Awww...the life. Good food, great (cheap) wine, more dogs than you can shake-or throw, for that matter- a stick at and clothes. Yes, lovely, beautiful, fancy clothes.

Rapsodia is by far the hottest place to buy jeans and anything sparkly. I love it. I want to become as hot and sexy as a porteno (except I refuse to stop eating dulce de leche and medialunas) by buying all the cool things they wear.

So far we`ve determined that they love jeans, sparkly scarves, great, chunky sweaters with lots of different fastening options, and these really hideous pants where the bits around the ankles are tight.

Other than the hideous pants, they all look fabulous. Although, the hideous pants are, well, hideous, they still look fabulous. If I walked off the plane with those things on they would throw me back on. Eek. The girls on the Island might actually like them, though. I on the other hand would look like a fat potato in them.

The greatest part about all this (no, the clothes aren´t the only great part) is that I was actually able to get the pair of jeans in the size that I wanted and a set of clanky bracelets all while communicating in broken Spanish. It`s a beautiful thing when you`ve never, ever learnt the language and you can still pick it up.

Quisiera....

Me. Portenos. Sweet! I have found my paradise. Well, we arrived safely and it´s just so cool here. Our little apartment is perfect for the three of us and our barrio is awesome. It has everything we need. The supermarcado...cafes....a McDonald´s....no, I´m serious. We can see it from our window. But with enough medialunas and empenadas I won´t be needing any super whoopers! Today we are off to explore, by foot, so hopefully the feet will be able to handle it all. The locutorio is across the street from our apartment so when any funny follies befall us I will be certain to run over here and tell the world how crazy we are.

"...I'll spread my wings
and I'll learn how to fly
though it's not easy
to tell you goodbye
I gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change
and break away..."

And, so, this is it. This will probably be my last post until I get myself settled and find my way around Buenos Aires.

I'm nervous. Especially when a friend, a well seasoned traveller himself, asks if I'm worried about being robbed. I know that's silly but it is one thing I am totally worried about. Everything else, where I'll be living, what I'll eat, who we'll meet, whether I'll have enough money aren't even close to the worry factor of being robbed.

When I was in Italy I got told off by a shop keeper in Venice for having an open bag without a good closure. I wasn't worried at all in Italy about crime. I guess I hadn't done as much research on Italy as I have done on Argentina.

SarahT has been making fun of me since January when I started obsessively researching the country. And my father so lovingly pointed out that since I already know so much about the country I don't need to leave. Oh, dad, I'll be back, I promise!

But I think it's good that I know where the fun, night-out neighbourhoods are and where to find a delicious coffee or where the best up and coming Argentinean designer shop is. I'm not intending on sticking religiously to my research but it's nice to have a little bit of knowledge before diving head first into a foreign country.

I'm looking forward to all these new experiences as always. Even if someone does play the old squirt food on you then attempt to wipe it off while robbing you trick. I'll have the heel of my new tango shoes to kick 'em in the butt.

1. I celebrate his birthday. Which, by the way, is today Auntie Sarah.
2. I buy him bone shaped cookies with yogurt icing and sprinkles. For his birthday.
3. I dance with him.
4. I sing to him. I particularly love singing (and dancing) to "Girls Dem Sugar" and "If I Was a Rich Girl".
5. I get upset every time I have to leave him. And blow kisses at him through the door or at the front window (this particular trick of his gets me every time).
6. I talk about him at least once a week on my blog.
7. I call my mother his granny.
8. When he's sleeping I yell out to granny: "Look how cute he is." He usually gives me the death stare after I've woken him up from his 50th nap of the day.
9. I think he's my child.
10. I let him lick my face. Actually, he probably thinks this is normal. I guess just as long as I don't lick him back. Ewwww...

But! He still loves me unconditionally even if I am a silly human!

It's official.

My life has completely been taken over by the blogosphere. I'm addicted.

There was about a 5 minutes span of my life where I had to have caffeine in the morning (even if it came in the form of a chocolate bar) but the mornings (and some lunch breaks, commercial breaks on American Idol and weekends) now seem to have been taken over by a bunch of smart, funny, philosophical people that I don't even know.

I check my favourite blogs (some of which are posted in my sidebar but still many hover in my favourites list on my work computer) at least 3 or 4 times a day and I'm always amazed at how intuitive and smart these writers are.

