tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28155439912950265472024-03-14T00:25:30.899-07:00As Far Away As Possibleto Switzerland and backMonicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-26346776100613223102013-09-25T22:05:00.000-07:002013-09-25T22:08:27.413-07:00To Morocco I GoTwo free baklava, one Moroccan nutmeg espresso, and a million people asking me if I´m Moroccan. This is what happens when I go to the Moroccan pavilian. (I vaguely remember this happening in southern France, too....)<br />
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It started as just a visit to see a friend, but turned into this. Bien chance, eh? ;)</div>
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Merci beaucoup et shukran!<br />
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Flashback provided by Kyo (French boy band, just give them a shot) :<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aU_TQcyGkvY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aU_TQcyGkvY</a></div>
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Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-20815821387817917762013-09-25T21:09:00.004-07:002013-09-25T21:12:50.806-07:00working for the mouseI´ve been a Cast Member at Walt Disney World Resorts a little over a month now and I´m starting to see a trend.<br />
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Let me start from the begining. I work at All Star Music Resort for this internship. Most of the resort is nice, nothing special--spacious pool, budget prices, easy access to the parks, and what would a Walt Disney location be without giggles galore. But behind the chipper smiles is a not so happy place, Intermission Food Court. Here you will find employees who´ve been forced to serve hoards of Brazilian tour groups. These tour group can be up to 200 people. Imagine that. Not just 200 random guests, but 200 intercontinental guests flying together with a common goal. I´m baffled as to why this many people would hop continents together... But now I just feel bad for their airline. And my family reunions......<br />
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The resort next door is under reconstruction . What does this mean, you may ask? This means that Intermission Food Court´s occupancy level has regularly been reaching to 160% capacity for the past few months. <br />
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Yeah, bugga.<br />
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At around 8pm is when we have a steady stream at each station. From around 8:45 to 10:30 is when we all develop Dr. Jekll/Mr. Hyde personalities. Picture it.<br />
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At least Mr. Hyde smiles.<br />
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The most curious part of life now though is all the strange bruises, pains, wounds, sores, and sprains I find after I leave Intermission Food Court.<br />
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Example.<br />
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I tried flossing after I got home from a grueling night on the job. To my surprise, though, the tips of my fingers were scorching. With floss strangling the circulation out of my fingers, I looked in the mirror and I noticed a dark purple bruise on the back of my wrist. Both of my knees feel like a soccer player jumped on them with their cleats on. Then there´s the strange avacado-shaped bruise on the side of my leg and a red cut/bump on my wrist.<br />
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???<br />
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There´s a few more but I won´t go into detail. In fact, I can´t go into detail because my alternate ego likes to keep secrets from me (scroll up to picture, man on left).<br />
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So now that you all think I´ve lost it, I´ll leave you with this, the latest hit single in Deutschland. It soothes my alternate ego´s soul.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pyi7T8gTb2w">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pyi7T8gTb2w</a></div>
Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-23723662050821226842013-09-25T00:19:00.003-07:002013-09-25T00:45:43.938-07:00monkey-ing aroundThis is what happens when I find Rafiki...<br />
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<span style="color: black;">best friends forever.</span></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LAqRP-Cz9f4/UjM1apqJf4I/AAAAAAAAAAs/5NQ5FKzfoRI/s1600/working+for+the+mouse+III+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LAqRP-Cz9f4/UjM1apqJf4I/AAAAAAAAAAs/5NQ5FKzfoRI/s1600/working+for+the+mouse+III+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span>
</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-62874107740966188592013-08-27T17:37:00.001-07:002013-08-27T17:57:53.878-07:00parte di il tuo mondoThe only thing that made me spend an evening of my life in Epcot was the world showcase. Last time I went was over ten years ago and as a five-year-old, it had made a magical impression on me. =)<br />
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Anyway, I skipped through Norway, trekked through Deutschland, and dived straight into Morocco. One place that hit an unexpectly tender spot was Italy. Go figure. <br />
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I walked through the shops and practiced my Italian with another College Program student from Rome. We had a deep and meaningful conversation about where he was from, how North American´s don´t speak Italian, and how I go to school in Lugano (because remember, my command of Italian is limited to the present and future tenses). <br />
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Even though I´ve been dying for a latte macchiato or a Melange since January, I flew past the coffee kiosks and went for the gelato instead. I was giggling at the thought of having "una coppetta" of seasonal gelato, like fig or pistacchio. <br />
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The kid serving gelato and I had a very special bond, he is from Bologna and I lived in Ticino. That makes us, get this, "northerners". He chuckled, I smiled, more magic (kidding). After discovering they only had chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, I refused any gelato at all. He supported my decision and told me there will never be any such seasonal gelato in the United States, ever. Thank you Paolo, for setting the facts straight. We parted, and it went something like this:<br />
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Him: "Ciao"<br />
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Me: "Ciao"<br />
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Him: "Ciao, beeeeella." insert animal-like growl<br />
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Me: smile-over-shoulder-because-I´ve-done-this-before<br />
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I found my new hangout spot. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-5077017067327670932013-08-27T16:33:00.000-07:002013-08-27T16:33:35.347-07:00Never Have I Ever...1. ...watched the film Grease twice in two days, until now. My six roommates must have brought every DVD they own from their respective homes. How do I know this? Well, just look inside the two crates they keep next to the tv; they´re filled with every chickflick and Disney classic since Mary Poppins. I thought indulging my musical senses like this was unreasonable and excessive, until I watched Beauty and the Beast twice in three days.<br />
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I can justify this <br />
