Accidental Spanish

I always surprise myself at the things I manage to do in Spanish, on accident. I managed in the last two days to reset my phone to have sound for everything except text messages and my alarm. Which only took two days of waking up four minutes before class to figure out. I have successfully turned the sound back on (after going through every single function and option on my whole phone) but am yet to figure out the text message alert issue. I also managed to order a chocolate cone with my ice cream on accident, however that one ended up being the best mistake I have made in a while.

I am also, as I have previously noted, astounded by my ability to fall over. I was walking to go nanny the little girl that I am supposed to be teaching English, despite her distaste for the language, and was leaning out to decide if I was going to be quick enough to walk infront of a car and make it to her house on time, when instead of just leaning, I full on dove into the middle of the road. Blaming my jeans seems like the most logical solution. The first time I tripped in these jeans, I was walking to work sophomore year of high school (yes, I have had these jeans far too long I know) and it was December so I don't know what I was thinking wearing my new cowgirl boots in a blizzard, but I saw my boss from FM Lights and in the process of turning around to tell him hello and make a great impression, I caught the toe of my boot on the edge of the sidewalk and ended up sprawled on the sidewalk with a new hole in my jeans and a bleeding knee.

Yesterday's trip was just about that quality, except that instead of just ripping my jeans, I re-ripped the same exact spot so now the hole is three inches wide and was a little window of pain and blood. When I showed up to nanny, the little girl spent five minutes on her fake phone callin "my doctor" to get me an appointment right away. She then told me I had to leave right away because I was broken. She is more determined not to learn English than Roo would be to learn how to sit still for longer than 15 seconds. For those of you who don't know Roo, he is our dumpster meth rescue puppy. If that doesn't explain it, nothing will.

Now I have to show you how amazing my friend Lizzy is when it comes to philosophies. This is her latest wisdom:

Average frat guy:

-Excessive amount of polos in wardrobe.
-Sperrys.
-No respect for women.
-Learn about respect for women in pledge classes, but don't act on it.
-Play sweet, caring, but in all actuality do not give two shits unless you sleep with them
-love having multiple women at all times.
-Feel they're entitled to better girls because they are in a frat.

So anyway, I felt that was necessary to share with everyone. I was super worried when I came to Spain that I would be friendless and a freak upon returning. After enough conversations about future cuddle dates and slightly questionable sleepovers that will happen, I am now 100% sure that I have the perviest, funniest and unescapable friends a girl could ask for. Which is a relief because it makes being over here a lot easier.

I have been thinking about my blog and about the fact that in general, mostly I just talk about how ridiculous life is. So I am going to try to go find more exciting things other than falling off of sidewalks so that I can keep you better entertained. I also want to make an ongoing list of restaurants I go to, travel tips, and general "if you are going to Spain you need to know this" type of info. That way, if anyone other than my ever loyal family and the girls I peer pressure into reading this with threats reads this trying to learn about Spain they will find it useful. That will be my New Years resolution. Maybe this year, I'll make it happen. Starting a little early.

PS. I love Josh Tuner. And I found country radio online. So that is my new obsession. I will also have to post a page on where to watch tv, listen to radio, etc online in Europe. My to-do list is huge, which is exciting :)

Things not to do in public.

There are a few things that you should never do in public:

1. Makeout in bus stops. The teenagers here have no where else to make out, it seems, because bus stops seem to be the place to get some action.

2. Read Chelsea Handler's books, or anything comical. People really are quite unaccepting to a person snorting and laughing continuously while reading. I learned this while laughing in a bus stop by two hormone induced 12 year olds who found my uncontrollable laughter to be a bit disturbing during their pre-mature makeout. The fact that they are younger than my sister wasn't the issue, just my disruption.

3. Lie on the ground in order to take a picture of the very tall church. Erin, who happens to be just about the tallest girl I know, and who I am determined to force into a modeling career, accomplished this, took a fabulous picture I am sure, and managed to get more glares than Josh McDaniels will get next time I get around to being able to watch a Broncos game.

As for an update on Spain: I just got back from a weekend in Salamanca. If you are ever in Spain, please go there. I have only been to a few places so far, but Salamanca is amazing. We got up Friday morning and our little ma had gone off for her weekend of sun-tanning in the Canary Islands while we packed every possible piece of clothing to freeze in Salamanca. We spent the afternoon walking around and I can proudly say that I resisted the urge to blow through all my Christmas money at H&M. That place is torture if you don't go with the no touch policy. Which I didn't. My theory is that if you walk through a store, you can look at anything you want, and as long as you don't physically touch it, you won't fall madly in love to the point of not being able to survive, breathe, live without it. Luckily for me, I grabbed the wrong size of everything I wanted. I hate trying things on in stores. Mostly because, due to being closely related to an ice cube, I wear excessive amounts of clothing everywhere I go. So in H&M I spent more time taking off my scarf, jacket, Lululemon jacket, hoodie, long sleeve and tank top than I did trying on the wrong size of the two sweaters I wanted. And after putting my tank top, long sleeve, hoodie, Lululemon jacket, normal jacket and scarf back on, there was no way in hell I was going to try to find the right size.

We decided that instead of freezing to a slow and icy death walking around to find dinner, we would go on a grocery adventure and have a picnic. Which meant that I bought a package of chedder cheese after having a nervous breakdown from excitement that they have cheedar cheese here, and a bottle of wine. Halfway through dinner and a sip into the wine, playing country music seemed like a fabulous idea. Which immediately lead to homesickness, depression over the lack of country boys avaliable in the world, and a sever increase in the rate of wine consumption.

Saturday morning we went on a walking tour of Salamanca. We saw a wall with a tiny frog carved into the head of a skull (I would tell you why, but I think that all the shivering hindered my ability to understand Spanish because it sounded like she was saying something about it being a sexual symbol and frankly, there's nothing sexy about a frog unless it turns into Prince Charming, Johnny Depp as a pirate, or Easton Corbin.) I'd go into extensive detail about the churches but I really can't describe them in a way to do them justice so I'll put some pictures up. Along our first walking tour Friday, Gloria had pointed out the top places to eat in Salamanca. So of course, throughout the entire Saturday tour I was salivating and fanatsizing about everything I was going to eat as soon as the tour was over. I am slightly ashamed to announce that I had McDonalds for lunch that day, because I am certain it was not on the list of the best places to eat. However, we went to the top bakery and I had "Natta con fremguesas" or however you spell it, which was basically like a block of cream with raspberry on top. I was pretty sure that I had been given an early birthday present by God when I ate it. I then began scheming how to seduce the man working there so that he would marry me and we could have kids to run the store and feed me natta con frembuesa every day of my life. But between the fact that he lives in the coldest place ever and the possible child slavery suit that would ensue, I decided against seducing him.

One thing that I have never been able to accept or appreciate is porcelain dolls. Whoever thought those things were a cute replication is incorrect. I am certain that there is nothing creepier than the pale little faces that have huge staring eyes. Lucky for me, the art museum was stocked full of tiny fake humans that would form a very effectively terrifying army if they came alive. The art museum is definitely worth skipping if you end up in Salamanca, unless you have a passion for dolls, in which case please keep that to yourself so I don't think about them every time I see you.

Stop two of the food excursion was the legendary Spanish hot chocolate and churros. I would happily clog every artery and every part of my body if it meant that I could eat churros continuously for days on end. The chocolate is not not not for drinking though, let me warn you. If you want hot chocolate like the milky goodness do not order chocolate con churros. Because I am fairly positive that they melt lots of chocolate bars and think it is hot coco. However, it is better than coco, so just be prepared that if you drink it, your going to feel like you are drinking a yogurt only warm.

