10 Things I Hate About You: Spain Edition

It has been a month since I published my last post. I sound like I'm at a Post-publishers Anonymous meeting just saying that. All I can say is that my life here has been to great of a mystery to myself to even begin to explain it here. Changes come quickly and new experiences move me from feeling to feeling constantly. But I decided it is time to sit down and make sense of my new life in a few simply compartmentalized subtopics of what I've learned up to now:

1) ODD HOUSE QUIRKS
It is actually offensive to walk around barefoot in my apartment. Like I have to wear flip-flops or slippers at all times. In addition, there are no trashcans in the bathrooms. So if I muster up some garbage during my bathroom stay, I must present it to all during my walk to the kitchen trashcan. Which brings me to my next point. I live with six people and we have a kitchen trashcan the size of my big toe. Maybe if you get a fucking larger trashcan, we won't have to take the trash out 600 times per week.

2) I'M AFRAID I'M GOING TO HATE MY OWN CHILDREN
Like what do you do if you're kid is annoying or a loser or hideous? I know the proper answer: love it anyway. But seriously, becoming a teacher for small children has made me so thankful that I get to say goodbye after an hour-long session and leave their--in most cases with these bourgeoisie folk--nannies to tend to the hideous drooling and complaining. Don't let this lead you to believe that I hate kids, on the contrary, I love kids. I just can't relate to children who don't want to learn and kick and scream at every turn of the page. And then I realize...

3) BAD PARENTS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTAMINATING OUR WORLD WITH SHITTY PEOPLE
Honestly, it's not these kids' fault. They're spoiled brats who don't get a moment of attention out of the day from their own moms and dads. I literally had one kid take off his pants and underwear during our session because his mom left the room and she never shows him any affection. It's totally twisted.

4) SPAIN IS AN 80s REVIVAL, PAULA ABDUL MUSIC VIDEO
How long has it been since you saw a genuine Jheri curl mullet? Now ask me. Oh wait, five minutes ago.

5) SPANISH PEOPLE AREN'T LAZY, THEY JUST DON'T DO ANYTHING ON TIME OR CORRECTLY (hmm, difference? not sure)
My professors generally arrive at class 15 minutes late if they decide to come at all. Everything is closed on Sunday to worship the sweet Lord. Stores shut down to take naps, but they don't have regular hours, it's like actually just whenever the owner wants to take a nap. Like do I need to befriend the owners of the stores I shop at and get on their sleep schedules to go shopping? 

6) DEAR SPAIN, I DON'T CARE HOW HIGH-STRUNG YOU THINK AMERICANS ARE, IT IS PHYSICALLY UNHEALTHY TO EAT DINNER AT 11:00PM

7) FUCK MILITARY TIME

8) DEGRADATION AS A COME-ON TECHNIQUE
Forget whistling and air-kisses, some of these Spanish men have no limits when snarling at me on the street. I actually had a guy break out into applause one night as I was walking to my apartment. Does that work for you psycho?

9) STRANGE OBSESSION WITH HAM HOCKS 
I'm not one of those vegetarians who hates on meat-lovers, but must we display 10 giant pig thighs in the window of every restaurant.

10) FINAL RANT: IF YOU HATE AMERICA SO MUCH, PRODUCE YOUR OWN ENTERTAINMENT
If I close my eyes on a given night in a club in Barcelona, I could actually be transported back into Santa Barbara. I'm talking identical music selection. Rihanna and David Guetta can't be tamed. "Cómo conocí a vuestra madre" ring any bells? Try "How I met your mother." And a movie selection to match. So don't bitch at me about how much my country has fucked up the world. At least you have something to dance to.


Glad that's out of my system, optimist to come!

Oktoberfest..enough said

 The Fairgrounds

 Inside the Tent

 Stein #1!

 The Group

Yumm, the only food I could eat in Germany..

When I asked for a salad,
they said "meat salad"? Not kidding.

 

the societal effects of Catholic oppression

trains, planes, and giant fire hell dragons

Yesterday was my first day of school at the Autonomous University of Barcelona. A big, fatty American fish in a pond of Spanish teens and twenty-somethings. And I am proud to report that the day was a success! So much so that I was floored by the minimal amount of comedic material the day provided me. Despite a class cancellation and a moment of shock when my Barcelonan seat partner, who arrived late to our Spanish Lit class, started whispering to me about sharing my handout, I pulled through with a swagger in my step . This week also marks my first week as an official English teacher! I will be tutoring four days a week for the children of eight families, ranging from four-year-old-adorableness to too-cool-for-after school tutoring-thirteen. I have to say, revisiting colors and the numbers 1-10 every day reminds me that I've actually come a long way since elementary school. It's humbling to know that in a foreign language, my entire education counts for nothing to be translated--that I too would have to go back to colors of the rainbow and counting on my ten fingers to get by.