2. ...thought that seven females could live together, and function.<br />
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3. ...seen so much Disney appareal (and Mickey Mouse ears) in Walmart. Yes, you´ll always find that one section of Disney regalia, but not rows and rows of Mike Wazowski t-shirts and Goofy hats with ears. <br />
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4. ...had a flatmate that shares my love for salsa and bachata. The first morning we were together I, and the rest of the house, could hear her blasting Romeo Santos from her iPod in the bathroom. It was a beautiful moment.<br />
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Below is a freshly-filmed video straight from Lugano, Svizzera. If you were ever wanted to know more about my darling little Swiss school, this is it: <br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ngi1cyyGQg&feature=youtu.be">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ngi1cyyGQg&feature=youtu.be</a><br />
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Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-12496745363591555142013-08-19T21:39:00.000-07:002013-08-19T21:39:01.227-07:00Up, Up, and AwayI´m a little brain dead after my five hour red-eye flight from Las Vegas to Orlando. Not only were we taxiing for all eternity, I was also the lucky gal to be seated in front of a child, screaming his lungs out, in Portuguese. <br />
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Other than that, I don´t think I´ve had so much fun on a flight. I use the term¨"fun" loosely, though. Speeding off a tarmac with a full view of everything from MGM to Mandalay is quite a view(for a city-scape anyway). It gets even better when you´re hovering around the tip of the Eiffel Tower. =)<br />
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Being above the lights and below the stars is always the best part of the trip. It´ s the point when you try to prepare for whatever you may run into. Whether you´re traveling for work, leisure, solo, or in an obnoxiously large tour bus, you have expectations. But not knowing anything about your destination and shedding any preestablished stereotypes before your arrival can end up being incredibly rewarding. You get to dive into a place that probably won´t share your views on life, that´ll challenge your religious affiliation, that´ll test your ability to communicate without a common spoken language. It´s challenging, but maybe that´s why people are traveling now more than ever. Forget about advancements in technology and globalisation and such; travelers do what they do to be challenged. It takes a certain type of person to accept constant criticism and to be confortable in completely unfamiliar environments.<br />
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Then your little daydream of hearts and flowers bursts when you get off the plane and in sets jetlag. <br />
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And then you have to run to catch the last train of the night and because it´s Sunday (or some sacriligious event) everything is closed so you can´t eat until Wednesday. Good luck. You get out of the train station to see gypsies and some southeast asian man is yelling at you in his languge for directions. blah, blah, blah. Some series of unfortunate events will inevitably occur. So many love to think about the "romantic" sides of traveling but rarely do they think about the less-publicized sides of travel. The people who can come out of a travel-fiasco without being scarred for life are the ones who get the most from the experience. People who shake off the teachings of their cultures and go to the unknown are real travelers, the one´s who go around looking for something to sink their teeth into (North Americans all too often exempt countries like Albania, Montenegro, Bulgaria from their European travel plans because it doesn´t have some place as beaten into as Las Vegas, Barcelona, Paris, etc.). (I major in hospitality management. I should really try to be less sinical about touristy cities...).<br />
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Anyway, I´m offically a Disney Cast Member. I´ll be working Food and Beverage at All Star Music. I just train this week. Work starts next Monday. Time to make some magic.<br />
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Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-18295793285536019222013-08-11T00:46:00.002-07:002013-08-11T00:46:59.734-07:00hotel lifeNorth Americans like to talk. No doubt about it. We´re the only ones in the western hemisphere who can ramble on to strangers about "how we are" at the grocery store and instantly become besties sparked from a question about how late the pool will be open at a hotel. I was recently a victim of this type of friendly. <br />
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I moved out of my apartment because my lease ended, but my courses continue. So instead of driving 40 miles a day, I found a summer special at a nearby hotel. It´s bumpin. For being off the strip. <br />
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Enthralled at the sight of a possibly free private cabana, I walked right up to the security guard and I promise, all I did was ask how late the pool was open til. Somehow though, SOMEHOW, we ended up in a discussion about his antique newspapers dating back to 1830 and his salary. It got personal. I wondered if this guy worked too many lonely nightshifts...<br />
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We had a few other riveting encounters throughout the week. Once while I was jamming to my Icelandic band in my private cabana and the other at the entrance of my room. <br />
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He either looked up which room I was in or followed me. Neither of those are particularly pleasant to think about. He came to my room to talk about his sister this time, I think. Or that could have been the time I was rushing to my room after carrying around my uniform for my culinary course like a pack mule, trying to eat my take-out dinner at 11pm. Oh, and he managed to show up with four water bottles and two cans of beer. I drank the water and left the beer. (Not kidding.)<br />
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I go back to Rumor Boutique Hotel for my last week of courses of the summer. Will I have to endure the perky smiles and upbeat cheeriness that every Las Vegas hotel employee should exhibit? Probably. Can I hide away in a private cabana with an über convenient mini fridge and view of a neon sign-filled sky? Probably not. <br />
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That middle cabana should have been all mine...</div>
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No matter, though. I should be learning from them, following their example. After all, I am studying hospitality management in this fabulous, fabulous city. <br />
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Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-88893823725579276272013-08-03T22:07:00.001-07:002013-08-03T22:07:58.743-07:00What´s that Smell? Three days of scrubing, dusting, vacuuming, and shuffling around luggage later, I´m finally out of my apartment complex...and into my parents house. What a joy. Just kidding, but at least I have a full kitchen. The past few days I have been successfully whipping up whatever I feel like. But it´s only successful when my dad doesn´t tell me "It´s too healthy". Mom will always like my meals, though... <br />
