Mamá Day

Scene: Five years ago, March. I call my father up and wish him a happy Father's Day. The fact that I've lived my entire life in the United States and that Father's Day has never before been in March does not deter me. It is in March in Spain, it must be the same everywhere. My father, God bless him, receives his Strange Father's Day love without blinking. "Thanks," he says. I found out about a week later that it wasn't Father's Day. And not through my parents. What could he possibly have been thinking as he accepted that tremendously early holiday wish?

Fast-forward to now. This time I am prepared for Spain's holiday trickery and I know that Mother's Day is in May. There can be no mistake. Cathy and I talk it through. I make the necessary arrangements so that my Mother can get her gifts from me. Of course, of course, OF COURSE Mother's Day is ONE FULL WEEK later in the States. It's not this Sunday, May 1st. WHASSUP WITH THAT SPAIN.

Luckily I made an even bigger mistake than that; one which has cancelled the first one out dramatically. Unfortunately, more will have to be explained next week when I don't risk ruining what little surprise I have left. Suspense!

Peace The Fork Out, Bathroom Ceiling

It was with great happiness that Cathy and I bid adiós to our scary bathroom ceiling, which was threatening to fall on our heads. The landlady fought long and hard for us, screaming and demanding to our upstairs meany neighbor that he repair our roof. After much Spanish "no way, you're crazy! such things have never been heard of!" he caved in and came through. The scariest part of the bathroom was right above the toilet. There, the ceiling had actually begun to sag, and the water stains sometimes leaked. We had to place the toilet paper in the NEVER-USED bidet to keep it from water damage. Sometimes I wore galoshes and waded through puddles to wash my hands or brush my teeth. Suffice to say, we spent little time in the bathroom to avoid risk of premature and embarassing deaths.

Insert one new ceiling and one EXTRA crazy landlady currently mopping my floors. She won't leave the apartment!

Sant Jordi

Happy Sant Jordi everybody! Today in Spain is a very special day when you give roses and books to people you hold dear to you, in honor of Saint George (Sant Jordi in Catalan) who is celebrated because he screwed up his courage and popped a cap in a dragon, gangsta style. I did my part to celebrate by surprising someone very important with some roses and books, per custom. And then I killed a dragon. WORD. But HELLO where are my books and roses? Cathy and I both confessed that we briefly entertained notions of book-giving but then didn't, our unthoughtfulness cancelling each other out nicely.

In further celebration of Sant Jordi's love of the written word is this little blog's first birthday! I thought about all of the ways that I could celebrate the blog's birthday but ya'll, it's too much work. Can we just talk about this poor child's picture of Sant Jordi busting up the dragon?

Dear Uma:
I love your picture of Sant Jordi/Hitler slaying the dragon. The little moustache was a nice touch. Are you making some kind of statement? Good for you. But Uma, can I ask some questions? Is the dragon smiling? He looks mighty happy for having just gotten slain. Maybe he isn't actually dead, judging from the scratch near his foot. Unless Sant Jordi had access to some pretty high caliber rifle, which you don't seem to have drawn, I don't think he's finished off your dragon. He's even smiling! Uma, I don't think that's how the story goes. And is Jordi actually straddling the dragon?

I like the way that Princess is four times the size of everybody else. Hey, isn't she bigger than the dragon? I don't think she would have needed saving from anything. She looks pretty tough, except for the bum right arm. She probably could have just kicked the dragon and grabbed the rose from the dude on the horse since they're the same height. And am I tilted or is everyone leaning to the right?
Uma, this picture rocks.

Love, Dean

[crunchcrunchcrunch]

It may be time for a Snack Food Intervention when it's 1.39 in the morning and you can hear your possibly tipsy roommate munching on potato chips in bed.

Reasons Why I'm Still A Bad English Teacher

Student says: "Then you take the cho-co-late, you remove it, you mezclate it, you put it in a cazo and then you add the milks. You must to need the black cho-co-late. You remove the entire masa and I like very much this."

I say: [Nothing. I think I blinked a few times to more thoroughly absorb all of this information. Note that here remove means stir.]

In related news, I'm totally going to be observed on Friday by one of the scarier office staff. I warned the students, telling them that we were going to the bar the day before as part of Operation I'm Bribing You So Don't Mess This Up For Me. Life is made of moments like these.

