KISS ME, I'M SHITFACED!

I've been listening to the Dropkicks way too much for my own good.

Anyways, I'm in Riga, Latvia as I type and there are many British folks here coming home from the European finals that took place in Moscow on Wednesday. Ahhh.. futbol.

I'm pretty bored and I can't wait to return to America. Let's see. I went to Tel Aviv, Israel for a couple days to see my sister and my new niece, Yahli, who is adorable. My mother and my sister argued a lot, there was crying and me mediating and I basically hated my existence while my brother-in-law looked on sympathetically. Same old, same old. Then, I was taken to the end of the world, literally, the Dead Sea. 6 days of nothing. I mean nothing but salty water. I read a 400 page book, sketched, wrote 16 post cards, and a 3 page letter (which was not just a letter, but rather kind of a scrapbook + letter) I never sent. Went to Riga for a day, spent the next 6 in Liepaja where my aunt and cousins live. The only form of technology I had in the time was the BBC World News as it was the only channel in English. I am amazingly knowledgeable on the big bad things of the world now (because the news is never positive). Did you know 1.5 million people die of TB every year and 6 million people are infected? Who knew consumption was still so, er, popular. So.. 3 movies as the theater plays them in English with Russian and Latvian subtitles, Indiana Jones, Speed Racer, What Happens in Vegas. Manchester United vs. Chelsea. iPod on the balcony. Giving up on Nietzsche after a chapter because my brain veto-ed after reading two 400 page books the week before. Latvian beer. My 15 and a half year old cousin who knows English but is embarrassed of her Russian accent so won't speak and only responds to me with, "Yes", "No", "I don't know.", or shrugs. Great conversation piece, let me tell you. To top it off, she has got herself a tiny fashion mullet and scenester clothing minus actually being affiliated with any sort of musical styling. Siggh.

My letter to the USA:

Dear Lady Liberty,

I could kiss you. Let's go to whatever state actually let's gay people get married (is it Mass? CT? Can't remember.) and get hitched.

Love and cupcakes from your devoted exiled countrywoman,
Alexis


Sorry Jen --- Lady Liberty is my new wifey. Hah!

Riga, Latvia.

And we're back.

Hello, hello again.

The 2007-2008 school year flew by at an incredible speed. To think of Alexis and me and this point last year compared to now is so strange. We've changed so much, our situations in life have changed, and we've experienced so many wonderful and not-so-wonderful things. But I can speak for both of us when I say that I couldn't be happier.

We are moving out of our lovely apartment at the end of May and will be movin' on up to a beautiful condo with a breathtaking view of our fair city. I will be staying there all summer, working on an internship at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Rubbish is taking over the world going to Cannes and being plastered all over the internet, and Alexis is globetrekking once again. This summer takes her to Israel, Latvia, Russia, Tokyo, Hawaii, and perhaps a jaunt over to California. With my free time, I will be traveling as well, though with more spontaneity and staying stateside.

So this little ditty has been started up again, mainly for Alexis and I to keep in touch with each other because, goodness, it's been 9 months since we've gone more than... a week? without seeing each other. :(

So here's to an incredible summer full of adventures, experiences, and moments to remember for a lifetime.

And in the end, what do we have to show?

So both Alexis and I traveled all summer. I spent a very crazy week in Salt Lake City full of my 30 year old coworkers buying me 3.2 beer, going to see the Bourne Ultimatum, making incredible contacts, getting job offers, meeting Chris Sharma, Daniel Woods, Alex Puccio, and Jason Kehl. I got screwed over when the afterparty was 21+ but had an amazing night outside of Park City at Canice's house for the GoLite Party. I miss my coworkers terribly now that I am back in Chicago. As we were packing up and leaving that night, I saw more stars than I ever have in my life. I asked Colin "Do they have this many stars in Colorado too?" He laughed and nodded. I said "I am sooo moving back here then." and he replied "We've been waiting all summer to hear you say that!" It was a very pleasant ending to a whirlwind week.

Since then, Alexis and I moved into our apartment in the heart of Chicago. We couldn't be in a better location and we're surrounded by friends and tons of things to do. Jason and I visit each other almost daily, Alexis and I walk to the beach to lay out and study. We make cocktails and watch Sex and the City regularly. We also named our place "The Copacabana" because we felt it was very fitting. Our first party here went pretty well. Less attendance than I would have liked but my vegan cupcakes were a hit.

Speaking of vegans, we go to the Chicago Diner quite regularly and are starting to know the waiters by name. They, however, forgot our names and refer to us simply as "the Ladies" but it has a ring to it so we don't complain.

School is school. Alexis and I both are business majors in denial. Business majors who never want to go into business. Go figure. But we suck it up and make plans to go shopping after class to get through the day. H&M has taken a chunk out of my budget but I look fab so oh well!

And such is life, I suppose. It's been wonderful, dear readers. Until next summer, perhaps. Au Revoir.

