María and Venting Within a Historical Context

There are three days until I wing my way to Dublin. Can we chew on this for a moment? It's like the redhead capital of the world (except Scotland has more). Jealous Steph? Jealous? By the way Steph, School is not over by any means. We are halfway done. It's my week-long midterm break. I will spend two days in Dublin, three in Oxford, and 1.5 in London. And they will speak my language.

Moments with María, episode 2:

We are sitting at dinner. The meal is winding down. Ellen breaks apart a piece of bread (like Jesus, aww) and hands me half. I start chewing.

A few seconds later:
María (to me): Eat bread.
Me (with mouth full): What?
María: You never eat any bread.
Me (with mouth full): Yes I do. I eat some at every meal and...
María (interrupting): No you don't. Ellen likes bread more than you. You don't like bread. Eat bread.
Me (with mouth full): I'm eating some right...
María (interrupting): You never eat bread. Eat bread.
Me (with mouth full): There's bread in m...
María (interupting): No...
Me: (at this point, I actually open my mouth and just show her the half eaten piece of bread in my mouth)
María: Oh. Ellen eats more bread than you.

What's more, is that during that meal, I ate two-and-a-half pieces of bread. Ellen ate one-half.

This conversation demonstrates two integral parts of the Spanish/María mindset:

1) Comparisons-Spanish culture is the antithesis of politically correct. María likes to demonstrate her feelings about things by comparing Ellen and I, without any context of the past; that is, she only takes into consideration what is happening right in front of her, without awareness that A) the things compared have no cause-effect relationship or B) they are not normal occurances. Examples include:
"Ellen eats more and is thinner than you."-if Ellen is especially hungry that day
"Ellen likes chocolate, you don't"-if I only eat one piece of chocolate for dessert
"Ellen likes kids, but you hate them"-as Ellen helps at a kids' shelter for a class, and I am not in that class.
"Ellen likes to go places. Why do you always stay at home?"-if Ellen leaves once, and I have to stay and do something else. Etc.
"Samantha always likes to be more done-up than you."-not taking into account that I shower daily and have different hair than Ellen (among other things)
"You're trying to be anorexic."-if one of us is "not" eating very much

These examples also help demonstrate the second point of our interaction with María:
2) The Preoperational Stage of Cognitive Development according to Piaget- Wikipedia (Patron Saint of College Students) states that "The hallmark of the preoperational stage is sparse and logically inadequate mental operations" and that it usually characterizes children "between 2–7 years of age". Children is this stage of development make a common logical error in not only being unable to make logical connections or assumptions by padding observance with context (as demonstrated by María's generalized comparisons drawn from specific and unsual instances), but also in truly, truly believing that if they don't say that it happened, or if they didn't personally witness its occurance, that it did not happen and there will be no way you can convince them otherwise.

This was the problem with María forcing us to eat too much. She wouldn't pay attention to how much food we were taking at a time, or how many portions we were eating. Then, when we were full, she would refuse to believe us when we said how much we had actually eaten, because she did not personally witness it. When she would pay attention she would compliment us on how much we ate, even though we've always eaten pretty constant portions.

However, I think it should be said that I do not think that María has the mental processing of a 5-year-old. María is, I'm sure, one of the best Señoras the program has. She is generous and kind and usually patient and totally understanding and sympathetic. All I'm saying is that there is this one really befuddling part of her logic that Ellen and I cannot understand, but run into often, so we must approximate it and compare it and accept it (and sometimes be frustrated by it). She has been a widow for at least 10 years, and has been taking in American girls for that amount of time as well. I get the impression that most of the girls (at least the more recent pairs) she has mothered did not speak as well as Ellen or me. So she may not be used to having people refute what she is saying. Heck, I know I did a lot of smiling and nodding and agreeing to God-knows-what at the beginning of the semester when I couldn't understand a cotton-pickin' thing she was saying.

