Tall Tales of Mount Olympus

A fellow traveler friend of mine, Heidi, and I decided to go on an international adventure-- what could we get for a discount flight, cheap, and easily travel around? Greece! We had traveled throughout Athens, the Cycladic Islands including Naxos, Mykonos, and Santorini. The end of our Grecian trip concluded in Thessaloniki, Greece, northern Greece. This is our story: 

We land at the airport, take a bus to some square, and grab a cab from there. This guy is whipping around tiny Grecian cobblestone streets into what most American's would consider sidewalks. He points us to a house that looks like a fortune teller lives there, we walk into the gate, and there stands a woman in her sixties. who I don't think has worn a bra since the sixties, and never quite grasped the art of underarm shaving or eyebrow maintenance (she obviously also never got a manicure because those ladies take any opportunity to hit you up for a brow re-shaping, even when they're fine). She shuffles over in a PJ dress and slippers, ushering us into this house/hostel that looked like something a Tim Burton character lived in.

Once inside, she tells us that her son owns the business, although it is attached to their house (always a lovely bonus when staying at a hostel), and he currently is out of town and double-booked the rooms (another lovely bonus), which meant that now the room we were going to have with just us now had an extra roommate (bonus #3). We walk into the room, right off the main entrance, and am immediately greeted by a wet, hot room that smells like a grandma's attic filled with a dozen cats that have peed in her house for years.

Hostel lady: "This is your roommate, Minnie (not her real name)"

Me and Heidi: "Hi"

Minnie: nothing

This rotund woman, also in her 60's, was sitting on the edge of the pull out couch, hair straight up and looked like she just woke up from a roofie coma. She's completely unresponsive so I'm slightly worried that she's dead and just sitting up like Uncle Bernie's weekend but obviously not concerned enough because I just continued to drop my luggage off one by one. We're escorted around the rest of the room (ie., stood in one place while the fortune teller hostel owner pointed at things) a kitchenette, a bunk bed, and a bathroom that you basically had to manually pump for warm water.

We unpack our clothes, put what little food we have in the kitchenette, and Heidi and I decide to go out for dinner. Since we're in a room with someone who I'm not 100% sure is alive, I'd like to get out of here. We explore the town for a bit, eat too much gelato, and find the most unfortunate bit about this particular part of Greece: the humidity. Pants are always a bad idea and walking up hill in pants should be avoided under any circumstance. We finally make it home after trying to find our way uphill at night in a city that has a ratio of 10 feral cats to 1 human, and before we even got to the room, I could smell the cigarette smoke. Lo and behold, there's Minnie, sitting half in in our room, half outside with the door open smoking. Great, because the grandma attic and cat piss combo stank wasn't quite enough.

As I scuttled around, grabbing my shower stuff, I notice that the dried fruit I put on the kitchenette table was gone. I stare at the blank spot for a while, thinking, maybe if I stare longer it'll just appear. So this lady couldn't say a word to us but she could eat our food? Part of me is glad she's not dead, so I turn around to tell Heidi the social faux-pas/hostel etiquette breach this woman has just committed when a glimmer on the pull-out bed caught my eye. A completely bejeweled captains hat sat cap down, and like an oyster holds pearl, this hat held a set of a teeth. That's right, everyone. It appears that Minnie not only wears dentures, but takes them out when she smokes, and puts them inside of a gemstone-covered hat. That's high class.

I cannot believe that a sixty year old woman is couch surfing in Europe and keeping her teeth out in hats. Ugh, whatever, it's time for bed and this denim isn't getting any less un-clinged to my damp ass. I get ready for bed and climb to the top of the bunk, and then became painfully aware of the fact there was no air conditioning. God- it's 90 degrees here and the Newport smokes and damp Grandma attic aroma is starting to conjure a gag reflex in me I never knew I had. Then came the next plague; for anyone who knows anything about anything, mosquitos thrive in wetness, that's where those bastards unforgivably lay their bastard eggs. I could feel them, all over me. While damn Minnie was smoking with the door wide open, she let every Grecian mosquito into our room. Just to review, it's a hot ass tropical mess in this place, it smells like I'm sleeping in litter box, Minnie not only committed one offense by eating my candy but she's also left her teeth out for show and tell in the place we're sleeping, and now mosquitoes are feasting on me. It's too hot to wear a blanket but sweet baby ray's I'd like some blood left when I wake up.

