I'm baa-aack

So I know it's been about a century since I last blogged, but I touched down in the United States last week and I've been busy ever since. First, let's start with my harrowing journey back home. 

Though I love sitting in airports and people-watching, I'm not a big let's-hang-out-in-the-airport-for-8-hours-waiting-for-our-flight sort of gal. But, for some reason, every time I travel with my family this is what ends up happening. Probably because I'm always the one that pays for my ticket, while they use their airline miles, which they have a lot of. This inevitably puts us on different flights during a single 24-hour period, so here's me hanging out in the Buenos Aires airport for a total of 8 hours waiting for my flight, after my dad, mom and sister all depart hours before me for theirs. 

When it's time for me to check in, the American Airlines lady tells me I'm going to Los Angeles. "No...," I say, "I'm going to San Francisco." 

"No...you aren't," she responds, staring blankly at her computer screen. Luckily I have a printout of my itinerary, which I show her. "This is strange," she says, looking over it. Ten minutes of her tapping on a keyboard and a phone call later and she tells me my connecting flight from JFK to San Francisco is canceled -- and the next available flight they have for me is the following day, connecting through Los Angeles. Ugggh. 

I refuse to believe that there are NO other connecting flights I can snag the day I arrive in JFK, since I'm arriving at like 6:30 a.m. and I reeeeally didn't want to spend an extra night in a hotel (missing J like crazy at this point). So I tell her fine and figure I'll haggle a same-day seat on a plane out when I land. 

The plane ride to New York is long but pleasant since the seat next to me is empty. Highlights include watching Water for Elephants and Arthur, along with making out the Amazon river below by moonlight as we fly over the Amazon. 

When I land in JFK it takes forever (as always) to get through customs, and after standing in a ticketing line for 30 minutes I'm told I have a confirmed seat on a connecting flight at 6pm. I'm equally happy and pissed -- happy 'cause I still get to go home that day, pissed because I have to sit in the airport for 12 hours. The rest of the day is spent watching CNN on the overhead televisions and adding myself to standby lists on each San Francisco flight. A crowd of about 20 shares my plight, and they crowd the standby desk in front of me, yelling at the flight attendants that they need to get on the flight. Flight attendants, unfortunately, are not magicians, and cannot make more seats appear -- especially when American Airlines "overbooked every flight" that day, they say. Some of my standby amigos yell obscenities, a portly French girl begins to cry and shout some pretty nasty French words (as my limited knowledge of French would lead me to believe). 

I sit on a nearby bench taking pictures of this and trying not to laugh. At 7am, wearing the same clothes I wore 24 hours before, I find this all very amusing. No anger is getting any of us on this flight. This fact is apparently lost on these people. After the group parts I walk up to the desk and ask (very sweetly and very calmly because these people are essentially the gatekeepers) whether there is any way at all that I can get on the next flight out at 3 p.m. Attendants actually smile back at me and pleasantly explain the situation, which I nod at and say I understand. The last thing I'm in is a good mood since I'm greasy and tired and missing J, but I crack a few jokes with them and they laugh. The female attendant tells me she'll try her hardest to get me on the next flight, but no promises. I thank her, since that's really all I need to hear. 

One thirty rolls around and I make my way to the other gate, where the standby list has just appeared on the screen near the desk. And what do you know -- my name has been moved up to #2! Score. Thank you flight attendant lady. The standby crowd has joined me in the area, and has resumed yelling at the new attendants at the desk, as though this is really going to get them a seat on the plane. 

Plane pulls up, your truly gets the last seat. Angry people are left yelling and crying at the gate. Moral of the story: You attract more flies with honey.

When I landed J met me at the airport with a big bouquet of pink flowers (love him) and I couldn't stop hugging him. Though I had a  fantastic time in Buenos Aires, after the fourth week I was ready to come home. I missed J like whoa and was having (if truth needs to be told) major sex withdrawals that started about a week or two into my trip. (Whoever said sex wanes with marriage obviously isn't in my marriage, where frequency is taken to almost teenage proportions.)

When we got home he had his anniversary present to me sitting on the couch (it was one of the Kate Spade bags I wanted) and we pretty much did not leave each other's side all weekend. As cheesy as it sounds, I don't know how I lived before J. Sure I had serious boyfriends and I dated casually between them, but no one is like J. He really is my heart. 

Anyway, this weekend will officially be dubbed The Weekend of Real estate. We're going to our realtor's party tonight that she throws every year. She invites all her business clients and friends and serves unlimited margaritas all night. Obviously I am game. Then tomorrow we're going to start touring properties with her. I CAN'T WAIT!!!!

Argentina-bound

The time has come to bon voyage. As much as I love hearing my next door neighbor play acoustic renditions of Extreme's More Than Words through our paper-thin walls every day around dinnertime, this apartment is getting too small for me, a husband and three animals -- especially during a long, hot summer. (No intermittent guitar taps -- which Anonymous Neighbor is currently practicing -- will change that.)

I'm off to Buenos Aires tomorrow and won't be back in the states till mid-August-ish. I'm taking my laptop down to do some freelancing from the Southern Hemisphere, but I probs mcgobbs won't be blogging that much (can you blame me?) I'll be posting pictures throughout the next four weeks, though, so stay tuned!

