOR wanted us to go to a champagne bar in downtown Oakland, so we did. I realized upon entering that this was the same place that Sam, Nicole, Genny and I had made fun of as we passed by during Oakland Art Murmur. Yuppie Central, or by its given name: Mimosa.

After "mini tacos" and "micro paninis," we were still hungry. Genny who had biked over to meet us, Z, Nicole, TOR and I made our way over to Off the Hook Burrito, which was as amazing as the name implied. The portions were HUGE, as you can see from Z's fried catfish/ french fry/ bread tower. But before you enjoy an extra large portion you order either Mexican or Soul Food from a middle aged Chinese couple through bullet proof glass.

If you didn't guess, you have to bus your own dishes. Unless of course someone hungry comes in, asks for money, and you hand over left overs to her. Zanetta did, and TOR was quick to follow.

As we were indulging ourselves, Ebony (Z, Zanetta... all the same), received a text about ladies night at the Den, which was only a few blocks away. Full of grease, we made our way to celebration spot #3.

To be clear, ladies night in Oakland is ladylove night. And it was poppin. Good music, groovin ladies, and pricey drinks. Since it was TOR's birthday and all, Z finagled a free shot for her. Z moved over to TOR, a tree stump in wedges, to let her know the alcoholic news. "I've never had a shot," she droned.

"WHAT." I said, head leaning in to make sure I understood the newly 29 year old, and she slowly repeated. Then I repeated. Laughed. And we made our way up to the bar. Z, a very kind soul, told the bartender she had never had a shot, and he asked how old she was. His eyes boggled out of this head, his lips parted, and he said something about making it weak, attempting to hide his growing smirk. Brown rum, lemon, and sugar water in a tumbler. She sipped it. 29, and she still has not ever taken a shot.

Dancing, booty shakin, chest pumping, and then Nicole and Brandy left to pick up Tanya, The Original Roommate - shit same initials- The First Roommate- from San Francisco airport, but not before Brandy treated Tashina to a Cadillac Margarita.

At the stroke of midnight, Zanetta ran the risk of getting a ticket on her car, the Oakland equivalent of turning into a pumpkin. Zanetta ended up running the last three blocks, and I was left to usher Tashina. "I'm derunk," she murmured, and I knew it would be a long few blocks. Barefoot down the streets of downtown Oakland, I held her hand to keep her upright. She told stories without punch lines, and I shared random thoughts.

I collected ice water, advil, and a piece of toast to feed her before she passed out. She swallowed it one by one, and crab walked behind the white curtains that separate her room from the kitchen.

update

1. I drove TOR to the bart to pick up her mom last night. TOR's mom is a warm, friendly, quite normal seeming mom. Nature over nurture perhaps? (Because TOR's mom is actually her aunt. Other theories should come out as the next two days go on.)

2. Second round interview invite. Fingers crossed, please.

house meeting on mother's day

Last night Nicole (The Roommate), The Other Roommate, and I had a house meeting. Normally I'd be inclined to call this sort of thing a "family meeting," because doesn't a "family meeting" sounds a million times better than a "house meeting?" It's much warmer and more inclusive if it's a little family, but it surely is not.

We needed to have this coming-together, because sometimes people would go grocery shopping, and then other people would eat up the food. Or because someone would go food shopping and then ask for money to pitch in and someone would not give money. If your wondering who's who at this point, I am the shopper and The Other Roommate is the one who wants to "share" when it means other people shop, pay, and cook, and she gets to eat. Good deal for her.

So we needed to sit down and figure out some kind of system.

Fifteen minutes in, after Nicole has gone over a few of the ideas she has scribbled down on a pad, and I have agreed along the way, and voiced that I am very flexible on the food issue, I finally ask TOR (let's refer to The Other Roommate as TOR, and see how we like it) "Do you have any thoughts or feelings?"

"Um," she begins in her usual low and slow tone, sitting at the only chair pulled far out from the table. "I guess um..." dark eyes rolling to the top of her thick black rimmed glasses, "It's just that... for me" she gestures towards her slumped over chest with her sweatshirted arms "I don't want to share prepared food." Avoiding eye contact with me to her best ability she goes on "Um, I mean I..." looking towards Nicole for some sort of support, but hoping for her thoughts to come out of her roommate's mouth. "I just want to make my own food."

The beat is turned up as Nicole jumps in. "So, you want to eat the food you make, AND eat the food we make?"

