The Two Extremes

So far in my inexperienced dating life I’ve come across two extremes. One extreme is the guy who can last a few weeks or so before he shows you his super power of disappearing. And then on the far end of this extreme is the guy who is practically planning your wedding after knowing him for all of 4 days. Where is the in between guy? The one who likes me, wants to spend time with, but doesn’t confess his love for me on the first date? Let’s talk about these two guys, shall we?

The Fader, sounds like a super hero…to bad he’s too much of a pussy to be one. He tells you that you’re so important to him and that he cares oh so deeply for you. Days go by and just when you think you’ve found a decent guy, it happens. You won’t know how or why …and maybe for a few days you might not realize that it did happen. You look at your phone, maybe it’s broken? Check your email, maybe the site is down? No and no. That was his super power of disappearance. One minute he’s there and the next, Poof! All you’re left is with a broken heart and a cartoon puff of smoke.

Then we have The Clinger. This guy is a complete breath of fresh air, especially after you dated The Fader. He tells you how beautiful you are, how lucky he is that he found, and what a loser that other guy was. All this after knowing you for a few hours, maybe days. But you feed into it because geeze, it’s been so long since you’ve had a nice guy like this, the complete opposite of The Fader. So you decide to go on a date with The Clinger and that’s when your intuition goes off. Something isn’t right but you’re not sure, he is a nice guy after all. He holds your hand, stares oh so lovingly at you, tells you that you’re so amazing and he wants to be with you and only you. And there it is. In the few days you’ve known him, he texts you at almost all hours of the day, wanting to know what you’re doing, who you’re with, and what you’re thinking about. He’s ….The Clinger.

Now my question is…how in the hell did I go from one extreme to the next? Where is the in between guy? The one that wants to be with me but doesn’t blow up my cell phone with phone calls and text messages at all hours of the day? If you know where he is can you let me know…I would like to meet this dude. Thanks.

I Almost Killed a Man Today

My goal at work yesterday was to dress all the mannequins in the store. I hate dressing the ones on the shelves, but that’s because my lazy ass hates climbing up and down a ladder with the crotch of a male bust form in my face. Then having to do it all over again when I put them back on the shelf. So the game plan was to get all the self mannequins dressed since I despise them so.

As I reached to pull one of the mannequins down, the shelf wobbled. I paused, frozen, mannequin awkwardly steadying between the shelf and my boobs (the other shelf). When everything seemed fine I pulled on the mannequin a little more, took one step down from the ladder, when the other mannequin made a prison break and jumped off the shelf. I quickly dropped the mannequin I was holding, the shelf went tumbling down, and the other mannequin landed about two inches from where the cute guy shopping was standing.

When everything settled, the cute guy turned, smiled, and asked if it was his fault. I should have said yes. At least all he did was laugh it all off and help me pick things up. After I tried to kill him, accidentally.

I Didn’t Do It

Anyone who knows me or someone who’s just glanced at anything I’ve written here knows that I’m clumsy and scatterbrained. I get confused easily and tend to trip over invisible items that someone (probably me) left on the floor. So, imagine my excitement when it finally didn’t happen to me!

It happened so someone we will call Merry. I came into work and Merry was having some issues getting the lights turned on and came to the conclusion that it was a blown fuse since the emergency light was on. So we checked out the fuse box and fiddled with a few switches. One of which when I flipped turned everything off, and I mean EVERYTHING. So when the lights didn’t come back on, we came back to the original conclusion of the blown fuse.

Merry walked by the door, laughed, and flipped up the light switch. There was light.

Butterfly Kisses

It was a clear, crisp day and I was stepping out of the house on my way to work, or shopping, or going to a movie, or something…I forget. Basically, I was leaving the house to go somewhere. And since it was such a nice, slightly chilly day and the sun was shining and birds were singing, several bugs were out and about pollinating plants and crap. Now what happened next is something I never thought would ever happen. I was attacked. Yes, you read the correctly, I was attacked…by two butterflies.

I made sure the door was locked and turned to walk down the steps. And then it happened. They came at me from both sides. One attacked the right side of my face and the other flew in from the left. Distracted by the sudden assault, I threw up my hands to swat them away only to miss the top step and trip down the rest of them.

And just as sudden as the attack began, the wicked butterflies were gone.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

The Puzzle

One of my friends,Patty, introduced me to a game. In this game you follow Professor Layton and his little apprentice Luke. There's some mystery about some town and to figure it out you have to solve all these little puzzles along the way. A few weeks ago I bought the new one, Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box(or something like that). For three days I would spend several hours of extreme frustration over a certain puzzle.

You have to move this pile of trash from the top part of the puzzle to the trash can on the bottom, while moving and shifting little blocks around and out of the way. I spent HOURS screaming at my DS, pleading with it, determined to figure this little bastard out. Before I was on the verge of pulling my hair out, I solved it. Oh happy day I solved that damn puzzle.

In my extreme excitement and happiness I texted the boyfriend to tell him I solved that super hard puzzle. He, being the curious guy he is, said he wanted to try the puzzle the next time he came to visit. So when he did I handed him the DS and smuggly sat next to him, watching over his shoulder and thinking to myself...ha, he's doing it wrong..he shouldn't move that piece there...

Four minutes later...he solved it. FOUR MINUTES LATER. Not only is he cute, he's mega smart too. I hate that game.

