Vices...

* My darling friend Kristi recently wrote on her blog about some vices she was giving up.  Her deprivation, while inspiring, just got me thinking how much I actually value my vices.  I cherish them, to be exact.  I know some might consider this "idolatry" but it's not like that.  I would consider myself a minimalist to the nth degree - so if something - like a vice - is even a part of my life, it is because I intentionally put it there.  For example:

* Parliament Lights:  This one is ironic because the little white cancer sticks are actually one of the things Kristi is letting go of.  More power to ya, Lovey, but I am going to continue to suck on the indented filter, making a tobacco-colored star on the inside.  I know it's a gross and disgusting habit which ultimately could kill me.  However, something about the curls of smoke snaking their way around me while filling my lungs with the overwhelmingly pleasurable toxins makes me feel at ease.  I don't really "smoke".  I mean, not during daytime hours.  Just alone, in the confounds of my own solitude, after a glass or two of vino do I sneak outside in my bunny slippers to puff.  Then and any other time I consume alcohol.  Or if I happen to be on a road trip who's soul purpose is to make my palms sweat with rendezvous nerves.  You get the picture.  I don't NEED to smoke.  I choose to. 

* Gummy Bears:  I am consciously trying to avoid high fructose corn sugar.  After reading Food Rules (a quick 45 min one-sitting read - I highly recommend) I cannot justify choosing to put crap like hfcs in my body.  However, I choose to ignore said rule when it comes to the little animal shaped squishy masses.  They are delicious.  No matter what.  I like the clear ones the best, then the red ones.  I eat the yellows and oranges first - they are my least favorite.  I prefer them stale, like one day after opening the package.  They leave an oily residue on your fingers after a day or two in the oxygen.  I like that. 

Back to Life, Back to Reality...

Yesterday was my first day back in the office.  Shell-shock to say the least.  My vacation was amazing, life changing, eye opening, and pretty much perfect.  I went to Italy.  I returned.  I drove to Seattle for a rendezvous.  I returned.  "What??" you ask.  "You drove to Seattle??"...

* Flirtatious banter is my favorite.  There is something so exciting about the chase.  I am a huge sucker for butterflies and love nothing more than feeling the unmistakable twinge of a good old-fashioned crush.  Obviously, this is referring to "The Boy".  We decided to take our banter on the road and meet halfway for an evening.  So, I booked a room, shaved my legs and drove 2.5 hours.  Yes, this routine-driven planner dropped everything to be spontaneous - and I LOVED every minute of it.

Now I just need to NOT drunkenly text him stupid shiz.  I need to be more alluring.  More elusive.  More...more...more UNAVAILABLE.  I might be notorious for "dating like a guy" but I get to some point where my estrogen kicks in.  I am brazenly unemotional, unattached...until I'm not.  It's not good.  I need to lock myself in a padded room and unplug all things related to communication.  Every single one of us has made this mistake - and it's cringe worthy every single time.  The flirtatious banter I love so much takes on a wine-soaked pathetic tone and no one likes a needy sot.  I'm not saying this point has been reached yet in this particular situation - because I believe it hasn't - I am just sayin' it has happened.  Right?  Eff.  Officially beginning Operation Emotionally Back Peddle.    

Day 4...

Thursday, April 7, 2011
Venice, Italy - Firenze. (I love the fact Firenze is in autocorrect)

