Treasures from the Abyss

I've recently been cleaning out my room, a task that sorely needs to be done. Naturally, I found some wonderful gems, some nostalgic, some hilarious, and some straight up baffling as to where they came from or how they found their way into my room. They include some of the following:

This classy sweatshirt and scarf combo

A time capsule accurately predicting my career path, even though I didn't know what I wanted to do until my  freshman year of college

an inflatable graduate monkey

A toe ring and ankle bracelet (or an "anklet," as I would affectionately refer to it as)

an old baby toy

A certificate for "direct thinking"-- some things never change I guess

Some seriously 90s shorts

3 yo-yos even though I could never really yo-yo-- again, a 90s kid

A Lakers pin, despite never having liked the Lakers

An unsent secret admirer note

A half-completed cross stitch of "Home is where the cat is"

A neon green quill pen

A Jacob Black blanket--my mom thinks she's funny

Now here's where it gets good:

A can of beans, a spoon, and a roll of toilet paper in a disney princess bike pouch

This diaper...

with chocolate inside!

I can only attribute these to Vienna Ward white elephants, because I can't think of another place I could get something so weird.

Last, and probably my favorite, this classic kids book:

Apparently my love for hilarious cat pictures started way before lolcats.

If Men Aren't From Mars, I Don't Know Where They're From

This semester has reinforced to me over and over again that men and women are SO different. From  interior design to tv preferences, I sometimes wonder how men and women have managed to peacefully coexist for thousands of years.

A few weeks ago, I saw the Muppet Movie with some friends. There's a great part where Kermit invites Walter, the protagonist, to perform in the Muppet Show.

Walter says something along the lines of "But the Muppets are so talented! There's no way I could ever be as great as them!"

Which Fozzie interrupts with: "Check it out!"

"Fart shoes!" 

I thought it was funny, but the guy sitting next to me thought it was really funny. 

Here's why.

The rough female humor analysis: 

"That's ironic--that doesn't take ANY talent!"

And the male version:

"HA! FART SHOES!!"


Boys.

Plato's Cave of Mexican Food

I wish I had a cave of Mexican food. But that's not the point.

If you've ever studied any philosophy, chances are you've probably heard Plato's Allegory of the Cave. It goes a little something like this:
(If you know this, feel free to skip the green part.)

There are prisoners in a cave. They have never seen the light of day, each other, anything--the only thing they are able to look at are the shadows on the walls, which they believe is real life (for example, they understand a 'tree' to only be the shadow of the tree). One day, a prisoner escapes. Dazzled by the light, he at first can only look at shadows and reflections. He is then finally able to see the real objects themselves, and understands that they are far more real than the shadows he has been looking at. Finally, his eyes adjust enough that he is able to look at the sun, and understands that the sun is the reason for everything around him--the light, the trees, and his capacity for sight. The sun represents the ultimate form of The Good. Excited by this, he returns to the cave to tell the other prisoners about his discoveries. Unable to understand or believe him, they try to kill him.


So you've probably asked yourself by now:

What does this have to do with Mexican food?

Here it is:

The cave is Chipotle, or any other Mexican food you think is good. It's good food when it's the only thing you know. Everyone in my hometown is obsessed with Chipotle, but I was never satisfied. Was this the best thing Mexican food had to offer? I longed to escape the cave.

One day during my freshman year of college, my friends brought me to Cafe Rio. So began my escape. I saw the colorful atmosphere and fun facts on the walls. Shadows and reflections. Then I saw the homemade tortillas, the fresh ingredients, and the lime-cilantro sauce. The trees, the flowers, the animals. 

Then the Sweet Pork. The Sun. 

Enlightenment. Pure Deliciousness. THE GOOD. The so, so, SO good. The ultimate Mexican food form of The Good. Life in the cave, i.e. Chipotle, will never be the same.

Fast forward two years. Cafe Rio sets up shop near my hometown. I begin to spread the great, enlightening news. But instead of the excitement I expect, I hear anger, denial. Nothing can be better than Chipotle, they say. They refuse to try it, and instead want to kill me.

Coincidence? I think not. 

Plato knew what he was talking about.

Interned: The Sitcom

One night 5 of us interns were walking to dinner when I realized that our lives would make an excellent sitcom. So, with some ideas contributed by other interns, and apologies to the interns who weren't on that walk (but sorry guys, you snooze, you lose, especially when it comes to Nando's), I bring you:

INTERNED

The entertaining, whimsical comedy about American interns in the Scottish Parliament, starring:

1) Iain

A Scot, real parliamentary employee, and  pub quiz extraordinaire, 23 year-old Iain will be running for local council on a platform to bring back the Hovercraft as a viable form of public transportation. 