Fresh Green Notice!

Ever since I received Margaeretta's email the other day, I've been scanning my junk mail a little more thoroughly before emptying it in hopes of receiving more crazy craziness. As it turns out, my email account is quite the receptacle for this new form of novelicious spam, which seems to consist of semi-random quotes taken from various websites. The curious part is that these emails seem to have some kind of more or less sensible thread weaving them together. Who can forget Jessica's epic journey? Or, in the case of the email that I received today, Ian's scores on about 50 different videogames? I'm incredibly fascinated by any email that produces sentences that are so nonsensical that you understand them. Behold, excerpts from today's email from Rob -- Fresh Green Notice!

It was a good games player. He is an especially tough game, with limited income to be made. Jarratt did well early, breaking even by turn two. I sold a lot of fun, and felt very robber-barony.

Really well, this time it failed spectacularly. More spectacular was Sharon's monument and river collection. We could tell she was going to be able to surge ahead for a win, but I had issued too many shares for that. Sharon and Ian camped out in the East and West respectively.

Spanish Class

After about 7 years of classes, I think I'm pretty good at Spanish. It was my secret language of communication with Nanny, my only communication with many Spanish friends, and I taught it for two years at Syracuse University. So finding myself in Spanish class again in Spain is a bit of a humbling experience. The only other student in the class has a really good accent and a Spanish boyfriend. I had my doubts about her, and in class this past Wednesday I became aware of the silent construction of competition laid down between us. I tried my best to resist her passive-aggressive outbursts in class before finally spanking her ass (oh-so-figuratively) at adjective definitions. Outside of class, everyone I know has been questioning my reasons for taking it, the necessity of a Spanish class in Spain. I mean, it's great to learn the really random words that I am learning (because at this point the basics have been more than covered), but do I need this?

Nah.

But I'm getting somewhat desperate with Spanish, as it seems to continually elude me and as I am thwarted constantly at all attempts to make Spain friends -- not that those attempts have been really serious. Anyway, at this point class is an extra 3 hours of Spanish speaking a week and a chance to be annoyingly corrected with every mistake. As stinging as it may be for a Spanish teacher to be taught Spanish, this is ultimately what I'm here for. That, and annihilating my classmate with my knowledge of Spanish.

First Week Recap

Ah, sweet Saturday afternoon: books, internet surfing, and general laziness. My classes this week turned out to be okay. Some of them, obviously, are less exciting and more painful than others, but that is to be expected. My schedule, after flirting with the idea of being a new thorn in my side, was realized to be printed with an error. Now, instead of a hectic Monday/Wednesday class, it has been replaced with a much smoother Tuesday/Thursday. My ruffled feathers were grudgingly laid down, although I made a secret vow in my heart of hearts to never work full-time as an English teacher again. I actually am making more money than I need, and the purpose of this time here in Spain was never about saving money, but living. But I'm not Scrooge McDuck enough to complain about having too much money.

Other than that, the week has been quite normal, although that's not a bad thing. I find myself adapting more and more to life in general here, which means that I am becoming happier inside. I'm currently working on bringing forth that joy about being in Spain that I had those five years ago, when everything seemed to magical and surreal. The best times are when it actually works, when the sun comes out through the clouds and I have this fleeting moment of intense wonder at everything. In moments like those the buildings change shape, the world smells different, and nothing is as ordinary as we lead ourselves to believe. Try it, it's an addictive feeling.

Dear Margaeretta

Today, amongst the varied junk porn mail that's always in my inbox, a short email from someone I don't know. Sometimes you get these emails, and you think, is this really junk mail? The subject line was "noticias," news in Spanish. I clicked on the email, interested. I would like to write Margaeretta back and thank her for her special brand of craziness. I would also like to point out to her that, unfortunately, I am unable to understand this email, since I lack the necessary decrypting skills. I do think she's trying to give me news about her life, and perhaps say hello. You decide.

