Brianne Blogs?

Before leaving Italy, we had to return our now useless rental car. This put us in the unfortunate position of having to figure out a train route through northern italy to northwestern Switzerland to our destination for the night. So, we took the train to Milan and then to Lugano and then to Lucerne, our home for the next three days. We decided to set up a base camp of sorts for Switzerland and to travel around from there.

Our day of traveling by train was not bad like we expected. In fact, we were sort of glad that we didn’t have to drive and that we got to see all of the mountain scenery without the distraction of driving. The views from the train were beautiful.

There were waterfalls, lakes and streams and cows with bells. Actual bells.

We had a great day enjoying the scenery of riding through the Alps.

Before we left Italy, we went to this little bodega and bought 79 cent wine boxes. Like a juice box but for wine. Zak got red and I got white and we enjoyed them on our train ride.

Saturday night a few weeks back, after we saw Up, we decided to go over to Bourbon street on 46th to have  a few drinks and dinner at 6:30 before heading back to our house around 8:30 for some Wii bowling. Keep in mind that this was our plan. Be home by 9:00.

Now I will tell you about what actually happened. Or, what I can remember.

There were no open tables, so we had to sit at the bar. (We have decided in retrospect that this was our downfall).

We met the bartenders, Adam, Brian and Keith and proceeded to challenge them to make up shots for us-which they did with gusto. (Adam is with Maren and made us the shot called a handsome randy.

Brian who is wearing some of our 3D glasses, made us The Brian which tasted like candy-again, part of the problem) Oh, and in a Twilight Zone moment, Adam’s girlfriend came in later that night and who was she but a girl Zak had gone to college with for a year! How strange is that?

Maren spent some time hanging with some guys at the worlds lamest bachelor party while Zak and I talked to his friend Dewey who also happened to be there for another event.

It’s at this point, round about midnight that we lost most of our memory.

Jeff tells us that we called around one to tell him we were leaving, but the time stamp on our photos shows that we were still at the bar at 3:30 am.

It’s also around this time that we have photos of Maren behind the bar…

…and of Maren dancing.

Maren and I vaguely remember being in a taxi and have a fuzzy memory of the cab driver helping us to our door. Also, the next morning there seemed to be just enough cash missing from my wallet to have paid a cab driver.

The next thing I remember is waking up without any clothes on. Hmm…Then walking out to the living room to see vomit on the rug and thinking, “Oh, Maren threw up”. Then I walked into the bathroom and saw my vomit covered clothes on the floor and realized it must have been me. For those of you who know me, this is very strange. I don’t drink and then throw up. Unless it’s hair spray, but that’s a story for another day! How did this happen? I’m still trying to puzzle that one out and it’s been two weeks! (of note, I seem to have worn the 3D glasses from our afternoon viewing of UP for most of the night. awesome, no?)

The next morning, Maren’s ribs felt really hurt and so we went through the pictures to see what had happened. This happened: we’re still not sure if she fell or jumped or if one of us pushed her. She may have landed here after she danced on the bar, but nobody remembers.

We’ve decided our problems began when we decided to do shots and we can count at least 9 that we remember doing, so one can only guess at what the actual number is. Also, at the end of the night Maren and I were drinking hurricanes like they were kool-aid at a really fast pace. This may be what led to the vomiting. Among other things. The best part is that when Meghan came home from work in the morning and saw the vomit, she too thought Maren had done it. And when Maren woke up and saw it, she too assumed it was her. Sorry to Maren for the false vomit accusation. Although I do like that everybody involved (me included) thought there was no way I could have done it!

The moral of the story is, when going to eat dinner and have a drink or two, do not stay for 9 hours and eat dinner and have a drink or twenty. Our tip to you. Although the parts that we can remember we really really fun.

As a P.S. to this post that must make our dad so very proud, I’d like to wish him a happy 52nd birthday.

Also, in reference to the no hair cutting in the year 2009 complaint post of a few days ago-look at how out of control my hair was this day. It was so bad that I had to hold it back with a bandana for fear it might eat my face. If I ever die in my sleep, please have the coroner look for hair in my nasal passages as I’m sure I’ll have been accidentally suffocated by the wool blanket that my hair has become this summer! (By the way, wouldn’t that make an awesome horror movie?)

Many years ago when Maren and I were both in college and living within a short hour to an hour and a half from our parents and our childhood home, they had the locks changed. Now, okay, sure that happens. But typically, when your parents have the locks changed in a home that is still your permanent address and one of you (Maren) lives in a dorm, they usually give you keys to the new locks. Not in this case.

Take a moment to be horrified by this-go ahead-it’s pretty bad!

That’s right, Steve and Tina Genow, blood of our blood, changed the locks on our house and didn’t give their two eldest (and favorite) children keys!

