As a continuation of my super glamorous professional lifestyle, I was whisked off to Baltimore last week to continue with some film production and shizznat along those lines.

So I’m sure you’re all like “BALTIMORE?  Glamorous!??  Isn’t Baltimore all like:

?”

And, truth be told, my only exposure to Baltimore was watching episodes of The Wire, too, so I thought I was headed to a “Hamsterdam”-style ghetto where people would be trying to solicit drugs by screaming out “WMDs!  WMDs!” and what-not.

But, to my surprise and delight, the Baltimore that I saw was actually GORgeous.  Look at that harbour!

Unbeknownst to me (well, “knownst”… I guess… but I never really thought about it…) that week they were celebrating the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812.  I was all like “Huh… yeah… I guess it would be the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812.  Because it’s 2012.”.  Anyways, there were a whole bunch of Tall Ships in the harbour from around the world and SAILORS EVERYWHERE. 

Like full on sailors in white flood pants and sailor hats a la 1950s musicals. 

Since I felt a bit ignorant, I decided to be super-intellectual and go onto Wikipedia that night while sitting in the bathtub and drinking a beer. 

According to Wikipedia, this is something I should know about, as it has “IMMENSE NATIONAL SIGNIFICANCE” for Canadians, and “NUMEROUS” ceremonies are scheduled in 2012 to commemorate this thing.  Am I stupid for not knowing about the Battle of Queenston Heights?  Meh?  I’m sure I learned about it in like, Grade Five.  Maybe?

Anyways, in Baltimore at least, they were having “numerous ceremonies”, including a huge Tall Ships thing where ships came from around the world, and there were sailors everywhere.

Also, did you know that the US national anthem was written in Baltimore just after the War of 1812?  WELL NOW YOU FUCKING KNOW.

To “commemorate” this event of “immense national significance”, I decided to go shopping and *almost* bought this dress, but didn’t.  I thought it made my body look a little wonky, but now I regret it, because it was a rainbow dress, and rainbow dresses should, by rule, be bought because they are rainbow, regardless of whether the striping along the chest/stomach makes you look like an Oompa Loompa.

Unfortunately for me, I actually had to work and wear a suit.

LOOK HOW FANCY I AM.

LOOK HOW FANCY MY HOTEL IS.

LOOK HOW FANCY I AM AGAIN:

THEN I DRINK A FANCY BEER IN THE BATHTUB:

AND I WATCH A FANCY TV EMBEDDED INTO MY BATHROOM MIRROR WHILE SITTING IN THE BATHTUB:

Then,  I had a southwestern chicken salad and crab cakes in the airport restaurant on the way home.  These things were surprisingly delicious, albeit significantly less fancy.

The End.

So I was staying a luxury hotel overlooking Central Park, and when I checked in they were all like “OH!  Would you like your regular, super-wicked fancy-ass room?” and I was all like “Obviously.”

Thank God for the Chess set, as I enjoy spending many-a-time playing the Chess.

Yawn.  This was my view.

While taking this picture, I was petrified of dropping my iPhone and accidentally killing someone via “accelerated gravity-induced iPhone to the head”.

Seriously, though, I was actually there to ”work”.  When I say “work”, I mean hanging out in the Presidential Suite of a luxury hotel over-looking Central Park, taking pictures of myself like a baller while supervising a video shoot.  Yes, I know it’s basically exactly the same as my last trip.  Deal with it.

Except this time I was an “extra” in the shoot, so I got to get my hair and makeup done by a professional make-up artist.  WHAT????

Incidentally, I was coming down with a cold and my makeup artist (who is Russian), told me to use these Russian nose drops that you basically put into your nose and it burns like the fire of a thousand suns and then you are cured.

Some of it accidentally went in my mouth and I was worried I was going to have radiation poisoning or Dioxin poisoning or something else dramatic and Russian-mafia-esque.  But I survived.