The perfect way to describe the next two weeks [and I think Jen would agree]:

THIS SHIT IS B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

Peace out!

we float take life as it comes

So today is my last day in Denver. Tomorrow I take off for Salt Lake City at 7:15 am. I've been too busy packing, sorting, going crazy to even stop and understand what's happening. This week as a whole has been insane. As the "oh my gosh I have a week left" feeling kept hitting me, I would realize all the things I had to do and freak out. I am still leaving without doing everything I wanted to, but I'll live without a few more hikes under my belt.

What has been going on this past week you ask? Well, Jay and I hung out a lot. I basically lived at the office getting everything ready for OR. Had more drama than anyone needs at any time of their life. I went to Sue's doc in an attempt to fix my spasming back, ended up with painkiller/ muscle relaxants. I worked a 10K/ triathalon for GoLite yesterday then went shopping then packed til 1am. All on 2 hours of sleep! And today I am packing like crazy, shipping home boxes, getting my haircut, doing last minute shopping, getting a last lunch with Sue and Wade, then living up my last night here with Jay. I'll also do the traditional going around taking pictures of everything I've recognized as home for the last two months.

As I left the office on Friday, it hit me that this is the last time (at least as an intern, we never know what the future holds) I'll walk through those doors, past that giant sign, stand face to face with the Flatirons, be familiar with Gunbarrel. After packing like crazy all day, my boss, Colin and I stopped and looked at each other, "this is it? we're really done?" we said to each other in complete disbelief. It was a surreal feeling. With that, I walked out of the office for the last time and got a little teary-eyed. That's when I realized that my summer here is over. Colorado is now a thing of my past.

This next week is going to be insane. I'm expecting to be completely overwhelmed and blown away. I have some appointments lined up with rock climbing companies. And some really kick ass parties. It'll be a good time, though pardon my MIA status until next Sunday. I won't have time to breathe, let alone sleep or be on the computer.

Coming back to Chicago will be bittersweet, but so welcome. I've waited to be back in the city for two and a half months. There are so many things I want to do, but as soon as I get home, I have to pack up and move to my apartment in the city. Let's not dwell on that now. I have plenty to get through before I get back to sweet home, Chicago.

We are on the same high, you and I.

Fair readers,

How are YOU? I never ask, which is very cruel of me as if it were not for all of you other fleshy beings, existence would not matter. I would not matter. The realities which we think are real would cease to be, rather instead creating new ones where I do not want to imagine or go into for that matter.

I have made friends with a British native despite the fact I feel a bit scholarly in comparison. Ah well, he is not an American, so I suppose that is great progress. He still would like to bang me (plainly obvious within a drunk sort of capacity... or whenever) which is just positively annoying. I reckon I can avoid minor details to enjoy the accent and/or unusual London-y scenery for less than five days.

I partook in a certain activity I for one thought I would a) never do and b) certainly not do in the seedier areas of London town. Bar hopping has to be one of the most expensive, mind-altering (in a substance kind of way), humanizing experiences one can be included in. Followed, perhaps, closely by real clubbing (none of this fake, kiddy, all ages business).
Night one consisted of sitting on the sidelines (oh! shock, horrors! Alexis is a wallflower), taking in life as it passed me by. Some people just should not be allowed to leave their humble abodes in certain attires. Half-naked (or basically naked) is definantly a part of that, especially when it is rather clear you, in fact, do not have the proper body for such a skimpy wardrobe. For the most part, ridiculous looking emo/screamo kids and oh!-i'm-so-goth kids look exactly the same anywhere in the world: ...just bad. I hate to inform you but your sister would really like her black skinny jeans back (and possibly her hair straightener) and starch white really should not be one's facial coloring unless in some kind of kabuki performance (and I know for a fact there was none of that going on before you wandered into a Camden Town club/bar). I watched on, unsure of who was more pathetic. Was it me because I sat on a bar stool, peering on, sipping on some overpriced alcoholic beverage, silently mocking these people and their really awful dancing skills? Or was it them due to their aforementioned thread choices and movements? Still then, they are at least having "fun", where as I was probably not. I was experiencing, though, which says something, right? Oh, before I forget, what the hell is hardcore dancing? I mean, seriously, you males look like you are having some brilliant seizure, a choreographed one to boot. I seem to be lacking intelligence on the aesthetic appeal of this particular type of dance. After spending vastly too long having a sociological debate over counter culture, human interaction, and society as a whole within my silly mind, I decided the only sane way to deal with this mess presented before me was to get boozing. A drunk perception may have made much more sense, if not a breeding ground for clarity. I went about obtaining such a perception, much to my wallet's ultimate dismay. This was about the time it re-dawned on me that men as a whole are a despicable breed. I would be quite dead if I took all the drink offers thrown in my direction. Bitch, please, get over your bad goth self (also, not one but two Russians tried repeated to buy me drinks. Nothing could be less appealing than a drunk Russian male. good god, ew). Upon my realization that I was failing miserably at the game of free drinks! (and the use of my womanly wiles, [standing there seemed to be working just as well]), I decided to start taking up the drink offers (although, avoiding any Russians at all costs). Here in enters my new, slightly dense, beer saturated, "i-just-rolled-out-of-bed-in-these-clothes", male British friend. The rest of my eve was spent in Trafalgar Square at 4 in the morning. It is apparently a must to sit on one of the four gigantic bronze lions surrounding a very tall statue of Lord Nelson... but only drunk. And only in the middle of the night. It is a British London thing, so it seems. This plan failed miserably as first, neither of us were really drunk and second, the lions were all taken by people passing around bottles of liquor and smoking pot. Instead, I acquired a rather picturesque hour where we sat in front of Mr. Nelson which happened to be in direct line with Big Ben in the near distance. Honestly, you could not get more stereotypical. According to my new friend, Pete Dohertey is the new Bob Dylan. Or something.

