August 31, 2003
HIPPO BIRDIE! wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. twenty
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
twenty three and you ain't seen nothing yet, world!
August 29, 2003
someone bring me a
things i'm doing for my birthday weekend ....
hedonism.
the beach with my favorite russian, victorilicious.
drinks with a certain yalie.
brunch downtown.
jewelry shopping in soho.
self-indulgence.
gay disco shakespeare.
a birthday margarita gathering involving the following luminaries...shivlet, fulminous, pennyfunk, victorilicious, wang and his charming girlfriend, and a motley assortment of other splendid characters.
and monday? monday i have absolutely no plans at all whatsoever nope none at all zip. this makes me, perhaps, the happiest little ninjablossom on the face of manhattan today.
happy birthday to me!
August 28, 2003
one for my baby
one for my baby and one for the road
in continual birthday celebration mode*... drinks are on the house. what's your poison, pals? let me know and i'll mix it up for you, stylish hostess that i am. so what'll it be?
*and giving due props to karen of course for being the original cocktail hourŪ girl.
August 27, 2003
leave the man alone,
aahhh, it's that that time of year again.
time to separate the wheat from the chaff. the strong from the insufferably hip. the real individualists from the scrabbling pathetic poseurs.
you know. who goes to burning man.... and who knows better.
memo dear design world:
dear design world:
how in the hell is THIS a fruit basket?!
sincerely,
krissa
i want a BEAN
i'll have you know, my birthday is in.... four days! you know what this means. it means that your normally relatively unselfish, generous loving owl decides there are a MILLION THINGS she wants! that's right. her alter ego comes out. you know the one.... VERUCA SALT!
i want this cake!
and i want these flowers!
aside from those two perfectly lovely but perishable things...
i also want
a shaggy-haired doggy named caspian.
the perfect cup of coffee every single morning.
a bigger television.
long hair.
someone to salsa with.
a pitcher of margaritas.
a trip around the world.
an i-pod.
green contacts.
the perfect goodnight kiss!
well, at least i know two things i AM getting this year for my birthday: a box of the world's most delicious chocolates and a brand new lovely wrought iron bed!
hurrah for me and my bean feast!
August 25, 2003
i'd just like to
...there's nothing quite like making out like teenagers on a roof in midtown manhattan.
that is all.
the truth revealed the
the final tally: eight votes for #1, six votes for #2, and two votes for #3.
you're all smart little monkeyninjas. smart little bloggypants, you all are. #1 was in fact, a complete baldfaced lie from beginning to end. while my grandma jean was a marvelous woman, we were never very close. she died at 91, when i was 11, and living in tunisia, not kenya. i felt almost nothing at the news of her passing except grief at my mother's mourning and a vague sense of discomfort at the general need for tears. while i did have a similar epiphany concerning the miracle of contant thrumming life in my veins, that was many years later.
as for #2, yes, people, i did in fact take my relationship with my parents very much for granted, and was somewhat amused by ethernautrix's idea that only someone much younger could make such a mistake. life is a learning curve, and i'm sure there's still much i am painfully oblivious to in this world. like, for instance, how to make gnocchi, or exactly how badly labor hurts.
obviously, #3 rang very true to a lot of people. good to know i wasn't a complete dolt that day on the steps of the post office.
thanks for playing!
August 22, 2003
my obfuscations i remember
i remember many of life's little revelations in startling detail. moments where i realized things, moments where i was frightened by things, moments that changed my life forever. i'm going to offer up three of them to you - three epiphanies. two of them are true as north. one of them is a baldfaced lie. good luck.
#1 death
although my family is nomadic and thrown-to-the-wind, i've always been very close to my maternal grandmother. i feel very intensely, the strand handed down to me, the strong firm line of femininity that my grandmother jean passed to my mother patricia, who passed it to me. she died when she was ninety five years old, after years of going in and out of the hospital. i was fifteen. i was living in kenya, and my mother called from brasil to tell me she was dead. i walked out to the yard. it was dusk, that kenyan dusk where the sun seems reluctant to set, and lingers sensually on the landscape, dripping off cupped leaves onto rich dirt, sparkling in water droplets from a leaky faucet. i noticed all of this, when i knew my grandmother was dead. i thought about her - about her long brown hair, her quiet way of speaking. i thought about how she'd lived a life of near-servitude, taking care of ten children, being an almost wordlessly obedient wife to my grandfather, and still being so kind and tender and full of laughter. i thought about her face, and her stories, and i couldn't feel sad. i stood there in our yard, feeling very very guilty over my lack of sorrow. but her death, her disappearance from the face of the known earth, it meant so little! i mean, she was there, and then she was gone, but she was still in my memory, so what did it mean that she was dead? i stood under a tree in our backyard as i asked myself these questions, as i felt guilty, terribly guilty, for my lack of tears. i stood there under that tree and felt alive - felt blood rushing through my veins, felt the instinctive way my body held its balance, felt the goosebumps form on my arm from a breeze, felt my bare toes clutching that red dirt. this is alive, i realized. even standing still, it's a chaotic tumbling enterprise and it requires the constant movement and revolution of atoms and molecules and vessels and carbons and... life is busy. it's .. what do they call it in science .. perpetual motion.
so then, the opposite of this - is nothing. the opposite of cold or hot is no temperature at all. the opposite of breathing is empty lifeless lungs, the opposite of feeling is void, the opposite of life is nothingness. that's death, i thought. that's where grandma jean is. stopped. still. dead. that's when i cried, under the tree in our yard. i cried for the blood that rushed through my veins, i cried over the joy of moving my toes at a neuron command from my brain, i cried for the many years i had still to live, years full of senses, years full of blood-rushing-in-veins, and because that rushing, that perpetual motion, had stopped for grandma jean. she stood still - i kept moving.
#2 family
i had always taken my family for granted. because my parents had almost wordlessly done everything they'd promised to do for me, it never occurred to me how very great their sacrifices had been, how very heavy their choices had weighed. they were simply my parents - two people who usually made me a little crazy and doted on me. they weren't the first people i went to when i needed help - that post was foolishly reserved for friend/companion/boyfriend du jour. they weren't the two people i loved the most in the world - they were merely the people i'd loved the longest. but when i was twenty-one, my world fell apart. personally, i was going through my own hell, that late summer of 2001. then, the world really fell down, in a nightmare of dust and glass and screams. that week, i had come to the point where my own bad decisions had left me painted into a corner. i won't tell you what, because those decisions are private, but trust me when i say - i'd fucked up good and proper. and the morning after 9/11, when it became atrociously clear that i had left myself up shit creek with no salvation paddle, i picked up the phone.
"mom? dad? i messed up. bad. and i need your help."
they did exactly what i should have expected them to do, all along. they helped. without a word of judgement [they could see i'd judged myself enough] and without a thought for themselves [wasn't i always the apple of their eyes?]. they helped me. their only criticism was that i should have come to them sooner. it was then i realized that they were, and had been, and would always be, my first and last line of defense against the world, that it was them i should love and cherish more than anyone because they were the only sure thing in this world for me. it was at that moment, being hugged by my mother after she drove five hours to come help me, that i finally believed what they'd been telling me all along - everyone else, everything else, will come and go, but the love between parent and child is beyond forever.
#3
i led a rather sheltered, spoiled life. i'll be the first to admit it. i was shuffled around from country to country, with everything a little girl could want. i had other people in my life, sure, but they were transient vapors of people. i didn't think about their lives nearly as much as i thought about what it'd be like to own my own pony, or whether willy wonka was real, or how to build the perfect treehouse. when i was fourteen, my mother and i were spending the summer in new york and we stopped at the big post office on 34th street while running errands. my mother went inside and i sat on the steps, warming myself in the summer sun. i watched a few people walk by, but i don't remember thinking of anything spectacular when the revelation hit me. it just did - smacked me in the chest with a brute force.
every single person walking by me, right now, has an entire complicated painful joyful life. they're all ... completely whole people.
this may sound like an absurdly asinine thing to realize at fourteen while sitting at a post office. but up until then, other people had simply been... props. in MY life. then suddenly, watching a woman's face as she walked by, chewing her lip in thought, i realized: she probably had a husband. and kids. maybe a stressful job. maybe she'd been adopted. maybe she was worried about her cat, who'd thrown up his breakfast that morning. perhaps, this woman was an actress, and she was practicing a sad face for an audition. it didn't matter what it was that crossed her face at that moment, what mattered was - i realized the vast complexity of this world. how each of us travels through life surrounded by our hopes, fears, desires, connections, loves, hates, pasts. each one of us, i realized sitting on those steps, was just as complicated as me. whoa.