The Clumsy Girl Chronicles

I’m a clumsy girl. So far this week I’ve managed to almost lose an eye, get run over by a car trying to park, and verbally embarrassed myself at the store I work. I’ve been told a few times I should consider living in a bubble. Tempting but I don’t think I could deal with everyone laughing at me every time I get stuck in a door.

Let’s start with me almost losing my eye. I was in the stock room at work getting a metal pole type thing to hang a few pairs of jeans on for a display. I tripped slightly (for me it was slightly…) and as I reached my hands forward to brace myself the pole type thing got me right under the eye. Just a half inch more and I would only have to put make up on one eye. I would have gotten a bad ass eye patch though…

How does one get almost run over by a car that’s trying to park? I was walking out of the eye doctor’s office when I heard my text message alert go off. Walking and digging in my purse at the same time I didn’t notice the cement stopper that is used to keep cars from parking too far. I tripped, phone in hand, when I glanced up and noticed there’s a giant red SUV heading right for me. Quick like a gazelle on the African plain after hearing the faint footsteps of its predator nearby, I leapt to the side and survived. Ok, well actually it was more like me thinking SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT and then awkwardly jumping to the side only to run into my own car.

And saving the best for last…

I was at work dressing a mannequin when I noticed she was stuck on the rod she stands on. I pulled and pulled, my hands awkwardly placed on her stumpy little legs when I said, a little too loudly for all to hear, ‘I can’t get her off!’ One of my bosses walked by giggling, ‘That’s what HE said!’ It took a minute for me to realize what I said…

The Adventures of Rosie and Maya

Maya and the Metro Card

I came to DC to visit with my family that I haven't seen in over a year and was given a metro card and a new travel buddy, my step sister Maya. Today was our first day venturing out into the DC area on our own and had a few little mishaps.

The first mishap was not checking the bus schedule before we left the house. It was only a 30 minute wait but still, it's hot out and I can't stand the heat. I much prefer the chilliness of air conditioning. At least we know for tomorrow to check the bus schedule.

Mishap number two was Maya. The way the metro card works is that when you get on the bus there is a censor pad and right in the middle of the pad is a picture of the metro card. You place your metro card on top, it makes a beeping noise, money is deducted from the card, and you go find a seat on the bus. Maya did not get this memo and this next moment will forever be referred to as the 'double, double, toil and trouble' moment. Unsure of where to put her card she did several large circles around the pad (which to her looked like she was stering around herown concocktion in a coldroun) until after about 2 minutes when the bus driver pointed on the pad where she had to place the card.

Mishap number three was also Maya. Another way this silly little metro card works is when you get off the subway you have to scan it. As I approached the scanner machine(that also doubles as a barracade) I pulled the metro card out of my pocket, swiped it over the censor pad, and went through the barracade. Maya didn't see my ninja metro card movement and figured she could just walk through. And she would have made it if the barracade hadn't closed on her.

'Rosie, how did you get through?'

'I paid...."

And with a large crowd of people standing behind her, she fished through her purse to get her metro card and made her way through the barracade.

Who knows what will be in store for us tomorrow as the adventure continues when we visit Georgetown.

The Shocking Electric Fence

I was walking along a road in this tiny town in Ireland with a new friend, Tracy. After having spent the last 20 minutes walking we decided to take a small break and took a seat on the stone wall nearby that separated the road from a nearby empty field. Tracy was about to jump over the short stone wall so she could sit in the green grass when she noticed the electric fence. She asked if I thought it was a real electric fence and I just shrugged my shoulders assuming it was...I mean who would put up a pretend electric fence?

She then pointed out that the field was empty and who put up an electric fence for an empty field. Now she had peeked my curiosity.... why would someone use a real electric fence for an empty field. I leaned over the wall a little bit, fully intended to just barely touch the fence. But then I chickened out. What if it was a really strong electric shock..that would be an interesting phone call to my mom.

"Uh, Mrs. Yahn? Well, Rosie touched an electric fence and well the shock was so strong that her heart stopped."

And then my mom will just sigh loudly while shaking her head, "Yup, that sounds like something she would do..."

But Tracy kept egging me on promising me that the fence was fake, just some wire to spook people from going on the field. And that was all I needed to know...

So I leaned over again, biting my lower lip in anticipation as I lowered my index finger to the wire, and my eyes shut so tightly.

My finger made contact with the wire and there was a very loud *POP* while everything went black for a brief second and the words 'Oh shit' going through my mind. I opened one eye slowly and saw Tracy's concerned face holding back a huge smile. When I nodded that I was ok she began laughing hysterically and I couldn't help but do the same. I wriggled my index finger and noticed that my elbow was hurting...that was weird.

The Pink Sock

The big student village has one small laundry room and about 1/3 of the machines are 'out of order.' Figuring that everyone has getting over their hangovers or still sleeping I decided the early afternoon would be the perfect opportunity for me to take care of the giant mountain of dirty clothes. I found a wash machine in the corner, tossed in the packet of detergent, and shoved every sock and shirt into that machine, added my money and noticed that I had 40 minutes to kill. I cleaned the kitchen. Close your mouth I know how to clean.

The cleaning took a little bit longer then I expected but considering how empty the laundry room was I didn't think anything of it. I turned the corner and saw it, a huge pile of wet clothes sitting on the floor and a bright red towel that looked awfully familiar. Damnit, I hate this place.