Anyway, I hope what I said doesn't come across as snotty or arrogant. That isn't my intention. I'm just trying to give a comparison for people to understand what I run into in my surroundings here. And since most people don't live with possibly-elderly-but-unidentifiably-aged Spanish women, I don't think just saying what I experience really conveys the experience.

Wow. That was lengthy. Sorry.

I do believe, however, that just saying how angry my history test made me, will correctly convey the sentiment. I received a B. Yes, a B is a fine mark. But I did not deserve a B. And what the woman expects from a class of 26 second-language students is absolutely irrational. Knowing how her tests are, I studied for 6 hours for this exam, outlining everything and making sure it was solid in my head. In 50 minutes, we had to answer two long essays, one "medium" essay, and two short answer questions. One of the long essay questions was this: "Explain the medieval city: characteristics, society structure and heirarchy, political organization (this would include everything we knew about the nobility). Talk about artisans and the organization and function of guilds" The medium ditty went something like this: "The Medieval lower class: explain groups and characteristics (there are four distinct groups with long explanations)". In reality, I was answering 3 long essay questions, in my second language, in 50 minutes, and she claimed with all certainty that we obviously didn't study because our answers didn't have enough explanation or detail. I can honestly, honestly say that if my answers didn't have enough explanation, it was not because I did not know the information. It was because I was trying to write at the speed of light so that I could at least answer every question to some point of completion. I was exploding internally while she was talking. I continue to. Are these feelings not valid?

I know I'm overreacting, but it just seems so unreasonable.

On the bright side, we didn't have any tests yesterday. And we learned all the arm movements to all the passes of Sevillanas. Apparently, I'm not very coordinated, but I did get candy out of the deal.

And today, José María giggled like a school girl, so really, the world is all roses.

"This Week: An Autobiographical Tale" by Samantha Olson (author of the hit post "Holy Toledo")

Hey look! I'm a real post! Possibly a real, long post.

I did finally make it through those exams. It's not that they were especially hard, just not placed at an especially good time during the week, and, well, trying to explain, in Spanish, the entire system of a city in medieval Spain or illuminating a painting by El Greco in a very limited amount of time while trying to use accurate grammar and still have legible handwriting can be both difficult and stressful.

After all this mental Hell has broken loose, my weekend has flown by and it's harder and harder to believe (yet more and more a dominating thought) that in less than a week I will be in Dublin, then Oxford, then England. Planning things has never been my forté, and as a certain English bus service continues to reject my credit cards, I'm a little bummed at the prospect of tying up all sorts of loose ends this week before I embark on a journey to the land of A) autumn and B) unabashedly-pasty redheads like me.

I am especially looking forward to wearing a coat and scarf and gloves. I even put them all on this morning while I was organizing my things, just because I fancied the idea. It continues to be unseasonably warm in Seville. Though the calendar continues to insist that it is, indeed, late October, the thermometer continues to carry on with this absurd idea that it is 83° and I find it perfectly disgusting, which, unfortunately, Ellen is entirely aware of as I am constantly noting that it is still very warm and that I do not like it one bit.

I continue to be easily irked with María. I do not like being impatient nor irritated, but I continue to let things push at my buttons. Ellen and I have some trouble understanding her thought processes as there are certain things concerning which we remember having had lengthy, thorough conversations, of which she never seems to have any recollection She also asks the same question several times after it's been answered clearly and emphatically. I know part of this owes to our accents, but sometimes it's just mind-boggling.

We have; however, subir-ed our way up the affectionate nickname ladder to the top tier or "niña" (and by "niña" I mean "hija"). Ellen and I are feeling pretty self-satisfied about that.

Speaking of Ellen and I being self-satisfied: we joined a gym. That's right, I shelled out €66 for two months at a gym really far away, because, to me, it's worth it. They even have a jacuzzi and sauna in each locker room. And, if after you're done exercising, you feel like taking off the amount of time you just added to your life during cardio, you can hop in the tanning booth for 15 minutes.