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My first attempt of the weekend was also my first attempt at making meat in years. (I was a vegetarian through high school until I went to Europe, go figure). Cooking it, meat from any animal, was never my specialty, but some how I found myself sifting through the meat section at my neighborhood Von´s. The chicken was about to expire and the beef (was it beef?) was, well, I´m still deciding. And just as I was about to run from the clutches of the pork sirloin that wanted to swallow me whole, I spotted a 1 lb package of meat that had an image of the Wyoming Rockies on the front. Turns out it was bison meat from Colorado. (Um, Colorado doesn´t have bison, so it must have been imported from Wyoming, obviously).<br />
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It was ready to expire and half off. I tossed it in the cart and froze it until I could find a recipe. Never do I remember seeing bison meat in the grocery stores in Wyoming. It might be more popular up north but I´m a "city girl" from Cheyenne. Bison meat has always been a delicacy in the area, saved for long-standing traditions, like Cheyenne Frontier Days (the longest running rodeo in the world. We´ve seen everybody from Wild Bill Hickok to Annie Oakely to Buffalo Bill. It´s our pride and joy). <br />
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Being a Wyoming-ite, I guess I should have made something more traditional, shame on me. I made Middle Eastern Bison Meatballs with Cilantro-Yogurt dip instead. Google it. It was fabulous.<br />
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My next endeavor was to use up all the cilantro and mint I had leftover. Add some lemon, cumin, red chile flakes, pine nuts/walnuts, and some extra virgin olive oil and you have yourself a meal fit for parents with exotic tastebuds. <br />
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Now I haven´t baked in years and after a certain age it never really interested me. Flour everywhere, mediocre cupcakes from a box, thunder thighs--who wants all that? I learned in Budapest that I´d prefer to sit at a café overlooking the Danube while I dine on strudel and café Melange. But the thought of trying something new (and having my parents around to test it on) inspired me to try this bit out:<br />
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<a href="http://www.worldtourstories.com/search/label/Vegetarian">http://www.worldtourstories.com/search/label/Vegetarian</a><br />
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Vegan Brownies. <br />
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No eggs, coconut milk instead of cows milk. Add just at a touch of cinnamon, serve with vanilla and a sprig of mint and voilà. <br />
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Tomorrow I´m planning on roasting some chicken and putting it over spinach with a homemade strawberry vinaigrette. And avocados, possibly one of the only foods I missed while in the Old World. <br />
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You know I still consider myself a vegetarian? I might want to rethink that.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-66733985045384165922013-07-26T19:18:00.001-07:002013-07-26T19:18:37.499-07:00 Don´t Crimp (or Cramp) my StyleLas Vegas doesn´t always have the best reputation, but it is known for many halfway decent things: hotels, entertainment, the highrollin´ life, ...this list is not inclusive but that´s the vast the majority of it. (You really can fit most of Las Vegas culture into category "highrollin"). <br />
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One of the first things I noticed about Las Vegas was the disgusting amount of neon colors in style. Pink, green, orange, yellow, blue--no shade is safe.<br />
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It looks like a mythical creature spit up on it then tried kicking it around. There´s just no other way to put it.<br />
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I came here in January and the insanity continues.<br />
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I don´t want to crimp this girls´ style, however, I really think this should be appropriate for Carnivale or EDC only.<br />
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Now I digress. As I was writing the previous sentence I had to think about how to use my American-English slang (or lack thereof). Was the correct phrase "to crimp my style" or "to cramp my style". Being the epitome of "nerd", I consulted urbandictionary.com. <br />
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"To crimp my style" is defined as "to have adverse affect upon one" while "to cramp" isn´t even listed. Here´s the catch, though. "To crimp my style" takes on a new essense when changed to "crimping my style". The latter being defined as "to be bothersome to the point of ruining one´s day or event." Then it goes on to say that it´s frequently confused with "cramping my style", which is an equivalant expression. (But if it´s equivalent, how can you confuse it? Even more baffling is why it doesn´t even get two lines in urbandictionary.com if it does have an exact definition). <br />
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For your viewing entertainment...<br />
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Notice it says "PROMGIRL" at the bottom. That concerns me. I just had my senior prom two years ago. No of us would have been caught in something that looked like it was smacked around by a freshman in the chemisty lab. Anyone who would have worn this to Prom in the Wyoming, Colorado, Utah area would have been something of an outcast. Poor girl. Just kidding. This dress is just the pathetic cry of a wallflower.<br />
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I can only imagine that the next step in the fashion world is for someone to figure out how to make black a neon color, too. It´ll be bigger than Bieber.<br />
Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-21171881028046748162013-07-23T15:16:00.001-07:002013-07-23T15:16:51.855-07:00So maybe our friend Rolf isn´t quite so unique. <br />
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When was the last time you noticed so many bird carcasses in a 3 mile radius? Just walking around on campus I saw five dead pigeons since my last post . One was just a head so I don´t know if that really counts... There was also a dead cat walking to Mandalay Bay from the Hard Rock.<br />
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The bigger question here is why. Is it just because it´s so rediculously hot that birds just die midflight? Is it really too overwhelming for city maintenance to sweep it up??<br />
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To all you tourist out there: Vegas off the strip is not what Vegas is on the strip. And unless you have hoards of money, don´t stay for more than four days. You´ll shrivel up much like the pigeons around. <br />
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This city was not meant to be inhabited. Most people that do live here though, are in transit, probably going to LA or back to nowhere, Wyoming next. My family is already talking about moving out-of-state. <br />
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By the way, city maintenence swept Rolf up on Monday.<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-9172181353037012842013-07-10T10:36:00.001-07:002013-07-10T22:27:40.699-07:00movie nightBecause I don´t have a television, people ask ¨So what kind of movies and shows do you stream?¨ The answer: nothing. <br />
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I used to have a swiss website I used to use, but they were hacked and have never worked well outside of Europe anyway. <br />
