The Holy Grail of Jeans

A little background: I have an impossible time finding jeans I like that actually fit. I don't know whether I have a weird butt-to-waist ratio or what, but it takes me hours of shopping to find jeans that fit. If jeans fit in the rear, there is almost always a basketball-sized gap at the back of the waist and that just doesn't work for me.

I bought a pair of Paper, Demin & Cloth jeans a couple of years ago that I LOVED. They were a little pricey at $88, but they fit like a glove and were made of miracle denim that doesn't stretch out no matter how many times you wear them between washes. I had them altered to the perfect length and wore them non-stop. Then Marti ripped a big hole in the thigh. I didn't stop wearing them, of course, but I was a little more limited in where I could wear them.

I bought the jeans at The Buckle, and the only reason I went back recently was to make that specific purchase. A trip in July to the Topeka store was not successful because they didn't sell the brand, but they recommended I go to Lawrence, where I'd bought them to begin with. So when Alan and I were at home for a wedding recently, we stopped into Lawrence to eat fabulous Thai food and to buy my jeans.

I enter the frat-rific store, seeking out the pants in earnest; Alan has no patience for shopping. When I don't see the brand, I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. I ask a nearby salesgirl if they still sell the brand.

"No, but we may have some on sale."

I just knew that it was not meant to be. But she leads me to the sales rack to check. Lo and behold, there was one pair there. My faith in jean destiny restored, I hold my breath as she's looking at the size. I can't remember what size I am because I typically buy in normal "pant" sizes and these were sized in the 20s. I take the jeans to the fitting room to see if I can squeeze in.

I pop out of the dressing room, thrilled to be in jean perfection once again. I'd found a match!

Just wait. It gets better.

We go to the register to check out, only to find out that the jeans are HALF PRICE. And why are they half price, you ask? Only because they'd already been altered to an Erin-perfect length.

So not only did I find the jeans I adored, they were the only pair of that brand in the store, were my size, were half off AND had already been altered to my length thus saving me a trip to the tailor.

JEAN HEAVEN.

The Big Three!

Happy Birthday to little Martikins! Marti turns the big 3 today. Here she is, celebrating by resting her head on the arm of my chair.

She very much deserves to have a special day all to herself. The past few weeks have been a little rough on the poor girl. We got her an eye doctor after seeing some clouds in her eyes. It turns out that her eyes don't close all the way so it makes them dry, leading to discoloration. The girl sleeps with her eyes open half the time, so this wasn't really a shocker. But with daily drops, we can avoid an expensive surgery that would make her eyes close all the way. It would also make her eyes look further apart...no thanks!

Anyway, after getting Marti her very own eye specialist, not two weeks later she comes down with a corneal abscess, a super nasty eye infection. She had to get a shot in her eye, take oral antibiotics, get two different eye drops every six hours, and have two follow-up visits. She also had to wear a cone to prevent her from attacking her eye. No one likes this part, but God, is she adorable?


So after almost two weeks of this regimen, one call to the emergency eye vet because her eye started looking much worse before it started getting better, and lots of dollars later, yesterday she got the all-clear, and I can stop worrying myself sick about her.

She's my little angel though, and worth every penny. If she keeps this up, we'll be heading to the doggie chiropractor next:

Holy Hotness

Ok, summer. You can go away now.

I feel silly even complaining. I mean, I live in Northern California. On the eighth day, after God rested, I'm pretty sure He said, "Oh, and P.S.: Northern California, may you have perfect weather year round."

But as I sit here with a bead of sweat rolling down my temple, I have to think that maybe it's gotten a tad warmer than He planned.

I know, I know. It's nothing like the heat of Kansas. Not even comparable really. On these hot days when it hits 92 degrees, you can go outside and the sweat takes a minute or two to collect on your forehead, unlike Kansas where the sweat pools on your back before you even step outside.

Here's the difference:

Kansas has air conditioning. And because the weather is soooo allegedly perfect out here, a lot of apartments and houses don't have A/C.

Three fans don't really make much of a difference. And because our apartment is situated as it is, getting much of a cross-breeze going is nearly impossible. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't work at home. I could avoid the mid-day heat baking the front window, right where my desk is. If it's under 90 degrees, I can tolerate it. But once the 90 threshold is crossed, God help anyone who crosses my path. I get angry. Thank goodness there was only a day or two that maxed out over 100, because I honestly thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I'm not kidding. Just ask Alan. He was the one who had to pick up the pieces of a melted Erin when he got home that night.

And Poor little Marti. When her survival instincts kick in, which is rare, I will sometimes find her laying in the bathroom on the cool tile, the only place in the apartment where it's cool. I'm not going to lie: I've spent several hours this summer, with Marti, cooped up in the bathroom, hunkering down against our version of severe weather. It's almost funny, except that it's miserable and there's no escape.

I have also flipped my lid a couple of times because weather.com can't get it right, ever. They're consistently about 10 degrees off for Menlo Park. And if I'm going to be miserable, I like to at least know how miserable I should be.

I was going through deleting old emails and came across several angry weather-related ones I sent to Alan.

Date: May 16
Time: 2:30
Message: I effing hate weather.com. It's been stuck at 88 degrees all day, which I knew was wrong, and now it's 98. Thanks, WEATHER, I could have told you that.

I want to kill both the messenger and the message. And apparently it's supposed to drop 6 degrees here in about 30 minutes. LIKELY STORY.

Date: August 28
Time: 2:48
Message: It's 100 degrees. AWESOME!!!!!

Date: August 28
Time: 3:05
Message: Have I said how much I hate Weather.com for Menlo Park? It's 86 right now, apparently, but supposed to jump up to 98 by 4 pm. SO AMAZING.