ALSO.  I bumped into Lionel Richie in the lobby.  Whaaaaa?  Yeah.  He literally hasn’t aged a day since the 80′s.  Here is an artist’s rendition (note Lionel’s sweet ‘stache):

ANYways, after my fabulous stint as a movie-star-slash-extra-because-I-was-the-only-person-there, I headed down to the lobby bar for a fancy drink and dinner before coming home.

While in the bar, I got approached by a man.

An old man.  I’m not being mean.  He had a cane and could barely stand.  Pants up to armpits.  Like, I was so concerned that he was going to fall over from his weak standing ability that I rushed to get him a chair next to me.  Big mistake.

He talked to me all nice-like for a while about his wife and kids while I tried to eat my dinner.  Since I am a nice person who is unable to be mean, I humoured him for about 20 minutes while trying to eat my fried portobello mushrooms.  Then this:

Old Guy: This is going to sound strange but when I see something I like I just go for it
Me: *awkward smile while eating fried portobellos*
Old Guy: You are so pretty.  I would like to call you some time
Me: *starting to choke on portobellos*
Old Guy: Can I give you my number?
Me: Oh… no… no… that’s ok.
Old Guy: No, I want you to have it.
Me: Oh… no… no… I don’t think so.
Old Guy: Take my number please I really want you to have it.
Me: *awkwardness* Ummm fine ok fine I guess.
Old Guy: *starts writing number and his HAND IS SHAKING SO MUCH FROM OLDNESS THAT HE CAN’T COMPLETE IT* I’ll just tell it to you and you can write it down.
Me: *extreme, powerful awkwardness mixed with pity for old man* Uhh… ok fine.

I then got up to leave in a hyper-rush to get the FUCK out of there.  Seriously, I was like a termite running under the fridge when the light turns on.

Old Guy: I REALLY hope you call me.  Seriously.  I really hope you call me.
Me: *BLURRRRG!!!!*

My hypothesis is that, for some reason, even though I was wearing jeans and motorcycle boots, and was very unattractively eating a plate of fried mushrooms, and even though I mentioned REPEATEDLY that I was there on business and was flying out in a couple of hours, he thought I was a prostitute.

This is the last thing I’m going to say about this.  MAYBE I was mistaken that he thought I was a hooker.  MAYBE he just gave me his number to talk.  However, note that my “he likes me” radar is GROSSLY underdeveloped – I always assume that no guy ever likes me ever, and it is very difficult to convince me otherwise… and here I was 100% convinced that this man had just solicited me for sex.

So this: what kind of fucked-up world is this where a chick can’t eat by herself at a bar in a hotel without a guy assuming she is a prostitute?  This happened to me when I was travelling in Austin, too.  By a similarly old man (the young men do not enjoy me, apparently). Like, I said about 60 times that I was there for work.  WHAT the FUCK.  CHICKS HAVE JOBS.  JOBS THAT AREN’T HOOKING.  THEY NEED TO EAT.

So then I went to the airport and my flight was cancelled.

Till the next morning.  YEAH.  BALLS.

You know what else was balls?  The fact that there was some mystery event or some shit going on in NY and EVERY SINGLE HOTEL ROOM IN THE WORLD was booked.  Seriously.  I called like 20 hotels.

I ended up having to call my boss, who happened to still be in town, and sleep on her room’s pull-out couch for the night.  The end.

Had to whisk off to NYC for a couple of days last week.  I don’t want to milk this too much, but I’m pretty blown away that I have the type of life where I WHISK OFF TO NYC for a couple of days. 

Here is an important thing to know – at the Pearson Starbucks they do not toast their bagels.  So they taste like gluey flavoured pieces of seed-infested dough.

BLURG.

Anyways.  I have acute paranoia about missing flights, so of course I left three hours before I had to take off.  This means that I spent about 2 hours and 45 minutes oscillating between sitting awkwardly pretending to have things to do on my phone at the gate, and wandering to the bathroom.  Hey – did you know that very few people update their Instagram feeds at 6:00 am on a Wednesday?  HA HA HA.  Now you know.

FYI if I have you on facebook I likely stalked the shit out of you that morning.  Don’t be weirded out if I bring up some obscure reference to a photo from party you attended in 2006 the next time we see each other.