America is a little behind on their drinking styles. Here, when you buy a drink, you get a free "pincho" or baby appetizer. The chorrizo in Spain is probably my favorite thing ever. People keep asking me what I like the most and what I have been doing here; I eat, and eat, and sit and wait to eat, and then eat more. That is honestly all I do. I will go to school and sit and think about what I will eat when class is over. I come home and eat and then sit and think about what we will have for dinner. In between, I go on runs or walks or do homework, but am planning what I will eat as a reward for being so motivated and doing work. That's my other problem: when I work out or run, I immeditely feel like I deserve a prize, like a Regma ice cream or three donuts.

This weekend I was exposed as the number one person most likely to "snatch" a baby. Erin found me the perfect basket for snatching one in. I would be all down for snatching them and keeping them to cuddle with whenever I wanted, except that then they cry and need food and are irritating after about an hour, so as my Aunt Jeni said, babysitting works as great birth control. I'll keep it for an hour and that's it, thanks.

After our pinchos and drinks we went back and motivated and went out to meet Kim's friend named Brad, who introduced us to his friend Emily who it turns out lived with my host mom in August. So we of course swapped food opinions and discussed the fact that our feet hang over the end of the beds. Then we began a trek around Salamanca to have the traditional drinks. I decided that the possibility of freezing to death was too great to be too crazy, so we skipped the Green Devil shot of Absenth and cannibus, and instead had BJs and then moved on to a bar that serves "agua de Valencia." If vodka, champagne and fanta are water to those people, then I am sure that they are on the same level as Ke$ha brushing her teeth with Jack. (If you are bored or want to watch a very hilarious video about Ke$ha, here you go: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOYMU15bjlA)

Sunday morning I somehow managed to get to the market with Erin and Tess, and discovered that regardless of the nation you are in, you will find some old man waving a bible and yelling at you to get saved. All I had to tell him was I was proud of myself for saving my money and resisting from buying a cow print suit case and that maybe Jesus will give me one for Christmas, but I didn't know how to say that in Spanish unfortunately. I know God loved me when Erin and I went to get a quick lunch at the bar next to our hotel following our market exploration, because when we walked in, Harry Potter 6 was on TV. I took it as a temporary high five from God about resisting the cow bag, and as another early birthday present.

Now I have to do a quick update about the Thanksgiving in Spain. I was the only person in Spain who managed to get past their mother and out of the house without tights on. Not completely volunteerily since my tights were in the wash, but I now know why Spanish mothers yell at you to put on more clothes: you never know how you will get home, and if you end up walking, you will freeze your behind off. Which is just what I did. That is also why anyone who knows me or anyone from Colorado knows not to wear heels. But again, that is what I did. The dinner was fabulous, they had warm yummy soft bread and potatoes that were a little past the mashed and closer to the mush stage, and a little precious turkey we named Henry. The pumpkin pie was an adventure... it was covered in chocolate and was more similar to the inside of a pumpkin you take out before carving it. But I was a happy camper because despite the slight sketchyness, I escaped Thanksgiving without crying or being homesick. Other than on the walk home at midnight in a cocktail dress and heels, when I was really wishing I could call my daddy and make him come get me. Not that he'd have ever been pleased if I needed a ride due to a fashion desire to wear a dress in the middle of winter, but still. (Side note: just read that Steamboat has a foot of snow. If I tried walking home in a foot of snow in a dress, I am fairly sure my dad would laugh and then hopefully have pity on me and come get me.)

I can proudly look back at the last five days and say that I ate just about everything possible and successfully made it to all the famous places to eat, as well as the famous churches, museums, schools and buildings in Salamanca and now just have to find the same level of motivation I have for eating in order to finish the last three weeks of school before I go to Sweden. Time to get busy :) but also, time to start the excessive listening to of Christmas music, so let's be real here and just admit that I won't be doing much homework.

Dia Accion de Gracias

Here is my list of what I am thankful for this year:

1. my car

2. being in Spain

3. not getting taken

4. somehow figuring out how great it is to have alone time

5. having two crazy fist fighting sisters

6. having a very stinky puppy

7. meeting the best friends in the world last semester

8. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, part one

9. Skype

10. Easton Corbin

11. learning how to turn on the heater

12. being forced to try new foods

13. having the "typical" college trip to Europe and being clueless

14. Linnea and her family and the knowledge that I will have a family to spend Christmas with

15. the relationships and friendships that you make that last international distances

16. TSwift

17. Glee, Modern Family and Grey's for being my weekly doses of America so I don't resort to McDonalds

18. Cafe con leche

19. a Spanish mom determined to fatten me up

20. my knee and ankle kind of cooperating on letting me run

21. Ibuprofen for when my knee and ankle don't feel like being my friends

22. Emma for having the same brain as me.

23. Food

24. for having a chance to spend a year in Europe and theoretically grow up and learn a lot about myself, other than how much I love American food and how long and big the beds are.

25. For having a life full of so many things that make me so happy and for having all around the best year yet.

Okay now that my corny little reflection is done, let me tell you about Thanksgiving in Spain. First off, I forgot it was Thanksgiving. Then we went to class and I realized I was supposed to be giving a presentation on food, surprise surprise, in Spanish. So I started Google translating all the traditional foods that we eat at Thanksgiving. I left out green bean casserol, cause I thought for sure we were the only freaks who ate that nasty nasty thing, but turns out when I listed all the food the first thing my classmates said was "OH! And green bean casserol!" offff course.

So then we progressed to make hand turkeys... if you haven't done this, I highly recommend it. We put them all over the board in class. At which point we could either continue thinking of things to make, or start failing at learning the subjunctive. Chris then took his shirt off, a normal occurance for a regular class of course........... and started cutting it up into an indian shirt to match his indian head dress deal. Of course we all then started making indian headbands with feathers and stormed up to Gloria's office and forced her to come see our awesome turkey hands and run around screaming turkey mating calls just to ensure that everyone knew that the Americans were having a fiesta.

After class I went down to the computer lab to find nearly the entire ISA group watching Charlie Brown Thanksgiving on Chris' laptop. Which we then changed to Pochahontis (I could never spell that even when I was little. Then again, I couldn't even spell my own last name till I was about 11, so cut me some slack.) and so thus far I'd have to say my Thanksgiving has been a success. Tonight we are going out as a group for a theoretically Thanksgiving style dinner. We were promised turkey and mashed potatoes and pumpkin which I am hoping comes in the form of a pie. Not a jack-o-lantern or something. They get a little confused when it comes to which holiday it is.

I got to witness my father "squish-machine" my aunt on Skype as well, which is always special in its own slightly creepy dad kind of way, and despite being slightly upset that I will be missing watching my family run around in Wash Park for our turkey bowl football, and will not get to obsessively kiss my new baby cousin, I am also pretty pumped that I get to wear a dress and go spend this year's Thanksgiving with my new "family."

That's enough of this slightly emo and corny blog, because if I keep it up I will make everyone bored and really, stories about me making a fool of myself are just a little more entertaining. On which note you will be pleased to know that I spent last night being told I was stupid and ugly by the friend of the girl I nanny, to which the only responses I knew were a long line of curse words so I was forced to sit there death glaring him until he got bored and started punching the little girl. I didn't think backhanding him was the best form of action. So instead I kept watching Hello Kitty and thanked the lord that I would never have a child in Spain, since their best form of discipline is: if you don't stop I will only give you five cookies instead of six.

International hissy fit.

I knew there would be that day that I said: I officially want to go home and cry. Home home. Like if you like a boy, or you like like him. I want to go home, home.

Just for today, I hope.