When I first started reading Miss Nobody's blog at the end of last year, I didn't really understand what world I was stepping into. As the month's progressed I could feel my addiction growing. Not only was I easily keeping up with the day to day happenings of my good friend's life but I was also realising what a talented writer she really is and it started me thinking about the interesting things I could talk about if I one day ever got the courage to start my own blog.

When I finally did start my own blog I still didn't realise what potential was out there. After spending way too many work hours exploring blogs and constantly checking out my favourite reads, I really started to see what a diverse community was evolving within the electronic pages of the World Wide Web!

Blogging (especially reading and commenting on other blogs) started to remind me of when I travelled to Europe with a family friend when I was 12. I had my first pen pal ever when I came back home. She was a Swiss girl that spoke little English and we weren't pals for long. But while we were still in Europe we picked up a kids magazine that listed the addresses of other kids from around the world interested in being a pen pal.

I wrote down all of the kids from far off and interesting places. Poland. South Africa. Louisiana (yea, it was interesting back then) and got to writing my first letters.

I kept those pen pals for several years. We exchanged pictures and stories and I learned about growing up in junior high (something we didn't really experience here) or what it was like to have never travelled to the US. I started to connect with more pen pals when chain addresses started up. You wrote your address on a very colourfully constructed pad of paper and added a few of your interests (clearly, this was back in the day before Internet predators!).

I still have some of those girls' addresses. I wonder if they're out there blogging and making contact with new, fascinating people just like I am. Back then they had a passion for the written word and making contact with people from places they had only dreamed of. It would be interesting if I bumped into one of them as I continue on my blogging travels!

Yesterday was yet another one of those stunning days. One, that I just can't even use words to explain how perfect it was.

So, I won't. Here, the inspiration for my first photo diary:


Nicky the Fish and I did a little trolling for some wahoo. Yea, we didn't catch anything (hopefully he had better luck today) but the water was so perfect. Flat like silk ribbons and yet I still felt like I was going to vomit. We were about 5 miles off shore here.


So in light of our no fish catching and my queasiness we headed back to land...and the beach!


On the way there...just gorgeous.


Hmmm...this looks nice, I think we'll take this spot, thanks.


NTF had to get a shot of our spot through his special, cool, perfect, polarized glasses.


Oh, sorry, what was that you said? It looks like a pool. Yea, the water really is that clear.


Me, contemplating whether to get in the water. It felt like ice but I'll be complaining that it feels like bath water in about a month so I eventually did get in.


NTF's contribution. Nice guns, eh?


Oh la la...my pretty beach findings.


At the end of the day we got to watch the tug boat push the massive, stinky cruise ship away from the dock. Fun.

Why is it that when you're drunk you automatically are the smartest, most brilliant person at a party and clearly have the metabolism of an 8-year-old?

After about the 5th drink, this is approximately how the night evolves:

Yum. You can take a slice of that bread now. It's OK. You work out every now and again.

Or.

Tasty. You love digestive cookies dipped in chocolate. You'll have some. You work out daily.

Or.

Hot damn. That cheap, nasty strawberry cheesecake is calling you. It's OK, you've run a marathon.

Some how, you have also all of a sudden become the hottest person at the party. You can dance better than anyone else. Actually, everyone else wishes they could dance JUST LIKE YOU.

And you are SO effing funny. Everyone is laughing at what you say so you have to be the most hilarious person at the party.

Also, you somehow became the hottest person anyone has ever seen. Every time you take a glimpse at yourself in the mirror during the 50 trips to the bathroom you have somehow morphed yourself into Giselle.

You are hot. Funny. A great dancer. Just the all around life of the freakin party.



Man, I thought I was too old to look back on a night and feel like this!

Three years ago, to the almost exact date that I'm leaving for Argentina, I travelled to Italy to study Italian. Similar to the reason why I'm going to Argentina. But, obviously, I'll be studying Spanish (and eating beef, drinking cheap, awesome wine, and buying tango shoes).

I spent thousands of dollars to go and thousands of hours studying but I'm not able to speak a stitch of Italian anymore. I can read it, but what good does that do? Hopefully, with my great visual Italian background I'll master Spanish in no time.

Anyway, I was travelling with other college students whom I'd never met before and I arrived at the Atlanta airport and was greeted by a sweet, 20-something girl, C, looking for the same adventures as myself. It was nice to know I would be travelling with someone around my age.