The GOOD news about the wait is that I went into the duty free shop and bought some orangey-red lipstick and tried to wear it for my whole trip.  You know, “New York Natalie” styles.

So I was in NY for two days this time instead of one and I happened to have a whole FIVE HOURS at my disposal to go ape-shit in the city and do whatever I wanted all by myself.  It was luxurious.  However, with the scope of things to do in NY being what they are, I concluded that I had to be super anal in order to maximize the enjoyment of my five hours and planned out my route accordingly:

Note that the letters are going in the opposite direction of my route.  First, Madewell, of course.  I was obsessive about visiting there because all of my purchases up in the ‘shopping third-world’ of Canada were on-line.  The dress below was tried on for Tami:

NOTE THE ORANGEY-RED LIPSTICK.

Tami – it’s not as nice as I thought it would be… the fabric was like a cheap-ass burlap and the waist made me look like a pregnant Oompa-Loompa.  I wasn’t as blown away with Madewell as I thought I would be. 

Next stop – Levi’s Store.  Bought a pair of boyfriend jeans for $25.00 and a pair of high-waisted waxed black skinnies.

A-Balls had suggested Creatures of Comfort, so I moseyed on over there next.

Granted, everything was gor-ge-ous.  But it was also very very expensive.

Terrariums everywhere.

I had about $200.00 budgeted for shopping, and since the only thing at Creatures that cost less than $200.00 was like, a white undershirt, I didn’t buy anything.

The plan was to head on over to Freemans for a long, luxurious, three-course expensed dinner, but I found a little boutique on the way and bought this shirt:

I love it – all oversized with raw hems and stuff.  I’M SO EDGY. 

Note that two days later in Toronto I found the exact same shirt at a store literally half a mile from my house. 

Anyways, off to Freemans…  down the magical alleyway…  pass by the hipster barber shop where drop-dead gorgeous men cut the hair of other drop-dead gorgeous men…

Oh, hai fancy drink.

Some people hate eating dinner by themselves, but I LOVE IT.  I can order whatever I want and NO ONE CAN JUDGE ME.  Also, I get to people-watch and muse philosophical about why people are at the restaurant and what their lives are like.  Like these guys:

I assumed that they were there on a dinner break from a dress rehearsal of a stage production of Easy Rider.  Obviously.

Freemans was pretty awesome, although not really different from all restaurants in T.O. with the same “antlers on the wall” type vibe.  The bathroom had a gardening wall in it.

Oh, hai cheese plate.

What are those things in the little ramekin?  Why, zombie strawberries, of course.

Braaaains.

Seared Tuna Special with chickpeas and sauteed citrus.  Yes, it was delicious.

Since I get to expense my meals, and since I am a big fatty who enjoys eating food, I also got the Bananas Foster.  HAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA!

I had an early dinner because I am a crotchety old woman, which meant that stores were still open when I left Freemans.  I thought I would wobble over to Opening Ceremony to revel in clothing that was several strata above my price range.

I had about four drinks at dinner, which made me feel invincible as I poked through the racks. 

In my ‘mind’s eye’ I felt as if I was a high class and elegant connoisseur of designers, flipping though the racks with the skill of a fashion editor.

In ‘reality’ I probably looked like a skeezy drunk tripping over racks of expensive designer clothes and touching everything with my grubby hands.

On the way home I decided that a three course meal wasn’t enough to satiate my gorilla-man hunger, and I bought a red velvet cupcake or whatever they’re called.  It fell over in the bag and the icing got all smushed.

Then I decided to take a bath, as I often do when staying in a fancy hotel.

Although I’m sure you are imagining a very sultry and alluring spectacle in which I am in the bath, all bubbly and slick and what-not, in reality it was more like this:

Me eating a messy, melting, fatty-bo-batty cupcake and drinking a cheap-ass beer.

Tomorrow, read on as I get mistaken for a prostitute by an 85-year old man.  The fun never stops.