You can even buy a thong in the thong machine, which appears to be often used by the skeletal woman with almost-opaque exercise pants. It was leopard print.

On the bus home from the gym, some 12-year-old girls in private school uniforms were reading their Elle magazine (which, at least, is not as bad as a 12-year-old girl reading Cosmopolitan), and Ellen and I were off in our own little hemispheres, thinking in Spanish, when I suddenly heard those words: "Ahr yoo Engleesh?" Ellen and I looked up to see 6 tiny heads staring at us intently. "Yes." They giggled. "­¡Muy bien con el inglés chicas!" said Ellen. I think it was only at this moment that it occurred to these girls that we spoke Spanish, and, judging from the looks on their faces, I think it was only at this moment that it occurred to them that we might have been listening to what they had been saying. I'm kind of glad we weren't.

I told the school secretary about it when Ellen and I arrived for Girls' Night (where we watched My Best Friend's Wedding and ate pizza and danced). She said, "English? No. I thought you were German. Or Russian."


Saturday flashed by, and today was Sunday. Ellen and I and many others went to a professional soccer game where our team, Real Betis Balompié, was playing against Racing de Santander. It was extremely warm, and we had pretty awful seats, but it was still a lot of fun. And at least I realized that I remember almost nothing about soccer from middle school gym class.

There was this one part where a questionable call was made, the result being that a Betis player was unfairly ejected from the game. As a player from the opposing team jeered him, the Goalie (Ricardo (Ellen has his autograph)) scooped up the ball carried it over to the opponent and kicked it right into his chest.

I was hoping against hope for a fight. Like a hockey fight. I love hockey fights.

Then Ellen and I came home and we saw the game covered on the news. It was exciting to see the plays we remembered (except, now that it was on TV, from a reasonable, recognizable distance).

Fun fact: Whistling here means "boo" where you people are.

I promise we're almost done and not only can you continue on with life, but I can be that much closer to snuggling into my pistachio green blanket for the night. I just want to leave you with some inspirational words I saw on a very fashion-forward, done-up woman's shirt on the bus, exactly as they appeared.

"DONT TRUST ANYONE
I give you feelings
kiss and sensations
JUST NEED YOU
Revolution of new
EXCEPT ME"

Nothing like a little English nonsense splattered across the torso to make one feel sophisticated. That's what I always say anyway.

I really am having a good time here and believe I am learning a great deal. There are so many blessings in my life that easily evade the blogosphere.

I love you all and I hope everything is going well Stateside/Englandside. It's great to hear from you all!

Too Much Bean Soup. Too Much Spanish.

Ok, now that I've tackled that bohemoth (the three exams)...

Hello.

I don't have much to say, because my mind is made out of bean soup (which Ellen and I have had for lunch four out of the past seven days) after studying so much and writing frantically in scribbled, barely-coherent Spanish.

But tonight is another Noche de Chicas. Ugh. I feel disgusted just writing simple things in Spanish. I think I need a nap.

On Sunday I am going to go to a Betis game, es decir (leaving that), a professional soccer game. Whoa. Almost wrote football there. Sorry guys.

I think I should probably just let my mind cease functioning again.

Whoa Nelly!

I'm taking a moment to pause the blogging whilst I study and partake and three exams and focus on a friend.

Be back soon.

Keep checking. Obsessively.

