Californ-i-a

California…knows how to party (aka, where the hell have i been, part 3)

I left quaint lil’ Ashland, OR to drive the four or so hours south on I-5 to beautiful and amazing California.

For all of you who don’t know, my brother and his then gf (now wife) packed up their stuff and impulsively left big bad NYC and drove to San Diego. No home. No large possessions. No Job. All they wanted was some nicer people, some palm trees and the end of crap weather 10 months of the year. Now, I proceeded to give them quite a bit of shit for packing up their lives and heading west in their Covered Wagon/BMW. New York is awesome and amazing, right? why would you want to go anywhere else? Everything is right there.

Well, famous last words. As we all know, I left the big apple for the city of roses and beer and don’t intend on coming back. I heard pdx, but damnitalltohell. I’ll finally openly admit it. I LOVE California.

Once I got over the mountains (or really big hills, if you come from Co…,)  the torrential downpour stopped, the blue sky came out and the temperature jumped 10 degrees. I opened my windows and what did I smell? Rosemary. Herbs that die in my house grow wild along I-5 in California. Jesus.

Part one of the Cali leg of the trip: to Berkeley to stay with my beloved gay husband, Mark. I arrive strangely punctually and we immediately proceed to get some really super tasty Ethiopian food. I refused to eat shite fast food on the way and I was so hungry that I would have eaten the table had they been out of edibles. We return to his really cute apartment near campus. He pulls down the futon. I pass out.

We wake up kinda early and head to Bette’s for breakfast. I was shocked to see that even early on a Tuesday morning this place had a line of people outside enjoying lattes in the sun. It was TOTALLY worth the weight. Mark had cottage cheese pancakes (sounds strange, but secretly scrumptious) and I had two eggs scrambled lightly, some fruit, and their really awesome black beans. Good thing we weren’t inside for long. Mark laid out the plan for today: Guest Parking Pass, trip into the City, work for both of us, and then a fabulous gathering with the Gay mafia of Berkeley. I was down like James Brown.

We went to City Hall and received the parking passes from quite possibly the most polite person on Earth. And she works in a government office. I thought I slipped into a worm hole for a second and ended up in some weird alternate universe. Or maybe sunshine actually makes people happy.

We then legally parked my car and headed to the Bart, which I learned is like the NYC subway, except on time and without the smell. You know what I’m talking about.

The tour area of the day: The Mission District. I had been to San Fran when I was in High School and did the really hard core touristy things (Alcatraz, the Wharf, Chinatown, etc…) so I wanted a little more in depth tour. Mark took me appropriately through the Gayborhood.

I forced him to stop into Sunhee Moon, this really super cute boutique that specializes in San Fran fashions. And crocs which come from CO, which is neither here no there. I bought a sweeeeet raspberry colored linen dress which I was planning on wearing to the audition, but didn’t since it’s a wrinkle monster.

We grabbed some coffee at this really snazzy coffee shop (the name totally escapes me, but it was tasty and then headed to Dolores Park. It was GORGEOUS outside and i wanted to squish some grass with my toes. There was more than one chiseled oiled man in a spedo reading books in foreign languages in the area Mark lead me. We were chock in the gay section. They told me about some map online that shows the different social areas of the park. I couldn’t find it.

He had an awesome surprise for lunch: TARTINES. Now, if you aren’t an avid food network watcher, or have a friend obsessed with pastries, you may have never heard of this totally amazing bakery. We shared a Mozzarella & Tapenade sandwich ( which was, in reality, three slightly smaller than your average bear sammiches…,) a rocher, which is a Meringue with toasted almonds, and this berry tart. It could have been blueberry, loganberry, marionberry, schnozberry… Whatever it was, we ate every last damn bite of it and then waddled back to the Bart.

My husband went to lab and I practiced in his house for about two hours. It always seem so weird to me to practice in someone’s house, but my voice was feeling so out of shape that I would have sung on the middle of the quad naked if it would make my throat feel less like two slabs of meat fwopping together in the back of a meat truck. Yes, fwopping.