Oh, and that is about as phallic (Lord Nelson statue, ladies and gents) as it gets, thank you.

Night two was overall a success in regards to really bar hopping. Four places! That is not one, but four hops! Joe said this was pathetic; a rabbit could do much better. I think he was just being bitter as he was most certainly turning into a pumpkin and I kept him out four hours after he had turned into such an object. I rather got used to wiggling my way through mounds of people in front of a bar and screaming a drink name. What's up, seasoned pro, huh? We ended up at an alt rock club which was god awful unless you were belligerently drunk or really fucking sleepy. We were both the best of each worlds. Joe's amusement of humanity in this place did not seem to cease until about 2:30, which by this point I had enough whiskey to be a dancin' fool along with a good 150 other young adults, if you will. That is the only way one can justify what they are doing. It is pathetic but oddly fun and one realizes, I suppose, they are a part of some greater humanity and are ultimately looking for the same thing: an activity, anything, to make life have some sense of purpose (other than just being alive which really does harbor a decent amount of effort sometimes) and the escapism from inherent loneliness that creeps up on all of us (after all, we are goin' out solo here). And, dammit, if that means drinking a hell of a lot of alcohol, "dancing" (from a bystanders perspective, this could be seen as a mating call at times, hence the cute air quotes), and walking into a bathroom where the ladies are doing lines of coke in a stall that won't lock (which is really fucking frustrating when one has to piss and they are too tipsy to really deal with such annoying details like a mechanical seal, so in some warped sense it kind of works out), then so be it.

The only burning question I still posses is: why is it whenever I tell some lowly male what I am studying here (architecture and WWI), since they always ask, they are somehow terribly impressed? Do I look dense to you? I mean, yes, maybe YOU are, certainly, but I am definantly not.

It is apparently big of me to spend my weekends not copying the exact same sequence of activities as I just described above. When asked what the hell I have been doing for seven weeks on Friday nights, I responded honestly with, "I have been reading philosophy and the biography of Howard Hughes, occasionally partaking in late night free writes." I was told I can take a night off from studying once and a while, you know. Hardly educational.

I leave London for the exploration of western Europe on Friday. Terribly sad, but I must admit I do so miss silly Americana. It is just home, you know? I would assume it is like craving your mother's home cookin', although, my mother does not do that sort of thing unless it involves some defenseless chicken.

Mad appreciation for the British booze or a plastered smile, you chose.


I am fucking hip & shit.


Lunching @the Ivy. Such a posh bitch, I am. Whatevez, I look fab.


Afternoon tea, oh gee!


Land of fucking cranes.

It is our function as artists to make the spectator see the world our way, not his way,
alexis

Thoughts and a latte.

I have been in Colorado for a month and a half, about. To think back to when I first got here, it seems like 6 months ago- at least. Riding my bike, trying to find the bike path and getting ridiculously lost, wading around the library, downtown Denver, my constant search for wireless, sitting in Market Street Station Park trying to find a signal from Mario's, my constant search for social interation and a friend, playing pool by myself in the condo, it all seems so long ago.

In just a month or so I have become much more independent and okay with solitude. I've becoming more comfortable with voicing my thoughts and speaking up (though I could stand to do it more). I am okay with being on my own and enjoying the company of myself. I have learned a lot about myself, what I want, and what I need. I have set myself up and gotten hurt, smoked pot, had a rocky mountain hangover, ran 5ks, met family I never even knew existed, and whitewater tubed.

If I could go back and do things differently, would I? Of course- but not much. And that's what matters. 3 weeks from today, I'll be coming home- unpacking from this trip and packing to move to the city. I'll have experienced my first (and hopefully not my last) OR. And my future will be open for whatever I want to.

Once again, I was proven: You can never have expectations and you can never take anyone or anything at face value. Things are never what they seem.

And to lighten the mood and actually include a picture in this photoblog.... my new shoes!