2) Yassef

As the token gay guy AND sassy black friend, Yassef can say pretty much anything that the rest of us are too white or straight to say.

3) Colin

As our hippie mountain man who always wears a ponytail and loafers, Colin manages to photobomb almost every picture we take with a ridiculous facial expression.

4 & 5: The Two Audreys

The two Audreys both go to Utah schools, have long, thick, blonde hair, love to dance, and are roommates. You can already see the confusion/hilarity this could cause, I'm sure.

4) Bad Audrey

As a non-Mormon from Utah who goes to the University of Utah, "Bad Audrey" always has to explain that she's not a Mormon, despite the fact that she gets drunk on half a glass of wine. Her blonde moments are always a source of entertainment.

5) Good Audrey

As a Mormon who's not from Utah who goes to BYU, and who's in a place where the two national drinks are whiskey and a hangover cure, "Good Audrey's" objection to alcohol makes excellent comedic fodder and gets her gifts like Disney's Happy Kids Sparkling Apple Juice.

If The Office, Scrubs, The West Wing, and Friends had a love-child, Interned would be it. It would have aspects of office drudgery, politics, and students, all in a foreign country. Win-win-win-win.

The show would also include other hilarious occurrences and characters, such as:

• The series opening with me walking into work on my first day and finding an old guy picketing to see my boss
• Our awkward relationship with our internship coordinator
• Nutcase conspiracy theorists
• Schezey but hilarious Highlanders who will offer themselves to anyone
• A lovable Frenchie who accidentally hits "Reply All" to an email explaining that he doesn't know what duct tape is
• Extreme Scottish Nationalism
• Bad Audrey, a libertarian, arguing with Iain, a socialist, over gun control
• Misunderstanding accents
• Valley girls
• Racing down the halls of parliament with recycling bins on legs when there are internet outages
• Deep fried foods (ie pizzas, mars bars, you name it, they got it)
• Inside jokes that run through every episode

And if our lives were a sitcom, our SNP-funded trip to Belgium would have been the movie.

And despite what you may think, all of this is actually true. We really are that weird. 

And I love every single one of us.

Now who's up for Season 2?

Flight of the Conchords Really Speaks to Me

Today was my last day in Edinburgh. This weekend I've felt like this quite a bit:

For your information, there's an inflammation in my tear gland.
My friends in Edinburgh have really been dabomb.com, and saying bye to them has been less than fun.


I've also already started to experience reverse culture shock, despite having only been out of Edinburgh for 6 hours. Dangerous stuff.

It started in the airport--I didn't even have to leave the country for it to start. We're buying food at the airport to eat quickly, and my dad says "I'm getting chips--do you want to get some?"
I'm immediately confused and a little annoyed with my dad's food choice, because I'm thinking of big fat french fries which are neither clean nor easy to eat when you're fighting your way through an airport.
Then my dad holds up a bag of potato chips.
Oh. My bad.

The second instance was near-fatal.
I go to cross a street in Paris, look to the right, and cross to the median.
One small problem: cars drive on the right side of the road here, not the left.
Oops. Good thing no cars were coming.

Hopefully I've learned that lesson and will get home alive, or else my mom might kill me.

Belgian Waffles = The One That Got Away

If you've spoken to me in the last week, chances are you've heard about Saturday, 26 November 2011, my incredible and never-to-be-repeated day of FOOD PERFECTION. Everything I ate was insanely delicious--quite easily the best of each food I've ever eaten or ever will eat in my life.  I kid you not, this was the closest there will ever be to Food Nirvana. This day of Food Perfection was brought to you by:

Belgium

Last weekend I got an almost-free trip to Brussels for training at the EU, sponsored by the Scottish National Party. (Just one more reason Scotland is great.) Belgium's a nice place, though there's not much to see. The food, however, makes it all worth it. Here's how my day of absolute Food Perfection went down.

10:00- Wake up, because I'm on vacation baby.

11:15- Food perfection begins. 

If you see this sign, STOP. This place is your friend.

On the way to the train station we stopped at a little bakery called Lowy and picked up my first Belgian waffle. Now you may be thinking to yourself, as I was, "what's so special about Belgian waffles? I can just make these in my waffle maker at home." If you're thinking that, you're absolutely wrong.