We met our second travelling companion, R, a 20-something guy, in Charles de Gaulle just before we were about to hop our flight to Genova. They both seemed like cool people that I would ultimately get along with.

Frighteningly, though, we were greeted by our last student when we arrived in Chiavari- the small town (with a store that sold PRADA!) where we spent most of our month. She was a forty-something woman with a boob job and more regrets about her life than you could shake a stick at. She had begged our sweet, Italian professor, Moss, to let her come and he eventually gave in. She was a pain in the tail from day one. She complained so much about EVERYTHING. She told us her life story about how she'd married the wrong guy when she was our age and how she was desperately still in love with her high school sweetheart (at 40, mind you) and talked about her boobs like they were her children. Her motives, while in Italy, were somewhat language oriented but more about the language of young, greasy Italian men than the conjugation of Italian verbs. I think she ended up cheating on her husband twice while she was there and then complained about it. We left her in Italy after our course ended and I always wonder if she made it back to her husband or if she ran off with one of those young, greasy Italian men.

I couldn't stand her and, unlike the other two, who were sweet to her face but rude behind her back, I was honest and didn't hold my feelings back when she irritated me. Thankfully, she roomed alone while I shared a room with C.

I was there to learn Italian and finish off my last bit of language credits and I knew that a lot of money had been paid to send me all the way their to learn Italian so, unlike the others, I studied quite a lot and did some travelling to nearby towns on my own.

One night, near the beginning of our time in Italy, we all went out to get to know each other better. Unfortunately, the next morning, C was getting to know our bathroom a bit too well.

I had already turned 21 and had started "legally" drinking at 18. Unfortunately, C, R and Boob liked to liquor up. C + R because they hadn't yet reached the ripe drinking age of 21 and Boob just to drown her sorrows.

We were supposed to all join in on a hike that day (Boob used her asthma as an excuse every time. I just think her boobs constricted her airways). With C constantly in the bathroom that morning we had to come up with some excuse to tell our professor why she couldn't make it to class nor the hike. We couldn't quite tell him that we'd travelled all the way to his sweet little town of Chiavari and instead of meeting Italian friends, like he'd advised us, we went out to one of the two American bars in the town and got piss-ass drunk.

We told him that she'd eaten something that really upset her stomach the night before and that the hotel maids' comments about the vomit in the sink (why do drunk, sick people insist on throwing up in the sink when there's a perfectly good toilet RIGHT NEXT TO IT?) being suspiciously red como vino were incorrect.

He, taking it upon himself to medicate her, rushed to the nearest pharmacia to ask for stomach-fixing medicine. He promptly arrived back with anal supositories. Sweet. I reminded myself at that moment that I would NEVER get sick in a foreign country.

Who knows how they fix stomachs in Argentina. I'm just going to make sure I bring along a trusty box of Imodium and some Aleve. That should fix everything. No anal supositories necessary.

Because SarahT and I can multitask so well, we like to do some mental gymnastics at work by taking on as many projects as we can at the same time.

We also enjoy discussing things as if we live millions of miles away from each other, although, she only works across the office from me. So in light of that we use our e-mail as our own personal IM system.

Today, was one of many days in particular in which we had an intriguing conversation while interviewing contacts, writing stories, blog researching and just overall working, like we're supposed to.

Here, for the benefit of all those people who don't think we have extremely important decisions to make everyday, is a sample of our e-mails:

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:17 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

thank you lovey. yes i hate the fact that to go to the bano i have to get up and walk all the way around everyone else's desks instead of just turning around and walking straight to the door. So close, yet so far!

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:19 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

maybe to make you guys feel more specialer while we're getting all new desks and carpet and stuff, they should build a little door next to perv's corner so you can go through there when you need to piddle :-) I'll suggest it for you.

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:29 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

I'm glad to know you always have our best interests at heart

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:32 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

It's bad for you to have to hold if you have to tinkle. I'm looking out for your bladder :-)

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:41 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

thank you. notice how in that earlier email i used the royal 'we'? "OUR" best interests? and i didn't even mean to do that. i've got to get out of this job

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:43 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

Well, it kind is we...you and your bladder :-D

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:48 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

dude! true say

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:52 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

I hate when I have a brain fart and I can't think of anything interesting to write on my blog. Sarah we need to get into more trouble so I can write more funny stories about us.

