i know all there is to know about the crying gameby michelle
Alex and I had separate flights from Vienna to Hawaii. Mine was through DC. And that is where this story takes place. I arrived in my nation's capitol about 4pm. I had about an hour and a half to connect and it takes bloody forever to go through customs. You have to wait there in line with a million people in the same predicament as you. And there was this jackass of a guy who was trying to cut past everybody because he has a plane to catch. Really, a plane? Guess what? We ALL have a plane to catch, a-hole. I actually said that to him minus the a-hole part.
I finally got to my gate with a few minutes to spare. And....the flight was overbooked. (Thanks United!) So I just had to wait there for my name to be called. Tick tock. Tick tock. Finally, she sighed and said, I hate to do this. And then she said two names...one not my name and one MY NAME. Hallelujah. Let's roll. (Okay, maybe that's not the right thing to say when talking about an impending plane ride) So I get on the plane where I have been instructed to find an open seat. I spy one right away but the other girl was right there and her name was called first and I am nice so I did something that was going to become very regrettable... I offered her the seat. I did that assuming the other purported open seat was just going to be a few rows back...so I kept walking... and walking... until I found myself at the end of the plane part. Shit, no more seats. Dammit! Why was I so nice to that girl I didn't know? She was probably a jerkface too. Maybe I could just go unnoticed and let this plane take off with me standing here and I could do a choreographed dance between the aisles and the lavatories for the next five hours? I didn't get a chance. I got spotted. I wish I had worn my "inconspicuous part of the interior of an airplane" camouflage. Exit, stage left. Sigh. Cue plane take off. Now show me some despair. Oh, DESPAIRRRRR.
I was so very tired. And so very screwed. It was too late to get on any flights after that one. Alex was on his way to Los Angeles where he was expecting to meet me at my gate when we were then supposed to go to meet the good Jim Hamilton at baggage claim. I had no American cell phone. I had no American money. So I had to go exchange my 10 odd euros for cash and then use that cash to get change from a bartender. Then, I had to travel in a time machine back to 1998 and use a payphone. Oh, the humanity. And I'm jetlagged to the point of feeling drugged. Well, I guess, technically, I was jetlagged AND drugged. It's a PRESCRIPTION!
So then I had to go wait in line. It seems really unfair that they overbook your flight, they screw your plans and then they make you wait in an unreasonably long line. (Thanks United!) Not to mention an unreasonable long line with pissed-off, crazy people. Everybody wants you to join their Team Angry Consumer. I just wanted out of there. It took probably an hour and a half of line waiting before I got my turn. At this point, I was kind of glad to be getting a hotel and some cash. It was late and I had enough jetlag to work through already without adding on another three-hour time difference. There was another flight at 8am in the morning which would put me in Los Angeles 11amish which wasn't going to be so terrible. However, as the man helping me was ringing it up, he realized that that morning flight was sold out too and he wasn't going to have a specific seat available for me. He said that I was first on the list though and it shouldn't be a problem. (DANGER DANGER DANGER) I was too tired to protest though. (No, Michelle. Protest! You should protest!) Sure, fine, whatever. Where's the bed?