The beauty of study abroad is that you literally have no control over the circumstances in which you will be placed. For example, in May, I was told in a fluster of cluttered emails, that I had to begin my visa process immediatly because I was sooooo late and was going to maybe not get to go. The process went like this:

Print check list, complete check list, send in 15 requirements, get told I am missing four that aren't on the list, request finger prints from FBI, lose wallet containing credit card which was used to pay FBI, get new card, try to contact FBI, get told that I have to repay, get fingerprints and repay, resend it all, recieve it all back to get it notarized, send it, get it sent back, also need to get it legalized by the state, send to state, who send it back, need a letter explaining why I need it legalized, send that back to them, recieve it and send it to LA Consulate. You'd think that after all of that, they would stamp it, set me up to go for a year, end of story.

You'd THINK that after I did my part, they'd do theirs. But as Gloria said "It just depends who is sitting at the desk and what they feel like giving you. Sometimes it is for 180 days, sometimes 75. Regardless of what you ask for or apply for."

CUTE.

Then I go through the whole residency card process, I've blabbed about that far too much already, but another nightmare situation. Turns out, it won't be here till December 23. So I can't go to Sweden the 18th. Which makes no sense, but my 90 day visa which was supposed to be 180, and actually goes from September 30 till November 29 won't work. Turns out math isn't the Spanish Consulate's strong point.

Anyway, I had a crying baby melt down in the computer lab, and am planning on suing the entire Spanish government if I am forced to spend Christmas alone. They will NOT mess up my favorite time of year. I refuse to allow them too. I might start a war. Perhaps I will take lessons from North Korea, become a communist leader and threaten to take over the government. Bet they wouldn't tell me I couldn't leave THEN.

Speaking of being stuck places, I got stuck in an ATM. Well, first I couldn't figure out how to get IN. The BancoSantander ATMs are in glass cages. With sliding doors. I could tell they were supposed to slide open, so spent five minutes pushing, pulling, groping, begging and stroking the doors, trying to figure out why they would put an atm behind glass doors that don't open. Then I noticed this little black cardy looking thing... turns out you stick your card in and then it opens for you. So I get in, try to figure out how to get out money (BancoSantander doesn't believe in English) and following getting out double what I planned too, I realized I had no idea how to get out. I looked for another card slot. I looked around by the ATM, trying to figure out where the button must be. Turns out it was on the back wall in a corner. I think the girl waiting for the ATM thought I was special needs.

I supposed that, despite being stuck in Spain and stuck in an ATM, I should stop complaining cause it could be worse: I could be stuck in Iraq, North Korea, Greeley, etc.

Today in class my teacher, the one who learned about MILFs and who told everyone Gema is how you say cheers, asked if we were going to eat butter jelly peanuts when we got home. I supposed if you mix up peanut butter and jelly it is just about equivalent to that.

Another problem I have encountered is that unlike in the US, when I am stressed, I can't eat here. Because I want cheddar cheese, in large cheesy orange quantities. Nachos, cheese and crackers, cheese on apples, chunks of cheese, anything. This poses a huge problem because it means my mom gets very worried and tries to feed me even more, and then I have to try to explain I am stressed and she thinks you fix stress with cold medicine.

If you get sick in Spain, there's a pill for that. Just wait till they discover the iPhone. They will go nuts over the "app for that."

I will keep you posted on my suing of the Spanish government. I'll take you all out for dinner on the money I make from them possibly ruining my Christmas. They WILL pay. Baby Jesus is on my side with this one, I am sure.

Buns of steel.

I was really proud of myself, I woke up this morning feeling like I hiked up the Picos again. That five hour sensation of total muscle torture that leaves you wanting to lay in bed all day. But then I remembered: that was yesterday. A "productive" day, if you are Spanish. I completed approximately an hour worth of homework, which, upon telling my teacher and expecting her to be proud of me, I was told was actually the opposite of what I should have done since working on Sunday is just ridiculous. "You work six days a week, you sleep and rest Sunday."

Which is why, for about half my walk home, I tried to figure out why I was sore. Particularly my left butt cheek. Then I remembered my oh so graceful fall that occured in San Vincente on Saturday, and have been once again reminded of the physical consequences that come from being a spaz.

I had another run in with the student drivers today, as I walked across the street thinking how nice and safe and calm Santander is instead of looking one way, let alone both ways before crossing the street.

It also dawned on me that I have four tests and three projects due in the next three weeks. All of which will determine my success or failure in my classes. Yet I continuously find myself spending two hours waiting for Glee to load or stalking other people's wedding photos. I have discovered two fellow wedding obsessees here (is that a word?) and we have started sharing wedding photographer links with eachother, thus providing me countless options of distraction: gay boys serenading eachother on Glee, brides in big dresses and, the best I have discovered thus far: Beauty and the Beast in 3D at the movie theater. Which happens to be an hour and seventeen minute walk from my house, but that provides what, four hours of wasted time? Google couldn't inform me how to get there on a bus, because it is so far out in the boonies that the buses don't even go there. My theory on this is that because it is always raining or Sunday, you want to spend as much time as possible on the only available activity: movie watching. So if you are gonna go to all the effort of going to see it, you want to ensure it takes up your entire day. Like going to the mall. Why would you want to be able to park easily and not have to wait in long lines, because if you didn't have too, you'd spend a quarter of the time in the mall and then you'd have nothing to do when it is blizzarding in Denver. So we should be thanking the city planners who provide a third of the needed number of parking spots, who provide minimal public transportation, and who put anything necessary to happiness as far away from humans as possible. I am kind of curious why nobody has put a Starbucks on Mt. Everest. What better motivation to get to the top than a double shot extra foam and double pump Peppermint Mocha? We might experience Sherpa stampedes to rival the running of the bulls, but I guarantee it would increase the popularity of climbing up Mt. E.

I also spend an excessive amount of time arguing with myself over if I am hungry or not. Part of the problem of living in my house in Steamboat was that there was always a constant supply of delicious snacks. Eating was never a necessity, it was a fun afternoon activity or past time. Thus my inability to differeniate between hunger and boredom. And not to mention the great satisfaction and happiness I get from consuming an entire bag of Werther's (three pieces is a serving, so really I just had six, which is a healthy number I think) or a bag of salt and vinegar potatoe chips, or three donuts, or a whole box of Turon, the traditional Spanish Christmas candy.

Some of the nicest people I have met in Spain have been in the grocery. On Friday a precious little old woman helped me find the Turon, which was between the fish and pig's heads, which is highly logial because who would want it near the rest of the Christmas candy. She heard me blasting off to Poy about how I couldn't find it and how I had been there five days in a row and my mom kept being like "It is there just look harder." She came up to me and started babbling in Spanish which I of course didn't fully understand, but when she started explaining the types of Turon I was immediately on the same page as her. It was like our brains morphed into one Spanish food obsessed mind of lovingness and we then embarked on a full blown tour of Turon. I realized that if I want to be fluent in Spanish I need to hang out in the grocery and discuss the one topic I will never tire of: food and candy.

I am now contemplating how to superglue my shoe back together. If you come to Spain, you will immediately notice, if you are a girl or have any interest in looking in a shop window, and unless you walk around with your eyes closed and run into strangers, cabs, or light poles, that every other store sells shoes. This is because the shoes here, like the umbrellas, are suicidal. Unless you are okay with wearing rubber boots, which I for one am not unless they are yellow and frankly, I think yellow boots are reserved for puddle jumping or six year olds and not for normal daily attire, you are going to spend all of your budget on shoes. Shoes and umbrellas. Because neither are meant for heavy rain. Which is ironic and infuriating. So I am going to superglue my shoe back together, despite having bought it two weeks ago. Life expectancy in Spain for shoes and boots: two weeks. Umbrellas: two minutes.

There are two things you can count on to fall.

