tapa-tastrophy

I just check my site stats, out of curiosity, and found this fairly hilarious. I am glad to know my blog is being used to ensure that no babies are the victim of any strange diseases or birth defects fear to be associated it.... tapas? I don't think so :) but apperantly someone was worried they might be dangerous! Hopefully I set her straight and she found something about the excessive eating I have done to encourage her to consume lots and lots of food.

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tapas ok for pregnant women spain

Are we there yet?

These past few days have been crazy; I keep meaning to get on and write about my last days here, to remember everything before I go back and before it is over. But somehow writing about it seems too simple, like it is better if I just play everything back again and again so I don't ever forget. Just a few minutes ago Tete came into my room with an armful of gifts: dark chocolate truffles, a scarf, and some gifts for my family. After a year, she knows the two perfect gifts to give me, she knows I prefer tomato and cucumber salad to lettuce, she knows I worry about my sisters and would rather read all night than go out. She is, in the most loving way, my mom. Tomorrow she will head to Italy for seven days of driving around and causing Tete travel chaos, and her daughter will come stay with me for my last few days. Which is fine, I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye though, not to mention the lack of her cooking.

So just a rundown of my last week or so... Friday it was fantastic weather and I spent three hours out on the beach tanning, reading, watching Spanish boys in inappropriately small swim trunks play volleyball, and napping. Perfect day? I'd say so :) Then Friday night I spent time with Tete and had a long dinner, did a bit of work on my paper over the Lehman Brothers responsibility in the global economic crisis, and watched a movie. Saturday I started really packing, aka attempting to fit double what I arrived with into the same amount of space at the same amount of weight. Which is not too hard, since the majority of what was in one suitcase upon arrival was ten boxes of crackers and four pounds of fudge, and we can't forget the cookies and gummy bears I brought. So those are no replaced with two new pairs of boots and three new purses, and the two jackets I brought now share their space with my new leather jacket. And as far as scarves go... there's just no hope for those. There will be a few left behind as victims of my credit card scarf buying frenzi. As of now, both my suitcases weigh in at 50 pounds, and I have two pairs of shoes, all my undies and socks, lots of tank tops, lots of chocolate and my laptops to fit into my carry on. That task will be for tomorrow, when it will be raining (supposedly but hopefully not) and I can leave out just the bare essentials to be shoved in at the last minute. Being left out will be: my bikini, as I intend to spend all of Friday on the beach in the sun (please 71 degree forecast be right for once), my jammies, sweats, tennies, and one cute shirt for wearing out on our last night. Other than that, I will be existing in the same outfits with new undies each day so I avoid having to wash anything or unpack.

After the packing started Saturday I went for some Regma (delicious) and on a walk around Magdelena. I'm hoping to make it there one more time before I go, but I figure I have to take advantage of every chance I get to see green before I get back to grey/brown/snow/slush. And then Saturday night I went to Casa Lita for some tapas, again hoping to ensure I made it there at least once before leaving. I had the chicken and shrimp curry skewer, and nearly died in food heaven. Then more paper working, which really translated to Bones watching and wishing Booth was my real life FBI snipper boyfriend. And that I had a really awesome brain with the capacities of any of the people on that show.

Sunday I went to get lunch with Maria and her family; we went to a restaurant near Cabezon del Sal, which is near the town I visited last fall and this spring again called Comillas. In Spanish I think the phrase "Are we there yet?" is exchanged for "Donde estamos? Where are we?" and is repeated as incessantly as any America child stuck in a car for longer than 11 minutes. I suppose the "Are we there yet?" phrase does fit pretty well with the feelings I have had this week... I don't want to leave but at the same time since I have too, the work to be done, the things to be organized and most importantly the food that needs to be eaten just seems to prolong it. With Maria's family, I ate something I have done my best to avoid for six months: morcilla, which is pigs blood and rice fried... it looks like sausage and you peel off the wrapper so that you just have the rice and it is actually/horrifyingly/surprisingly delicious. Then we had croqettes, which is typical breaded cheese meat type nuggets of goodness, and for the main course we had cocido montones, which was NOT the same as what I had when Theresa was here. This time the meat came separately and did not include pig's ear. It was the most delicous meal I have had since getting here. And to top if off, or to ensure I would have a food baby the size of Alaska, I had arroz con leche for dessert, which is essentially like rice pudding with cinnamon. The amount of food I consumed in a two day period was spectacular and I am still surprised that I even get hungry now, I probably ate enough to keep me alive without food for a month.

Sunday night I worked on my paper and studied for my two finals I had yesterday. It was kind of a let down after such a full day of eating, but I guess that's the real life side of Spain. The tests yesterday went well and my paper is all turned in. I shipped off a box to Sweden today (just a note, you can't even use a credit card at a post office in Spain, if you ever come please bring lots of cash) and then attempted to close my ever-difficult BancoSantander account. For as hard as it was to get my debit card, it is harder to close the account. You have to go back to the original branch where you opened it, so hopefully if you moved to a new city you have money to fly back to close it, if you even remember where you opened it to begin with. So that got taken off my to-do list for today and replaced with an hour walk along the beach and sea shell collecting. Which brings us up to this afternoon and Tete giving me my presents and me almost crying. The reality that I will actually go home on Saturday doesn't seem real, since all I really can think about is how long the trip will be. We are heading to Madrid at 9:45 on Friday night, and my flight is at 11:30 on Saturday morning. Which means I'll have about eight hours in the Madrid airport before my flight. Then I'll fly to New York, and then have a bit of a layover before my flight to Denver, and then another layover before my flight to Hayden. At which end will be my family :) How weird is that?

