Sense and Nonsense

Tokyo Tower and Zojo-ji

2010-08-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

The lovely New Sanno Hotel's lobby, at approximately 4:30 AM local time.

Gabe is now sleeping about six hours a night, which is fantastic. The only downside is he starts sleeping at around 10 PM. You do the math, it’s not always pretty. We usually go for a walk when he wakes up. So we trotted around the hotel and did a few loads of laundry in the coin-operated machines all before 6 AM.

When Dean finally joined the land of the living at around 8 AM (that’s sleeping in!), we went and got some breakfast. We had eggs (tamago) and for the first time in my egg-eating life, I was asked how I would like my omelet cooked. Like you would order a steak, I guess. Our server spoke good English so I just said “whatever the chef recommends” which is the answer I use during restaurant week in N.Y. when I am asked how I want my ostrich or my frog cooked and I really have no idea. Again, that little line worked like a charm and my omelet came out with the consistency…oh, c’mon, of an omelet! I just don’t think that question is necessary with eggs. But it was a very good omelet.

Since it was already getting hot, we dressed Gabe in a long-sleeved, footie onesie and a hat so his lily-white complexion would be shielded from the land of the burning sun. I popped him in his baby backpack and off we set. Apparently many Tokyoites hide from the taiyo (sun) as well. During our walk, we saw many women carrying parasols (some even while expertly navigating bikes), long arm gloves, and wide-brimmed hats.

We located our subway station, Hiro-o, without much ado. The ticket machines had an option for “English,” so we were able to figure out how to buy tickets to Akabanebashi—the stop for Tokyo Tower. We paid our yen, 270 each, and set off feeling very impressed with ourselves for the ease with which we’d acquired tickets. By the way, that last sentence is what we call foreshadowing, people.

If only Waldo had Dean's coloring, he'd be much easier to spot...

I think rush hour was just ending when we were starting off. Some parts of the platform were designated with a pink box—only women could stand there to ride in certain cars. I thought it probably had to do with—for lack of a nicer way of saying it--combatting young ladies getting felt up by businessmen on the crowded subways. The cars were awfully crammed but no one had to shove us in and everyone gave the baby and me as much space as possible. Dean and I held onto little plastic stirrup handles while standing in the air conditioned car. We had to transfer lines in Roppongi and so we went with the plan we usually do when traveling in a country where we can’t speak the language. We followed the crowd like we were right in the middle of the herd of cattle.

As we saw everyone inserting their tickets into the machine, we did the same. Then we followed the signs to the next line we needed—Oedo line. Except when we finally got there, there were more machines and people were inserting more tickets. Oh no! We had already given up our tickets! (Foreshadowing payoff!) Positive we had paid for the transfer, I braved approaching a subway guard-person at the counter. Wearing a face mask and standing proudly in his immaculate uniform, the guard explained to me in English that was much better than my Japanese that only part of the subway was government-owned, where the other part was privately owned. When traveling between private and government parts, you needed to turn in your ticket to get it changed. At the time, I am sure I looked as confused as only a gaijin can—so he made a motion to follow him and then marched Dean, the baby, and me up two sets of escalators and led us to a desk where he explained in rapid-fire Japanese to another uniformed person exactly what us silly Americans had done. We bowed in thanks, he bowed, so we bowed again, and he went back down. Now the next person established which machine we had gone through and opened it to get us back out our tickets. He showed us how to swap it for a government-subway ticket. He bowed, we bowed, he bowed and then we tore ourselves away from the bowing exchange, marveling our entire way back down how nice everyone had been to us.

We got off at Akabanebashi and the first thing we saw was a gas station. The pumps were not anchored into the ground, but rather were hanging suspended from the ceiling of the open structure. Gas nozzles hung from the air on tubes like…really ugly earrings. Men in flight-suit looking outfits swarmed around, pumping gas for any car that drove up. What really got our attention was a big banner of Leonardo DiCaprio, recommending Bridgestone tires with smoldering eyes. Apparently Hollywood stars can make a killing over here promoting consumer products they wouldn’t dream of associating themselves with in the U.S.

We continued on our way and soon came upon the orange and white Tokyo Tower. At 333 meters, it is 13 meters higher than the Eiffel Tower. I remarked it looked exactly like the Eiffel Tower about the same time Dean said it looked nothing like the Eiffel Tower. Neither of us is probably correct. Like many things in Japan, the Tokyo Tower has cute cartoon characters associated with it but we did not go up the tower and thus we did not see the Noppon brothers. Dean has his own opinions about what these mascots resemble, but I’ll let you make up your own opinion:

We continued on our way to look for Zojo-ji. I broke out some more of my crappy Japanese to ask a long-stick carrying policeman, “Zojo-ji doko desu ka?” and was rewarded with a grand sweep of an open palm to my right. I think the stick is called a jo, and is used as a weapon, and I think he gestured with an open palm because I have been told that pointing is rude. Regardless, he didn’t use the jo on us and he gestured us in the correct direction so we found Zojo-ji easily.

This Buddhist temple has been around in some form for a hella long time. We’re talking about being founded in a triple-digit year. It was moved to its present location in 1590 and needed some work after the second World War. The outside is impressive, but the inside is really freakin impressive. Ginormous gold chandelier-looking things hang from the ceiling and in the center sits a Buddha—I think Amida Buddha. We hung back and watched someone throw money into the saisenbako, which is a big wooden temple-bank we learned about last new year’s. Then they sprinkled some incense into a metal pot with hot embers in it and prayed with head bowed while standing. As you all know, my motto has always been “monkey see, monkey do,” so Gabe and I went up and took our turn.

Around the outside of the building are these statues called jizo. Ojizo-sama is a Japanese deity who protects children firstly, but also travelers and firemen. These jizo had child-like features and sported knitted red bonnets and held pinwheels that whirled in the breeze.

On our way out, we went through the Sangedatsu Gate, which my travel book says is the oldest wooden structure in Tokyo. The three (san) levels are representative of the three levels needed to achieve nirvana, and it is said if you pass through the gate, you can free yourself of three things: ton, shin, and chi (greed, hate, and foolishness, respectively).

We transferred our tickets on the way back like subway-riding pros and spent the rest of the evening sleeping through our dinner reservations due to jet lag. So I do not think the Sangedatsu Gate worked because that was some foolishness.

Tokyo with a Baby

2010-08-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we flew from Seattle to Narita with a four month old. We drove from Portland to Seattle in the morning and arrived at Sea-Tac around lunch time. Luckily we got there early enough to score an air-bassinet, which are first-come, first-served. They just attached the little crib to the wall of the bulkhead. It worked out wonderfully. The ten hour flight plus two hours’ worth of boarding, taxiing, and de-planing (Delta assures me this is a word) were brutal even for road warriors like us. By the end of it, I am pretty sure the baby was the most civil among us.

Throughout the course of the plane ride, I was studying my Tokyo travel guide to plan fun yet informative sightseeing days. I also discovered that taxis are prohibitively expensive for any distance, and of course the hotel happened to be quite a distance from Narita Airport. When we landed, I used my Japanese mobile to call the New Sanno Hotel. They told me a cab ride would cost between 25,000 and 30,000 yen (~$300 US) depending on traffic. So we started looking for a plan B.

The “Airport Limousine” counter was very helpful. They took pity on me and my bad Japanese and put us and all our 200 pounds of baggage on the #4 bus for a mere 6,000 yen. For almost two hours, we sat on the air conditioned (thank God) bus and rode through Tokyo traffic. About one hour into the ride, we realized we had not picked up the baby’s car seat base from the baggage claim area and that I’d left my iTouch on the plane. Since we had gone completely brain dead by that point, we really didn’t even get upset.

We finally got to the hotel and checked in with our military IDs. It is like being on an American base, except for everything is very nicely appointed. The bellhop brought all the bags up to the room and while tipping isn’t usually done in Japan, it is an American hotel and so we did. He accepted it, so we figured we made the right decision. We went down to a little restaurant right inside the hotel and had a light, late dinner. While the staff spoke very passable English, you were still very aware that you were in Japan because the service was fantastic.

We conked out in the small but comfy room early in anticipation of a full day ahead of us.

A Few More Book Reviews

2010-01-30T15:17:00.000-08:00

People of the Book
by Geraldine Brooks

4 of 5 stars

Was kind of like the Da Vinci Code, only not. The book tells the story of a rare book expert examining the Sarajevo Haggadah, cutting away to excerpts of the book’s (largely made up) history. The cut-aways are actually more interesting than the main story line. After sobbing uncontrollably through Schindler’s List, I don’t usually go in for anything related to the persecution of Jews, but the author told the story with just enough terrible detail—not too much.

Recommendation: Read at your local coffee shop or Barnes & Noble—people will think you are totes intellectual.

Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop
by Lee Goldberg

4 of 5 stars

Read a whole lot better than most books-based-on-media. Plus I love the Monk TV series, so it was a win-win for me. Cute and a quick page turner.

Recommendation: A book both you and your Murder She Wrote loving gramma can read and then discuss.

Book Reviews for January 2010

2010-01-26T16:37:00.000-08:00

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
by Gregory Maguire

3 of 5 stars

Might be the rare case where I like the theatrical performance better than the book. It was a bit long and tended to drag at parts. But a good story, and imaginative.

Recommendation: A good vacation read, because you won’t have a problem putting it down.

Cage of Stars
by Jacquelyn Mitchard

4 of 5 stars

Surprised that I liked this book as much as I did! Heavy subject material, with a young Mormon girl witnessing the brutal murder of her two sisters. But the author handled it well, and the book was suspenseful and well-written.

Recommendation: Read in the afternoon on the couch. No tissues necessary, but you might want a hug after.

Glenn Beck's Common Sense: The Case Against an Out-of-Control Government, Inspired by Thomas Paine
by Glenn Beck

1 of 5 stars

First off, let me say I did not buy this book. My grandma bought it for me, I think as a joke. And I also have to admit I did not finish reading this. I got thoroughly fed up with Beck’s anti-intellectualism and far-fetched conspiracy theories. And where does this guy get off comparing himself to Thomas Paine? It thoroughly scares me that people are reading the uninformed ranting of this madman and giving it any sort of credence.

Recommendation: I would say burn it, but Beck would still get a royalty. So I say return it and get the money back.

Habu Sake, Eggs, and Mochi

2010-01-11T11:18:00.000-08:00

I bet the Okinawans would scoff at the Mexican tradition of putting a worm in the bottom of tequila. They add venomous snakes to their alcohol. This is a bottle of habu sake, habu being the poisonous snake, sake being rice wine. However, most of the habu sakes are actually just called sake and are not sake at all, but awamori, also a liquor distilled with rice but stronger. Supposedly the alcohol nullifies the venom in the drink and not only is it then safe for human consumption, but is also beneficial to your health. Habu sake is said to cure all sorts of things like arthritis and insomnia. There is also a rumor that it acts like Japanese Viagra. So I guess you'd be served habu sake if you asked for a stiff drink. Har har.

I might be a little too amused with the packaging I see over here, but you have to admit this is a better way of packing eggs. Who among us has not opened up that egg carton made of...what ARE egg cartons made of? Some kind of cardboard pulp? Anyway, and run your hand over each egg to make sure there are no cracks in them? What a waste of 15 seconds in the grocery store. This clear plastic egg carton makes it super easy to see if there is anything wrong with your prospective purchase, and I daresay the little air pockets built into either side of the egg helps reduce breakage even better. Kudos, Japanese. You have bested us in packaging yet again.

This is a Kagami Mochi, a New Year's decoration. The white is mochi, made of--you guessed it--rice. I bet they could make nuclear arms out of rice if they put their minds to it. I never thought of rice as particularly diverse material until I got over here. The orange is a daidai, which looks a lot like a little tangerine to me. Supposedly this pretty piece is edible. You break (not cut) it sometime after the new year and chow down. From my questions, I got the impression that the kagami mochi represents the continuation of a family for generations. In addition to seeing them at New Year's time, I think they can be given as gifts at weddings. This one I would not quote me on, however, as I deciphered this information through pictures on an advertisement.

I Got a Lot of Joy from Salad Dressing Today

2010-01-04T02:40:00.000-08:00

C'mon, isn't that much better than those "tear here" pouches they give us in the states, where you have to use your teeth to open the darn thing and then lick the excess oozing goo off your clothing/fingers?

Also, you might be thinking, I wonder why she chose that song? The answer? It was the only one I could find on the old PC I was currently on. Besides, you know it's awesome.

Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimas!