There is always that one picture that refuses to stay put. It doesn't matter if you hammer it to a wall, staple it, glue gun it, or use an entire roll of tape: it will not stay put. I experienced this first not with a photo, but with a bulletin board. After four nights of being assaulted by the bulletin board deciding that hanging on the wall was too much effort and joining me in bed was the better option, I finally agreed that it won the hanging battle and it spent the remainder of my freshmen year of college perched on my desk. It still managed to shove everything else off my desk and lie flat down to take a quick nap on a regular basis, but at least it wasn't waking me up at night.

Then there was the picture of my dad and I in Mexico. It was stuck with double sided sticky tape to the wall by my bed. And now it is the picture of Margaret and I backpacking. At home, it was the poster of a Mexican sunset. I have decided that regardless of where you are, what form of installment you use, and what you are trying to hang up, one of them will fall down.

You can also count on me for taking a good crash or two on a monthly basis. In September, I was getting some quality time with Roo, aka the Crack King/Drug Puppy/Little Shit (according to Dad) and somehow managed, while completely stationary, to fall over. I think it takes some kind of special skill to go from a standing position to flat on your ass in about half a second. I have gone over that moment again and again, and have yet to figure out how exactly I fell over. I think it might have had to do with wearing smartwool socks in Dansco shoes, or maybe it was because I moved my head to look at Roo, who was trying to drag a five foot stick down the street as a little present for Grace, who was high tailing it home to go take another 15 hour nap, from which she might have the ability to wake up only to have a little snack and then resume her motionless life. Roo has basically forced her into a grumpy enough old woman to get up, let him chew on her face for about five minutes, and then lie back down.

Today I went to San Vincente de la Barquera, and graced two old men with the chance to witness my spectacular ability to fall down.

The first occurred when Cailyn, the girl I went with, decided to barge right on into the police guard area to take pictures. My theory is that if you don't want visitors, or nosy American girls to take pictures, or possible terrorists to scope out your very important guard station since the tiny pueblo is number one on hit lists around the globe, you shouldn't leave your gate wide open. It is basically an invitation to come in. So we did.

I was in the middle of taking a picture of the pretty flowers they had in pots all over their entrance area when I heard him: he was probably 55, looked like he just woke up from his five hour sieta (they siesta from noon to five in San Vincente, to recover from the strenuous work they put in from ten in the morning to noon) and was about as happy to see me as I am to see anyone who tries to speak to me within an hour of me waking up or being fed. "HOLA. HOLA? HOLA." Yes, thank you buddy, I got that you are barking at me in Spanish and there is really no need to repeat your not friendly greeting. That was all he said. The fact that he can get his "Get the hell out" message across by a commonly used greeting is quite astounding and makes me feel much less worried about my morning tone of voice that will be used with my future husband. If he complains, I will just say "HOLA. HOLA." repeatedly until he either leaves me alone or cooks me some bacon. My mother will probably say something like "We need to post a facebook warning to your future husband about you." similarly to how she suggested saying "TO Michelle's future husband, start saving up all your money now." when I told her I wanted a ring from Tiffany's. A girl's gotta have some standards, right?

I don't do very well with getting barked/yelled at, so instead of saying hello back and smiling and sucking up, I immediatly started laughing and spun around like a fool to run away. It was my lucky day because there happened to be a post sticking out five inches tall and four long for the gate (that was still open) that felt the need to be exactly in the spot I decided to spin around. Let's just say that by the time I stopped laughing, stopped tripping and started booking it away, I could just about feel my soul being stabbed with his death glare.

Then we went on an expedition to look for the famous convent, which was also closed for siesta and hidden behind a tall wall, because the sleepy nuns need their privacy and might want to sneak out at night so a tall wall is obviously necessary. I wonder how long it will be before American father's start building walls around their houses.

On our way down from the closed convent we took a sneaky back yard slash possible driveway short cut. The man emptying his dust pan out his window watched us walk down, probably thinking that we were the terrorists who the guard was waiting for. I reconfirmed his suspicions that we were challenged by progressing to do a fabulous version of the splits (okay other than my inflexibility) down the hill and right by his car. I'd say that over all, I made a stellar impression on the old men in San Vincente. Between the falling over, and my yoga in Santander, I wouldn't be surprised if all these old men want to buy me that Tiffany's ring and make me bacon pretty soon.

Pocket full of sunshine.

Lesson for the day: If it isn't raining, go run. Because if you wait 15 minutes to go run, it will rain.

Then you have to wait 15 more minutes for it to stop raining. Thirty minutes later, I was on a lovely little wet jog, taking pictures of waves to make up for the utter lack of them that I have saved on my computer, 78 from yesterday simply won't suffice. I was really feeling great, fifth day running, not sore, not tight, knees not screaming about suicidal thoughts and depression, and a new mix on my iPod. Not to mention the new headphones from Mom. I was on a roll. The drizzle was kind of nice and refreshing and I got really adventurous and scandalous and took off my hat and let my half straight half curly pony tail flop around like a little bunny. Ben, my old ski coach, used to make fun of me because when we filmed a practice, you could always tell which one was me because my pony tail was hopping away merrily, living it's own life of joy while I died miserably in the cold, panting away and not nearly as happy as my hair.

One hazard to running in the rain and trying to take your hat off increases greatly when you also live near a driving school, which seems to be open 24/7. Somewhere between almost getting hit by a car and managing to get my hat stuffed down the back of my pants since it kept falling out of my jacket (add bunny tail to my list of bunnyish characteristics) it started pissing rain. That's really a huge understatement. I didn't ever value that term until I came here. It litereally feels like Mother Nature is bawling her eyes out because Father Time stood her up. Or Zeus or something. Some Big Man in the Sky. Maybe Jesus had another date.

And then, irony or ironies, Pocket Full of Sunshine by Natasha Beddingfield came on. At the same moment that the C2 bus ran right through a puddle, further ensuring that any part of my body not already dripping received another shower. Just to make sure I was squeaky clean.

Feeling like I deserved some kind of award (as I always do when I work out, let alone get peed on by MN) I went to the famous Lupa. I am proud to say that I didn't buy three donuts. The fact that there were six people in line had nothing to do with it. Instead I bought a bag of Salt and Vinegar potatoe chips. I think, based on my sprint from Lupa to my house, that I would have made a fabulous football player. If I have kids, I will be pro at carrying them under my arm and running. But today, it was just the blue bag. I'll keep you updated if I get drafted for the NFL. It's pretty likely to happen.

Running around in the rain

Anyone who knows me, or has spent any amount of time around my father, knows I don´t like to work out. It´s no secret, and is, you could say, a sore spot for poor Dad. The sweating is really my only problem. If you look at my record, it´s all swimming and skiing. The two sports where you are so cold and wet all the time, be it from freezing pool water or a blizzrard, that it is physically impossible to sweat, or at least to notice that you are.
The other reason I dislike working out is because quite frankly I can´t. Put me on a treadmill and enjoy a comedy show involving limbs flying all over and buttons being pushed to stop but actually make it faster and, undoubtably, I will fly off the back. It just happened once. CSU was building our new rec center so there are about 33 orange girls in tiny shorts wearing pushup bras and size two month old tank tops waiting for a treadmill. Lucky for me, I got there first. Lucky for me, I had an audience to watch me fly off the back. The fact that I have started going for runs (okay so more like a jog for 5 minutes and then a 10 minute walk) here is kind of a big deal. I take my camera, so that I can show off to everyone where I get to live. I am getting a big ego about Santander. Maybe I´ll go somewhere reallly fabulous and will be humbled, but until the, I will think Santander is the most beautiful place ever. I take pictures, do yoga on little rest areas (I hope that when people stop and stare at me, it is because I look so professional doing yoga by myself on a sidewalk, but I think it is probably more "why is that poor poor girl falling over like that and making such painful faces? Should we go help her?") and run. The only problem is that I started running to work off all the flan and the excessive cookies I eat. When it is cold and dreary, when it is sunny and nice, basically just any time I am bored or in my room, I eat cookies. I go through about a roll or two a week. It´s a little impressive (or embarrassing) but above all, fattening. While I have been blessed to have the inability to gain weight and will always be asked if I am going into eight grade with every year of eight graders, I refuse to let myself consume seven cookies in ten minutes without some kind of punishment like running.