I will leave you there for now, dear ones. This shall continue tomorrow. oxxoxo

Where the hell have i been? (part 2)

So, Greeky, what else did you do in Ashland?

Well, World. I’ll tell you.

As I said earlier, it was essentially Thanksgiving on the compound, but instead of good ol’ fashion Turkey (which, might I add, my mom hasn’t made since I was 16,) Sister #1 and her friend decided to make Beer Can Chicken. I come in after my anti-poison oak scrub session to find my bf attempting to massage chicken rub all over these two poor defenseless dead hens. The action was definitely closer to sanding than rubbing, so I sweetly asked if I could help and then took over. In walks Sister #1’s friend, Thumper (his last name is Hopper. Get it?) who, beer in hand, informs us that he used to be a gourmet chef before he became a wine connoisseur. We all stepped away from the kitchen and ordered him to get to work.

Beer can chicken has one thing thats really weird about it. You open a beer can and then swiftly shove it up it’s ass. Seriously. This was something I couldn’t watch Thumper and bf do in front of his mother. The beer can then makes a nice perch for the pullet and into the oven they went.

People, the chicken was AMAZING. I’m totally not even kidding. An interesting touch to the recipe? Dump out the beer and add apple cider and herbs. I’m totally making Apple cider beer butt chicken when I get back to OR.

It was served with grilled corn, salad, those pillsbury dinner rolls and homemade margaritas. I have to thank the upcoming audition looming over my head to curb my substance use/abuse this past weekend. I probably would have made a bad impression if I got all tanked at my bf’s mom’s house and puked Cuervo in the bathtub.

That night the men made a big ol’ bonfire in the fire pit behind the house. This apparently is done almost every night. (I told you he was from Mars.) We ransacked the house for marshmallows. Sadly, there were none. We drank beer and played with the dogs instead.

The weather for the rest of the weekend was kinda your general Oregon crappiness, so the whole compound sorta slothed around the house all weekend. The bf used to have a job working at the greasy “New York Style” pizza place in town Giseppi’s. Yes, that’s how it’s actually spelled. I looked at the name on the box for a while wondering what was amiss and then broke into a fit of giggles. The Bf didn’t find it funny.

We ate the whole damn pizza. Sorry Weight watchers. It was thick and it was good. To top it off…. *drum roll* Ben and Jerry’s Everything but the… ice cream. I think it cost me more to get to California because my car was so much heavier. From my ass.

Monday afternoon, I left lovely Ashland and drove the 4 hours south the beautiful Berkeley, California.

Where the hell have i been? (part 1)

IN CALIFORNIA, BITCHES!!! Wooohooo! And in Ashland, OR to meet the rest of the SBEB’s super awesome and amazing family on their 4 acre quasi-horse farm. Coming from New Jersey, I have learned that my boyfriend basically grew up on Mars.

The BF and I drove the five hours south to the CA border on Saturday afternoon and listened to two of Dane Cook’s stand-up specials (highly recommended!) and the newest podcast of NPR’s Wait, Wait. Don’t tell me.  Had I been alone in the car, I probably would have listened to the Original Cast of Into the Woods and sang along with every damn word. I’m still hiding the fact that I’m a huge embarrassing dork from my cute boyfriend, so the musicals stayed at bay.

We arrived and it instantly stopped raining, proving the BF’s point that Ashland is the most perfect place on earth. He has not yet been to NYC, so I can’t argue my side yet. YET. I’ll give you details on when I end up getting him to the big apple. Heheheh.

The first thing we do? Go home to meet mom and drop off our bags? No. Go grab a cup of coffee or a bite to eat? No. Go for a quick tour of the town? No.  We met up with four friends of his with their four dogs and proceeded to go on some crazy hike up a mountain to see the lay of the land. I mean, it was beautiful, but did I want to meet his family all covered in earth? No. Did I? All that and more. POISON FUCKING OAK. Oh, yes. After about 20 minutes of debate, the great northwestern explorers determined that yes indeed we were totally fucking covered in poison oak from taking “off-trails” to play on the rocks. SWEET.