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 2:55 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

well did you write about the to-sugar or not-to-sugar dilemma? i mean, perhaps nobody else will find that interesting, but those who know and love us will be convinced once again that we are idiots when they read it

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 3:01 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

It's really funny, Sarah, as I was writing that last e-mail I was thinking about what crap we got up to today and I was like, duh, the chocolate. We're like peas and carrots girl, peas and fricken carrots (i get to be the carrot!)

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 3:03 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

fine. carrot hog. i'll be the pea. green's a far better colour anyway. so THERE!

----- Original Message -----
From: Islandgirl
To: SarahT
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 3:04 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

But I like orange. You know, like my cool orange bag :-)

----- Original Message -----
From: SarahT
To: Islandgirl
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 3:11 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: Reservations

it IS a gorgeous orange bag. And i like green. So we're happy with that.

Glad we got that one sorted.

I have started a revolution.

Well, ok, blogging didn't start with me but among my circle of friends here on this little, ole Island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean I have started a trend.

Miss SarahT, ladies and gentlemen, has laid down the foundation for what I can only assume will be an excellent blog. Written on the Fly already is cool because the name rocks. BTW SarahT, where did you get that name? Only some hot, creative, smart, enchanting, beautiful, dog lover could have come up with a blog name so damn cool.

Too all 3 of my loyal fans, please check her out. She's funny. She's insightful. She's going to Argentina with me in 2 weeks so there will be many funny stories to tell in the very near future. Just think of the possibilities.

And on that note I'd like to take the time out to thank Miss Nobody who first inspired me to write my jumbled thoughts down. Who in turn has led SarahT to start a blog, my friend Vicki to start a blog to remember her wedding plans and then for Nicky the Fish (who is a fantastic story teller by the way, he he he) to ask, "If I started a blog, would you read it?"

The revolution will be blogalised!!!!

Ok. That's an understatement.

A friend got married (I'm still wiping the tears out of my eyes)

I consumed more alcohol than I really ever should (I really need to watch that)

I lost my voice after drinking way too much of said alcohol and attempting to have amusing conversations with people over way too loud music (ok, and maybe screaming like a raving lunatic at my boyfriend at the end of a party and, of course, completely regretting it the next day may have contributed to loss of said voice but I'm allowed to be in denial about me and drinking not always working)

I advised a friend to make a wrong decision and am hoping I can rectify said situation (note to boys: don't ask me for sex advice. That's what your guy friends are for. I'm no good at these types of things. Especially when I'm drunk)

But one of the most entertaining things I saw this weekend was this music video, which, after much heavy research (yeah Google) is apparently by the Ministry of Sound.

This music video came on at the bar, which is strangely enough one of only very few bars on the Island that plays the music video AND the song that goes with it instead of some other music (I never will quite understand why that is. Maybe just to confuse drunk people).

Anyway, I all of sudden looked up to see some great shots of several women's inner thighs as they worked out to the familiar dance song "Call On Me" and couldn't quite believe my eyes. I got the boys' attention and was like you've got to watch this shyte!

Even my friend "of the other persuasion" as S would call him was glued to the screen.

We loved the video so much we shouted over all the noisy people and had the bartender replay it.

I've never laughed so hard in my life. The amount of crotch shots (the women are at gym in the skimpiest, 80's workout gear on earth) was ridiculous!

We loved it. We laughed at it. I thought, damn, that would make a good post. Wow.

Who puts $154 teacups on their registry?

Especially when the two parties are in their mid-twenties, love to go out fishing, one is an equestrian teacher, the other is a mason and both smoke pot, what the hell will they need with 12 teacups that cost $154.

I mean, apparently they were all beautifully hand-painted and stuff but Nicky the Fish said they better be made out of gold.

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR DOLLARS EACH.

Maybe marriage really does effe with your head.

It's weird enough bumping into one of your exes (ewww, or scarily enough your current man's ex) but when an ex e-mails you about relationship advice, that's just stomach-churning weird.

I received an e-mail today from a distraught ex (do I look like a psychiatrist here?) who is basically going through what we went through at the end of our relationship with his current girlfriend. I guess he figured I was experienced so I must be a good person to come to for advice.