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Being clumsy and not very tech savvy usually keeps me at a safe distance from things like iPads, iPods, iPhones, and even the prehistoric home Computer. <br />
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The other day, though, I tried streaming ¨Eat Pray Love¨. After clicking a few buttons here and there without much thought about what I was okay-ing, I was blocked by a screen that claimed to be the US Department of Justice. Under Article 1, Section 7, they accused me of pursuing some ghastly internet material and told me I might be convicted as a felon if I didn´t take action within three days. Oh, and they also requested 300 USD. <br />
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This charge (in addition to not having a phone number or any contact information) concerned me, but there I was, tossing and turning all night thinking about how I was going to pay 300 USD within three days without a job and how this would look to Swiss authorities if I decide to apply for my Swiss passport. Always thinking ahead, I am.<br />
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Turns out I was hacked by a Bulgarian terrorist organisation when I tried uploading ¨Eat Pray Love¨ Saturday night. I´m exaggerating about the terrorist organization part, but I was told that the 40 viruses on my computer were traced back to the Balkin region...<br />
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(My anger was alleviated and I even smiled a little when I heard my woes and worries could have stemmed from Bulgaria).<br />
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So now I only have to pay 200 USD to clear my computer of Bulgarian bugs and I´m estatic to say I´m in no way about to run into a felony conviction. <br />
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This is why I prefer to read. On my window sill right now is ¨I´m a Stranger Here Myself¨ (Bill Bryson), the Swiss Constitution, and you guessed it, ¨Eat Pray Love¨ (Elizabeth Gilbert). <br />
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Call me a caveman, but I prefer a book that doesn´t have to be charged or will eventually charge me. <br />
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If you´re interested in a real travel blog, I´ll refer you to my favorite source of online entertainment: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://expateyeonlatvia.wordpress.com/">http://expateyeonlatvia.wordpress.com/</a><br />
<br />
An Irish perspective on life in Lativa. This is the only blog I follow because well, all the other travel blogs I´ve read just aren´t as good as hers. Cheers.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-91853729236478978882013-07-09T23:32:00.001-07:002013-07-10T22:20:35.632-07:00 plight of a duck It's high time I write about something that's been bothering me the past two weeks. <br />
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Now, there isn't much to look at when walking from my apartment to the university, really. It's either busy traffic to your right, a desert to your left, an empty-blue sky looking up, or sizzling pavement looking down. Take your pick. <br />
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On one particular Monday I chose to stare at the burning desert in hopes of seeing something flashy that would catch my eye, like a ball of tumbleweed. Instead I saw something a tad more shocking, a touch more disturbing, a pinch more sombering: I saw a dead duck. <br />
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He was peaceful for the first two days, resting very comfortably with feathers shining brightly. I never thought of a dead Mallard as elegant but lo and behold...<br />
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Then his feathers started to fray. They dried and the wind carried them at the tips. Through hundred degree days he squatted. His neck arched further down and his beak lost vivacity (compared to when he was a freshly dead duck, not when he was alive). <br />
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He's covered in dust now and is more grey than brown. His head lays about three feet from his carcass. Once his head was off I knew it was an appropriate time to name him. I named him Rolf. We´re two peas in a pod. <br />
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I don't want this to tear at your heart strings, but this being didn't deserve this untimely fate. He was probably just waddling his way from the sewage with the prospect of finding someplace worth searching for (like the Venetian). But how did Rolf loose the flock? Did he choose his own path or did he leave out of revenge and spite? Is he just a loner? (Once you name an animal, it´s hard imagine them not having human emotions, like feelings of revenge and spite. )...<br />
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Tomorrow I will walked by this misplaced being. And, maybe through some relationaship between the living and dead, I will figure out the ways of the world (or at least think of a better reason for a duck to be dead in a desertous plot next to a gas station than feelings of revenge and spite).<br />
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Goodnight, Rolf. <br />
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P.S. I forgot to add that despite the sentimental side of this, the science behind the composition process in the desert is quite fascinating. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-470132194569857632013-07-03T00:12:00.001-07:002013-07-03T00:12:37.776-07:00surprise, surpriseWhat´s the first thing that comes to mind when I say ¨gas station¨? Maybe an underslept truck driver buying cigarettes or a disgruntled elderly couple getting iced tea.<br />
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There´s no doubt that a gas station is a safe haven for purely North American goods like jumbo Hershey´s bars and piping hot hot dogs. And how can I forget to mention the expansive choise of slurpee? Brainfreeze is one of my favorite childhood memories.<br />
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Despite all this bad, there is some good (yeah, right). If you look closely, a gas station in the US like 7-11 or WaWa may tickle your multicultural senses. Next to a gritty coffee machine, you may stumble on a Dutch delicacy, Stroopwafel.<br />
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I first learned of Stroopwafel while researching Dutch culture for a class project. My team and I choose this because it seemed manageable for our meager culinary skills. It´s not turning out to be quite so easy. The Stroopwafel is essentially two crunchy waffles stuck together by way of syrup, honey, or some combination of both. We´ve searched multiple ethnic grocery stores and mainstream US grocers but to no avail.<br />
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After a few weeks without any leads on how to actually make waffles to Stroopwafel consistency, we hit a dead end. </div>
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Until today. </div>
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Out of nowhere, a teammate of mine tells me we´re going to 7-11. I didn´t question it. (Afterall, he was my ride home). Besides being at the epitome of all things ¨ghetto¨, this place didn´t even have slurpees, shaking my faith in everything I ever knew. </div>
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But you bet that next to a gritty coffee machine was a basket filled with individually wrapped Stroopwafel. </div>
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Never would I have gone to a 7-11 in search of culinary inspiration...or Stroopwafel. </div>