I did the thing only every other normal person would have done and that's cover my nose and mouth with one of the hard, but complementary hostel sheets. This blanket smells about as great as the room and is about as comfortable as a Motel 8 towel. Are Greek babies swaddled in this? Because, no thanks. And just as I start to drift off, thinking about babies sleeping in stinking blankets sans fabric softener, I heard a guttural grunt from our friend Minnie. And then another and then it became so even I realized she was snoring. Awwwwwwwwww hell no you don't.

Her smoker's cough's wet and full of phlegm, and her breathing rattled as if the weight of her body was crushing her. In between, what sounds like her gasping for her last breath of air, she rolled around, tossing and turning, the bed begging to be set free. I. heard. every. damn. sound. I can't sleep, I'm not even tired anymore so I get up and go outside, the Pollock in me wonders if I can get this night for free.

I sit outside and this tiny little Greek cat prances right over, as if she hears Minnie's offenses and knew I was coming, sits on my lap and if you've read my last post, you know that I was a cat in another life so naturally we hit it off. It was a complete love fest, she was crawling over my lap and I was squeezing her tiny kitten face- she saved me from all of Minnie wrath and just as we were in the middle of a full body scratch, here comes a drunk Frenchie stumbling in at 3am.

Drunk French Guy: "hey… do you have any money? I didn't bring enough money to pay the cab?"

Me: "No, I don't have my wallet."
DFG: "Oh man, the cab driver's gonna be really upset. Could you go get your wallet?"

Me: "I have a cat in my lap, I'm not going anywhere. Plus my roommates are sleeping (Or at least one of them is) so I can't wake them up."

DFG loses his mind, walks inside, and begins banging on all of the doors for money.

The hostel lady wakes up chastises him for being so loud and also for taking a cab when he knew he couldn't pay for it, and then gave him some cash. DFG is insanely grateful and pays off the cabbie who's been waiting outside for about 10 minutes.

DFG: "oh man, sorry about that, I just really needed money. Can I have this water?" Reaches for my water and takes a drink

Me: nothing

HL: "Go inside! It's too late for you to be so loud!

I blindly found my way back to the stink cave, mostly by smell and bed creaking sounds, and crawled back into the bunk bed. Good lord what a night. I've been a one woman dinner to 2,000 mosquitos, some random French dude tried to hit me up for money then drank my water, and I'm sleeping in a smoke jungle. My lids are heavy and I find myself sleepily excited that the night's disasters have left me finally tired. Just as my sense of smell readjusts and I swat away the final mosquito, I hear an air biscuit escaping from Minnie… and then another… and then before I know it, she's rolling all over and exploding like a can of crescent rolls. I will commit murder tonight. I will kill this woman in her farting, snoring sleep and I will go to Greek jail, and tell everyone this story, and no one will hate me because they will have wished they could have killed her in her sleep!

In the midst of my plot to murder Minnie, she escaped from the pull out couch. I saw the bathroom light flicker on, I heard a strain, a grunt, and then hard poops hit the toilet water. I AM BEING TESTED! What human has to endure this?

In the morning, I come to find out that neither of us slept, I had 26 mosquito bites (including on my ear and eyes), Minnie kept throwing the cats the off her lap (which elicited in me a similar reaction that the giant bug from Men in Black had when Will Smith kept stomping on cockroaches), she only smokes with her bottom teeth and in, and then she asked if she could accompany us to Mount Olympus. No. No you may not.