Like I said, writing this doesn't do it justice. There's no way to preserve or express this feeling of pending change but stagnant waiting. As much as I want to be home, I don't want to leave. I'd love to be able to find the words to save this experience but after these 101 blog posts, I just realize even more how much the memories are greater than the words.

101 and 10

This is post 101. How weird is that? You've read 100 nonsensical posts by me so far. Well, I doubt you've read every single one, but still. And 10: the days left. What. What. What.

I remember getting on the plane to come here and getting creeped out by the man from Wisconsin.

I remember getting to Madrid and being starving and eating a bag of potato chips cause that was the only thing they had other than stale hard crusted looking pastries.

I remember getting to Santander and driving out with Tete to see the coastline.

I remember the insane storm we had that was hurricane force; I was in love with it, and was wet.

I remember so many days, so many moments, but not six and a half month worth... how is it possible that so many things have happened in such a short period of time?

I walked along the beach tonight at about 7:2o so the sun was going down. Normally I have my camera with me, and I felt kind of naked without it. But tonight, without my camera trying to capture the pink and purple sky and the waves smashing all over the lighthouse it was so still; there was nothing to capture except the moment. And then I found 20 dollars :) Just kidding. But honestly, I never felt closer to God than that moment. The huge ocean and the waves that just do their thing regardless of what happens (okay with the exception of the tsunami, the Japanese people would disagree with me greatly) but nevertheless, it was just still. Those moments are few in life. The moments when there is nothing but you and the air and in this case, the ocean. What will I do when I can't just go down to the beach when I feel like it? Yet even as nostalgic as I am being....

I WANT PIZZA! and a burrito and a cheese burger and bbq sauce and pesto on paninis and a caramel apple. I want to see the stars at night. And sit on the leather coach after those first three seconds when the leather is freezing. So I have a list going, of things I will eat and do when I get back. But for now, I have a list of how I will spend my last few days.

It started with Taylor Swift last weekend, and no blog post will ever do it justice. Ever. So I am not going to waste our time. Instead I'll jump to tomorrow and what my "plan" is, which will probably fail but we'll check that in 24 hours.

1. Get up at a decent time of 8:30 and have breakfast

2. Ab ripper... gotta do Tee and Tony proud.

3. Attempt to control hair.

4. Walk along coast to downtown to do some present shopping.

5. Go to the store where I got my cow mug to get some candy and then go get yogurt as a snack.

6. Not have Regma ice cream because that would be four days in a row.

7. Instead of Regma, go to Rana Verde for some bravas.

8. Walk home.

9. Lunch, class, class.

10. And somewhere in there, write a 15 page paper.

Goal set. Mission to be accomplished. Hopefully :) Day 10, be good to me!

Not so nostalgic

Courtesy of The Steamboat Pilot and Today Police Report:

‎"10:29 p.m. Police were called to a report of a suspicious person in the 1900 block of Rockies Way. Police said at least one person was highly intoxicated and “running up and down the halls” of a condominium building. Police contacted one person and took him to detox to sober up — after he put his pants back on."

HAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHA. That's all.

Rain, Champagne and Sweet Home Alabama in Spain

There are days that are full of nothing. Well, you should do a lot of things, maybe that fifteen page paper that is creeping up, or act like an adult and start scheduling doctor's appointments, advisor meetings, or even just respond to an email that has been put off to every last second. You wake up, and a massive expanse of clouds is casting a tea and movie feel over your next eight hours. Add a puppy, fire and adorable boy and you'd have a perfect day.

As I sit here listening to "Crazy Girl" by Eli Young Band and fantasizing about a six-pack clad boy bringing me tea while discussing current events or literature, I have started to wonder when I stopped hanging on past ideas of love and started creating true expectations for myself. Tete just brought in a random late night glass of champagne-- there is no rhyme or reason to her drinking habits, but I will gladly partake. And so tonight I will spend a few hours with Sweet Home Alabama and new country love songs, enjoying the right to my fantasies about perfect men and foot massages. It is these days, the rainy ones where productivity is doomed and the thought of putting on a speck of makeup is appalling, that I find myself wondering how I manage to get so stressed out when life, on days like today, is so simple. These are the days that I can lay around, wondering how I work myself into frenzies about love, about my future career, or about simple things like why my hair is determined to turn a weird orange/red/brown mix regardless of what I do to it. Those uncontrollable things plague me with late night hours of contemplation: will I find someone who thinks my orange/brown/red hair is cute and who doesn't care that I am slightly a slob and OCD at the same time, let alone will I ever find a career that fits my control freak bossiness but lets me write? Oh Lord, the hours I have spent awake that now seem so simple when put up against the simplicity of a mental health day.