I'm leaving the computer. Too angry. If you need me call.


You can definitely tell what time of day is the worst for me. Last summer there were about three of these miserable days. This year, there have probably been a total of 15. It's supposed to be cooling down. But I still have to make it through tomorrow.

Buenos Aires, Part 3

One of our favorite nights in Buenos Aires was the night we went to see a tango show. The show was quite a bit more impressive than the street tango we saw. The show included the dancing, obviously, but also singing, drums, "toca la guitarra" and crazy clacking ropes. I didn't get the best dancing on video, but this will give you a taste.



Also, this guy was amazing! The video doesn't do him justice.



We also made a visit to the zoo...



...where babies drink Coke out of bottles and you can get so close to the animals that these signs are necessary.


La Recoleta Cemetery was creepy and awesome. Eva Perón is buried there, and if we learned one thing about Argentinians, it's that they love Evita.









A giant flower sculpture that allegedly opens and closes. We didn't see it move, so we took matters into our own hands.

Closed...



And peeling away...



And open...I was lucky, I was the stamen.


And last but not least, the beautiful Japanese gardens. It looks like they've had too much wine and peanuts.


And those are the highlights, people. Normal blogging can now resume.

Oh, and P.S.: One of my favorite things about coming back to the United States, besides being able to use a debit card everywhere and seeing little Marti, was hearing "Welcome Back" from the passport control official.

Buenos Aires, Part 2

So after a warm welcome to BA, we jumped on a bus for a record-breaking 20-hour trip up to Iguazu Falls. We took off in the afternoon for an arrival the next morning at about 9:30 a.m. The seasoned travelers had assured Alan and me that these buses were first class all the way, and they didn't disappoint. While the bathroom could have been a little cleaner, two meals were served, movies were shown, pillows and blankets were available, and the seats almost fully reclined. After a Dramamine, I slept like a baby.

So did the rest of our group.


Alan and I checking out the map of the falls.

The falls are amazing. I can't even describe them, nor should I really try. I'll let you see all of the pictures and videos for yourself.

The falls remind me of the Grand Canyon in that every 10 feet you get a completely different view of the falls.




From here, you could get so close you'd get hit by the mist.



You then take a short boat ride to get over to an island where you get a different view of the falls. Buckle up!


A short train ride and a mile walk get you to Garganta del Diablo, or the Devil's Throat. The walk there...



And the payoff:



Worth 40 hours on a bus, don't ya think?

And the celebratory jump:
Then after our tasty al fresco dinner, we got back on the bus for our return trip. Covert wine ops:


Well done, Adam.

More videos available on YouTube if you didn't get your fill.

Buenos Aires, Part 1

Now that I've sufficiently recovered from vacation—and feel like I'm slacking because Joel has begun posting about his jaunt through South America—I'm ready to get going with trip posts. A little background: After a few margaritas one lonely evening, Alan and I decided that we should go visit Joel, his longtime best bud and what I call his "man-wife." Since Joel has been teaching English in Colombia for several years now, we decided we should pull out the passports and make a visit. With school out for the summer, he was heading out of Colombia and onto saltier Bolivian pastures and was going to be traveling the continent with a couple of friends, so we decided to meet him in Buenos Aires. When we arrived, we joined up with him, Scott (also an old KC friend of Alan's), Scott's new fiancee, Meghan, and Adam, whom we also knew from KU. Turned out to be a great group to travel with, especially great because three of them spoke Spanish. How do you say "very helpful" in Español?

Because we knew we'd be in a group, we didn't plan too much before the trip. But to make good use of our layover in Dallas, Alan pulled out the BA guidebook.

We also called our bank and credit card company from the airport, which turned out to do no good whatsoever, as BANK OF AMERICA shut off our debit account anyway. I'm all for security, except for when you tell them you're going out of the country and they ignore you.

After our 10-hour flight, we arrived in Buenos Aires at 8 a.m., hoping to be met at the airport, but fully expecting to make our way to the hostel on our own. But lo and behold, through the crowd, right in the nick of time, came Joel, our knight in Spanish-speaking armor, and Scott, who had nearly made them both late (allegedly). We headed straight to the hostel that they had gotten the previous day, where we napped, showered and prepared to explore BA. We then hoofed it around the city on our way to buy bus tickets for the next day, and saw the La Casa Rosa, Argentina's White House. But pink.

The gang in front of the Pink House; Joel is the one napping.


One word I learned prior to the trip was "lomo," which is basically a delicious cut of beef. We went out for a great dinner that night, guzzled wine, and tried about 50 different cuts of beef, including sweetbread, before hitting the town. After three bottles of whiskey, one courtesy of an Einstein lookalike, here's the fun that was being had:

Needless to say, Argentina gave us a warm welcome. Next stop, Iguazu Falls. I hope you like pictures of waterfalls.

Back in Estados Unidos!

Hola, amigos! We're back after a fun-filled week in Buenos Aires. We're busy re-bonding with our pug and recovering from travel, but I wanted to check in and give you a brief photo preview of blogs to come. The trip was great. In 10 words, it was Argentine beef, wine, buses, waterfalls, tango, walking, laughter and language barriers. And empanadas. Ok, that's 11.

The largest, cheapest and tastiest kebab ever.


Shopping for wine in a foreign market


First-class buses for 20-hour rides. Meals. Foot rests. Leg support. Fully reclining. No other way to travel.


Iguazu Falls
"Poor little Niagara!"


Beautiful architecture and buildings. Just don't get too distracted lest you step in dog doo. No poo pickup rules in BA.