Intense Virginity

Yesterday Ellen and I went to see the the Virgen de Consolación as she exited the cathedral for some reason unbeknownst to us, but beknownst to a lot of Catholics...we think.
Once we actually found out which door she was leaving from (and yes, it took a long time) we stood and waited as the street crowded and our noses filled with second-hand smoke and dusk fell and a couple near us made out, which is totally normal, because people are inspired all the time to make out during Catholic ceremonies...right? Right? Anyway, we waited until it finally happened. The doors opened and the procession began. I would tell you all about the procession, but I couldn't see most of the people. I do know they were wearing fancy clothes and carrying fancy staffs and golden crosses and going very slowly. Then we saw her, the wooden icon upon her golden chariot. She was impressive and surrounded with candles.
By the way, I'm not intending to be sarcastic. Some rites of Catholicism are confusing to me, especially since the majority of the culture here observes Catholicism for the sake of cultural institution in place of any belief. Anyway, she was impressive...and getting closer...and closer...and closer...until the crowd pushed back so hard that I was pretty sure I was either going to be trampled by the be-camera-ed and be-cellphoned spectators who were unwilling to budge or that I was going to be run down by the virgin herself.

And then, at the last moment, she turned and went on her merry way...except I think she was the sad virgin Mary, the Mary after Jesus was crucified. I don't know...

Yeah. Maybe I should read up on Catholicism.

It was all just very...intense.

As for today, it was a Monday like many Mondays before. I learned the last paso de Sevillanas (just the feet) and we all wore flamenco dresses which function as portable mini saunas. Our instructor lives near Ellen and me and wants us to come over some time. I'm pretty pumped.

Venting/story time:

Lately, I've been a little culture-sick, which is like home-sick, but instead, sick for the culture in general. María mistook the fact that I wanted to be alone for a few hours as me being mad at her and disatisfied with her señorahood.

When this emotion came to the surface during lunch today, I had the monumental task of explaining that I come from an idependent culture and family and sometimes, I just need to have time to myself to process things. She didn't understand, citing that I spend a lot of time with Ellen and that Ellen is a person and why don't I want to be with Ellen, and that if I don't want to be with Ellen, I can study in the other room etc. to which I responded that it wasn't Ellen that was a problem but being surrounded with so many unfamiliar people and places all the time. This only confused her more, so I assured María that it had nothing to do with her (though, in truth, she is a large part of the Spanish culture I experience). Then I said off-handedly, "I think you wouldn't be confused if we spoke the same first language, I just can't express myself perfectly, just know that it's not your fault and don't worry yourself."

María misunderstood and said, "No, no, no, you shouldn't speak English, you're here to learn Spanish. You should be happy to speak Spanish."

I looked at Ellen. Ellen tried her hand. She too was unsuccessful, but somehow we all arrived at what seemed to be a happy agreement that María could not understand, and I could not sufficiently express myself (though I thought I made admirable work of it) and thinking that that had taken care of the problem, I watched her walk into the kitchen and was giving Ellen a just-between-us look of utter exasperation when María reentered, sat down next to me, smacked me a few times in the arm and said, "Don't be mad at me. Are you mad at me?"
All I could do was laugh. "No, I'm not mad at you at all."
"Good," she beamed, slapping a bar of chocolate on the table (like a reward for not being mad). "You're just sad because you're fighting with your boyfriend
"Um, no I'm not. He's fine."
"You're not fighting? Then you miss him. That's it."
"Well, no, I'm ok. He's in Canada on vacation right now."
"Then you must be stressed out from homework. That's why you're upset."
"No..."
And so on and so forth. The debate and inquisition rages on.

That's two Marías I don't understand.

I'm not mad or discouraged. It's life as usual in Spain. And though I have felt impatient with María at times, or have been seething with resentment because I can't blowdry my hair the way I want to (without socks on) or not drink the last bitter sip of my tea or handwash my favorite shirt--it builds up, ok?--I know that I will settle back in and have, in fact, already begun to do so.

So life continues.
And I'm glad it does.

God is good all the time.
Sometimes I'm just too self-involved to stop and remember it.

Christopher Columbus Delivers a Good Weekend.

This weekend has been the most fun I have had so far in Spain. It has been what I have been craving.

On Friday, we had the day off as the Spaniards are a big Columbus fan and have a nationally celebrated holiday in his honor. I'm pretty sure the biggest part of the holiday was that the prince was wearing a uniform.

