NEWLOVE

even though i’ve been to india before, i’m a little nervous about my arrival today in delhi. maybe precisely BECAUSE i’ve been to india before. it’s hot. we know how much i love the heat. there are tons and tons and tons of people EVERYWHERE and we know how much i love crowds. i got dysentery last time and we know how much fun that is.

but hey, at least there’s no language barrier!

when ixel, josheepoo and i were in russia, ixel and i were whirlwind shopping for josheepoo’s birthday celebration. we stood in a long line at the bakery and successfully navigated our way through the russian commands with the right endings, conjugations and declensions in order to pick out a cake. yes! although we weren’t sure what kind of cake we were getting, we were understood (even without the excessive pointing and stupid grins on our faces,) we paid and left the bakery with the beautiful cake we desired. we sprinted through the market and picked up tonic water with no hassles. we even managed to be understood when we bought him a liter of vodka at the bottle shop (he doesn’t drink gin.) then we went to a stationary store and picked out a card - no idea what it said but it had a cute drawing on it. we were pretty sure it was a birthday card and not a sympathy or get well soon card.

so far so good, right? wrong. we realized we needed ice-cubes. what an adventure.

the apartment we had rented did not include ice-cube trays in the miniature frost-box. crap. oh well, just go out and buy some, right? wrong again. THIS IS RUSSIA.

in russia, everything is sold at separate shops - like in the “days of yore” as rachel green would say. you buy your meat at the butcher’s, your greens at the grocer’s, your aspirin at the pharmacist’s, and so on and so forth. so where on earth do you go to buy ice-cube trays??

not only that, in most shops, everything is kept behind a counter - it’s not what they call “self-serve.” you actually have to have a conversation with a mean old shop lady who is not at all amused or impressed with the fact that tourists have been allowed into their country. she doesn’t care that you’ve taken the time to “learn” their language and that you have enough balls to stand there and try to speak regardless of how embarrassing your many mistakes are. and until you conjugate everything perfectly making all the masculine/feminine/neuter nouns agree with their adjectives in time and number, you are miraculously speaking pure gibberish to them and they just stare you down secretly willing you to give up and leave. they don’t care about you spending your money at their establishment. they will still have their jobs and make their same salary no matter the profits of their employers.

after many unsuccessful attempts in many stores, we were feeling like our mission going to be a total bust when we walked into the store that would be our final attempt - with or without ice-cube trays.

we walked in and rummaged around the “self-serve” tupperware section when we spotted a salesgirl.

me: do you speak english? (in russian)

ixel giggled under her breath. she just loves to watch me sweat. she’s sadistic and mean-spirited. her russian is tons better than mine, but did she step in? no. of course not. that would be too easy on me. but i’ll get her one of these days. just you wait and see.

the salesgirl adamantly shook her head looking a bit confused. so i asked her if she worked there or if i was just making a total fool out of myself in front of a fellow shopper. (has happened before - more than once.)

she worked there, she confirmed and smiled.

(keep in mind, this all took place in russian.)

me: i look for something small. small and square. plastic? yes?

she looked at me and blinked a little bit and pointed to the tupperware.

me: yes. good. thank you. very nice. but not something i look for today. i look for small. plastic. square. very cold. is for water. is square. yes?

i mean people, how in the hell do you come up with a word like ice-cube in russian? i didn’t have a dictionary on me and ixel wasn’t bright enough to bring one along - YES IT WAS HER JOB TO CARRY THE DICTIONARY ALL AROUND RUSSIA.

the salesgirl still stared at me blankly and smiled a little. hey, at least she was being nice and friendly - nothing like the mean old shop ladies that we normally encountered. so i tried some more…

me: okay. you like vodka? yes? vodka hot? no!! no!! no one likes vodka hot. i look for something for vodka for COLD vodka. small. square. plastic.