I picked up my towel and looked towards the washing machine. The timer on the machine showed that it had only started about 5 minutes ago, I looked from the machine to the red towel in my hands, and right back to the machine. Peering through the little window on the wash machine, an evil little smirk spread across my face.

I took my towel and all of my other clothes that were sitting on the floor and shoved them into the dryer. Before closing the door I made sure I had what I needed, closed it, added my money, and hit the button for colors.

I made sure no one was around and then opened the wash machine and dropped my gift to my new friend. Lucky for me this ass hat was washing white clothes. Unlucky for him, I lost one of my bright pink socks last time I did laundry and the other one was looking for a new home.

Enjoy your new pink clothes, Bitch.

The Final Countdown

Flash Countdown

Missing Frying Pan

I walked into the kitchen, my stomache grumbling as I pushed the heavy door open. I wasn't even sure what I was going to make but from the sound my stomach just made it had to be soon. Opening the fridge I noticed some chicken breasts that I could fry up and there were some veggies that I could use as well. I pulled everything that I needed out of the fridge and set it on the counter as I glanced over looking for my frying pan. But where was it?

The last time I used the frying pan I had washed it up and put it with my other drying dishes near the sink. Unfortunately, all I saw over there was a plate, two glasses, and my silverware. I opened the cubbard and only saw my food. I opened the shelves and found a few pots staring back at me. But where in the hell did my one and only frying pan go?

After about 20 minutes of looking in every shelf and cubbard I opted for a little juice break. I took a glass from the counter and when I opened the fridge I found it. My frying pan was sitting on the second shelf, my roommates shelf. And what the hell? Has this kid ever heard of a bowl? Inside my frying pan was a combination of lettuce, tomatoes, and croutons...why was a salad in my frying pan when there were so many clean bowls on the counter?

Still slightly confused I took my pan out of the fridge and dumped the contents into a bowl. I then went to my room and wrote a nice note and put it on the bowl, cleaned off my pan, and made my food.

'Dear roommate,
The frying pan is for frying.
Salads go in bowls.'

The Pigs

A game that my friends and I played while traveling around Europe.

**Edit**
Due to recent events I feel the need to inform everyone that the pigs feature in this video have never been to Mexico. They were born and raised in a small village outside of London and have recently retired and are enjoying their golden years in Salzburg, Austria.

Today Was a Day Like Any Other

Today began like any other. My sleep is some what under control and I really needed to bring my computer into Tech Guys because for some reason the charger wasn't charging. So I used up the last precious moments of my computers life to figure out how to get to PC World. Easy enough....just take the bus I normally take into town and from there take a different bus.

I stood at the second bus stop, fidgetting with my Ipod, humming, looking at my finger nails, probably made a few weird faces when this older 'gentleman' approached me. In one hand he had a sandwich and the other a huge bottle of juice...oh and let's not forget the massive black eye he was sporting. He started talking to me but I could barely understand his heavy Welsh accent. After about 5 minute of me saying, 'Sorry, I didn't catch that. I'm sorry, what?' I finally understood what he was asking.

'Um, well would you go with me to the cash machine?'

'Actually, I have to wait on the bus. I really need to get some where.'

'Oh well, I really need to get cash out and I was going to pay for a cab to take you where you need to go.'

'No, but thanks. I already paid for my bus pass.'

What the hell? Is asking a girl to the cash machine serial killer code for 'follow me to this dark alley so that I may stab you several times and stuff you in my trunk.' Well, actually here in the UK the trunk is called the boot...but that's besides the point.

Later that day I was on my way back to the bus stop to head home when I noticed something grey out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a pigeon flying towards me. For some reason it didn't really click in my brain...I saw the pigeon flying towards and yet the only thing I could think was, 'Wow, that bird is really close.'

And then it happened. The wing of the pigeon hit me right on the bridge of my nose. I don't remember what happened in those 5 seconds except me thinking 'OH MY GOD IT HIT ME! MY FACE WILL NEVER BE CLEAN AGAIN!' I heard the flutter of feathers and the giggles of people who saw the accident.

The minute I got home I went straight for the bathroom to scrub the skin off my face. I don't really need that skin anyway.

The Red Light District

A few weeks ago I went on a weekend trip to Amsterdam. One of my favorite tour companies offered an evening tour through the Red Light District and I was quick to sign up. The Red Light District not only has the hookers standing in the windows and the 'special' cafes but it littered with tiny theaters that offer live sex shows.

One of the girls on the tour was telling me about one of the places she had been to before she came to Amsterdam when we passed one of the sex theaters and noticed a man standing in front of it, trying to entice people to come inside.

'NAKED MAN, NAKED WOMAN, NAKED DOG!'

I had to stop for a minute to make sure I heard that correctly. And sure enough the man repeated it.

'NAKED MAN, NAKED WOMAN, NAKED DOG!'

I turned back to my friends and couldn't stop giggling. If I wasn't on a paid tour I probably would have paid money to go into the theater to see this 'naked' dog. Was it wearing a sweater and does a little strip tease? Does the naked man or woman shave the dog? To this day I'm still curious about this naked dog.