August 19, 2003
memo from: the powers
from: the powers that be
to: the rest of the universe
re: krissa is the new job!
we (the PTB) were thinking. you know how we gave krissa appendicitis during a week when she had 2 dates, a jewelry sale, and a play to watch that weekend, and a birthday party to plan for the following weekend?
and you know how we compounded things by causing a major blackout in the northeast so she not only missed out on blackout new york fun, but also didn't get to see her friends?
and you know how this whole thing has made her quit smoking because being in the hospital freaked her out so much she never wants to be sick ever ever again?
we don't think that was enough. by jove, she's still perky! that's not RIGHT, man. so we were thinking....
HOW ABOUT GIVING HER AN INFECTION IN HER LEFT ARM!? you know, where the IV was stuck for five days? YEAH! an INFECTION! in her ARM! and she'll have to go on TRIPLE the antibiotics! and she'll have to WEAR HER ARM IN A SLING, you know, to prevent ... THROMBOSIS!
*brief pause while PTB laugh themselves silly and wet their pants with general collective merriment*
man, us powers that be, we slay ourselves sometimes. now, universe ... MAKE IT SO!
sincerely,
PTB
August 18, 2003
to clear the smoky
yes, i am no longer an active smoker. this does not mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that i am a NON SMOKER. i hold my stance that smokers are more fun than nonsmokers. as such, i will be calling myself:
a Non-Smoking Smoker.
that is all.
p.s. BOY do i want a cigarette right now.
August 17, 2003
sliced and diced i
i have no blackout stories. here's why.
tuesday, 8/12: cigarettes: 10 showers: 1 food: slim fast shake for lunch. had i known i wasn't going to eat for three days, i would have had a steak. went to work. promptly came home at 3 with pains in belly area making me walk like i had to poop severely. cab driver back to queens must have thought i was going to have a baby in his car. wish it HAD been a baby - at least with babies, the pain is somewhat worth it. got home. took peptobismol. promptly retched peptobismol. scratched head and thought, hmm, rather ironic, no, throwing up belly-calming pink stuff... let's call mommy. called Personal Physician [mother]. mother made soothing yet panicked noises and threw around words like "appendix" and "burst" and "surgery" and "ER". convinced patient to drag self to dreaded purgatory known as emergency room. hung up phone. cried cried cried, wailed like starving infant, heaving racking sobs. realized unlike infant, no one would come when i cried. shook off tears. went to ER. cried a lot at the ER. was ignored a lot at the ER. mom and dad show up at 11. throw up more stuff, entire bottle of liquid grossness required for CT scan, to be precise. sleep, fitfully, while Mother wages crusade against unfeeling devil-people of the ER to get me into a private room.
ED NOTE: FUL CAME TO VISIT ME IN THE ER AT LIKE, MIDNIGHT. I REPEAT. FUL. VISITED ME. BECAUSE HE WUV, WUV, WUVS ME.
wednesday, 8/13: cigarettes: none, woe woe. showers: none. food: none, unless you count the incredibly painful needle sticking out of my arm and connecting me to a bag of "food". which i don't. jason came by and brought flowers. was deliriously happy to see jason. then had surgery. laperoscopy, to be precise. doctors/nurses/aides all of foreign persuasion. while i am open-minded et al, it's annoying when i can barely understand directives/diagnoses/etc. laperoscopy left me with three holes, a groggy brain, weak legs, a tube in my nose, and yellow skin. wasn't allowed to get up, and was thus subjected to ignomity of bedpan. on the plus side, there was morphine. rah rah rah.
thursday, 8/14: cigarettes: YOU KNOW I DIDN'T HAVE ONE. showers: none, and hair was starting to form sculptures. food: none. well, food was EATEN, it was just promptly thrown UP again. thursday sucked. ate jello - threw it up. took percaset - threw it up everywhere (even on beloved teddy bear. poor teddy). i mean, PERCASET! i threw up every celebrity's favorite painkiller addiction! a little part of matthew perry DIED when i retched that little green pill. only highlights of day: jason visiting and tons and tons of loving phone calls from people all over new york, america, and the globe. blackout only affects me insomuch as ful and shiv cannot come visit, and i don't have airconditioning or TV. slept well that night, probably due to copious amounts of morphine. mmmmm morphine.
friday, 8/15: cigarettes: baahhhh. showers: eww. getting stinky. food: finally held down the jello. still, all i've had to eat is jello, for crying out loud. this is the day i decide that hospitals absolutely suck. my new roommate is nearly catatonic and her machine beeps all the time, fit to make me crazy. i eat jello. woo HOO. i stop taking the morphine. walk up and down the depressing hallways, clutching my swollen belly and taking china-doll, fragile steps. hair disgustingness is reaching catastrophic states. beg Foreign Doctorman to send me home. barely understand Foreign Doctorman's response. highlights include: being visited by beth and josh, mom giving me a washcloth-bath, and catching an hour of buffy on TV. lowlights: STILL BEING IN THE HOSPITAL, feeling silly being a grown woman and being washclothed by my mother, Beeping Catatonic Roommate's little moany noises.
saturday, 8/17: cigarettes: sigh. at this point, you realize, i've decided to just quit. showers: none until i get home to rhode island that night. hair has already formed revolution plan. food: TURKEY SANDWICH! new house doctor speaks fluent english, hurrah! has funny hairlip scar, but who cares? when he says i can go home after i eat solid food, i almost asked him to marry me. still walking like stupid invalid, still wearing stupid ugly gown, still being driven crazy by Beeping Roommate, but at least i get to go home! dad feeds me turkey sandwich from local deli, nurses laugh at my constant pestering for discharge papers, mom and dad have frantic near-arguments about how to arrange picking me up, and finally, i see sunlight and fresh air for the first time since tuesday. drive home to rhode island. get pampered. rinse. repeat.
August 11, 2003
what a tangled web
my friend stephanie's best friend ran is also my friend victoria's best friend emily's best friend.
stephanie is also friends with my roommate's boyfriend's sister.
phew. who needs friendster with a small world like mine?
August 08, 2003
c'mon all you haters!
ever since i decided to attend the hallowed halls of law school, my father asks me the same thing every time he sees me, pleased as punch with himself:
"what do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"
i beg of you, blogiverse. ease my joke-repetition-disorder suffering. there must be a million jokes out there about my venerated future profession. i mean, the only thing people make fun of more than lawyers are the IRISH. come on. mock me. take your best shot. FILL my comment box with the tackiest, most tastelessly stereotypical lawyer jokes you know.
this way i can provide my dad with some NEW ROUTINES.
August 07, 2003
"we're SO not friendsters."
i admit - i gave friendster a chance. at first it was fun, really. my little tribe of friends simply sat around at work, thinking of clever ways to compliment each other in the testimonials and searching for high school crushes. it was a disturbingly funny social experiment .. "look, how i ended up connected to Friend A through wholly-unrelated Friend B's second cousin's hairdresser's lover!"
but friendster is losing its charm for me. without naming names, suddenly the only people in my personal network seem to be the very people i spent several years at sarah lawrence trying to ignore. they called themselves the A-Team and were a hyper-obnoxious roving posse of party. taken individually, the few i actually got to know were really a lot of fun, at least when you were drunk on a saturday night or discussing your hangovers in the library. but what drove me crazy about the A-Team was precisely that they'd managed to form a clique at the un-clique-iest school i could have attended. sarah lawrence didn't have teams. we didn't have sprit, or any pep. the only version of School Pride was "Hell, we made it out alive!".
so where did the clique come from? first day of orientation for the class of 2002, no one knew each other. by the third day, they were like hyenas, about twenty of them, who had seemingly decided that in order to be on top of the college-heap, you needed to act as if there were people on bottom. and at a school like sarah lawrence, with very few rules, that superiority would have to be self-imposed. so they set about to be the loudest in the room, the nakedest at the parties, they sort of traveled, ate, and lived in herd-style, and then the crowning moment senior year was when they labeled themselves the A-Team. they didn't make me feel excluded, they were never really rude to me, but they bothered me nonetheless, because they were constantly assuming they were having more fun than everyone else.
now that i've graduated, i don't think about that group much. i've fallen in with a fantastic bunch of friends that i lovingly refer to as the tribe, but we're not a clique. we always have a blast without trying to prove to the denizens around us that we're better than everyone else. and now, suddenly, on friendster, there i am again, outnumbered as an individual against that herd of A-Teamers that annoyed me all four years at SLC.
i left sarah lawrence's more traumatizing aspects behind when i graduated into the refreshingly normal real world. but excuse me if friendster suddenly makes me feel like i'm back at the pub, morosely eating my bagel and soup and trying to ignore the three shrieking girls who seem pretty drunk for a friday morning.