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I don´t really know how this helps my team, though. We still have to figure out how to make this thing without a proper wafflemaker. Maybe it just settles my soul knowing I can find a crumb of western european existence in even the darkest corners of my country. (Yes, 7-11 is a dark corner of my world).</div>
Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-43440319537699807352013-06-12T01:30:00.000-07:002013-06-12T01:47:27.310-07:00When Money Doesn´t MatterThe four countries that have had the greatest impact on me are all in Europe. One of them is in western Europe; three of them are in eastern Europe. Two of these eastern European locations are on the top ten list of poorest countries on the continent. Below are the results a 2012/2013 CIA survey regarding income levels for these two countries (plus others).<br />
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Country Per Capita Income (USD)<br />
1.Moldova 3,500<br />
2. Kosovo 7,400<br />
3. Ukraine 7,600<br />
4. Albania 8,000<br />
5. Bosnia and Herzegovina 8,300<br />
6. Serbia 10,500<br />
7. Macedonia 10,700<br />
8. Montenegro 11,700<br />
9. Romania 12,800<br />
10. Bulgaria 14,500<br />
Source: Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)--United States<br />
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<a href="http://www.techscio.com/the-poorest-country-in-europe/">http://www.techscio.com/the-poorest-country-in-europe/</a> Here´s the link if you´re craving more (pretty pictures to convince you to visit included).<br />
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Although I was only in Bulgaria and Bosnia and Herzegovina for a total of about nine days, I had so many jaw-dropping moments, so many ¨a-ha´s¨. <br />
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It´s safe to say that most North Americans would brush off many of these struggling countries with their superiority complex and comments like ¨Serbia? Bosnia? Aren´t they still at war?¨ Who can blame them, though? Anything we´ve heard regarding the Balkans has been about the war, almost as a warning to stay away. When was the last time you saw an advertisement for Bosnian coffee or to skip Hawaii and go to Bulgaria´s Black Sea instead?<br />
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And Serbia?? Pff, they shouldn´t need any advertisement. Hidden among the clothing boutiques and outlets are dusty corner stores where hat makers perfect their trade. Hat makers. (I almost bought a dark-green winter hat made from rabbit´s skin by the shoppe keeper herself. Unfortunately, my parents had already relocated from Wyoming to Las Vegas. sigh. I could have been as cool as this guy, but green).<br />
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My point is this:<br />
You´ll see things none of your family or friends will believe. You may not even believe some of it but who knows what it is that will change the way you see the world until you set out. Don´t be afraid of stereotypes built by your culture. You´ll be more significant and interesting to people with yearly incomes equal to what some spend on one hand of Baccarat than to a few head honchos at an international hub in London or Paris, promise. Instead, go someplace that might scare you. I guarantee the beauty you´ll find will be worth the cost.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-24025090497159406852013-06-07T22:41:00.001-07:002013-06-07T22:41:46.582-07:00a breath of fresh airSo the solemn waiter at the Bulgarian restaurant last night told me where to buy Bulgarian cheese (something you can not find in you´re average walmart). Little did I realise the value of this suspicious grocery store. <div>
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Not only was there Bulgarian cheese, there was also Bulgarian honey and wine. But pfff, not only that, there was also Croatian, Greek, and Polish wine. !!</div>
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The fun doesn´t stop there, though. They also flaunt a variety of Bosnian Burek. And Armenian honey. And Russian Mors with cranberry and sea buckthorn. (No idea what sea buckthorn is, but that´s probably why I bought it). </div>
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This place was filled with all my favorite European specialties, including, get this, Mulbeeren and Kichererbse mit Rosenwasser. I died!! This Mulbeeren is simply a box full of mulberry fruit and the latter is a bag of chickpeas covered in sugar and rosewater. </div>
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Okay so maybe they aren´t the first snack you search for in your cupboard, but it´s a step up from Doritos and gold fish.</div>
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This store, Jones Market (located at the corner of Jones and Desert Inn) has given me hope for my life in Las Vegas. Where else can I get Bulgarian yogurts and Russian truffles?</div>
Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-46933016877147291702013-06-07T22:01:00.000-07:002013-06-07T22:01:05.790-07:00A step off the normal pathMy daily routine has settled into some combination of going to the weight room, cleaning, studying, piano practice, and way too much pool time. It´s getting old.<br />
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To kick the boredom, I decided to go for a walk, go figure. I grab some of the oldest clothes I have out of my closet (a white t-shirt and denim shorts) and put my hair up in a quick bun. I looked like a bum. Still, within the first ten minutes of walking under the beating sun, I was to as ¨gurrrrl¨, ¨wuman¨, ¨princess¨, and my favorite, ¨little mamacita¨. They´re easy to shake off as long as they don´t start following you. No followers this time; lucky me.<br />
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I´ve always been attracted to hot, dry climates, but I´ve never spent a full summer in Las Vegas. About 20 minutes into my walk I took refuge at the first place I found: the mall. Who knew I would find the Hispanic Heritage Museum of Nevada alongside Hot Topic and Sears? It was so tempting to go in, but I didn´t want to disturb the girls dancing Cumbia inside. (Actually, that´s only partly true. I waited out front looking at the display on Colombia hoping for an invite or a head nod to come in. I never got an invite. Still, I envied their Latin ways of dancing cumbia at work....).<br />
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For women, wedding dress shopping is something magical (or I imagine it to be so). So many styles, cuts, frills, sparkles to choose from. But Las Vegas takes wedding dress shopping one step further. Before you walk down the aisle ladies, don´t forget to consider a floor-length gown in neon green or electric magenta with a glittery bodice. Prefer a strapless summer-sky blue gown? Match that with thigh-high dresses with an exorbitant amount of ruffles for your bridesmaids. You´re big day can´t come soon enough, can it?<br />
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Fifteen minutes and one water bottle later, I made it to my destination, Magura Restaurant. Okay, so I had set off without a destination but let´s be real, I´ve been dying for something authentically Bulgarian. And this is it. They have the traditional decorations, yeah, but that´s not what I think makes this place truly Bulgarian. It´s the people. The guys in the back all wear grey and black, only one speaks English. However, what makes this troupe authentically ¨Bulgarski¨ is that they don´t smile. It kind of concerns me. Being in the US and not having a smile plastered to your face can be taken offensively, especially in food service. <br />