As women, I feel we tend to wrap ourselves around history. This might just be me, but I constantly analyze my past. This seems counterproductive, I know, because here I am halfway across the globe and am still worrying that my major is wrong. And that's just my major for school, let alone what I shall do with it afterwards.But then I can spend thirty minutes reading a business article about how the CEO of Starbucks reworked his entire company in 2008 and I get huge nerd impulses to write in excessive emails and comments about what a genius he is. Yet I look at the past and see nothing, other than a few lucky bullshitting experiences with Future Business Leaders of America, that would suggest I will excel at Marketing, or Management, whatever. Perhaps it is because I was born with an incessant need to control everything and make vast to-do lists, but I find the need to know exactly what my life will look like in five years. Which is ironic, because 12 months ago if you had told me I'd be living in Spain, single, or sipping champagne I would have thought you were on some kind of crazy drug.

It is that very fact that makes me wonder why we spend so much time dwelling on the past, to the point that it seems to be a plague in our lives. To count the number of times I have spent entire movies, drunken chats, or afternoons raving about heartbreak would require that I had fifteen extra hands. And that's just for the past six months. Perhaps the challenge isn't to make more and more to-do lists and become even more co-dependent on my planner, but instead to step back and realize that I don't have it all figured out. And that is okay.

Isn't it? Society seems to disagree with me on that point. Every meeting we go to, every career session, we hear what we "should" be doing, yet save for the few really over-eager or the few parentally advantaged out there, how many of us are actually spending our freshmen or sophomore year searching for a star internship in New York? Honestly, I'd rather spend this summer drinking a Mike's Hard on the couch after eating excessive amounts of caramel apples at work at the Chocolate Factory as opposed to falling around in heels at an internship in a city. Not to mention that everywhere we look we see the "perfect life" being displayed in movies, and yes I am addicted to movies and TV and corny novels and Jane Austen, but I am a lot of person to take care of, I've got enough of a job making sure I have painted nails and have showered. How am I supposed to manage a boyfriend and six pack abs along with that? And that's before you even get into my school, hair issues, Spanish speaking attempts, not-strangling three year old attempts, and Facebooking and reading. Is there any way that I can, in reality, be expected to have somehow gotten a boyfriend, gotten a grasp on my future career by some spark passionate calling from the Maker, and also managed to get my hair to turn brown all at once? Yeah. Right.

Instead I am perfectly content knowing that I have a massive list of things I know I will never want to be: bus driver, politician, judge, elementary teacher, high school teacher, vet, doctor, or an employee in Bass Pro Shop. That matches the list of men I don't want: momma's boys, workaholics, non-driven slackers, boys with IQs lower than mine, boys in general, a Raiders fan, a fatty, an alcoholic, an open mouth chewer, or a (okay I almost said ginger but how mean is that) so instead we'll just say or someone with no sense of style. Since, like me, sometimes hair just won't work with you.

And thus my contemplation on today's mental health day once again revolves around my future career and fantasy man. Typical, Michelle, way to go deeper. My poor parents realized that despite their best efforts and attempts at raising boy disinterested girls (though also not lesbians, preferably just not interested in men till age 30) they have thus far been 2/3 for girls who love boys. The overalls and mullets and fishing and camping have definitely given me the ability to go out and get my hands all goopy on a fish, but sadly failed to blind me to six packs or flirting. The result is a lot of love for fictional men and country music, and a healthy appreciation for fish. Before I pop off to finish my movie, I just would like to point out how ridiculous it is that we are expected to know what we want to "be" when we grow up. Excuse me? That won't happen for a long time! The next two years are simply classes and then jobs, that's not what I want to do with my life. My life is so much more than "When I grow up I want to work in Marketing..." Nope! When I grow up I want to travel to Ireland for a month and just backpack around. And hike in the Alps. I want to live in Sweden and fail at learning the language. Is it too much to ask that I get a really hot husband who is a genius and loves the outdoors, not to mention that I am positive my children are going to be authors and world-explorers. All I really have to say is that I will be coming home with huge dreams, huge expectations, and a whole lot of really ridiculous stories. And until then, I am going to listen to the wind blow, be glad that my laundry is in the kitchen on the drying rack instead of out on the terrace like it was last night getting a second washing in the rain, and sip my champagne. And be glad that at least for now, I am not grown up and my biggest worries in life are how to survive calculus in May, and if I will be able to zip my dress for April's wedding when I get back.

Straight to you from New Castle

Okay so here is the British scones recipe that I traded for my paella recipe! From Jonathan the Brit. I will give you his original version, and then my converted version. If I were you, I'd go by his if your measuring containers allow because I'm not the number one world genius when it comes to conversions.

Jonathan's Recipe:

Okay for like 10 scones you need:

225g self raising flour. pinch of salt. 50G Butter. 25g-50 fine sugar. 150ml milk. One egg

preheat an oven to like 220C

mix the flour egg salt and butter together

stir in the sugar then add the milk to form a kinda soft dough

then on the bench or something kneed it a little and pat it down till its like 2cm thick. Use a cutter if you have one or just push a cup down to get the shape and all that. Put on some backing foil. Beat the egg and glaze the top.