It doesn´t feel like punishment though, more like a jog that happens to be gorgeous and when I get passed by every single Spanish walker, I can almost be happy because at least it isn´t raining. That´s usually when it starts pouring.
I feel like the Spainish should start an Olympic walking team. They would take first place. Or they could start competing in all the track events. They could just walk right by everyone during the 100 meter dash.

My days right now consist of a few main parts: dragging myself out of bed for my 8am, facebook stalking through my 8am, teaching my Spanish teacher words like MILF (of which she asked if the plural was milves, like knife and knives...) then facebook stalking, watching the Harry Potter trailer repeatedly, reading and eating until class from one till three, then home for food, then a quick run, and then Modern Family and wishing my bank account would suddenly gain weight and allow me to take all the trips I sit around and plan.

Right now is one of those HP trailer watching and reading breaks, but I decided a blog post was necessary because while I sat here and wasted time, so did the school director. She was in here, hiding out in the little student´s computer lab, shopping for used baby strollers. Instead of fixing our class issues, faxing Gloria our papers that we´ve been waiting on to take to the police, you know, all those things that are really mundane compared to thirty minutes of baby stroller shopping. But who doesn´t need a little break after all the tough work she´s been doing. I certainly do... it´s called cookies.

I just wrote back to my dad this morning, and am 100% happy that technology exists. And that he is figuring out his keyboard. His first few emails looked like this:
please watch over your shoulder-bad things happen-I´ll but you a taser-carry a knife-run even if you don´t think you are fast-luv daddy

Totally love his emails, and have almost caught up to the number of times I´ve been told to look over my shoulder. Not quite though. My neck is suffering extreme over-rotation. I wonder if I can use that as an excuse for excessive amounts of massages when I get back to the States?

My mom (when you read this parents, know that it is all being said only because it is endearing and I love you and I am broke so don´t forget that either) always ends her facebook chats, texts, and emails with Love, Mom. Incase I forgot who I was talking too. The phone messages "Hey, ít´s your mom" and "I know you are in class but..." are now replaced by reminders that I have indeed been talking to my mother, and not some creepy stranger who knows my life details and snuck into my house in the afternoon and just happened to chat me on facebook. I sleep easier at night knowing that it was, in fact, my mother with whom I was talking.

I realized today how lazy I´ve gotten when it comes to getting ready in the mornings. I straightened my hair last night, and today in class my teacher asked why I looked pretty today, was it for a special occasion? I guess the glory of looking like you rolled for bed to class (which I do every day) is that when you look "normal" everyone thinks you look great. And I can´t imagine what would happen if I actually put on normal make up. They´d probably think I was going to my wedding right between classes or something. I will have to avoid giving them a shock like that and will continue with my bed to class rolling, for their own safety.

Now I am going to go read "Everything but the Squeal" which I recommend if you have ever been to Spain. You will read it and understand to a tee what he is talking about. For example, if you want to fit in, raise your voice three times the normal volume, freak out about small things, and base your entire life around your next meal. Then, I promise, you will be a true Spaniard.

Walk quickly and carry a big umbrella.

If you are ever walking with a Spanish person, you'll probably notice a few things:

1. You are out of breath

2. Your legs, despite being inches longer than theirs, are far less efficient/speedy

3. You aren't perfected the power walk yet

4. You have to jog every few minutes to catch up

5. No matter how fast you think you are going, they are faster.

If you are ever walking in Spain, you'll also notice:

1. It will probably rain on you if you plan on a walk of any duration above two minutes

2. Your umbrella is not going to survive, instead it is going to turn inside out and break in multiple places.

3. There will be other massacred umbrellas in all the trash cans.

4. Everyone and their mother seems to have an unending supply of umbrellas. No matter how many they break, another suddenly appears in their hand/bag/purse/car.

5. You are going to get wet. End of story.

Mom knows best...

Message from the Mother front:

So, words of wisdom from your mom. If you keep going to the same Mass, some smart madre will notice you and bring her handsome son to Mass with her one Sunday! So, go to church

today!

Love mom.

Let me just say: church is not where you find cute boys on a Sunday in Spain. You find cute boys at the soccer games. Futbol, if you wanna get all fancy. I'm

really starting to wonder if the only place that the

legendary delicious and nutritious Spanish hotties lurk is at futbol games.

Because let me just tell you: they are in hiding. They must have heard that the desperate American girls were arriving, and

they felt it was in the best interest of their health to hide out under a rock, pond, tree, in a small box, cave, marshy area, or the likes. I fail to believe, after sitting in the

cold for 90 minutes (oh... 93 cause the refs get to add time here if the

y want) of dramatic falls, broken ankles that miraculously heal upon standin

g up, shirt grabbing but no real fighting, and zero goals that anyone goes to a futbol game for anything other than the hotties. I'm not sure what that says about all the old men there but as far as I can tell, the only worthwhile

way to spend that 90 minutes of actionless torture (unless taking a slig

ht nap as I was accused of doing) is to check out the players, fans, contemplate kidnapping the precious kids that go to watch and yell really loudly and get very upset, and to eat excessive amounts of candy. No wonder Real Madrid was so famous, with David Beckham and all. Why else would they be? Nothing ever happens in soccer games, maybe a goal (GOOOOOLLLLLLLL) or two, but even then you are getting pretty freaking lucky.

So after my total of two soccer games, one here and one in S

weden, that is my conclusion: hotties are the only reason people go to soccer games. The girls to scope them out, the boys to wish they were them, and everyone else because they have nothing to do because everything is closed on Sunday other than the soccer field and bars that are playing soccer games on TV. I will probably have to start pretending to like soccer so that I can make friends here, because if I told them I

didn't like it, I'm pretty sure they would not only hide under a rock or pond, but would probably also install a high tech sec

urity system warning them against my arrival.

I've been bored enough by soccer for one day though, so new story. Yesterday w

e spent the day in Santillana del Mar and Comillas. Sant. del Mar looks like the town from Beauty and the Beast so of course, I fell in love with it just about the second I stepped

off

the bus. It has precious cobblestone streets which are actually not so precious if you plan on walking, skipping, moving in any way, and then these little shops and I had the sever urge to start singing the soundtrack but decided that might be kind of a. American and b. weird. There's a tradit

ion in S. del Mar that if you go there but don't drink a glass of cold cow milk and have a sp

ongy cake deal you definitely have no hope on Earth of getting married. I'm not sure if I have ever been so excited for a glass of cold whole milk. Literally squeezed from a lovely fat dairy cow into a jar and into the FRIDGE as it should be and then into my cup. As opposed to out of a box that is kept in a cabinet. They drink their milk warm, in Spain. Don't get me started on the things I don't understand about Spain, th

e list is long. This tradition is my new favorite, because not only does it ensure that some

delicious (hopefully) man who will love me as much as whoever writes country love songs loves the girl they are writing about will marry me but it also involves milk. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if girls write those songs and then sell them to male country singers

so they can get famous. I would probably have a mental break down.) I'll probably go back repeatedly just for the milk, but a girl can't get too careful when trying to make sure she gets a good guy, you never know what creeps are out there.

