Confused? Have a Sausage

A quick refresher of the key themes of Beccaology 101 follows.

Theme the First: Becca cannot open doors
Those of you who think I am exaggerating have clearly never joined me in a trip to the Lulu or the lockers at MIT. Doors baffle me. Indeed, some of my friends, lets call them Jazinda and Jefff, will actually wait for me to go through a door, certain of a good five minutes of entertainment as I try, and fail, to assert my dominance over an inanimate object. Fortunately, Jazinda and Jefff are dear friends of mine, so I only occasionally dream of removing their eyebrows as they sleep. On a casual note, I know where both of you live. Anyhow, my day began most auspiciously (CAP FTW!) as I stood outside my apartment for about 10 minutes in the snow attempting to lock my door. In my defense, my reasonably sane, dexterous roommate has trouble with this door; I stood no chance. After a show of womanly brute force and several choice words, I managed to lock up and was able to go about screwing up the rest of my day.

Theme the Second: Becca cannot navigate
When I first arrived in Budapest, Stephanie, the aforementioned roommate, told me it was impossible to get lost in the city. A big kiss to the first person to guess what happens next. Answer: I get lost (I win! *Hershey Kiss NOM*). Now that you know the ending, I don't really need to tell you the rest of my epic journey to Tesco (Hungarian for Walmart), except to say that, as of writing this, I still have not been. Also except to say that, for the most part, the city layout is pretty sane: grid layout, with good signage (Bostonians: I KNOW RIGHT! WTF?!). However, at some point L'Enfant came over and cried "Circles! I need more circles!" Next thing you know there are a bunch of inescapable loops, 2.34-way intersections, and nonsensical triangles smashed on top of this nice, orderly grid. And somewhere in there, there is a Tesco.

Theme the Third: Becca has not had healthy food since 2006
Enough about me, let's talk about me at the Mangalitsa Festival, also called the Pig Festival. Yes, Hungarians are awesome and have an entire weekend festival devoted, essentially, to sausages. Why do we not have this in the states? Actually, I guess we do have a pig festival, we just call it the Fox News Company Christmas Party (SNAP!). Anyhow (notice how I always use this when I'm trying to come back from a tangent?), Pigmania! was wonderful, especially when I procured something vaguely resembling white pizza with sausage (of course), a dish I was told (by a most trustworthy sign) was made by "our Hungarian grandmothers," in a time when "low-fat" was a serious medical condition requiring bleeding (this parenthetical aside serves no purpose). The name of the dish escapes me, so we'll call it Heavenly Heart Attack. Seriously, do you remember the old elementary school cafeteria pizza, the greasy Destroyer of Napkins? That stuff had nothing on HHA. My napkin leapt to its slushy, grimy death before I could get it close to my HHA. I had no choice but to carry on without this absorptive aid, subjecting my arteries to murder most FABULOUS. So good! This pig should get an entire month devoted to its slaughter and consumption! Only a will of iron (the stalls were incredibly crowded and my feet were tired) kept me from purchasing an entire marzipan or pastry stall to round out my HHA (round...see what I did there?). I made do with a single hazelnut chocolate and some roasted chestnuts.
It's okay, Mom, you can open your eyes now.
Other highlights of Mangalitsa include many nifty craft stalls, a woman reading what was clearly exciting Hungarian children's poetry (or possibly instructing them all to drink blood and go kill the tourists, not that I would know), and a statue of Anonymus. For the record, this was not any old unknown writer, this was the original Anonymus, unnamed chronicler of something important in Hungarian history that didn't involve Russians. People rub his quill for improved writing, or maybe a chance in the Witness Protection Program. Maybe now my proofs will be legible! Nah.

Lesson the Final: Becca never has appropriate footwear
I am reasonably certain I had feet when I left my apartment this morning...

I was going to give a test, but I left the copies on the other side of a locked door somewhere across town and I'm far too full to move.