2009-12-31T22:40:00.001-08:00

I’ll just be honest, Dean and I did not stay up late enough to ring in the New Year properly on December 31st. I had worked a full day and was dead tired, and Dean told his friends he wasn’t going to let his pregnant wife stay home alone on New Year’s. He really likes using the pregnancy as an excuse to get out of things he doesn’t feel like doing—not only does he get a free pass, but people also think he is a nice guy for taking such good care of me. Now I’m not saying he doesn’t actually take good care of me, but the truth is, he was too tired to go out himself. We both threw in the towel around 11 PM, had our New Year’s kiss, and went to sleep.

In the morning we decided to partake in the Okinawan tradition of Hatsumode, where you visit a Buddhist temple or shrine on the first of the year (or shortly thereafter). We chose to go to Kin Kannonji, a rather small temple that is close to our home here. Like always, we set about with a general idea of where to go, but with no map, directions, or road names—all of which are considered silly and unnecessary in these parts. We knew we were getting close when one side of the road was closed due to cars being parked in the middle of the lane. People don’t think twice about leaving their cars half in the street here because there really are no road shoulders to speak of. So we made like the locals and pulled our little minivan into the long line of road hazards and started walking in the direction of the other people.

The street had a festival-like atmosphere with street food and carnival games for the kiddies. As we closed in on the temple, Dean got nervous that we weren’t allowed to go there since we were the only Americans in the crowd. We decided to go anyway and be respectful. For Dean’s part, he made a conscious effort not to curse while in sight of the temple. People seemed to be lining up in front of the temple, so we took a place in line and kept our eyes peeled as to what we should do when we got to the front. There was a large wooden bank and we figured out you were supposed to say a prayer and then throw coins into the bank. If you had kids, the kids got to do the throwing and the parents did the praying. Dean and I got to the front, bowed our heads (I said a quick prayer for Baby Ellis), and tossed our coins for good luck. The inside of the temple was beautiful, with lots of little gold statues and monks dressed in orange robes, who may or may not have been there so none of those pretty gold pieces went missing, who knows? You could buy a little paper fortune up front—omikuji—that is like a detailed fortune cookie scroll that tells you predictions for your next year. Some were even in badly translated English so we could read them!

We got out of the line, very pleased with ourselves for not causing an international incident and looked around some more. There were shrines of different kami—which I think are Buddhist “gods”—where people left offerings of coins, candies, and oranges. We saw a lot of people tying their omikuji to tree branches and fences. You tie it up so that good fortune will come true and bad fortune will be averted. Check out this awesome one I got:

One thing I have to say I appreciate about Japan is that it never ever seems inappropriate to take a picture! I felt free to pull out my camera and start clicking because I saw lots of other families doing it. I really enjoy this aspect of the culture.

It turned out to be a nice day and a fun learning experience. Plus I can never get too many blessings for Baby Ellis! Here’s hoping 2010 will be the best year yet.

Christmas Eve with the Guys

2009-12-24T15:45:00.000-08:00

Several members of the 12th Marines sporting ties during their "classy-themed" holiday get-together.

Christmas Eve! This is my first Christmas that I wasn’t able to make it home to be with my fam, so I spent most of the morning on the phone with my mom saying, “And what’s happening now? What about now? Now?” just to feel like I was part of the action. It was hard to stay blue for long though. It was such a beautiful, warm day in Ginoza, I opened the sliding glass doors to the patio and let the ocean breeze cool down the house.

Dean had invited his shop over for dinner, but there wasn’t too much to be done since I (like a GENIUS) had prepared a few homemade five-cheese lasagnas the day before and had them in the fridge, ready to be popped into the oven. And due to my diligent swatting away of Dean all week, I had (almost) a full spread of baked goods, give or take a few cookies and brownies. I took my time squeezing into a cute maternity outfit TC sent to me and set out the appetizers. Normally, that would have been my cue to uncork a nice bottle of red and put up my feet to wait for the guests to arrive but several pesky doctors (yes, I did get a second opinion) have told me drinking liquor in my current condition is not “ideal.”

The guys started arriving around 3 PM and my jaw just about hit the floor. They had all dressed up in various suit-like outfits. They looked as cute as human killing machines possibly could in their ill-fitting Sunday best. Throughout the day, they reminded each other to be “refined” and told me my lasagna was “simply delightful.” We ate, we drank, we listened to merry Christmas music. The guys very thoughtfully took all the leftovers off my hands in doggy bags to make clean up easier. It was a lovely Christmas Eve, and Dean and I were tucked into our bed dreaming of sugar plums by 11 PM.

I get it, people! I'm big!

2009-12-24T00:27:00.000-08:00

I have been noticing that a lot of what I am writing is about my experiences being much larger than the people in this culture. My sister assures me that my continued embarrassments in this area are hilarious, and she never tires of hearing them. So here are a few more things that have happened recently in one little segment:

-While at the jewelry store picking out some Christmas presents, the shopkeeper was trying to get me to purchase a necklace for myself as well. I told her no, just presents for other people today.

She shrugged and said brightly, "Well you will have a baby for Christmas!"

To which I said, "Ah, actually I am due in April."

“April?” she looked confused for a moment but then the light dawned. “Oh, twins,” she nodded knowingly.

At that point I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was just one baby.

-Every time I go to the commissary on base, I help no less than two Japanese wives retrieve items from the top shelf.

-Lannetta and I went shopping out in town and actually found some shoes that fit us! I only wish the tag did not have an English translation under the Japanese—“Queen Size.”

4th Annual Chris-Dean Holiday Newsletter (2009)

2009-12-15T01:41:00.000-08:00

View from the deck, looking out onto the Pacific Ocean.

Tidings of the season, dear family and friends!

In our ever-present, ongoing attempt to bring you interesting tidbits at the holidays, Dean and I have been keeping very busy this year past.

Early in 2009, Dean and I chose to accept military orders to change our duty station to Okinawa, Japan. I resigned from my position at Sony and we spent the majority of May at going-away parties, which was wonderful, as we said farewell to good friends we had made while we were in San Diego. Aunt Kathy even made it to one of the raring shindigs in the trendy Gaslamp District (though she claimed her primary reason for the San Diego visit was a “business trip”). I also graduated law school in May. Dean sat through the whole, long graduation ceremony and cheered, I think because now for the first time in our marriage, someone will be home to cook him dinner instead of being in class all night.

In June, Dean and I (meaning the movers) packed up our apartment and waved good-bye to SoCal. It was a wonderful place to be stationed, and we'll always look back at the wild fires, terrible traffic, and high property crime rates fondly.

Instead of reporting to Japan immediately, we gave ourselves a few months to do a bit of jet-setting. We took a fantastic European vacation that included time in Barcelona and a cruise through the Western Mediterranean that stopped in Malta, several cities in Italy, and the French Riviera. Then we flew up to Paris for a week where we had nowhere near as eventful a time as we hear the Beauchemins did.

From Paris we flew back to NY just in time for me to don my bright orange bridesmaid dress and see TC marry Mr. James Manuel. The wedding was breathtakingly beautiful and it was fantastic to see so much of the family before we left for Japan, including the newest member, Alexander Jacob. I made a quick trip up to Toronto to see Shilo, and came back to NY after an action-packed long weekend that included a road trip to Montreal. Dean and I stayed in NY through the 4th of July, showing captive audiences thousands of pictures of the Europe trip and otherwise just enjoying Peach Lake.

After seeing all of my family, we flew over to the Northwest to visit with Dean's brothers. Larry and Rachel had recently welcomed their second son into their brood, naming him Jacob Alexander. So I got to hold not one, but TWO babies within a few weeks! We saw everyone we could in the short time we had, spending a wonderful afternoon on Dean's Mama Ricky's porch eating barbecue overlooking the beautiful Columbia River Gorge. The Ellis boys said their farewells, as they do, over tequila, and we were off again.

By the middle of July, we finally boarded a plane in Seattle that took us to Okinawa. Unfortunately our time line was such that we just missed overlapping Aunt Di and Uncle Jeff's stay there. But they very generously left us their car and a phone, so we were set up well ahead of most the families with whom we arrived. Dean and I found an apartment off base so nice that it's like being on vacation every day. It is a two-story penthouse right off the ocean with a spiral staircase and a Jacuzzi. All the controls for the major appliances were modeled off the Jetsons, and we've almost figured out how to work all of them. We didn't believe our good luck in scoring this place until the ink had dried on the lease.

As far as jobs, Dean began work as the S-1 Chief for an Artillery Battery. I took a job with the Department of Defense as a Management Technician. Within a month, I was promoted to Management Analyst, so I am moving right along! I got a nice office with a door and a window, but I don't have my own parking spot like Dean does, so there is still room for growth.

We've done a little sightseeing in Okinawa, seeing a whale shark at the Churaumi Aquarium, a pineapple farm on the north of the island, and the crowded fish markets down in Naha. The weather was brutal when we got here in the summer, but it has cooled down to a breezy 80 degrees by mid-November.

The most important news since we've been out here is that Dean and I learned we are expecting our first child! The baby is due at the beginning of April. Through the miracle of modern science, we are pretty sure the baby will be a boy. We are still kicking around names. Suggestions are welcome! We are just thrilled and things seem to be progressing on schedule. Dean also seems to be surviving the pregnancy very well. Even so, we welcome all prayers and positive thoughts you direct our way!

For the first time ever for me, I will not make it home to NY for the holidays but Dean and I will probably host a nice party for people out here in the same situation. Try not to feel too bad for us as we will be relaxing on our private rooftop deck overlooking the ocean, enjoying good food and rather mild weather.

We miss you all and hope your holidays are wonderful and full of joy. For any particularly eventful revelry occurrences, please feel free to give us a call on our U.S. VOIP line.

Love and peace the whole year through,

Christine, Dean, and New Baby Ellis

New address:

PSC 567 Box 6601

FPO AP 96384-6601

(Yeah, I posted it. I'll take any mail, including junk mail!)

Date Night Shenanigans

2009-12-14T01:54:00.000-08:00

So when you sing "Silent Night"...that's kind of an oxymoron, I think.

Friday night Dean was coerced into taking me to a Christmas Concert at the Camp Hansen Theatre. The III Marine Expeditionary Force Band plays for dignitaries along the Pacific Rim and they were somehow roped into giving a show for us peons, so of course I wanted to take advantage. I dressed up with my very nicest maternity clothes and a knock-off Hermes scarf, Dean kept on his week-old jeans, and off we headed. It was a lovely evening and the band played very, very well. The Glen Miller jazzy arrangement of Jingle Bells turned out to be my favorite piece of the evening. It inspired me and I told Dean I wanted a guitar for my Christmas present. Dean brought up the fact that I insisted on moving a rather large keyboard with me from NJ to San Diego because I was going to learn to play that, too. As if the two are even remotely related.

After the show, we went out in Ginoza for dinner. Ginoza, which is the small village we live in, is just far enough away from base where your chances of running into English-speaking people become a lot lower. But we’d been to the Italian/Japanese restaurant before and had a fair amount of luck last time in ending up with tasty food, so we decided to go back. Plus I have been taking my Rosetta stone courses, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to trot out a little of my newly-mastered Japanese.

I ordered our drinks in Japanese, no problem. But then there was the issue of the food. The menu was a mix of kanji, hiragana, and katakana. Generally, I can only sound out katakana, and even then it’s hit or miss. I kept picking up the word “tomato,” but in Italian cuisine that is pretty much a given. So, we eeny-meeny-miney-moed and chose an appetizer and two entrées. Somehow, though we are absolutely sure we pointed to completely different menu items, we ended up with the exact same dishes as we had last time we went. The first course was a Caesar salad with prosciutto, just like last time. Then Dean, again, had a pasta dish with more fresh shellfish than pasta on it, and I had pasta with crab in a tomato cream sauce that was, again, served with the empty crab shell perched on top, waving a little claw at me. (Gotta love dead animal carcass humor.) Fortunately, the dishes were just as oishii (delicious) and so the excursion was a definitive success. Still, I am looking forward to next time to see if it happens AGAIN! Maybe all Americans get the same meal.

Sleeping is no longer something I am really able to do with any regularity, so since it was a weekend Dean and I watched our Netflix videos late into the night. “Funny People” had some funny people in it, but no plot or script to speak of. “Accidental Husband” was your typical rom-com—cute, but too formulaic for my taste.

The rest of the weekend we mainly lazed about, did just enough housework to ward off certain infection, and played Wii. Monday, like always, came too fast.

