Tag Archives: dating

Mexico, continued

22 Jan

So Pete and I have been really good about money during this vacation – we’ve only gone out to eat a few times and made all our other meals in the condo.

But I really wanted to try out a restaurant at another hotel set in the mountain called Las Bristas. The travel guide said it was a beautiful view of the ocean and you could see iguanas in the jungle trees in the morning. Cool!!!

So at about 10 this morning, Pete and I took a cab to Las Bristas and indulged in an awesome brunch. The waiter said the iguanas were usually out of sight by 7 am (drats!) but we still had fun. We finished breakfast around 11:30 and decided it would be fun if we walked back to the condo instead of cabbing it.

As we were paying the bill for brunch, our waiter said that he would “look the other way” if we wanted to look around the resort a little bit. We thought that sounded like a fine idea. All we wanted to do was take a look at the pool and be on our merry way.

And that’s when our Mexican nightmare began.

Las Bristas is like a maze. There are all these unmarked paths through the mountainside so it took us quite a bit of time just to find the pool. We stared at the old biddies floating on their backs for about five minutes before we decided to head home. It was getting close to noon at this point and the sun was getting pretty hot.

I suggested we just walk down to the beach and head back to our place from there. So we spent another 10 minutes trying to find the path leading down to the beach. Then we finally saw the beach. Yay!

“Eva, this is the wrong beach,” Pete pointed out, sweat beading on his forehead.

I looked down. Sure enough, there was a mountain separating the Las Bristas beach from the rest of the beach.


“Bad idea. Bad idea,” Pete said to me, looking amused.

So back up the mountain we went. It was getting really freaking hot.

When we mastered the mountain path we were on, we both sighed in relief and prepared to walk back into the resort looking sheepish.

Except then we turned a corner and were faced with literally 1,000 steps. I’m not even kidding. Literally 1,000 steps to get back up to the lobby of the hotel.

So I’m not very patient but Pete has more patience and energy than anyone I’ve ever met. He was singing and hugging and kissing me through this whole debacle. At one point, when I expressed disappointment about the lack of wildlife I’d seen at Las Bristas, he said, “Well I think I just saw Nagini coming to get you!!!!”

Nagini is the giant snake from Harry Potter.

So we’re back at the steps. Pete decides to turn walking up the steps into a new game. Here’s how it goes: Take one step. Bump hips with Eva. Shout “Nagini!”

Step. Bump. Nagini!

Step. Bump. Nagini!

Well that game lost it’s charm pretty quickly and I had to tell him to knock it off because I was about to throw myself down the 1,000 steps.

Anyways, over an hour later, we had finally found our way back to the Las Bristas lobby, back to the main streets of Ixtapa and back to the condo, dripping with sweat and ready for a nap down by the pool.

This was a trip that should’ve taken us no more than 15 minutes, give or take.


Spotted: The Wicker Park Floozy

5 Jan

Rachel Uchitel: Love addict or professional floozy?

So after Pete and I confirmed that the woman living on the top floor of Pete’s apartment building was, in fact, a real-life mistress (see Lies, Deceit and other thing I love), she had been mysteriously absent from the building. Her car is never there and no one ever sees her walking out and about. It’s strange, since I know she has at least one dog that probably has to go to the bathroom every once and awhile. Maybe she has one of those crazy house trained dogs.

ANYWAYS, the mistress, or as I’ve come to call her, the Wicker Park Floozy, was SPOTTED by my very own boyfriend earlier this week.

Pete was walking home from somewhere and talking on the phone with me at the same time. I was talking his ear off about something critical like my clown phobia or X-Files Season 3 when he suddenly got very quiet.

“Eva,” he whispered. “I just saw them.”

“Saw who? Why are you whispering?”

“The mistress and her man. I was walking into the building and they came up behind me. The guy said, ‘Perfect timing, huh?’ and then they both laughed.”

“Did you slam the door in their faces and run away?”

“No I let them in.”

“Oh ok. That was nice of you.”

So the Wicker Park Floozy is still alive and well. And still floozing, apparently. That’s pretty much all I wanted to say.

Men are hard to shop for: Part II

2 Jan

As I’m sure you’ve been waiting with bated breath, the time has come to reveal my Christmas present to Peter (see Men are hard to shop for: Part I). I got him a 1941 Waltham military watch. Here’s a pic:

I ordered it on eBay, and when I first got it in the mail, I was worried because the face was smaller than I had imagined and I thought it looked too feminine. It also had this terrible tacky expandable metal band (which wasn’t original to the watch). So I asked my dad what he thought.

“It’s nice. Really nice,” my dad said. “But you have to get rid of that band. It looks too femmy. It looks awful.”

So I bought a new brown leather watch band and it did look MUCH better. It turns out that the band was a little too small for Pete’s monstrous wrists, but it’s only $20, so I can get him a new one, no biggie.