Notorious for being early, I have realized I "inherited" this trait from my mother.  We had to catch a 10:40 am train... So we rose early and munched on our usual breakfast, coffee quickly moving through my veins.  We had to walk to the vapperetto, the water taxi which would take us to the train station.  Wheeling our bags through the tiny alleys, avoiding the dog sh*t and vendors unveiing their carts for the day, we pulled and pushed ourselves and our belongings to platform 52, a floating bus stop surprisingly lovely foe public transport.  The boat arrived, beautiful uniformed man ushering us on, his broken English urging mom and I towards the back with our bulky suitcases.  I quickly obliged, excited to feel the spray of the ocean and the final breeze of Venice on my face.  Mom was not as happy bout the open air.  I was, in usual fashion, trying to control the scene.  I imagine my schtick gets old...but I cannot handle the snail's pace.  It infuriates me.  We successfully deboarded - and the "hurry up and wait" game began.  No benches, no cafe, the train station in Venice is a far cry from pdx's beautiful Union Station.  We stood, crane- necked, for a solid 45 min, hoping the departure screen would soon update train 9504 to Roma.  hurry.  Up.  And.  Wait.  The ride in first class was better than I expected - easy and clean, despite mom's clunky bag hanging out in the aisle.  In just over two hours we arrived in Florence!  After repeating the name of our hotel 15 times to the cabby (Il Guelfo Bianco) we were on our way!  First thought...who taught these people to drive?!  Answer...no one.  They just wing it, obviously.  We checked into our room (free wifi!) and after unpacking, we decided to wander.  I am pretty sure it was love at first sight.  There are many special nuances to Florence - what struck me first was the crazy juxtaposition between old and new.  A young, modern girl, for instance, talking on Her iPhone 4, smoking, chaining her vespa to a 500 year cathedral post - crazy interwoven history and modern day.  Our hotel is very centrally located, just about a 5 minute walk down to the infamous Duomo.  The centuries old cathedral with Brunnelleschi's famous dome has always captivated me, art history texts piquing my interest years ago.  In person, Ste. Marias is massive, looming, eerie, and beautiful.  The massive church is the third largest in the world and the facade is extremely intricate.  Inside, however, is much more simplistic, with a bone-chilling breeze rambling through the nave.  Hundreds of tourists crane their necks to see the frescoed dome's interior, silently shuffling through the landmark.  We spent some time admiring the cathedral before heading back Into the sunshine.  While peak tourist season has yet to decend upon Italia, there are hoards of school children in massive packs.  Think groups of 50+ high schoolers, hormones raging, pawing at each other while traveling through historic monuments.  Annoying.  Mom and I wondered and wandered, exploring the numerous piazzas, crossing the famous Ponte Vecchio, winding up and down the very Parisian feeling streets, lined with designer labels.  I drug poor mom behind me, until she couldn't move anymore, demanding we stop and sit on a stoop for a good while.  While I appreciate my mother's aging pains, feet problems, knee problems, neck problems...I need to practice more patience.  I know I do.
We ate at --- at the recommendation of the hotel.  Directly upon sitting down at the table, a small two top on the front patio, our waiter asked what hotel we were staying at - an instant indication the joint is not recommended on culinary merit but rather on the kickbacks given to referring concierges.  Sigh.  We split a caprese salad (fine, typical, nothing special) and I had spaghetti-like noodles with shaved black truffles, i found nothing wrong with the dish - and looking back on it it really was better than I gave it credit for at the time.  Mom had risotto with asparagus - it tasted like gummy rice mixed with campbell's cream of asparagus soup.  A greasy, mustachioed middle aged man continually tried to make conversation with us (me).  He was the proprietor of Dante's Leather Factory, a crusty, plasticy Wilson's Leather type store.  Visiting America often, Dante's has trunk shows in cities like Boston and Vegas.  He would like portland to be next on the list.  Gross.  An after dinner gelato and we headed back towards the hotel.  

Day 3...

Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Venice, Italy 

Day three...we started off with our usual continental breakfast at the hotel, the breakfast room being directly outside our room. Soft, buttery croissants tasted heavenly dipped in mud-like coffee.  Deli slices of white cheese atop prepackaged crackers take on a gourmet feel when eaten in Europe.  
Planning on spending the morning trekking to the infamous Rialto Bridge.  Pleasantly surprising, the asshole of a front desk manager had his helpful hospitality pants on and was more than willing to offer up the 
"local's route", cutting our walk in two.  We climbed the famous bridge in search of the luscious food market below.  Very old and historic, Venice's fish and veggie market has been located at the base of the bridge for centuries.  I was unimpressed.  Citrus obviously boated in from Mexico sat perched atop cardboard boxes, Chicita bananas still bore their blue stickers proudly.  Yawn.  The pescitaria was housed in a very nice pavilion and stunk to high heaven.  Not my cup of tea to say the least.  Just beyond the fishy market were rows and rows of vendor carts, much like what we see at Saturday Market.  Full of mostly junk, we did find one little tiny storefront that caught our eye.  A rotund man with a full beard was manning the shop, paper machete masks hanging from every available surface, ceiling included. Crowded to say the least, mom wanted to keep looking.  Row after row of porcelain masks decorated with glitter and artificially died plumage was all we found.  I suggested we head back to the little shop whose artistic quality was unlike any of the other mass-produced Chinese crap we had been seeing.  Ha!  Not so fast.  We wandered up and down and back up the rows of trinkets and chotskes, unable to find the tiny hovel.  Finally, after much frustration, we turned the corner to find it at last!  The shopkeep was actually the artist - and a true artist he was!  These masks are insanely beautiful.  I find the whole mask thing creepy and hard to appreciate but these really are unique.  Of course, I can never come to any sort of disision so I walked away empty handed.  Mom, of course, ended up with a beautiful piece of art for her dressing room.  Sigh.
Back to the hotel around 1pm, we decided to take asshole desk man's suggestion on taking a free private charter to murano, famous island known for it's glass.  A very italian looking gentleman in designer jeans, motorcycle jacket and aviator sunglasses picked us up at our hotel and briskly walked us to the dock where our boat was to meet us.  He was a smooth one alright, talking up everything Venitian.  Mom made the mistake of saying she preferred Florence.  Ha!  I guess if someone were to say the same about seattle I would gaffaw as well...
The boat finally came, we boarded and took off for Murano.  A beautiful sunny day, I stood in the back, mom of course tucked away in the cabin.  We were escorted into Marco Polo factory, a compound which has been glass blowing for centuries.  They were making guilded leaves for chandeliers at that moment.  We stood and watched in awe, learning the kiln itself was 300 years old.  The artisans were two brothers, both older in dingy tees and stretched out jeans.  They worked silently in perfect harmony.  We were then ushered upstairs, to "the gallery", where two stories and ,multiple rooms were teeming with beautiful, light reflecting glass.  Somethings were absolutely breathtaking...the chandeliers, some of the stemware.  Some stuff was downright awful...think gaudy mobster crap.  I really was hoping to pick up a set of champagne flutes, or so,ething really pretty and functional which would serve as an amazing memory.  Yeah right.  The set of 6 flutes I had my eye on were roughly $600 Euro...a far cry from the $1.75 each I paid at ikea for my current set.  Of course Mary ended up with a set of colorful wine glasses and a beautiful pitcher.  Please note my mother has one-upped me many tmes this trip.  Meaning I find something I want, can't afford, and she buys it for herself.  Ce la vie. While mom was wrapping up her transaction, I realized we really had no way off the island unless we had purchased something.  We had no way of contacting any sort of transportation, and the charter we took over was completely controlled by the people selling us stuff and was not offered up until we bought something.  Creepy, hostage style.  We waited another 30 min for the boat, which ferried us back across the choppy yet gorgeous lagoon towards Venice, passing Ste. Michelle, the cemetery island on our way.  
After having the front desk make us a reservation at at nice restaurant for dinner, we had to cancel.  Mom's feet are not holding up well this trip and with no cars on the island, walking is the only way around.  Not up to the jaunt, we opted for something close to the hotel.  pizzeria Sacrista was just a few steps from our hotel and was written up in mom's Rick Steves guide.  Dimly lit, fake grapes in the windows, the place had a sort of quirky charm - like Ernestos meets the Old World.  Or so it seemed.  We were quickly ushered to a table and given sweet glasses of sangria (? In Italy?) rimmed with sugar.  The menu was Bible-thick, full of pre picked menus aimed at tourists.  Being Right on the water, Venice is famed for it's seafood.  Mom ordered the scallop starter, scallops served in the half shell, some sort of bacon sauce.  I started with a green salad.  Wilted greens with lemon juice and shredded carrots does not a great salad make.  Mom had to use a knife to cut scallops...just sayin'.  My gnocchi with onions and mushrooms was anything but homemade.  Each gnocchi looked exactly like the one before - machine made and swimming in a floury sauce obviously frozen at some point.  Gross.  No other adjective would properly describe mr. Rick Steves' recommendation.  I asked for my entree to go, hoping to avoid the poor server the embarrassment.  I tried to "accidentally" leave my doggie bag on the table, trying to not carry around frozen Olive Garden food around with me...no such luck.  They chased after me, worried I was forgetting their prized cuisine.  Riiiiight.  I promptly dumped it in the nearest receptacle.  Back in Piazza San Marco, I asked my mother if she was down to go out...hardy har har.  Obviously she wasn't and apparently she was appalled at the idea of me venturing around a small, isolated island alone.  "you're not going to have anymore wine, are you?"...apparently the two glasses I had at Chez Dogshit were too much as it was.  Instead of arguing, I just said fine and retreated back to the hotel to spend yet another evening in bed early with my middle aged mother.  I was not happy.  Not one bit.  I tried explaining I am almost 30 and very independent.  I tried rationalizing there is no way for me to gauge a culture hidden in a tiny chamber locked away with my mother.  big Sigh. I cracked my book, faced the wall, sheets up to my chin and cried.  I never imagined I would feel caged in Europa.  Yet here I was, texting Hanna and Stef how I wanted to be home.  I'm grateful for Hanna, for she knows my mother - and has a difficult one of her own.  She has always been able to rise and face hers, however, where I often cower out of ease and fear of the fight.  3 benedrill later and sleep finally came over me, dreams of the boy I need to forget sweeping over my european vacation.  