Additionally, I just returned home (now my reference for Barcelona!) from a week-long adventure to the Spanish island of Mallorca and northern France to visit my family. Mallorca was a beachy paradise, dominated by the over-fifty crowd, with a side of retirement community reminiscent of Florida--a relaxing and beautiful, albeit age-inappropriate excursion that I thouroughly enjoyed. Then I was off directly to Charleroi, Belgium to take a shuttle through Luxembourg to my grandparents near Nancy, France. So essentially, from the old to the older, but I enjoyed spending time with them. After a week of French food, Columbo reruns, and little connection to the outside world, I happily landed back in Barcelona just in time for the end of La Mercè, a weeklong festival of outrageous debauchery and revelry in the streets of Barcelona. I was greeted by a wonderful night with Amanda that started with the Correfoc (a simulation of Hell where citizens covered head-to-toe run through the fire of giant dragons being paraded down the street--translated into the "Little Devils Fire Run"), two bottles of Cava at a restaurant called Orgasmic, a Belle and Sebastian concert held in the street outside the Estrella Damm beer factory, a giant fair, and to top the night off, a Spanish techno rave. Oh what a night.

So in toto, I am now an honest to goodness student at a foreign university, a teacher in a foreign country, and a witness to the entirely insane, borderline illegal celebrations of Spanish pride. PLUS, tomorrow I ship off to Munich for the weekend of wild wickedness that is Oktoberfest! So excited, crazy stories to come I'm sure. Here's a look at a the Fire Run--with sparks, cinders and ashes flying at the crowd, it was honestly too crazy to believe:

just your average legs-and-ass statue

barcelona, spain

lost in frustration

So I have now lived with my roommates for over two weeks. Still only the faintest chance that they might think I'm cool. In class and in everyday conversation, my Spanish is getting quite good and my confidence is perking up like a proud robin; yet as soon as I step into my flat I feel like a 1st grader tripping over basic grammar left and right. Here's a glimpse at the image I've created of myself so far with my highly prideful Catalunyan roomies who already don't like speaking Castellano (the closest equivalent to central American Spanish):

1. When I first moved in, my roommates made me a lovely seafood dinner to welcome me to their home. The first thing I said was, "Estoy muy excitada para vivir aqui," which literally translates to, "I am very horny to be living here." Hopefully they don't think I'm a sex maniac.
2. I share a bathroom with a dude named Josep. Last week I walked in on him taking a shit in the dark with the door open - a completely unacceptable act in my opinion - to which I responded out of nervousness, "¡Mi casa es su casa!" This phrase makes absolutely no sense in this situation, in addition to it actually being his house in the first place. I'm psycho.
3. I ordered a large bed from Ikea to replace the prison brick they had provided me in my room thinking I was dextrous enough to assemble it myself. The instructions were part Spanish, part Dutch, part Michelin Man figurine, so I sucked my roommate Marc in to helping me and it took 2 hours to put together. Now I sleep on a Fjellse bed frame with a Florvag mattress. Of course Amanda and I realized right away why it might be funny that my mattress is called a FloorVag. We laughed for 3 days straight about it. But when I tried to explain to Marc why it was hilarious that I would be sleeping on a FloorVagina, I tripped up on my words, of course, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a bonafide lesbian.

Pictures to come, wish me luck...

welcome to my world

Well here it is-- my very first blog. I've gone my whole life without one, so the question really begs, why blog now? I know you've probably heard this quip before, but I can honestly say that I didn't choose this blog, it chose me. One of my favs Woody Allen once said, "I think being funny is not anyone's first choice." Well Woody, this one's for you, because like it or not, I have spent a larger part of my life sacrificing my self-image for the sake of a laugh. And thusforthly, I have become something of a magnet for the strange and wacky. I attract the odd, I always have, and my heart beats to the rhythm of laughter. All eloquence aside, ridiculously funny things happen to me every day and I am blessed, read cursed, with the ability to find humor in everything around me.

Ok so I'm hilarious. In my element that is. Now back to the reason I need this blog as much as it needs me. I am living in Spain for my senior year of college. As I write this post, I am sitting in my living room overlooking the beautiful, alive, magical city of Barcelona, my home until next July when I'll have to wake up to a world of post-graduate living. I am here because I made a promise years ago to my best friend Amanda Robalin that we would come to this city together and travel and live and learn. Now, we're here. We did it and I am as happy as I could ever be to be sharing this experience with her. We live in very different situations, she with a woman in homestay, and I with a bunch of wild and crazy Catalunyans. I've digressed, seriously now, back to the reason why I have chosen to perpetually update my friends and loved ones on the inconsequential happenings that amount to my everyday existendce. My roommates - 3 Spanish guys, 1 Spanish chick and 1 Swiss girl - think I'm nice and reserved. Nice, I'll take, but the feeling of not being able to express my personality to the people I live with is suffocating. It's one of the biggest challenges of living in a foreign country, and while my Spanish is improving dramatically, I may never be funny to my new friends. I may have to live with being reserved, and for me, that's not enough.

So here it is-- my cathartic attempt at keeping it real. At still being funny and making people laugh. So please, read me, make fun of my nonsensical happenings. Because I may not be crazy/funny in Spanish, but I still have it..