I spent the majority of Columbus day lounging around in my PJs, but at about 5:00 (17:00), I decided that enough was a enough, put on some nice clothes and set out to do...something...anything. I ran into Steph on the bus, and as she was on her way to meet her Intercambio (language exchange partner) at Puerta Jerez, I accompanied her until she reached her destination (internet cafe) and I reached mine (a bench with a book).

After accomplishing objective G from my previous post, I got up and walked around. On my way back, I saw Stephanie meeting her Intercambio Lourdes, who was accompanied by her sister, Blanca. Two Spaniards against one American is unjust, so I joined them. We simply walked around the city talking about movies and music and whether or not Wentworth was a common American name or not and planned another get together.

Then Steph and I headed to the Plaza de España for Ellen's brainchild: the cheap picnic. It was so much fun. We sat there, Steph, Ellen, Amy, Tamara, Katie and I eating our bocadillos on the steps as we watched the world pass, talked, and generally stuffed our faces.

Then we headed to the cultural fair in the park where we browsed the mini-shops and saw thong-bikini clad, oily Brazilian women shaking around like strippers for family entertainment and, most importantly, partook in desserts. I opted for the 3 euro tiramisu. It was worth every centimo.

After the night was over, we all decided that we had much to much fun and that we should do the same again...Saturday. So we did.

Saturday we grabbed our bocadillos and sat by the Guadalquivir, munching on goodies that had been sent in care packages from home (barbecue chips and twizzlers) and sharing the homemade apple pie that Ellen and I (mostly Ellen, I just peeled and cut the apples) made earlier during the day. We watched the fish jumping out of the water in the river and talked about everything girly and then, after a long time and an entire bag of twizzlers, headed over to Rayas for ice cream where all of us almost died from a severe bout of deliciousness.

And then I walked home. I love walking.
And then I slept. I love sleeping.

And now I need to write a composition. :(

So bye and thanks for reading and commenting! I feel blessed knowing that there are people who care enough to keep up even when I'm living in countries so strange that there are bidets in the bathrooms.

Unimportant Realizations and Resolutions

This is my snaggle-toothed heart-breaker. Don't judge. It's not a very flattering angle.

Ok, I am going to disregard my current upset-ness as regards my disappeared European converter and instead focus on the fact that I have had a good week.

Things I have decided:

A: The next time I catch a woman staring at me on the bus, I am going to have a little fun; meaning I am going to wink at her.

B: José María and Carmen are two of my top teachers of all time. They are amazing at la enseñanza. Amazing. They make you understand things and have fantastic senses of humor and know exactly what they're talking about.

The other day, Carmen was explaining the difference between a "bata" (robe) and an "albonoz" (bathrobe). When Britton asked, "¿Una bata puede ser 'sexy'?" ("Can a robe be sexy?") Carmen replied in a low throaty voice, "Puede," raised her eyebrows, winked at the class, and then began laughing this deep, Spanish laugh. It was pretty great.

Today, José María began to deliver on his promise to refer to "McBeth" as much as possible, as we discovered last night (which I will detail in a moment) that he is actually quite capable to saying "McBeth" and not sounding like farm fowl. Now it's less like, "quack, quack" and more like "Mahk-Bayth". We are all so proud.

C: I am going to go to an authentic, insane, European soccer game.


Now that that moment is over...

So far this semester, my theater class has been discussing seeing a play written by Federico García Lorca, but the play we had chosen happened to be the same day as a wedding of one of José María's relatives, so instead we opted to bear witness to an interpretive dance to Lorca's collection of poetry, "Romancero Gitano" (Gypsy Romance).