We head back to the car, head to Walgreens and pick up this crazy anti-poison oak serum and proceded to the farm, or compound, as I called it all weekend since basically the entire family, minus my BF, is living there right now.

After scrubbing the bejesus out of my body and changing I met:

Mom and mom’s boyfriend, Sister #1 and Sister #1’s bf, Sister #1’s friend up from Eureka, CA, 4 dogs (two badass muts named Rufus and Gryphon, and two hilarous overweight Whipits named Frank and Beans, and four horses (Babe and Wooly, who are actually owned by his mom and two border horses with crazy names that I can’t remember. I had already met Sister #2 and Sister #2’s boyfriend in Portland a few months earlier. It was essentially thanksgiving at the compound.

Since the BF bought a super snazzy camera in Japan, my poor two year old Canon was hardly used. I’ll post more pictures later.

SuperGreek goes to the Bay Area!

Oh yes! This time I’m taking my earth raping SUV and driving south to beeeeeeautiful Berkeley, San Jose, and San Fran. Its cheaper than flying. WTF?

I’ll be there from Tuesday night, May 27 to Saturday night, May 31. From there I drive north to Ashland to meet the boyfriend’s mom (I’ve met sister 1 of 2, one full set of grandparents, an aunt & uncle combo, and three cousins already, but not mom. Anyone else find this off a bit?) I’ll be staying with Mark for the first two nights in Berkeley and then Steph in San Fran for the rest. (THANK YOU AGAIN GUYS!!!!!!!!)

If YOU want some special time with your favorite curly haired greeky, e-mail, twitter, text, call, facebook, or myspace me.

OFFICIAL NEW YORK DATES

Yaaaaaay! I officially bought my tickets today for New York (to get to JFK and go israel,) but I will be there 4 days before and after to make mischief in the city of greatness.

I will be in the big apple from July 22 to July 27 and then from Aug 6 to Aug 9, crashing on the UES with my folks.

Mark your calendars.

I’m so excited! Heee!

1939 wife rating scale

How do you rank?

I think I’m about a negative 80.

Thanks to the tree for this.

I have no idea what day of the week it is.

Hello internets,

I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA for a little while. Things have been a little busy around here as the Opera season comes to an end and they try to grind us to the bone.
This morning I had the pleasure of waking up to grating whining of The Roommate’ Girlfriend. I’m sad that he’ll be moving out, but no longer waking up to “but I’m fAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAt… swEEEEEEEEEtiEEEEEEEEE…” from the kitchen one yard from my pillow, I will not. Granted, I dragged my sorry ass to my french press and heard “you’re here? sorry about the noise.” “Yea. I’m here. Mark’s friends in town and I wanted to sleep in.” I deserve a wee bit of praise for not screaming at the top of my lungs and beating on the wall above my head with my whiteout splattered ankle boot. Brava me. Now I’m sitting on the couch in my gym clothes trying to convince myself that I really should haul self to the YMCA and get as much as possible of the $50 membership fee (ROBBERY!)

The roommate is eating tots and sammiches which makes me want to jump off the balcony (fear not, I live on the first floor and I’d just land on the permanently parked crappy car which is now covered with the tree droppings I swept off.) Why, you ask? I’m on day four of the Core plan on weight watchers and tots, along with chocolate and sugars, are verbotten. I needed a change. It’s also amazingly liberating to not have to count every godforsaken point everyday and measure every piece of meat with with a tablespoon. Last night I ate 1/4 of a free range roasted chicken and 1/2 a lb of grilled asparagus. It seamed like a really good idea at the time, until I went to the dress rehearsal for our recital and I drank about 8 bottles of water. My pee smelled so bad that I nearly vomited all over my …

NEW GOWN. Weee! I can’t believe I actually walked into a Jessica McClintock yesterday, but I did and bought a dress with an odd numbered size. Other than the two poor ladies who worked there, I was a good 10 years older than the rest of the clientèle. It makes me a little sad all over that it’s under prom dresses on the website, but thats neither here nor there. It looks awesome on and suits the pieces perfectly. I win.