Day two...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Venice

Very shortly after writing day one, I decided to finish getting ready for the day, even if it was just a little after5:30am.  I was trying to be as quiet as possible, as mom was still sleeping.  I tiptoed towards the wall, inserting the prongs of my flat iron into the wall and BAM!  I blew the fuse and a faint smell of burnt something rose into the air.  Well, that got mary's attention, 
alright.  I tried unplugging the offender, tried toggling every switch - nothing.  I have to admit I felt awful, as no one was at the front desk and no one certainly no one was answering the calls I kept flooding into the PBX.  We had no choice but to sit there in the dark, staring at the window, waiting for daylight to begin creeping in.  Mom had yet to shower, extremely worried about the lack of ability to apply her face.  I, on the other hand, was far more concerned about the frizzy mass atop my head.  Finally, we heard movement - the breakfast attendant had arrived to setup for the daily display of fruit cocktail and croissants.  I flew the door open and begged the poor guy for help.  He chuckled under his breath as he very easily and quickly reset the box.  Sigh of releif.  There was once again yellow-tinted light in room 107.  
After breakfast we headed towards the Peggy Guggenheim Collection - an amazing collection of modern art displayed in the heiress' spralling, white palazzo.  Pollock, Calder, Ernst, Klee...Miss Peggy surely has one of the most impressive collections in the world.  I was very impressed, albight slightly annoyed with the hoards of children's field trips.  The Nasher's of Texas fame have restored the palazzo's wondrous gardens, filling the space with sculptures and creating a beautiful space for Peggy's eturnment.  
After being thorouly overwhelmed with modern art, mom and I cruised back along the rows of designer shops, browsing every floor of every shop, drooling over shoes and purses in the thousands of euros category.  A quick panini - mozzarella, lettuce and tomato wrapped in warm, dense flatbread, and we were off to stroll more of  Venice's winding alleys.  
St. Maria de Rosaria is a massive, looming marble cathedral with domes and columns - an absolutely beautiful stereotypical Italian looking display.  Facing out towards the lagoon, we thought perching ourselves on her glorious steps as we ogled our guidebook was a perfect plan.  We were able to soak in the sun reflecting off the murky water, the people strolling by, all while gleaning info about the church we were sitting atop.  Whammo!  I felt something hit the right side of head with a pretty good force.  I knew immediately what had just happened.  I turned to my mom, seated to my right and stated, "I think a bird just pooped on my head".  She started laughing.  "No, really.  Please.  Look".  Sure enough, a pigeon, in all of his Venice infamy, had dropped his fecal matter directly in my hair.  Of course.  Mom, dabbing and wiping, was completely disgusted and I was a wreck.  Crying out of disgust, embarrassment...who knows.  I pulled it together, we went inside and discovered it really was a beautiful church - even if I blatantly lied in the Lord's house claiming to be a student for reduced entry.  
In the afternoon, we headed to the Doge's Palace.  What absolute opulence!  Insanely guilded rooms seemed to go on forever, Huge fireplaces with intricate mantles crowning the extreme display of wealth.  I kid you not, these Veninicians think they really are something.  Dinner at a little place behind the hotel -artisti something - proved to be tasty - homemade ravioli with spinach in some sort of rich creamy delight.  We had to be the classless americans though, and eat and run.  We were running late to see some piano concert all the way across town.
My mom is reading a book on Venice's opera house.  Nicknamed the phoenix because it has "risen from the ashes" after two major fires (the last one in 1996 was deemed an arson), Mary has fixated herself on seeing la finice.  So, we rushed through the winding alleys, asking a local every three steps for direction (obvioously not my choice).  We arrived to the white marbled building just in time to be ushered to our PRIVATE box.  Oh my gosh, how much I felt like Mary Todd Lincoln.  We were directly in front of the piano, too.  Everyone could see us - in all of our misery.  Mom's neck was bothering her so she looked like a bobble head, bouncing her chin up and down.  I was just plain bored out of my mind.  I'm all for culture, but give me a break.  We decided to make a break for it, grabbing our purses, shopping bag and bee lining for the exit.  After dragging Mary out the main doors (she wanted to roam the lobby) we discovered it was absolutely pouring.  Not in a normal rainstorm sort of way.  In an oh-my-gosh what is happening and wtf, was that just lightning?!? Sort of way.  Yes, Venice was in the midst of an unexpected, unbelievable torrential thunderstorm.  After staring blankly for several minutes, we decided a plan of action was needed.  Mom went back into her operatic landmark while I stayed on the porch of sorts, continuing to gawk at the sheets of sideways water gleaming in the flashing of the bolts.  Now, here's where it gets good.  My mother, ever the inventor's wife, comes out of la finice with two shopping bags.  Yes, shopping bags, which we unabashedly placed atop our head to make the quick dash to Martini, a local pre-opera hoity-toity spot with dim lighting.  It was just across the piazza and looked...well...dry.  So we made a run for it, only to be viewed as the stupid Americans which we are, only made worse by the unsightly bags over our head.  We waited a good ten minutes with no service, despite at least 3 tuxedo donning waiters staring at us in disgust.  Ahhh, the judgmental servers.  So we left, dragging our pant hems through puddles and ruining our attire, all with plastic bags placed over our domes.  We moved faster than I've ever seen Mary go before, but hey, I get it.  Coifs come before tired and sore feet.  Back in room 107, mud was dragged all over the white carpet. Wool blazers were turned to crepe, silk blouses watermarked and wrinkled.  All while my adorable raincoat smiled at me from the closet.  