Perhaps you are thinking this was an oversight and was remedied soon. Well you are right if by soon you mean 7 years later. Yes, we now have keys to our parents home. Last week, Maren and I got a letter from Mom in the mail saying that she had decided it was time for us to have keys to the house. And lo and behold in an envelope she had enclosed were these keys. When she asked me about it later she made sure I knew that she had to drive “across town” to get these keys made.  (I decided to keep to myself the comment that “across town” in Moore, Oklahoma is a short 4 miles-but I sure did think it)

The phrase a little too little a little too late comes to mind, but I guess it’s the thought that counts. So perhaps the phrase that should come to mind is It’s better late than never. Although, doesn’t it make you wonder if she secretly sent us the keys only to have the locks changed again? Or perhaps, she sent us the keys to the new locks she’s having installed once Kyle goes to college next month. Maybe she’s decided that no collegian should have a key to her home and is planning to treat Kyle in the same manner. Ineresting….

Since one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I think I’ll end by saying thank you to our generous mother for finally allowing us to have access to our childhood home. A home filled with such memories, both joyous (when we were allowed keys) and painful (when we weren’t).

Welcome home, Brianne and Maren. Welcome home.

In a strange turn of events, since Maren’s arrival,  I have been to a place in the city I never even knew existed. That’s right, a few weeks ago, we took our first ever trip to the New York City Police Department’s Impound Lot. Or, as Maren and I called it that day, the Tow Pound.

Remember when I blogged about my Maren Taxi when she picked me up outside of the house and drove me to work? Well, she also found a great parking spot on the corner by my work and was very happy to park her car there. Until…

She went to move her car a few days later only to find it missing! That’s right, Loretta the Jetta was missing! Stolen? We didn’t think so. The Museum of Natural History is not exactly a hot bed for stealing cars.

Finally, Maren was able to track down her car and what had happened to it and why. It had been towed because her Oklahoma tags had been expired for a year and a half. (Moment of silence to reflect upon the genius that is Maren)

So, after some calls to Oklahoma to get her new tags and after Mom overnighted them to us, we headed to the Tow Pound. We decided to take a taxi since it was pretty far from the nearest subway and it’s a good thing we did because when we got in the taxi and told him we needed to go to 38th and 12th, he asked us “river or highway?” Uh, what? Luckily when we told him our destination he knew exactly where it was and told us where to go once we got there. (It’s a giant place as you can imagine)

So, into the Tow Pound we went. It’s exactly what you would expect it to be. Small, hot and crowded with wood paneling and glass enclosed workers. Yes, it was a dream. When Maren and I walked in and saw the line of 8 people ahead of us and the full waiting area with at least 25 people, we feared that our plans to meet Zak in an hour and a half were pipe dreams. In fact, we wondered if we could get Zak to bring us dinner if we had to spend the night.

We finally got up to the window and the woman told us we had to go out to the car in the depths of the tow pound to remove the old license plate and put on the new one (stupid Oklahoma and their ugly new license plates!). So we then had to walk own this wood deck/ramp in this creepy and dark alleyway to this other tiny, hot, small, dirty space to be led to the car. Except when I say we, I mean that I was not allowed to go with her. Only one person is allowed to go to the car. Were they thinking we would get in and make a run for it and the gates and police officers would be unable to stop us? Aparently!

The woman in tiny room #2 then asks Maren if she brought any tools. You know, those license plate removing tools we all have on us all the time. Uh, no! Then she generously gave Maren some before another cop escorted Maren to her car and watched her change her license plate.

Then back to tiny room #1 where we waited to be called up to the window to pay the fines. The odd thing about this fine paying was that they charged Maren for the towing and the nights the car had been impounded but did not mention the outstanding tickets she has accumulated over her years of visiting nor did they make her pay the three (yes, three) tickets that were on her winshield when they let us take the car. Riddle me this. Not that we’re complaining, but it’s not exactly a great money making strategy for the fuzz if you ask me.

Luckily, this whole process took us so much less time than we thought it would and we were in and out in an hour and nearly on time to meet Zak.

I wish I could have pictures for you, but there were signs specifying no pictures were to be taken. Bummer. Aparently I’m not the first person to want to blog about the ridiculousness that is the Tow Pound.

Needless to say it is our goal never to have to go back there. Although since it’s only $20 a night to have your car there, we’re wondering if it might not be  bad idea to have your car towed rather than pay for long term storage at the airports here which is pretty expensive.

Oh, I also loved that the lady who helped us and wrote out all of Maren’s license information and wrote her name more than once on more than one form kept calling her Stefanie.

Literally.