this whole time i was gesturing wildly, adamant about the freaking ice-cube trays. in case she didn’t understand my pronunciation of “cold,” i added “brrrrrrrrr…” with a lot of shivering while i rubbed my hands fiercely up and down my crossed arms. i was holding a small imaginary glass of vodka and pretending to do shot after shot after shot of vodka. i started thinking about pretending to be drunk in case she didn’t understand my pronunciation of “vodka” but it’s pretty universal i think. by this point, i was sweating profusely with all of my dramatic antics. it was a million degrees in there and i was getting quite the work-out.

i continued…

me: (shooting more imaginary vodka shots) small vodka. small square cold water. i need the plastic something to have the small square cold water in the vodka.

she stuck a finger up in the air and probably said something like, “i have an idea!” so ixel and i shuffled behind her through the narrow tupperware aisle back to the saran wrap section. she held up a flat plastic bag within which lay what looked like plastic sheets. it was ixel’s turn to look thoroughly confused. thank goodness for martin & my mom being such avid sailors with snobby tastes! (okay, i swear this isn’t some strange tangent…)

when i was a kid, we sailed all summer and our boat had a kitchen with a fridge AND an ice-box - which was pretty over-the-top swank back in those days. the only ice-cube “trays” that fit into this ice-box were these geniusly inventive perforated plastic sheets that we filled with water from the tap to make perfect spheres of water that later froze when placed in the ice-box. i have no idea how the water didn’t just pour back out, but because i was familiar with this contraption i was able to jump up and down with joy and practically hugged the NICEST SALESGIRL IN ALL OF RUSSIA!!

PS - josheepoo never drank that liter of vodka and it ended up going to waste because we had to leave it in the fridge for the next tenants. you see, russian vodka bottles have some fancy kind of lid that we couldn’t figure out. you don’t just screw it off, it pops up like a space-age periscope we later found out. but by then, we had already greedily chopped the lid to bits with a butcher knife in order to get our drink on!

as soon as i head off on any of my trips, brad spends the first few days enjoying his peace & quiet and his freedom from doing any chores. the dishes pile up in the sink. the dust settles at an alarming rate. the dish towels get mysterious stains on them (always explained with “hiko was here.”) the faucet drips incessantly and something weird happens in the living room - it’s totally overrun by shoes! when i was last in denmark, he took this photo a few hours after i left to prove how quickly everything i’ve worked so hard to accomplish just unravels upon my departure.

for the last 2 weeks that i’ve been in LA, i have had a hard time sleeping due to the excruciatingly loud stupid snoring machine next to me that has absolutely no problem sleeping. the first few weeks, i lay awake wondering what was wrong with the special “snore-relieving” pillow that i ordered from brookstone and had delivered to brad on valentine’s day. was it defective? should it be returned? COULD it be returned even though he’d sweat and slobbered all over it?

here’s a photo of the slobbering, sweating and snoring in action - notice the strangely shaped pillow.

one particularly long and late night i came up with a brilliant idea - i’d blog about these restless nights and i’d add video. i was on a mission. and i was dedicated. so then, anytime he’d get into the rhythm of a uniquely weird sounding snore, a whistle whistle grumble growl sigh lip smack, or if he’d get unbelievably loud, i would whip out the video camera. but wouldn’t you know, he’d stop as soon as i was in prime position. DAMN. foiled again. he must have some sort of pact with the devil where he gets mental warnings to save him from public humiliation. but i finally got something! it kept me up many nights (or was it the snoring? i’m so sleep-deprived i can hardly remember!)

here’s what i could actually get, but it’s not quite as loud or eclectic as some of his swan songs. it’s usually much louder and more annoying. please pity me. please. my life is very rough.

and no, contrary to popular belief, i never exaggerate. never.

stupid snoring machine from kathleen on Vimeo.

(don’t know why the picture is so dark. i mean, yes it was a dark night but i could actually see brad when looking at the video before uploading it to vimeo.)

my sister only has one year of her 20s left.  i hope it’s a fun one.  love you!

this morning brad and i were playing tennis at the griffith park courts. we were about 20 minutes in when i realized brad must’ve had his wheaties because he was whooping my butt. where did these pro tennis skills come from?? i was limping around after i’d smashed my racket (accidentally) as hard as i could right into my right kneecap. i mean, there’s no way he’d be killing me so hard if i wasn’t handicapped! haha.

no seriously, i suck - i do. much to my dad’s dismay.

don’t listen to that man behind the curtain! i am the best tennis player in the world!