The nonsense went on for about an hour from here. TOR does not want to share anything, but she has a habit of eating the last of things like mac n cheese and vanilla soy milk, so we'll see how it goes. I never saw myself as a food-labeling person, and I hope not to become one. Before we broke, I suggested that people start cleaning their dirty dishes right away. I don't think this would be earth shattering news to Regular Roommates. But since TOR has moved in, there has been an ongoing pile of dirty dishes on the counter to the right of the sink. And I can't stand it.

I didn't call her out, since I was attempting to be polite, or something. "While we're all sitting down together, I just want to ask that we all clean our dishes. It's gross to have a pile of dirty dishes." I added the second sentence because it seemed like TOR needed an explanation of why a person wouldn't be OK with dirty dishes all of the kitchen. "I understand if you're on the way to work or just not in the mood, but I think all dishes should be done within the next... 24 hours let's say."

Nicole's eyebrows lifted either out of surprise to hear me want to enact a rule, or because she knew it wasn't directed at her and thought it was amusing to address TOR's dirty-ness. "Yeah that sounds good," said Nicole as she started to jot down the new house rule. "I know I'm weird for writing everything down."

"No" I told her. "It's good. You're keeping organized."

And out of her black jungle hair, TOR submitted an "if clause." She wanted to establish a stipulation that someone (meaning someone besides her) should be responsible for putting the dishes from the drying rack into the cabinet because "I mean... for the motivation," eyes drifting through the corner of her glasses to me, and then back to Nicole "to clean the dishes."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I thought. With that tone, but different words, I explained that "Yes, a part of washing the dishes means that you have to start by putting away clean dry dishes. It's something we all have to do. It's just a part of the process." Nicole said nothing, but reached into her brown leather purse hanging from her chair scrambling for her phone.

I stood, pushed back my chair, and was on my way back to hang out with The Boy before he heads to Denver. But before Nicole and I could make our escapes, somehow TOR put it out there that she would only mop the kitchen IF we would approve a no shoes in the house rule. At this point we had both had enough. Half heartedly we each attempted to spell out that mopping the floor is a part of kitchen duty no matter what other rules there may or may not be.

This is more hilarious because her mom (who is actually her biological aunt, but there's no time for that right now) is coming here tonight, and staying with us, on our futon, in the living room. She won't fucking mop, but then looked to me as I was walking out of the kitchen "Um Amy... the bathroom... if it was clean... because my mom is... ya know... staying here." I had an urge to slap her in the face and scream "JUST ASK ME!" But I said "OK", continued to my room, and whispered the story of the house meeting into The Boys ear and we laughed.

I have no idea what to expect in the next couple of days. This might very well end up being the worst part of being unemployed- home with TOR's mom.

Open Letter to Folger's (sign on folks)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5lPYUB2_ww


Dear Folger's,

Fuck off.

My draw nearly dropped to the ground when I first saw this commercial. I was watching an unnamed reality show with negative moral standing, but this really threw me. The question now is: Where do I begin?

1. We don't live at home until we get married. I guess I shouldn't try to make broad generalizations about "we." I am especially scared to do so, after being subjected to the message you are delivering. But let me tell you this, as a young woman, I do not live with my parents. And no, I don't live with a husband either. I don't have one, and I might never have one.

I live in a split level house, and my two roommate are also women. One of them might actually enjoy this revolting display, because she did enjoy a book called "The Road to I do," which sounds like even more bull shit than the ideas you are selling. The other roommate, well she has a degree in Womens Studies, and she's... sleeping with another woman. I think she'd take my side.

How do you expect the smart, independent, fun-loving American women to respond to this crap?

2. I DO NOT want my significant other to ask my dad for permission to do ANYTHING. This idea is only good for Fiddler on the Roof, and even then it doesn't play out how Tevia intended. Tradition is only good for a laugh, or a musical.

3. "Dad, I'm not sixteen anymore." ::Cute blond smile:: I just threw up in my mouth.

The best part of waking up will never be Folger's in my cup.

Love,
Amy

the Truth about new haven pizza

There has been a since settled controversy among the Landenwitsches and the Parkers. Sam attempted to make the argument that New Haven pizza was famous. Team Parker (plus Katy Keifer, Lisa D'Agrosa, and other friends of Team Parker) stood strong that New Haven is not famous for anything at all.

After trying said pizza, I wrote an e mail to both teams, so they would know the Truth about New Haven pizza. The e mail went as follows:



Dear family,

You all have heard about and participated in the ongoing debate over Sam's statement regarding the famous-ness of New Haven pizza. Thankfully, and partially due to the support of some of you, Sam realized that even if pizza in New Haven is very good, and even if people who go to Yale think that New Haven pizza is famous, that in fact New Haven, CT just isn't that famous.

