The Christmas Present I'm Getting EVERYONE

FOOTBALL MEAT!!!

And So I'm Back...From Outer Space

I know those aren't the real lyrics, but I don't feel the need to justify ANYTHING to you people. Oooh, that came off hostile. Maybe it's because I'm back at work today. Yes, I returned to work on a Friday of all the silly things to do. Well, slightly less silly than ramming a straw up my nose.

But I'm back and they've taken down my wall. The wall behind the desk that kept the rest of the office from knowing when I was blogging and when I was working. And now they will know. Which probably means less entries for you. I invite you all to send the appropriate letters of complaint to the company bigwigs. Just send them to me and I'll forward them on. Or whatever. I got "tagged" again awhile back and I promised I'd answer so I'm gonna do that now. But I'm not sending it on because I'm afraid of losing more friends (Devon). Anyway, this is what I'm supposed to do:

So the rules are: once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog with "9 weird things/habits about yourself". In the end, you need to choose the 9 people to be tagged and list them... don't forget to tag 9 people."

Here they are (though I don't think they're all that weird)

1. I talk in my sleep rather severely, I've had Alice in Wonderland-like conversations that I don't remember at all. As a kid I scared my parents by yelling things in the middle of the night and waking everyone up.
2. I will spend $99 on something, but find spending $101 intolerable.
3. I refridgerate ketchup, but not peanut butter.
4. I like weak beer. The pansier the better. Heil Rolling Rock!
5. I hate Karen Carpenter, James Taylor, and Neil Diamond's voices...they make me want to gauge out my own eyes with those press-on nails. You know, the pointy ones.
6. I think I have the world's ugliest knees...and I contemplate on this regularly.
7. There is a dish in Morocco that involves ground meat baked into philo dough with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. I love it. Shut up.
8. I can't not sing with the radio...even if I hate the song, if I know any of the words, I sing.
9. I flirt by slinging the most ball shriveling insults at any man I find desirable. I have no control over this. None. And yes, I'm still single. What of it?

There you go. I'm not passing it on.

Oh, and I'll try to post more Morocco pics soon, if you're not sick of them.

Word.

Lobotomies for Dummies

So I go shopping with my sis and her glorious new baby boy. I have a few days off work, and not much to do, so it's good to get out among the living and the commerce, right? Yes, well...wrong. It would seem that my overseas trip has sent my motor skills spiralling into atrophy...let me tell you why. We're in Gymboree, being total girls about the baby clothes in there (shut up, we ARE girls) and I'm holding my iced tea (from the lunch stop at TacoTime...glorious TacoTime...they don't have TacoTime in Morocco...it's sad, that), anyway, I'm holding my iced tea cup thing in my left hand and reaching for some little outfit with my right. But I can't see the size. The tag is stuck in the neckline. I don't have the extra hand to pull it out so I try to adjust the position of my head. I swoop it down and to the right. "Ohmigod. Ow!" Why does it hurt? What did I do? Oh yeah, I just rammed the straw UP MY NOSE with the intensity of Norman Bates weilding his butcher knife. At least that's what it feels like...like a psycho came at me with a knife. Only it was just me...me headbutting my own straw. I don't know what kind dexterity and aiming power one needs to get something that small into such a small hole at that speed, but I somehow managed it. Blood poored immediately. Iced tea in one hand...pink jumper in the other. The sales lady got my dumb ass some kleenex...it took 6 for the bleeding to stop. 6 kleenexes and a half hour. I am the queen of the unphysically challenged physically challenged. All hail the queen.

Jet Lag Sucks Monkey Toes

I'm gonna half ass this post 'cause I'm going to bed. I know it's only 7 pm, shut it. So I made it home safe and sound and at least 5 lbs lighter after spending an uneventful night in Casablanca and then again in some little town outside of London before finally coming home on THE LONGEST FLIGHT EVER. Or maybe it wasn't that long and I'm just impatient.

