Estas fotos son para Martha, porque te gustan las flores (son los flores afuera de las ventanas del apartamento y los flores en Miraflores, circa del mar)...
Friday, July 25, 2008
Something amusing I know you will want to comment on...
So I have a couple of pictures for you, my lovely readers, to discuss with your usual humor. This isn't quite like "Bimbo, sabor de la familia," but it's along the same lines...
a) a picture for Mel, depicting how the Peruvians worship her.
b) decapitation: it's what happens when you cross against the light.
c) the original.
d) really, who wants a diploma from this place?
a) a picture for Mel, depicting how the Peruvians worship her.
b) decapitation: it's what happens when you cross against the light.
c) the original.
d) really, who wants a diploma from this place?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
La casa mia (temporarily)
We live on the 4th floor of the building I posted on lavidaperuana, which means that our front door is the elevator:
Since we have an alarm, the keypad of which is located in the master bedroom, it is a bit of a pain to unlock both elevator door locks, then drop all your crap, and run to the back forty of the apartment to disarm the alarm. If you don't make it in the allotted thirty seconds, the embassy guards automatically send out a car full of foreign national personnel to check on you. I understand this is a personal safety issue, but all the same, we had the guards here the other day because Anthony forgot about the alarm and opened the elevator door to take the dog for a walk.
I'm not even going to talk about the 6:30AM wake-up call I had the other day, when Anthony forgot his keys and couldn't get back in the apartment...
Anyway, if you turn right from the main doorway, you enter directly into the combination formal dining room/living room. The room is actually big enough that we can probably get a good game of
two-hand touch going. And yes, outside the dining area IS a balcony:
As you can plainly see, we're doing all we can to really settle in here, making the place our own...
Actually, all our belongings are still on a boat somewhere in the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean - we're not sure which at this point. So this place will continue to look as if we don't live here until the day we leave. Which I'm told may be in the next week or two.
So the tour continues. If you walk through that door you see next to the bookcases, near the dining room table you'll see...Anthony! In the kitchen! Doing kitchen stuff!
Or getting himself a cup of coffee in the teeniest, tiniest tea cup you ever did see. Seriously folks, the teacups that came as part of our welcome package may fit a coupla' mouthfuls of water. That's all she wrote.
So the kitchen is clearly much bigger than our DC kitchen. We can fit Anthony, Grace, Pookie, AND ME! At the same time. Without getting on each other nerves (much).
Behind Athony, you may catch a glimpse of our laundry room, which also leads to the "maid's quarters," but I didn't take photos of that so you'll just have to imagine the beauty! The splendor! The strangely tiny living conditions they expect our maids to live in... (and maids! They expect us to have maids!)
If you take the door next to Grace, however, you enter our "den." The U.S. government graced us with a couch, a chair, an entertainment center, a t.v., and a dvd player that doesn't seem to like our dvds. It pretty much rocks our socks off.
The den is also magically located to the left of the main entrance; if you take a right out of the elevator, you hit the living room/dining room combo; if you take a left, you hit the den. This is the room Grace likes to play in the most, because it has carpeting.
You have explored half our apartment now!
Kinda to the left of the entertainment center, there is a short hallway. At the end of the hallway to the right is the "office." We call it such because the government was kind enough to provide us with a couple of desks.
Oh yes, and a bookshelf. Another empty bookshelf. I usually keep my computer in here, but I can't often steal a signal from this room so I am relegated to typing away like the mad hatter I am in the master bedroom.
This is probably an excellent time to say, "Pancho, thank you so very much for not securing your wireless internet connection. It has provided me with hours of entertainment at your expense."
That short hallway also basically ends at the guest bedroom, which is, as you can see, utterly lovely. We have not bothered to make the bed because a) that requires motivation, and b) we are not expecting any visitors while we are here in the temporary digs.
Yes, da' Momma, I know you're coming in two weeks, but I think we'll be in the house by then!
Anyway, I'd also like to point out the fact that all the wood furniture is from Drexel Heritage, a store that is far too expensive for any of us "normal" people to afford. Way to go, American-made.
The hallway turns at a 90-degree angle to the left and you have to bathrooms and the master bedroom to go.
Both bathrooms basically look the same. You've got your typical marble tiles, with the see-through shower, a toilet, and your always-necessary bidet. Because heaven and earth would crumble if my butt weren't squeaky clean. From a stream of water that geysers out of a toilet-like contraption.
I will sincerely never understand the unholy love of a bidet.
And finally, what you've all been waiting for: the master bedroom! Because this IS where the magic happens. Or at least, it's where all the dehumidifiers, air purifiers, and god-knows-what-else machinery is located. It's also where the safe is. Oh! And it's also the SAFE ROOM. If someone breaks into the apartment, we're supposed to run here, lock the door, and hit some special keys on the alarm keypad to notify the embassy that we are under attack. We can apparently hide out in here for a good hour or so before someone with a blowtorch and a baseball bat can get through the door. Or something like that. Good times. Good times had by all.