From : Margaeretta Brioni
Sent : Wednesday, April 13, 2005 1:09 PM
To :
Subject : noticia

If enough undead are still wigglin' after the sun comes up, then we'llhave a conversation and he helped me switch trains in Amsfoort. It was great (she's a wonderful cook), and because I have been keeping myself busy. That is to say, I haven't been allowing myself the space and time to sit and think. This has been going on basically since my longterm relationship ended a month and a half ago. I kind of plans Jessica might've made that involved someone coming to the Bible Museum, then met Esperantists in Amsterdam, because the streets were set up for walking. Another beautiful difference from America was that there are anklecuffs on either side of the U.S. had any right to attack Iraq. I didn't have the 12 euro in change that the solo in the eyes and face. It struck me how very different these two beautiful women looked. They moved toward one another and Jessica's hands went to Burning Man. - I went over to her house wearing the prescribed comfortable and slightly-dressy clothes, she came back and I definitely plan to meet and what I was working was affecting my ability to work by 08:30 again. These were good habits that you've lost. An alarm is definitely a way of living intentionally. I've been given. I know that she not go to Amsterdam with the cross piece running under the sheet. I'll be back in talking about this, that, and the energy which he put into Mills Electric Co.and the the defense of our "sealed" dates. This is something that we had a great time with her. The food was great (she's a wonderful woman, Nathalie, who was just listening during an ending note. I felt incompetent and embarassed, which are two feelings that I've been a bit of self-evaluation time. Journaling (private and public) has been the best outlet for that role anytime soon is not a good idea. This longing makes me think that, at least for now, I'm going to be with her, and connect with her. The food was great because I realized that the solo in the Netherlands, there wasn't anything that resembled a billboard. In fact, on my right, smiling and walking around and lost in the Netherlands) out to Vierhouten. The location was a meeting building out in a small campground there. I was riding my bike to school (an absolutely favorite time for us to get in to work during the intervening time, but didn't allow myself the space and time to sit with a really long stem. Each of the guys walked with me before, like intense biting and candle wax, though once she made the smallest of noises, an exhalation of a Spotless Mind shows: I stopped watching this year. Valuable life lessons you learned in 2004: i'm gonna fall in love with ev'ryone i see and ev'rything i touch and ev'rything i touch and ev'rything i feel isn't that the people that I was very happy to be introducing me to appreciate more about a French perspective on life, love, and lounging about. The Dutch Esperantists were expressing, and I think it's stress related, but things seem to be some rules tonight. First, you can't touch her. If you try, she will leave. Are we clear?" I nodded to show my understanding and agreement. "And last, you cannot talk directly to Sung in Korean in the apparatus until I'd cum three times (that was a pure longing to be succeeding at his opening with a really long stem. Each of the "Y" has a wristcuff and there are activities in Amsterdam which are illegal in other countries, most notably, America. This fact hit me while I was bound, had a naked picture of myself published in a national magazine 01. had "intimate moments" with poultry 5 things you've probably done that I haven't been diligent) rail on myself for lack of progress, but I'm not interested in behaving in a state of continual orgasm. The downside to this is that when she was up to, but I was reminded of how much our legal system has imposed a morality on what we do everyday. So, also, I must note the similarities between Amsterdam and Las Vegas, in that "what happens in Amsterdam, so we walked around further outside of the stem. When it's put on someone (who's probably lying down), it holds their arms next to their sides of my life. Too often I'll jump to a tangent from a human and to talk with the river" for a role in my life. I look forward to getting out of the bed on my work. I need to keep cumming, but after that initial reaction to "coming down" she's happy and content. So, Jessica started making small circles with her and wouldn't have asked her here if I missed my last train from Brussels to Lille, I was in Amsterdam, because the streets were set up for walking. Another beautiful difference from America was that there will be there when I'm in need. And, I'm feeling that loss now in the eyes as her breasts came in contact with my resolutions, but I knew what that meant. We'd be using the "apparatus" tonight. The apparatus is a custom made piece of chocolate and a blank page and start shovelling out the bedroom door, and then trying some raw herring. I separated from the sides of my cock at all. I could feel her ass clenched on my dissertation What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? For my 34th birthday, I celebrated with the WOI's family. I asked at the hotel and asked if I can to reduce drilling for oil. I avoid large national chain stores and buy organic foods in order that people could understand me, and I so wanted to give me one piece of bondage gear that Jessica is a.

Freaking Your Student Out: A One-Act Play

Setting: Conference Room, two individuals sitting next to each other. The audience quickly realizes that this is a professor and his student, and they are playing "getting to know you" games. This is inferred through an elaborate series of miming and hand gestures.

Professor: What is this name here? Points to a name on the paper.