I want to thank you all for you lovely comments. I'm sorry I haven't really responded to them, and I'm WAY behind on reading all of your blogs, but I have a few days off now and I'm sick again so there will be much time to spend wrapped up in polar fleece blankets drinking tea reading about your humdrum lives (you know, in comparison to my spectacularly exciting one...hardeefrickinharhar). I'll add some more pictures and maybe an anecodote here and there as I remember them.


This is from Fez. I don't believe it needs any particular caption since it is quite glorious on its own.

















Here's another picture of someone's back...it's just how I do.








The stuff of nightmares. Slimey nightmares with scales and teeth.
















The rooftop bar with the overpriced beer. Twas where I hung with the non-gay German spooners.









Our guides in the desert. They had some scary ass teeth. I made them take a picture with Sugar bear. Sugar bear was found in a cereal box when we were kids. Since then, and no, I don't know why, my family has taken pictures of him all over the world. He has his own web page. I know. Believe me...I know.

It's here.




It's so damn beautiful. This picture sucks compared to the real thing. For serious.


I'm going to bed.

A Collage of People's Backs And Some Meat

I have nothing to do tonight but pack and i don't wanna.

Hammam - So Right Yet So Wrong

This is the toilet on the train from Fez to Marrakech. Anyone notice anything funny? Maybe something besides the general grunginess?? Anyone? No? Well let me enlighten you...that light at the bottom of the toilet there is the FUCKING GROUND rushing past at a million (slight exaggeration) miles an hour. Thats right my friend, whatever comes out of you goes straight onto the tracks below. Ahhh second class...so sweet.





This is a shot I took yesterday morning in Essouaria...where I still am until tomorrow morning when I jump a fancy pants bus to Casablanca (called only Casa by the locals). I love this picture because the man looks like he's faceless, which would normally just be gross but in this instance I'm going to consider it artistic.







This is the harbor. I love it on the harbor... despite the smell of fish...it has this glorious beachy smell that is warm and vacationy. I know vacationy isn't a word but this trip is all about invented terminology.

Halfway through the day yesterday I went to a Hammam for the first time. A Hammam is the public bath (separated by gender) where, it turns out, you go and get a severe scrub down and soap massage for about 80 dirham (10 dollars) by a burly half-nekkid Moroccan woman. I have to say...I felt delightful after the fact...skin soft...body relaxed...but it would seem that I have some serious personal space issues...and that burly half-nekkid Moroccan woman violated all of them. The other women in the Hammam (all local) were obviously amused by the occasional "woah" that would slip out. The Hammam is a very interesting tradition...for many of the women it would be the only time their hair sees the light of day unless they are at home.

These are my German bodyguards...Johann and Eustice/Ustice...I don't know...something I can't pronounce or spell so we'll call him German boy number 2 (I gave them the blog address so he can correct me if he finds it).

They were lifesavers. As the day wore on the men here were getting more and more aggressive (lots of "come and have tea in my CLOSED shop" stuff). One man in particular was starting to give me the heebie jeebies...I met Mohammed on the bus and he helped me find a hotel and was very nice but he found me the next day and I couldn't seem to shake him. He took the boys to the men's hammam and when I was waiting for them to return I got a lot of warnings from these other random guys saying "Mohammed, watch out for him...he take all your money", yeah, creepy. So when the boys got back we three kind of extracted ourselves from him and had dinner at nice little cafe (where we ran into ANOTHER from our Sahara trip...the guy from Madagascar), and then found the only bar in town on the rooftop of a restaurant with a band singing Bob Marley and U2 songs. We passed time drinking expensive bad beer while they tried to teach me nasty words in German.

It was a good night until I almost started an international incident by trying to show them my room (which was much nicer than theirs). Apparantly only hussies do such things. Oops.

Oh, and I'm supposed to mention that eventhough they spoon each other at night when they sleep they're totally not gay.


Time to hit the beach and avoid as many men as possible. I'll see if I can post one more time before leaving but I doubt it.