August 05, 2003
neither a borrower nor
neither a borrower nor a lender be.
polonius was right, kiddos. so was my father, for that matter. money, among friends, always breeds contempt.
because when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, between your money and your friend, it doesn't matter which one you choose, you're going to lose.
valuable lessons learned? check.
FEUD! i'm starting to
i'm starting to feel like the responsible party in the Great Newman/Howard Blogroversy of 2003. wait, that's because i am the responsible party. however, as much as i love watching boys digitally-duke-it-out, i will not play maria to the warring tony and barnardo! i will not see this end in blood! so, rather than having to scoop joshua off the bar wall, or reattach greg's head after joshua philipino-fighting-stick-smacks it off his head with that deadly umbrella...
i suggest a few alternative ways of solving the Conflict! since this is a matter of blogiverse-interest, i invite you all to offer up your own creative, bloodless ways of settling this intense yet thoroughly inexplicable feud:
1. a DANCE-OFF! ala grease, with big band action and throwing-of-girls. it's not over until howard or newman has jitterbugged their way into the hospital.
2. a COOK-OFF! newman has made outrageous claims over dinner concerning his ability to make homemade pasta. but newman makes a lot of outrageous claims over dinner, and other places. can the young upstart really triumph over howard's mad skillz with the grillz?
3. a MAKE OUT CONTEST! girls, i know we all like this idea. we can pick a handful of discerning blog-girls and each of them gets to make out with howard and newman for 30 minutes, then fill out a detailed report covering such vastly important areas as "tongue expertise", "hand placement", and "overall seduction capacity". let's face it, newman and howard are both dishes. this fight could really go either way.
there you have it. dancing, cooking, making out. all ways in which we're sure renaissance men such as howard and newman are MORE than capable of. and this is a lot better than bloodshed, i mean, because we girls get to make OUT with them, right?
who's with me?
August 04, 2003
the blog-boys of summer
the blog-boys of summer SMACKDOWN!
the players: joshua newman and greg howard.
the lowdown: i totally went out and caroused with both of them on separate occasions. and shook their hands goodnight, you pervs. because that's the kind of blog-girl i am.
the evening in question#1:
i found joshua on friendster, and i put two and two together and realized i'd been reading his personal site for a while. i was amused and daring enough to fire off one of those friendster messages. the email flurry continued unabated until we decided to grab a post-LSAT class drink, somewhere in midtown. joshua suggested a hipster bar. i countered, only if we go there ironically. joshua agreed. there was some bantering disagreement about which side of the street we'd meet on. that was fun. it ended up being the southeast corner.
i arrived, frazzled from hours of LSAT madness and looking rather schleppy, i must say. i was rocking the vintage tee, weathered jeans, no makeup ensemble. joshua totally looked like dustin hoffman, even though he thinks he looks more like matthew broderick. we strolled to a bar so hip it barely had a sign. you had to ring a doorbell to get in. i gave my newfound friend a "you're kidding me, right? i live in QUEENS" look. we had one beer there and traded war stories about blind dates. i decided to see what bar mr. newman would come up with next. he passed the test with flying colors, taking me to a rather seedy, well-lit piano bar called the russian samovar, where we drank fruit-infused vodka straight out of the carafe. we drank quite a bit, enough to start talking about all levels of strange, non-sequential things. we closed the bar. i threw down a $20 and we walked out, drunkenly stumbling out our goodbyes and sauntering in opposite directions.
the verdict #1: the next morning, in quite a daze at work, i vaguely remembered a handsom e face, just the right combination of humility and arrogance to make him interesting, and someone incredibly comfortable to talk to. not to mention, the dizzying effects of cranberry-lemon vodka on a nearly empty stomach. yes, i resolved. that was fun. that should be a repeating occurence. only with a better sodding vodka-to-food ratio.