We went to Mt. Olympus, conquered Mt. Olympus, and lived to tell about it. Greece was lovely, the people are lovely, and the sunsets are lovely. The fellow tourists? Not always….

Your Everyday Cat

THE FACTS: 

I have three cats. Yes, I'm the quintessential cat lady. Yes I talk to them like they're human beings. No I don't let them kiss inside my mouth... yet. 

THE BACKGROUND: 

A friend of mine knew that I was interested in adopting kittens and she conveniently lived in a house above a cat brothel where one Kitty Kat Lady never met a Tom Cat she didn't like. 

I got a text message one day that two kittens needed a home... and then a third. And how could I split up a family? I wouldn't be able to live with myself, so my Eastern European guilt coerced me into being a feline hoarder.

NOW: 

Sometimes they love me and sometimes they try to kill me and 9 times out of 10, they end up snagging half of my dinner when I turn around. I've come home to shattered plants, half-eaten bags of chocolate, fully eaten cup-cake wrappers, and completely ruined boxes of anything that might have food in it. They have trashed more plants, telephone chargers, and bags of leftovers than I can even count. Regardless of my scoldings, they've never "pulled their weight" or "helped out around the house", but they let you know who owns it when you turn on a light in a dark room full of sleeping kittens.

Before we had them, we could leave chips unattended, chicken out to cool, and cookies on the table. Now if I'm 10 seconds late to get my waffle, I end up spending the next 8 minutes chasing my cat behind a couch yelling at him to lego my eggo. I'm at least 10 minutes late everyday to work because my cats like watching the toilet flush and will sit there... until I flush it... repeatedly. 

For all of the responsibilities and things you have to do and think through before getting an animal, I wouldn't change a thing.

Animals just make things better. Coming home to an empty home and hearing the light prances and heavy flopping of affectionate kittens to greet you make a crappy day a little better. Want to take a nap on the couch? Snuggle up with a kitten. Entertainment? Watch them bat around a piece of fuzz for 45 minutes... it's oddly entertaining. Need a laugh? Put whip cream on your cat's nose and watch that unfold. Need to feel better? Smooch a furry head.

I wouldn't trade being 10 minutes earlier to work because those minutes repeatedly flushing toilets and pleading with my cat not to finish the last toaster streudel are part of the fun. They're sweet, they're spunky, they're funny, and most importantly, they're family. 

 

It's my Belle in a Bag!

One of the rare moments where he doesn't try to chew his little sister to pieces.

Brothers who cuddle.

Zuzzles being zuzzled (sleepy cuddles) on his homemade blanket.

I'd Like to be a Brown Bear

Today I watched "Bears" the Disney movie, which is one of the best choices I've made in a while. This movie is so damn cute I could barely contain myself. Big mama Sky is hibernating while she gives birth to two baby cubs that are tinier than human babies (which I don't see how that's fair). One little lady named Amber and a little dude named Scout, of course I fall in love immediately because they're tiny little semi-bald, semi-fuzzy baby bears. The story chronicles the first year together as it's the most dangerous- we're wrapped up in a tale of mother's milk, predators, rising and waning water, travel, and the salmon… GOOD GOD THE SALMON! We see baby bears awkwardly prance along the coast, get clams caught on their paws in the most charming way you can imagine, and evade this super dick bear: Magnus.

The movie is narrated by the always funny John C. Reilly and gave a very entertaining play-by-play of the on-screen happenings, however, as someone who asks 3,000 questions, I would have liked more information. I spent two hours after the movie Googling things like, 'Why do mother bears force their cubs to leave?' You can see below where that got me. Overall, it's lovely and sweet and makes you wonder why you don't have a pet bear or why you don't live with bears.

http://nature.disney.com/bears/educators-guide

Brown bears are religious zealots, known specifically
for their proclivity to force their views upon others. 

