Sneak a peek into the life of a single, 20-something female who is not in the entertainment industry and who does not have fake breasts. Yes, we do exist. What you are about to read is based on fact and is not for the weak of stomach. You have been warned.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Note: I went to the post office today and there was a woman hula hooping INSIDE the post office. Can someone explain how long you have to be off your meds before you begin that feat? Thanks.
Well, I'm back to the real world yet again. Unfortunately, the hotel we stayed at in Rio was charging 40 American dollars per day for internet access so I was forced by budget to leave you in suspense. So sorry, my loves.
All in all, Brazil was incredible. A++++ in my book. Luckily, my sister isn't as big of a party adventurer as her older sister (me), so, we managed to make it out of Brazil with zero arrests, zero arrest warrants and zero "who is that laying next to me" mornings. This doesn't mean we didn't run rampant. Because no one rolls with me and doesn't. We just erred on the side of caution for the majority of the trip. Key word is "majority". We definitely drank our fair share of sugarcane brandy and most of Rio knew we were there.
I grew an amazing set of brass balls and decided to go hang gliding with Jill in Rio. As a person who suffers from an incredible phobia of heights, jumping off a cliff 1,722 feet in the air required a massive lapse in reason on my part. But, I did it. And, oddly enough, after almost crapping my pants on the takeoff and some minor crocodile tears before takeoff, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride down. When we landed, I looked up and couldn't believe I had managed it sober and without Xanax! I impressed the hell out of myself. But I congratulated myself by double-fisting cervesas. I fought a Brazilian beer vendor on the beach later in the week for trying to rip me off because I didn't speak the Portuguese. I won. He didn't. He really should have known better.
We also made quite the impression on the national futvolie team. (Futvolie is beach volleyball played with anything but your hands (ha ha - well, not EVERYTHING, but, you get the idea.) You are looking at my personal favorite team member. He spoke no English and can't remember his name, but, damn, was he fun to look at!
Our trip home was slightly taxing, because, of course, the airline we took down to Brazil, Varig, decided to go bankrupt the day before we left to go back to the states. Only in Rachel-land does this happen. BUT, also in Rachel-land, no prisoners are taken. After finally landing in Miami, I had had enough. Those bitches were flying us all the way back to Buffalo, instead of just JFK. I managed to irritate the guy so much that he threw me my US Air tickets and I trotted off with a giant smile on my mug. After traveling for 34 hours my ass was going home and no one was standing in my way. It wasn't first class, but, we survived.
So that's the trip in a coconutshell....but don't be completely fooled by the seemingly innocent trip - because as Jill and I vowed to each other - what happens in Brazil, stays in Brazil. ;)
Beer and curling irons are a bad combo in a foreign country.
We just caused my curling iron to explode in the bathroom. OOPS.
I'm still trying to figure out how that happens, but, hey, I'll ponder it as we go dance with some pretty Brazilian boys (all over 18) and drink some more cervesas. By the way, never order a mojito in Brazil - it's vomit in your mouth. Everything else is peachy.
We went horseback riding today which was fun. Seemed to be a bonding experience for all those who spoke the Portuguese. Jill and I just laughed at each other and enjoyed the incredible views. Jill also mentioned that everytime her horse started to gallop she thought she was going to pee her pants.
I'm sitting here now in the living room nursing a minor hangover. They put something in the rum down here that could put hair on your chest. Ouch.
We had a kickass first day here. The weather was perfect - we rolled by the pool all day. Unfortunately, like I said, NO ONE speaks the english here so even the littlest things are difficult to communicate. I often have to sign what I'm doing and the people just roll their eyes, laugh and say (I think) "Silly Americanas". But I'm having fun with it.
Last night one of the bartenders asked us our names. He spoke no english whatsoever. So, naturally, I introduced us as "Sexy" and "Bitches". He kept pointing back and forth between Jill and I saying, "Sexy Bitches." I almost died. I thought the locals were supposed to play tricks on us and not vice versa.
After a brief nap and some dinner, we went to what everyone kept saying was a "very famous dance party" at the corner of our resort. And they weren't kidding. I felt like I was at a rave - an old person at a rave. I was by far the oldest one in there. Somehow I talked our way into VIP (I think they just got fed up with my sign language) and I was perfectly content watching the 2,000 or so half-naked 18 year olds run around with suckers in their mouth dancing to American music. We even got hit on by a very sweet, very macho, 18-year-old. He did speak some English which was fun - I was able to order him to get me a drink - bonus. He thought we were awesome because "I love American girls". I asked him, "Do you love old American women?" He laughed. Is that a "yes" or a "no"? I didn't clarify.
The best part was that they were playing all American music, so we were pretty much the only 2 out of thousands that actually knew the words. Killer - we rocked it.
