Category Archives: Va-cay-cay-cay

A Mile High*

By nopasanada | Published: June 29, 2008

*The thing about being literally a mile high is that one beer = two shots of tequila. So y’all should know that I wrote this while under the influence. I would apologize but you know me.

“A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor” ~Victor Hugo

I never mentioned this but about two years ago I had to have a serious Come to Jesus discussion with myself about moving to Denver. I didn’t of course, since I now live in Upstate NY. But I still like to think about how my life would have been if I had decided to make the trek. I am in Denver for the weekend and I will be back in a few months. There are stories to come. A lot of ‘what if’s’ but I am happy with my decision. It’s like sliding doors though; I wonder what would have happened or could have happened if, back then (at the ripe old age of 22), I had decided to leap.

HRH Greeblemonkey took this photo a few nights ago. I think it pretty much sums me up in all of my smiley, edamame loving glory.

Also check out my eyebrows. For those wondering what I spend my ad revenue monies on it is on transforming my unibrow into two separate eyebrows that don’t look like mating caterpillars. And for that I thank you all.

Also posted in Fotografias, Inebriated prose, On Happiness | 10 Comments

Oh days divine

By nopasanada | Published: December 28, 2007

“A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in.” ~Robert Orben

Have you ever noticed that going days and days on end of doing absolutely nothing that requires brain power tends to become physically draining? The only thing I’ve actually had to do for myself in roughly 10 days is remember to check in for my return flight from Oklahoma City, which was completed with aplomb. My next most difficult task was during my Holiday party when I had to convert from wine glass to ceramic mug just so I wouldn’t confuse my drink with others. Seriously, the sum of my life and decision making has been What type of iPod should I get and how many times is too many times to go to Sonic? That is all.

Christmas came and went sans fanfare and without a complete sensory blowout from way too much going on at once. I like to keep things very simple so that I can focus on just one thing whereas too much leaves me confused and panicked. I requested one thing; Snow tires. And unless snow tires fit into a Banana Republic box, I did not get them. Which is fine because I did get a tea stirring stick that holds loose tea but on the box it looks like some new fangled apparatus for toking on the reefer. In fact when I opened it, the first words out of my mouth to my mother were “My! How progressive you’ve become”.

I like it like this, when things are simple enough to be described as ‘good’ and no one asks 75 questions while trying to find the hidden meaning behind a one syllable answer. I like when things are just as they are.

I shall leave you with my favorite moment: My younger brother, G, first meeting my niece Melissa. He was holding her and she was doing that 5 month old I want to get down and stand thing by kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. So I sat there and watched G say “Oh you want to get down? Here you go”. So he set her down and decided that since she, at 5 months old, wanted to stand she could obviously do so without assistance because she apparently has the physically prowess of the average 16 month old. She immediately toppled over and spent the rest of the afternoon doing this baby sob thing that simultaneously broke my heart and made me laugh. When retelling this story to my mother she informed me that when I was three months old my father liked to stand me on the bed and then let me fall over. He would do this repeatedly as a fun little game. When my mother found out she flipped her shit and that was one of their first major fights over parenting. Apparently my mother was a little sensitive that her three month old was being tossed on a bed. When she told me it was like a little ‘Aha’ moment in my head. For suddenly the past act of my father tossing my three-month old tiny self on the bed explains a lot of things. Like I don’t know, half the content of this here blog.

Also posted in "Oh night divine", Familia | 17 Comments

Departure

By nopasanada | Published: November 13, 2007

“To get away from one’s working environment is, in a sense, to get away from one’s self; and this is often the chief advantage of travel and change.” ~Charles Horton Cooley

About seven minutes before stepping on the Airtrain to JFK, I decided to check the crackberry for any last minute work email that I might need to respond to. This would probably give one the impression that I am highly important with my office and window and excessive travel and what not, but that’s actually a load of bullshit. The real problem is that I spent several years with a boss who took great pleasure in forcing my first crackberry into my hands and then making me respond to emails at 7 PM on a Saturday night while he was out club hopping in Atlanta and I was sitting in my apartment crying because I knew that by Monday, I’d want to toss myself off the balcony once again. Rinse and repeat for 19 months. Even though my current boss isn’t anywhere close to Stalin-esque I still felt compelled to quickly check one last time even though I am fully aware that nothing good ever comes from checking work email while not at work or about to get on an international flight.

And wouldn’t you know, I checked my email and their blaring, with a little red “read this or else you’ll be unemployed” envelope was a message that forced my blood pressure to sky rocket and my heart to feel as if it were beating out of my chest. An email that sent me reeling into the depths of “Ohmygodi’mgoingtoprisonandtherewillbeorangejumpsuits” type panic and so I replied as calmly as possible after my very well imagined possible threat of handcuffs and Federal prison for not filling out a form and then called my mother breathless because I do NOT look good in orange. And the material the handcuffs would be made from would cause me to break out. My mother told me to calm the fuck down but with gentler language because her tongue would fall out of her mouth if she ever dared use the word ‘fuck’. She soothed me and told me that I was on my way out to France and maybe a xanax or some vodka or throwing my crackberry onto the train tracks would do me some good. I checked my email one more time and noticed a response and was told by my coworker that “it” would be taken care of, not to worry, and why the hell are you checking your email you psychotic bitch? So I turned it off and went to France.