Live and Learn

2009-12-09T03:21:00.000-08:00

The Marine Corps very nicely struck a deal with the Rosetta Stone people to allow Marines to take Rosetta Stone language classes online for freesies. Because Rosetta Stone programs are very expensive, and because I am still used to spending all evening in classes anyway, I settled in this evening to take advantage of the Level 1 Japanese course. I had to stop 45 minutes later when I realized I was yelling at the computer, “Watashi wa...HATE YOU!” Apparently my pronunciation is not what it should be. Or maybe my microphone is broken. Yeah, it's probably the microphone come to think of it.

In other mundane news, I was so excited to see a loaf of Jewish rye at the grocery store today I scooped it up like it was the last Zhu Zhu Pet and a crowd of crazy parents were running toward it. It wasn't until I got home that I realized I bought absolutely nothing to put on it. I'm sure the commissary will have pastrami for a day or two a few months from now. How long can you keep bread frozen?

But I Swear I'm Not a Republican

2009-12-07T01:49:00.000-08:00

Today Dean and I went to the doctor's ostensibly to discuss the ultrasound results from last Wednesday. However, what actually happened is that we got there, I got weighed, I explained how very heavy maternity jeans were and that they should probably subtract seven to ten pounds, and then we waited for 20 minutes to see the doctor for all of 30 seconds so that he could tell us the results were not back yet. I think my doctor (who was assigned to me, by the way) is one of those guys who doesn't “put much stock” in ultrasounds anyway, and I think that because that's what he said. Modern science, shmodern science. Now I know this clinic has phones and that they use them, because I have to sit on hold for a very long time every time I call. So I am still trying to figure out why no one called me to have me reschedule my appointment until at least the results were in. With all the talk of health care reform going on in Congress now, my idea is to put every one of those Congressmen onto military health insurance, which would give lawmakers a good inside look of how socialized health care actually operates. The sad fact is, folks, even where life and limb are concerned, I think you really do get what you pay for.

Take Me Out to the Ball

2009-12-04T18:24:00.000-08:00

It took a village, to get me in this dress.

St. Barbara is the patron saint of artillerymen in the Marine Corps, and every year the artillerymen have a ball in her honor. Dean is an administrator (meaning he has a desk job), but he is attached to an artillery unit here so we were cordially invited to the event.

At 9 feet tall and 6 months pregnant, I am about 4.5 times the size of a normal Japanese woman and so I cannot really buy too many clothes out in town. Ergo, I ordered a dress for the event online about a month prior, to give it time to ship here—a beautiful ivory-colored strapless number with silver beaded detail. When I went to make the purchase, I took some measurements, approximated a weight gain curve, closed my eyes, and selected a size 10. Just to give you a frame of reference, I wore a strapless dress for Tracy's wedding in June in a size 4, so I figured if worse came to worse I could always get the ball dress taken in by a tailor if it was too big. When the dress came in two weeks later, however, it fit perfectly. No need for tailoring. Then last night came. I flat-ironed my hair, put on my face, shimmied the dress over my head, and turned around to have Dean zip it for me. He just laughed. “No way is that going to zip!” he choked out through his guffaws. Well, it took ten minutes and a fair amount of cajoling the poor overwrought zipper, but we squeezed me in! Then it was time to waddle off to the ball.

Most of the time I like a plated meal service, but the buffet was really very good and what's more, it stayed open all night, so no complaints there. I tried to order a seltzer with lime but not knowing the Japanese word for seltzer, my pointing and gesturing somehow got me tonic water which I have to tell you tastes really bad without the gin in it.

There was a lot of standing up and sitting back down, as I guess Colonels and Generals tend to expect standing ovations to their speeches. Knowing it takes a bit of energy to maneuver myself into a standing position these days, Dean kindly offered a hand to help me up to my feet. As he lifted, he made a grunting noise like he was picking up a rhinoceros. This earned him some death-ray eyes, which I've been working on because as everyone knows, all moms need a LOOK. I daresay mine is pretty effective, because subsequent gentlemanly aids by Dean were suffered through in silence.

After the dinner and the speeches, the artillerymen put on funny skits about how God created artillerymen, who were naturally just the bravest and the brightest in all of the Marine Corps and the world, for that matter. After that, they mixed up a disgusting “punch” drink with ingredients donated from the audience like sweat wrung from a sock, and then had an unfortunate young artillerymen sample a glass and proclaim it “very tasty, sir.” There were also song parodies and story-telling, so really it was a very entertaining evening.

Just a Trim

2009-12-03T01:12:00.000-08:00

Got my hair trimmed by a lovely woman named Ayako today. Even with me sitting down in the chair at its lowest, she still had to stand on tip-toe to see the top of my head. In her broken English and my VERY broken Japanese, we established that I was expecting an akachan (baby) in Shigatsu (April). Ayako informed me that spring was the best season to be born and congratulated me on a job well done when I told her I was having a boy.

Unlike the hairdressers I am used to in the states who take off two inches when I ask them to take off a quarter of an inch, Ayako would only trim the amount I indicated between my thumb and forefinger. But then she would tell me how pretty I would look if she could just trim a little more. So of course I ended up with the two inches off anyway, but I have to say I felt much more involved in the decision making process.

All About Baby Day

2009-12-02T18:00:00.000-08:00

Before.

After.

My first thoughts of what we would need when we found out we were having a baby were things like...a crib...diapers...bottles. Dean, on the other hand, thought CAR. We are driving his-and-hers two-door Honda Civics currently, so if we wanted to put a car seat in the backseat (which is the "legal" way, I suppose), we would need at least one more door. Yesterday we went to pick up Dean's new purchase. It was...a minivan. Yes, the man who purchased a flashy sports car convertible just two short years ago was now standing proudly in front of a big silver minivan. I have to hand it to Dean. He doesn't do anything half-way. Of course, I told him it was everything I had ever wanted.

Today I took a day off of work to go to a prenatal appointment at the Naval Hospital on Camp Lester. It is a good hour away from our house, maybe an hour and a half or two in traffic. I am already getting nervous about making it there in time when the baby is ready to come. Fortunately, many women have assured me that I will be spending WAY more than two hours in labor, so I have nothing to worry about. We had a level II diagnostic ultrasound to check on the development and we will get the results back Monday. It was so great to see the baby. At this point, we are pretty certain the baby is a boy. He is already very long, and whereas most fetuses are in, well, the fetal position, our guy insists on keeping his legs straight out, crossed at the ankles. The other thing he kept doing that annoyed the ultrasound tech but to me was an obvious sign of early genius is every time she put the ultrasound wand on my belly, he would look right at it. This made it near impossible for her to get a profile shot. But, really, wasn't that very smart of him?

After we got done at the hospital we swung by the housing agency to pay our rent. Maki, one of the women there, hadn't seen me in awhile and chirped happily, "You are going to have a baby!"

I said yes, I was, and she asked, "When?"

I told her April and she looked across the office and gestured toward one of the other women. "She also has a baby in April!" Maki told me.

The pregnant Japanese woman and I met eyes and of course glanced down at each other's bellies. I am carrying a 30-pound, regulation-size basketball on my front now. Her stomach was just very slightly distended, like she'd had a big lunch. The look we shared crossed any language barriers and the whole office erupted into laughs.

"Me, the end of April," she offered helpfully. "You, beginning?"

"Very beginning," I assured her.

I Watched New Moon with 100 Marines

2009-12-01T01:23:00.000-08:00

In a touching scene, Edward begs Bella to wait a few years before she becomes a vampire. "Why?" she wants to know. "I'm hoping you fill out a little more," supplied the Marines in front of us.

Put in a full day of work yesterday at the nuthouse. We get one English radio station out here, Wave FM, that we keep on all day. The Marines dee-jay it from one of the camps on the island. I liked one of the tag lines I heard on it yesterday-"Wave FM. Your alternative...to silence."

Dean called during the day to see if I wanted to go to New Moon that evening, the new teen angsty/vampire movie. I did NOT want to go, but I grudgingly agreed to anyway. I know Dean likes an immediate audience for his movie talking. Looking back, I really should have traded him doing the sink full of dishes for going.

We got to the movie a half hour early and it was already very full for Camp Hansen standards, about 50% occupied. Most of the Marines on Camp Hansen are single young guys and, as a rule, enjoy movie talking just as much as Dean. Marine movie theatres are not the kind you get shushed in. In fact, truly obnoxious comments during particularly poignant moments are usually rewarded with appreciative laughs or barks (yes, Marines bark). They have such a good time being insufferable, I am pretty sure that is why the base even bothers showing dramatic films in between the shoot-em-ups.

They were all in rare form during New Moon. They mock-cheered in high-pitched squeals when one of the young male leads whipped off his shirt to stop the heroine's bleeding. They laughed uproariously at the more romantic moments, and several times felt it incumbent upon them to advise the main vampire he had "no balls."

Overall the movie was pretty lame, but I would have to recommend going anyway if you have the chance to see it with a bunch of young Marine movie talkers.

The Hunt for a Christmas Tree in Okinawa

2009-11-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Dean and I hopped into the car and drove 20 miles/40 minutes to Kadena Air Base. The Air Force BX always has nicer stuff than the Marine Corps PX's, so I wanted to go there. Of course, before going shopping I dropped Dean off with his friend at the driving range on the Kadena base. It made me feel like a soccer mom already.

Christmas stuff out here is hard to come by. I had already struck out on two bases--Camps Courtney and Hansen were already sold out of Christmas trees by the day after Thanksgiving. I'd gotten a tip from a coworker that a third base (Camp Foster) was a complete zoo owing to them having procured some live trees, so I wouldn't even bother trying there. I got lucky and found a pre-lit, 6.5-foot artificial tree on Kadena for a pretty good price--$69. Someone snagged the last big ornament set before I got to it, but I was able to scoop up a few gold balls and an odd, Chinese pagoda thing that I decided to use as a tree topper. I like to wind thick ribbon around the tree, but that was no where to be found. I would ask my Ma to send it but by the time it gets out here, Christmas will be done and gone.

I browsed around and picked up a few gifties. If you think you might be one of the people I bought a gift for, better play it safe and send me one. Then I went to pick up Dean and spent a few minutes judging the driving contest, where the bets ranged from who had to buy dinner to which waitress at the club house Dean's friend would have to hit on if Dean drove the ball further.

We set up the tree when we got home. And by "we" I mean I tore into it while Dean protested from the couch that it was way too early to set it up. And then when I had made a mess of layering the fake-fir tiers completely incorrectly, he stepped in and fixed it with a sigh that I assume could only be one of contentment. I paired my fakey tree with a mistletoe-scented candle. I doubt its visible metal rod and sparse, Charlie-Brown-esque branches are fooling anyone, even paired with the (also artificial) scent, but hey, we tried! Then we had a few people come for dinner to our newly festive apartment. I served overcooked roast beef, which I blamed on my Japanese convection oven. But the Marines we had over were very kind and assured me they didn't mind at all, because the meal had their favorite quality--it was free.

Just another Sunday in Okinawa.

A Gecko Tried to Eat Me

2009-07-13T13:29:00.001-07:00

If koala bears are the cutest infestation ever, these are second-cutest.

Monday, June 13, 2009

Two days until Harry Potter comes out. Since we are thirteen hours ahead of all my family in NY, we will get to see the movie first and we’re really excited to be obnoxious about it to them.

This morning was Dean’s first day of school, I mean work. He got dressed in his alphas to check in, which is the olive green suit and tan shirt and tie. He looked so durn cute in his uniform I wanted to hand him a G.I. Joe lunchbox and a book bag, but Dean insisted that was not necessary (and that, besides, G.I. Joe was Army). After checking in, he came back to the room to change into desert camis. I told him I was looking forward to the swimsuit part of the competition.

When Dean left, I went about straightening up the room and all of a sudden found myself staring right into the eyes of....a...gecko! We blinked at each other for a moment, then I jumped onto the coffee table. When I was convinced he was not going to eat me, I scurried to get a cup and a plate. This is the traditional spider-catching equipment used in the states at least, but I thought I would cleverly adapt it to the situation at hand. I crept up and quickly put the cup down over him. Well, I chased him as he slithered all over the room first and THEN quickly put the cup down over him. Then I slowly slid the plate under the cup. Victory! Gecko caught. I toyed with the idea of naming him Mr. Wigglepants and keeping him as a pet, but I didn’t guess Dean would agree with that decision. So, I did the right thing and released him into the wild. After taking a picture, of course.

I had to get my medical and dental records set up today, so Dean came to pick me up. The air was still super humid. Dean and I come up with an explanation-a-day as to “how humid is it?” Today’s: the air is so humid, you can’t breathe it, you have to chew and swallow it. I didn’t say they were all winners, people.