When we came back to the room the "Sexy Bitches" bartender called our room. But, I never gave him our room number (creepy) and he spoke no english. I thought he was calling for room service because I had just placed an order. So I kept saying "hamburger" into the phone. Needless to say I identified him when he said "Sexy bitches" and then I laughed and hung up because really, the conversation is going no where beyond "hamburger" and "sexy bitches". Homie shouldn't be calling strange girl's rooms anyway at 3am.
And so it begins again. These sexy bitches are hitting the beach as soon as I go punch Jill in the head with a pillow to wake her up.
We have finally landed in Brazil after a 5-hour flight to pick up my sister at JFK and a 10-hour flight to Sao Paulo and a 1.5-hour flight to Florianopolis. But we are finally here. And I really can’t bitch all that much as we were in first class the whole way (hell yah bitches, that's how we roll).
Considering it’s my sister’s first time out of the country, first-class ain’t too shabby. And I must admit, the Brazilians know how to spoil you. But I swear we looked like the Hillbillies come to first class with some of our behaviors.
When we first got on, we spent the first 20 minutes trying to figure out all of the buttons and gizmos in our seats. Good times. The foot rest was a bit of a challenge as we both have 34” inseams, and I think it maxes out at about 32” but our legs were more than happy to take one for the team as the seats reclined into almost flat positions. Unfortunately when I was fully reclined and trying to lift my legrest, I hit the retract lever and almost plowed myself at G-force speed into the seat in front of me. Smooth.
My favorite was when the attendant came around offering hot towels. Little Jill McJill thought that it was for her face. I came back from the restroom and she said, “I thought it was for some open pore action.” I almost peed myself but that could have also been due to the 2 glasses of champagne and OJ we downed before the flight even took off.
They stuffed us full of food. Everytime I opened my eyes (as I slept for 7 of the 10 hour flight), there was more food in front of me. And pretty bomb ass airplane food if I do say so myself! But by the end of the long leg, we were so stuffed and minorly intoxicated that we thought we were going to have to be rolled off the plane. But again, I’m not complaining.
But now we are here - in the city that speaks no English. The city of Florianopolis is gorgeous. We’re rocking a sweet condo with a washing machine that we can’t figure out that overlooks the ocean.
I love the movie “Wedding Crashers”. Not only is it kick-you-in-the-ass funny, but the premise behind it is eerily close to the how it actually works. Now I guarantee most women wouldn’t admit it, but, the truth is, a wedding is the strongest aphrodisiac around.
Nothing stirs up the hormones like watching one of your friends say “I Do” to the love of her life. Or perhaps it’s the dresses.
And it’s even more prominent for those single wedding party participants - I’ll attest to that. You are forced by position to spend the entire weekend together and 9 times out of 10 the bride and groom have conspired to pair those hormone raging single ones together. What couple doesn’t daydream about having their best friends romantically meet at their wedding and live happily ever after?
But let’s be honest - the romance may be there for the duration of the weekend but upon waking on Sunday morning, after the booze wears off and your puffy dress is in a ball in the corner, there is that awkward hug and goodbye and “stay in touch”. Perhaps once in a blue moon the romantically linked couple does live happily ever after, but, I highly doubt that’s in my near future.
However, I did manage to fulfill the initial ideal. I actually “lucked out” (totally set up) with a really cool guy, we’ll call him Jake (reminds me of the guy in “16 Candles” - Jake Ryan). Not only was he handsome and graceful (we didn’t wipe out once walking down the isle), but, he was funny, fun and definitely engaged with me. Who could ask for more?
We probably would have made it through the weekend without being “discovered” except after a 3am poker tournament the night before the wedding, we both passed out in my room (fully clothed of course). I had to wake up the guys (uh, the ones not in my room) so when I awoke and started to get ready (I’m a girl - I have plenty o’ primping to do) he remained dead asleep. There was a knock at my door, so, like a normal person, I answered it to find another one of the groomsmen who had come down to ask me a question. When he didn’t look surprised to see Jake in my room, I turned around to find that Jake had disappeared. “Um, Jake? Where the hell are you?” From under the covers, out popped Jake. The look on the other guy’s face was priceless and I had to remind myself that we’re in our 20s. Too funny.
Walking down the aisle together was, well, a fun twist. Who does that outside of Vegas? One day you make out and the next you walk down the aisle together? Luckily, we didn’t have to exchange vows.
We’ve kept in touch since the wedding - emails and IMS here and there - but I have to remind myself - why am I even doing this? He lives in a different state and I live here. He might have looked great in a tux, but, what really could possibly come out of the situation? Well, besides some good gossip for the bride and groom when they return….HA!
Before I continue on about the wedding, I need to tell you what happened to me today because it is so unbelievably ridiculous that I just had to share.
So at lunch I had to run into Trader Joe's to pick up some sandwich stuff.
