La Petite Chic

Updates and Wine

Our neighbor stopped by last night to give us an update on his plumbing woes.  Everything has been fixed and is back in order and you would be none the wiser that there was ever a minor flood in the kitchen.  For their troubles, Chris's landlord gave them a $100 gift certificate to The Cheesecake Factory.  In turn, Chris invited Jon and I out for dinner this weekend to thank us for our help.  Of course, we didn't expect anything in return but it's nice to be rewarded for our efforts!

Heard a little something from Google...they're still trying to get approval for my GPA.  Seriously?!?!  What's so bad about a B average student?  Helloooo!  I ran D-1 cross country, indoor and outdoor track (in season all freaking year), held a job at the library, was a VP in the SGA and was in the Young Democrats.  What the freak, Google? 

Moving on, go check out my guest blog today over at EmilyPie while she enjoys her vacation in Napa Valley.  There's mention of wine and 5th grade and err, more wine!  Go now!  And leave comments!  No one has left any comments yet and I'm feeling a bit like I'm letting Emily down!

Mace On A Plane

So to conclude this wonderful week of guest blogging (really ladies you have done a great job!) I will be telling you a little tale about my trip to Mexico this past August. (Just so you know, it took me 30 minutes to write that-nerves much?)

I'll be honest with ya, I never really wanted to go to Mexico. Mexico was never a "must see" on my travel list. Mexico seemed like a place that college kids went to get some legal drinking done while under the age of 21. Oh and for goodness sakes I could not stand the way the girls on Laguna Beach kept saying how they were going to "Cabo".-Pretentiousness aside, I just never found Mexico alluring. But then a little bird told me about all inclusive resorts. I did some  research on these alleged "all inclusive resorts". I actually asked the guy on Expedia if all inclusive really meant free food and alcohol or if it was code for un-limited bread and lemonade-he assured me that it was not code-and I am sure put me on some list for weirdest questions asked. With much planning, I booked a trip to Los Cabos for myself, my boyfriend and 6 of my wonderful friends.

I wish I could say that planning the trip was the extent of my duress in route to Mexico, but alas, it was not. As I walked through security to board the plane I was asked to step aside. This is typical for me, I am a dark skinned Italian that looks a little too ethnic for security.So I obliged, and they began searching my purse and in a moment of horror, they pull out the pepper spray I carry in my purse! I cannot write down here the plethora of expletives that went through my head, but needless to say, I was mentally beating myself up for forgetting to take it out before boarding a freakin' plane!!!!!! Security is so tight you can't even bring on a bottle of water and here I was bringing on PEPPER SPRAY! They put my name on some list, took down my shoe size, counted my fillings and dilated my pupils and then allowed me to get on the plane.

I was frazzled from my little tango with the law en route to Los Cabos but as soon as we reached the resort my worries diminished for the two following reasons:

First of all this was the strip of beach in front of our hotel:

And second (and most importantly), there were FREE alcohol dispensers IN OUR ROOM!

Alcohol and sun went hand in hand for the seven days we were there.  You know the drill, fancy drink, soak in pool, sunbathe-repeat. The evenings got a little crazier and often consisted of hanging out in the makeshift dance club at the hotel. One night in particular we went to a Japanese restaurant (which ironically enough,  was the best restaurant at the Mexican hotel) and we got a little carried away with the Sake bombs. After sake-ing till we couldn't sake anymore, the group took it poolside to play some poker. My friend Serina and I were not excited by the prospect of card games so we wandered away from the group to make some fun of our own and explore the swim up bar-after hours. What's the harm, the alcohol was free anyway?

That's Serina playing bartender and myself as the loyal patron. After doing our best imitation of law breakers we went to the bathroom to remove our soaked undies and noticed a bride going to the bathroom with the door open while her bridesmaid held up her dress. Even though she was in the process of going to the bathroom, Serina and I made friendly conversation with the blushing bride. As she stood up she said, "Hey, want to come to my wedding?" Serina and I took one look at each other and said "YES!" And just like that, soaking underwear in hand, we went to the reception for a couple we didn't know.

For the next 45 minutes, Serina and I were official wedding crashers. We taught the guests dance moves such as "The Sprinkler", "The Shopping Cart" and "The Fish". As we snapped pictures with the guests and the happy couple we heard whispers of "who are they?" and "Are we related to them?" Serina and I decided to leave them wanting more, so as they served the cake we said our goodbye's and congratulations and returned to our friends with quite a story to tell. Unfortunately I don't have pictures from the wedding, but I am considering doing it again and taking pictures then.