I got back to the airport the next morning with plenty of time to spare. I wanted to be the first person at the gate. The rep finally showed up about an hour after I got there and she barely looked up when she told me that the flight was overbooked (Thanks United!) and she couldn't promise that I would get a seat and THAT SHE WOULD CALL MY NAME WHEN SHE DID. She had to say that over and over to people. I didn't want to make her madder so I just sat nearby and waited patiently and hoped hoped hoped things were not going to turn into a shitstorm. Then, I heard her say to somebody that the next available flight after this one didn't leave until like 8pm. SHITSTORM! I started to panic. And I realized that drastic measures needed to be taken. There was only one choice. I had only one option. I went up to that counter and focused on the new less-angry-seeming lady that was now there... and I started, "I know that you have said this over and over and that you'll call my name when you can give me a seat but I just had to say something because I just have to get on that plane. I can't stay here in D.C. all day. I don't know anybody here. (Voice crack) I don't have a cell phone. I don't have any money. (Tears) I've been living in Vienna and my boyfriend is supposed to meet me in Los Angeles and we're going to Hawaii tomorrow and I can't stay here (Full-on crying with an audience)." I looked at her face and I saw that I broke her. She looked back at me with Mom eyes. Mission accomplished. She said to just be patient and listen for my name. I wasn't embarrassed that I cried in public. I wasn't embarrassed because all those people waiting for their names to be called were just jealous that they didn't do it first. And they couldn't do it now. That would be so transparent. Five minutes later, mine was the first name called. And when I went up to get my boarding pass, the first meaner gate lady held on to it, looked at me with these super "tsk, tsk" eyes and said, "Next time... don't cry."
Sorry, mean lady. It worked too good. My only regret is I didn't cry the night before.
sturm, entschuldigung and clowns…oh, my!by michelle
Have we talked about Sturm here yet? I wasn't made aware of it's existence until my first night in Vienna. I refuse to consult Wikipedia right now because I'm in Hawaii and I'm lazy so I'm just going to tell you what I think I know about Sturm. It is a very young, yeasty wine that tastes very sweet. Apparently there is a season for Sturm and right now we are nearing the end of it. You got your rot (red) Sturm and your weiss (white) Sturm. I preferred the weiss...until I went to the circus and had the rot. I don't know how to articulate why I liked it better. Maybe it was the charm of the circumstances under which I had it. Perhaps it was because it was freezing outside and the high alcohol content provided me much-needed warmth. More likely, however, is that I think the rot is pretty. I am a connoisseur indeed.
Coming up for air while I'm trying to speed-drink my Sturm.
Speaking of the circus, over the past few weeks riding the D trolley to the 1st district, we kept going past a gaudy, kitschy, as-fake-looking-as-something-can-look circus. Naively, we finally stopped by one night thinking we could just stroll right in but turns out the Roncali Circus is one hot ticket. We ended up buying seats for the following Tuesday. And Tuesday couldn't come quickly enough. I just prepared for the craziest and hoped for the craziest. We got there early as requested, which was good because I needed my fix of rot Sturm.
The Roncali Circus in front of the Vienna City Hall. Or something like City Hall.
A line began to form waiting for the doors to open so we quickly joined up. Once the doors were open the line moved swiftly enough. We get to the front of the line approaching the ticket taker and out of nowhere this seemingly upper middle class looking lady with her two kids burst out of nowhere and try to cut in front of me. Instincts took over. My arm clotheslined out stopping her in her impolite tracks and I managed to retrieve the German word for "What the fuck do you think you're doing, jerkface" which is "Entschuldigung." The spelling may be off. I am impaired with the disease of one fine mojito. So I stopped the lady and Alex and I got past the ticket taker. I'm sure that lady was right behind us though. Alex approved of my aggressions and restated something he had brought up to me before which is that Austrians do not do lines. Now, that is fine. But why form one in the first place? If you don't do lines, just bumrush the show. Own it. Don't start a line and get me in a linemood and then try to cut. You're in a line, you can't cut. I don't care which hunk of land you're from. It just ain't how it's done. So I invite these Austrians, or perhaps it's the whole of the continent, to cut in front of me. My clothesline-ready arm is waiting for you.
Now, for your viewing pleasures, a photo and video essay on our trip to the German circus:
Inside the Roncali Circus big top.
I'm excited for the circus to start!
What do they do in German circuses? I'm hoping clownfights!