If you’re in the Portland metro area and want to come to our recital tomorrow night, let me know. It’ll be totally bad ass.

I’m off to make a slew of macaroons and finally melt down my chocolate santa for drizzling purposes. If you want a cookie drop, email me.

ciao!

Einstein clearly didn’t know what he was talking about…

Einstein, you silly silly man!

Jews NOT the chosen people, pSHAW!

why are exes such douchebags?

And this one isn’t even one of my douchebag exes…

awesome female friend (12:35:46 PM): oh i have an awesomely dumb story to tell you, which illustrates why i am happy to remain single and sexless forever.

AFF (12:36:19 PM): so remember ****, that douchebaggy guy that i was dating [last summer]l?

AFF(12:37:06 PM): so i see him every once and a while and it’s always kind of nice to see him until i see how big a douche he is

Moi (12:37:33 PM): yea

AFF (12:37:47 PM): so he was at a party that i was at on thursday. and we stood in the kitchen and chatted most of the night, which was fun because he can actually be a normal person when he wants to and forgets that he is a tenor

AFF (12:38:13 PM): so he has like 6 glasses of wine at this party and i’m sober

AFF (12:38:20 PM): and we all decide to leave

AFF (12:38:41 PM): and he’s parked in front of me so we walk to the car together and just stand there chatting

AFF(12:38:52 PM): and he keeps saying how drunk he is

AFF (12:39:32 PM): so i offer to give him a ride home, saying “but you’ll have to walk to your car in the morning”… he lives like 10 blocks away.. not a big deal

AFF (12:39:47 PM): so he says no and we keep debating…

AFF (12:40:24 PM): and he thinks he’s going to drive. it’s not that far, but since i’m a good friend i say “do you want me to follow you home?”

AFF (12:40:35 PM): and in response he says the following:

AFF (12:41:06 PM): “are you trying to come home with me tonight? cause you keep asking to like drive me places”

AFF (12:41:09 PM): OMG

AFF (12:41:32 PM): i just was like “no, no i’m not. i meant so that you didn’t get into a car accident and die. oh my god.”

AFF (12:41:38 PM): then i just got in my car and drove away.

AFF (12:41:48 PM): so douchey.

AFF (12:41:56 PM): this is why i do not date. men are idiots.

How in the hell did he jump to that conclusion? Is it drunk dude mentality that a girl talking to you automatically wants to ride you? Lord. The human race is in trouble.

I can’t WAIT for traviata next year!!!!!

Aida opens tomorrow and we’re already talking about traviata in September. Maybe it’s because the Tenor is doing Gastone this summer and needs to know it by, oh, next week, and I was burning him CDs and helping him find where in the score he comes in. I tell him how he’s going to be dressed in a Matador outfit (he still doesn’t believe me,) and that my most favorite part of the opera is when Alfredo busts into the Floras spanish soire at the end of act 2 and goes all crazy.

He chimes in with “Have you seen the Salzburg production with Netrebko and Villazon?” “Is that the one where she’s in a red dress and the entire chorus is dressed like dudes?” “Yea, its awesome! Youtube it. NOW.”

If I had to rank my favorite sopranos, Madama Netrebko wouldn’t have ranked too high up there. Until Now. I mean, she’s gorgeous and looks great half naked on the side of a bus (Brava to the ad dept at the met. It’s about time,) but would i choose her CD over, say, Joan Sutherland? No. After two summers tooling around Salzburg, I know what kind of crazy productions go on around there. With an open mind I open my browser.

It’s amazing. I ended up watching all of act one and most of act two with just you tube (THANK YOU, LORD OF THE INTERNTS, FOR BRINGING YOUTUBE TO US.) The giant clock, while a very blatant metaphor for her time running out, is pretty sweet. Violetta’s ability to see Death (played by one creepy looking blond dude) hanging out at the party and interacting with him is a really bad ass touch. This clip, my dear friends, takes the cake and is the reason I ordered the DVD. Villazon = zip, flop. For a really great moment of lusty anger, forward to about 7:10 and watch him throw endless amounts of money at her. It’s intense.

poooooooke!