So that is my contribution while our Katie is away-hope you enjoyed! And just remember, there is more where that came from here! Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

P.S. Just for laughs, here is a picture of me getting clobbered by a pathetically small wave and my boyfriend saving my life:

Once Upon A Time In St. Lucia

This week has been a great one for Le Petit Chic.  Katie handpicked some great ladies to fill in for her while she is away and I’m just hoping that I can keep things going and maybe pick up some wonderful new readers in the process (I heart comments).  You can always find me hiding out over here.

I initially planned to jot down lots of ideas of what I wanted to post about, write some drafts and be completely ready by the time Thursday morning rolled around.  It didn’t happen quite as seamlessly as I had hoped but here I am, and here we go.  Anyone who has been reading Katie’s blog for any length of time probably knows that we are friends outside of the blogosphere.  I know my husband would agree that making friends becomes harder when you are married and I feel very lucky to have met both Katie and Jon, so I thought that I would reveal the real story of how we all met. 

(In true Sophia Petrillo style) 

Picture it.  St. Lucia.  2006. 

Couples could be found finishing breakfast, floating in the pool with umbrella drinks in hand, and relaxing under the cover of the Pavilion while warm air circulates during a light rain.  My husband and I had arrived the day before and were excited for our first full day on the island.  While we were sitting there, the bar opened, and we got a couple beers even though it was barely 10:00am (one of the many perks at an all-inclusive resort).  Two guys in bright yellow and blue sandals staff shirts with the words “Entertainment Staff” on the back approached us and the rest of the guests shouting about a ring toss game that was going to start in just a few minutes.  The social butterfly husband of mine immediately signed us up.  When the game started we played against three other couples, coming in first or second I think.  It’s hard to believe with my competitive nature that I can’t remember what place we got. 

So now we were in our element…drinks and games not to mention the fact that we are in paradise.  The next game Hubs signed up for was the banana-eating contest.  There were about 5 people in the first round and the two fastest eaters would compete again for first place.  Mike was pumped and ready to go and when that whistle blew he was filling his face with banana.  I don't know how she did it, maybe I missed the magic portion of the show, but she kept up with him.  So the two of them were given a few minutes to recover from banana overload and then they were going head to head for first place.  But there was a twist for the final round.  They were both going to be blindfolded. 

The staff member came over to Hubs and tied his blindfold on first and handed him a banana.  When he got to Katie he put his fingers up to his mouth and didn’t tie the blindfold on her.  Everyone watching quietly laughed, as she wasn’t given a banana either.  This was going to be hilarious, my poor husband shoving a banana in his face unaware that he was racing against himself.  When the whistle blew he held nothing back, he wasn’t going to be beaten by a girl.  Everyone cheered him on like it was the freaking Daytona 500 of banana racing.  When he hit halfway he slowed down and by the roaring laughter of what was happening I stopped him before he forced himself into a choking situation.  He pulled off the blindfold to see that he was the only one playing this game.  He couldn’t hold back his laughter either.  Katie came over and patted him on the back and everyone continued to laugh while he cleaned himself up a bit. 

We all walked over to get some drinks and Katie’s husband commented on Hubs Penn State t-shirt.  He too was a PSU alum and avid football fan, so with that we found some chairs and started to chat about where we were from and what we do.

And the rest of history.

Slacking

I know I'm supposed to be all Guest Blogging it Up right now, but my best friend is in labor ya'll (best Britney impersonation). LABOR.

She was supposed to be induced on Thursday morning. I wrote a long and whiny post about my feeling on that yesterday, but I digress....

Agreeing to be a guest blogger (as awesome and flattering as it was) has turned out to be far more challenging than all 30 days of NaBloPoMo combined. I have someone else's blog in my freezing cold little hands. Loads of new readers at my fingertips.... compared to my 10 readers... this is quite intimidating!

For the past several days, the only thought running through my head was, "OMG I have like FIVE days before I have to post something. FIVE DAYS." The "Notes" section on my iPhone is filled with blog ideas I quickly jotted down, only to return to half completed thoughts such as, "China, friendship, West Coast way of life????"

I even wrote an entire entry, and set it to post automatically this morning. Unfortunately, that entry had no plot and was deleted. That brought me back to square one.

Then Her water broke.

We were at the hospital for a majority of the evening last night, and are up again at 4am (west coast) to get ready to head to the hospital.

... ACK! Just heard that she was born. MUST GET TO HOSPITAL.

I hope this isn't too disappointing of a guest blog. Oh please have pity on me.

::

This is me.

*No time to edit. Please excuse typos.

::

Back from hospital Edit...

Want of guest blogger would I be if I didn't at least inundate you with pictures since I couldn't supply a proper post?

The Bloggers Will Play...

I have to tell you all, I've never been so stressed about writing something ever in my life. Not writing a story about Steve Mariucci, Garrison Hearst or any other handful of professional athletes and coaches that I've dealt with in my life. This guest blogging thing is quite stressful.