I went in fully expecting weird lights and spandex-onesie clad art students with dark makeup snapping and making googly-arms while someone read poetry in a lame beret, but what I got instead was amazing authentic flamenco music, singers, and some of the best professional dancers in the country who interpreted the poems by performing the significance of the poem in dance while it was sung by an amazing flamenco cantante. This "play" included the most famous female flamenco dancer in the south of the country and a man who danced to the point swimming his own pool of sweat and spraying sweat from his sopping hair when he did quick turns. He was own, proper sprinkler system.

And then, at the end of the dance, they killed him with fake daggers so that he could go off stage and collapse in a heaping pile of well-earned exhaustion, I'm sure.

Yeah. It was amazing.

And there was definitely a stripping nun in there somewhere.

I'll leave you thinking as you wish on that.

Most people are probably unaware of what my plans for break are. I know I've mentioned that I am going to England, but I think I've neglected to say that I have bought tickets and reserved hostals and that I am, in fact, going to be spending two days in Dublin, Ireland as well before winging to London and busing to Oxford and that I am going to go see Spam-a-lot in London as well.

We have another three day weekend this week (today is my Friday) and I fully intend to...

A: Go to a bar on Reina Mercedes.

B: Go out for tapas.

C: Buy more postcards.

D: Figure out how to send postcards and packages here.

E: Eat crazy ice cream

F: Sign up for a gym

G: Finish my book

H: Finish this blog entry...

One thing down, seven to go.

PS. My history teacher is telling us about what she did when she went to Chicago, and through lots of circumlocution and description, we've figured out that, from a suggesting list her student gave her for her visit, she ate a corn dog, deep-dish pizza, went to Water Tower Place, ate at the Cheesecake Factory, ate ColdStone (describe as "an ice cream store where they mix things together in front of you" except in Spanish), went to a White Sox game where there were fireworks, ate Crispy Creme donuts, ate actual breakfasts (pancakes, hashbrowns) etc. She loved the food and the American schedule and was happy that everyone was smiling at her and now whenever Spaniards say anything bad about Americans, she tells them they're wrong.

Adorable.

PPS. We spent 10 of 50 minutes talking about history. That's the way to end a week.

Santo Toledo

This weekend I went to Toledo for art class. I hardly enjoyed it, but that was my fault. Toledo está in a far more beautiful part of the country than is Seville; however, the steep-isimo hills that the city is built on do begin to weigh down on the feet after a while. I was also quite, quite tired, having only slept 4 hours and then having ridden the bus for 5 or 6 without being able to catch z's despite trying my darndest to do so. Of course, being sleepy doesn't change the fact that Toledo is beautiful, only my abilities to care that it's beautiful. There I was, standing next to Don Quixote windmills in La Mancha, or walking around a monastic cloister, or standing in a Gothic cathedral looking at a painting by El Greco, recognizing that it is wondrous and ancient and beautiful and still being totally unable to pay attention because mentally, all I was interested in was some rest.

In fact, this picture is an excellent illustration of all I was interested in doing in Toledo. The other outstanding citizen in the photo is Kelsey.

I was also exceedingly interested in crying, as lately, I've been missing a little bit of me time. Privacy is hard won in Spain. It's not that people are constantly asking about your personal life...they don't...at all. It's that it's hard to find time to be alone. And after not having time to be alone and collect and process, well, one begins to feel...alone. Like you are surrounded with people, totally unaware of who you are and keenly aware that they haven't an idea of who you are either.

I don't know, perhaps that was pure gibberish. Made sense to me.

Then I talked to Tyler on Skype and I felt better.

Quite possibly, my favorite part of Toledo was Pepe (seen here). I love the dogs here in Spain. Many of them appear quite vacant, but all appear ernest and spunky. Pepe was no exception: entirely vacant, entirely spunky, entirely Pepe. Although, in truth, his name is not actually Pepe (unless the goddess of coincidence is smiling upon me).

Pepe appears to spend most of his day at a bar in Toledo, eating scraps off the floor around half-smoked cigarettes while his owner pours a pint from behind the counter and some curmudgeonly old bachelor complains about politics. Yes, this dog is a regular at a bar.