Camel Ass

What you don't know the meaning of "camel ass"? That's ok, cause I made it up. It's the pain that stays with you around the rump area when you've ridden a camel two days in a row. One hour to your camp in the middle of the dunes where you get to sleep under the stars (with the giant black beetles) but you don't get to brush your teeth, and one hour back to the van that you've been sitting in for 12 hours a day for 2 days in a row. It's a lingering pain...or it was for everyone but me...since I was the only one without a handle on my "saddle" (or blanket draped over camel hump), I was forced to balance and therefore, avoided camel ass.


This is me the day before I climed a 400 foot sand dune. When I say climbed, I'd like you to envision me going straight up a cliff face Spiderman style...now replace the cliff face with a sand dune. I expect you to be impressed since I thought my lungs would collapse once i reached the top.

Look at that face...that face doesn't know what it has coming.





After the night in the dunes we shared a grand taxi (4 seater beat up mercedes that is supposed to seat 6...yeah right) with a British couple, Emily nd Tim for the 6 hour trip to Fez. Oy, was THAT an adventure. We got changed out of taxis three times, the second they shoved in another passenger despiret our broken-french protests (well, just mine since i'm the only one who spoke any french). It was there that Amy decided that Morocco was not all that she hoped it would be and decided to leave for home the next morning. I decided to keep traveling alone. This is the view from the auberge's roof top where I slept in a little open air room. The family was very sweet to me.


This picture is from day one in Marrakech. What you are meant to notice here is that there is a toddler holding on for dear life at the helm of the scooter. Apparantly this is the normal means of familial transport in Marrakech. At one point we saw a father, mother holding infant, and pre-teen daughter all perched precariously upon one similar scooter. It both amuses and shocks.





I stayed in Fez another night and then hopped a train and bus for another 12 hour day of travel across the country to the Atlantic coastal city Essouaria which I think I just spelled wrong. So far I'm loving it here. It's beautiful, relaxed, and I haven't yet been approached by a man thinking that the only possible reason I could be traveling alone is because I want a Moroccan husband. Yesterday brought many a "proposition" let me tell you. I also just ran into the two
German boys from my Sahara group coming into the internet cafe so I'm going to go have a drink with them. Mint tea of course...no alcohol during Ramadan. Yes, there's been withdrawl.

I think I'm going to cut my trip a few days short as well. As much as I love it here...this country is not meant for American BLOND (it's like a come-hither sign) women to travel alone. You might think you detect a little bitterness about coming home early...well, you'd be right. Anyway, more soon.

Finally!!!!!

26 hours, people...that's how long it took us to get here, and we were PEEVED...until we got off the plane and started giggling and snapping pictures imediately. I mean, literally GOT OFF the plane Beatles style...down some stairs and then had to walk across the tarmac...it was retro...AND HOT...this whole place is like New Orleans in summer...and it's OCTOBER!

So far we've only gotten royally screwed over once. The taxi driver from the airport will have bad juju til he DIES. However, after that we have become hard asses and when the uppity chick at Hotel Ali (where we're currently staying) tried to screw us over by "upgrading" our room, I got all "oh no you didn't" on her. Well...passively. Now we're experts on the "con". Some kid tried to give us a "tour" today and we were like "we're not paying you buddy". God forbid anyone tries to just be nice to us...we'll probably just scream "no money" in their faces.

Tomorrow we're taking a bus to the desert. This is the one "tour" we've opted for, since the Sahara is not totally safe for tourists by themselves (Dad, CALM DOWN). It's gonna be crazy, and beautiful...and dirty (we're talking plastic bags for toilets). After that, who knows.

Oh, and did I mention we landed smack in the middle of Ramadan? For all of you who are NOT Muslim...let me enlighten you...these people FAST all day for a month. You know what that means? WE fast all day. Well, not totally but it's taken us most of the day to find a place to eat. Weight Watchers, eat your heart out. But then night comes and it's like a party in the streets. We're trying to take some covert pictures...we'll see how they turn out.

Ok, this post is getting long and there's no air conditioning in here. Or anywhere. Air conditioning, whaaaa? Our room has two units built into the stucco of the wall, but they're obviously just there as decor since the knobs have all been removed. Some people prefer hanging art, some just build it straight into the wall. Oh, and our bathroom...the smell...you ever get a little too close to a sewage plant in the middle of the summer? Yeah, that's our bathroom times 8. And yet...I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now. This place is amazing, people. You all must see it. All of you. Right now. If not sooner.