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Not to worry, though. I have no doubt that, single-handedly, I can keep them in business. Bulgarians have this traditional pasty called Banitza. I´ve only had it once in the US (not including all the at-home attempts), but it was made by Americanized Bulgarians. Anyway, my point is that these people will make this for me even though it isn´t on the menu, no questions asked. That´s what I call service.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-39871969998281257832013-05-20T11:04:00.000-07:002013-05-20T11:04:15.698-07:00Spring in the City<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Walking around just off the Strip at night is a definite no-no, however taking a stroll when the sun is shining over this happy speck-on-the-map will keep you on your toes. Let me explain...<br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Going to an interview at Mandalay Bay, a car pulled up to the sidewalk next to me and asked if I needed a ride somewhere. Um, did they think I was hitch-hiking in a pencil skirt and blazer?? I was only at the Wynn and Mandalay would have been a grisly walk so , well, I took the ride...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. It´s already ridiculously hot by early afternoon so while I was waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street, I took my sweater off. Innocent enough. Before I knew it, one of those over-sized Hummers is hovering next to me. The light still hasn´t changed. I hear a loud whisper and look back to see the window of the Hummer rolled down. It was two 30-something year old men, giggling like nine-year old´s who got away with opening their Christmas presents early. What was their chant?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">¨Puta!....puuuuuuuta¨. (Spanish for a woman who gets paid for her nightly work. You know what I´m talking about...)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no hope in marriage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Walking down the Strip at 3 o´clock in the afternoon on a Friday does not guarantee safety. A man who claimed he served in the Gulf War offered to pay me to have his next child.He has two other girls from two previous marriages (one wife was supposedly English and the other was a blond Jewish girl from Germany). We talked about the morals and ethics of raising children (and how much he would pay me) before I lost him the first chance I got at Fashion Show. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He wanted to give me $10,000 to have the child and wanted me to give the baby to him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told him ¨no¨ because I could easily make twice that much as a surrogate mother. hmmph. </span>Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-87462914350583018922013-05-11T21:21:00.000-07:002013-05-11T21:21:21.844-07:00Welcome to Fabulous Las VegasThe ways of the world make me question my beliefs.<br />
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There I was, in the Chipotle across from the university, quietly savoring my meal when...BAM. A couple in their mid-twenties walks in. The girl was, in short, a tomboy. Dressed in a band-t and leather sandals, she was as plain as it got. On the other hand, the man was a drama queen. He was bedazzled in glitter from eye lashes to fingernails. His lip liner was applied impeccably and his eyes bold. I think I was more impressed than anything. Whoever did him up was an artist.<br />
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This was the last thing I expected on a Wednesday evening. Everyone else in the room was unfazed, probably didn´t even notice. Hmm, I guess I can´t claim I´m a local just yet...<br />
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Not only that, I was hit in the face with a black bean that some whining kid threw at me from across the room...Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-46612545086754196122013-05-09T22:32:00.001-07:002013-05-09T22:32:57.626-07:00You´re Hired...well, you might be.The front of Trump International Hotel is nothing like the life that comes from the back.<br />
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Walking through the front is a very cosmopolitan experience: the limos pull up through the sparkling driveway, the valet greets their guests with a bright smile, and in they go. Beautiful people walking through a beautiful lobby. (It´s unfortunate that sometimes the lobby is more beautiful than the guests. But that´s another story for another time...).<br />
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Going through the back is a slightly less calming experience. I´m even convinced the front and back of Trump have nothing to do with each other. Without a chandelier, employees were jumping from English to Spanish, laughing, smiling. Some in suits, others in white chef´s gear. It was really just a boring room with temporary excitement.Through the chaos, I found peace for my upcoming interview (go figure).<br />
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Let me just say that they advertised this as a Job Fair. What is really was thought, was a series of one-on-one interviews, which I was not prepared for. Fortunately, the first interview went a little something like this:<br />
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Him: Hello, Monica. Good to meet you. So I see you go to UNLV? (did not look up from my resume until...)<br />
Me: Yes, I´m a sophomore transfer student.<br />
Him: Where did you transfer from?<br />
Me: Franklin College Switzerland.<br />
Him: SWITZERLAND??? (immediate eye contact)<br />
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And it was magic.<br />
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A group of us who had passed the first interview had been shuffled to a wall to wait by until there were enough of us to go up all the way to the 65 floor for the second interview. Meanwhile, I´m in heels I´ve never worn before and all I can think about is how the big toe on my left is probably slightly longer than the big toe on the right foot.<br />
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The manager who did the second interview has been playing phone tag with me the past day so we´ll see....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-31636481263031918232013-04-27T10:56:00.000-07:002013-04-27T10:56:02.224-07:00The Art of Hosting VisitorsIt isn´t hard to figure out what to do with tourists in Las Vegas: shop on the strip, walk Fremont St., try new restaurants. What´s interesting as a local, though, is how each wave of visitors perceives their exotic vacation. <br />
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The first round of visitors came from every direction: from Denver, from south Jersey, from LA via Australia. We didn´t just walk the strip, we were forced out of convenience to split into smaller subsections because of our sheer size (only 9, but...) . This was the family reunion. So while half the family saw Jersey Boys, the other half went to Zarkana. Except my dad. He got distracted by some frilly slot machine. And now we´re questioning his stance in the family. I mean, he always shows up for meals but ever since he moved to Vegas, he´s taken up craps and betting on horse races (which my mother and I whole-heartedly support, when he wins)....<br />
