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.