(And Sam, thanks for taking this minor defeat so well. We only tease out of love.)

But I am not writing to rub this victory is Sam's face, I am writing to tell you all that just a few short days ago, I tasted New Haven pizza. Sam gave me a short tour around Yale, and then we went to Sally's. It was quite a scene. We waited outside in line for a while, and then waited after we ordered for a while, but from the staff and the old pictures and newspaper clippings on the wall (from CT newspapers 20 years ago... not enough to dub anything "famous") I had the feeling it was going to be worth it.

We had a pizza with mushrooms, and a white pizza with potatoes and rosemary. "Well how was it?!" I'm sure you're wondering if you haven't had the pleasure. Let me tell you, it was very very good. It was good for lunch the next day too.

And that's the Truth about New Haven pizza.

Since I have everyone's attention, I also wanted to say what a wonderful trip I had on the East Coast. Although I was a little sad to leave, I feel very lucky to have such fantastic people to spend my time with. Love you all.

xo,
Amy

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Then I decided that this was too funny to keep to myself and I should just throw this thing up on yelp. I took out the parts making fun of The Boy (yes, Sam), and about loving all of my friends and family on the east(... which is oh so true and I miss and love everyone) and posted it.

Hours later I received a disgruntled message from someone named "Joe." He did not refute the point that New Have pizza is NOT famous. But he did further prove that people from New Haven/ people who went to Yale/ people who have not left Connecticut are totally out of control. His message was:

Just my 2 cents...I'm going to have to respectfully disagree with that not "famous" remark. New Haven pizza is well known to lots of die hard pizza aficionados "in the know", not just Yalies.

New Haven has a high concentration of decendents from Italy, particularly Naples (my ancesters included), so it's pizza status isn't really a surprise to any of us living in Connecticut. Outsiders aren't usually aware of this demographic fact.

In Ed Levine's recent book Pizza: Slice of Heaven he acknowledges Wooster Street as making some of best in the world. He thinks so highly of New Haven pizza he gives it its own chapter. And Ed is a die hard New Yorker.

Plus, Jeff Varasano is a wildly respected pizza nut and in his list of top pizza places, the only other city than New York City he considers to have top tier pizza is New Haven. And it's not just one place; he considers 3 places in New Haven to be top tier. Also, Jeff says The Food Network ranks Sally's as best in the nation. I'll take his work for it.

http://www.varasanos.com/PizzaRecipe.htm

Every place has its bad days, including Wooster Street, so it may take more than one visit to generate a solid opinion. But I've lived in both New York City and New Haven and I consider New Haven pizza to be better in general. I say "in general" because there is bad pizza to be found everywhere, including in New Haven.

Like I said, respectfully, just my 2 cents :-)

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Yep.

falling off the wagon

I have a problem. I am addicted to reality television. Let's take a few moments to track my favorite distraction.

It began early in life. I remember my mom (Pam) coming home from work, and telling me not to watch "that crap," usually referring to Ricky Lake or something like that, but even worse was late at night I would sneak downstairs to watch the Real World or some might even remember Undressed.

I distinctly remember the Real World Seattle , which came out in 1998. (I checked on wikipedia. Yep, I did. I mean, I'm already online.) There I was, part way through middle school, 11 or 12, watching these crazy fools interact with each other. That was only the beginning of the weirdness reality tv brought into our living rooms, bedrooms, and now even on planes.

Who could forget a real turning point in these brain melting candy... bringing semi-celebrities into the embarrassment that is participating in reality television. Anna Nicole Smith. When it first aired, my mom (Alyson) and I stared with mouths open and we kept asking each other "Is this for real?" We couldn't figure out if it was a bad joke or a woman with a drug problem or supposed be reality tv. Unable to peel our eyes from the screen we knew we would need more.

Which reminds me:
Upstairs the other night, we hosted a game night, and there was a controversial match of Celebrity played. Compete with pointed fingers, screaming, accusations, and even a little name calling. During the first round, someone from the other team got stumped. The seconds were running as Diane kept time on my phone, as the appointed referee, an integral role. Finally time ran out, Diane called it, and then a crumpled piece of rectangular paper was getting waived in her face. "Is this even a celebrity?!" JP demanded, head sea-sawing between his shoulders. Diane grabbed the paper out of his hand, she opened her mouth to speak, but JP, had continued to yell "I don't even know who this is!" and "This is not a celebrity!"