The Ninja PostMan

A few weeks before I was to backpack around Europe I ordered a pair of new sneakers. I spent WEEKS searching online for the right pair. I finally settled on a pair of black and white Kangaroos.

I came home to find a red and white piece of paper that said, 'Sorry you were out!' Hm, weird but at least it gave me a web address where I could schedule a redelivery of my new shoes. It was set up for two days later, on a day I wouldn't have to be in class.

I woke up that day, excited. I would have my new shoes today! I heard a light tapping on the door downstairs, which was odd considering that door is never closed. I know, I know safety first always keep that door locked. But you tell the assholes downstairs that.

Anyway, as my foot gets to the bottom landing I saw it. The Ninja Postman's ninja star. Red and white, gleaming with mockery. I pick it up off the floor, unfold it, and fill with rage. "Sorry, you were out.' I was not out! I was here! Upstairs, waiting!! BASTARD.

I scheduled another redelivery. And this time I would be waiting for him. I noticed the time on both cards, roughly around 11am. At 10:30 on the scheduled day I made my way downstairs. The plan was to sit and wait for the Ninja Postman and demand he give me my shoes, the very shoes he's been holding hostage. And there it was.

GOD DAMNIT! DAMN YOU NINJA POSTMAN!!!

This time I called them. Another redelivery was scheduled and I gave them specific instructinos that if I wasn't there to take the box to the super intendants office and they would be able to sign for it. I went to class that day and came home to find, yet another ninja star.

This has gone on far enough, it's been two weeks! Two whole weeks of this shinanagans!! I called them again and unfortunately I wasn't so nice. I called the company I bought the shoes from and explained the situation. Then when that was cleared up I went downstairs with tape and the ninja stars. I taped up a message for the Ninja Postman and left his ninja stars as a warning.

The next day I awoke to loud knocks on the door by my flat. There he was...the bastard that's been keeping my shoes from me. He glared at me, I glared at him, both readying ourselves for a possible battle.

He left and I took my package to my room. I tore the plastic off the box and ripped open the box. Finally, after all these weeks (ok...it was only 2..) I had my shoes! I took one showly out the box...I could hear the angels singing. And just like that it stopped.

These weren't the shoes I ordered. They weren't even the same style! Cute, black, wedge heel, not really ideal for walking around europe in though. Bastard Ninja Postman strikes again!

The Amazing Race

We finally made it to our final destination of the three week backpack around Europe. We've already been to Amsterdam but I was still pretty damn excited. Something you never really hear about is how beautiful the city really is. Instead you hear mainly about coffee shops and the 'specials' they offer.

At about 1 am we got to the hostel, Amsterdam Center Hostel...or was it Hostel Center. I can't remember and I don't really care to. I was ready to pay my half of the payment but my other two friends didn't have enough cash. That was fine, the guy behind the desk told them where the nearest ATM and since I had my cash I watched the bags. I glanced around the room, sitting on a stool with my backpack still on when the guy behind the counter decided he wanted to chat. He glided from behind the desk and leaned against the table in front of me, arms folded across his chest and his eyes looking down on me.

'So your friends don't have money?"

'Um, they do, just not on them...that's why they had to use the ATM.' (Duh...)

He gave me a slow and creepy smile as I noticed it was just me and him in this tiny 'reception' room.

'So how was your trip here? Come to Amsterdam to do some...' He glanced around making sure no one was around behind he lifted his hand towards his mouth, imitating a smoker.

'No, none of us smoke. We've been here before and we just thought it was a pretty city to visit.'

Have you ever met someone and just looking at them sends icy shivers down your spine? As uncomfortable as I was I just smiled at him and looked towards the door, hoping someone else would come in here. After a few more minutes of awkward chit chat my friends showed up. Unfortunately, the ATM hadn't worked so they got directions for another one. Lucky for me though, as they walked out the door another one of the guests of the hostel walked in and sat down at the table by mine and started a conversation with him.

Finally, my two friends came back still without cash. But we had enough to cover that night and the night after so creepy behind the counter said it was fine to finish paying tomorrow. He then asked if two of us would mind sharing a bed the next night. We would get a 50% discount for that night. But since it was so late we told him that we would let him know the next morning. Getting to the room I noticed that we were in a room with 8 beds, not the 6 bed dorm I had booked. That was something that could wait until the morning.

Once we were showered and dressed, Patricia and I made out to visit the front desk and figure out if we wanted to share a bed or not. A different guy at the desk explained that the two sharing the bed would each pay half for sharing the bed. We decided it would be better to keep our beds. I also asked about the room situation, he looked at the booking papers, and offered to take the difference from the room off what we had remaining on the bill. Problem solved and we promised we would return in the afternoon or evening and pay the rest.

My other friend Mia made a quick stop int he hostel in the afternoon and came back to tell me and Patricia that the guy at the hostel had taken our bags and moved them into a 6 bed dorm. What the hell?

We got back to the hostel and find a different guy behind the desk. This guy claimed to be the owner and proudly told us how they did us a favor moving our heavy bags to the new room. They took our bags barely 10 feet to the room next door...I've been carrying my bag on my back for 3 weeks. Baby.

He told us that we had been moved to the right room and we now owe him more money. I disagreed and wanted to know why our things were moved without our permission. He said it was because we weren't in the room. Well, duh what else are suppose to do...sit in the lounge/reception area and have more conversations with creepy employee? Patricia tried asking why everything was changed when we had fixed everything that morning with the other guy.