Oven for like 10-15 mins or just until the start to turn golden

bon appetite or whatever the Spanish equivalent is

Okay so here is my breakdown of his recipe:

225g of self raising flower= 1 and a half cups plus two tablespoons of self raising flower (the ingredient stays the same! miraculous!)

A pinch of salt: let's hope you know what that is.

50g of butter is approximately 4 tablespoons or a quarter of a cup.

so 25-50g of sugar is 2-4 tablespoons of sugar... how sweet do you like it?

150 ml milk is 3/4 of a cup of milk

and one egg.... do you want me to convert that for you?

220 degrees C should be 428 F so let's say 425 since that sounds like something my mom would say.

Now follow his directions, and his other tip is NOT to put foil over them and cook them on the grill (stove top) because that doesn't work as he found out when attempting to make scones without an oven. True words of wisdom.

Hungry Hungry Hippo

Thursday morning I sat at the bus station waiting for Theresa to get in from Granada. As I read Harry Potter, I contemplated what I would do if she didn't get off the bus. Prior to her heading out, I had forgotten to make a plan with her for if anything bad happen; you simply can't trust the Cantabrian wind to allow on-time flights, nor the air traffic controllers to not decide a random strike is a good idea. So I sat there and tried to read, mostly zoning out with worst-case-scenarios playing through my mind.

As the bus pulled up, the half second glimpse of red hair was my signal that she had arrived safely. After nearly six months in Spain, I was positive that the only red head arriving in Santander was mine. Tee (Theresa, for those of you who don't know) mentioned last night that she was going to Ireland, where she would finally fit in and someone would like her. Except for fact that in reality, I think most Irish people are brunette. We'll hope that isn't true, because Tee will be returning to the Motherland soon and if she shows up and doesn't encounter multitudes of redheads, she might cry. She might also cry if she doesn't meet her hot Irish husband when there, so we'll pray for that too.

Thursday morning we went and got pizza bread and mango tea for breakfast and then walked around so I could show her the center of Santander and the port. Then I had class so we walked up to the university through Lung Cancer Tunnel. In the parking lot at school we encountered a line of caterpillars marching along at a steady pace of one foot an hour. National Geographic is really missing out on this:

After class we headed to the beach so she could see why I am obsessed with it here. I had planned on 65 degrees and sunny weather, but I think Mother Nature missed that memo, because although we had 52 degree weather, the wind was "going to give you pneumonia" as we were told by an old man as we attempted to tan on the beach regardless of the freezing breeze. Lucky for us we had a Spanish grandpa reprimanding us for a lack of clothing when our fathers are not here to do so.

Tee had her first patatas bravas experience after we failed at being pushy enough to get a table at the restaurant by the beach. Each Thursday they offer a 2x1 Menu del Dia, but after half an hour of waiting and two tables being given to people who arrived after us we bailed and headed into town to find food. The only problem is that unless you want to drop a small fortune on a meal, you are going to be hard pressed to find something for lunch. So we settled for Regma ice cream and bravas. Thursday night we went out and played Trivia at the bar the group goes to each week. This week was a first for me: I knew two of the answers. The first was "Who is the voice of the donkey in Shrek" which is Eddie Murphy, and the second was a name that song question, which was Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Let's just make it clear that I will not be on any game shows, playing any sort of random fact game, or winning at anything like trivia in my lifetime.

Friday morning I gave a presentation about the revolution in Egypt, after which Tee and I headed into town for a bit of shopping-- that of course resulted in purchasing slightly unnecessary but really fabulous makeup. Back in October I was quite proud of myself for not spending a small fortune in the makeup store Kiko in Milan. We went into about six of them and I didn't buy a single thing. But then Santander has one open downtown and within a week I am suddenly a loyal customer who can't control herself with samples and shiny colors. Add makeup to the list of things I can't resist buying. Makeup, shoes, undies, jackets, food, and things with cows on them. What a mature life I lead.

After our little shopping extravaganza we headed home to have lunch with Tete. Tee (that's going to get confusing isn't it?) is staying with us, which is a total miracle because Tete was kind of on the fence about it. This basically means that Tee and I spend excessive amounts of time together eating, giggling and sleeping. Heaven in the form of a weekend and redhead. After lunch we hiked out the coast and had conversations about bitterness, God, friendship and food. Having Tee visit just reminded me why I love the people in my life: the conversation is always so rich and hilarious.

Friday night we went out and attempted to make Spanish friends, and are proud to report that not a single person talked to us, save for the British kid that I helped a few weeks back. He did, however, promise to trade me my paella recipe for his British scones recipe, so wait for that, it will be coming along soon. Tee and I had an adventure walking home, doing Colorado proud with a bit of squatting like a pro.

Late night bravas!