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I have no doubt that this city makes people go wild. Duh, you say. But I´m not just talking about fraternity boyz and sorority gurls on spring break or even Nebraskans at a summer bachelor party. No, instead I want to discuss my aunt. She doesn´t drive; she hates getting into cars, planes, trains-especially when other people are driving them. It´s just one of those quirks people have (Personally, I cry loudly in public when I miss a plane or train, what´s wrong with that?). My dear aunt, Bless her heart, not only made it to Las Vegas from south Jersey with a smile on her face, she voluntarily rode the zipline at Fremont Street. We´re all very proud. Now my grandmother on my mother´s side is here. Slow with thick glasses, she´s almost 80. She wants to ride the roller coaster at New York New York with us today. We´re concerned since we know this is not in her character, but in the words of my mother ¨If she goes, at least she was happy. Buy the picture.¨<br />
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The second wave of visitors came with much anticipation. A friend, a solo traveler from Latvia, whom I had kept correspondence with the past few months was luckily in town on business. We met in a kitchen of a hostel in Porto, Portugal, yeah...What a friendship it´s been. We shopped for ten straight hours the first day we rekindled. Yes, ten straight hours for men´s pants, shoes, polo, shorts. It hurt, physically. Blisters ran rampant on my ankles and toes. Just as a warning, if you´re looking for a men´s size 34-34 on the strip, STOP! You just won´t find it. Not at all. Loose hope. You will find nothing between Fashion Show, Miracle Mile Shoppes, and The Forum at Caesar´s Palace. <br />
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After we found we still liked eachother a few days later, he decided to bunk at my place for about a week. From this experience, I learned that I can flip a five egg omlette like it´s easy and can now roast potatoes like Jaime Oliver. In fact I should put these on my resume under ¨Skills¨. Unfortunately, I can not stuff an eggplant worthy for my dear Latvian friend. But that really isn´t my fault. He had me cook beef. He´s known since the first day we´ve met that I´mvegetarian. Do we need to analyze further? <br />
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Me: So how is the meat?<br />
Him: Cooked...<br />
Me: *should I be offended?*<br />
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Either way, he ate it. And I was just dying the whole time. Never had I expected an answer so brutally honest. <br />
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There were some other cultural differences: unbearable for him, laughable for me. We spent time by the pool, on the strip, salsa dancing in my living room, even showed him around UNLV, which he found campus life to be awesome. (On the otherhand, he found Fremont Street to be disgusting. He normally stays at the M Resort when he comes to town so I wonder what he thought of my dingy little apartment with brown rugging and stained tile....). Despite our slightly awkward cultural differences (and making me wake up at 6:30 on a monday to make an omlette), I hope he visits soon! <br />
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My last two visitors included my Uncle and an old friend from high school. They stayed at the Bellagio and insisted on eating at a place called ¨Heart Attack Grille¨, where you eat for free if you weigh over 350 pounds...We walk in and the waitresses are wearing nurses outfits, one girl puts a hospital gown on us and one of those bracelets. The menu is made primarily of burgers and everything is named after a bypass surgery: single bypass burger (one patty), double bypass burger (two patties), you get the picture. My uncle ordered a vanilla milkshake. It came out with a slice of butter in it...I just ate three of my dad´s fries and called it a night. <br />
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Every visitor has a slightly varried take on what to do in fabulous Las Vegas. As a new local, it can be fun or disturbing to see what people come up with. Let´s see who comes next.<br />
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Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-86779441798455200922013-03-29T23:13:00.004-07:002013-03-29T23:13:57.971-07:00spring break: just what I expectedThree days with family have already come and gone. Two uncles, two aunts, and two cousins from my Dad´s side of the family all gathered for a very welcoming family fest. <br />
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I can´t believe it´s been over two years since I´ve seen most of them! <br />
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What did we find to do in Las Vegas, you ask? Well, three of us ziplined over Fremont Street while the rest watched the show above. All of us went to the Mob Museum, to Ceasar´s Palace, and to both Wolfgang Puck´s and Emeril´s restaurant in MGM Grand. Uncle George, my mom, and I did a thrill ride on the very top of the Stratosphere, which turned out to be quite enjoyable (you know, having a full view over the Strip and free-falling to your death). Just kidding, but the Stratosphere is so high, I felt like I was in southeastern Wyoming with all the wind. <br />
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Did I mention I tried calves liver at Wolfgang Puck´s?? The portion was too much for me to handle for my first go at calf meat, but my Dad did say that that was the best calf liver he ever had. Glad he liked it. Oh, and I should mention that Puck has an all male wait staff.. I noticed it before the appetizers came out just because there were so many good-looking waiters (maybe UNLV Hospitality Management majors too??). Hmm, maybe it´s better that way. I remember serving food at a retirement center as a part-time job in high school and always having sore wrists from carrying those large trays of meals...<br />
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My Uncle George had free tickets to see Zarkana! Can you believe that?? Cirque du Soleil´s latest and greatest. The costumes and scenery were amazing. Even some of the acrobatics seemed Zarkana-specific. I have a feeling that nowhere else in the world you can find men wearing full-body suits with cloth balls attached while spinning in an over-sized wheel. No where else can you find a grown man in a baby outfit, but that was Mystere, I digress. It was definitely an award-winning performance, though I couldn´t give it five stars like my Uncle did. For a performance to get that kind of rating from me, it has to move me. I want to be in tears before I realize it. I´ve been desensitized to the Vegas shows. I´ve seen Jersey Boys, Mystere, Absinthe, The Rat Pack, and probably a few more. But I´ve also seen the Russians perform The Nutcracker in Lisboa. The novelty of that never wears off. I kind of feel bad for the guy that went with me. (I had met him in a hostel in Porto but we met up in Lisboa a few days later). It was beautiful. I was crying. He had never been to a ballet in his life. But he, Kristaps, was a good camper. (He´s actually coming to Vegas on business next week so we´ll go see a Cirque du Soleil of his choice then). <br />
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The rest of the family, except my Dad who was undoubtedly playing craps for the full two hours, saw Jersey Boys instead. <br />
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For now, I still carry around my Swiss map, hoping someone will want to know where exactly Lugano or Sankt Gallen is. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-3052334851577560522013-03-26T03:22:00.002-07:002013-03-26T03:22:44.801-07:00Memoirs of a Former VegetarianThe only restaurant open after 10pm in the MGM Grand is Wolfgang Puck´s. We walked up to the hostess, reserved a table for nine, and waited. In the meantime, I graciously asked the hostess about a few menu items. I wanted to try something new, something that would have the effect of glitter in my mouth. For some reason, I thought ordering calf liver would put a pep in my step. I asked the hostess, who had just finished filing her nails or something, what pancetta was. She looked at the menu, smiled down on me from behind her station, and declared it ¨a type of cheese¨. <br />