All in all, we had a great time. We only understood about five percent of what was said but the rest was Beatles songs, adorable ponies and clowns throwing plates so we found ourselves quite able to follow along. Speaking of which, the circus band was dressed up in Sgt. Pepper garb and played almost exclusively songs from the Fab Four. Hello, Cirque du Soleil? I hope there's not going to be an intercontinental circus rumble. Wait, what am I saying? Please God, I hope there is going to be an intercontinental circus rumble. Please, please, please. Could somebody start some prayer chains? Maybe pay a make-a-wish kid off to call this one in for me? Come on, everybody wins when there is an intercontinental circus rumble! You're picturing it in your heads right now, aren't you? Of course you are.
they do things different in these here partsby michelle
I had a very horrifying experience last week and it has to do with a ice cream gelato shop. Maybe I shouldn't indict the whole gelato shop community. Perhaps it is just this one gelato place. We went there after we unsuccessfully tried to see Inglorious Basterds. It's playing at a theater that shows OV (original version) movies but that also meant, as we were informed, that there were to be no English subtitles for the two-thirds of the movie that were in German and French. So we ixnayed that plan and decided to transfer our party to the gelato place a few doors down.
Now, I have a system when I get an ice cream. I scope out the flavors, decide what I want and then I decide what flavors I want to try. And then I buy the flavors I originally wanted. Sometimes I get surprised and a flavor wins me over during the trying process. You never know! So I'm in this gelato place, I'm scoping out the flavors, then I move onto the next phase. "Yes, could I try the "Cookie" flavor, bitte?" And this is the response I get, "No try." Uhhh, what? Excuse me? It was SHOCKING. No try? Would you like to punch me in the face now? Oh, here's my new puppy. Would you like to kick it? How about you take this stained glass window I just slaved over for the last two years and break it over my great-grandmother's head? I've never seen "The Others." Would you like to tell me that Nicole Kidman and her two creepy kids are the ghosts? OH, THE HUMANITY.
Now, I'm just going to have to try every goddamned gelato place in this backwards town to see what's what. Look what you turned me into, No-try!
breaking health news (and a few other things)by michelle
My doctor called me. I have good news and bad news. Good news is my cholesterol went down a whopping 60 points with absolutely no effort on my part. It was getting close to the high side when I saw him last and this has sent me back into normalsville. High fives all around. Now for the bad news. Are you sitting down? Apparently... I seem to be vitamin D deficient. You're probably asking yourself or the internet... What does that mean? I will answer that question for you.. Nothing to really write home about. Unless you feel like oldschooling it up and writing a nice letter back home.
"Dear Home,
Michelle Biloon seems to be Vitamin D deficient. I think she needs to drink more milk in the sun with no sunscreen on. And please remember to write her family a sympathy card when she dies of skin cancer.
Fondest regards,
Dr. Idiot"
So I am not opting for that drinking milk / hanging out in the sun combo. My doctor has advised me to take 8000 iu of Vitamin D drops every day. That is four times the amount recommended on the bottle! And, no, it doesn't get you high. Then again, I was just dropping it into Kool-Aid. Maybe I should try some gin.
And in other news, I feel compelled to report that I had my last day at work a week early. It was not by my choice. I won't go into details but let's just say that my boss and I never really got along. I think we differed on the grounds that I am a very talented, worthwhile, professional human being and he is a douchebag. I really can think of no other reason why you would terminate somebody's contract a week before their last day when they originally gave three months notice so you would have enough time to prepare for the eventual departure. Oh, well. It actually worked out for the better because as it turns out, I seemed to have a lot of errands to run. I should have always had had an extra week of not working before I left. I don't know what I was thinking. I would not have been able to finish all my to-dos what with next week's goodbye show having, Judge Judy taping going to and Disneyland rabblerousin'.
So here I am now at my parents' place in Sun City, AZ. I will be leaving on a plane on Monday leaving my car behind. My stepfather has already made mention of taking the stickers off my bumper. I thought about it and offered, "Well, you can give me $20 for every sticker you take off." Success! I think my stickers will be safe.