Currently planning a trip to Europe in the fall.  Munich, Berlin… and deciding between Prague and Paris.  Peut-être Paris, non?

So my plane left at 6:00 pm on my last day (Sunday), and I wanted to get in as much of Buenos Aires as I could, so I was determined to get up early and spend the day out in the city.

PLUS, there is a HUGE antiques market down in San Telmo on Saturdays, so of course, I was plotzzing in my pants to get down there with enough time to leisurely peruse the stands. 

They close off one of the old streets and it basically becomes a huge pedestrian bazaar.  I was pretty happy… but before you get to the main square, the wares aren’t as exciting… lots of chackis and, like, tango dancers made out of bottle caps and shit like that.

THEN.  Then, you get to the main square, and it’s like antique heaven.  There were SO MANY STANDS.  I got lost at one point.

Anyways.  I happened to have a shopping chaperone who was annoying me because he is not an antiquer and doesn’t understand my orgasmic love of old shit.  It put a bit of a damper on things, so we grabbed lunch.

The concierge recommended this restaurant that is really hard to find – it’s basically up some secret stairway on the street.  But then, when you get up there, you realize it has the best location in the neighbourhood – basically DIRECTLY ABOVE the antique market.  We sat on this smallllll tinnny balcony that was just barely big enough to hold a table and two chairs.

STILL PALER THAN A PORK SAUSAGE.

Anyways, once lunch was over, it was time to check some more shit out.  I stumbled by this huge store that was clearly more professionally maintained and curated than any of the other antique places there.  So much awesome stuff.  I didn’t even look at the prices because I’m fucking poor.

OH WHAT?  No big deal:

Stuff and stuff and stuff.  Bought my gaucho belt and skeleton keys and native necklace amongst these stands.

Sigh.  And then my trip came to an end.  As I was leaving the market on my way to my LONG AND EXCRUCIATING fourteen hour overnight flight, Mr. Tango Man tango-ed me out of Argentina:

So, Buenos Aires is a ferry ride away from Uruguay, and I had heard about Colonia, a Unesco heritage site over there – basically an old town that has managed to keep much of it’s original architecture.  It seemed cool, so ferry tickets were purchased, and a day trip was had.

Let me preface this whole post by saying that it was pretty good, but you basically go over there and spend 8 hours walking around a small town with nothing to do but take cool pictures of things and walk up the stairs of really, really small old churches, where it’s really hot, and you hit your damn head on things because in the olden times when said staircases were made, people maxed out at 5 foot 3. 

 Anyhoo, get ready for a whooooole bunch of arty-type photos, because that pretty much sums up the day.  That and some drinking and meat (see below).  And a multitude of street dogs.

I like how this picture of me is mostly blurred so you can’t really see my flub too clearly.  I think it’s because I was just about to tip over awkwardly, not unlike a hippopautamus - note my one hand sticking out in a panicked “grasping for the earth” fashion.  But please note how fucking PALE I AM STILL.  I have been in the hot hot South American sun for five days and my damn alien skin refuses to not look like the waxy rind on Brie cheese.

This is called the Street of Sighs.  I do not know why so don’t bother asking.

It was clearly a town that relied almost exclusively on tourism – there were three types of buildings: houses, restaurants, and souvenir stores. 

Being a tourist (i.e. a drunk), I stopped at a bar to drink some beer.  This ended up being the best part of the trip… the sun was beating down on my waxy, translucent skin that had still resisted a tan somehow… and I drank some Pilsen, the Uruguayan beer that everyone drinks.

Look how delicious he looks… all frosted over with coldness…. I WANT TO DRINK YOU RIGHT NOW.

For lunch, I had a Chivito, which is basically a big-ass delicious meat sandwich with a fried egg in it and cheese melted all over it.  Let me tell you… I was pretty fucking happy at this point.

Hmmmmmm for dessert, I think I’ll have a Super-Banana (with cream).

Find the parrot!

Ok, so the street dogs.  THERE WERE SO MANY STREET DOGS.  And at first, you’re all fascinated, and you think they’re all cute (which they are) because they just splay themselves out right next to you when you’re sitting at restaurants and fall asleep in the hot sun.  