P.S. You just love my slippers, I know you do...
Since we have an alarm, the keypad of which is located in the master bedroom, it is a bit of a pain to unlock both elevator door locks, then drop all your crap, and run to the back forty of the apartment to disarm the alarm. If you don't make it in the allotted thirty seconds, the embassy guards automatically send out a car full of foreign national personnel to check on you. I understand this is a personal safety issue, but all the same, we had the guards here the other day because Anthony forgot about the alarm and opened the elevator door to take the dog for a walk.I'm not even going to talk about the 6:30AM wake-up call I had the other day, when Anthony forgot his keys and couldn't get back in the apartment...
Anyway, if you turn right from the main doorway, you enter directly into the combination formal dining room/living room. The room is actually big enough that we can probably get a good game of
two-hand touch going. And yes, outside the dining area IS a balcony:
As you can plainly see, we're doing all we can to really settle in here, making the place our own...Actually, all our belongings are still on a boat somewhere in the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean - we're not sure which at this point. So this place will continue to look as if we don't live here until the day we leave. Which I'm told may be in the next week or two.
So the tour continues. If you walk through that door you see next to the bookcases, near the dining room table you'll see...Anthony! In the kitchen! Doing kitchen stuff!
Or getting himself a cup of coffee in the teeniest, tiniest tea cup you ever did see. Seriously folks, the teacups that came as part of our welcome package may fit a coupla' mouthfuls of water. That's all she wrote.
So the kitchen is clearly much bigger than our DC kitchen. We can fit Anthony, Grace, Pookie, AND ME! At the same time. Without getting on each other nerves (much).
Behind Athony, you may catch a glimpse of our laundry room, which also leads to the "maid's quarters," but I didn't take photos of that so you'll just have to imagine the beauty! The splendor! The strangely tiny living conditions they expect our maids to live in... (and maids! They expect us to have maids!)If you take the door next to Grace, however, you enter our "den." The U.S. government graced us with a couch, a chair, an entertainment center, a t.v., and a dvd player that doesn't seem to like our dvds. It pretty much rocks our socks off.
The den is also magically located to the left of the main entrance; if you take a right out of the elevator, you hit the living room/dining room combo; if you take a left, you hit the den. This is the room Grace likes to play in the most, because it has carpeting.
You have explored half our apartment now!
Kinda to the left of the entertainment center, there is a short hallway. At the end of the hallway to the right is the "office." We call it such because the government was kind enough to provide us with a couple of desks.
Oh yes, and a bookshelf. Another empty bookshelf. I usually keep my computer in here, but I can't often steal a signal from this room so I am relegated to typing away like the mad hatter I am in the master bedroom.
This is probably an excellent time to say, "Pancho, thank you so very much for not securing your wireless internet connection. It has provided me with hours of entertainment at your expense."
That short hallway also basically ends at the guest bedroom, which is, as you can see, utterly lovely. We have not bothered to make the bed because a) that requires motivation, and b) we are not expecting any visitors while we are here in the temporary digs.
Yes, da' Momma, I know you're coming in two weeks, but I think we'll be in the house by then!Anyway, I'd also like to point out the fact that all the wood furniture is from Drexel Heritage, a store that is far too expensive for any of us "normal" people to afford. Way to go, American-made.
The hallway turns at a 90-degree angle to the left and you have to bathrooms and the master bedroom to go.
Both bathrooms basically look the same. You've got your typical marble tiles, with the see-through shower, a toilet, and your always-necessary bidet. Because heaven and earth would crumble if my butt weren't squeaky clean. From a stream of water that geysers out of a toilet-like contraption.I will sincerely never understand the unholy love of a bidet.
And finally, what you've all been waiting for: the master bedroom! Because this IS where the magic happens. Or at least, it's where all the dehumidifiers, air purifiers, and god-knows-what-else machinery is located. It's also where the safe is. Oh! And it's also the SAFE ROOM. If someone breaks into the apartment, we're supposed to run here, lock the door, and hit some special keys on the alarm keypad to notify the embassy that we are under attack. We can apparently hide out in here for a good hour or so before someone with a blowtorch and a baseball bat can get through the door. Or something like that. Good times. Good times had by all.
P.S. You just love my slippers, I know you do...
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Check me out...
I started a new, mulitple-people-friendly blog to talk about my Peruvian adventures. You can read my PC entries here.
Arrived!
We made it to Peru, despite all of Anthony's naysaying. Right now we're in temporary housing, as they gave our home to some Master Seargent a few days ago, while he waits for his house to be ready. In any case, the temporary apartment is about 30 times the size of our condo in DC and we're still trying to figure things out. Two days later and we now think we have a handle on where the grocery store is.
Anyway, I'm still pretty beat - sore throat, headache, achy, exhausted. So I'm going to keep this short and get back to you all at some later time. I just wanted to let you know that we all (including Grace and Pookie!) arrived safely.