Ok, that's enough, I'm beginning to gush. Time to reapply the sunscreen and hit the Souk. Jealous, aren't you. You should be.

We're Off on the Road to Morocco

That's the whiteboard behind my desk at work. The countdown has been up there since day 15 I think. Ryan, who did the lovely pictoral decor couldn't really come up with anything that would've been visually "moroccan" so he just supplemented with Egyptian stuff and the occasional ear of corn. Go figure.




To realign my karma, since I'm abandoning my coworkers to seasonal hell for 3 weeks, I brough in Voodoo Doughnuts. Portland's best kept secret is a secret no more. Your eyes do not deceive...some of what you see there includes an oreo doughnut, a coco puffs doughnut, a captain crunch doughnut, a voodoo doll doughnut (complete with jelly blood on the inside), etc. Buying voodoo gives you good juju.


So...I leave for Morocco in two days. I've wanted to go there since I saw this movie (to your left) when I was a kid. Granted the film was probably not filmed there. More likely, it was shot entirely on a Paramount lot with some sand bags and a thousand boxes of hair dye, but it's a great flick. In fact...I've seen it over and over as I get older and it still cracks me the hell up (not quite as much as Road to Rio...a source of contention within my family). If you have nothing to do in the coming days, I highly recommend renting it. A word of advice concerning all the "Road" pictures...fast forward through the love songs...they're ridiculous and long and you just want to punch Bing in the adam's apple.

Anyway...I will try to post whilst I'm gone, but I have no idea how often I'll be able to get to a computer. So you're all just gonna have to check back here and there (obsessively) to see if there's any hilarious pictures of Amy or I riding a camel. Or dromedary. Dromedary camel. Whatever.

5 Songs I Want Played At My Funeral

So I got "tagged" with a "meme" by Macoosh. I have no idea what all that means exactly, or why I'm being forced to do what is a glorified chain letter, but I need a break from today's craziness so she's LUCKY.

So here they are...the 5 Songs I want Played At My WELL ATTENDED Funeral:

1. I Put a Spell on You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins : It'll freak the stupid superstitious old people out.

2. The Big Payback - James Brown: It'll freak everyone else out.

3. St. James' Infirmary - Louis Armstrong: Classic New Orleans jazz funeral style, bebe.

4. This Monkey's Gone to Heaven - Pixies: C'mon...it's funny.

5. You're Just What I Needed - The Cars: Hey, I can be sentimental too...fuckers.


I'd probably come up with better ones if I wanted to give it more thought...but I don't. Strange, that.

So now I have to "tag" other people with the "meme". And my chosen suckers are Amy, Sarah, Jen, Devon, and Kendra. Do it or face the wrath of...other bloggers. It's blogger code, people.

Office Debate *W/ Update

Ok...let's see if you can find which of these things is not like the other.

(note: that will only be funny to anyone who watched too much Sesame Street as a child)





A naked man wearing jumper cables around his neck walks into a bar and orders a gin and tonic. The bartender looks at him and says, "Ok, just don't start anything".



Now...what is first question you want to ask at the end of this joke? What rubs you the wrong way about it? Anything? Nothing? I'll see what kind of answers I get before I post an update telling you all how wrong my coworkers (and probably you) are.

UPDATE:
Kendra and Orhan are the only ones who echoed my EXACT response to that damn joke...why the hell is the guy naked? Everyone else in the office tore me a new one saying that it's not the point of the joke and I'm ruining it, blah blah blah. Well, I'll tell you people what...I went to film school and the ONE thing I took away from it (other than the opinion that Tarantino is overrated) is that you NEVER set up something that juicy if it's not gonna pay off. Rule 1. Therefore, that joke can SUCK ROPE!

Everyone else either thought too much about it, which I found hilarious, or they didn't answer the question at all and their blogs will be shunned by me for the rest of the afternoon.