Suggestions?

I have somehow been put in charge of finding a suitable bar for a bachelorette party this Saturday -- I think it is because I am the only "local" and everyone else is coming in from Philly. This must be karma for always letting others pick the place to have our semi-regular joint birthday parties -- leaving that to KenTak3, Mamacita or Xtian.

We (8 ladies and me) are having dinner in the East Village at Lucky Cheng's (not my suggestion). My thoughts were for something in the East Village or Lower East Side. Any suggestions??

The musical spectrum

Today's activities:

Woke up to and sang along to the Best of Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

Bought tickets to the Regina Spektor concert. (October 14th at the Orpheum if anyone wants to come with me.)

Listened to Hanson's newest release "The Walk" on repeat as I worked.

Introduced to hard core(?) Christian rap by religious student in next lab.

Going to watch Massholes dance to 70's classic rock tonight.

I love my clothes

From time to time I go on a clothing spending spree. I know it is a stereotype, but shopping can give this girl a little high. A super soft sweater, pretty shiny earrings and the perfect open toed sandals to show off my not-so-manicured toes can get give me a little high. I try my best to moderate my spending habits, but sometimes a girl has to be a girl. Most of the times it is also the thrill of the hunt. I like getting last year's top seller for 75% off. Knowing me, I will still have it 12 years from now when it comes back in style. So on occasion, I like digging through the bins at Filene's Basement or Marshalls.

This weekend, I went bargain shopping via the Internet. That's what happens when work falls into the category of combing through huge data sets. I just received some interesting results and I have so much data I don't know what to do with it. Literally. I am currently trying to learn how to program in some crappy statistical software caller R, and I admit I hate it. In order to distract myself I perused one of my favorite websites: Bluefly. Yes, the clothes are outdated, but if you know what you are looking for, have a sense of classic pieces, and have an idea what looks good on you it is a place to find deals. Bonus: they were having a extra sale this weekend. I bought myself a T-shirt, a cashmere pullover, and a henna linen sweater for well under $100 (including shipping). And truth be told I am still a little giddy about it.

One weird thing about me is that tags really irritate me. The scratch me in the back of my neck, side, or lower back. Most of it may be psychosomatic. I went to high school in which the majority of the girls had eating disorders. I removed all size labels from my clothing, so the bitchy ones could not make fun of me and my larger friends would never feel bad. But even though I always remove the tags off my clothes I still can tell you from where every piece came. That sweater was a Christmas present, I bought that one from Old Navy, these jeans were from Amazon.

Then I guess it was no surprise, that at lunch we were talking about clothes from the late 80's, I could not help but remember all those outfits too. That would have been my junior high years, when I was considered to be a really snappy dresser. All my tops were over sized, I pegged my pants and I wore suspenders often. I also was really into hats, and I loved how my permed curls would sneak under my felt hat brim and how ironic I was because the whole ensemble was bottomed by my black Converse high tops. Or maybe it was LA Gear, I will have to ask my mother.

But perhaps one of my favorite piece of clothing was the dress I wore to the 6th grade Spring formal. My mother sewed it from a pattern from Butterick's she borrowed from our neighbor. We bought the shiny satin material from the local souk. It was white with green polk-a-dots, with a drop waist, full skirt, puffy sleeves, and a big green bow where the skirt met the waist. Under those UV lights at the dance my dress glowed, as I moshed to Pantera.

I don't know when it happened, when clothes started to matter. I do remember a time when I wore the same purple gauchos 4 days in a row before my mother yelled at me. Perhaps that was more of a hygiene issue....

Well, there was no point to this story except to say, clothes and other sundries put a smile on my face. Yay to American consumerism.

Parlez-vous québecois?

Romance was in the air this weekend. Three weddings, I was invited to, were all held on My high school roommate, T, and I planned a trip to Quebec City about 6 weeks ago. We were tired and decided it was high time for a girl adventure. A trip to let go of school, work, and family.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

I arrived at Jean Lesage International Airport early Friday afternoon. Hmm... Can an airport truly be international with only 3 USA destinations and essentially one warehouse building that serves as the terminal. My 1 hour 30 minute deafening plane ride was fairly uneventful considering the thunderstorms all around.