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I took her word, even though, even without ever eating calf liver in my life, I KNEW that would not make a pleasant combination. <br />
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Out comes my meal and guess what: no cheese!! Well, it´s Monday. Maybe Puck hadn´t received the weeks´ supplies yet. But it´s okay, I say to myself, I´m flexible. <br />
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I stabbed my fork into what looked like a roasted cube of potato, but my tastebuds failed to recognise the subtle flavors and texture. Touché secret ingredient. <br />
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A few family members from south Philly solved the mystery. What I had though was a potato was really uncured pork, better known as pancetta. Forgive me, food junkies of the world; the lighting was low and it was tough to tell what I was eating.<br />
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In the end, I ended up giving away half of the calf liver to my dad and all the pancetta to him as well. He´s not picky so it´s always easy to swap food with him, even at the dinner table as a kid. <br />
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Can you believe I couldn´t identify a piece of pork after living in the pork capital of Spain AND Lugano, Switzerland?? What on earth have I been eating the past two years? I consider myself a culteraltarian so I´ll try almost everything at least once, especially when I´m outside my own country. Meat-eating is not my specialty, but cultural perspectives on eating is. Well, I guess that´s why I´m now a former vegetarian.<br />
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Moral of the story? Don´t trust the hostess.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736739465758591384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-11919130762785524112013-03-20T18:11:00.002-07:002013-05-10T09:38:26.532-07:00Suits, Ties, Heels, and a HearseIn the midst of over 140 Las Vegan companies spanning from The M Resort to local wineries to softwear developement, there I am. Confused at which smiling face behind the desk to approach, I stand there and someone offered me a pen from a stand I wasn´t interested in. I declined it and walked away.I wasn´t sure if they were scouting me or if I was supposed to scout them. Either way, I was equipt with a stack resumes.<br />
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Welcome to Career Day. This particular day has no annual date nor does it function like a normal holiday. Rather, it´s approached with excitement by elementary students everywhere and used as the number one strategy for high schoolers to get out of class for the day. Most students under age 18 rarely, if ever, live to see this day come, until those university years begin. Here I am, at age 20, finally experiencing the epitome of a Career Day if there ever was one. Every major hotel-casino had a representative even the Peace Corps showed up.<br />
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I chatted with a few companies but not having a car makes going to a job or an internship quite a reach. (This is where Americans need to Swiss up their lives). <br />
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On the shuttle bus back to my apartment, I was hoping to just space out to the rhythms of that one bus driver´s favorite funk radio station. Instead I had a nose full of chinese take-out food wafting from the seat next to me. And then I saw it. It couldn´t have been more obnoxious. It was tie-dye, it was groovey, it had every bright color, how could it not be called obnoxious. The swirls of reds, greens, pinks, oranges, yellows, and purples made me ask myself, ¨Why would anyone do this to their car?¨ and then ¨How did someone do this to their car?¨ and I ended with ¨How much did someone pay to do this to their car?¨ As we drove past, I had a better angle on it. This was an old volkswagon that someone was trying to revive as vintage. (Hey, it´s Vegas anything goes). But it was a little too long to be a normal volkswagon. My attention was then drawn to the two words written in caps: HAPPY HEARSE. <br />
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After some very shallow research (one Google search) I found that it´s owned by a former automotive engineer originally from Germany...and there´s a bubble machine. Here´s the link, you´ve been warned. <a href="http://www.mistertony.com/">http://www.mistertony.com/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-29754289968716385252013-03-19T20:32:00.000-07:002013-05-10T09:39:26.098-07:00And finally!On a bright, sunshine-y Monday afternoon, I approached my professor of hospitality for some advice. Only hours earlier, I had been accepted to the Disney College Program! I would go for the fall 2013 semester,work at a Disney restaurant, and would go to Walt Disney World in Orlando! Not only that, it´s paid and I get credit. Despite all these perks, I consulted with Professor Carl to make sure this wasn´t too good to be true. <br />
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Well, it isn´t. He highly recommended it. Not only that, he casually invited me to the lunch with the Hilton family after spring break. Paris won´t be there, but her unlce, aunt, and a few cousins who work the business will be. I don´t think Paris has anything to do with the hotels...doesn´t she have her own clothing line??<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2815543991295026547.post-18867602978663271562013-03-07T22:49:00.001-08:002013-05-10T09:42:04.739-07:00That moment you realise you don´t want to be at the gym running endless miles to vainly fit snuggly inside your swimsuit is similar to all your other revelations. Well, it is for me anyway. <br />
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Thursday night, no Swiss half pass to travel, no couchsurfing, no one to savor a night of chocolate and wine with or an evening hike with. My next option? This is Vegas; I should be able to go salsa dancing right? Innocent enough, yeah? Wrong. Here, I am without transportation and underaged.<br />
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This is suffocating. <br />
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To cheer myself up, I give into my coffee-craving and hesitantly let Starbucks fill this empty spot. I don´t even want to get into how I´m never going to Starbucks again. All I want is a plain, SMALL cup of coffee. Nothing fancy, no whipped cream, no syrup, no sugar. <br />
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I could kill for a café con leche. My homework is done and I´ve practiced piano all day. There´s nothing attractive about going to the gym. Las Vegas, I am not impressed. <br />
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Since when did people start coming here for fun...? <br />
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I´ve been trying to look up. I do enjoy my courses and I live in a nice apartment. Falling into old ways, though. It feels like high school again. I know how Americans work; I am American. Being around more of my own kind is not what I want out of this ridiculously expensive education.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0