Jennie did an awesome job yesterday. And now I have to follow in her footsteps. On top of that, she was supposed to give me an idea about what to write. Seeing as my mind was as empty as Britney Spears' underwear drawer.

So then she went and wrote about fabulous vacations. On her honeymoon. And I'm all "well, just great. Because I have neither a husband or go on fabulous vacations." Because all my vacations involve drinking so much I don't remember them. Nor do I take photos. Because that will really deter my efforts for running for public office one day. Not really. The drunk photographs on my blog have sealed my fate there.

And while I think I am fabulous and all but DEMANDED that Katie select me for this guest blogging thing, my readers don't expect much. Because my mom is basically the only one that reads it. And she's a nice mom. And tells me everything I do is good. Even when I tuck my skirt into my underwear. On those occasions she tells me that I embarrass myself better than anyone else has ever embarrassed themselves. And then my mom thanks all that is good and holy that her daughter isn't Britney and is actually wearing underwear to tuck her skirt into.

(Dude, what's with the two Britney references? I should really watch more CNN and less TMZ.)

So instead, I must regale you with a fabulous tale from my youth. Because that's all I have. And it involves drinking. And Katie would expect nothing less from me.

My birthday is in September. (It's September 14. And I'm always willing to accept gifts. So please, Le Petit Chic readers, mark it on your calendars. I'm not too proud to pimp myself out on other blogs.) Anyway, with a late birthday, I was always the last to celebrate momentous birthdays. Last one to become a teenager, last one to get my driver's license and last of a group to turn 21, the legal drinking age in this lovely country of ours.

On top of this, I worked with a lot of people who were older than me when I was in college. And when I say older, I mean they were all able to drink the sauce. And I? Was a thousand kinds of jealous. It tastes so good once it touches your lips.

I finally decided that I? Must have a fake ID. And I was going to go about it the best way. I wasn't going to find someone who looked like me. One, because I was fat and six-feet tall and looked like I was 12.

No. I decided that I was going give a big middle finger to the Department of Motor Vehicles and go down there with all the proper paperwork, albeit for someone who wasn't me, and get myself an Arizona state ID card.

Around this time, my brother was engaged to my now-sister-in-law. In an act that I can only think was desperation to please her future sister-in-law, she gave me her birth certificate and social security card. So I took it and ran! And I marched my fat, happy ass down to the DMV.

Turns out, though, those two forms aren't enough. I needed something with a signature. No, not something with a picture. Because that would make the most sense. Just another form of ID with a name and a signature. Like a credit card. I made some lame excuse about losing my wallet and that I would need to come back when I found something at home. And I'm sure I looked guilty as sin.

(Side note, is it any wonder terrorists have such an easy time getting identification in this country?)

So I frantically called Kim, my brother's betrothed. She said she had a credit card she had no intention of activating, and I could have it. So she mailed it to me, I signed the back NOT as myself, and marched my determined ass back to that DMV.

I got in line and filled out the necessary paperwork. Or something. All I remember is that I was so nervous I wanted to wet my pants and tell everyone next to me that I was BREAKING THE LAW! Me! The perfect student who didn't even drink until college! In your FACE DMV!

As I was patiently waiting my turn and twitching nervously, the power went out. At the DMV. With hundreds of people waiting. Hundreds of people who were already pissed off about waiting eons at the DMV.

God was apparently looking out for me and had pity on my social life that would suffer as I waited months, long, dry months, after the rest of my friends were all 21 and enjoying the lovely libations at Fat Tuesday on Mill Avenue. Because this power outage put a fire under the ass of the DMV employees. Once the power was back on, they shuffled people in and out as fast as possible. I don't think the woman even looked up from her paper when I got to the front of the line. And thank gawd because my face was redder than an Irish drunk's. And that eye twitch can be quite a tell.

So I got up there, took three times to sign my name correctly in the little box they gave me, and prepared to have my photo taken. To commence with the drinking. I had the biggest shit eating grin on my cherry-red face. And Arizona is none the wiser.

Although my sister-in-law can now never move to Arizona without raising a few eyebrows.

________________________

Well, lovely readers, thank you for having me! It was fun. So, if you wouldn't mind, please go on and tell me all sorts of lovely things about me and my post. Because my fragile ego can't take mean things. And Katie would not approve.

I'm Kristabella and you can find me here, if you'd like to stop on over and say nice things there too. My mom would really appreciate it. Her blowing sunshine up my ass can be tiring work and sometimes she'd just like a little break.

While Katie's away ...