Thanks to Dave for this one.

I’m so glad I’m not single.

This is a section of text from a wonderful IM conversation.  I wanted him to play his next move in scrabulous. This is what I got in return…

Me (1:19:10 PM): your turn!

Male friend (1:25:19 PM): working on it

Male friend(1:25:39 PM): oh

Male friend(1:25:40 PM): [INSERT MYSPACE PROFILE LINK HERE]

Male friend(1:25:50 PM): I think I’m going to have premarital sex with this person tomorrow night

Male friend(1:25:56 PM): either that or *****’s girlfriends roommate

Male friend(1:26:00 PM): and if things go REALLY well

Male friend(1:26:02 PM): both.

I’m so glad I’m not single.

women.

The other day I was having a (trilingual) conversation with the one and only Iron Chef and I asked about how the ladies were treating him. He brought up how the women in Italy were just plain sexier. The conversation went something like this (I’m a doofus and didn’t save it…)

Me: How are they different?

IC: They’re sexier.

Me: how?

IC: They know how to dress for their bodies. They dress like women without looking stupid or trying too hard. And they all think it’s 1985.

Me: Is that what we do? Try too hard?

IC: Yea. It’s sad.

Me: What do i have to do to be a hot European chick?

IC: We need to go shopping.

And then I was reading Eat, Pray, Love and contemplating my own existence in my dressing room and stumbled across the section where the protagonist is explained what it means to be Brazillian, “Even in the worst tragedies and crisis, there’s no reason to add to everyone’s misery by looking miserable yourself. That’s my philosophy. That’s why I wore makeup and jewelry into the jungle- nothing too extravagant, but maybe just a nice gold bracelet and some earrings, a little lipstick, good perfume. Just enough to show that I still had my self respect.”

Yikes. I can’t remember the last time I actually took time with my appearance and didn’t either run out the door poking myself in the eye with my mascara or not putting anything on my face other than moisturizer. Is it a self respect issue? Is that how it reads to the general public? I see very VERY few women here in Oregon who are feminine and put together, since the culture out here is so crunchy, outdoorsy and organic. More dansko clogs than peep toe pump. The SBEB doesn’t own a suit.

In a strange way, I really envy both the crunchy organic women with their Amy’s rice bowls and perfectly sculpted arms, and the women I remember seeing at Brunch on Sundays in Manhattan, perfectly painted and put together in their designer jeans and sunglasses, drinking mimosas at Blue Water Grill. I’d be in sweats, reef sandals, wet hair and sunglasses to hide my hangover at Coffee Shop across the street.

Is there a balance that can be met? Can we both be Yoga goddess and couture princess? Maybe we HAVE to chose one and in moving to Oregon I chose the wrong one. I’m an east coaster. I drive a big SUV. I like wearing high heels. I use a flat iron. I own shoes worth half my rent. Maybe I should go with that and take a little less time tooling around on facebook in the morning and blend my under eye concealer.

I think this might be my new experiment. I’ll keep you posted.

If anyone has any thoughts on this, let me know.

Breakfast addiction.

Italian class was canceled the other afternoon, so I went to New Seasons to lunch and pick up a few groceries. It’s a tad bit more expensive than Safeway, but the produce doesn’t look like its dying of a rare disease, so I pick and choose from the lovely organic fruits, vegetables, and dairy products.

I’m slightly addicted to plain yogurt with fruit in the morning. I usually go for the Amy’s organic or the high mountain stuff when I can find it… UNTIL NOW. I found this awesome Greek yogurt. I mean, it’s greek. It has to be amazing. It’s got 130 cals per cup (which is slightly more than your usual plain fat free yogurt,) No fat, etc… but it has 22 grams of protein per cup! Yowza. It’s called Oikos and its really tasty.

Go buy it.

A survey (yes, really.)

I was reading my beloved Artsy’s blog and apparantly, she and I are still psychically linked. I ALSO checked my myspace page for the first time time in months and months and ALSO giggled at the surveys that my bored friends were doing.

I’m not judging you love… I’m joining you.