So I have more week left. One week from now, I will be on a plane to Austria. It hurts my brain to think about it. I might as well be moving to Mars. Even though Alex is there and tells me about what he sees and does every day, it still seems so surreal for me to be there. It's like finding out what happens after you die. I can't imagine it but I know I'm going to know one day what it is. And next week is that day everybody. The finding out about living in Vienna part, not finding out what happens after you die. Damn! I just jinxed myself. Great, I'm going to have to take four Xanax now just to make it through this flight.
Stay tuned for upcoming huge news from Alex. I won't spoil it.
i almost started crying at the dmv on tuesdayby michelle
That subject is no lie.
If you have faithfully read the blog up to this point, you know that I have been having some issues securing my title from the great state of California. Things were looking up this weekend when the postman brought me my lien release on Saturday. So Tuesday, I went down to the DMV office, waited my turn and with some sort of retarded optimism handed the lady my filled-out form, lien release and driver's license. This is my third or fifth time talking to the DMV regarding this issue by the way. So she looks at my paperwork, types something on her computer, then starts slowly shaking her head. That can't be bad, right? She probably just has like some sort of shaking-her-head tick. Then, she turns to me and says, you need a title.
Me: "But I don't have a title. It's a paperless title! I came here and they said all I needed was this lien release and I could have a title."
She saw my desperation, turned back to her computer, pretended to do something and then turned back to me basically repeating what she just said to me. Two can play at this game. I basically repeated what I said the first time back to her but threw in a little more whine and youmusthelpme. Then she calls over her supervisor. They talk for a few minutes and then the supervisor says, "Blah, blah blah, I'm sorry, we can't help you." And that was it. My optimism was gone, retarded or not. As I opened my mouth to protest, I couldn't stop the beginnings of a full-on public sobfest. I went for it anyways, I repeated my case, added in the fact that I was moving to Europe and I needed to sign..my...car..over to my mother, cracking voice, cracking voice, fighting back tears and almost wailing. No dice. These ladies must have seen this a million times. The look that they were giving me was a united front of we'resorry, wecan'thelpyou, and wereallyhopeyoudon'tembarrassyourselfbycryinginpublic. So that was enough. I grabbed my forms, said thank you and walked out avoiding eye contact. When I made it to my car a half-block away, I did what any mature 32 year old person would do, I called my mother and burst into tears.
BUT there's a happy ending to this story. And it involves the superhero only second to President Bill Clinton...the great state of Texas. See, Mazda from the getgo implied to me that my title was to be procured from California. Seemed logical to me. I am insured, registered and licensed in this state. However, I purchased this car in Texas in 2002, Mazda held onto the title because they were the lienholder, but then I paid it off in 2007 living in California wherein I now had the rights to that title. It was paperless though so I never received anything in the mail. It was just mine when I decided to go through the necessary bureaucratic treasure hunt to find it. So Wednesday morning, I called the TX DOT (not DMV, they do things different y'all) got some lady on the phone in like 30 seconds, she gets my VIN, tells me she has my title and then I CAN JUST SEND HER AN EASY FORM, THE LIEN RELEASE AND A CHECK FOR TWO MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS AND I GET MY TITLE!!!! The kicker... they purportedly send it in five days. California promised it in two to four weeks and god knows what they were gonna charge me.
What I don't understand is why the first time I talked to the DMV, they didn't say, hey, we don't have your title at all. It is not here. Don't fill out our forms or make appointments in our offices, take off work and wait in line. You should find this title somewhere else, in another state, maybe the state you bought the car in. We know this because we deal with this every day from people all over our huge state. Your situation is completely not unique. And we don't want to give you the runaround. We're not here to waste your time and take your money and then waste some more of your time. Now, here take this warm chocolate chip cookie and you have a good day.
This won't happen . Whatever. I can live. Constant frustration and disappointment builds character. Or at least that's what I repeat to myself 50 times every morning in the mirror. Stay tuned to see what happens. And, if you don't mind, cross your fingers for me.
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