One of the dogs who was sleeping next to me starting having one of those dreams where he’s running, and his little paws were slightly moving up and down.  There was this South American drum music playing in the restaurant, and it looked like he was playing the dream-bongos in his dream.  IT WAS THE BEST.

But then, your soul starts to hurt and you realize these are truly street dogs… lots of them move really slow, and limp… and when I left the port at like 11:00 pm that night, I walked by a shack-bar where some sketchy people were hanging out, and one of the dogs that I hung out with that day was all curled up in the middle of the dark street, looking over at the sketchy dudes, and begging for scraps.

 Poor doggies.  At least they get to roll around in the sun.

The day was beautiful, and I got some great pictures, and had some good beer, but I don’t know if I would have spent as much time there next time.  3-4 hours is totally adequate.

Bye, Colonia!  Take good care of your street dogs!

One of the big things you are supposed to do when you are in Buenos Aires is see a Tango show.  BA is apparently the “birthplace” of tango (based on information I read on tango show pamphlets), and there are lots of show in the city to go see.

Being overwhelmed with the choices (lazy), I went to my hotel concierge to ask her recommendations.  She recommended two – one that was “more conservative”, and one that was “more intimate and controversial”.  I think we all know which one I picked.

Even though the “controversial” one was more expensive, it was totally worth it, for several reasons:

1. I got to sit inches away from the band, who were all smoking hot;
2. there was nudity; and
3. the venue was this small room at a super edgy, Gothic hotel, that I LOVED.

More about the show (and the nudity) later.  First, I was told that the hotel was really cool, so we headed over early to look around and have a drink at the bar.  It’s called the Faema.

Ok, first – all of the girls who worked there were wearing sexy, intricate black dresses, BUT, they were all also wearing short black velvet cloaks over top.  WHAT?  Coolest ever.  Their main bar was called ‘The Library’, and it was designed like a Gothic old man’s library.   Not in an obnoxious circa 2005 ”purple damask on the wallpaper” kind of way, but in a really gritty, vintage way that looked amazing.

The pool outside had this spillover design and there was a big-ass red crown in the center with water shooting out.  A little to precious-looking for me, but it was still cool.

AND CHECK OUT THEIR DINING ROOM.

It’s all fucking white with red accents.  BAAAAH?  I loved it.  I also loved the unicorn heads.  Who doesn’t want to eat steak with a big-ass unicorn with red eyes over your head?  NO ONE DOESN’T WANT THAT.

Anyways, the tango was called “Tango Rojo”, and was appropriately set in a small red room.  I was so close to the band, that when I turned my shoulder, I could blow lovingly into the accordionist’s ear. 

Those accordion things are apparently unique to Argentina – they sounded a lot like the song that plays in 12 Monkeys.

The dancing was amazing.  They started with the more traditional tango stuff, then moved onto more modern (AND NUDE) versions of the tango.  It’s a pretty sexy dance, so I guess it makes sense that when people “freestyle” tango in the streets, they usually end up taking off their clothes and doing a tango-bang.

Good night nude tango dancers…

So, I’m deviating from my “day-by-day-play” format to amalgamate all of my shopping experiences together into one post, because I think it will be more literarily cohesive. Am I a huge, losery nerd for saying that? Maybe. Are you a bitch for judging my painful nerditude? Definitely.

Just kidding. You’re not a bitch.

Anyways, first, let’s talk about that first picture. Up there. At the top of the post. Every time I go away, I try to find one quintessentially “that place” picture. And it has to be like, super-arty. That picture on top wins – I’m going to frame it in a RIBBA frame and everyone will be all like “YOU ARE SO ARTY”. And I’ll just sit there, all smug in my artiness.

Truth is, I was so enamoured by my shopping experience, that I barely took any pictures, so I had to post that one. Blog blaspheme, I know.

Here is one of the pictures I took that is not interesting at all.

Let’s start with this: the style in Buenos Aires is fantastic.