So I get this waffle, and it's a little hard and there's nothing on it. Naturally, I expect it to be kind of bland and possibly tough. Boy was I wrong. I take a bite into this thing, and my mouth is in absolute ecstasy. The hard exterior has a nice crunch, and the inside basically melts in my mouth. But wait, there's more! Inside of the waffle are small sugar crystals that sweeten it just the right amount to give it flavour without being overpowering. My mouth could not believe that something this great was going on inside of it.

2:00- Arrive in Bruges, an adorable Flemish town. Spend the afternoon in the Christmas market. Experience Parts 2, 3, and 4 of Food Perfection.

My crazy travel buddies. In Bruges.

Part 2- A Bratwurst from a stand in the Christmas market with carmelised onions on top. Not only were the onions divine, but when I bit into the casing on the bratwurst, the inside literally fell apart in my mouth in an aromatic swirl of spices and insanely tender meat. SO. GOOD.

Part 3- Bought a cup of hot chocolate. Easily the best cup of hot chocolate I've ever had-- creamy, frothy, Belgian chocolate, enough said.

Part 4- Another Belgian waffle, because one clearly wasn't enough. There were no sugar crystals inside, but it was topped in strawberries and chocolate, and the waffle melted in my mouth. Divine. 

If you couldn't tell, I'm kind of obsessed with Belgian Waffles. Maybe I ate 4 in less than 48 hours, maybe I didn't, but when it's that delicious it can't be bad for me, right? It's okay to fall madly in love when you're on holiday in a foreign country, even if food is the object of your affection. I don't see anything wrong with that.

FOOD PERFECTION COMPLETE.

I can now die in peace.

The only other food or drink I had that day was a bottle of Disney's Happy Kids sparkling apple juice given to me as a joke by friend and intern wannabe, Paul, who finds my non-alcoholic ways strange and amusing. Maybe not perfection, but still a tasty and entertaining gesture.

This isn't Paul-- this is Iain, my pal and de facto Belgium mom since he was the only one who had a clue where he was going.

This is Paul.

And this basically sums up the rest of Belgium.

I Never Realised Being Locked in a Tower Could Be So Lame

Remember this key? The key to my flat?

Remember how I loved it? Remember how cool I thought it was for being an old-fashioned skeleton key?

Well, the honeymooning period between us is long past. It's over for us. And here's why.

One day I'm sitting at home. One of my roommates is in Barcelona, and the other had left earlier that morning for London. Out of habit, she locked the door on her way out. Now, under most circumstances, this wouldn't be a problem. But I can't live under normal circumstances, can I?

So I go to try and unlock the door. The key won't turn. I try over and over again. It still won't turn.

My key decided to teach me the hard way that it can do everything it's supposed to do except one minor, tiny wee thing.

It can't unlock my door from the inside.

Piece. Of. Junk.

So I start considering my options: 

I call my landlady. She's in Dubai.

I look out the window, but decide that scaling the wall from 3 stories up is not the best idea.

Remember that scene in Cinderella when the evil step-mother locks her in her room? With the big skeleton key just like mine?

That's what it felt like.

Unfortunately, I don't have Gus-Gus and that other mouse to come save me from my tower. I'm just glad I had enough food to last me a few days, just in case.

Then I remember: I have friends. More importantly, I have friends with cars who will be driving into Edinburgh that night. If I get one of them to stop by my flat on the way to our church activity, I can hand them the key through the mail slot, they can unlock the door, and then drive me to the church, saving me from my tower and from a £1.30 bus fare. WIN-WIN. So I text my friend, and in the meantime I try to entertain myself.

Nothing like calling my animal friends to pass the time.

So finally the time comes, and my friend comes by my flat, I pass him the key, and he frees me from my prison and drives me to the church.

My hero.

Here's a display of his manliness:

       

I don't even know how this got started. Or why.

Suffice it to say, my key and I are finished. I've replaced it with a similar but far superior key that actually unlocks my door from the inside. To my key, I quote Beyonce, my unashamed woman-crush: 

"I can have another you in a minute. . . .

Don't you ever for a second get to thinking your irreplaceable." (Note the proper use of ellipses, thank you.)

And I know I always wish my life was a Disney movie. But karma, out of all the awesome Disney princesses, you had to pick Cinderella? Who ever wanted to be Cinderella?? I mean really.