In true Spanish form (okay not really but let's pretend) we slept in until 10:30 on Saturday and lounged around until noon when we headed out to find La Gaviota: a popular restaurant in the fisherman's district. Going to find it virtually meant wandering around until an old man stopped us and lectured us about how we should always just ask someone for directions since the people in Santander are really nice. He also said that everyone was always asking for La Gaviota, which I took as a sign that either lots of people read the same guidebook that I have, which recommends it, or it is just really famous so tourists go hunting for it. Regardless we did manage to find it, and upon walking in thought we had gate crashed a wedding. There was a huge table of elaborate desserts and massive wine bottles. By massive I mean an eight inch wide base. The tables had fancily folded napkins and really pretty wine glasses. We ordered wine with the Menu del Dia; normally I can handle pretty foul wine but this was a shockingly nasty white. That was a bit of a nerve turner, because if the wine was anything like the food we would have been carried out in body bags. Outside the paella was cooking in a massive pot next to huge grills where the men were cooking crabs, fish, shrimp and the rest of the daily catch. Our paella came first, and it was not quite as good as Tete's but the shrimp was the best I have ever had. Tee ordered squid for her second plate, and I ordered cocido montanes. I was fairly sure it was a stew, but commented to Tee that I was a little worried it was pig ear. When the waiter brought it out, the curled and slightly hairy ear floating in the stew told me that I was not entirely wrong on either assumption. I ate the beans and potatoes but those ears went right back to the kitchen when the table was cleared. Trying new foods has been a goal of mine, but there are some things I just can't do. One of those is cutting off a piece of pig ear to eat with potatoes and beans, let alone actually putting it in my mouth.

After lunch we walked over to a bakery we found on our walk to lunch... yes, food is kind of a major theme in this weekend story. Tee got some cookies and we headed to the center to wait for siesta to be finished. On the way we found a store that was selling nesting dolls; the window was full of all sizes of dolls and lots of Russian looking souveniers. We went inside and expected to find some sort of tourist shop, based on the window display, but with the lights off and lots of movies all over I half expected to find lots of adult videos under the disguise of trinkets. All the labels were in Russian, or a language that looked like that. We escaped quickly and ended up going into another store where I bought a cow mug to take home. The next half hour was spent talking to the woman who worked in the store about traveling, about students she had live with her in the years past, and about her daughter not wanting to be friends with a fat girl from Michigan. I ended up getting her name and number to give to Gloria so that maybe the woman can host students again, and as we left she said "If you need anything, now you have my phone number, anything at all!" and I was reminded who I love Santander. Belin, the random shop keeper, made my Saturday.

After our Belin encounter we headed to the bus station because Belin told us that she got tickets by bus to Santiago for 11 euro each way. Sadly, I think that is only if you have an Alsa bus card, which I'd have invested in if I'd known about it a while back but I missed that boat. On our way out, God smiled down on us and we discovered a yogurt store. Yes. A yogurt store with fresh Cantabrian milk and fresh made yogurt. After sampling the free types of yogurt we each bought a little jar to have as a snack, since we were obviously famished after our Menu del Dia. I'm surprised Tee and I survived, we were practically starving ourselves all day.

After our snack we went shopping... I heard once you should never shop on an empty stomach because you'll be more impulsive. I have two things to say about that: I shopped on a full stomach and bought more than I should ever have, and I felt fat doing so. Therefore: shop on an empty stomach so you feel skinny and great and then don't buy things because you already feel awesome and don't need new things to make you feel good. Shopping when you are full is like running on a treadmill while inhaling chocolate and ice cream. You feel fat and it is not productive, and then because you feel bad about yourself you consume more. That may be my number one International Marketing lesson since coming to Spain: feed your customers, make them feel like a beached whale that Japan should come an whale hunt, and they will buy more.

However, I have been hunting for the perfect leather jacket since I got here. That was the one thing (okay so really like one of fifteen things) that I really wanted to buy when here. And yesterday I finally found Mr. Right. After all this time of hunting, I found a jacket with an extremely long torso and long arms made probably just for me. So now I just have to stop thinking of things I "desperately" need and I might get home with a little bit of money left to buy lots of tamales and Starbucks with.

After we went shopping for two hours we went to Valor Chocolate to get their famous churros con chocolate. As usual, they were delicious, and we were reminded once again that food is the true meaning of love.

After having our fiftieth snack of the day we got on the bus to head home; our conversation consisted mostly of how nothing ever goes as we plan and about how we would eat a really light dinner to make up for the four thousand calories we each consumed. When Tete called us to dinner we saw a huge bowl of tomato and cucumber salad, a corn and pineapple salad, and a serving plate of peas and carrots. It was the perfect amount of food... enough salad to fill us up while being really light and healthy. But then Tete took out a tray of a dozen eggs and progressed to use the entire thing to make us two huge omlettes and one tiny one for her grandson. Then came the loaf of bread and the vanilla pudding for dessert. And as usual, our idea of what would happen was completely thrown away. As was our ability to stop eating when food is put infront of us. But let's be real: we probably never had that ability.