Really. It takes a lot for me to say that, too, because I like to think Toronto is pretty stylish. And it is, in a “I’m-trying-really-hard-to-be-Alexa-Chung” kind of way. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But BA just takes that “rumpled laid back grunge meets off-duty model” look that everyone is bonering hard for, and elevates it. Juuuuuuust enough.

Quick rant – I have some problems with current North American street fasion. Lots of chick are walking around just looking like lumpy-ass hookers with ugly tights and gross overshirts wearing fucking john lennon sunglasses. It looks like shit. Sorry. Ok, so take that, and just tweeeeeeeeak it enough so that you look like you respect yourself as a person and actually bathe, and then you have Buenos Aires fashion.

There is a term for a native Buenos Aires woman – a porteña. Basically, if you are a porteña, you are:

• Rail-thin;
• Tall;
• Tanned;
• Have long straight hair hair down to your ass-crack;
• Smoke;
• Super-Fashionable; and
• Gorgeous

Here is an artist’s rendering:|

Just as a comparison, here is an artist’s rendering of what Natalie looked like in BA:

I found a picture I took when I was at lunch one day… you can see some porteñas sitting on a stoop smoking… looking all fashionable. So basically, everyone looked awesome all the time.

There were SO MANY STORES that were AWESOME and that don’t exist in North America. SO FRIGGING MANY.

My favourite was Maria Cher. I also liked Ayres. And Rhapsodia. And Prüne. And Complot. Les sigh grosses.

I also wanted to take a look at some authentic Argentinian antiques and souvenirs. The best place for this was definitely the antiques market, which I’ll tell you about later. It deserves an entire post. However, I also stumbled upon a great store that was literally down the street from my hotel called Claraz.

I think they sponsor a Polo team, or they’re affiliated with polo, because in addition to antique and vintage gaucho stuff, they also had used stirrups and bridles and saddles and other fun stuff. I convinced myself that I needed to buy a 30-foot vintage braided lasso, then I realized that I’m a stupid idiot. So I didn’t buy it.

Recognize this???

Awwww yeah. It looks like my vintage La Martina bag. Ironically, I have taken my La Martina bag on EVERY trip except for this one, because some guy I was travelling with thought we should bring a big ugly duffel bag instead. FUCK. I visited the actual La Martina store (no pictures. I forgot.), which was AMAZING. If I had my bag with me, I’d be all like “I’M SO RICH AND IMPORTANT”. But I didn’t.

Despite the fact that there was a smorgasbord of fantastic clothing stores and options, I didn’t buy thaaaat much. And most of what I bought was extremely reasonably priced (like everything in Argentina). See below for my super design-y catalogue of purchases:

1. Vintage gaucho belt purchased at huge antique fair (more about that in another post)
2. Studded black leather sandals that I needed because I forgot to pack flip flops. From Sybil Vane.
3. Huge linen scarf from Complot. It has the best colour palette EVER. Mostly poo-ish.
4. Antique native pendant with leather back from antique market.
5. Antique skeleton key from antique market.
6. Two T-Shirts from Complot – one with a bunch of handwritten crosses on it, and one with like eagles and native stuff on it. I’m so predictable.
7. Picture of antique ponchos from Northern Argentina at Claraz.
8. Silver graphic cross pendant from Claraz.
9. Kick-ass eagle necklace from Maria Cher.

There was one thing I didn’t buy and now totally regret. These boots from a store in Palermo that I totally forget now. They are like a mash-up of cowboy boots and combat boots. I love them. But I tried them on, and with my pale marshmallow legs, I looked like I was stuffing pork sausages into a leather hoof.

Sigh. Maybe they have an online store.

The weather was starting to get much better, so the next day was scheduled to be a walk-around-type thang.  No real specific walking plan, but the end destination was the MALBA, the modern art museum. 

Ok, so Buenos Aires is a frigging beautiful city.  Tons of history, culture, SO much greenery.  You like, walk around the city and turn a corner, and BOOM, there is a HUGE beautiful square with a giant statue and a perfectly landscaped park.  Seriously, this happened to me about 35 times.