Comillas is absolutely my favorite town in all of Spain, despite it's lack of Beauty an

d the Beast soundtrack singing inspiration. It is right on the most beautiful coast and has tons of huge gothic churches. The man who made it so famous was involved in the first explorations of America (not Chris Columb) and he made all this money trading resources, goods

, etc. and then wanted to prove that he was weathly. To do so, he built the most beautiful school I have ever seen (I'll put a pic

ture on the bottom) which happens to be the top school in Spain to learn Spanish at (lovely that I didn't end up there. not.) and then he had some "famous" architect named

Gaudi? build him a "folly" aka something that is totally not necessary but just there for show which I though was flat out hideous and looked like it came out of a Candyland board game or Alice in Wonderland. He also build a huge palace slash church and had all of his famous architect friends design it, so it has just about every style from Romanesque to Gothic built into it. It definitely made up for his poor taste in the "folly."

After touring the

buildings we had thirty minutes free time so we walked up towards the coast and found this beautiful ancient graveyards. It had some of the most beautiful tombs I have ever seen and was comple

tely full of flowers. Every grave was covered in flowers, most of which were wilting, after being placed there on Dia de los Muertos (day of the dead) which was No

vember 1st. It was amazing, to see that even after so many years, every grave was remembered, and every grave was decorated.

We went to two sets of caves on our little outting, the first one had hand prints and drawings from I think she said 6,000 years ago. The temperature stays at 14 degrees C year round, regardless of the outside temperature. It was totally creepy and drippy and wet and misty and great. The second one..... not so much. It is 10,000 years old, but the r

eplica that you get to see is definitely no

t. It has these really strange and bad dream inducing electronic images of people in a cave (who speak Spanish, of course, because that was the language of choice 10,000 years ago when they lived in caves and painted with bone marrow) and the rocks were plastic replicas of the real deal, cause I guess to preserve it they just decided to shut it down. Not to be a cave sn

ob, but if you aren't a real cave, don't act like it. Just say "Oh hey sorry the real one is closed kay bye!" Instead of spending a ton of money to make a plastic cave with creepy computerized people. If you have been to the dinosaur museum in Vernal, Utah, you'll understand when I say it was soooo much cornier than that.

Last night we went to play pool (my first time ever) and I managed to lose two

games in a row, but also managed to get two balls in the hole. Both were mine, so that was kind of a big deal. The bartender liked us so gave us "bubblegum" flavored shots that you take in a circle and do this chant "Abajo! Arriba! Dentro! Something else I forget!" and then you al

l take it together. Except it really just tasted like those Shirley Temple cherry's juice. Then we went to a hookah bar and almost feel asleep on their fabulous Moroccan couches, and then Erin and Amanda and I started our adventure home.

All drivers in Spain need to thank their lucky stars that almost every single car here is white. Because I promise you, it makes it very hard for drunk wanna be drivers to figure out which car is theirs. Last night this guy was litereally lying on the sidewalk by a car he had been trying to open and then fell over in the process. He then tried the next white car, and kept walking up and down looking at them all like "Well shit, which one is mine?" Let's just all be glad that it didn't occur to him to press the panic button on his car to lead him the right way.

In Spain (and probably everywhere but I just don't know it) there is a fast food called Doner Kebab. It is basically Greek/Turkey-ish style Gyros. DELICIOUS at all times of life but particularly after a few drinks. Yesterday was 70 and sunny, but by nine was windy like no other. Erin and I decided to get DK at 2:30am because if you walk by one, there's no way you don't go in. It was, as always, fabulous. But I had the great idea that we'd get it t

o go and then walk around, totally forgetting that it was about as windy as standing in front of a full blast fan.

Just in case you ever end up in a "to go or to stay" situation with DK, always get i

t to stay. Because DK in the wind is just a bad idea. End of story.

Okay I said I'd put pictures here of something and now I forget so let me go look. OH the beautiful school! And I'll just add a few more for those of you that don't facebook stalk. (Because obviously if you have facebook you just stalk me all the time cause I'm that great. HA. But really I just stalk you cause I am creepy like that.)

Kay pictures:

Okay so this is the school I am obsessed with. This is me eating in the wind. Cute, I know. Then is the school I love. Then is the precious boy at the soccer game. My kids better be that cute. Just saying. I think then the next one is MILK! and then the Beauty and the Beast town :)

Comedy runs in the family.

This is, according to my mother, what will happen in January when she leaves after visiting me:

Theresa:

I think it is a bad idea for me to come see you and then leave. it will make you homesick and sad and then you will resort to drinking....

nooooooo

hahahahhaha

hahahhahaha

that is funny though

i resort to shopping online

which i can't do here

and then you will get depressed and drink more and then you will cry in your beer and water it down and then you will complain that it is watered down.

Just thought that was necessary to share with everyone :)

Moss and green things that grow

I am constantly astounded by the ability moss has to grow anywhere. Or even plants, for that matter. Out of rocks, on rocks, on trees... as corny as it is, the fact that something can grow despite the circumstances just intrigues me. I was home sick today, which was typical because the past week we have literally had a hurricane and today it decided to blast sunlight and be 71 degrees, while I was stuck in bed.

I didn't know I was in a hurricane, when I was. I mean, I'm from Steamboat. I do white out blizzards, near death driving on Rabbit Ears, four feet all at once snow, but I don't do hurricanes. Well, I didn't. I guess I do now. The official definition of a hurricane is a huge storm caused by warm and cold water mixing; that is according to Rachael who is from Atlanta and goes to school in New Orleans, so if I am gonna quote her on anything, I'd probably guess that she was right about that, so I won't be called out. Well, I'd quote her on that and on anything pertaining to Louise Vouton (yes, I just spell checked that to see if it is available. It isn't. So pardon me for the spelling issue.)

I'm the worst at getting sick, because I absolutely can not stay inside all day. I refuse to do it. I did once, after a slightly rough night out and a rain storm and I thought I was going to die. I mean, I love my little cave, and you can definitely tell I've been sick because there are clothes all over the place and it looks like my room at home, but I just can't stay inside. But back to my story about how I love moss and why that is relevant at all to my day/life/your reading this/but let's just be honest it probably won't really be relevant. I went out for a walk to watch the sunset. I've realized, other than my obsession with moss and green things that grow, that I love being alone. Which might sound weird, for an almost 20 year old to just be realizing that, but I think between the boyfriends, the family, friends at school and living with a roommate in my room for two years, I just never spent time on my own enough. But since getting here, the days or afternoons I spend exploring on my own, walking on my own, eating on my own, are the best. Today I found out that I can bypass the huge long walk around the bay and instead walk over the hill by two palaces and the mansions of Santader's wealthiest, including the owner of Banco Santander which is the biggest bank in Spain and one of the top banks in Europe. No big deal or anything, but we are practically neighbors. So if you feel like robbing him, I can scope it out for you.

The most beautiful area to walk here, aside from along the coast and beach, is called Calle Reina Victoria (Queen Victoria) and it has all these vine covered gazebos and walks along the coast. So on one side you have huge mansions, palaces, and houses that you want to take creepy pictures of (which I did...) and kind of want to just knock on their door and announce that you are their long lost child and hope the husband was scandalous enough to believe he knocked up your "mom. Then on the other side you have the ocean, this islandy beach, and behind that you have little towns and rolling green hills and then mountains covered in snow. It's enough to make anyone just want to stand and stare for the rest of their life. Or until the sun goes down and you can't see anything anymore.