After dinner we spent two hours playing Rummi with Tete and then climbed into bed to finish Leap Year. Perfect day done :)

This morning we slept in a bit and then got up, had breakfast, and went on a two hour walk around Magdelena Park. As usual it was spectacular and all the trees were budding with spring green leaves. Don't you love spring green? It looks a bit like green that is on steroids, only for a few weeks before it fades to the summer green which is pretty but just not as vibrate or special. Maybe it's just my obsession with anything green that is created by growing up in a place where you see white for seven or eight months a year. After our walk we came home, did some Ab Ripper (second time for the weekend, gotta work on that paella belly) and then had lunch with Tete. The post-lunch studying/procrastination/packing was a little sad, and dropping Tee off at the bus station was definitely my least favorite part of the weekend. Now she will be landing in Madrid before possibly eating some Doner Kebab before getting on her bus to Granada. And so ends our fabulous weekend of bringing Steamboat to Santander :)

Life is rough when it's Lent

Okay here's the problem:

I have nothing to give up for Lent. Well, I do. I have a lot of things to give up. Like:

judging, chocolate, cussing, slacking at school, coffee, Coke, Facebook stalking, holding grudges, not going to Mass enough, spending excessive amounts of money on dresses I'll never wear, not giving money to poor people or African kids, taking too long of showers and taking the bus to school so thus contributing to global warming even if I think it is fake, obsessing about flan going straight to my thighs instead of where I'd like it to go... on my ass, drinking lots of red wine, and probably I should stop being so superficial, materialistic, rude and harsh. The only problem is that those things could also go on my list of New Years Resolutions, which I'd have already forgotten about except I wrote them down so I could go check.

My problem with giving things up or working on things is that then I spend lots of energy feeling like I need to fix myself. Maybe I have been approaching Lent incorrectly for the past 10 years (since I really doubt I gave anything up before the age of 9) since I am thinking maybe it should be about suffering so we can appreciate Jesus dying for us. As a Catholic, I should probably know the answer to that and have some Bible verse to throw at you in a super know it all way. However, I don't. I know the principle is to give something up, but I think this year I want to do something that makes me feel like I am improving myself, not causing an abundance of stress and punishment which always results in more chocolate eating, canceling out any good that was being done.

I considered giving up chocolate, except chocolate con churros is not avaliable in the US, and seeing as I only have 24 days left here, that would culturally be a poor decision. I don't think the same goes for coffee, however when I get back I will immediately purchase a Starbucks, so why doom myself to failure from the start. So basically cross any food off the list of things I can give up. Then I thought about giving up Facebook: my one life line to the States and the madness I like to call my mother. If I was to give up Facebook even for three days I would receive lots of emails with links about recipes, with advice about how to obtain those recipes, with advice on fifteen hostels to stay at, with advice on what TV shows to watch, etc. etc. Take Facebook off the list of possibilities. Then I contemplated removing Grey's Anatomy from my life, but it isn't doing any harm so that won't positively effect my life.

Thus, I am at a loss. I fixed this so that now you can leave comments (maybe?) so if you have a spare minute and can think of something I could give up or do for Lent, I'd really appreciate it. If not, then I shall get creative and maybe I'll give up oogling Spanish men at the beach. But I'd rather not give that up either.

Today it was 67 degrees and sunny out. WHAT. WHAT. Is this real life? 67. Degrees. In. March. Also, how is it already March? Who let that happen? Rude, March, rude. Not for being 67, cause that's fantastic, but for being March. Was September and my frantic packing for three weeks not just last month? And did Sweden for Christmas really happen? Where, I would like to know, has all my time gone.

So due to the 67 degrees, I spent this entire afternoon napping and reading on the beach. I figured out, with my highly advanced math skills that will surly get me through a May semester of calc (right?), that I need to read 30 pages of Harry Potter a day in order to finish before I go home. Too bad I can't use that for "Lenten life improvement" which I shall now be calling it. Tomorrow I am going to babysit Maria from 10-1:30, and prayers would be greatly appreciated since this morning, we spent two hours changing the diaper on her Tickle Me Elmo and cutting up pieces of paper.

While I realize that the two presentations I have due this week and the two finals that are on Monday might be important to start preparing for, the beach is just much more enticing than any of those. There are about six beaches within ten minutes of my house, but normally I go to Sardinero 1 or 2, or Bikini Beach. I'm not sure if I told you about Bikini Beach yet? If I did skip this part. But if not: it was named Bikini Beach because during Franco's dictatorship bikinis were banned, but all the Americans would go to the small hidden beach to wear theirs. And supposedly, that is what made Santander a popular Spanish tourism location: all the Spanish men came to see the illegal bikini wearing American girls. Now though they opt for topless beach going, which Gloria has said is a necessary thing to participate in at least once. So when Theresa Cutter visits me on Friday, we might have a terrifying topless experience at Bikini Beach.

I was talking to Gloria about the whole "don't guys just about have massive heart faliure with all the girls topless" issue, but she said that at the beach, you can tell the tourists because they are the only ones phased by boobs. Nobody else cares. Last summer, she went to the beach topless with lots of her friends, half of whom were boys. Then later, she was changing and one of the guys accidentally walked in on her in her bra and immediately started apologizing like he had accidentally dropped an atomic bomb on her family. It's just different, I suppose, being topless for the sake of making sure you don't have a ridiculous tan line, and being in your bra.

