Fulfilment, Fulfilment

Hey, look at me. I'm updating.

As I write I am sitting on a newly washed mint green comforter. A new season, a thicker blanket. Not that I have ever minded blankets.

I am officially going to England for my fall break. And I have a partner in crime. Her name is Kelsey. She's nifty. We plan on passing time in Oxford, as she also has a friend studying there and a couple of days in London, and perhaps some time in Madrid as well. Travelling is quite a bit of work. We need to decide which busses to take, which planes, we need to research prices and buy those tickets ASAP, and what's more $34 is only £16 pounds (insert sad face here). But hey, they speak English, and we can show everyone our amazing Sevillanas skillz at the pub.

No.

Last Saturday, Ellen, the aforementioned Kelsey, a girl named Katie, and I went paddleboating on the Guadalquivir. We intended to go kayaking, but were unable to find the mysterious kayak rental store.

On our way back to the paddleboat rental, just after the other girls took an innocent swim in the river, I noticed a man headed down the steep bank towards the river. He looked suspicious. He stood for several minutes holding his hands awkwardly at his hips, when (I think it was me) said, "He looks sketchy. I think he's going to flash us." Everyone else observed him on the hill, awkward holding his royal blue, elastic waist windbreakers. Just after I suggested they calmly turn their heads, and just after I said I would keep an eye out, I looked up to see that he had indeed "dropped trow" and was standing on the riverbank, awkwardly postured, in broad daylight, exposed and vulnerable to the world. I managed to be extremely unobservant and looked away nonchalantly.

I say nonchalantly, because really, what's new about being flashed? That is so two weeks ago.

But yes. That's twice. In a month.

As we walked back up towards the bus stop, dressed in athletics (so obviously American) some 14 year old boy decided he was Casanova and made a kiss at us, saying, and I quote, "I love you all night long," except his accent made it sound more like, "Ah luv yuh, ol naught long."

This is why we dress like Spaniards.

I took two tests on Monday. My grammar test went well, and I received an A, if barely (I am continually discouraged in my encounters with the past tense). And my history test...well...let's just say I'm glad grades don't transfer because I misunderstood a word and consequently only answered one-fourth of the essay. I also absolutely knew all the information to ace the essay, too.

I'm trying very hard not to let the idea get to me that I am going to take a bad grade, not for any lack of knowledge on my part, but because of one misunderstood word. So far, I am not very successful.

Today I took an art history test. If I didn't do well on it, it's not because I couldn't have explained the architecture better, it's because time was very limited. My hand didn't stop moving that pen once during class. We had to view pictures of Muslim architecture and describe each in ten minutes with a detailed essay that would begin with something like this:

Estamos viendo la cúpula de la capilla Villaviciosa en la mezquita de Córdoba. Es de arte califal y del siglo X durante el reino de Al-Hakan II. De abajo a arriba, puedes ver a la izquierda un granarco de herradura dentro un granarco lobulado con sus propias dovelas del estilo típico, es decir, con partes rojo de ladrillo y partes blancos de piedra decorada de ataurique alternativamente. Arriba es....bla, bla, bla...

Want to know how many grammar mistakes I just made?

I don't.

Was there anything else to write about? I don't remember.

And that excuse is good enough for me.