Along my walk I was the creepy person taking pictures of beautiful houses, of the sunset, and of moss. I'm pretty sure a little girl asked her mother why I was taking pictures of the ground. I felt borderline pedifile taking pictures right by an elementary school, but at least I was taking pictures of the moss and not the precious kids. Now is when my "I want to kidnap babies and cuddle with them" comment comes in and I just step up my creepiness to the max. But I like kids. In a strictly let me kiss you and squeeze you and love you kind of way. Not, as a friend so kindly suggested, in a Michael Jackson way. But don't worry, when he called me Michael, I just thought he forgot my name and reminded him that my name is Michelle. He then reminded me that I am a possible pedifile like Michael. And that thank you very much but he knows my name. I think I give too little credit to the male gender.

My walk ended at Lupa, the grocery that is right by my house. Which means that whenever I motivate and do anything, like go on a walk on the beach cause that is such hard work, or don't buy Regma icecream when I walk by it three times a day, I reward myself with a trip to Lupa for donuts. Because those are so healthy and everything.

I guess the moral of this "story" is that, despite all things, moss grows. You can hurricane on it, and you'll still have moss growing all over. Okay maybe not so much in winter when it's blizzarding, but still. I guess it makes the corny "Michelle is trying to grow up and discover herself so she can do something awesome with her life other than write about eating donuts" part of me want to hope that despite whatever situation I am in, I'll find some way to grow from it. Now is when you can all get out your kleneex or, if you are my mom, you can get out a handkerchief, and dab your eyes :)

On to a quick new topic called my other new obsession other than moss is Modern Family. I love it. If you have 20 minutes when you are eating and kind of bored, get on ch131.com and start with season one. I promise you will:

a. be laughing a little bit hilariously (perhaps to the extent that your roommate goes and buys ear plugs. Which might also be the partial result of your sleep talking, not that it just happened to me or anything.)

b. never be bored again when given 20 minutes to watch

c. be addicted to something awesome

and

d. find every part to be relevant in some way to your own family.

I just really appreciate a show, book or movie that can depict real life. Or that can use intelligent humor, can tie everything together, doesn't have to use sex/drugs/rock and roll to get people interested, and can hold my attention repeatedly. Such as HP (one week till it comes out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and till I see it in Spanish, not too excited but at least I can see it, right?) anything by Jane Austen, and I would say Grey's Anatomy but they really just get me with the scandal, the sex, the surgery and the constant blood and love.

Just watch it. And appreciate how great moss is. And try and see deep corny messages from plants. Love you bye!

Monday takes the cake.

I feel like we should give Monday an award for constantly kicking every other day's ass at being able to, despite all circumstances, be the roughest day of the week. I mean, I'm used to the terrible waking up early after two sleeping in days, used to the first few hours of class that feel like a sin, the dread that you have four more days of sitting in class while it is sunny out (okay so not so much here but still.)

(SMALL FREAK OUT MOMENT I JUST HEARD THUNDER! YAYYYYYY! I love Tuesdays.)

Let me just tell you though, about my Monday (yesterday) and why I am sure that I will never be able to say "Monday sucks" again without just being grateful that it wasn't my day yesterday.

So in order to stay here for a year, they told us (they being the ISA people) that we just have to get a year long visa. About three weeks ago, I was reading my visa and realized, oh hey, PS it expires at the end of November. At which point I asked our director Gloria what was going on and she remembered that we needed to actually apply for residency and get a residency card. Begin the official fight with the Spanish police. After trip one down to the Center and then up into the ghetto we left the police with some rando papers to get stamped at a bank. Blah blah that isn't exciting, bank stamping, passport pictures in a photo booth (ps we are NOT smarter than photobooths, as I discovered 8euro later) and such business.

Let's jump to yesterday. Wake up, full on down pour, walk to class, literally get blown into a tree, and Facbook stalk for an hour in my 8am. I have decided that the 8am class is my social hour, to catch up on the lives of America and such.

At eleven we left to go to the police for our appointment at noon. An hour should be plenty for a 20 minute bus ride. HA.

Cool story called seven stories of scaffolding decided that due to the wind it was just too much work to stay in place and decided to take a little lie down in the road. You know, no worries about the cars, people, buses, little men on mopeds in the pouring rain, etc. So the 20 minute bus ride turned into a 45 minute bus ride seven blocks. At which point we bailed and walked (but let me just say that for Spanish people walking is my running. I don't know what it is, but I just wasn't given the gift of being speedy. For example for the two weeks I attempted to do track in high school, I was full on sprinting and it was everyone else's warm up. I'm just not quick. So hopefully nobody ever wants to chase me, cause I'll lose that real quick.) The walk wasn't exactly close, seeing as we'd taken five of the 20 minutes on the bus. And Mother Nature decided to just be a real pal and start bawling her eyes out on us, while also thinking it would just be nice to continue with the scaffolding destruction strength wind. I tend to just laugh when freaking out, so I was walk/jogging (YAY LIGHTNING!) and laughing and about ready to cry because it was freezing and I looked like I had stood in an ice shower for five minutes in all my clothes. Let's just say, that upon arriving at the police, I am really surprised they didn't think I was some crazy person trying to blow everyone up and/or cry and get free food.

We got there at 12:05 so missed our appointment and thus got to sit waiting in our soaking clothes in the wind for an hour. On the bright side, they just finger printed me (and don't even worry, I already sent my prints to the FBI and I haven't been convicted of murder/terrorism/child-napping/grand theft auto/blood diamond smuggling, you know, all the regulars) and then sent me on my merry way, allowed to return 45 days later for my card. No bother that my visa is up in three weeks. It's Spain, stop worrying. Of course.

Let me just not jinx anything and say I AM SURE it could have been worse, I could have been the one smushed by the falling construction work, or swept off a dock by a massive wave, or run over by a crazy person on a moped, or not been fed a delicious dinner. But I am obsessed with rain, and even I wasn't obsessed with yesterday. Or today, since it was basically the same story.

But you don't even KNOW how awesome the lighting and thunder is right now. If I was braver/not freezing I'd go scope it out, but I might be tempting fate then and would probably get fried like a squirrel on the powerlines behind my house in Steamboat. Those little buggers just seem to have the worst luck when it comes to getting buzzed. (Lizzy, my friend at CSU, just really loves squirrels so she might cry when she reads this. She is yet to fall in love with geese though. I'll convert her. Because let me just tell you: the geese at CSU are pretty adorable, minus the little digestive presents they leave you all over.)

If you want some mad puddle jumping, or want to watch people get crushed by scaffolding or surfers get pummeled by hurricane force winds, hope on a plane, you know where to find them! OH and quick funny story: my Spanish teacher was asked by some Americans how to say "cheers" in Spanish, but she thought they said "what is your name" so she said "Gema!" and they progressed to say "Gema!" every single time they had a drink. I don't even want to know how many times I have said something equivalently as mixed up as that :)

No big deal or anything....

Big wind, big waves, pouring rain....
makes for:
insane surfers risking their lives,
scaffolding being blown onto cars,
showing up to class dripping wet,
getting sick and wanting to crawl in bed,
watching excessive amounts of tv and reading Harry Potter
anddd....
the closest thing to a hurricane I´ve experienced.

These were taken by the newspaper/news yesterday and this morning. So thanks to them because now I have proof that we don´t even know what wind is in Colorado :) Wanna walk to class with me?

maybe it's time to motivate?

Here's my number one problem about Sundays: I sit around and think about all the things I should be doing.

For example:

1. Running off the three pieces of different pastries and the chocolate mousse that Ma fed me last night.

2. Washing the tattoos that her granddaughters gave me off my hands and arms.

3. Writing the first few pages of my eleven page paper.

4. Doing Spanish homework (and also, remembering what the homework is would be a good start)

5. Making vocabulary cards because I am DETERMINED to be fluent soon. It's just not working. Something's gotta change.

6. Getting all my papers lined out to go to the police tomorrow to declare myself NOT a their/terrorist/prostitute/homeless person/assassin/kidnapper (other than babies and cute little animals)

7. Stretching

8. Cleaning my room slash trying to find all the things that I lost (and trying to remember what all those things are)

9. Searching for all my MIA socks.

10. Blow drying my soaking boots.

11. Not sitting on my bed for hours stalking every person I am friends with, all their boyfriends, all their ex boyfriends, all their friends/sisters/brothers/mothers.