Oh yeah, whatever, here is a three-storey statue of some guy on a horse with a sexy angel.

And SO MANY street side cafes and patios.  Swoon.

Oh, and there are SO MANY people with dogs in Buenos Aires, which is awesome.  I’m of the opinion that, if someone has a dog (and treats him/her well, obviously), then they cannot be a bad person.  So logic follows that, since Buenos Aires had so many dogs, it must also be a good city.  Yes.  Air-tight logic.

The best part about it were the Paseadores de Perros, who are essentially professional dog walkers.  Apparently this is a booming industry in Buenos Aires, and it was adorable to see all the dogs stolling together, all well-behaved and bouncing along.  I just wanted to go tickle their bellies so bad.

Finally reached the MALBA, which was wonderful.  I really love modern art, and always try to visit the city’s main gallery when I can.  I brought my camera, but I didn’t take many pictures… are you allowed to take pictures in an art gallery?  I felt like a criminal.  Which is sad.  That this is my most criminal act.  Taking pictures of modern art for my blog.

They were having an exhibition of Carlos Cruz-Diez’s work.  His works are focused on colour, line, and perception… it’s was really amazing.  You should check out more of his stuff here.

Check out this bench.

The wood pieces snaked down three floors of the gallery.

Here are some other pieces me likey.

For one of the exhibits, you had to put on shoe protectors.  Kind of like those shoe things you put on for that slide-board workout thing that they invented in the 90s.  It was very intriguing.  So I put on the shoe protectors and went in.

It was a white room with some lights in it.  And some slits cut in the wall.

Not to sound uncultured, but they got my hopes up PRETTY HIGH with the addition of the shoe protectors.  Maybe it was a study in human behaviour, where they observe how the addition of shoe protectors will increase curiousity.  Booooooo.  I hate being manipulated with shoe protectors.

After satiating my brain-hole for a bit, it was time to go drink. The weather was preeeeeetty nice outside, and of course, all I wanted to do was sit on a patio and have a beer.

A couple of nights before, we headed to a bar called Milion for dinner, because it was supposed to be “hip” and “happenin’ “, but they weren’t open yet.  I’m apparently an old woman and need to eat before 9:00 pm.  But they appeared to be open for lunch and we stopped in.  The place is pretty fucking gorgeous. 

It’s some renovated old mansion or something, and they have an amazing back patio space.

AND THEY HAD GOOD BEER.

That delicious mofo lasted about 3 minutes.

See?

Am I immature if I find this fucking hilarious?  I didn’t think so.

Oh, hey – you’d think that walking around for two full days in the hot hot hot South American sun would result in SOME kind of tan.  But check out my fucking transparent casper arms.  I’m am still so gross and waxy here.  I’m pretty sure the Argentinian women had to choke back vomit when I walked by their perfect, tanned bodies in my whaley white skin.

Back to the hotel for a swim and siesta before dinner.  Tough fucking life.

Dinner was at Gran Bar Danzon.  Apparently it is a “hip” and “happenin’ ” place, and like all “hip” and “happenin’ ” places in BA, it didn’t open until 9:00 pm for dinner.  Did I mention that, for someone like me who is essentially a giant, food-obsessed pig, this is like a fiery personal hell?  

I liked it – food was great, really cool atmosphere.

Their wine list was on an iPad.  The future is NOW.

After 3 glasses of Malbec, it was time to sleep.  Tomorrow I go shopping, and you don’t want to miss that shit.

Second day in Buenos Aires, it rained.  Being spiritually connected to the cycles of the Earth (read: super anal and able to read an iPhone weather app), I already knew this was going to happen, so I planned my day accordingly.

Lately, I’ve been feeling really guilty about being a waste of a brain.  Instead of reading books, I’ve been watching back episodes of The Bachelor, and instead of going to museums or engaging in heated philosophical debate, I’ve been getting drunk by myself on the couch in my underwear.  To compensate for this, I decided to spend the rainy day in Buenos Aires trying to kick start my brain cells back into their previous levels of uber-intellectualism.

