for Mora: embarrassing pics of Sara...
A few things real quick re: last night.
1. I finally have a beef with Target: Xhiliration makes really shitty ballet flats, and I never should have trekked around in them. My calves feel like I actually performed in Swan Lake for two weeks straight.
2. I don't know who bought me beers when we were out, but thanks. I feel like thanks are owed because I couldn't remember if I actually whipped out my cc, or if someone just saved me the trouble and bought me beers. Which leads to #3....
3. Where were we that they served bbq chips? I never ate dinner last night except some chips and guac at moe's cantina at my career function, so the bbq chips became my dinner. And they must have been Jay's because I couldn't stop eating 'em.
So here's some other shots of YourUp and lakehouses, and lots of embarrassing pics of myself because I know if anything, people love embarrassment and especially embarrassing pics. And there were so many, I didn't really know how to choose. Basically I'm ruining the slide show that Maura and I have been talking about preparing, but whatevs, I thought I'd select some choice shots. Also, you're missing out on hilarious videos of both me and my brother trance dancing. We'll have to show those sometime. Further embarrassment ensues.
This is kind of an embarrassing pic of everyone. Middle fingers, peace signs, high tens, mugged smiles...we were all in rare form that night.
Commercialism is embarrassing sometimes. This makes my eyes tired. Maybe because Santa, Christ, and the US Presidents all share the same booth. I think Harry Potter is in there somewhere too.
This was our last day in Paris, the end of YourUp 05, after I had thrown out my towels (stolen from hostels) and decided to use my Egyptian sleep sack as a body towel, and my red t-shirt as a head wrap. The look obviously worked so I made Maura take a pic.
I thought I'd throw this one in there. Will is jamming to some cd, I can't remember what, but it was certainly not Kelly Clarkson, even though I'm sure his face looks the same when he rocks out to KC.
Ah, the peace sign...It made one of many appearances at Giverny in Monet's Garden and Maura and I counter-acted all the outrageous beautifulness by taking ridiculous pics, like me pretending to sit on a plant as big as a chair.
This isn't embarrassing at all, but I'm obsessed with contrast, especially old vs. new, and it's all over Europe, which is probably why I wasted so many pics on shots like this.
My classic air guitar pose. When my parents would go out on "walks" and Maura and I had the villa to ourselves we would: 1) smoke as many cigarettes as humanly possible before their imminent return; 2) put on dance party music and do cannonballs in to the pool; 3) tell ourselves over and over again "I can't believe we're in a villa. In the south of France. A villa!" This pic is from#2, when I would attack the stereo and put on New Order. We also danced to Bloc Party, and then when Le Chris showed up, All American Rejects. That's his favorite guilty pleasure. Okay, and mine too.
This is when I got shit on by a pigeon in Prague. Maura called it too, about two seconds before it happened. I shrieked, typically, and these nice Dutch tourists offered me an antibacterial wipe. Which is great because I just read about pigeons spreading encephalitis by shitting on people. So...my fingers are crossed.
Um, I really did go out in public like this. But we were in the Hague, and it was Queen's Day celebration (hence the orange...um...mesh hat) and Maura and I came back to our hostel room kind of late and we didn't know the people who had moved in, so we were, of course, giggling and taking ridiculous pics of each other.
Ah, the money shot. This was a bruise from my first, and worst, fall in Frankfurt at the beginning of the trip. I was jumping on a picnic table (or something) and just pitched backward onto the cobblestone streets. The guys we were with were understandable dumb-founded, not used to my pratfalls at all, and Maura had already started laughing at me, so they kind of did a, "heh heh heh" then everyone broke down laughing at me. I woke up the next morning with this doozy on my ass, and Maura noticed it. I figure everyone has either seen a) my underwear; b) my butt crack; or c) my actual butt, so I thought I'd take care of the ambiguity and get it out there one final time. I'll probably take this down eventually, but despite its lewdness, it kind of is an amazing bruise. Probs my best one ever.
next installment of YourUp
(left): dance party at the Doran lakeside estate! Katie and I ripped that carpet to shreds. i still mourn the loss of those sunglasses Mike Boomsma stepped on.
(right): cheek to nipple: Maura and Nick's crazy dancing at the Kwilosz's Talahi the weekend we got home from YourUp.
(left): Gay ballet on tv in the Hague, the Netherlands.
The. (right): We're in an open air roadster in Prague with a driver named Borak whose car is named Hot Snake Lady!
(left): My first contact with a St. Bernard since leaving Mulligan four weeks prior...we were in Amerilaken, Switzerland (aka Fratville, Europa), his name was Spliff and this dog fished food out of garbage cans around town, but boy was he a fix.
(right): Upon leaving Amsterdam, Maura and I carried posters from the Van Gogh museum around in their "handy" poster box, but we soon discovered they were not meant to travel. This was taken the day before we left and we had nothing but rage for this piece of shit cardboard contraption: Maura's super-huge biceps ripped this thing apart!
(left): this is me and Maura in the middle of a fight. My brother took a seven-picture chronology of the event, and even took live video of it.
(right) : an amazing picture of the Grimaud Castle by moonlight that Maura took--this was the view from the villa
Tu te permets beaucoup de choses
Again, since I don't speak French, I stole a phrase-a-day calendar from my bookstore. The translation is "You take too many liberties", literally: you allow yourself a lot of things.
I'm horrified I missed Bloc Party. I even brought my dancing shoes to work.
I should never have pre-purchased tickets and then gotten a career.
I thought maybe by tonight's showtime, my cousin would have called me back. For the last two weeks, I'd left her a trillion messages concerning the Brit invasion of Bloc Party tonight, and I even reserved tickets for us when Steph alerted blogworld about BP at HOB. Now the tickets sit coldly at the reservation desk, and inside every one is crazy and dancing and freaking out, and I am...blogging. And enraged that I am missing it, and wasted x amount of dollars on two tickets to a show I couldn't go to.
I'm mad at my stupid career too, and mad that no one at O'Hare Internat'l Airport knows how to direct me from the El to Remote Parking Lot E, where I had to pick up the Mannheim bus in order to get back to LGP. It was door-to-door a two hour commute, and the entire time I was depressed I wasn't going to Bloc Party tonight. Like, what the fuck? Had this been a normal day and I wasn't in retarded new hire training where we eat tacos for lunch and compete for xeroxed dollar bills when answering sales technique questions, I could have been blogging all day (maybe) in my boring gray cubicle and figured out that others were going. I would have even had an extra ticket. I would have been in careerwear but whatevs, I'm sure there are other career-o's who love BP.
I hate my career. It's separated me from things I love, and if this happens again, I'm quitting. Or demanding that I'm allowed to leave early when I have tickets to a show; I think that's reasonable.
My only solace is top forty music, so I guess I'll cry and listen to Avril Lavigne tonight.
Just kidding, I'm staying away from music tonight since I'm too bummed to even hear anything. Steph, will you tell me how it was?
I'm an SBS with the U30 unit of MBU at CB
In case you don't speak French, it says "Backpacking for Retards." Actually, that might not even be French. Who knows? This pic was taken in our hostel in Belgium, where like 30 languages meet and are spoken daily. Me and Maura adapted our own mottos of bp-ing: 1) There's no crying in backpacking. 2) Be cheap and flexible. We of course had no problem with motto #2, but as time wore on, well, the waterworks started pouring. 
Sarah discovers Bon Jovi...Germany discovers Bon Jovi...Sarah discovers Germany...Germany discovers Sarah likes to drink...[*actual timeline may be adjusted; for instance, my tongue indicates I've been drinking for a while]
Maura & Sarah sneak cigs behind the rents' backs in an alleyway in Grimaud, France. Ahh, the pleasures of traveling with family.
Maura snuck a few more cigs than me though...this one happened in Giverny, at an $$ coffeeship near Monet's home, and we were anxiously on the lookout for K & R.
I can't figure out how to put the body of this text before the pics, so go back to the title: does that mean anything to you? It pretty much has the same effect on me now that I've spent a full day in my acronym-rich career environment. But I've decided I will be acronym-queen to Ben's acronym-queen, and will speak in acronyms as often as possible to maximize my efficiency and keep other career-minded young professionals on their toes. Expect an influx of acronyms that make no sense, and sound like submarine war ships with torpedoes.
Rudy's my mentor thus far, and has been briefing me on relevant industry buzzwords, like the powwow he is lead singer of (for those not in the know, a powwow is the motivational pep rally that sometimes happens multiple times per day). Today I got to witness a guy sing "Happy Birthday" in front of the class because he was late to our post-lunch meeting. He vetoed "I'm a Little Teacup" and the theme to "Happy Days" because he claimed not to know the words of either. I knew Rudy would have had my back when I said, "Sing 'Happy Days'! The words are the days of the week, then 'happy days', capped off with a 'Saturday, what a day, groovin all week with you'!" or what have you. The guy was really not into my suggestions, and horribly embarrassed to sing in public. It was weirdly entertaining to witness, but also incredibly voyeuristic, and I hope I get to watch more of these forced musical numbers for punishment's sake. I even can't wait til I get punished, and I'm going to confer with Rudy to prepare a number, maybe I'll even dance.
My original wife gave me the pics from our extended European honeymoon, and I'm going to start posting more of them soon. Forgive me if some of them are scattered and incomprehensible, but I promise you won't be disappointed. The money shot that I know will bait you is pics of my pratfalls throughout Germany and Belgium, and the bruises I received from theses adventurous nights. Also, have some lakehouse danceparty and shirtless chugfests pics as well.
Target shopping spree!
I decided to treat myself to a Target shopping spree since I'm starting my new career tomorrow, and will need to dress the part. I've already got a bunch of careerwear and powerpumps, but the suburban girlfriends keep coming back from Target with great stuff and I've stayed away for so long...well, today was my day.
I dropped way too much money, and even put some impulse wants back on the shelves (a killer purse, this beautiful floppy hat I couldn't imagine wearing much in public, a pair of cropped pants that probably didn't fit anyway--the available sizes were only 3 and 17, and I am neither. I hate when that happens, when you want something real bad, and they only have a crapload of sizes that aren't remotely close to yours).
I bypassed accessories, thankfully, to beeline to the music section. Last night, when Steph and I discussed Hilary Duff for a second, I was really thinking I would go out and buy "Most Wanted" today, her greatest hits album. And let me just say I feel like the laziest piece of shit alive that this tween has a greatest hits album before she's even turned 18. And she has like a 25 year old boyfriend! God, she's so much cooler than me.
Immediately, I grabbed Kanye's "College Dropout" since I've been meaning since forever to buy that album. I can't wait. Then I can follow up with "Late Registration" after I'm schooled in the ways of Kanye.
Another cd I was certain I wanted was Common's "Be" and I've listened to his older albums, and I just like what he's about. My friend Anna really likes this cd, and I always trust her musical opinion.
My next stop was the grrl power section, where I saw my old friend Kelly Clarkson, some new tweens I'd never heard of, and...Hilary Duff. As I was holding her cd in my hand, I began to question what the hell I was doing. BUYING the Hilary Duff cd? So I can listen to her and her sister cover "Our Lips Are Sealed"? Then I heard Steph's voice in my head, that she looks like an alien on heroin, and she really is trying to be punk when she's not...and I put the cd back on the shelf. I couldn't rationalize spending money on this, a pretty pricey cd full of Disney-commericalized hits. I take back my comment that Hilary is my new Kelly; no way.
But I returned to Avril Lavigne, whom I've always had a soft spot for. I used to own "Under My Skin" in the fall of 2004 (somehow it's been misplaced--read: Le Chris totally stole it), and I used to listen to it on my way to work. I got in a number of fender benders while listening to Avril Lavigne, but probably because I was trying to light hitters at the same time. I know she's also fake punk in a way, but to the degree of fame, who isn't? I like that she tells boys to get out of my head, get off of my bed, yeah that's what I said. Or when she's like, "Got you in my pants/I'll have to kick your ass/make you never forget." And I love when she holds notes like cry-eeee-yiy-eeee-yiy, that rules.
I can't wait to listen to my cds on the way to my career tomorrow. I'm kind of nervous! But not really. Just ready to start and go nuts making dials, but it's...Sunday.
This is kind of an embarrassing pic of everyone. Middle fingers, peace signs, high tens, mugged smiles...we were all in rare form that night.
Commercialism is embarrassing sometimes. This makes my eyes tired. Maybe because Santa, Christ, and the US Presidents all share the same booth. I think Harry Potter is in there somewhere too.
This was our last day in Paris, the end of YourUp 05, after I had thrown out my towels (stolen from hostels) and decided to use my Egyptian sleep sack as a body towel, and my red t-shirt as a head wrap. The look obviously worked so I made Maura take a pic.
I thought I'd throw this one in there. Will is jamming to some cd, I can't remember what, but it was certainly not Kelly Clarkson, even though I'm sure his face looks the same when he rocks out to KC.
Ah, the peace sign...It made one of many appearances at Giverny in Monet's Garden and Maura and I counter-acted all the outrageous beautifulness by taking ridiculous pics, like me pretending to sit on a plant as big as a chair.
This isn't embarrassing at all, but I'm obsessed with contrast, especially old vs. new, and it's all over Europe, which is probably why I wasted so many pics on shots like this. 
My classic air guitar pose. When my parents would go out on "walks" and Maura and I had the villa to ourselves we would: 1) smoke as many cigarettes as humanly possible before their imminent return; 2) put on dance party music and do cannonballs in to the pool; 3) tell ourselves over and over again "I can't believe we're in a villa. In the south of France. A villa!" This pic is from#2, when I would attack the stereo and put on New Order. We also danced to Bloc Party, and then when Le Chris showed up, All American Rejects. That's his favorite guilty pleasure. Okay, and mine too. 
This is when I got shit on by a pigeon in Prague. Maura called it too, about two seconds before it happened. I shrieked, typically, and these nice Dutch tourists offered me an antibacterial wipe. Which is great because I just read about pigeons spreading encephalitis by shitting on people. So...my fingers are crossed. 
Um, I really did go out in public like this. But we were in the Hague, and it was Queen's Day celebration (hence the orange...um...mesh hat) and Maura and I came back to our hostel room kind of late and we didn't know the people who had moved in, so we were, of course, giggling and taking ridiculous pics of each other. 
Ah, the money shot. This was a bruise from my first, and worst, fall in Frankfurt at the beginning of the trip. I was jumping on a picnic table (or something) and just pitched backward onto the cobblestone streets. The guys we were with were understandable dumb-founded, not used to my pratfalls at all, and Maura had already started laughing at me, so they kind of did a, "heh heh heh" then everyone broke down laughing at me. I woke up the next morning with this doozy on my ass, and Maura noticed it. I figure everyone has either seen a) my underwear; b) my butt crack; or c) my actual butt, so I thought I'd take care of the ambiguity and get it out there one final time. I'll probably take this down eventually, but despite its lewdness, it kind of is an amazing bruise. Probs my best one ever.