Got all my medical paperwork did up, had some lunch with the Deanzer, went to the bank and post office, and then went to the spouse employment services. It was 20% informative and 80% depressing. But I walked away with a few leads and a plan of action, so that part is good.

We spent the evening studying for our Japanese driving test and falling asleep to “Rachel Getting Married.” (Review: Dean says it’s “artsy.” This is an insult on the Ellis rating scale.)

First Saturday in Okinawa

2009-07-12T00:06:00.000-07:00

Now that's what I call a boat load of food. Har har.

July 11, 2009

Saturday. We woke up finally around 10 AM local time. Everyone always asks me if I am affected by jet lag, but the truth is my brain is easily fooled by a clock. The clock tells me what time it is, I believe it and act accordingly. Noon? Doesn’t matter if I just ate, I must be hungry. 11 PM? Bed time!

We walked around Camp Hansen for a bit. The weather is about 90 degrees in the shade and so muggy, you almost have to do a breast stroke while walking to move through the air. So, I love it. Dean, not so much.

We got Dean’s hair cut and my interview suit tailored; bought some soap, foodstuffs, and other odds and ends; and rented a video. Valkyrie, but I didn’t like it. Spoiler: they weren’t able to assassinate Hitler. Boo to adhering to history.

In the afternoon, Dean called our Gunnery Sergeant (GSgt) / Sponsor and invited him and his wife out to dinner as a thank you for all his help. They suggested a sushi place that was out of this world. The tables were traditional Japanese style, about a foot off the floor with mats to kneel on. Dean’s poor bionic knee was killing him in a few minutes, so to be sympathetic I tried not to appear I was having as much fun as I really was. My sushi was so fresh, I think it swam onto my wooden platform-plate itself. Dean’s meal came in a carved boat. It would have gotten full points for plating on any Iron Chef competition. Everything was so delicious, I know I am going to be such a sushi snob when I get back to the States. Noice.

The GSgt and his wife were absolutely wonderful, and took us around the island a bit more to show us where things were and even brought us back to their home so we could see what base housing was like. Surprisingly spacious! I started getting excited to decorate our little corner of the island. It was such a nice evening. Can't wait to experience more of Okinawa!

Travel Two Days: Seattle to Kadena

2009-07-11T23:29:00.000-07:00

July 9, 2009-July 10, 2009

Not even sure if this is the right date. Time is meaningless right now when we’re in the air crossing time zones willy nilly.

We got on the military flight at 1:30 AM. I am not sure how seats are assigned, but the gods smiled upon us and we got row seven! The plane is set up two seats-four seats-two seats. (xx_xxxx_XX) We got the right hand block of two seats. Awesome!

By 1:32 AM I was asleep in my chair. I woke up almost four hours later when Dean poked me. We were getting ready to land in Alaska to refuel and there were these majestic snow capped mountains poking up above the clouds. He figured I’d want a picture and he figured right. I whipped out my camera and clicked away. Alaska looks like a very cool place to visit. Literally and figuratively.

Being on a military flight is a lot different than being on a commercial civilian flight. There is a real sense of fellowship on a military flight. You’re all Americans going to a foreign land, so there is a lot of talking, mainly about what “you heard” about the new duty station. Everyone is very nice to each other, though I think that might have more to do with you never know who could be a C.O.’s wife or a General in civilian clothes.

We had a layover at Yokota, which is on the mainland, for an hour or so. Filing into the airport, I noticed a sign for WiFi, so I had my PC out, up, and connected before some people even sat down. I checked in with my ma and visited just a few very important sites, like Facebook. Then we hopped back onto that plane to go to our next stop, Iwakuni.

The way into Yokota was full of green mountains with little towns nestled in valleys. On the way out, all we could see were buildings stretching all the way to the horizon. Both sides were equally as impressive, really.

On the descent into Iwakuni, it was raining really hard. When we touched down, most people could tell something was wrong. I looked out the window and saw the wheels were creating huge fans of water, like we we hydroplaning. Dean told me that the ATC (air traffic control center) was mid-runway, and we landed directly in front of it. A few of the Air Force guys started taking bets with each other if we were going to hit the “oh, sh*t” line. Well, I didn’t know what the “oh, sh*t” line was, but I knew I wanted the guys who bet we WEREN’T going to hit it to win. Our front wheel just about crossed the row of red lights marking the end of the runway, and the pilot whipped the rest of the plane into a left turn. I saw the line that the guys were talking about. It was a thick metal cable stretched across a few feet above the ground to catch us in case the plane wasn’t able to stop at the end of the runway. Thank goodness, we avoided it. A collective sigh of relief was breathed. That was too exciting a landing for me, but most of the guys were already making jokes, like that we were doing the “taxi of shame.”

We waited an hour or so for the weather to clear before taking off again. From Iwakuni to Kadena (on the island of Okinawa) was only about an hour and fifteen minute plane ride. The landing was much more uneventful. We filled out our affidavits that we didn’t have swine flu, got my official passport stamped (woo hoo), collected our bags, and cleared customs. Our sponsor was waiting for us. He was fantastic. We got really lucky there.

Uncharacteristically, I was in sweats and flip flops with no makeup left on. Nevertheless, we were brought all around the island for administrative stuff. I just felt bad all of Dean’s coworkers’ first impression of me was with dried drool on my face and a hair style that looked like the one from “Something About Mary.” Anyway, Dean checked in and we got a PO box set up. It’s: PSC 559 Box 6141 / FPO AP 96377-6141. Please feel free to mail us letters, cards, gifties, or checks for large sums of money. Just kidding. Checks for small sums are okay, too.

We’d somehow lost a day while traveling, so after two days we were dead tired and fell fast asleep.

Last Day in Oregon

2009-07-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

How stinkin cute is that?

July 8, 2009

Shawn, another of Dean’s brothers, (he has a whole bunch, don’t even bother keeping track) was kind enough to let us spend some time with his three-year-old son, our nephew Tyler. We met up with another of Dean’s friends, Amanda, in Portland for brunch and Tyler joined us. We saved some tortilla scraps because we’d seen a park with a koi pond on the walk to the restaurant and thought we’d feed them on the way back. I think Tyler could have spent hours throwing in tiny bits to the fish and watching them scurry to eat. Which is why it was good there was also woman at the park with three smallish kids with her. (I am SO bad at guessing kids’ ages. “Does it talk? Run? So, nine-ish then? Oh, he’s four. Excellent.”) I love how kids are so instantly familiar with each other, with none of those stupid “introductions” and “pleasantries” that adults have to endure. They just began sharing the scraps and clapping gleefully together when the fish ate them.

The way back to Hood River was a mess. If we weren’t so sure that Shawn would be a bit perturbed if we just kept Tyler forever instead of returning him, we wouldn’t have gone back. An oil tanker flipped on the highway and spilt its load. This is the worst possible thing that can happen in a tree-hugging state like Oregon. (Or is the correct term environmentally conscious? I never can remember.) They shut down the entire highway and left us to our own devices to find an alternate route. Who shuts down a whole interstate? We tried to make the best of it and stopped at the beautiful Multnomah Falls with Tyler, who hiked a good quarter-mile with his baby legs. We admired the 542-foot drop for awhile and then got back into the car. The second stop was not as lovely, as I think we may have exposed poor Tyler to his first port-a-john. I really, really hope that’s not the part of the trip he remembers. The usually forty-five minute drive took four and a half hours. We crossed the Oregon-Washington state border/river twice, but Tyler took it like a champ. His uncle Dean got him a little water gun as a reward for being so very good, which is another one of those things that kids love but parents, maybe not so much.

The drive killed most of the day, so we basically made it back to Hood River, said our last goodbyes, and turned around and started the drive up to Seattle. That was another four-ish hours on the road. Sometimes, travel is not so glamorous. Someone needs to invent teleporting, and soon.

We returned the car, got to the Seattle-Tacoma airport, filled out a mountain of paperwork, waited in nineteen different lines, and then hung out in the USO for awhile playing Rummy 500, which I felt the need to mention because I won. Right before midnight, we cleared security and headed to a satellite gate where we caught our military flight to Okinawa.

Hood River, Oregon, USA

2009-07-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

July 7, 2009

Three states’ DMVs in a week. That has to be a record. But that’s how we started our morning in Hood River, OR. Dean needed to get his expired license updated so that we wouldn’t have any issues getting a license to drive in Japan. What a difference the Hood River DMV was from the ones in NY and San Diego! We walked in, went right up to the window and were greeted by Bob, the same person who had given Dean his driving test over a decade ago. The whole process took seventeen minutes, and probably fifteen of those minutes were shooting the breeze.

Finally, two whole days before we left the country, we had all our paperwork in order! We drove over to Larry’s (Dean’s brother’s) house bearing big Hershey bars for our nephews. We figured, kids like you when you bring anything their parents normally wouldn’t let them have. Larry and his wife just had their second baby six weeks ago, and I couldn’t wait to meet Mr. Jacob Alexander, or “Baby Jake” as his two-year-old big brother Isaiah calls him. Even though it was a Tuesday morning, the house was full of people who had arranged their schedules to see us, which was really very nice. Of course, I gave everyone their “hello”s, “you look great”s, and a administered a few hugs before making a beeline for that baby. Rachel is one of those very easy going, cool moms, so she let me hold teeny Baby Jake for hours, feeding him bottle after bottle. She generally tries not to feed him TOO much, and showed me why--his fat baby wrists were beginning to creep over onto the back of his hand. That didn’t bother me any. I just squealed with delight, because the only thing I like better than a baby is a fat baby.

We walked the kids down to a nearby park and let Isaiah run around and pushed him on a swing while the baby watched contently from his shady stroller. Then it was time to go up to Dean’s Mama Ricky’s house for lunch.

Dean’s known Mama Ricky for ages, and apparently gave her that name himself even though everyone else on the planet calls her “Katrina.” She has an incredible house on top of a mountain in Hood River with a big porch and stone patio overlooking the Columbia River. She and Robert grilled chicken and potatoes and we spent hours in the perfect 70-degree weather catching up, drinking a chewy red wine (as Katrina called it) and watching wind surfers on the river below. Hood River is so green and pretty. You know how the story “Jack and the Beanstalk” is set in Happy Valley? Well, Hood River looks a lot like that illustration in your fairy tale book. It was a perfect afternoon and I couldn’t decide which was the best: the view, the good eats, or the company. (I guess you’re supposed to end up choosing “company,” right?)

Dean’s dad was in town from Coos Bay, Oregon and said good-bye to Dean. He and his wife wished us the best, and then it was time to get to our dinner date with Eric and Mary in Sherwood--right outside of Portland. Busy day! Dean met them back when Eric was in the Corps the day after Eric and Mary got married. They came into his Marine Corps Administrator’s office in Hawaii to get their paperwork in order and became fast friends. Dean swears he became friends with them because they had a car. Eric and Mary thought and thought, but could not remember why they had become friends with Dean. Nevertheless, they’ve stayed in contact for years and have nicely accepted me into the fold. We see them every time we’re in town. We went to Gustav’s, a favorite of all of ours, mainly due to the awesome bier sausages and 500-calorie-per-bite cheese fondue. Every time we get together, I am regaled with a new hilarious story from their adventures in Hawaii, and the conversation ranges from hearing about their cute son to debating about politics and philosophy. Dean is very choosy about who he befriends, but I always tell him when he finally picks, he picks very well.

I had offered to sit with my nephews in the evening so Dean could go have a few drinks with all his brothers. Dean and I have been talking the talks about having kids one of these decades, so I figured not only would it be a great opportunity to spend some quality time with my nephews, but it would also be a great chance to “practice.” Well, some highlights. I never thought making a little 10-pound person burp would give me such a huge sense of accomplishment. I think two year olds have a greater lung capacity and more stamina than any opera singer. And I learned that Elmo is like crack to kids, and I am not above resorting to being their dealer. By the time mom and dad got home, though, I had two of them asleep and a big smile on my face. Rachel gave me a little bit of a reality check, however, when she told me now I knew what her evenings have been like for the last two years. I think both of the following statements can be true. Those kids are wonderful, and their mother is a saint.

Travel Day: SAN to LAX to SEA to PDX

2009-07-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

Don't rain on this girl's parade.

July 6, 2009

The state ID war had a clear victor today--yes, me. I ended up getting a California driver’s license with a NY address printed on it. I’m not saying the evil DMV minions didn’t get in their jabs. The picture is truly terrible, and my weight gets printed on the front. But against all odds, I have a license, so I win.