Shit you already know about ME:

Hi, my name is:
Miss Super Greek Anapoppopopapalios, III

But you can call me:

Jersey or Chichi, because everyone else at work now does.
The one perso​n who can drive​ me nuts is:

Just one? But there are so many! Hmmm… I will leave this at one nameless coworker. You know who it is.

My high schoo​l was:
Teeny tiny private school in rich-bitch New Jersey. I somehow survived without any serious psychological damage. Go me.

When I’m nervo​us I:

Talk alot and stand very tall with my legs crossed. Its very very very strange. I did it all morning when I met the SBEB’s Grandparents and whenever auditioners want to talk to me. I’m really afraid that it makes me look like I’m about to pee myself.

When I’m mad I:

Cry or scream obscenities. It’s totally dependent on the type of anger.

The last song I liste​ned to was:
Besides the “GUNG GUNG” of Law and Order? I’m Yours by Jason Mraz because I’m cheesy.

If I were to get marri​ed right​ now it would​ be to:
My work boyfriend, Henry, the yellow lab. He’s the only one that understands me.

My hair is:

Wet and absorbing my Kiehl’s leave in conditioner… ooooh yeeeeeeeea.

When I was 4:

Played a lot of atari and started dance classes. If my parents had given me tennis lessons, I’d probably be a stock broker with a real job. Damnit!

Last Chris​tmas:

I flew back to wonderful and amazing Oregon after an impromptu all night excursion to Mohegan Sun with my favorite jews.

I shoul​d be:
Getting dressed and doing my hair, but my bathrobe is so comfy…

When I look down I see:

BOOBS!

I love:

The sun, hiking, my awesome and amazing friends, my family, Portland’s simplicity and beauty, New York’s wildness and strength, the smell of lavender, yoga, new clothes, olive oil and italian bread, peanut butter, and the stupid antics my boyfriend and I have.

The happi​est recen​t event​ was:

Spending the evening with the one and only lizpoj after a badass audition.

If I were a chara​cter on ‘Frie​nds’ I would​ like to be:

I wouldn’t be. I never found friends funny. I know, I know… I have no soul.

By this time next year:
I will know where the hell I’ll be living in 30 days… or not. Both of which is awesome and not bad.

I’m curre​ntly mad at:

Jennifer, for making a really heinous schedule for Thursday.

I have a hard time under​stand​ing:
A lot in the world. I am a soprano.

If I won an award​,​ the first​ few peopl​e I would​ tell would​ be:
My mom, unless my dad picked up the phone.

I want to buy:

A really nice loft apartment with exposed brick, an open air granite counter top kitchen, complete with a full set of hanging copper pots, a corner balcony, and a fireplace. Is that so much to ask?

I plan to one day:

To be finally happy in my own skin with the life choices I’ve made.

If you spent​ the night​ at my house​:

You’d laugh all night while we drank beer or ate ice cream and would have a strong cup of coffee waiting for you when you woke up.

The world​ could​ do witho​ut:
Assholes. You know who you are.

Most recen​t thing​ I’ve bough​t mysel​f:

Pretty purple thank you cards, an armband ipod holder, and $.31 scoop of ice cream for both me and my main man.

Most recen​t thing​ someo​ne else bough​t me:

Coffee this morning.

My middl​e name is:
Gilda, after my grandmother, and subsequently sealing my fate as a lyric coloratura.

In the morni​ng I:

Lay in bed contemplating my existence, make a pot of coffee, and play scrabble.

Last night​ I was:

Eating the most amazing Italian food I’ve had since I left Italy, enjoyed $.31 scoop day at Baskin Robbins and watched Cloverfield (WHICH NO ONE TOLD ME HAD BIG SPIDERS IN IT.)

If I were an anima​l I’d be:
A Serengeti lioness.  Hells yea.

Tomor​row I am:

(I guess this means today, since I saved this from when I started this last night…) singing a lot.

Tonig​ht I am:
Singing a sitzprobe and probably getting yelled at for not being heard from offstage. rockin’.
My birth​day is:
January 25. Presents welcome. Visitors preferred.