Yesterday I was going to try to be really productive but instead spent an hour watching the seals at Magdelena Park. They are not as cute as cows, but they are fat and snuggly looking so I really love them too. One of the seas was hanging out by the drain getting a nice sucky scratchy belly rub from the pipes and water. Or trying to escape out the tiny hole into the ocean. Either one. Here are a few pictures of them :)

Baby sea lion nursing/really irritating the momma sea lion.

Seal trying to escape down the drain?

I'd quite enjoy scuba diving with him. Or cuddling. Or both at the same time.

Last night's sunset from Magdelena Park

My afternoon on the beach :)

Ohh you mooove my soul

Things to never travel without:

A nail clipper

Ferbreeze (you never know when you'll have a homeless man living in your hostel, or when you non-smoking room is a previously smoking room)

Ear plugs (you never know when the homeless man will want to dig through his bags at four am for a snack)

A pocket-knife

A pen and paper

A good book

An apple

Okay that's just the list I wanted to make speedy quick so that I don't forget to write it down for the future.

Yesterday I went to Burgos, which is in Old Catille and Leon (a region to the south of Cantabria.) When I woke up, I went on a mad search for my passport, since I was not quite as prepared as I thought and didn't pack it Thursday night. Normally, my passport stays in its grey zipper pouch right on the bottom shelf of my night stand. When I say normally I actually mean ALL THE TIME. Which for me is a huge accomplishment because organization is not my strong point in life. Thus, when it wasn't there, I immediately went into a state of total panic. After searching my undies, my jeans, the boxes of the boots I just got, the trash, my six drawers, under my bed and in my bathroom bag, I gave up. I really don't have very many places to lose things here. It isn't like at home when it could be: at work, in my car, at home, at school, let alone all the places at home it could be, like my room, bathroom, living room, kitchen, etc. Tete came in at 9:30 to tell me I was going to be late for the bus, at which point she asked why I was laying on the floor with my arm under my bed. It is fairly embarrassing to have to admit that you might have lost the one document that is vital to your status as a resident of a nation. She progressed to get a long broom and sweep under the other bed in my room, producing none other than my passport in its little pouch. At which point I got my first Spanish mother spanking.

I did manage to make the bus, and 11,45 euro later I was headed to Burgos. Returning to somewhere cold, with sleet snow reminded me that I am going to probably have hypothermia constantly when I go home. Burgos has a legendarily horrible afternoon wind, and mixed with the snow it was a fairly miserable afternoon. But I managed to find the hostel on my own, which really just involved wandering around for a bit and then climbing the stairs in a place I'd have picked to use for the orphanage in Annie. It was about as nice as that... I'd have given quite a lot of bravas for a Daddy Warbucks to save me last night as I listened to an army of pigeons have a yelling match over which ledge to sleep on, which nearly suffocating in a non-smoking room that should have been labeled "non-smoking for you because you are a non-smoker." However, there was no homeless man in my room, so life is improving on the hostel front.

After dropping my things off at the hostel I went to the Cathedral, which is spectacular. In a typically bright move, I forgot my camera in my backpack at the front locker, so I won't be able to show you want it looks like. But there are lots of important tombs of kings and queens and bishops. Behind it, the old castle is up on a hill in the park. The only issue with that is it got the life bombed out of it during the Civil War, so now it is mostly just a pretty park with the walls of an old castle.

My guide book was selected due to its reference to the most famous patatas bravas in town, which I tried to have at around four but the kitchen was closed, so I waited till seven and returned and it was absolutely worth it. Other than that I survived most the day on coffee and pastries and chocolate.

This weekend is Carnaval, which I have deduced to be about equivalent to Halloween, with all the kids dressed as dogs or Belle or firemen, and all the girls dressed as French Maids, home wreckers, or Britney Spears. There was a band of bees on stilts playing, and some huge floating head balloons; other than that I'm not entirely sure what was going on. Lots of drums and loud music and things like that.

This morning I got churros and chocolate for breakfast, continuing on my health streak for the weekend. Then I walked around the plaza for a bit before heading back to the station for my bus back to Santander. On the bus ride back we were going through eastern Cantabria, which is virtually nothing aside from countless small houses with their green fields full of... cows! So of course I spent the whole ride leaning over the kid who got the window seat trying to see the Spanish baby cows. They are the really furry caramel brown colored ones. And the dairy baby cows are so precious. All around, I was thrilled. Some people get really happy about certain things, like my dad about skiing or fish. That thing for me is baby cows and ducks. I literally feel immense joy like my heart is going to pop and I have to squeeze them and love them in my mind because they are so cute. Which makes me possibly certifiably weird, but it's just the truth. What is cuter than a baby cow, plus, it will grow up to taste so good. What could be more perfect? So the overall highlight of my entire weekend was the soul touching baby cows walking along the side of the road with their farmer smacking them with a stick so they didn't turn into a baby cow pancake under the bus. There's nothing cuter than that. (Except my future kids.)

Arco Santa Maria en Burgos

My afternoon companions :)

Chinese dragon at the Carnaval fiesta

Legendary patatas bravas y cana!

The Cathedral when it was sunny!

The weird bee band.

View from Castillo Park

The Book Irish Bar... such a great combination

One of that statues in Burgos

Walkway along the river; in the summer these trees are full of purple flowers so it's like a purple tunnel.