Reviews of Halloween Movies: You're Next

This movie opens with a couple engaging in unenthusiastic sex and then being slashed to death, for what looks like, no good reason at all. We then cut to a couple in the car -- an Aussie woman and her older, American boyfriend who also happens to be her professor (scandalous!) and they're traveling to the boyfriend's/professors parent's summer home. We're forced into awful exposition setting: "Gee, I hope your parents like me. You're my professor, I hope they don't think I'm a slut. Banter, banter… bantering car banter". 

They arrive - the mother is wearing a Jackie O skirt suit while preparing dinner, so we can all assume that she exclusively wears pastels, frequently withheld love and accolades, and when introduced, probably says things like "charmed" or "the pleasure's mine". Camera shoots to a family portrait - mom, dad, one daughter and three sons. There's one clear outcast who looks like he's listened to too much Good Charlotte … more on him later.

How many blazers and sweater vests can be at a
dinner table before your head explodes?

The family starts filling in and they're all awful people who you know the writers specifically created so you won't miss them when they're ruthlessly murdered. Brother enters wearing a cardigan over his shoulders and a cleft chin and immediately begins talking shit to the boyfriend/professor, "Hey poor, fat brother, are you still poor and fat? I'm better than you and because I'm not poor. Or fat." His wife is frigid and we can only assume her sole criteria in marriage was a man who was neither poor nor fat, and while he "romances her" (shoves his hand up her skirt), she "reciprocates" (puts on lipstick while bent over the bathroom sink during the short, sad act).

More put-downs of the poor, fat boyfriend/brother/professor by his father, "you know plenty of people get fellowships who aren't you because, although I'm not a professor, I understand how fellowships work." In enters Good Charlotte GC and his equally emo/Evanescence girlfriend who is super shitty to GC's mom, which you're sort of on board with but at the same time, you're like, it's his mom, you have to be nice. Next, and last thank God because this sack-of-crap filled parenting duo shouldn't have had one child let alone four, is the daughter, a clearly spoiled brat, and her boyfriend, who's wearing a scarf shawl thing that looks like he wants to either proclaim that he's questioning his sexuality or that he knows a lot about 20th century Russian literature.

They all sit down to dinner, playing their stereotypical roles, Frigid Couple, Emo Couple, Professor/Schoolgirl Couple, Sister and scarf guy (Seriously, what college guy wears a shawl?) Dinner begins and murders ensue as arrows fly through the dining room windows and the family evacuates. The movie continues and people are being picked off one by one in a Final Destination-esque method, which is pretty impressive. 

After we've resigned ourselves to a house-full massacre, we find that the School girl (who turns out not to be a slut, but to, in fact, have a very good head on her shoulders in crises)  can really kick some ass as she grew up on a survivor's commune. This is where things get interesting because she taps into her inner Xena/Kevin McAlister/Jason Bourne and Home Alone rigs the house to the murderer's chagrin.

We eventually find that Good Charlotte and Evanescence hired the murderer's (gasp) in order to cash in on the family's fortune - at this point there's still two bad guys (sound familiar, Harry and Marv?) and she lures one to the basement and kills him with a camera (it was actually pretty cool) and another guy with a hatchet to the face. She finally faces off with the Emo couple and stabs Evanescence to death and blends Good Charlotte's brain; while she's sitting there in brain remains and probably the boiled over second course, Good Charlotte's phone start ringing so she picks it up - because why wouldn't you pick up your almost murderer's phone- to hear her boyfriend (the professor/poor and fat brother) asking if "it was done". 

Guys! Her boyfriend was in on it with the Emo couple to kill everyone to get his families' money - and also I'm sure bonus points to kill their awful sister and prick brother. She's pissed, as who wouldn't be? I get mad when my boyfriend doesn't put away dishes. He reassures her that she was never in harm's way and she was meant to be saved and testify that these masked mad men went on a neighborhood killing spree. Scorned neighbors from a block party gone wrong? She's still of course pissed because, who knows if that's even true?! She risked death for a fat, poor professor who couldn't even get a fellowship? Girl, Xena wouldn't have that.