Day 1

Monday, April 4, 2011 -5:02am
Venice

Currently pinching myself.  Mom and I arrived in Venice yesterday about noon.  Seriously a city perched on water, no textbook or postcard could prepare you for the beauty and awe of Venice.  The history of the buildings and cobblestoned corridors silences even yours truly.  

Our flight was, well, twelve hours in very cramped seats.  Since we left at 1:30pm, the whole idea of sleep was ludacris.  Hungry, bored and in desperate need of wine, I'm surprised I didnt die.  A quick jog around the Amsterdam international terminal (nothing is quick about going through security with a bionic-hipped mother, however.  They like to swipe her down with magic wands over and over and over...) and we made it.  Paulo and his fabulous enterage of drivers and boaters greeted us at the gate, shuttling us to our private vaperetto.  The sun was shining, sparkling against the infamous filthy canal sludge.  Standing up in the. Back of the water taxi, wind literally in my hair, I found myself smiling.  Extremely exhausted just moments before, the palazzos rising up from the waterways, seemingly with no earthly foundations, blew me away.  Docked and en route to Casa V..., I realized how Truly narrow and windy all of these little alleyways really are.
Did you know Venice has no cars?  I mean, of course you do, they've been teaching us this since we were little.  But really, no cars...just boats.  Romantic couples and Asian tourists drift by in cheesy gondolas, their drivers wearing the traditional striped shirts and straw hats.  Our hotel room, hidden behind an unmarked door smack dab in the middle of the breakfast room is, well, ridiculously small.  I know Europe is notorious for it's tiny guest rooms but wow.  
We wandered aimlessly around the crowded Plaza de San Marco, shamelessly staring, groggy-eyed at the locals and tourists bustling about their Sunday.  A quick glass of wine at a tourist trap (pretty sure I forced my mom to sit.  Drink.  Damnit) and we continued our mapless journey.  After gazing at Designer boutiques, hidden parks full of kissing couples and ancient nonas and nondescript churches holding 400 year old artistic treasures, we ended up having a very quick plate of pasta at a cafe lining the plaza.  I washed my face, brushed my teeth and was out before 8.  Of course, I had been up for some ought 28 hours.  Now I'm up at an ungodly hour; the difference is I'm in Italy.  I can sleep when I'm dead.  Xo

Honestly, no idea why I am at work today.  It's not like I am getting anything accomplished.  Redic.

* I just used "here" when I should have used "hear".  I am confused, upset and feel dirty.  I never misuse.  Sigh.