For the love of food.

I am on page 100 of Harry Potter in Spanish. I also managed to make a hostel reservation for tomorrow night in Burgos, in Spanish. Then I ordered the most delicious thing on the planet, although I did order in Spanish it was a "see that one on the bottom in the front? That one." kind of deal. So now I can't tell you the name. Instead, I am going to give you one of my "Michelle fails at explaining things without adding -y, -ish, or -type thing to the end of her words" explainations.

Okay here we go:

Have you ever had that type of bread they bake and it dries in layers and gets hard and kind of flakey like a crissount? It was two layers of that, and in the middle was cream. But the cream here isn't like the fake cream filling in the States. It is a yellow color, but not because it tastes like vanilla or because they add coloring. It tastes like chilly sweet cream, and is a consistancy between mousse and pudding. And then on top, you know the frosting they use on those Christmas cookies that is usually a horrible dyed color like pink, actually Easter cookies might be a better season to associate them with. But anyway, that frosting turns into one hard and shiny layer when it dries. Well that was on top, only it was just white and natural, so you don't feel like you are eating the Easter Bunny's entire year's supply of egg dye when you eat it.

My original plan for the day went something like this: wake up at 8:30, breakfast, work out, shower, go to school and work on my project, lunch, babysit Maria, go do my language exchange and then meet with Gloria to talk about my trip to Burgos tomorrow.

This is how it really went: woke up at 9:15 (an improvement from the past 10:15 wake ups this week), checked Facebook, ate a banana (two points for waking up and being healthy), had two cups of hot chocolate, read HP7, ate Milka chocolate instead of working out, watched three episodes of Grey's Anatomy instead of doing homework, found out Maria was with her grandparents and my intercambio had a meeting with his professor, so spent the afternoon eating things and watching tv and googling things to do in Burgos. Then went to see Gloria, talked about boys who care too much about their hair and boys with too much hair, and then went and spent 3,10 e on three sobao (pound cake with the air sucked out of it type thing) and the delicious creamy thing.

I just got on Facebook and saw the dreaded daily special of Backcountry Provisions. Now, prior to this summer I wasn't a fan. The whole obsession with BCP was kind of foreign to me. But then I discovered the following sandwich: 1/2 a french baguette, roasted turkey, munster cheese, pesto, avacado, lettuce and tomato. My life will never be the same. And so now I am fantasizing about that sandwich while eating too much sobao before dinner.

Yes, I miss my family and my friends and Roo and his stinky farts. That's just a given. But deep down in my heart, the one thing I ache for is food. While I realize life is short and we have to love the people in our lives, I know they will always be there for me. Even if they died, they will always be there loving me. So honestly, what I miss the most is food. Because that won't always be there because right now, someone is eating my perfect sandwich and that munster cheese will never be mine. Ever. But when I leave, someone will be eating the patatas bravas and the churros con chocolate that I should be eating. So many poor pieces of food will never know how much I truly adore them.

In the movie "A Horse With A Grey Flannel Suit" which you probably haven't seen because it might have been one of those movies only my family was in love with, but anyway, he falls in love with her when he is watching her eat a hot dog. I think if a guy ever told me he loved how I ate and loved watching me eat, I would cry from joy. And if I met a guy who truly adored food like I do, AND loved watching me eat AND understood that his food is my food but my food is mine, I would just have to marry him on the spot. The post I put up about dating a girl who reads, well it should be "Date a girl who reads and eats." Because food is the next best thing to falling in love. And unlike falling in love, which can sometimes go south and leave you, food will be the one that is in bed with you (although hopefully in a container or your mouth and not in the sheets) making you feel so much better.

Everyone's famous in a small town

http://www.realracingclub.es/comunicacion/actualidad/ampliar.php?Id_contenido=6848

We're kind of a big deal!

Want some honey, honey?

There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea. ~Bernard-Paul Heroux

I asked Tete if I could use some honey for my tea. I turned around to get the second cup of boiling water out of the microwave. Upon turning around, I saw Tete using a cooking spoon to pour honey into my Seville travel mug. A cooking spoon. Now, I am all for honey. I love honey sticks and honey before ski races and generally I'd eat a spoonful just for fun. But as she dipped that three tablespoon sized shovel back into the honey, I froze. Normally, when someone is serving you, they say " Tell me when!" and then you awkwardly respond "When?........" and hope they stop. I haven't figured out the Spanish version of this, which results in massive amounts of honey, soup, salad, chocolate, blood sausage, microwave potatoes, and squid out of a can with ink.

I will have no lack of energy today, when we go to see the Magdelena Palace for class, that's for sure. And the next thing on my to-do list is figure out how to say "When!" in Spanish.

I'd love to take credit but I can't

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

—

Rosemarie Urquico (via kblitz)

(via conversationslips)

Rosemarie no longer has an active blog, but she can be found on Facebook here:http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/profile.php?id=585211028

To see the post about how she was found, please go here. Thanks, Jonathan (who should eventually get a website that I can link to, yes) for searching!

This is just kind of one of the best things I have read. Someday, I want to write something this great. New goal.