Does it ever bother you when you're talking to someone and they never look you in the eyes?

He said he was the owner and had final say over everything. Which is why the deal from this morning was void. Patricia and I kept asking him why things had changed and that it was completely unacceptable for them to even touch our belongings without us there. He replied with 'You girls think you're so smart. I don't make mistakes.'

Then tell me why we were put in an 8 bed dorm when I booked 6? Or why his employee asked if two of us could share a bed...oh that's right,he doesn't make mistakes. He then gave us another option. We could check out early and we were more then happy to accept. We got the keys to the previous room and the new room, making sure all of stuff was together.

Before we left I asked him to give me copies of any transactions that were done on my card, since I booked the room. One thing their profile on Hostelbookers failed to mention was that they took the amount of the first night from the card you book with. Well apparently my card hand't worked the first time, second time, or third time so I had quite a bit of money on hold. He went on a 5 minute spiel on how they never withdraw money from the card unless we didn't show up the first night.

That was not my question. I asked again, how many times they used my card to book the room and he once again told me how they never withdraw money from the cards. Ok, asshole, one more time, how many times did you type my credit card number in your broken credit card machine and can you give me copies of that? He told me that they don't keep paper work and wrote on a blue post it note that they didn't withdraw cash. I took the 'official' post it, gave him an evil glare, and walked out.

Something I forgot to mention was while I was packing I made a phone call to the airline to see what flights they had heading to London. It was Easter weekend and knew that Satan would be throwing snowballs before we could find another hostel to stay at. So instead, we otped to cut the trip short and head home. The next and last flight of the night would be taking off in an hour and a half.

Shit.

We found the cabs and jumped in the first one and told the man we needed to get to the airport as fast as he could take us. We were taking our bags out of the trunk 15 minutes later. Patricia found the airline counter and I had Mia scout for an information desk in case we missed that flight. There were two guys ahead of us in this line, semi drunk, and taking forever.

God damn you.

After what seemed like forever they finished and made their way to the check in desk. I flung my passport and wallet on to the counter and asked the guy what the chances were we could make the last flight to London. He smiled, took my passport, and said he could get us on.

Thank you!!

79 euros later and I was waiting on the woman behind the check in desk to put sticker thing on my backpack. Unfortunately, my super cool backpack was considered 'odd sized' and had to be checked in at the 'odd sized baggage' desk. Not a problem...until we got there and saw it. The damn sign that said, 'Back in 5 minutes'

SHIT!

Patricia and I turned back and went for the check in desk again. The woman said we had to check our things at the odd sized desk and Patricia interupted her and said no one was there. Then the guy who changed our flight saw us at the check in desk and said we didn't need to check our bags here, we could do that at the gate and we need to leave NOW.

The cool part was we got to skip the long security line. Jumped to the front, got my passport stamped, and tried to remember what gate I was suppose to go to. D22...on the other side...

Oh sweet holy Jesus.

I didn't have time to put my backpack on properly, so instead the 17 kilos hung on my right shoulder as I followed the girls to the gate. Pain going through my shoulder as I rushed through the airport, counting the gates.

D2, D4, D6.....Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit!!!!

Turning a corner I saw it. Sweet, sweet salvation. Running to the gate, my backpack hanging off my shoulder, my face was red and covered in sweat, (sexy image huh?) but I made it. I dropped my bag on the scanner machine while the staff smiled and gave me the thumbs up.

'Yay! You made it. It's ok, you made the flight!'

I found my seat ont he plane and smiled, knowing in a few hours I would be back in my room in Swansea getting my things ready to come home.

I Can Hear You

It seems that people have now decided to flaunt that they're having sex around me. I don't mean they're having sex right in front of me. No, no that would be craziness. Instead, people have decided to share in their sexy times with me by letting me hear about it.

Case number 1: We were staying in a hostel in Rome and considering the city, the room was in pretty good shape. All the bunk beds were lined against the same wall and in between each bed was a set of two lockers, one on top of the other which prevented you from seeing anyone in the bed next to yours. I couldn't sleep much on the last night in Rome and finally began dozing off around midnight. About 3 am the other roommates came back, drunk, loud, laughing. Bitches. As I finally got into a comfortable spot in bed I heard a noise coming from the bed the only boy in the room was sleeping in. I couldn't quite make it out but then heard the giggles of one of the girls. And then I heard it. It was loud and fast. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap!!!! Now, it's fine and dandy to get your rocks off but come on now. Have some consideration for others. I don't care if you're having sex or getting a 'happy ending' I just don't want to hear it.

So I reached over my pile of crap that was resting peacefully next to my bed and reached for my ipod. In the process, I knocked over a pair of sunglasses, bottle of aloe vera(I burn easily...), and a bottle of water. Suddenly, the giggling stopped and I heard a lot of 'shushing.' My arm froze in midair, my hand clutching my ipod tightly. Then I noticed a faint light coming from the party bed. And then it was quiet. As I began to slip the ear pieces into my ears and hit the play button on my ipod I heard snoring. Typical man.