When I walked outside of the terminal I was confused by the multiple concrete barriers and the lack of signage. How was I supposed to get to Quebec City? I walked back into the terminal and asked a man in uniform if there was a taxi stand. He answered of course and proceeded to walk me outside. I now saw my fellow plane mates also milling around outside. The man squawked something into his radio and a fleet of minivans soon came rushing around the corner. The one that stopped in front of me stayed in the middle of the street. I climbed in. I told him the name of my hotel which was no good, and then gave him the slip of paper with all the info written out. "Okay, no problem I have GPS."

I introduced myself as my favorite alias, Michelle. "Michelle," he said. "What a strange name? Is is it Chinese?" Ummmm... no. "My name is Hannani. Can you say that? Well, I guess you can pronounce it Hannani in English. Where are you from?" Boston. "Oh Boston. I have been there. It smells like the subway. No fresh air. You know Quebec is like Boston. We are an old city and we have a city like Cambridge, we call Levi, across the river. Have you ever been to Cambridge?" Ummm...yes. "Quebec on the weekend is very much fun. We like to party until 4 in the morning. You will like it here."

My twenty minute cab ride was highly entertaining. Hannani told me what to do, his opinion of New York, important French phrases I needed to learn etc..

Ye Olde Towne

T arrived late on Friday night. She was tuckered out and so we did not party that night. Instead we retired early and decided to wake up early to orient ourselves in the city. We ate our breakfast of strong coffee and fresh baked croissants and hurried to the tourist information center.

Our tourist information officer had a very cute and peppy, wanting T and I to visit everything. Everything was fun, and "I like it very much." Okay, so we decided to first go on a tour of the most photographed hotel in the world, Le Chateau Frontenec, of which I do not have a photo. In the lobby of this hotel, our tour guide, Laura, was dressed in a chamber maid. She told us the history of the hotel and then pretended we were all apprentice chamber maids. The hotel was kind of creepy, hallways straight out of "the Shining."

After our tour, we had reservations for lunch at Aux Anciens Canadiens. Once again we were witnesses to a staff dressed in costumes circa 1800. The food was supposed to be traditional faire from that period. I ate the trapper's special: Lac St Jean meat pie (made of various game meats, potatoes, and maple syrup) and a beer. Now T, is a vegetarian, and I guess in the ye olde days of Canada everyone ate meat. She ended up with a salad and artesianal cheeses.

Parlez-vous québecois?
On Sunday, we took a walking tour of the city. Our guide was a retired teacher, Paul Moreau. He was fantastic. Although our tour was only supposed to be 1.5 to 2 hours, it was not until 4 hours later when ours ended. But it was worth the grumbling stomach and tired feet as we went through alley ways, small markets, private hotels and museums, all with their own story.

I had suggested that we go to Montmorency Falls, because my friend K, could not stop talking about it. However, after our long walking tour, I could tell that T was a little hesitant. Like a trooper she climbed into the bus with me. We had planned to take public transportation out there as suggested by the peppy tourist information officer.

The bus winded through the suburbs of Quebec city. Teenagers and the elderly got on and off the bus. When we finally got there, we were happy to see other people in the park. The falls were unusual and there was a small bridge that crossed it. We walked around the park, but decided to head back a little early because we did not know where the bus stop was. And that would be when trouble ensued.

"Pardon. Parlez-vous Anglais?"

"Un petit pas"

"Oh great, how do we get to the bus stop? We need to go to Quebec city."

"[Something in French.] ...bridge... [Something in French.]...corner... [Something in French with a lot of hand gestures.]"

This pattern repeated about 8 times. We went into gas stations, pizza stands, and accosted an old lady on her porch. All had different instructions. At one point we found our bus station, but apparently due to construction that stop was moved somewhere. T and I could not stop laughing. Our joke was a "petit pas" my ass. Eventually, an elderly man on an evening walk, saw us lost walking around the residential suburbs. He walked us to a bus stop, since he felt it was the only way we could get there safely. He was right. He was our hero. Later, when we mapped our journey, we realized we had walked 2.5 miles away from the falls.

Romance...well close enough

Thinking we deserved a break, we went into the Old Port district and sat down for a meal at L'Echaude. Hurrah! Everyone spoke English. Vegetarian options. Oh we could not be happier. We started on our first bottle of wine and delicious apps. Our waiter made funny jokes by telling us that the only thing he could say in English was vroom vroom. And My steak frites was perfect. We sat outside under the heating lamps, candle light, sipping our second bottle of wine talking about life. Maybe not romantic but the perfect end to our weekend away.