So there I am. Standing there staring into the fridge section of cheeses with my back to the produce section.
All of a sudden, I get attacked by about 800 heads of organic lettuce!
Apparently some dumbass was leaning on the shelf that held the lettuce and it collapsed allowing the heads of lettuce to engulf me. By the time I actually understood what the HELL had just happened, Mr. Dumbass Shelf Collapser had run for cover leaving me to take the blame for hundreds of heads rolling around the ground.
The needle came off the record and I just had to stand there and say, "At least they weren't watermelons."
You would have thought that I'd have a lawsuit of sorts to pursue, but, instead I just gracefully ducked out of the great lettuce debacle and dismissed myself, sunglasses on, from the premises.
Yah. Smooth.
And seriously. Who does that happen to except for yours truly.
I managed to wake up the boys in the wedding party at the appropriate time. I obviously have “Timex” written across my forehead so I was asked multiple times for a wakeup call. Had I overslept, the wedding would have been empty. Fortunately, I didn’t and we all made it to the church ontime and looking dashing, I must say. I was able to breathe easier in my dress than I had anticipated and there was only minimal sucking-in of the stomach needed.
We all made it through the ceremony (which was beautiful) in one piece (and minimal Kleenex) and that’s when the party began. Being a wedding party of 24, we were all loaded on the “party bus” in lieu of separate limos, etc. Killer idea. There were cold beers and ham sandwiches to go around. Amen.
After the typical round of papparaziesque pictures we hit some of the local yocal bars in Delphos (apparently a Delphos wedding tradition). Unfortunately, after the fourth or so round, we had to depart to make it to the reception on time. But wouldn't you know it, when we went to the mount up on the party bus, it wouldn't start.
After both the Delphos police and fire departments attempted to jump it, we had to go to an alternate plan. Luckily for all 24 of us, a friend of the family owns a furniture warehouse. So, Plan B was to load us all (bride and groom included) into two furniture moving trucks lined with white plastic patio chairs, strap us in, hand us a beer, and drive us the 30 minutes to the reception.
AWESOME. There was absolutely no other way to go. If we stopped laughing once on the ride back I would be stunned.
The reception was a blast - an excellent mix of ho-down and low-down as the bride's musical taste spans the spectrum. The decorations were elegant and the food to die for. And let's not forget the open bar. Mmmmmm. We rallied through the full reception and then headed back to the bar we had invaded the evening before.
What happened from there brings up a whole new can of worms.
The following morning I woke up to rain. Awesome. The light linen sundress that I brought for the rehearsal dinner was going to look great after standing in the rain. Thinking that a wet tee-shirt contest at the church might be a bad idea, I decided to venture out into town and find a mall or something to pick up a light jacket.
I went to the front desk to ask for directions to the local mall, sharing that I needed to pick up a jacket to wear that evening. The lady behind the desk looked at my inquisitively and said, “Oh honey, no problem. There’s a dollar store right behind the hotel!”
“Um, that’s nice, but I need a jacket to go over a dress,” I replied.
“Yah, sweetie, it’s a Dollar General, I’m sure they’ll have what you’re looking for!”
I elected to call 411 and figure it out on my own.
Once I got to the mall, I went straight for what I know - Macy’s. Not a big fan of Macy’s normally, it was a sweet vision of familiarity among shops full of wigs and Ohio State paraphernalia (I got Cameron a new Buckeye collar). I found exactly what I needed inside and went to the register to pay. A young boy of about 20 was behind the counter looking fairly normal. When I handed him my debt card (which says “See ID” on the back), he did as instructed. He peered at my license for a few moments and then said, “Venice. Where’s that?”
“Los Angeles,” I replied (so tempted to say Wisconsin).
“I hear there are a lot of gays in Los Angeles,” he responded, as if the line of conversation was both normal and appropriate.
When I wiped the horrified look off my face, I put on the PR face and said with a smile, “I don’t think there are any more homosexuals in LA than any other major city.”
“That’s just what I hear. Have a nice day and thank you for shopping Macy’s.”
God….help…me.
Luckily, that evening at the rehearsal I met the rest of the wedding party and the rest of the bride and groom’s family and they were all completely normal and wonderful and we all clicked immediately.
After the rehearsal the wedding party (sans bride and groom) tore up the town of Lima and left our mark. At 4am I decided that bags under the eyes probably wasn’t the best look for a bridesmaid, so I turned in with my wakeup call 3 hours later…..good times.
I know. I suck. I’ve been a bad bad blogger again lately, but, I call a mulligan, because a lot has been going on.
I am currently coming to you live via wireless internet at the Columbus, Ohio airport with the 12-year-old chomping incessantly on his bagel with cream cheese with his mouth wide open. It is 2:45am California time and I think my body wants to crucify itself for being mobile so early and not getting ready to go to bed. You know you look like shit when the man at the security beeper things says, “Ma’am? You with us?” Yah, oops.