There are a million things I could say about Paris and will need to process over the next few days. Because even though I was only there for five days, it feels like I was a world away and it doesn’t help that I was sick on the way there and that I now am going to the West coast for six days. It will be really great to see my internal clockwork spontaneously combust. At any rate, I always feel this way when I return to Europe for I’m going from a very chill and zen-like while lolling around drinking coffee in the middle of the day and purchasing the softest tights known to woman to being thrust back into the cold cruel world and the soft vibrations of electronic devices every ten minutes.

The plane ride there was superb, I am so very blessed to be one of those people who plops her ass right at her window seat and then falls asleep for seven hours. I’ve seen those people, once or twice, the ones who don’t sleep. Walking up and down the aisles of the main cabin with sunken eyes, staring at the monitor that counts down the miles and hours left until arrival. Their skin gray and slacking and why, God, why are they not wearing shoes? I stare at them and shake my head and fall back into blissful slumber after a double dose of Moet and Cotes du Rhone. That’s what they give you on the way to France, champagne, wine, a baguette and Camembert. It’s like a little foreplay for what you’ll be getting upon touchdown. Like “Oh yeah, you think this is good baby? Wait until you see how I can make you feel once you try the chevre and a crepe with nutella. I’ll have you eating out of the palm of my hand.” Well then, consider me wooed.

Also posted in Planes trains and automobiles | 29 Comments

One-track mind

By nopasanada | Published: November 2, 2007

“Let’s not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it.” ~Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

It takes a lot to get me excited. When most people are feeling that awesomeness of anticipation and can do nothing but wiggle around in their seats or stare at the ceiling all night long smiling, I’m curled up in the fetal position, thumb in mouth staring all night long at the ceiling muttering “Jesus, take me now.” I don’t know when I became so completely pessimistic and cynical about most every situation but I am. Instead of it being a cute quirk, it’s sad that I’m so rarely genuinely excited to the point where I can feel my heart beating whenever I think about an upcoming event. If I could put a finger on when this started happening I would probably say it became an incurable problem when I started feeling those bubbly feelings of excitement only to fall hard due to letdown later. So now I tend to go into most situations sullen and then getting warmed up to my new surroundings and adventures.

I woke up this morning at 5:10 AM for a 6:30 AM flight. I got yelled at by an 80 year old TSA attendee. It was freezing this morning and there were no spots at the airport. I kept thinking about a pair of pants I bought the other day that make me look stumpy and I busted a heel. But this morning, while waiting on the tarmac, I took out my Lonely Planet Guide to Paris. I haven’t had time to sit down and really think about next week because there were so many other things happening prior to that and all of my attention went to minor work crises and not thinking about how the Eiffel Tower lights up at night. Yet this morning, when I took out my book to find out the hours for the Lourve and yesterday when I went to look at the 10-day outlook for the weather in Paris, my heart did that thing. That thing where I can feel it beating and my body tenses up not in nervousness but with the giddy anticipation of an eight year old going to Disney World for the first time. I keep squeezing my hands into fists while bouncing up and down. I want to cover things in exclamation points and call people just to scream, “I’m going to Europe, bitches” I am so motherfucking excited right now. And it feels AWESOME.

Also posted in NaBloPoMo, On Happiness | 10 Comments

Just short of perfect

By nopasanada | Published: October 8, 2007

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

I almost didn’t go to California because the stress that I’ve been under has turned all brain matter into something resembling lumpy brownie mix. Things have been sloshing around up there without respite or a sign of abatement. Thus my only recourse would be to say maybe next time I will come visit. Next time being some arbitrary moment when my bedroom doesn’t look like Riyadh or when I’ve had more than 37 seconds to think about something other than work. But there is always that ‘something’ because those things never go away, those constant irritants that are always there and lurking and prohibiting one from being able to fully enjoy their surroundings and be engaging.

I needed this trip. Right now, at this juncture in my life, I need to be full of clichés and trite phrases about loving things and people and those warm fuzzy thoughts that normally make me wretch. I must say that from the moment Abigail put together an itinerary knowing full well my love for food and wine and shopping, that this would be wonderful and it was. It was the simplicity of it all, a walk on the beach, a dinner with friends and the conversation that make me unable to put the ‘good’ into words. I can say that there isn’t one minute I’d change about this weekend. Not even the part where I ate three cupcakes from Sprinkles thus giving my thighs their own zip code.

Being completely unapologetic in my need to be complimented and told that I’m doing something well despite the neverending feelings of imperfection. There are times when I need to be told that my writing isn’t complete shit or that being in the midst of writing a book proposal doesn’t make people keel over from the possible vapid nature and ennui inducing shit I’m capable of writing. There are times when I need to feel inspired and to be around like-minded funny and smart people is a nice little jolt. Most importantly, there are times when I need to be told that my cleavage looks great and perfectly firm. Which, for the record, beats almost any compliment about my writing.