A good example of a proper crowd wave

Waiting for stage set-up.

Little late to the game with this post, but the U2 concert last week was spectacular. The venue, which holds 69,000 people, was sold out -- though I heard on the news later that many weren't able to make it on time because of terrible traffic jams near the coliseum and little to no parking after the concert started. Oh wellsies, we got there on time! Lenny Kravitz opened, and it was a blast from the '90s watching him perform. Partially died when he played "It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" (my anthem in college) and "American Woman". After Lenny's act was over, there was a 45-minute lag before U2 started. And you know that means....crowd waves. Big ones. Here was the view from our tier:

At one point during intermission, all three tiers had giant crowd waves circling the coliseum. It was in-cred-eeeb-lay. Precisely why I dig concerts so much -- the audience's energy is always so infectious and exhilarating (okay, maybe not always. There was that time I saw Gordon Lightfoot, well two times, when the audience was very mild-mannered and remained seated throughout, politely clapping after every song. But even that was tons of fun. It was Gordon Lightfoot, for God's sake.)

ANYHOO, then U2 came out and of course they were divine, though I'm still of the mind that Bono needs to 86 his weird, see-through shades. For some reason they remind me of something a pervert would wear. 

With so many people packed in and screaming, I wondered if that's what it must have felt like going to a Beatles concert back in the day. Not that I'm comparing U2 to the Beatles (sorry, they're untouchable), but in terms of legends U2 comes close.

Bono and The Edge

You know it's almost summer when...

...you start figuring out your summer concert schedule. I used to be an avid concert-goer (think upwards of 10 concerts per summer), but these days I'm supposed to be saving for adult things like a home (I swear, watching paint dry is faster and less tedious than saving for a down payment. Siiiiigh). 

On a side note, we've had a change of summer travel plans. We're renting a pied-à-terre for a month in Buenos Aires this summer, which I am happy about since August is official tango month in Argentina, and well, Buenos Aires is one of my favorite cities on the map, but that means -- after buying my plane ticket last week -- that summer concerts are somewhat low on the priority totem pole. BUT, it turns out a friend has three tickets for U2's 360 tour that he can't use since he'll be in Manhattan all month recording with his record label. He offered to sell them to us over dinner on Friday night, and how could I say no? I would never let three perfectly good U2 tickets go to waste.

J. Me. My sister. U2 on June 7th. Inner Chihuahua doing back flips. (And because these tickets were not cheap, they BETTER play one of my favorite U2 songs of all time that I first became obsessed with as a wee 6th grader who loved her Mtv):

I'm sure they'll play my second favorite U2 song, With or Without You (so cliche, I know). 

Oh yes, and I've got some big news I'm planning to blog about on Wednesday. May is turning out to be an excellent month. :)

Carmel birthday, in pictures

I had the BEST weekend in Carmel with J. 

Our hotel room -- a small British-style cottage with a private entrance -- was beyond adorable. When we checked in, a bottle of Sherry and a welcome kit for our dog were already waiting inside, and we didn't have to use our car once all weekend since our room was on the main street near all shops and restaurants. I didn't want to leave! It's been a dream of mine my whole life to own a vacation home in Carmel, so we also browsed real estate in the area (just for fun) and let's just say the prices are a little high: bungalows and cottages start at about $2 million-plus. Nevertheless, I quietly added this dream to my bucket list. ;)

Our front door.

 

Banksy-style art on the outside of our chimney.

Wine tasting (above and below) at Vino Napoli.

Noshing on the Antipasto Misto, a platter of salumi, cheeses and olives.

The Tuck Box English Tea Room.

Watching the sunset during our hotel's wine and cheese social.

Dinner at Porta Bella's. The food and ambiance were amazing.

At the beach.

The Cheese Shop, one of Carmel's must-see places. The shop has over 300 different kinds of cheese from all over the world, and tasting is encouraged. We were given about 15 different cheeses to taste, and told the background on each type. Highly recommend a stop here.

We heard the best Bloody Marys in town were at A.W. Shucks, so we had to give them a whirl. They were divine. So good, in fact, that we ended up ordering five of them, along with plates of fresh oysters (below) on the half shell.

One of the many adorable little alleys lit up at night.

The aftermath

Well, semi-aftermath since this Venga Bus birthday party celebration is just getting started. But yesterday was my "real" birthday, and I got plenty of amazing surprises. A delivery of super cute flowers sent by a friend, a fun shopping spree, my parents surprising me by showing up in town with a big flower bouquet of their own and a good friend treating me out to late-night drinks were some of the highlights.

But the coolest part of the whole day was after dinner when J and I returned to the car, and there on my seat was a Tiffany's box wrapped with the signature white ribbon. (Inner-chihuahua --> psychotic) That flash of Tiffany blue and white is enough to make any girl giddy, and sadly I am no exception. As I was opening it with the goofiest of wide smiles, J told me not to get too excited because it wasn't jewelry or anything. Well when he said that I knew exactly what it was, and I was right: The Tiffany's porcelain box I've wanted for the past two years!!:

So cute that he actually remembered I wanted it since I've only publicly mentioned the thing twice. And I LOVE it. It's currently sitting on my french country bath stand filled with my rings. Good man.