Friday, June 26, 2009
ME, thatś who. Oh crap, I don´t think itś the apostrophe key. Oh well, it will have to do.
Back to the "ice cream", or so they call it. It is absolute crap. CRAP I SAY! They fake a sugar cone, with that papery nonsense (think McDonalds), but waffle it up so that it appears to be the real thing. THEN, they arrange their "ice cream" in that fluffy, tempting gelato-esque way - you know, where it appears to be thick, pillowy clouds of goodness? Well. I can tell you, there is no goodness, whatsoever. It tastes like that low-calorie, 1980ś ice milk rubbish, and it is not being offered as low-calorie, so I am led to deduce that it is merely cheap, fake ice cream. It is terrible, and there is no escaping it. It is literally everywhere. And people keep eating it! It is making me bananas! When I tried it today, in Dubrovnik (somehow hoping that here it might be good? Different?), I was so exasperated, that, after I threw the unfinished cone in the trash, I found myself wanting to run up to everyone else eating a cone and scream "YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BE ENJOYING THAT, CAN YOU??? IT IS CRAP!!!!"
But I didn´t. I marched straight into the nearest convenience store and purchased a $4 SWISS chocolate bar, to erase the bad taste of the "ice cream".
Fernando would echo my sentiments, but he is passed out in the bathtub.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Upon arrival at my loverly hotel, Das Tyrol, on the shopping (naturally) street, Mariahilferstrasse, I was presented with a small package bearing my name. It was also bearing this customs form:
That is correct. Whiskeymarie sent me "1 plastic pig" and "1 miniature martini glass". Fernando has arrived! I was so happy to see his little piggy face, and squeeze his little plastic body. He seemed more interested in finishing his martini and relaxing in the hotel robe and slippers.
He also wanted to be taken, immediately, to the hotel's spa for some "much needed R&R". He did nothing but complain about his "long flight, in coach", and then the "weeks spent in the hotel's front desk drawer", blah blah. I obliged, and we went down to the spa. 'Nando tried to do a little tanning, but I yanked him right out of there.
I think he must have only seen the first half of The Family Guy's "Tan Stewie" episode. I said "Do you want to be crispy bacon?", and he sulkily said "no." I pointed out that we were here to have a nice, fun vacation, and suggested he just lounge a bit and do some breathing exercises.
That seemed to help. Jet lag is tough on all of us. Not to mention, he has probably been detoxing from all the time spent with Whiskeymarie. We'll get a good night's sleep and check out Vienna together tomorrow.