Case number 2: It's been a long 3 weeks travelling through Europe. Especially, the last few days. I only got home last night and waking up this morning everything hurts, especially my right shoulder. After yesterdays 'Amazing Race' moment, rushing to the airport, changing our flights, running through security with a 17 kilo backpack hanging on just my right shoulder. So, today became my 'lazy I'm not even brushing my damn hair' day. I've spent most of the day curled up in my bed reading from my new book when I heard it.

It was soft, faint, a little distance. Maybe the guy downstairs was 'entertaining' a lady friend. And from the sounds of it she was mighty entertained. But then it got a little louder, and a little louder, a little bit more louder and I realized it was coming from the room directly across from mine. The only ones home at the moment are myself, the only other girl roommate and her gal pal.

I thought maybe they were watching a movie. Until I heard one of them say the others name and figured that couldn't be a coincidence. I dug my nose deeper into my book and they got louder. I quietly read to myself so I could hear my own voice and not theirs and they still got louder. I read a little louder and was debating if I wanted to start screaming the words that were on the page I was reading (which would have been.....WE HAVE POTENTIAL ACCESS TO SORCERERS, NECROMANCERS, SHAMANS, WITCHES, EVERY CONCEIVABLE VESSEL OF MAGIC) when it suddenly became quiet.

I get it. You're having sex. Lucky you. Now please turn your volume down a notch, or 10, and let me read my damn book in peace.

*P.S. I just heard the Asian kid downstairs throw up. Again.

The Naked Man

Since it was such a nice morning, Patricia and I decided to head over to the beach. Once we made it to the beach I covered my porcelain skin in sunblock and slowly and cautiously made my way to the water. At this point Patricia was already swimming around in the water talking on and on and on about how nice the water was. I barely had my toes in and was already shivering.

There was only the two of us and I used that excuse to keep me out of the water since I noticed some weird teenage boy circling our stuff. I would stand by our things and he would sit about 10 feet away. A few minutes later when he realized I wasn't leaving our stuff unattended while he seet a few feet away he left. Creepy kid.

Eventually, I got myself into the water. Splashing around, shivering, and swearing like a pirate. It was at this point we noticed another guy walking in our direction. Neither one of us had our glasses on so we couldn't tell if he was free ballin' at the beach or just happend to have on a flesh colored speedo. Thus, the debate began.

'No, I think he might have a speedo on...'

'It looks like he's wearing a censor bar in the front...'

'Maybe it's a skin toned speedo?'

'Who would wear a skin toned speedo to the beach....oh my god..'

At this point the man turned around and we saw crack. He then began to swagger his way in our direction and we saw everything. It was as if he wanted to show off his junk to the two only girls in the water. He paused a few feet in front of us, posed for a second, then turned around and headed back where his naked ass came from.

We giggled for about 10 minutes after that. Oh naked man.

Angel Face

Last night we were in Munich and decided to do the beer challenge through a tour company. There was a variety of people there....in particular Fabian, from Mexico City, Mexico. We chatted a little bit in the beginning of the evening but then as we moved to different beer halls the circle of new people changed as well.

At the last pub almost everyone (except me and a few others that became babysitters...) was über drunk. (I've been wanting to use at least one of those letters since I'm using a German Keeyboard). Well, Fabian sat his drunk ass next to me and for about 5 minutes we played the 'What's Rosies Real Name' game. It went something like this..

Fabian: So Rosa, how do you like the beer?
Me: It's Rosie
Fabian: How do you like the beer, Rosa?
Me: My name is Rosie....°Take a sip of beer, smile°
Fabian: So you like the beer Rosa?
Me: Rosie. Not Rosa.

That went on for about 5 more minutes...
He then framed my face with his hands and told me that I have an angel face. Fabian then said he knew I was a nice person because of my angel face and he was happy to meet such a nice person with an angel face.

I told him he was drunk...he said he wasn't and then nearly fell backwards on to one of his friends.

Did Anyone Check the Weather?

We were so organized when we planned this 3 week travel around Europe. We bought 'proper' travelling backpacks, got most of the hostels booked, and made sure we picked trains that had the least stops. The one thing we did not check, however, was the weather.

As I was packing I looked through my clothes and picked out stuff that I normally wear and that would be weather appropriate. But for some reason this was all I kept thinking in my head as I picked out my clothes....'We're going to Rome, we're going to southern France, and we're going to Barcelona.'

Notice in my little thought train that I don't mention any of the colder countries? London was nice and warm so it didn't really hit me until we got to Berlin. It rained, it snowed, and there was major wind. And all I had to wear was 2 long sleeved shirts and a zip up sweater. I had to borrow a rain jacket from my aunt. At least I didn't have to borrow the white Christmas shoes...

Once we left Berlin, we hoped and hoped that it would be a little bit more dry and warm in Salzburg. Looking out the train window gave us a different view. Snow. Lots and lots of snow. I have one pair of sneakers and two pairs of flip flops with me. I can't wear those in the snow.

So there we were, in the snow, cold, shivering, wondering why out of three smart girls, none of us checked the weather.

Of course our last day in Salzburg it got warmer and the sun came out. At least it's nice weather in Munich. And maybe Monday I can wear my flip flops around Rome.

Clive, The Lonely Milk Carton

What happens after sitting in the library for 9 hours, sleep deprived, and camera in hand

Awkward Bus Ride

I haven't slept. I realized last night that I have a paper due tomorrow when I thought it was due Friday. Plus other stress from back home is keeping me awake. (side note, for some reason my default picture looks really weird on this computer....)