While I was fighting the good fight for the little card that says I am allowed to drive, Dean managed to get all his last-minute transferring paperwork on base done. He also picked up my official military dependent passport, which he handed to me as I jubilantly entered the rental car. First thing I did was the first thing everyone does when they get their passport, which is flip to the photo page. I look almost completely and totally exactly like Barbra Streisand in my picture. I know what you’re thinking, maybe I should be grateful, many a drag queen would love to be in my position. But all I can say is oy vey.

We’d had to stop in San Diego to check in with Dean’s old base and get that administrative stuff done. Then we were headed up to the Northwest to say goodbye to Dean’s family before we left for Japan. We returned the rental car just in time and dashed into the commuter terminal at San Diego airport where despite taking almost everything on my person off save my cotton dress, I kept beeping through the metal detector. They took me to the side where I was thoroughly wanded by a very large female security guard. An aside...is it a rule that the TSA people buy their uniforms two sizes too small? Seriously, look next time you’re at an airport. Anyway, when it looked like it was my bra that was the offending item, she told me she’d have to pat me down and asked if I’d like to step into a private room. I took a quick glance down at the area in question and decided my dress was low cut enough it would be kind of pointless to begin feigning modesty at that point, so I just told her to go to town. Apparently my new underwire is especially metallic. I learned my lesson. No more undergarments whilst traveling for me.

After rushing to get to the airport on time, we endured several delays and ended up getting to Seattle more than a few hours after we were originally slated. We got an apology from our pilot, but it struck me that the airline industry is the only one that can get away with shenanigans like that. Any other company who didn’t deliver as promised would have to offer some kind of compensation other than “oops, our bad” or they’d go out of business. My idea is...open bar on the plane for delayed flights! Most of my great ideas revolve around open bars, actually.

We had booked a rental car online through Advantage, who, while the employees were very nice, had the shabbiest looking fleet of cars I’d ever seen together in one lot. Choosing the nicest, a dinged up Ford Focus, we immediately hit the road to Portland. We checked into the hotel pretty late and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The Day After T's Big Day

2009-06-22T16:02:00.000-07:00

June 22, 2009

After performing my matron-of-honor duties tirelessly yesterday, I spent the day lounging around at my parents’ lakehouse. It was a bit rainy outside, so we mainly stayed indoors. No tan, but I did get forty-five stars in Super Mario Galaxy.

In the evening, we walked all the way across the lawn to my grandparents’ lakehouse and had my very favorite dinner with my nana and papa and aunt and uncle. Spaghetti and meatballs, fresh bread, green salad, and red wine. Don’t ask me why, but it just doesn’t get any better than that for me.

Last Day in Paris

2009-06-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

Who knew windmills could be so durn elusive?

June 17, 2009

At 12:01 AM, we were still up and Dean poked me and said “happy anniversary.” What a romantic. Three years married. Looks like this thing is going to stick.

It was our last full day in Paris, so we decided to make it count. Earlier plans of relaxing forgotten, Dean tied on his sneakers. I would have too, if I owned sneakers, but they are dreadfully unfashionable, so I do not. However, I wore sensible yet stylish flats. We were going marathon sight-seeing.

Lady Liberty in the middle of the Seine was a quick stop. She is much smaller in Paris than her sister in NY, but just as pretty.

Then we took the metro north to the area just east of Sacre Coeur. As we walked up the steps and popped out of the ground like gophers, I had the distinct feeling that maybe we ought to run back down. There were a lot of street vendors, but not the pretty awning-ed ones. You could buy chestnuts that were roasting over a paint can full of coals (yum, lead-smoked nuts), or miscellaneous items out of re-appropriated shopping carts. I was sure the map said that Sacre Coeur was just a few blocks away, so we kept our heads down and put one foot in front of the other until we saw the big dome.

The stairs that Rocky runs up are nuthin compared to the millions of flights we had to trek up to get to the church. It was either several million flights of stairs or perhaps ten flights. Thinking back, I’m almost sure it was the former. I made several Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” jokes near the beginning of the climb, but by the end I was just concentrating on crawling and gasping for water. Dean, bless his wonderful heart, offered me a piggy-back ride around flight five. I thought about it, but I didn’t know how I could accept and also maintain my position that I weigh 120, so I politely declined.

Sacre Coeur was worth the climb, which is saying a lot. The interior was gorgeous and since tourists weren’t allowed to take pictures, it didn’t get that crowded. We walked around and marveled for a bit at some incredible mosaics, then went back outside.

The view of Paris was awesome from there! Buildings and buildings as far as the eye could see. There were more steps right to the front of the church, and a musician with an amp and a guitar was standing at the base, singing anything requested of him. A huge crowd just sat on the steps enjoying his show. Everyone sang along when they knew the words, and there was this general sense of well-being and camaraderie among all of us there. Now if they could make the mass experience more like that, I’d probably enjoy going to church a lot more.

From reading, we learned that Sacre Coeur was the alleged location of the martyring of St. Denis, a bishop and the patron saint of Paris. St. Denis was beheaded by the rather nasty Romans, and legend has it that he posthumously picked up his own head and marched North with it. Where he finally came to rest, a pious widow buried him and the Parisians later built the Cathedral of St. Denis over his tomb. Looking at our map, Dean and I decided it was too far for us to walk even with our heads still attached, so we went about looking for the next metro stop.

Not wanting to brave the streets from which we’d just come, we set out due West from Sacre Coeur. It was like night and day. There were charming cobble-stone paths lined with tourist-y crafts, gelaterias, and artists showing beautiful paintings. We continued on and found the area where I told Dean I would be buying my Paris vacation-apartment as soon as I make my first billion--Montmartre. He agreed. With me making a billion dollars, that is. Montmartre has shady trees, fantastic boutique-type shops, and wrought iron balconies on very French-looking buildings. Just lovely.

My tourist book said that the windmills that inspired such artists as Van Gogh and Renoir were right around our location, so we did a few laps around the block to try to find them. We could not. After passing a young blond man with a backpack and a map twice, we eyed each other and stopped. He asked us a question in French, so we looked very confused. He switched to some other language. (German?) We stuttered, “Anglais?” And so he switched to English. Dammit, all these Europeans are so much more worldly and cultured than us. Turns out he was looking for the tricky windmills as well, so we compared guidebooks and maps and decided it was an evil joke the French were playing on us, and that the windmills must not actually exist. We found a replica-windmill by a restaurant and took pictures of that before parting ways.

Continuing through Montmartre, we saw some famous cemetery. We don’t generally spend too much time looking at dead people, or their resting places for that matter, so it was more like a walk-by.

We found our metro stop and went up to St. Denis. For a headless dead guy, he sure did manage to get pretty far. The Cathedral of St. Denis is now the necropolis for French royalty and houses such big-name remains as King Louis and Marie Antoinette and other famous royal Frenchies. I read some plaques, but no word on whether Sarkozy is being saved a spot. Again, we can only look at boxes containing old dead people for so long, even if they are ornate sarcophagi, so it wasn’t too long before we headed back into town.

Notre Dame was close to the hotel, so we thought that would be a great place to end the evening. Plus, they light it up at night so I wanted to check out that action. Being June, I guess, it got dark super-late--maybe 9:30 or 10 PM, so we had time to sit leisurely at an overpriced tourist-laden cafe right next to the church and have some snacks and wine. They were having some sort of concert inside the church, so we couldn’t go in, but the sounds of the choir emanated through the square and the strains were great to hear. Sure enough, as it got dark, the lights came on. I’ve said so many things were beautiful in Paris already, and this was, too. Looked like a postcard. We walked around the entire structure, and I think I may have liked the back even better than the front, with its regal flying buttresses. We saw a statue we recognized on the front facade--a man holding his head in his arm. St. Denis. Apparently, that’s how he is most often depicted. How awful for the poor guy. Dean and I discussed what we’d like to be holding for all effigies of us for centuries to come. Dean quickly settled on a football. I couldn’t decide between a BlackBerry or a martini glass.

Walking back, we passed probably the coolest street performer we’d seen thus far. A young woman was somehow twirling / hula hooping fire with various batons and baton-like structures. Her male co-performers did highly physical break dance stunts around her. Now, fire is a quick way to win me over, and so are shirtless young men, so I loved it.

We got back to the hotel completely spent, ready to fly back to NY.

Paris, Day 3

2009-06-16T21:00:00.000-07:00

You can dress me up, but you can't take me out. In the gardens at Versailles.

June 16, 2009

The breakfast situation at the hotel worked out very well, because I tend to get cranky if I’m not fed very shortly after I awaken. A nice cup of tea and fifteen more pain au chocolats later, I was ready for my day.

We’d decided to take the train to Versailles, France to see Louis the XIV’s palace. By this time, we considered ourselves professional riders of the metro system and had no problems figuring out our transfers, even on the confusing C line. We got there around 10 AM and the line was already huge. You have to wait on on line to buy tickets, then a different line to clear a security post to gain entrance. Since Dean and I are both efficiency nazis, he stood on the ticket-buying line while I stood on the security/entrance line. Worked out perfectly. Dean jogged over with the tickets just before I reached the security post. Mental high-five.

They were having a fountain show, so we went to the gardens first. The gardens are HUGE. I am not sure exactly how huge, but it took us an hour of brisk walking to see about half of them. There are trees or hedges trimmed into perfectly squared off shapes that make a maze, and every so often you come to a clearing with beautiful fountains, statues, and/or trellises. I was a bit surprised to see so many Greek god statues and fountains, thinking they would tend more toward the Christian theme, but they were all fantastic, spouting water from all types of orifices.

Tuckered out, we sat by the big, perfectly manicured pond and munched on a crusty baguette with edam cheese for a little while. It felt super-French. We decided to go check out Marie Antoinette’s quarters, which we naturally thought would be quite close to her dear husband’s Louis’s digs. Absolutely not. They were over a kilometer away. We huffed and puffed our way there, taking altogether too much exercise for my liking. The rooms were a bit more understated though meticulously appointed, with more of a flirty, feminine flair. Light pastel walls with white moulding, white plaster flower designs. It was not huge, like Louis’s place. It was a good-size two-story home with perhaps more marble and chandeliers than you might find in your local suburb. I could definitely see myself living there, but I doubt that would be allowed.

Then we made the trek back up to the main palace, which was not just fit for a king, but a giant-king. We saw the two-story throne room with its huge gold pipe organ, a fireplace so big they used full tree trunks for kindling, and a hallway with enough chandeliers to light an entire city. There were so many painted portraits of our boy Lou, I thought he must have spent the majority of his adult life posing for artists. At that point, the palace was getting crowded and we thought it would be a good time to head back. Tuesdays are apparently the day to take a school field trip in France, and the only thing I dislike more than crowds are crowds comprised of children. We made our way out around 3 PM.

In case any of you ever take the metro to Versailles, you should know that you need a different ticket to get back into Paris than you used on the way to Versailles. Truth be told, we knew that from last time but could not conveniently locate a place to buy the correct tickets. We’d never actually seen anyone’s ticket get checked, so we got on and didn’t think much about it. Until the French police pushed through the door to our car and demanded all of us passengers show our tickets. Dean is notorious for telling the truth, so I elbowed him and told him to let me do the talking. I brightly produced what I knew to be the wrong tickets and they explained to me that they would have to charge us a fine while I did my best to look utterly perplexed (not that hard for me, actually). “Je suis desoles,” says I contritely. (Learned that from our movie last night.) I offered to buy the correct tickets, if they could sell them to me. Not possible. I offered they could take two metro tickets for each of us to make up the difference in price. Nope. But, somehow, we chatted a bit more in broken English (them) and broken French (us) until they had agreed to waive the fee since this was our first time in Paris (not true), we were on our honeymoon (complete fabrication), and they’d given us a restaurant recommendation by Notre Dame.

We’d just had a very pleasant experience with the French police, so I wasn’t expecting what happened next. On our way back through the center of Paris, we got off the Concorde stop. Incidentally, it’s a beautiful square with an impressive fountain and ornate street lamps. The American Embassy/Consulate is right there and Dean wanted to check with the Marine on duty. He is thinking about trying to get embassy duty next, and wanted to get the Marine’s perspective. We marched up to the embassy with passports in hand. Two French officials were guarding the entrance. I flipped my passport open and held it like an FBI badge. They said, in French accents, that I couldn’t go in. I was very confused. Had I not seen dozens of movies where people dash for the embassy and are granted immediate access just by running in slow motion and shouting, “Open the gates! I’m an American!”? I explained to them patiently--I’m an American. That (pointing) is my land. They insisted I could be granted access only with an appointment. Which we did not have. Not even sure why French police were guarding my embassy, I was just about to use my American authority to fire those two, but Dean began gently guiding me away by the elbow. He had an opinion that it would be best not to cause an international incident. Color me disappointed. Now I know a scene from my very favorite movie, The Saint, (with dreamy Val Kilmer) is fake.