Here’s what Pete has to say about the watch:

“I like my watch for four reasons: 1. It’s pragmatic. 2. It’s something I would never buy for myself, but something I wanted. 3. It’s unique. 4. It’s something I can use everyday.”

“And don’t forget number five!” my mom added. “It was gifted with LOVE!”

“Yes,” Pete said. “That’s right. I like my watch for five reasons.”

I, on the other hand, got some super duper awesome Christmas/Hanukkah presents. I don’t want to name them all because they are so awesome you would probably want to rob me or something, but I did get a really cool giant picture frame that I want to hang above my bed but I’m afraid it will fall on me while I’m sleeping and kill me. I also got a baby orangutan named Luna (This is my second venture in international primate adoption. I named my first orangutan Bono.)

And that was just Christmas. I can’t wait to tell you about New Years.


Men are hard to shop for

20 Dec

I want Pete to be this excited about his Christmas gift

I am eternally stumped when it comes to buying presents for the men in my life.

I gave up on my father a long time ago. He’s read every historical novel on the planet, already owns a pair of pajama pants and has a love/hate relationship with Chicago sports. The only gift he’s ever liked from me have been mix CDs so I’ve just been doing that for every Christmas and birthday for the past few years (I do make a mean mix CD).

But Pete, my boyfriend, is a whole different ball game (See Worst girlfriend ever). Over the past year, his gifts have become more thoughtful and I look like an idiot as I continue to present him with stupid and sub-par gifts. Thus far, I’ve received Hunter boots (last Christmas), tickets to the Mariah Carey concert (Valentine’s Day), a mix CD (he beat me at my own game), an apron, flowers at work, flowers at home, a pillow with my dogs embroidered on it (I know, he’s THAT good) and a Netflix subscription.

I’ve given him male grooming products, tickets to the symphony (I fell asleep), a framed picture of the two of us (he says it’s a terrible picture of him), sunglasses and a North Face vest (both of which he picked out).

A few days after Thanksgiving, when Pete and I were driving to meet my family for brunch, he turned to me and said, “Can I tell you what I got you for Christmas?”

“Pete, it’s the day after Thanksgiving.”

“I know but I really want to tell you. I like, REALLY want to tell you. Like REALLY.”

And so I put on a little act and pretended like I didn’t want to hear and that lasted for about two minutes.

He got me…. *drumroll please*… a trip to Ireland.





Suddenly the pair of gloves I was planning on buying him for Christmas seemed pretty lame.

I’ve been scouring the Internet for gift ideas for the past few weeks, hoping and praying that I will not have to resort to gloves from Kohl’s.

“Eva, you don’t have to get me anything,” Pete said after the fourth time I asked him if he was in the market for an iPad docking station made from a recycled wood log.  “I know you don’t have the money and there’s nothing that I really want.”

Well what about a vintage map of Ireland? Or a pair of cufflinks with mini gavels on them? Or a Marc Jacobs iPad case? Or tickets to the symphony again (and I promise I’ll stay awake this time)?

And my mother is of no help. Last year she suggested I buy him one of those souvenir mugs in the shape of a boob and you can drink the coffee out of the nipple.

“Seriously mom?” I said.

“Well, I think it’s pretty darn funny, Eva,” was her reply.

There is certainly a lot of crap in this world but picking the one thing that I hope will make Pete go crazy is very difficult. (I only achieved the level of craziness I’m hoping for one time – it was after the symphony when I bought him ice cream. It was too much sugar for him and he was up until 2 a.m. singing Prince songs and doing weird jazzercise moves. I want him to be THAT excited about a gift from me.)

But – ladies and gentleman – I have something in mind. I ordered it over the weekend and it should be making its way to my apartment right this very minute. I can’t spoil the surprise until next week but I really, really hope it’s Prince-pumping-jazzercise-moves-worthy.

I’ll keep you updated.

P.S. This is Pete after too much ice cream:

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned for Sega

29 Nov

If you know Pete, the following statement will come as no surprise to you: My boyfriend is obsessed with electronics.

He has an iPhone, iPad, MacBook Pro, iPod, PS3, Xbox, Wii, and funky cables to connect them all. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to recreate the perfect storm that brought Kelly LeBrock to life in Weird Science, but it’s hard to be sure.

So over the long Thanksgiving weekend, Pete and I decided to settle in and spend an afternoon on the couch watching movies. While I was walking to the kitchen, Pete asked me to please put the Army of Darkness DVD in his Play Station.

“Ok, but you can’t yell at me like you did last time,” I said. “No yelling ok?”

This is a transcription of the conversation that followed:

Eva reaches towards the Play Station.

Pete: “Take out the video game that’s in there… NO NO NO!! Turn on the PS3, you have to turn it on first!”

Eva turns on the Play Station and safely removes the video game from the system.

Pete: “Ok now put in the new DVD in… SHINY SIDE UP SHINY SIDE UP!!!!”

I have no idea what he’s talking about until I look at my right hand. I was about to put the video game down on the table “shiny side down”. I know, it’s pretty much as bad as putting a baby in the microwave, right?