I looked over her shoulder to read "Nicole Smith," scribbled down. We laughed and Diane made her ruling as soon as it was quiet enough.

Back to the real story:
Anna Nicole, may she rest in peace, really paved the way for VH1's dubbed "Celebreality," and beyond. There have been some real gems: Bret Michaels, The Osbournes, and of course my favorite, Flavor of Love and all the spin offs. Thanks to gifts exclusively from my mom (Alyson), I am the proud owner of full DVD sets of some of these shows.

My current relapse into reality binging, has been brought on by my mom (Alyson), as she is clearly my worst enabler. In addition to feeding my addiction with Anna Nicole, Flavor Flav, and New York, told me just the other night that I should check out "Jerseylicious." I looked on hulu, the style network, and then took it to a google search. The best I could find was 3 minute clips, but I cannot make it through a reality experience 3 minute clip at a time. Especially when we all know that the most addicting reality characters are those full of New Jersey in their hearts.

In my hunt for this new reality show, as I was looking around hulu, I made the mistake of clicking on the "reality" genre. Little did I know I was just a click away from my 2001 favorite... Temptation Island.

The Premise: Let's take 4 couples, separate them from each other, and stick them with 15 singles picked out specifically to fit their tastes. Now take a second, and just try to imagine how completely fucked up in the head and the heart you'd have to be to think that this was any shade of a good idea. Yikes.

You all should also know that during a week of unemployed pms, this is the best medicine. Hopefully I'll post again before finishing Season Two.

lost and found

A couple of days after I started this blog, I had a bunch of ideas for posts. Because I can't be sure how long a thought will flicker, I started writing enough so I could come back to these seedlings. Apparently hitting "SAVE NOW" doesn't mean what I expected it to. My new theory is that this "SAVE NOW" blue rectangle, does not do what it implies.

There is no draft section in sight.

I don't have a great understanding of how to work the computer, the internet, or any combination. So, at this point there are two possibilities:
One. It's here, saved, somewhere. I either don't see it or don't know where to look.
Two. I thought I was saving something to my blog area, but it really is just a save as you go type of situation.

Don't worry friends, I always have plenty to say. And even if I don't have a real point, I can go on. And on. I just wish there was a Lost and Found for ideas.

cowboys t shirt

Third Saturday of every month, right here in Oakland. I've missed it 7 times, but not last night. Hella Gay.

Nicole and I were watching one of the worst movies ever made, if not The Worst. It's called Martian Child, and let me just say, John Cusack should just stop right now. The premise: he's a sci-fi writer who writes about Mars, and he adopts a foster kid who thinks he's from Mars. Maybe they were trying to recapture the magic of Bid Daddy, but they didn't. They didn't capture anything at all.

After about 20 minutes of that nonsense, it was clearly time to rally for Hella Gay. I zipped a purple hoodie over my cowboys t shirt, washed out, and worn since mom (Alyson) was a longhorn, and we crossed six lanes to get to the other side of Martin Luther King Way. We needed juice for the gin I had bought for Sam before the whole ulcer thing. We were weighing the pros and cons of Orange Juice and Lemonade, but we agreed on Grapefruit. It was almost florescent.

A tall, dark, and unhandsome man stepped too close as we were paying, as he said inappropriate things to Nicole, then to me, and then both of us at the same time. Because Nicole has made friends at the corner store, Bill, right in front of us on the register, quietly told this guy to "step away from his hotness." Not the best start, but it took a turn for the best as we returned to mix in the gin.

It felt so warm in our kitchen, and when I unzipped, I realized that I had put my cowboys t shirt on over my head Wednesday, paired with spandex, so I could be comfy for flying. It was now Saturday. Same shirt. The bra went off and on for sleeping, and underwear changed like Roy G Biv, but Yikes. Nicole poured with no regards for measurement, and I took a block of ice that used to be a store bought plastic bag full of ice cubes out to attempt to break it into its intended form.

Tashina (The Other Roommate) was in her room, only separated from the kitchen by a sheer white cloth, so I moved my project into the living room. Arms by my ears, I slammed down the bag against the arm of the futon. I stepped back into the kitchen and plopped ice into Nicole's drink, but the rest of the ice had only broken in two. Fuck it, I thought, and I started hacking away on the side of the refrigerator. Enough ice worked it's way out, and so did Tashina.