So I went for a tour of the Opera House.  It’s big deal.  It’s called the Teatro Colon, and it’s just over 100 years old.  We took a guided tour - our tour guide was pretty awesome, mostly due to the fact that he was a smoke show, but he also knew stuff.

Seriously, though, the tour was really interesting.  The architecture of the theatre is really rich and varied, mostly due to the fact that it had 3 different architects over the course of it’s tumultuous 18-year construction, and has clear French, Italian, and German design elements.

There is a big marble staircase at the front of the Opera House that reminds me of the staircase in Titanic, back before Leo decided to grow horrible spotty facial hair.  As grotesque as Titanic was, I think every girl can agree that when faced with a big marble staircase, they think about wearing a sweeeeeet sequin-y dress with long gloves and walking down the stairs all sexy-like, towards some adoring man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, just waiting for him to present you with kisses and a big bucket of jewels or something.

Yes.  I want a bucket of jewels.

Anyways, amidst the spectacular opulence of the theatre, I managed to take a selfie in a floor-to-ceiling gold gilded mirror from France.  Note my super-opulent, dirty-ass Toms and the fact that the panels in the mirror make me look like a hippopotamus.

The inside of the theatre space was mind-blowing.  Extravagant and all red and gold.

Right outta Moulin Rouge.

So I felt pretty intellectual after the tour.  I mean, I was able to make pop-culture references to both Titanic and Moulin Rouge, and what is more cerebral than that?  Nothing, I tells you.  Nothing.

So I decided to celebrate by getting drunk.

So I headed to San Telmo, the oldest part of town, and hit a couple of bars that had some “buzz” my our Lonely Planet book from 2008.  The first was Gibraltar, an English pub in San Telmo that has some kind of fame attached to it for some reason because a bunch of expats go there to get all stinky.

Sorry, but it totally sucked.  It stank like smelly old bar… you know like when a bar doesn’t replace their dishwasher for 20 years and there are particles of old rotted food just cycling through the dishwasher and stuck in the crevices of the floor and shit.   And they had a really, really shitty beer selection.  You would think a pub for expats would at least have some interesting beer.

And then they were playing jazz-pop on the speakers.  LOUD.  From the radio.  And it wasn’t like, cool, O.G. jazz, it was full-on Kenny G clarinet jazz where you imagine ladies from the 80′s wearing marabou nightgowns walking on the beach in the video, and some guy in a black silk shirt with the top 3 buttons undone is playing a saxophone with a back lit silhouette in the foreground.

Anyways, so we booked and went to Bar El Federal, which was infinitely cooler.

I consumed 100% of the nuts.

Then I got drunk.

Next stop: dinner.  Dinner in Argentina starts at like 10:00 pm for some reason, and I got pretty drunk waiting for 10:00 to hit.  Just saying.

In case you didn’t know, Argentina is famous for their beef.  They have some magical cows there or something, and the beef is supposed to be spectacular.  I’m not a huge meat-eater, for both ethical and “it’s gross” reasons, but I felt I should experience this in case people asked me about it at cocktail parties.

The concierge recommended La Brigada in San Telmo, which seems to be pretty well-known in the area.   They seemed legit, because their menus are made out of cows.

Why did she recommend it?  The beef is so tender, they CUT IT WITH A SPOON.  Seriously. 

This guy seemed pleased.

Anyhoo, I said I don’t really like meat, so I was a giant pussy and ordered a salad.  Blaspheme, I know.  I had a couple of bites of the steak, you know, just so I could tell people about it at cocktail parties and/or on a blog.  It was good steak.

I also ordered fries.  FYI, in Buenos Aires, they have something called “French Fries Provencal”, which is essentially french fries with parsley and garlic rubbed all over them.  THEY ARE THE BEST EVER.

Pretty long day, and the rain didn’t really affect plans too much.  I returned to the hotel a drunk, roly-poly mess, full of french fries Provencal.

More riveting travel descriptions tomorrow.