We had decided we had to do laundry since it had been a few weeks. We located a laundromat near the hotel and took a little bag over. Dean and I must have looked super confused by the whole set up, because a local took pity on us and helped us with the whole process. You used a central console to activate the washer or dryer you picked. We almost caused a riot as we took out our dry clothes and offered the dryer to someone. Apparently someone else had been waiting longer. There was a bit of rapid-fire French exchange between the two while we hurriedly stuffed the unfolded clothes back into the bag and scurried out.

The rest of the evening was largely uneventful. More wine, another cafe. Perfection.

Paris, Day 2

2009-06-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

I bet this guy owns at Pictionary.

June 15, 2009

We woke up without an alarm clock (room didn’t actually have a clock, at all), which is probably the nicest part of being on vacation. I’ve always thought that shocking yourself awake with a loud buzz is a barbaric way to start a day. They had a breakfast nook downstairs at the hotel, so we went down and enjoyed my very favorite pastry in the world, pain au chocolat. I think I had seven of them.

It was a rainy day so we thought it would be good to hit up the Louvre, a nice indoor activity. Just like NY, when it starts to rain in Paris, men magically appear on street corners hawking cheap umbrellas. Very convenient. We took the metro right to the Musee de Louvre stop and walked through the concourse underground right up into the main entrance area. We’d gotten hopelessly lost in the bowels of the Louvre last time, so we got a map and studied all the different wings. After looking at the map, we were able to determine that we were definitely going to get lost again, so we put it away and just started wandering. We saw a lot of stuff we hadn’t seen the last time we were there, and some stuff we had. We caught a glimpse of a room that was chock full of statues being stored. Gorgeous statues. They store extra art like I store canned goods.

We saw artists who set up their canvases to copy paintings that were in the Louvre. They were amazing, every detail was the exact same. I bet those replicas go for a ton on the black market.

It was still raining, so we thought we’d go on an old-fashioned date to dinner and the cinema, as the Europeans say. After ample research, we figured out that movies listed with “VO” after the title meant they were shown in English with French subtitles. There were not too many, but we opted for Sunshine Cleaning, which won something or another at Sundance. We went to buy our tickets before dinner, which struck the ticket agent as very odd. She kept explaining to us that the movie started after 9 PM, and it was only 6 PM now. We assured her we understood. I guess that is not the normal way of buying tickets.

We looked around the Bastille area and found a little cafe with an awning nearby and sat down. Bottled water is just as expensive as wine, so I couldn’t think of any excuse not to get a big ol’ carafe of red wine. I can’t really conceptualize volume in milliliters, so I just chose the highest number. Like always, we tried to speak our French and were quickly recognized as Americans, so the waiter switched to English for us. Dean ordered pasta carbonara, which had quickly became one of our favorite dishes while we were in Italy. The waiter asked him if he wanted it with “om.” It took Dean three “perdon”s and the waiter articulating “ommm” as best he could for Dean to understand the man was saying “ham.” Oui. Om would be tres bien.

We wiled away a few hours watching Paris in the rain and munching on delicious food. It’s the best waste of time ever. Then it was time to get going to our movie. The way it’s done where we went is you wait outside until they open the theatre ten minutes prior to the show time. We’re both usually pretty bad movie-talkers, but since that didn’t seem accepted, we tried to keep quiet. There were a few funny parts, and I have to admit we were the loudest guffaw-ers. Generally it was a cute flick, and it was fun to experience something so every-day in a foreign country.

Barcelona to Paris

2009-06-14T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 14, 2009

The cruise ended today, but instead of going home, we went to Paris.

The first thing I noticed about the woman sitting next to me in the Barcelona airport was her sparkly shoes. I thought maybe she didn’t need to get on a flight, she could just click her heels and say “there’s no place like home” a few times. Next thing I noticed is that she was sewing up the fly of her pants with a needle and thread. In the middle of the terminal. While she was wearing them. So, yeah, people-watching was pretty fun today while we waited hours and hours for our plane.

We finally got on our flight to Orly, France around 7 PM. The landing was so bumpy, the whole plane (save myself) erupted into cheers and applause once we were safely on the ground. I rather thought an admonishment would be in order. When the pilot lands the plane extra-smoothly, then I will clap. But we survived, so my vacation was not ruined after all.

Once again, there was no security or customs or uniformed personnel of any kind anywhere to be seen as we got off the flight. Not that we wanted the scrutiny, but darn it, this passport is not going to stamp itself!

We sat in traffic most of the way to the center of Paris. The taxi driver explained (may have been after several dozen questions from me) that many people in Paris have second homes in the country and Sunday night is when they all come back to the city for the weekdays to work.

We finally got to an adorable boutique hotel in the center of Paris right off the Seine, quite close to the Notre Dame cathedral. Last time we were here, we stayed in a very traditional hotel with a French-Provencal feel. This time, we went kind of funky and modern at the recommendation of our credit card concierge service. The room we got is art-deco with a cool black and white patterned wall and a bright lime green bedspread and accents. It is a bit sparse on the amenities, but it’s got that, how the French say “je ne sais quoi.” I believe the translation is, “crappy amenities.”

We carted our bags upstairs (no elevator) a charming spiral staircase that looks great, but would be a challenge to even the most coordinated. And I can’t pretend I count myself among them. We got ourselves situated, but graceful it was not.

We’ve been to Paris before, so this time we thought we’d take it slow, not try to fit too much in. That’s what we said. But really it just goes against our nature. As soon as we put our bags down, we decided to get back out and grab a romantic meal and go watch the Eiffel Tower light up as it turned to dusk. I told Dean the romantic part of that plan would be much better facilitated if he would not insist on referring to dinner as “chow.”

We tried French-Chinese food, a first for us, and a great surprise. It was delicious. I heard the woman who was taking our order switch through several different languages with other patrons and I had to ask her, how many did she speak? Five! And not even related ones. Mandarin, French, English, Spanish, and I forgot the last one. All I can speak is English, and even then, only snarkily. If I were her, I’d quit my job at the restaurant and go work at the U.N.

Quite a few tourists were around the Eiffel Tower, taking pictures and relaxing on the grass. I took seventy five pictures at least as the sky grew darker and the tower lit up. We crossed the river where Dean thrilled himself by finding the same crepe stand he had a crepe from three years ago. We walked along the Seine for a little and took the metro back to the hotel. TV didn’t work. This would never fly in the U.S. Everyone knows Americans can’t function without TV.

But we fell asleep easily to the soft sounds of city life through the window, looking forward to tomorrow.

Cannes

2009-06-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

Fru-fru and Shu-shu being taken for their walk outside of the opulent Hotel Carlton.

June 13, 2009

We woke up after we were already into the Port of Cannes today, and luckily Dean was feeling better. The view from the balcony was amazing. I could tell I was going to love the French Riviera.

We went ashore and set off on the main strip, Boulevard de la Croisette. We stopped at the Notre Dame de Bon Voyage, I think the only church I’ve seen with a full crystal chandelier right in front of the altar. Walking a bit further, I salivated as we passed Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Gucci, Salvatore Ferragamo, and the list goes on. We reached the Hotel Carlton, which rates a ten out of ten on the fancy-schmancy scale. Built in 1911 by Henri Ruhl, its twin black cupolas are rumored to be modeled after the breasts of La Belle Otero, a half-gypsy courtesan. Seriously, I did not make that up. Read it in a book and everything.

To the front of the hotel is the beach, lined with gold-and-white beach umbrellas and padded lounge chairs. The staff raked all the sand on the beach lest their guests be offended by an unsightly footprint.

We also saw where the Cannes Film Festival takes place. The Allee de Stars, much like our Hollywood Walk of Fame, is where movie actors put their hands and signatures into the sidewalk. Timothy Dalton, Sharon Stone, Julie Andrews, and Mickey were some of the names and hand prints we saw. With this motion picture mecca and all the opulence around, I was positive I was going to see Johnny Depp or George Clooney on holiday so I kept my eyes peeled.

There was a fantastic street fair in the Marche Aux Fleurs across the street, so we made our way over there. I sipped on a Coca Light (that’s French for Diet Coke) while we browsed antiques plates, jewelry, leather-bound books, and paintings.

Then we had the brilliant idea to march up to a lookout point by the Musee de la Castre up the steep and winding Rue Mont Chevalier. I had to bring Dean back to reality several times as he was re-living his bootcamp glory days to remind him that not all of us were Marines and we might prefer to saunter up the hill. At the top, there was some sort of wine tasting event going on. We don’t speak fluent French, but no one kicked us out, so we joined in and enjoyed ourselves immensely chomping on a crepe with Nutella taking in a terrific view of the coast line.

Before we went back to the ship, we took a short ride in a little motorboat and zipped along the coast. Riding the waves on bright blue Mediterranean in the South of France was blissful.

Sick Day

2009-06-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

July 12, 2009

Today we got into Livorno at 7 AM and Dean woke up feeling awful. Generally a much better sick person than I am, he insisted on getting up and dressed and going about our plan to go to Pisa. He made it almost to the shuttle bus that was to take us into downtown Livorno before he had a most un-Dean-like episode. He was being a smidge moody. Being moody has always been my responsibility in this relationship. I’m very good at it, and Dean lets me shine. So I knew right away he must be feeling particularly sick. I marched him back upstairs with increasingly weaker protests and put him to bed, where he promptly fell into such a deep sleep I checked his breathing every so often.

After a few hours with no activity from Dean, I stopped by the library, mailed a few postcards, and laid out on the deck in one of those comfy chairs for awhile. I read “No! I Don’t Want to Join a Bookclub” by Virginia Ironside. It was cute if you like the humour of a saucy older British lady, which I do. At noon-thirty, I checked in on Dean. No sign of movement. I figured it was best to let him sleep it off, which is his usual method of dealing with sick.

Dean woke up groggily at 7:30 PM feeling a little better. We watched a few movies from the pay-per-view on the room TV. “New in Town,” with Renee Zelwegger, and “Inkheart,” with Brendan Fraser. Both just barely mildly amusing. Then, only because Dean was feeling sick, I let him watch Fox News for a little, which I loathe. He is SUCH a Republican sometimes.

Roma

2009-06-11T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 11, 2009

Roma! Wonderful, wonderful city.

We pulled into the port city of Civitavecchia this morning. With a few of our fellow cruise passengers, we struck out to find the train station. We walked along the road next to the beautiful blue sparkling Mediterranean. On the way, we saw a bronze bust...with graffiti on it. Dean takes this as conclusive proof that his theory about graffiti is correct. Even I have to admit, it’s not looking good for me. When we reached the stazione, nine euro bought us an all-day pass. Such a deal!

For forty-five minutes, I had my nose pressed to the window looking at the Italian countryside. At one point, there was a field of sunflowers as far as the eye could see. Breathtaking. I daydreamed about living in a villa in Lazio until we got to the Roma San Pietro stop and hopped off the train.

We stuck with two people from the cruise most of the day, Rema and Yogi, good people from Chi-town. The four of us found St. Peter’s Square and breezed through a quick security line into the Basilica. I felt like I was back in Catholic school when guards walked briskly up and down the line inspecting people’s outfits for appropriateness. Literally, the Fashion Police. I had worn a knee-length sundress with a little short-sleeved blouse over it. I guess skirts have to be at LEAST knee-length, no shorter, so I wiggled mine down and breathed a sigh of relief as we were granted admittance. As we walked around mouths agape staring at the ceilings, we were cordoned off to one side by guards. A procession exited one room, including a man in a pointy hat. Dean is sure it was the pope. I couldn’t think they would just allow him to potter about like that. Yogi made the valid point that this was probably like the pope’s living room. I’m still not sure.

Then we went down to the tombs, all labeled in Latin. Many people were congregated around Johannes Pval II, which I brilliantly deduced was Pope John Paul II’s resting place. We wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, but it was closed on account of it being Corpus Christi day, the locals told us. On the way out of the square, I checked the “statue” in the ground I’d just seen on the Angels and Demons movie. By that time, the line to get in had grown to stretch all the way across St. Peter’s Square. I’m sure having just come out of a church, it was extra wrong to revel in others’ misfortune, but seeing the super-long line just made me thrilled with our timing.

Dean bought us gelato as my mid-morning snack. I had a cup of pineapple, amazing, and he had a cone with a vanilla-nutella swirl that I kindly helped him out with. Also amazing.