the evening in question #2:
when i saw on his blog that the blog-luminary greg was going to be in the big apple, i quickly fired off an email of drastically accusatory proportions, threatening all kinds of bodily damage and maiming to his precious geese were he to NOT make plans with me in new york. this uncharacteristically HIGH level of violent coercion was not entirely necessary, since greg promptly replied that he'd be thrilled to play charming country-boy to my whirlwind tour of my favorite new york hot spots. we met up at his hotel and jumped in a cab heading downtown. we started at life cafe, drank three margaritas and talked about things like the brutality of corporate lawyers, my 401[k] plans, and boston. moving on to a little bar of infinite happy-hour fame, we really just knocked back cosmos and talked about greg's real-life friends. then we totally hit up cloister cafe, one of my favorite hidden secrets in the east village, and finished off the evening with beers and conversations about sex, death, family, love, and various permutations thereof. greg gave me a cab ride back to my subway stop in midtown, where i tispily realized it was too late to take the train because my line stopped running to queens at midnight that week, so i jumped in a cab and fell asleep on the way home.
the verdict #2: greg is... there are few words for greg. greg is funny and greg listens and greg is totally a gentleman even though he will now tell me i'm exaggerating. greg was everything you all expect greg to be, with a great smile to boost. i would totally give greg a kitten. maybe several kittens. maybe i'd even give greg a blimp. i'm not sure. but ladies - he's everything his adoring fans think he is, and he even picked up the tab.
FINAL PETIT HIBOUX TALLY: if i had to pick favorites between greg and joshua i'd have to run headfirst into a brick wall to avoid making the decision.
August 01, 2003
five for friday five
five new york memories
1. winter 1998 - slipping in the ice with beth on prince street, our hands full of christmas shopping, both of us laughing too hard to get up.
2. fall 1999 - driving in manhattan for the first time, kate telling me to simply roll down the windows, turn up the radio, and drive by instinct. true advice.
3. early spring 2003 - otto's pizzeria, watching the protest in WSq, drinks on hudson and cupcakes at magnolia with stephanie, ful, and jw.
4. spring 2003 - the whitney, hot chocolate in the park, grey's papaya, and krispy creme donuts, with jw, talking and laughing and walking arm-in-arm.
5. summer 2003 - last weekend. friday night party for ful, saturday morning brunch at the mercer with stephanie and shiv, saturday afternoon barbeque at jeb's. friends, beer, laughter.
five food+drink i couldn't live without
1. black coffee - mornings, afternoons, evenings.
2. feijao e arroz - brasilian style black beans and rice. my soul's food.
3. cupcakes - the universe's answer to heartache, and a little piece of heaven.
4. queso - a nice warm bowl of texas-style queso, late nights, in austin.
5. beer - what better answer is there to a hot day?
five loves i'll never forget
1. s - my sweet sixteen boyfriend. my first time. crazy, but loved.
2. a - my first serious boyfriend. not sure why i loved him, but i sure as hell did.
3. m - the only ex i still adore. funny. sweet. loyal.
4. mb - empirically, the best sex of my life, but the most unattainable man alive.
5. c - holds stubborn claim on my heart. still greatly loved, despite everything.
...and five i wish i could!
1. d - arrogant middle-school boyfriend for whom i was nonetheless smitten, leaving my friends with a lot of embarassing ammo to this day.
2. f - my first encounter with a living breathing asshole. scars fading but still evident.
3. s - one night stand turned horribly sour. left me with funny stories about having sex in my parent's car, though.
4. mg - crazy. crazy crazy CRAZY. on the other hand, sex machine. like my mother famously said, "sometimes, you've got to fuck a scumbag."
5. p - nicknamed by my friends 'roly poly sensitive'. seriously the strangest blind date i've ever had.
five secret dreams for the future
1. become famously brilliant attorney fighting for gay rights, preferably working at firm like lambda legal.
2. write wonderfully inquisitive and thought-provoking book about my mother's family in brasil. stories that shock and amaze. murder, incest, suicide and catholicism! avoid getting subsequently whacked by angry mob of family.
3. raise beautiful children in my parent's house in providence. have martha stewart life i now mock all the time, but secretly want anyway.
4. start travelling right now and never stop ever. destinations include: fiji, peru, alaska, finland, siberia, nepal, mongolia, portugal, new zealand, and tierra del fuego.
5. invent something, win the lottery, or wed prince harry.
what are some of your favorite foods? exes? dreams?