QUIET.

okay, now that my split personalities are finished, i’ll proceed with the story…

i went to gulp water as a stall tactic when this mean latina approached and started hassling us to pay for the court. we’ve been playing regularly at this location for the last 2 weeks and have never had to pay. the signs on the office wall explain the pricing for april through october but don’t mention the off season. so i mentioned my confusion to her and she refused to listen. she was like that kid on his bike that just wants his 2 dollars. vicious.

brad went to the office to pay and she GAVE OUR COURT AWAY to the guys right in front of brad and then had the nerve to tell him to wait 40 minutes until the next court opened up. bitch!

so we went to the courts in vermont canyon and paid for 2 hours and brad had a lovely time kicking my butt some more. such a beautiful place to play tennis - and no mean latina. we’re definitely only going to play there from now on.

as josh and i were driving to a crazy fun russian dinner party in westlake village later in the day, i happened to tell him about the mean latina and he knew exactly who i was talking about. imagine my surprise. i mean, normally he does not keep such rude company. but it turns out, they’re not friends. she hassles him and charley too!

i think it’s petition writing time. meanwhile, josh and i are going to make voodoo dolls.

carry on.

i can’t believe i’ve never see this movie.  I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW GOOD PATRICK SWAYZE LOOKS IN DRAG!

love love LOVED it.  so campy.  there’s something so hot about straight guys playing gay men in drag.  and the clothes!!  wow.

anyone who knows hiko knows that hiko is famous. famous for being THE man. famous for being a walking encyclopedia of hollywood. famous for being able to return anything and everything ANYWHERE even if he doesn’t have a receipt.

what most people don’t know, including hiko, is that to some, he’s also famous for being the ultimate scape goat. let me explain…

years ago one hot summer night, hiko was over for a movie night and some baskin robbins. we poured ourselves a couple of drinks that naturally needed ice cubes. the next day, brad went to pour himself a drink but when it came to adding the ice cubes, there were none… just four empty trays in the freezer. now whether it was hiko or whether it was myself is beside the point - someone didn’t refill the trays. so when brad complained i plead the fifth but added, “hiko was here.” it has now become a weekly (sometimes daily) excuse for almost anything.

brad: “someone didn’t replace the toilet paper roll in the bathroom”

me: “hiko was here.”

that example is actually funny because whenever we run out of tp and hiko IS actually here, he not only replaces the roll but makes sure he replaces it facing the proper way (face out) even though at his house he does it the wrong way!

me: “brad, how many times do i have to tell you to pay attention when you’re turning off the bathroom faucet?!”

brad: “huh?”

me: “it’s DRIPPING”

brad: “uh… hiko was here?”

this one happens ALL THE TIME. meanwhile, hiko does not visit on a daily basis, or even on a weekly basis. he HAS a life, you know.

me: “brad, you have like 7 pairs of shoes messing up the living room which was devoid of shoes this morning! who are you? imelda marcos?”

brad: “hiko was here.”

or my favorite…

me: “brad, you tracked mud in here! you’re getting it all over the rug!!”

brad: “nu-uhn - hiko must’ve done it. didn’t you see him leave?”

keep in mind this has been going on for a few years now.

so a week ago, i was at kirsty and scott’s listening to them jokingly complain about each other and their “bad habits” or whatnot. i explained the hiko excuse and how they should use it with abandon like a very special carte blanche. at some point in the evening, kirsty accidentally smashed a plate into scott’s forehead causing a wound so deep he should’ve gotten stitches. when it was apparent that scott would live, kirsty said, “hiko did it.”

so… not exactly the same but as you all know, hiko is versatile… the hiko defense works in any situation. try it yourself! all the cool kids are doing it.