We drank, well Nicole and I did, laughed, cursed, and when Nicole's cup reached empty she went to change in her room. I walked into my room, glanced in my closet, looked down at my t shirt, went back out to the kitchen, and poured another drink. I was drunk and it was time to dance. Brandy (Nicole's girlfriend) came over just in time to give us a ride over to the Uptown, home of Hella Gay. Zanetta (the Ebony to my Ivory) was already there. We bumped, shook, jumped, and gyrated until last call at 1:45.

As the Hella Gay goers poured onto the pavement, the spicy smell of sausages turning on the fire grill cart, made it feel like a backyard barbecue. A boy I was dancing with earlier came over to me. My height, brown hair, pale skin, and a black A Line tank.

"Hey. What's your name?"
"Amy."
"Hey Amy. Patrick," he nodded.
I hoped he'd walk away. Didn't feel like making new friends- gay, straight, or otherwise. But I was drunk enough that not wanting to move outweighed anti-social tendencies.
"Hey. How's it goin?"
"Good," and then he paused, beginning a smirk that stayed on his face until after I turned away
"OK." I said looking towards my sober friend with keys to her car in hand.
"You always know how to make me feel like a girl."
"Ummm... OK."
"But you have the boobs."

four grandmas

You know when a group forces you unwillingly to participate in a round of icebreakers (and sometimes you might secretly enjoy it, but you'll still roll your eyes)? Have you ever faced a question that goes something like "What's something that people wouldn't expect by looking at you?"

I freeze every time. Every time. And I default to "I got hit in the face with a golf club." Every time.

Well, next time... I'll be ready. One can only hope that my next career will lead me to awkward intro questions and ice breakers, so I can use this one on them.

I have four grandmas.

I'm sure some folks might read that, and think "that's not fair," because they might only have one or none at all, but we all know in our hearts, this one isn't about fair. It's the rule of Moms.

Let's backup a minute:
In my last post it said "mom (Alyson)" and that could have been because I wanted everyone to know that my mom's name is Alyson, which is true. However it also serves as a way to differentiate between my mom, Alyson, who ever so kindly squeezed me out 23 years ago, and my step mom, Pam, who ever so kindly has helped raise me for the last 19. It's tricky because I call them both "mom," because yes, I have got two moms.

If you're trying to jump ahead, and you're excellent at Math you're wondering how two moms and a dad equal four grandmas, but let me just tell you who's who first.

Grandma Mandy comes as part of a set, along with Grandpa Marty. My dad's parents who couldn't be any more lovely or tiny. When I was little I called her "Maima," she gave me a peter pan haircut that looked like a golden beanie with tiny curls popping out unexpectedly, and she would eat half a grapefruit for breakfast. I got to put sugar on my half.

Savta (Hebrew for grandma) Bobby is Pam's mom. She is a strong woman with a lot going on: water color classes, bridge games, trips to the museum, and more. I remember being at The Lake House growing up, and climbing into her bed so we could play with troll dolls. And put make up on them. Drag queen troll dolls... maybe we were onto something.

Ruth is Alyson's mom, and she (then with Grandpa Herb) would take me to Pizza Hut. One time Sue, my babysitter, gave my grandparent's directions to Pizza Hut, but at the big intersection we went the wrong way. Even in second grade I knew it was the wrong way. Sue jokes still to this day that she wasn't sure if she would ever see me again.

And last, but in no way least, there is The New Grandma, Lenore. As it turns out, mom (Alyson) was adopted. But she found her birth mother just about 2 years ago. She is the quintessential Florida-dwelling Jewish Grandmother, and she's fabulous. Seriously. She has leopard print glasses.

So when I refer to these glorious people, you'll already know about my four grandmas.

the beginning

Last year, my very close and very personal friend, Lisa D. tore her ACL. While she was recovering and stuck in bed for days, my mom (Alyson) and I brought her tons of delicious baked goods from a lovely bakery called Flour. But that's not what this story is about, I mention it because when she had all of this time to lounge in her bed with a crazy ass machine attached to her knee, she started a blog. Since she's a registered dietitian, it made sense that it was all about food. And since I'm not registered for anything and currently unemployed, mine will be about whatever I feel like.

For example I have tons of material just from today: the madness that is Berkeley Bowl, Nicole (one of my roommates) making hummus not with a few cloves of garlic, but putting three entire garlic bulbs in a batch, or when I broiled asparagus until smoke came out of the oven. And this is just about food. There's also a lovely and loud conversation I had with my mom (Alyson), and when Sam (The Boy) called mid-way though me writing this to suggest that I start a blog.

I'll start slow. Don't want to scare anyone off just yet, but this is just the beginning.