While Katie is off gallivanting around the Caribbean (am not jealous, am not jealous), she asked a few fellow bloggers to watch over things at Le Petit Chic and to, you know, not let anyone get ridiculously out of hand.

I was far too flattered by her request that I be one such guest blogger to mention to her that when I was 16 my mom trusted me enough to leave me home alone one weekend. And my mother? NEVER MADE THAT MISTAKE AGAIN. I threw my first and last party that weekend, and it was the last not only because the sheer guilt and anxiety associated with pulling off a house party was suffocating but because after we moved the empty bottles (of Boone's, as I was quite the classy rebellious teen) a few houses down, to my neighbor's recycling bin, the neighbor moved them all back, right around the time my mom rolled into our driveway. My mom stayed home for the next three years.

I'm much older and wiser now, so if you're hoping for something of the sort to happen while Katie's away, well, let's just put everything back the way we found it, OK? And keep out of the good stuff.

Honestly, Katie is one of my favorite bloggers and I would have been a fool to turn her down, but guest posting brings with it a bit of unexpected pressure. Over at my site, I can post picture upon picture of my dog or throw out a few dozen diatribes about Veronica Mars' premature cancellation and I don't linger too long over the publish button, sweating over who may take offense. But I have been thinking about this post for days.

After all that thinking, I decided it might be nice to keep with the theme of Katie's tropical vacation and share a story from my semi-recent honeymoon.

(And, what's nice, the theme basically insists on you drinking pina coladas while reading this so if the writing goes awry, you may not suspect a thing.)

My husband and I tied the knot about eight months ago and we honeymooned the following month in the U.S. Virgin Islands—St. John to be exact. While there, I had a few goals: to tan, to drink obscene amounts of Caribbean rum and to take a record-breaking number of naps. My chronically antsy husband had goals of his own; goals that included mapping out every inch of the 28-square-mile island and not leaving ANYTHING undone.

There was water to snorkel:

And sandcastles to build:

And trails to hike:

We compromised quite nicely in that I did all he wanted and he bought me things. (Unfortunately the honeymoon mentality was left on the honeymoon.)

One such sight Mike was adamant about seeing was the Annaberg Ruins, remnants of an 18th century sugar mill in Virgin Islands National Park. Mike promised me gallons of raspberry coladas and the sundress I had been lusting after at one of our favorite local shops, if I tagged along and snapped a few pictures with minimal bitching. I have to say it was quite nice, as far as ruins go. And, hell, it had quite the view:

Mike insisted on reading to me from each displayed sign found around the ruins—"This was the kitchen! The hottest room in the mill! And over here! The basement!" And you'd think that sweet redheaded husband of mine was the History major of the relationship but, sadly and quite pathetically, that would be me. (My college didn't offer napping as a major of study, if you can believe that.) Finally after a good hour of ruins fun, we made our way back to the car.

On the way, we were just delighted to see an iguana moseying across the road. We're from Texas! Wildlife is far less exciting and usually far less alive than this!

I began clapping enthusiastically and Mike began taking pictures, but, and you can't quite tell in the above picture, the iguana wasn't exactly alone on the road.

With him/her was one of the island's more common critters, a mongoose. Here, have a closer look:

At first I was even more excited. DOUBLE THE WILDLIFE FUN! But don't let that little devil's size fool you; he was looking to make the iguana less a friend and more a snack.

Mike is a good and decent man, and he insisted on doing what he could for that poor iguana. He stamped and stomped around, scaring the mongoose off and, as far as he knew (as he couldn't SEE INTO THE FUTURE), saving the iguana's life.

I was so proud of my husband. But, I was proud of him FROM A DISTANCE. This picture is cropped and zoomed, as I was literally running down the hill in the opposite direction of the wildlife encounter, yelling over my shoulder, "SAVE THE IGUANA, BABY! I'LL BE DOWN HERE!" My crisis-coping skills include a few specific behaviors (none of which I'm altogether proud of). One response includes FLEEING LIKE HELL.

As Mike caught up to me, we both marveled at stumbling upon something so intense. I said to him, "I wouldn't have believed a soul if they had told me mere days ago that 'mongoose attack' would make sense to me soon enough." We were even laughing about the whole thing until I turned over my shoulder and bore witness to this sad scene:

The mongoose, bastard that he was, had returned, to drag the poor iguana into the forest.

After a few stunned moments I broke the silence to suggest partaking in another activity that helps me cope:

And after such an afternoon, Mike was quick to agree. And, later on, he may have even napped with me for an hour or two. 

::

Katie, thank you for having me. I hope your vacation was perfect parts adventure and relaxation. To Katie's friends and readers, thank you, as well. Especially if you've gotten this far.

If you're feeling up to it, come visit whenever you'd like.

A friend of Katie's is a friend of mine.