We rode the metro like pros to our next stop, the Colosseum. I personally don’t like to think of the “games” that went on there, but it was kind of surreal seeing the famous structure in person. Then we passed the national monument for Vittorio Emmanuele II, a rather impressive monument, even for Rome. I believe that guy is responsible for uniting much of Italy. We saw his name around a lot, so I gather the Italians appreciate his efforts. Next on the list was Trevi Fountain. Legend has it if you throw in one coin, you ensure your return to Rome. The second coin allows you to make a wish. Fantastic marketing ploy by the Rome Chamber of Commerce, I expect. But Dean and I threw our coins anyway, because in a city like Rome it’s easier to believe that wishes just might come true.

Then it was lunch time and the four of us set about finding a pizza, because it is a sin to go to Italy and not try the pizza. We found a little ristorante and ordered, with gestures and pointing, a margherita pizza and a pomodoro and buffalo mozzarella pizza. Apparently, it’s called buffalo mozzarella because it is made with buffalo milk. It was kind of tangy. The Chicagoans were shocked when they saw the pizza, being used to deep dish. It was thinner than your typical New York pie, but only the crust edges were crispy. They managed to keep the middle quite soft. It was very good. I’m not going to say it was better than my beloved NY pizza, but it was very good. If they invented it, we perfected it, how about that? But I’m sure that’s what everyone thinks about their hometown’s pizza.

We hit Piazza Navona next, admiring the fountains. Rome is so chock-full of beauty, it is ridiculous. Everywhere you look, there is art on top of art, layered on a base of art. Even the people have this effortless glamour about them. Despite the heat, the women looked perfectly coiffed with big hair done just-so, large sunglasses, statement pieces of jewelry, and you better believe they pulled off lipliner that we would consider too dark in the states, but they made you want to run out and buy it. The men wore suits with the two vents in the back (love it) or fitted jeans with a fitted polo or tee shirt, and aviator shades. I believe the word is “bellisimo”!

The Pantheon was incredible. The sun very obligingly streamed in through the hole in the ceiling (“hole in the celing” being the proper architectural term) and cast an other-worldly glow about the ancient structure. People just walked around it in a stunned silence, us included.

We continued on our whirlwind tour of Rome with a perma-smile stuck on my face. I was falling in love with the city, and I daresay it liked me back. We got to the Tiber River and were rather unnerved at not being able to put a name to its color. Sort of a cloudy brownish-greenish-bluish-gray. Undaunted, we merrily crossed in front of the Ex Palazzo di Guistizia which is, of course, another fantastic piece of architectural art that would normally stun you with its beauty but just managed to fit in with its neighbors here. We shopped for awhile in a street fair, looking at all the wares. Modern day Romans seem to be just as artistic as their ancestors.

For our last stop, we went into Castel St. Angelo which turned out to be the cherry on top of our whipped cream day. The castle itself was beautiful and interesting, but what made it perfect was the almost 360-degree view the rooftop offered of Rome and the Vatican. And since there don’t seem to be too many safety laws in Europe, there were no rails or safety glass to impede our view. We spent some time on the terrace just trying to soak it all up.

We finally made our way back to the ship, even though I didn’t want to leave, ever. I guess I am not worried though, because I know I’ll be back. I threw a coin in Trevi Fountain, after all.

Napoli

2009-06-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 10, 2009

When I told my coworker Jake we were stopping in Naples, he had one word of advice: “Don’t.” I gently explained to him that I didn’t think I’d be able to convince an entire cruise ship to skip a port destination, to which he said, “Try.”

Then yesterday one of the cruise activities was a lecture about “10 Tips Pickpockets Use.”

And THEN I settled down last night to read the section about Naples in the Lonely Planet book Lisa gave me. It talked about the organized crime in Naples as well as the petty theft problems. So I was really looking forward to today!

I won’t make you wait until the end. We did not get pick-pocketed, purse-snatched, or brutally murdered today. But I will say it was probably better I went into Naples with those expectations.

We stepped off the boat and were immediately swarmed with Italian taxi drivers who walked along with you instead of letting you walk by. Fighting them off with polite smiles and, “No, grazi”s, we got to our first intersection. We quickly learned that every intersection in Naples is an adventure. There are rarely those helpful things known as traffic lights, and, much like SoCal, drivers seem completely unaware their vehicles come equipped with indicators. Fortunately, I have been jaywalking the majority of my adult life. We bobbed, we weaved, we made clever use of the shield-yourself-with-other-pedestrians technique.

The main thing I had wanted to see was the Duomo Cathedralle di San Gennaro, so we set off in that direction. The city was crowded, noisy, dirty. Most surfaces were covered in posters or graffiti, and the air was thick with exhaust. We watched a fire truck sit in the traffic, lights on and sirens blaring. There was just no place for the other cars to move out of its way. So, a travel tip--do not get caught in a fire in Naples.

As we walked down the streets, I queued into the local style. For girls, tight designer jeans and a tight shirt. For guys, tight designer jeans and a tight shirt. Dolce and Gabbana, Gucci, or Armani belts and sunglasses with the logo prominently displayed. The more rhinestones and studs on the outfit, the better. I know what you’re thinking, oh, just like Jersey. To that I would say, yes, you are correct.

We reached the Duomo, and this time my shoulders were appropriately swathed. We walked in through huge, ornate doors and I threw some holy water on each of us, because you never know, it couldn’t hurt. Though St. John’s Cathedral spoiled us, this place was beautiful in its own right. The busts of past popes lined the main aisle and the frescos were lovely. It also had something St. John’s Cathedral didn’t: the head and two congealed vials of blood of a saint. Sure, everyone thought it was weird when Angelina did it, but here the faithful gather three times a year to pray that the blood will liquefy and the city will be saved by their patron saint, St. Januarius. Now I don’t know that the city needs to be saved per se, but it could use a good scrubbing and, as Dean pointed out, maybe a couple of building codes.

From there, we headed over toward the Museo Acheologico Nazionale, a very large and very pink building where Naples houses some impressive Greco-Roman artifacts and art that was found in Pompeii. We attached ourselves to a tour guide giving a talk for a little bit, then went on our own way.

I enjoyed our walk to Piazza Dante even more so than Piazza Dante, I think. We saw some fantastic antique shops on the way, and in Europe, you can really get an antique. Not like in America where we consider Cabbage Patch dolls from the 90’s antiques. Dean had to convince me there was no way we’d be able to fit a little marble-topped end table into our luggage and I wistfully allowed myself to be pulled away. The most interesting thing to me about Piazza Dante was the mass of graffiti on the base of the statue and the lack of graffiti on the statue. This was a trend we’d seen other places as well. Dean and I shared a long discussion as to why. I thought the graffiti-ists must respect the statues if not the pedestals to be art, and would not want to deface the art. Dean thought the city probably just cleaned off the statue and said “eff it” to the pedestal. We’re still not sure who is right. Votes are welcome, provided they agree with my theory.

We continued to walk down Via Toledo with my purse cleverly wedged between us until we reached Castel Nuovo. Originally built in 1280, and then of course re-decorated several time since then, it sits right on the port and used to be the fortress of Alfonso I, King of Sicily and Naples. The triumphal entrance arch is carved white stone, a Renaissance Better Homes and Gardens winner for sure.

From there, we headed back onto the ship. Later in the evening we were soundly trounced in Solar System trivia by a couple of seventh graders. Not gonna lie, it hurt. At one point, the answer was the Seven Sisters constellation. I leaned over to Dean and said, “Hmm, I count eight stars.” The little nerd behind me heard me and said loudly, “That’s because there is a double star!” I really wanted to stick my tongue out at him.

We realized too late that we did not get a piece of pizza in Naples, but Rome is on the itinerary for tomorrow, so I will make sure to get one there.

Malta

2009-06-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 9, 2009

After getting our breakfast in bed again, we went out to the balcony to watch the ship pull in to Valetta, Malta. What a beautiful coast! I made a mental note of all the prominent buildings because you never know when you will need to know a city’s skyline.

Dean arranged a private car to take us around the island, which was SO nice. Instead of piling into a dusty ol’ tour bus with a bunch of tourists (we hate tourists), we slid into leather seats in the back of a Benz. The driver took us anywhere we wanted to go, stopped if I wanted a picture of something, and waited for us if we wanted to explore on foot. Really the way to see the island! He chatted with us the whole ride and answered my incessant questions. Maltese is a very mixed language with very diverse influences, but English is the second language so communicating was easy.

One of the highlights the driver suggested was the president’s garden, so we stopped there. We hopped out of the car and walked through the peasant’s entrance (the presidente has his own entrance, of course). The flowers were bright and lovely and there was an intricately carved fountain with angels, but what shocked the heck out of me was rounding a corner and running smack dab into a peacock. No cage. Just a bright-blue, huge-feathered, kind-you-see-in-National-Geographic peacock. He was strutting about with plumage at full mast, so I whipped out my camera and started clicking. He didn’t actually seem to like that very much, or maybe he did, but the actions he took was he started to make noises and really get his tail feathers wagging and then he started toward me. So I quickly jumped up and advised Dean calmly to run very fast in the other direction.

We also went to Ta’Qali, a village that is a creative commune of artists making and selling fine goods. The driver walked us directly into a glass store whose sign quite plainly read “closed,” proceeded to turn on the lights and then marched us back to the glass blowing studio where we were, much to our relief, greeting by jovial hello’s. The artists made animals for us, twisting the molten glass into the shape of a rabbit, then a swan. Next we were taken to the pottery store, where the Queen of England had visited years earlier with the Maltese Prime Minister. To round out the village we saw some gorgeous handmade Maltese lace and delicate filigree making. Dean bought me a little silver filigree heart charm with my birthstone in it for my charm bracelet.

We drove to the center of the island to see Mdina, which depending on who you ask, was constructed right around 2000 BC. It is the old capital of Malta. We walked around with our necks craned looking up at all the marble and impressiveness. There is a vantage point from there where you can see about three-quarters of Malta. It. Was. Awesome.

We decided to get dropped off in the center of Valetta, the port city next to the cruise. I could hardly wait to see St. John’s Cathedral, which I’ve read so much about. I have to lay down some background now. The Malta sun gets brutally hot during the day, and we’d been warned by several people. Out of respect to my dear sister’s choice in bridesmaids gown which I will wear here in just a little bit (June 21), I chose a strapless sundress to wear today so I would not get unsightly tan lines and ruin her wedding pictures. (Lookin’ out for ya, T.) Also, I will point out that I have been told time and again by my wonderful and very Catholic mother that shoulders must be covered whilst in church. All of that stated, as I was walking into St. John’s Cathedral, I was accosted by a frenzied older woman who had to jump to get the piece of cloth she was carrying to my shoulder height, since I am, of course, nine feet tall. Immediately realizing the issue of my bare shoulders, my face flushed and I quickly complied but the image of the woman treating the situation like she’s jumping on a (very tall) grenade is so funny to me I just had to share. Even though I am sure I just embarrassed my poor mother, who admittedly has taught me better.

Crisis averted, we began to look around. Sumptuous is probably the best word for it. Lavish. Gold. Even with my eyes taking it in, it was hard to believe how rich everything was. Seriously, it looked like Donald Trump’s penthouse on steroids. (Anyone else watch MTV cribs?) We saw several Cavaggio paintings in the attached oratory, including his famous Beheading of John the Baptist. Then there were the huge illuminated carol manuscripts and floor-to-vaulted-ceiling tapestries that were so intricately woven, they looked like paintings. A gift from the Flemish in 1702. People really knew how to give gifts back then. Dean thought the Church should sell the building and its contents, and they’d surely be able to end hunger in Africa.

After the church, we wandered around Valetta a bit more, saw the Prime Minister’s office, shopped a bit, and headed back to the boat when we were a few minutes away from heatstroke.

At-Sea Day

2009-06-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 8, 2009

The first full day of the cruise, an at-sea day. We woke up when our breakfast was brought to us, which I could very easily get accustomed to happening every morning, forever.

I put on a swimsuit and went up to the part of the sundeck labeled “quiet zone,” which I think I figured out is polite code for “no children.” The lounge chairs are huge, padded, and wicker, so I mainly just spent hours basking in the sun on the open sea. Dean, bless his caucasian heart, tends to get sun poisoning with absolutely astounding efficiency, so he stayed in-doors doing whatever it is Dean does when left to his own devices. We met up in the later afternoon, of course, for another trivia game! I am a bit ashamed to admit I do not know my castles, palaces, and royal buildings too well, but I enjoyed learning. And I kicked some cruise-ship butt on city skylines.