I know what you’re thinking, “Hey Rachel, why are you in Ohio, the birthplace of aviation (that‘s what the license plates say)?”
Delphos is pretty much the epitome of Small Town U.S.A. Complete with cows and cornfields and the local bar where everyone knows your name, it proved to be a refreshing change from the thriving metropolis that is LA. And boy do those people know how to party.
The majority of the wedding party were imports from Chicago with and I, the token Californian, we stuck out like sore thumbs in little Delphos. But we were able to put the Manolos aside and rock it with the best of them Northwestern Ohio-style.
Getting there was an adventure (of course - do we expect any less?). Took the late afternoon flight through Vegas so I could throw down a few chips for good luck. But the flight to Columbus from Vegas seemed to take forever. I sat next to two young boys from BFO (butt f*&% out-there) Wyoming. Well, one was young - 10. The other one I was challenged with because I couldn’t tell if he was the kid’s brother or super young dad (hey - it’s Wyoming). When he found out that I was traveling in from Los Angeles, the brother-dad asked me which shows I was in. I wanted to tell him that if I were actually a working actress (porn not included), I wouldn’t be rolling Southwest, but, I just smiled politely and told him I was in Marketing. He seemed completely disinterested at that point, so, they let me be and I watched my movie.
Halfway through, I got bored. Really bored. I was missing Game 7 of the Sabres’ series and the batteries on both my laptop and ipod were dead. Luckily, the crew on the plane were all based in Buffalo and were lovely people. I let the girl know how bored I was and she immediately offered me the opportunity to pass out peanuts with her to pass the time. In return, I was given two bottles of some weird wine and captain wings (yes, I’m in my 20s). I thoroughly enjoyed the passing out of the nuts - I got a little crazy with some of the people (after all, we were flying from Vegas so half the flight was either hungover or drunk) and did the under the arm chuck and over the head throw. But in the end, it was a 30-minutes process that helped relieve some of the boredom without electronics.
We got into Columbus around 1am local time. Being the little obsessive-compulsive planner than I am, I immediately whipped out my car rental reservation and yahoo map to Lima (that’s where the hotel was). Unfortunately, even though I had reserved a car, they only had minivans and geo metros left. Um, NO. I vowed years ago that I would never EVER drive a minivan and I wasn’t going to put my life in the hands of a pregnant rollerskate. I managed to talk to guy next to him with Alamo into putting me into an SUV since, apparently, there are only a handful of rental cars in Columbus and there was some sort of mad rush on them on a Thursday night. Go figure.
Once I was on the road with my ipod plugged in and the engine rarin’ to go I took off doing some of my own personal renditions of Britney Spears and Bon Jovi (driving music). Unfortunately, I think I got too into my one-woman performance and missed the road that I was supposed to exit on. I didn’t realize it until I saw the “Welcome to Indiana” sign.
SHIT.
Some choice words and 50 minutes later, I found my way in the country darkness to the oasis that is Lima. Now 3:30am, I’m ready to have a glass of Southwest’s finest and hit the hey (ha ha - almost literally). My neighbors had other plans for me. After a night of perusing in Lima, they were hungry and obviously confused where their room was. When I looked out the peephole, I saw the to-be groom trying desperately to get into my room with a business card, his friends all laughing hysterically at him.
This is going to be interesting, I thought….and sure enough it was goooooood times all around….
in Rio. As a person who suffers from an incredible phobia of heights, jumping off a cliff 1,722 feet in the air required a massive lapse in reason on my part. But, I did it. And, oddly enough, after almost crapping my pants on the takeoff and some minor crocodile tears before takeoff, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride down. When we landed, I looked up and couldn't believe I had managed it sober and without Xanax! I impressed the hell out of myself. But I congratulated myself by double-fisting cervesas.
We also made quite the impression on the national futvolie team. (Futvolie is beach volleyball played with anything but your hands (ha ha - well, not EVERYTHING, but, you get the idea.) You are looking at my personal favorite team member. He spoke no English and can't remember his name, but, damn, was he fun to look at! 
I'm sitting here now in the living room nursing a minor hangover. They put something in the rum down here that could put hair on your chest. Ouch.
I love the movie “Wedding Crashers”. Not only is it kick-you-in-the-ass funny, but the premise behind it is eerily close to the how it actually works. Now I guarantee most women wouldn’t admit it, but, the truth is, a wedding is the strongest aphrodisiac around.
Before I continue on about the wedding, I need to tell you what happened to me today because it is so unbelievably ridiculous that I just had to share. 
After the rehearsal the wedding party (sans bride and groom) tore up the town of Lima and left our mark. At 4am I decided that bags under the eyes probably wasn’t the best look for a bridesmaid, so I turned in with my wakeup call 3 hours later…..good times.