Lady Power!

Overall, the plot was awful and predictable as were the characters. However, my inner feminist absolutely loved watching this girl set up deadly booby traps and smash people's heads in with kitchen appliances. I say - Watch it if you like gore and if you need some fresh ideas on how to rig your home against potential masked murderers.

Reviews of Halloween Movies

October marks one of my favorite times of the year and like most partially white girls, I enjoy pumpkin-themed drinks, eggplant and mustard clothing, and the comfort of a good boot. One of the best parts of Halloween is the never-ending string of Halloween-themed movie suggestions on Netflix. The affinity I have for horror movies and emotionally disturbing books lead me to take full advantage of the "Halloween Spirit". I consider myself an expert in all things creepy and good movies so enjoy my critiques! 

Coping Mechanisms

Today I received a formal rejection and was more upset about the actual feeling of rejection,
versus the loss of opportunity, and was planning on potentially rescinding the offer. However,
while on the phone, I found myself surprised when I wanted to scream back 
"You can't dump me, I was gonna dump YOU!" I went through cycles of emotions of relief to 
frustration to discouragement to sadness to just wanting candy.

Fast forward to the end of the day when
I decided to the only way to wash away my 
sadness was a box of raisinets, because, 
guys, chocolate covered raisins will never 
reject you.

Also, I have fond memories of reading the
California raisins book as a child and once 
I checked out "California Raisins-a-
haunting we will go" because it was a 
Venn-diagram of all the things I love: raisins 
and ghost stories. I "lost" the book, but I still 
swear that Jon-Eric/JonEric (however you 
spell a name with two first names) stole it, and 
I had to pay so many late fees I ended up 
having to buy it! And I had the shame of being
the only kid who couldn't keep her shit together
long enough to return a book in a week, 
thanks JON-ERIC/JONERIC!

Anyways, I decided my sadness couldn't wait until I got home and since I have no pride left, I opened up my 
box on the corner (it was shrink wrapped, so let that image sink on in) and I just began shoveling candy in 
my face hole. I walked rather quickly to the train station, either re-charged by sugar or embarrassed that I
can't wait until I get home to pour food into my mouth, waited for the train, ascended said train, and found
there were no seats. 

So here I am, awkwardly looping my arm around one pole while pouring chocolate raisins into my hand 
over a stranger's head. After a few short, quick jolts, I realize how dangerous this is. At least if I'm at 
home in my sweatpants, I have a net to catch any fallen raisins and I'm over here just footloose and 
rasin-free about to drop one on some strangers lap. Then what do I say? "Sorry I dropped candy on 
your kindle. It's been a rough day." Even at this sad, sad point in the day, I have too much pride for that.

I arrive at my stop, and that's when it hits me. I trudge home, thinking of what a loser I am and then
before I know it, I'm BLUBBERING, like can't catch-my-breath, Rachel-McAdams-choosing-between-
James-Marsden-and-Ryan-Gosling, Jewel-stopped-carrying-sausage-pizza-rolls- crying. I feel like most 
of this comes from the fact that I only cry about four times a year and twice is when I cut onions, the other 
times are situations like this. So naturally I start playing a mental montage of the saddest things that have 
happened since my last cry so I can cry harder: you worked out 5 days last week and you gained weight, 
you owe more on your student loans than you did when you graduated because of interest, Herschel's 
death… you get the picture. The saddest part is the next day when I realize what an emotionless 
bot I am the other 361 days of the year because my face is sore! From crying! Is that normal? I'll Google it...

Some of my favorite things

Then I had wine and then a snack
pack so the moral of the story is 
guys:
1. Raisinets are delicious
2. Don't eat them on a train
3. If you're going to cry so hard, 
you pop a blood vessel, do it in public.