As nice as the day was, not being allowed to get off the boat and not having a steady internet connection really made me feel like I was camping, but not in the good, communing-with-nature way. I bought a few ridiculously expensive minutes on a shoddy satellite connection and checked Gmail, Facebook, Twitter, Blogger, and all the other really important sites. The only thing I was sorry to have missed was Mei’s birthday (happy birthday, Mei!), but shockingly everything in the states seems to have continued on in my absence.

In the evening, Dean and I dressed up to go to the Grand Pacifica dining room. Then Dean decided he would teach me to play Texas Hold ’Em in the casino. I pretended I was gambling in Monte Carlo, because that makes gambling classy. After tipping the dealer, I won $5! So unfortunately this means that Dean is just an average teacher.

Then the ship was having a white party, so we did it up Diddy style and made an appearance. We danced as we cruised toward Malta.

First Day of the Cruise

2009-06-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 7, 2009

Cruise day! Dean and I, of course, had moved out of our apartment prior to our receiving the cruise tickets in the mail. That morning, we mentally prepared ourselves for a tough time explaining the situation and begging our way on board the ship in a different language, if necessary. But actually the boarding process went very smoothly. I attribute this mainly to Dean’s decision of getting a stateroom suite with a balcony. I have to give it to the man, he vacations correctly. While we were whisked off to a separate area to check in so as not to have to wait in line with the “commoners,” I realized why caste systems are still in place. They seem like a really good idea when you’re at the top.

We were ushered onto the ship and quickly found our room, which was wonderful. Located on the highest deck, it’s got a king-sized bed, a couch, a full bath, a flat screen TV, and our own balcony. We spent some time poking around the room, very pleased with ourselves, and then went about exploring the ship for awhile.

I expect ship living is very much like living in an old-folks home. So I rather think I will be well suited to being old, because I very much like the little activities the cruise plans for us. We came across a trivia game that I love. They have different categories, like mythological creatures, historical figures, etc. We quickly teamed up with another couple that, like us, was way too competitive for a trivia game without a prize. Fast forward a half hour, we were all high-five-ing each other for winning. Go us!

Dean made reservations at one of the specialty restaurants for that evening for French food. For my part, I donned a pretty dress and went about telling the waiters it was our honeymoon, then accepted the fawning most graciously. We had a wonderful meal by the ship’s window and watched Spain get smaller and smaller.

After dinner, Dean went to find the casino and I finished up my book on the balcony. (Monster, by Kellerman. I agree very much with Laurie’s review--“It’s okay.”) Dean’s evening was more productive than mine, as he came back with $310 in poker winnings.

We stuck a doortag on the room door with our breakfast-in-bed requests for the next morning and let the slight rocking of the boat lull us to sleep.

Barcelona, Day 2

2009-06-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

Sagrada Familia, which my Uncle Tom tells me is a prime example of the architectural style of "melting sandcastle."

June 6, 2009

We decided to try the breakfast at the hotel today. Now, we are staying at this hotel by virtue of points from my Visa Signature card. It’s a very nice hotel and we probably should have known that the restaurant would be pricey. Luckily we had no idea during breakfast what the bill held in store for us, so I enjoyed the hearty breakfast immensely. Tomatoes baked with cheese, tortillas (omelettes), jamon serrano. Then we got the check for 50 euros, which with the current exchange rate, I approximate is about one semester of law school tuition.

Tummies full and wallet a little lighter, we headed out to our self-guided tour of Gaudi’s Barcelona. We started off at a church by his teacher. Then we made our way over to Barcelona’s crown jewel, the Sagrada Familia. When we first got there, we couldn’t find the entrance and wound up in the parishoners-only perpetual adoration room. Oops! I pretended to be sorry but secretly I was happy I got to see it. After circling the rest of the ginormous building, we got our tickets and went into the main cathedral. Despite all the scaffolding and construction equipment, it was amazing. The style, or blend of styles, is so unique and walking through the work in progress, you really feel like you’re seeing history being made.

Next up we made our way to Casa de les Punxes, a cool red brick turreted building. Then we saw Casa Mila, with its famous abstract wrought-iron balconies. Finally we hit Casa Battlo which we thought looked like it belonged in Atlantis.

One Spanish tradition Dean embraces fully is the siesta. He took a nap in the hotel room while I lay out by the bright-blue tiled pool on a padded chaise lounge overlooking the ocean. I didn’t expect to see palm trees in Barcelona, but sure enough, the beach is lined with them. It was a beautiful, relaxing afternoon.

After we got ourselves re-situated, we headed back out. We followed strains of music until we wound up at a street fair. There was a band, lots of people, many different crafts, and my personal favorite, food. While I try to stumble along with my limited Spanish (not even technically spoken here), Dean’s method of transacting is pointing at what he wants and then thrusting euros at people. I have to admit it is effective, as he bought us a bite of heaven in the form of puffy pastry filled with gooey chocolate to enjoy as we strolled up and down the tents looking at all the wares.

Then we made our way down to the beach by way of a park so I could dip my toes in the Mediterranean. As we walked along the dark sand arm in arm, we saw children playing soccer and men setting up their fishing lines. I think it was our first sunset walk on a beach, and it was gorgeous. Nothing like Spain to make you feel terribly romantic. We sat down to eat at one of the restaurants right on the shoreline and had a wonderful seafood dinner that was so fresh it almost swam off our plates, and of course, more wine. As far as I’m concerned, Barcelona rocks.

Barcelona, Day 1

2009-06-05T21:00:00.000-07:00

I hope this kid is up-to-date with his vaccinations.

June 5, 2006

Where to begin? We had a fantastic day getting completely lost in Barcelona. This was mainly due to the fact my map was missing quite a few streets, but we actually enjoyed wandering and soaking up the city.

Our hotel is right by the beach, so to get into the center of the city, we had to take the metro. We sat at the station like we were waiting to jump into turning double-dutch jump ropes, pretty unsure of our next move. We didn’t know which train to get on, but after eyeing a few go by, we chose one and lo and behold, we chose correctly. Okay, the second time. The second time we chose correctly. We got off by La Placa de Catalunya, where pigeons and humans commingle with reckless abandon. Anyone who knows me knows that I am convinced that pigeons are rabies-carrying, winged mediums of Lucifer. Still, I couldn’t help but to be morbidly fascinated by the poor souls playing with the vermin, and took a lot of pictures. Oh, there was also a really nice fountain there and some impressive bronze statues.

We rambled on down to La Rambla, a beautiful tree-lined street in the heart of the city that just bustled with activity. We stopped at a little tapas bar for a snack and had rabbit in garlic sauce and a fresh mozzarella cheese salad that I could eat every day of my life. Born and bred in NY, I’ve seen my fair share of street performers, but the human statues on La Rambla were the best I’ve ever seen. Still, the highlight of La Rambla for me was La Boqueria de St. Josep. The food at this huge market was so fresh and so beautifully arranged, I felt like I was walking through a movie. We tried some fruit we still don’t know the name of (very dark pink with tiny black seeds) and just walked around marveling.

We wandered off the main road a few times when something caught our eye, and that’s how we found Esglesia de Santa Maria del Pi. It was a beautiful old cathedral with different depictions of Our Lady in dioramas running up either side of the nave.

At the end of La Rambla, we saw the tall statute of Colom keeping watch over the port, pointing out to sea. So, we took a left and kept on meandering. The side streets are incredibly narrow, but bikes, people, and even cars shared them relatively well. We ran into La Placa de Jaume, another pocket of action. We relaxed on steps for awhile with many chatting people, taking in the view of the market, listening to a street musician play Spanish guitar, watching a couple moved by the music perform an impromptu and wonderful dance.

I picked up a copy of Spanish Vogue from a newsstand, which is of course an essential. From people-watching, I would say that Barcelona style seems to be sort of a polished bohemian-chic. Lots of colors, patterns, scarves, flat shoes, slouchy bags, and hair in natural waves. This is just fine with me, as I was in my NY-all black with heels and spent a good portion of the day a little warm and a little sore in the feet. Tomorrow I’ll know better.

When the map told us the Arc de Triomf was nearby, we picked our way there. Made of red stone and ornately decorated, it was fantastic--but not as fantastic as the young skateboarders and bicyclists using the square to practice their tricks. I watched and applauded for a bit, and the more appreciation I showed, the more daring the stunts got. We moved on before anyone went and maimed themselves.

After a jaunt in the Parc de Ciutadella looking at sculptures and locals jogging and picnicking, we got back to the hotel around 10 PM, turned around, and went back out for dinner. Since all I can think about is tapas, tapas, tapas, Dean indulged me and we tried fried squid, chicken with caramelized onions and goat cheese, and tomato bread among a few other things. We planned tomorrow over candlelight and a few glasses of wine as we grew full and sleepy.

As far as days go, this one was pretty incredible.

Travel Day: JFK to Barcelona

2009-06-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

June 4, 2006

Another travel day, from JFK to Barcelona by way of Dublin. You know those days where everything seems to go wrong? Well, this was exactly opposite. The desk clerk opted not to charge us for our well-over-the-weight-limit luggage, the flights were on time, and, most awesome of all, we somehow wound up in business class. Two Tylenol PMs later, I spent most of the flight passed out, drooling on Dean’s shoulder, which is to say I enjoyed the flight. When we passed through Dublin, Dean and I were both quite pleased that we got a Dublin stamp in our passports. On the layover, we asked airport personnel more questions than we needed to just to listen to the brogues. We also tried to spot an Irish person who was NOT wearing the color green. It was pretty difficult. They really like that color.

On the flight from Dublin to Barcelona, I tried a cheese-relish-coleslaw-spinach sandwich. It tastes exactly like it sounds. Weird.

Travel Day: SAN to JFK

2009-06-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, June 3

A travel day, first leg of the big vacay. We spent most of the day on a plane between San Diego and JFK, an airport obviously designed by a mean-spirited, illogical toddler. We’d planned our entertainment for the ride, which involved watching the first season of the HBO series True Blood that came highly recommended by a friend. We quickly made a reputation for ourselves from about row 21 back as mothers clamped hands over little eyes that caught a glimpse of our R-rated laptop screen. Apparently vampires are really adverse to wearing clothes. Fantastic.

We spent the night in one of the two-star airport hotels before catching our flight to Barcelona the next day. As we drove up to the gray concrete building, Dean swore the place was a remodeled prison and was sure he could faintly make out the words “Correctional Facility” under the Ramada sign. He was going to try to request a room without bars on the windows. I thought this all this dialogue was hilarious, but I don’t think the Ramada shuttle driver did.

Finishing Up Becoming Homeless

2009-06-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 2

The most productive day of my life, provided productivity is measured by the sheer volume of paperwork signed. Dean and I spent the entire day bopping from one office to another to get all of our paperwork in order for the big move. I got a call from my (ex-)boss Laurie, under the guise of asking a question about a contract I’d worked on. I told her the call made me feel special and needed, and then quoted her my hourly rate for any future questions. Later in the evening I spent some quality time at Lisa’s place, where she very generously lent me her washing machine to do a load. Dean and I had already been living in a hotel for a week, and I had caught Dean calculating the amount of days he would have to wear each pair of underwear to last him the duration of the trip. Thank you (so much), Lisa, for helping me make sure that plan never comes to fruition.

One Last Drink

2009-06-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 1

A day for celebration, for several of us at work--for me, because it was my last day gainfully employed for the near future. We decided drinks were in order, and set about figuring out where the scene was on a Monday night in San Diego. It’s hard to admit you’re not as “cool” as perhaps you once were, but I did not know a happening spot off the top of my head. Undaunted, I relied on my homeboy Google to provide the 411. I found that several dedicated Yelp patrons suggested PB Bar and Grill for beginning of the week festivities, and I passed the information to my coworkers. I waved off their doubts, maintaining faith in my fellow Yelpers, and we set about meeting up there after work.

We pushed a few tables together by the window and bravely ordered some sushi. Kevin liked the place because you could smoke, which is his metric for a classy establishment. All was well until everyone across from me told me NOT to turn around. There’s only one thing to do when people tell you that, which is to turn around. So I did. And came face to face with a cockroach. I was able to quickly identify it because I had an apartment in Jersey for several years. This one was of the super-huge variety, well over seven feet long, and it quickly made his intentions known--to eat my brain and lay eggs in our stacked purses. Thinking fast, I screamed like a little girl and grabbed the purses out of his path. I didn’t feel bad because I don’t think anyone heard me over Dave.

The waitress rushed over to see why an entire table of people were curled up in the fetal position in their plastic chairs. When we explained the reason behind not wanting to put our feet on the floor, she got us a round of drinks on the house. How nice of her!

So I am definitely giving this place five stars on Yelp.