Welcome to Spain.

I saw Pepe inside the bar, and when his owner saw me eyeing his pet, he pointed at me, said something to the dog, and Pepe obliged, calmy strolling outside and standing in front of me so that I could scratch his ears.

He did not remember me the next day as he calmly weaved around tourists during what I'm sure was his daily constitutional. He was not to be bothered.

Anyway. The point is, Pepe made me happy.

What does not make me happy is this scraggly, adorable, snaggle-toothed, possibly-homeless dog that sits outside the apartment complex every day apparently with the sole purpose of making Ellen and I feel broken-hearted.

Hmmm. Perhaps instead I ought to think about how José María sounds when he says McBeth. It's comparable to "quack, quack" and as I love ducks, that's fine with me.

In closing, here is a video, courtesy of Ellen, of Carmen telling us about something in the cathedral. Spanish is so commonplace to me now that I am surprised when people don't understand it (speaking it is very different, of course) . Then again, Carmen speaks pretty clearly for us, whereas María tends to drop the second halves of words all over the place. Apparently Sevillan Spanish is one of the hardest to understand.

I had my own video, complete with examples of everything Carmen was discussing or explaining, but apparently I don't understand the camera I'm using here and ended up taking a picture of Kelsey's legs. Whoops.

Nevermind. I can't get it to work. Some other time perhaps.

I hope everyone is doing well over there in the New World.

And yes, Columbus Day does merit a day off here.

Fin.

Mullets, María, Markets, 'n' More

Seville is a city of ancient wonders and forward thinkers. Perhaps, this juxtaposition of past and future is best seen in fashion. And by fashion, I mean hairstyles. And by hairstyles, I mean the astonishing and atrocious amount of mullets that exist here. Not only do they exist in abundance, they play out in somewhat awe-inspiring variations. Examples: the beginner's baby-mullet-mohawk, the elusive fohawk-mullet-double side rat tail (a masterpiece seen today), and finally, the ever-coveted mullet-dreadlock-with bangs combo (a popular choice for the mass transit citizen on the go).

Seville does nothing half-way, not even the revived 80's fashion.
The women even walk around in multi-colored leggings like they are regular pants; that is, without a skirt over them.

I should start a series on here called "Moments with María". Here is the pilot episode.

Elena y yo: María, tú eres...

María (sonreyendo con orgullo): ...la mejor. Sí, lo sé. Todas las chicas dicen esto.

Translation-

Ellen and I: María, you're...

María (smiling with pride): ...the best. Yes, I know. All the girls say so.

Here's one for the credits:

María: Ellen, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah (you guys don't appreciate the Spanish anyway)

Ellen: Yes, good...(María exits, Ellen looks at me with her "I do not know what I just agreed to, translate for me" face)

Me: You need to wear socks while you blowdry your hair so you don't get electrocuted.

Ellen: Are you serious?

Me: Yes.

Ellen: (laughs silently)

I went to the gypsy market again on Saturday, where I encountered dwarf bunnies. These weren't like the bunnies in the USA that are scared all the time. These were tiny bunnies that sat in your hand and cuddled against your fingers as though they could be your best friend if you would just carry them home for an as-yet-undetermined sum of money.

It made me realize that I miss pets a lot. So Mom, you best be growing Ernesto big and fluffy and cuddly for when I get home. And maybe you could tape cotton balls to Roberto to give him a bit more cushion for snuggling.

At the market, I also witnessed some excellent shirts:
"SUSHI love"
"SHOT BURRED TRASH"
and, I also saw a charasmatic pair of ballet flats that had an all-over print of the phrase "no FOOD samples"

Speaking of Gypsies, I need to give a 50-minute presentation on the Spanish Roma on Thursday and take a theater exam.

I got my grade on my Art History exam. 97%. Carmen said she was really proud of us and wished that Spaniards could express art the way we did. Eat that second language.

I forgot something.