Eva: “Pete, you said you wouldn’t yell.”

Pete: “I’m sorry, Eva. It’s just that if the video game gets scratched, it won’t work.” [Takes deep breath.] “Can you please hand me the controller?… UNPLUG IT UNPLUG IT FIRST!!!… OTHER END OTHER END NO YELLING!!!”

Pete looks like he is about to go into cardiac arrest. Eva looks like she is pissed because this is exactly what happened last time.

Eva: “Did you actually just yell ‘no yelling’?”

Pete just looked at me sheepishly and apologized. Meanwhile, I mentally noted to never touch any of Pete’s electronics ever again, for fear of death.

I still can’t believe that he yelled, “No yelling”. While he was trying his best to keep his calm, the words that were going through his mind actually came out of his mouth. Thank God that’s never happened to me before.

Do other women feel that video games turn loving, interesting men into senseless, boring puddles of mush?

But more importantly: Am I the only one that gets motion sickness from video games? I feel like that’s the universe’s way of telling me to get off the couch and go for a walk. But maybe that’s just me?

No one cares for you a smidge, when you’re in an orphanage

8 Nov


Mom and Dad: Last seen at Trump Tower on Nov. 1


These are my parents, who I’m pretty sure have indefinitely fled the country. I’m convinced that either my father is running from the mob or my mom told her book club that she hates Candace Bushnell and now the country club moms are out for blood.

Either way, I have not seen my parents in an eternity. Because I work about 15 minutes from their house, I have the opportunity to hang out with them pretty frequently – at least once a week. But lately, the house has been as dead as my soul when I’m forced to watch football.

We briefly had brunch at Trump Tower the day after Halloween but that was the only time I had seen them in weeks.  Granted, my dad travels frequently for work, but now he’s stealing my mom too. First it was Ireland a few weeks ago, then my mom went to Cleveland, now it’s Scotland for a wedding.

I had no idea they were leaving for Ireland until I tried to call the house several times, to no avail. When I complained to Pete, he said, “Oh yeah, they’re in Ireland this week with Caroline [my sister]. Your dad’s on business but he’ll be hanging out with them during the weekend. I believe they’re headed to… Galway? I thought it was somewhere in County Clare.”

WTF? Since when does my boyfriend lunch with my mom?

My mom doesn’t even call me anymore. She sends me and my sisters mass emails of her whereabouts. This was the most recent one: “I’m on my way to Scotland with Dad. We’ll be back on Sun. Call Dad on his cell if you need anything. Also, I’d love your Christmas lists ASAP. Love, Mom.”

TRANSLATION: I’m on the lam with your father. Don’t try to contact me, as “they” have bugged my phone. I’ll be home on Sunday, if I’m still alive. This message will self-destruct in 30 seconds. Love, Mom.

So now that I’m an orphan, I spent the day with Peter’s parents for his father’s birthday. They are great. Seriously kind, generous people who always greet me with a hug and a smile. But they bicker with each other. Not all the time, but over the most random stuff. Like this afternoon, Peter was going to order pizza for dinner from this place called Rosati’s. Peter couldn’t find their phone number online. This is the conversation that followed:

*Note: Peter’s father speaks with a strong Irish accent and his mother with a strong Peruvian accent. In addition, Peter’s father is also named Pete. So any references to “Petey” is my boyfriend. “Pete” is the father.

Petey: Did Rosati’s go out of business?

Mr. M: What are you talking about? I have their phone number in my cell phone!

Petey: But they’re not online. Did they close the Cary location?

Mr. M: No! I’ll call right now. [Dials cell phone.] It’s ringing!..  Hello?… Are you still open? Because my son says you’re closed. … I just want to know if you’re open or closed… OK. Great… No, we’re not ready to order… OK. I’ll call you back when the game is over. [Hangs up.] See, if we listened to Petey we wouldn’t have any pizza for my birthday!

Mrs. M.: Pete! Petey just asked if they were closed!

Pete: Yeah. Dad, I asked you if they were closed. I didn’t state that Rosati’s was closed.

Mr. M: But when you said they weren’t listed on the computer, you were INFERRING that they were closed.

Pete: Dad, you were deducing that from our conversation. I never actually said the words, “Rosati’s is closed.”

Mrs. M: Yes. Pete! You were DEDUCING!!!!

Mr. M: Eva, what do you think? What exactly did Petey say?

Eva: Ummm… I don’t really remember?

Mr. M: Hahahahahahahaha. Eva’s being very political over there. Playing the neutral party. Hahahahahahahaha.

And so on and so forth.

I guess I am adjusting well into my adoptive family because Petey and I bickered the whole way home about whether you run the risk of letting bed bugs into your home by purchasing furniture from Craig’s List.

Also, I’m pretty sure that Zumba is some crazy cult. And I’m drinking the Kool-Aid. I have been doing the dance below from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep: