It Is My Half Birthday.

Today the health people are coming to inspect the restaurant so our boss (my ex-boss) asked Sophie to work for a couple more days, because she has all the documents filled out and such (aka the HIV incident) and she agreed because she is nice. Therefore, I am not allowed to hang out with Sophie at work just in case the health people think I work there, So I'm just kind of bumming around, reading and writing this blog and staring off into the distance when I realize I don't have the attention span for either. This internet is costing me a pretty penny right now so you're welcome, people, you betta read this.

Two nights ago, we went out, and around that time - I-need-delicious-fried-food-or-I-am-just-going-to-lose-it-o'clock - Sophie and I made our way to our favorite drunk eatery: Mezza. (PSYCH, sorry dubliners, I wish) It's actually called Porky's. It is a small hole in the wall gyro place that offers way too much food with staggering variety to be any good. They specialize in gyros and fries. Their logo is on the wall opposite the restaurant, separated by an alley that opens up into the main square. The logo is a jolly pig cooking up, well, himself wearing an apron with 'Porky' written on it. Inside, amidst the pictures of the food that sit below the menu is another pig eating. This pig drawing is much more realistic, with defined eyes instead of just pupils and an actual snout instead of just two vertical ovals. The pig on the outside logo looks like what Porky from inside the restaurant would see were he were to eat psychadelic mushrooms and take a peek in the mirror. Anyway, when we arrive Sophie immediately begins calculating all the visible ingredients and prices, deciding what she wants. To call her a kid in a candy store would be a gross understatement.

Sophie: That - I want that.
Lady: Turkey?
Sophie: No, that - egg.
The woman is confused. Sophie is adamant. She wants the hard boiled egg and is poking at the glass in front of if vigorously. The woman takes issue with this. This egg is raw. She cannot communicate this through her broken English. Sohpie points again. The lady holds up the egg. Sophie rolls her eyes in exasperation and relief. Yes, she says, that. Give me that, please. At this point I start to wonder whether the egg is cooked of not, so I snatch it from the lady real quick and try and spin it on the counter, which is a way to tell if an egg is hard boiled or not judging by how it spins. Another lady, older and probably the manager, does not approve of my "wreckless" egg spinning and grabs it from the counter, yelling in Greek and glaring at me before I am able to read the test results. I actually don't even remember which spin means it's hard boiled, but I thought I did at the time. I was indignant at this woman's lack of faith in me and glare back at her. Then comes an angry and confused silence. The two ladies are stock still, staring at us. Sophie and I are both swaying a little, exchanging glances at each other and back at the ladies.

Old Lady: Raw. It's raw.
Lady: I cook?
Sophie nods. While we wait a line forms just in time to see Sophie's fried egg delivered in a french fry container and watch her devour it. Success.

After work yesterday, Sophie and I went back up to the village to watch the USA World Cup game at Fun Pub. Fun Pub is a Pub that is Fun. There were about 100 or so people there and seven screens. Both big screens were playing the England game, along with four of the small screens, leaving the 20-25 Americans to crowd around one television to watch the United States vs. Algeria. There were mostly England supporters but a good amount of Americans came out to watch the game, especially considering how unimportant soccer is to us in the States. Honestly, it was such a great time. There were collective gasps and cheers happening the whole time, coming from both the England spectators and us. All of us were so giddy when we scored, and since it happened so late in the game, we were basically on our feet hugging and chanting 'USA!' until the game ended. It was obnoxiously American, but hey, it's what we do. Plus it was a win in soccer, which is rare enough to freak out about it. Now we're top seeded in the group. These Aussies and Greeks better prepare themselves for relentless shit talking today, just saying.

Afterwards, we were trying to decide whether to stay af Fun Pub and watch the movie playing on the big screen, or go home and rest up to go out. We were informed that the movie playing was the new Karate Kid. This was an obvious choice. The copy ended up being bootleg, but it didn't stop us or the other three people who sat down for the movie from sticking it out and watching. For all of you wondering, that movie is the shit. I fell asleep for the middle of it, so I didn't get to watch Will Smith's son grow as a Kung Fu athlete or into a responsible young man, but I got to watch some kick ass martial arts performed by 12 year olds. It was righteous.

When the movie ended, we headed home to nap before going out. What ended up happening was that we went to bed at 10:30, sleeping through our midnight alarm. I am well rested.

Things I've Noticed:
1. A full grown Pitbull running towards you after a small toy looks identical and as equally terrifying as a Pitbull, teeth bared and frothy mouthed, charging to maul you to death. Either one of these scenarios produces the same reaction from a human.