In January, I promised Amber (while drinking) that I wouldn’t cut my hair in the year 2009. Unfortunately, I hadn’t cut my hair since October at that time, so it’s been a long 9 months since the wool blanket I call my hair has seen scissors. While this is not problem in general, in the humidity of NYC in the summer, I’m starting to get annoyed. I try to wear my hair down but feel as if it is winter and I am wearing a scarf when I got outside. It is not fun!

Worry not, this is not me trying to get out of my promise. I would never. This is just me making sure you all (Amber) knows how I suffer at her request. Although, I have set a goal for my hair length. I’d like it to be long enough, by January 1, 2010, to braid it and then have the braids be long enough that they can loop back up my head to the top. Like the Dutch.

Okay, the above photo is not what I described above, but I found this picture when I was looking for a dutch style braid and I think I’ll try to do this one as well. I mean, how great is that? It’s like medusa with braids! Worry not, when I accomplish this hairstyle greatness, photos will be posted!

Thursday evening, Maren comes home from work with a note in her hand. This note was from a kind samaritan who saw a BMW hit her car and then keep going. This witness not only left her a note, but wrote down the perps license plate number and a description of the time and date and what exactly happened. He also left her his many phone numbers and email addresses. This man went way above and beyond the call of duty and I am highly impressed with him.

So we say to you, Mr. Note Leaving Car Accident Witness on 81st Street: Thank you and congratulations on being the Nicest New Yorker Ever!

I think we need to take a closer look at certification testing in America. Let’s examine:

1. To become a lawyer, you have to take the LSAT to get into law school, then take the Bar which has a greater than 50% failure rate.

2. To become an accountant, you have to take a test that has an 85% failure rate.

3. To become a teacher in New York, you have to take  3 different certification tests over a series of months.

4. To become a nurse you have to take one certification test.

Does anyone else see the problem with this? Why is it more difficult to become a teacher or accountant than it is to be a doctor or nurse? Shouldn’t we have higher standards for people who have the potential to kill other humans? Isn’t that a bit more tricksy than teaching a kid to read? Aparenlty not. Something to ponder.

This question has been floating in my head because today Maren is taking 2 of her three certifications tests today to become certified to teach in New York. It’s like the ACT  times 2. She will be taking tests from 7am – 4pm with a one hour break. This will likely not be as fun for her as it was when Zak and I took the ACT together every three months for a year. We drove together and positioned ourselves in line so we’d be in the same room. In fact, more than once we got to sit next to one another for the test. Sadly, I did not take advantage of my placement next to the math teachers son and cheat off of him on the math section as I ought. Stupid math section! Stupid math!

Last months Rick Reilly article from ESPN the magazine is below. I know it’s long, but it was awesome enough for me to type it all out, so it must be awesome enough for you to read:

The great recession is on us like a golf club head cover. Every direction you look, blackness. I meet people every day who are working twice as hard for half the pay in offices that would make a morgue look cheery. It’s tough. It’s brutal. It’s depressing. And that’s just the break-room fridge. But I have a solution. What offices need right now is a little bit of sports.

If there’s one thing games teach us, it’s to buck it up, dig in and hold on. That’s what we cherish about sports-the faith that no matter how bad things suck, eventually you’re going to win. How else do you explain cubs fans? For instance, what if-like in hockey-the boss picked the three stars of the day? And those three people came out of their cubicles and did a little spin around the main lobby carpet while the other employees banged their staplers on their desks in approval?

What if the office had chest bumps and shaving-cream pies and everybody slapping the Work Like a Champion Today sign over the door on the way in? And office chatter! What if every accounting office came with cheerleaders? Two, four, six, eight! What do we depreciate? Corporate owned vehicles!

Everything we need to know about the economic recovery we learned in sports: Back each other up, hustle for everything and get it back one score at a time. The office needs hotfoots and butt slaps and Gatorade showers. And a room where people can go and bust the bejesus out of a cheap toilet with a bat every once in a while, just to get it out of their system. When a really great secretary hits 65 and has to go, why not retire her number? Dolores Ginty, no one will ever use extension 3713 again. It’s yours forever!

Like baseball, firms should have some political bigwig come and throw out the first pitch of the day. Work needs Rings of Fame along the office walls and tailgating instead of lunchrooms. At the end of the day, everybody makes human tunnels for everybody else to run through. Orange slices now and then would be nice too.

When the big sales drive starts, guys should grow playoff beards and women should stop shaving their legs, and everybody should start wearing their Jason Giambi lucky gold lame thong and refuse to take it off until we’re back in the black.

There’s nothing better in golf than a good caddie, right? So why can’t business-people have  them? All right, Mr. Grey, here comes the big client and his wife. Don’t forget, she’s been on that Oreo diet, so tell her she looks like she lost some weight. And remember, he can’t hear out of his left ear, so stay right. You TOTALLY got this!

Tiger Woods wears red on Sundays for low numbers. Businesspeople need to start wearing green on Fridays for cash. And if they sign the big deal, let’s watch it again on instant replay. Look, we Americans are as resilient as Slinkys. As a country, we are too young and bouncy  to let this get us down much longer. This is a time to turn our hats around backward and bring out our rally monkeys and start rattling the window shades. Don’t make fewer business trips, make more! Don’t buy less stock, buy more! Every office needs an organist playing “Charge”!

Think like athletes. Write “No Prisoners” on the soles of your shoes. Ask each other for autographs. And at the end of the month, put together a “one shining moment” highlight reel. Then, somebody pull out the softball cooler of beer.

Pretty soon, as sure as cops love doughnuts, this will turn around. And we’ll be using sports stuff we never thought we’d use. Hey nobody talk to Achmed. He’s made a sale on every call so far today. Don’t jinx it!

When everybody gets their job back and unemployment in this country is once again under 5%, here’s what I’ll do: If you see me in a bar, I’ll buy you a jigger of your favorite adult beverage. But you get only 24 seconds once I walk in. After all, I’ve got a shot clock.

Once upon a time I had adult furniture in my bedroom. When I left college, I spent good money on a good bed and bedding and shelves and it was lovely. Then I moved to New York and took nothing with me. No bed, no shelves, none of the nice furniture. In fact, if you’re looking for my furniture from that year, check out Amber’s house as most of it ended up there. What I’ve been living with in the 4 years since I moved is a bed frame and my mattresses. Like I’m back in college. I have been yearning (that’s right, yearning) for an actual bed with a headboard and storage underneath.

So, I’ve been looking for beds and have found several that I like. The funny thing about my quest for an adult bed is that all of the beds that I like are from the Pottery Barn Teen website. So, perhaps my quest for an adult bed is actually a quest for a teen bed. Although, let’s be honest, who had this sort of furniture as a teen is beyond me. Maren and I were still rocking our bunk beds in our teens.

Bed #1-i love this bed because of all the storage underneath and the super cool desk thing that pulls out of the end. also, i love that it’s higher and that you need a step stool to get up into it. try to picture it with less teenagery bedding as i obviously won’t have anything remotely like hearts involved in my room.

bed #2-first, i love this bed because it’s green. second, it’s got a built in shelving unit on the side. imagine all the books that can be so close to me while i sleep! again, picture it with less pink.

bed #3-i love the shelves in the headboard and all the storage underneath. if you’re familiar with new york, you know you need all the storage you can get.

bed #4-this one is an actual adult bed from regular adult pottery barn.

In typical Brianne fashion, I’ve been wanting a new bed for a long time, but it’s just so much money that I’ll probably wait a few more months and then buy one some day as an impulse buy when I go into a store to get a pillow or something.

Okay, confession: The real reason I don’t want to commit to adult furniture is just that-I don’t want to commit. It’s like marriage but to a bed. I mean, if I spend that much money on a bed then I’ll have to have it forever and what if we outgrow one another? What if the things I find cute about it in the beginning start to wear on me until I dread seeing it? What if I get a new bed and then in 6 months find a better bed? A prettier bed? A nicer bed? But I won’t be able to get that better bed because I’ll already be commited to my regular old bed? And, most importantly I don’t want to have a lot of nice furniture again if I’m only going to pack up a bag and empty my savings to travel the world for a year or so as I am also currently pondering.

Yes friends, to you it’s just a bed, to me it’s a life-altering decision that I liken to a marriage. Just another glimpse into the crazy that is my head.

Back to the Europe Trip:

After our morning in Verona, Italy, we took a train to the famous sinking city of Venice.

We took the Venice equivalent of the subway which is an open air boat/ferry that stops every few feet to pick up passengers. Below is us on the “boatway”.

This was the most beautiful place we saw. (although I know i’ve said that before). It was unbelievable.

All the guidebooks and locals we talked to guaranteed that we’d get lost in Venice. They all said “when” you get lost, not “if” you get lost.

However, we spent $2 to buy an official map of the city made by the city itself and never got lost, not once. The city is very confusing. There are a million canals and bridges and churches.

The churches were the key. Anytime we stopped, we stopped by a church. And was each and every church on the map? Yes it was.

And thus, following the religion of Venice around, we saw all the things we wanted to see and never once got lost.

Fun guessing game: What is the place in the photo below?

Nope, it’s not the opera house that Zak and I thought it was, it was the Post Office next door. That’s right. This beautiful space is the Venice post office! What?!

Venice was absolutely spectacular. And, as a bonus, we had the best peach belini’s in the world. And neither of us like belinis. Something to keep in mind in case you’re ever in the area.