It really is a shyte deal, though. I mean, long distance relationships have never and will never work for me. I'm actually quite surprised that he went straight back into another long distance relationship. But when it comes to love there's really not much you can do. I guess, in a sense, it's pretty cold-hearted of me to say I'll NEVER do it again.

The thing that I hope he got from my particularly honest reply is that it's just life. We all have to deal with loving and losing someone (and maybe karma has come back and kicked him in the pants...ok, it wasn't all his fault, but most of our failed relationship was). Even though I thought the world was going to fall from beneath me and my life was just one big question for about 2 months before and after we broke up, it all worked out. And it will for him, too.

After reading the e-mail I felt like I might be sick. It just flooded back way too many emotions for a Wednesday afternoon workday. I mean, it's hard enough for me to concentrate on one thing and not get distracted at work but then someone sends a whooper like that and you're like, whoa, I didn't need to start thinking, or feeling like that again.

But then, after letting it digest, I smiled and thought, "Hot damn am I a lucky girl."

I'm with someone who really cares about me and gives a damn. RIGHT NOW. He's not waiting until he gets a little bit more mature or a little bit more money to make me feel like the queen I deserve to be.

He treats me like that here and now. And I'm still head over heels.

....This is the third post you've written in a row that has something to do with dogs.

I got an e-mail this morning from Amazon.com stating:

Because you've recently purchased books about dogs from Amazon.com, we
thought you might like to know that we offer more than 30 magazines about
dogs, from general-interest titles to newsletters on specific breeds.
They're perfect for yourself or as a gift for the dog lover in your life.

I don't really actually know anybody else who loves their dog as much as I do, well maybe Miss Nobody but she's not around to defend me when I bring up my son, I mean, my dog at least 3 times in conversations with my friends and even people that I don't know.

The book that I bought that Amazon is referring to is called The Official Dog Codependents Handbook: For People Who Love Their Dog Too Much. That pretty much sums it up right there.

I mean, it physically hurts me to leave in the morning when I see Gus sitting on the landing watching me walk out of the house. He doesn't understand that I have to go to work everyday to make sure that he gets the best organic dog food on the market. He thinks that days should be spent curled up next to me on the bed while I read or racing around the house chasing after a ball I've thrown for him.

I'm pretty sure he's figured out now that when I come home and he's more excited to see me than a heroin addict is to see, well, heroin, that I get the biggest ego boost. He's a dog. But he seems to make my whole world just that much better.

Last night my mom was talking about taking her oldest dog Ziggy to the vet because his back leg was almost completely lame on his after dinner walk. He's 17. Obviously, that's old in dog years but he has all of his faculties. He eats plenty, poops, eats poop (gross!) and goes for "walks". He kinda staggers all over the place but seeing as he can still actually move (just maybe not in a forward direction) it doesn't seem worth upsetting my mom by having to put him down. She says she'll be all right when he does die because she knows he's had a good life.

But I remember when she brought home our old Chihuahua Jake after his final visit to the vet back when I was about 10. She wanted to bury him, which is understandable because I don't even want to think about what the vet does with the dogs if you leave them there. She was so upset and he was really old. He'd lost all his hair and we knew it was the end when the night before he started walking into things and just started going a tad bit crazy.

Now he's buried under the bird bath at our old house. I had to hold Ziggy in the house because we didn't want him to see where my dad had dug up the little hole. Obviously that could have had disastrous affects if he had known where that hole was. It's amazing the sense of intuition that dogs have. He knew that it was Jake and that he was gone.

My mom cried the whole time. My dad was typically unmoved. He thought it was pretty crazy that my mom insisted on burying the dog in the first place. Especially under the bird bath in the front lawn.

She marked out Ziggy's spot under a gorgeous tree in our yard when we moved in to our current house about 6 years ago. He was getting old and sick back then so we thought he probably wouldn't be around for much longer. We've brought 2 more dogs into the house and he perked up a lot after that.

One day he will probably end up under that tree much to Floyd's objections. Mom will probably make him dig up the flowers he's planted at the base of the tree to make room for Ziggy.

We somehow seem to leave a legacy of dogs everywhere we go. Maybe we are a little crazy but I can't imagine what my life would have been like without constantly having a loving, endearing dog in my life. I think they do more for us than we want to readily admit. I know they've taught me how to love unconditionally and I hope that they at least can understand that.