So, my plan was to get to the library as soon as I could this morning and the buses usually start up around 8am. At about 7:15 I was just sitting in my room, cursing my neighbors loud snoring...show off. So after about 5 minutes of me glaring at the wall we share I decided I would wait for the bus at the bus stop, even though I had about 45 minutes to kill. But to my amazement the bus was already waiting there. (It's like they KNEW).
The bus driver was nice enough to let me wait on the bus instead of outside in the chilly fog after he looked me over(thinking...omg what hole did she just crawl out from), smiled (pity smile maybe), and joked about how early I was awake. Thank you Captain Obvious...
So I take my seat in the back of the bus...since all the really cool kids sit back there. And the emergency exit seats have the most leg room. I take out my phone wondering who, other then me, would be awake at this ungodly hour. No one. So, I start to play with my phone. I've had it since September and just discovered it has this nifty thing where you play a clip of music and it tells you the title and artist...that entertained me for about 20 minutes.

Anywho, long story short I finally made it to campus, looking like the BIGGEST nerd. The only person on the bus the whole time and before I stepped off the bus the driver asked me if I was awake yet.
No.

P.s. The kid next to me needs to stop pretending to stretch so he can see what I'm doing. You smell like egg rolls.

My Cinderella Story

It was Christmas Eve and things with my family were starting to wind down. We said our good byes and I stood in the small hallway by the front door looking for my shoes. My cute, little black ballet slippers that go with just about everything. I found the left shoe....but rightie was no where to be found.

A massive search was conducted but unfortunately it seemed with the death of my red chucks, rightie decided to hit the road for greener pastures. I know that life was better with my red chucks so I completely understand righties decision. But it came at a rather inconvenient time. I know this sounds really weird but I do like to wear both shoes when I'm going somewhere...even if it is the 3 second elevator ride. The funny part of the whole ordeal was being asked about 5 different times by 5 different German relatives if I came down wearing both shoes. And if you're wondering, yes I had both shoes in the beginning...

So my life has finally become the fairy tale I always dreamed about. I as Cinderella lost my shoe and now all I had to do was kick back, relax, and wait on Prince Charming to bring me my missing shoe.

A few days went by and nothing. My aunt even searched her apartment (even though the shoe went missing in my Omas place) but came up empty. So she decided to take me shoe shopping for new shoes. Since they were just black ballet slippers they weren't too hard to replace...I actually find some cute ones with glitter (it doesn't take a whole lot to make me happy).

Two hours and 10 Euros later my Prince Charming showed up. Unfortunately, Prince Charming turned to be my 81 year old Oma carrying the missing shoe.
Not the fairy tale I had in mind...

Wabbit Season

I get to spend Christmas in Berlin with my family and so far it has been tons of fun. Yesterday we took a 2 hour road trip to visit family that live in the deep east side of Berlin. One of my moms cousins owns her own hair salon so it was nice to finally get my hair cut.

Once we got back my great aunt had cooked an awesome lunch. Dumplings, sour kraute, and rabbit. That's right, I ate rabbit. It was actually pretty good until I got the creepy feeling that I was being watched. I shrugged it off and continued eating the delicious rabbit and sour kraute and listend to the German conversation.

That was until I heard it. It was a light scratching noise coming from the hallway. I peered through the door and there it was, two of them. The familys pet rabbits sitting in their cages, watching me eat one of their own.

I then put another piece of rabbit on my fork and into my mouth as I rubbed my belly, smiling.

'Mmmmm......'

The Difference Between Pants and Underwear

Words can be funny sometimes. Especially when it means something completely different in the new country you just moved to. Fanny doesn't mean a persons backside, it actually means the womans front side, her lower front side, chips are french fries, a womans wallet is called a purse and her purse is called a bag. Something else I wish I had known was that pants actually mean underwear. So as I was packing for Scotland I decided on just one pair of jeans. I figured I would only be there for the weekend and really, how dirty can one pair of jeans get over the course of three days?



Obviously, I didn't take into account the 3 hour walking tour, ghost
tour, and just wandering aimlessly around the city that yes, the bottom
of my jeans would become pretty dirty. I sat on the bus heading back
to the airport when I glanced down and noticed the dry dirt and little
bit of mud on the bottom of my jeans and exclaimed loudly, 'Oh my god,
my pants are so dirty!'



Mia, my token British friend, began to laugh as about half the bus
turned and looked at me. Really didn't think my jeans would be such an
interest to everyone on the bus, so I just smiled sheepishly and looked
out the window. When you're really embarrassed things outside the
window become really interesting...Oh wow, check out that lamp post!



'My pants really are dirty! Look!' Mia started laughing again before
she looked at me and told me that here pants mean underwear. I
basically told everyone on the bus that I have dirty underwear.



Rosie Billings, making friends where ever she goes....

Jasper and the Yeast Rolls

Those of you who have/had animals will probably appreciate it more. It is a story that is hilarious in itself and the person that wrote it is a good writer and made the story even better.

Enjoy...

We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the summer of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of you, who are unfamiliar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a 10 year old child about whom you know nothing and committing to doing your best to be a good parent.

Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me.

Lest you think this is a bad case of 'no discipline,' I should tell you that Perry and I tried every means to break him of this habit including locking him in a separate bedroom for several nights. The new door cost over $200. But I digress.

Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the project is downright obnoxious, it was 20 years overdue AND it got me out of cooking Thanksgiving for family, extended family, and a lot of friends that I like more than family most of the time.

I was assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend.

I am still cursing the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up so quickly. It was the only appliance in the whole darn house that worked, thus the assignment.

I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wed evening to reheat Thurs am. Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor. Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams 586, I put the rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living room to rise for a few hours. Perry and I decided to go out to eat, returning in about an hour. The rolls were ready to go in the oven.

It was 8:30 PM. When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans, much to my shock one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty. I called out to Jasper and my worst nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled over to me. He looked like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy and the Michelin Tire man wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he walked. I swear even his cheeks were bloated.

I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of uproarious laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK, however, I needed to give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the night.

God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more than my kids did when they were sick. Suffice it to say that by the time we went to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so bloated we had to lift him onto the bed for the night.

We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to relieve himself. Well, the dog was as drunk as a sailor on his first leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt and most of the time when he was walking his front half was going one direction and the other half was either dragging the grass or headed 90 degrees in another direction.

He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he would just walk and pee at the same time. When he ran down the small incline in our back yard he couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up running into the fence.

His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a loon. I endured another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second call within 12 hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented in his belly and that he was indeed drunk.

He assured me that, not unlike most binges we humans go through, it would wear off after about 4 or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto Bismol.

Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving meal of the day.

My sister lives outside of Muskogee on a ranch, (10 to 15 minute drive). Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and drunk dog leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between Perry and I, we took off.

Now I know you probably don't believe that dogs burp, but believe me when I say that after eating a tray of risen unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS WILL BURP. These burps were pure Old Charter. They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police station. But that's not the worst of it.

Now he was beginning to fart and they smelled like baked rolls. God strike me dead if I am not telling the truth! We endured this for the entire trip to Karen's, thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.

Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the day. The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and everyone made trips to the garage to witness my drunken dog, each returning with a tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without running into something. Of course, as the old adage goes, 'what goes in must come out' and Jasper was no exception.

Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12 risen, unbaked yeast rolls, you might as well have put a concrete block up my behind, but alas a dog's digestive system is quite different from yours or mine. I discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared to leave Karen's house. Having discovered his 'packages' on the garage floor, we loaded him up in the car so we could hose down the floor.

This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from the hose hit the poop on the floor and the poop on the floor withstood the blast from the hose. It was like Portland cement beginning to set up and cure.

We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one else was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor. And as if this wasn't degrading enough, the darn dog in his drunken state had walked through the poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor that had to be brushed too.

Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner at Perry's sister's house.

I am happy to report that as of today (Monday) the dog is back to normal both in size and temperament. He has had a bath and is no longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume. I am also happy to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked yeast rolls hidden inside my closet door.

It appears he must have come to his senses after eating 10 of them but decided hiding 2 of them for later would not be a bad idea. Now, I'm doing research on the computer as to: 'How to clean unbaked dough from the carpet.'

And how was your day?

Dublin Bus TOur

When I went to Dublin, a friend of mine and I decided to shell out 25 euros and try out this "hop on hop off" bus tour. Bill was our first driver and boy was he cute, funny, and had an Irish accent that could make anyone swoon. So I got the bright idea to try and capture his accent on camera. It still makes me swoooooooooon.

Also, watch for the colorful doors...apparently when Queen Elizabeth the first died the English demanded that everyone paint their doors black as a sign of respect and mourning. The Irish said, Screw that you can't tell me what to do (so that's where I get it from...) and decided to paint their doors every other color except black

Can't Really Blame Them

Sometimes I wonder why other countries would really, really hate Americans. Ever since I've moved abroad I get a lot of really ...odd questions about the states. I think the one that beats every other question has been "Do they have music in the states?" How do you answer that?

But most of the questions were regarding the election, which was a big thing over here. Everyone was so curious about it, a few kids even got excited when I showed them my absentee ballot. It was like show and tell that day.

"And this kids, is who YOU should be voting for, if you were allowed to vote."

Sometimes it's fun to ask someone about what they think the stereotypical American is.

"Loud, fat, lazy, and stupid."

Those are the most common responses. Also, another popular one is that we all carry our own guns and shoot each other in disagreements. I recently spent the weekend in Dublin and had to sit next to these 3 American girls (around my age) on a tour bus. And as loud as they were, I ended up forced into listening to their conversation.

First, there was a heated 10 minute discussion on what American really is. It's not being patriotic to your country, or taking the citizenship test (and passing), exercising your right to vote or even practicing whatever religion you want (even if it is Scientology). According to these 3 girls being American is being able to shove an entire Doritos chip in your mouth. Yes, if you can fit an entire Doritos chip into your mouth without breaking and getting crumbs all over yourself, then you are American.

Lastly, there was the tantalizing (always wanted to use that word) debate on who had the better cold french fries, Burger King or McDonald. One girl professed her lover of cold, day old Burger King Fries while another express her (and her entire families) loyalty to McDonald.

This is why other countries think Americans are stupid. Because they're sitting on the bus, watching some homeless guy peeing on a wall when they're subjected to conversations like this. You can't really blame them.

But I think my big question is....why are you eating the french fries cold? Are you dumpster diving for fries?