12. Reading guide books about Spain so I know how to get from Madrid to Santander for less than 200euro.

13. Booking my plane ticket from Madrid to Seville (YAY)

14. Eating lunch (this one might actually tempt me enough to accomplish)

15. Reading HP instead of stalking.

Overall, the culprit is Facebook and the victim of seduction by Facebook is me. I think it is time for Facebook and I to sit down and have a little talk, things are just not working out, he demands all my time and is far too needy and dull yet addictive. I think it is time we broke things off for a little while....

however, like with all bad boys, I know I'll keep coming back. What a tragedy.

OH but can I also just add that I got Belle on the FB Disney Princess survey? This is why we can never break up, because that is necessary to my life happiness. Can you imagine if I had gotten Snow White? Or Sleeping Beauty? The world as we know it, would be over. I'd have to take down my Belle poster on my door or would have to pretend that quiz never happened (kind of like when I got Slytherine on the which House would you be in quiz. I deleted that ASAP and am ashamed.)

AND my Ma made Paella for lunch today. I'll report back as to how legendary it is. I am preparing to be astounded by food amazingness, hopefully I'm not let down!

I will not eat your green eggs, just your ham.

Let's just get this out there: I HATE HARDBOILED EGGS. I would gladly send them by mail to any child in Africa willing to take them off my plate. They would smell exactly the same after two weeks in the mail and three weeks on a bus to a random village to a random kid as they do when they are sitting on my plate, hidden under some delicious sauce pretending to be something yummy. But the SURPRISE that is hard boiled egg.

Here is the issue with eggs and bananas: when I eat them, I can taste them in my nose. You might as well just end it right there. Any food that you can TASTE in your nose is unacceptable. Kind of like how you can taste skunk. Ew.

So anyways this is supposed to be a blog all about my great adventures over here. To be honest, life is kind of school, and then random fights on buses and trips. But then again, this IS my life, so even on "boring days" like today, I'm going to just write and we'll see what happens.

I started off today trying to explain my madre how to get on your bike when the seat is too high. You know, the whole use the peddle to lift yourself as you start moving forward trick. So we are in the kitchen with her new red bike that has midget wheels and is just ridiculous all around, and I'm trying to shower her but am also five minutes late for school, so am doing a really poor job. Instead of just trying to halfway understand my Spanish. she decided it was easier to just try to do it. IN the kitchen. So there I am, holding up the bike while she literally is sitting on it trying to bike in the kitchen.

Apparently, if you want to learn to ride a bike, don't ask me to teach you in a kitchen. Becuase I came back from school and she's in the kitchen with her daughter, with her pants covered in blood. Learning to ride a really tall bike in a white sweat suit was really just teasing fate: betcha I can learn to ride a bike in white pants. HA. I could have called that one right off. Whenever I wear white, it is just a bad story. Or even really any light color for that matter. Once, at my cousin's babyshower, with all my female relatives on my mom's side, I somehow managed to sit on a Hersey's Kiss for about an hour in my silver silk shorts. You get the idea.

White shorts, biking, and blood really don't make an attractive mix. She just walked around the kitchen saying "Michelle you have an old crazy bike riding Spanish mom.... poor girl."

More like "Mom, you have an explanation challenged child."

Back to the eggs. I just can't get over it. The first night she gave them to us, I was like ohhhh my dad used to eat them before every swim meet (maybe I told this story? I am so repetitive I can't remember so am going to go check so I can save you some time.) Okay so I check and I don't think I told this story. I tried explaining how EVERY DAMN MORNING my dad would eat hardboiled eggs at swim meets. Every. Single. Time. In a tiny hotel room in Strangely, in Ann's house, out of a cooler, he would just always have them. Who knows where they came from (Mom.) but I will never get over the smell. Swimming after smelling HBE's is probably the worst feeling ever. Gross. Tonight, Madre goes "I know you don't like eggs hard, but this time you will. They are so good." Yes, THIS time, I will suddenly fall in love with hardboiled eggs, and if not, maybe in 17 more times I will.

Never again. Never.

Let's jump to a random new topic called I want it to be Christmas. I want to go Christmas shopping (so that I have a legit reason to buy things instead of my excuse today which was "I deserve this because I had to do so much homework and because I went to almost all my classes this week. Please don't mind that it was a four day week and I skipped one day, that was just a mental health day. Other than that I have worked soooooo hard.) and I also want to be able to sing Christmas songs without people looking at me like, uhmm excuse me, not yet. Although I think here, they start la Navidad much earlier than in the States... actually possibly on the 8th of November. I need to check that stat. I also want to be able to quote Elf daily, instead of just weekly, and I want to be able to put up Christmas lights in my room. I'm going to have to go to a Chino store to find them. I thought people were totally racist calling stores Chino stores (stores of Chinese people) but it's just their name here.

A story about Tiendas de Chinos:

Mary, Rachael and I went on an adventure up the hill by school looking for a tienda de Chinos to buy clothes hangers at. So we can't find it and finally give up and decide to go into a random store to ask directions. Only we happen to pick the chino store to ask. This clicks ASAP for Rachael and I, cause there are literally Asians all over the place, but apperantly Mary missed the memo because she walked right up to the guy at the register and goes "Donde estan los chinos?" "Where are the Chinese?"

He just looked at her. What do you say to that? "Oh, we are right here with our cheap stuff and our Asian eyes."

Also, when shopping today for all those things I "deserve" I tried on some boots in a Tienda de Chinos and let me just tell you, Spanish in a Chinese accent is a fail. Don't even go there with me. I thought she was speaking straight up Mandarine to me. And I kept saying "Lo siento solo hablo ingles y espanol." "I'm sorry, I only speak English and Spanish."

After about six "Yo tambien." "Me too." I got that ohhhh ps. that was Spanish not Chinese. The amount of people I am shocking with my supreme intelligence is just crazy. They probably think they met the world's smartest person after being graced by speaking with me.

Am now feeling totally humiliated because I just realized that I can indent paragraphs on here... for some reason I thought it was like e-mail and that you couldn't. I am grammatically embarrassed right now.

Let me introduce you to my latest crush now: Santander. I don't know how I've managed to make it like 12 blogs without gushing like a little girl in love about my city. I literally feel possessive of it. It is mine. End of story. Everyone else is just here visiting :)

Santander is pretty small compared to Madrid/Barcelona/etc. There are 220,000 ish people, which I feel like is huge since Steamboat is about nothing compared to that. But what is awesome is that the people and the city feel so small town. I live two minutes from the beach and there's this path at the end of the beach that goes out to the point of the coast on the bay, and then loops around to a light house and runs along the coast. I am going to get in shape (ha) and run the whole thing by spring. For now, I should probably start with walking the whole thing. That might be my plan for Sunday. Anyway, my building has a bar, Pizza Hut, and a place I can get fries. It also has the bus stop for all the lines literally down the steps, and is ten minutes from my school. I have a terrace that I can sit on and look at the beach and read, and am kind of just spoiled like no other. I keep waiting to wake up from some dream, but really don't want too.

Now, because I am a really old woman and slight nerd, I am going to spend my Friday night in the bath with a book, and then in bed, so I can get up and go to the fish market in the morning and then to a town called Somo, that's a 30 minute ferry ride away and has a stellar beach. Just promise me that you won't have hardboiled eggs for breakfast, because they are a dinner food, didn't you know?