Anyway, I'm still pretty beat - sore throat, headache, achy, exhausted. So I'm going to keep this short and get back to you all at some later time. I just wanted to let you know that we all (including Grace and Pookie!) arrived safely.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Updated schedule re: leaving for Peru
now til 6/30: North Carolina
6/30 til 7/3: Washington, DC (but I probably can't see many people b/c I'll be separating my things into piles for the movers)
7/3-7/11: Massachusetts
7/11-7/13: New York
7/13-7/17: Washington, DC at the Hotel Helix
7/17: depart for Peru
If you're interested in seeing me before I go, take a look at the schedule and try to plan accordingly. I'm not sure that I can fit in everyone or everything or even anything, but I will try.
6/30 til 7/3: Washington, DC (but I probably can't see many people b/c I'll be separating my things into piles for the movers)
7/3-7/11: Massachusetts
7/11-7/13: New York
7/13-7/17: Washington, DC at the Hotel Helix
7/17: depart for Peru
If you're interested in seeing me before I go, take a look at the schedule and try to plan accordingly. I'm not sure that I can fit in everyone or everything or even anything, but I will try.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Driving to North Carolina
A family that travels together, stays together, right? So we drove down to North Carolina with both Grace and Pookie. Grace is a veteran car-rider, but Pookie? Well, let's just say he survived a few drives to my office to pick me up from work and had no lasting trauma.
The drive from DC to Charlotte takes approximately eight hours, when Anthony isn't allowed to drive 100mph all the way. And the furry kids are packed in the backseat of Bubba (our very beloved Jeep), along with our luggage, two plants, a bag of kitty and puppy crack (i.e. their toys and food), my backpack full of library books and my computer, and whatever else we could stuff back there. Basically, there isn't much room in the car.
So we start out the ride with Pookie on my lap, wrapped up in a beach towel, kitty-sausage style. Although his eyes never shrink below the size of a mid-sized potato, his full-on paralysis eventually weakens and he is desirous of some hiding. He hides in that tiny area between the seat and the door, then moves to the area where my feet go but so far up that he is practically touching the underside of the dashboard, and then he moves to the backseat with Grace. Grace isn't so desirous of his company so she keeps sitting on him. (I can hear her thoughts now, "Squish the kitty! Squish the kitty!")
After a few minutes of "Squish the kitty!" Pookie starts to pant, which is the tipping point for me to lose my ever-loving sh#!, yell at the dog, and forcefully move Grace across the seat by injecting my thumb up her butt.
This goes on and on for hours, when I finally get the bright idea to pull the kitty out of Grace's tush and set him back on my lap. Silly me, I think this will be COMFORTING to Pookie.
Instead, Pookie is still terrified and keeps shoving his head in my armpit. Like those five-year-olds that think that you can't see them just because THEIR eyes are closed, Pookie feels completely invisible with his whiskers tickling my underarm.
Yet just as he begins to feel all safe and warm, a semi drives past, making that special noise only semis can make. The terror races through the cat, causing him to get warm - or so I think. I let Pookie go, and he crawls into the backseat, right under Grace's butt again.
Then I realize. MY CROTCH. STILL. FEELS. WARM.
That damn cat! He peed on me. We are officially no longer friends.
The drive from DC to Charlotte takes approximately eight hours, when Anthony isn't allowed to drive 100mph all the way. And the furry kids are packed in the backseat of Bubba (our very beloved Jeep), along with our luggage, two plants, a bag of kitty and puppy crack (i.e. their toys and food), my backpack full of library books and my computer, and whatever else we could stuff back there. Basically, there isn't much room in the car.
So we start out the ride with Pookie on my lap, wrapped up in a beach towel, kitty-sausage style. Although his eyes never shrink below the size of a mid-sized potato, his full-on paralysis eventually weakens and he is desirous of some hiding. He hides in that tiny area between the seat and the door, then moves to the area where my feet go but so far up that he is practically touching the underside of the dashboard, and then he moves to the backseat with Grace. Grace isn't so desirous of his company so she keeps sitting on him. (I can hear her thoughts now, "Squish the kitty! Squish the kitty!")
After a few minutes of "Squish the kitty!" Pookie starts to pant, which is the tipping point for me to lose my ever-loving sh#!, yell at the dog, and forcefully move Grace across the seat by injecting my thumb up her butt.
This goes on and on for hours, when I finally get the bright idea to pull the kitty out of Grace's tush and set him back on my lap. Silly me, I think this will be COMFORTING to Pookie.
Instead, Pookie is still terrified and keeps shoving his head in my armpit. Like those five-year-olds that think that you can't see them just because THEIR eyes are closed, Pookie feels completely invisible with his whiskers tickling my underarm.
Yet just as he begins to feel all safe and warm, a semi drives past, making that special noise only semis can make. The terror races through the cat, causing him to get warm - or so I think. I let Pookie go, and he crawls into the backseat, right under Grace's butt again.
Then I realize. MY CROTCH. STILL. FEELS. WARM.
That damn cat! He peed on me. We are officially no longer friends.
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