Student: This is my friend Yeyua. She's a girl, but it's a boy's name. She's--

Professor interrupts, intrigued. She used to be a boy?

After a lengthy pause, student answers. She is visibly confused. She has a boy's name.

Awkward silence for about 30 seconds. Professor clears his throat.

Curtain.

Can I Complain About My Schedule Again?

I ask this question because I know that you, cyber-traveler, are no doubt utterly bored with my constant whines about my schedule. Perhaps you'll remember that I was extra happy about my previous schedule, which gave me whole afternoons of lazing about. Unfortunately the wheel has turned, and a new schedule has been produced. I now have a class at 8:00 in the morning (no change) in the south of Madrid (big change), in the outskirts, a place untouched by the metro. I have to travel to the end of a line and take a bus from there. Gads! The Spanish class that I was going to take via my company has been placed in the middle of the only free time that I have on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I already warned the girl who organized it: This does not bode well for my attendance. To tell the truth, in my head I've already stopped going. My Saturday class is still intact, of course.

I'm not terribly unhappy, it's just the whole system that frustrates. Why should a schedule change so dramatically every three months? Another problem is that the company's policy on everything seems so willfully shrouded in drama and mystery. After a week of hiding the process from us, of cutting conversations short in mid-sentence when we walked into the office, they unveiled our schedules with a great "Ta-Daaaaaaa!" All this sleight-of-hand and disappearing, reappearing time gets old.

And I'm totally going part-time after this semester.

Posting Secrets

PostSecret, where readers are invited to send in their deepest secrets in the form of postcards. Only secrets that have never been told to anyone before are eligible. You may want to shower, laugh, or cry after you finish reading them.

Long Overdue Stories, pt.2

An Open Letter to Baby, Almost a Month Old

Wondering a little how you fit into the cogs and wheels of the world, what good your little words could possibly have against the bold IMPACT type of America and its steel doors, you might one day be disheartened and think that you are a tiny speck on a tiny planet. You are here, and will be gone. Right now, you're probably asleep, because from what I hear you're still in that whole phase where you're not very fun. You are incredibly beautiful, though, and I was amazed at the softness of your skin. I thought about how tough the world makes us, the things we do to our insides and outsides to keep up with the rolling wheel of reality. You were warm against my tummy and smelled strongly of baby powder. I was lulled into your spell and was tempted to think all babies must be born like this, perfect and sweet-smelling, until I saw my sister apply it freely during one of your changing sessions. Yeah, I saw your Mom change your diaper. I haven't had that dirty pleasure yet, but I'm sure my day shall come too. And I will curse at you in Spanish, mark my words.

As you nestled into my tummy and with your warmth and smell washing over me, I thought of my Nanny, the strong backbone of our matriarchal family for many years. I thought of her doing the same thing with me, how she held us the same way and whispered to us with quiet Spanish words, raining trilling RRRRRRs and foreign clicks onto our absorbing ears. I clutched you when I thought of her and I began that same whisper, brought from some deep place inside of me, because I don't want to forget her, to forget those words, or our shared past. Before I was even born, we had long replaced the white-sanded beaches and humid air of Puerto Rico for South Georgia's tripthongs and pine forests, but I wanted to make you see that it's all within us anyway. I wanted you to feel our smells, our warmth in return: the paella, the warm breeze through the palm tree, the seagulls I can't remember.

You will feel so small sometimes, and so powerless against the vastness of the entire world. I want to tell you that this is what's good about the world, that it's so much bigger and grander and greater than anything we know, than anything we could possibly remember.

With so much love,
Your Tío Dean

Long Overdue Stories, pt.1

The ID Card of a Whale

Before embarking on my lightning trip home a few weeks ago, and after standing in line to become an Official Foreign Resident of Spain, I realized that it might speed up the whole customs procession to have with me my Spanish resident ID card. This could be a long, dull story, so the gist of it is that I returned to the police station and surprisingly was able to pick up my newly-minted ID card. The problem is not that I'm fat, but that the camera adds 30 pounds, it shades away all traces of your chin upon de-colorizing, and it reveals you as a Giant Face taking over all of Spain. It's not a pretty sight, ladies and gentlemen.

It Happened Like This

My little laptop, a proud friend and faithful companion through Syracuse snowfall and Camp galore, seems to have inherited my stubborn streak. It recently decided to stop letting iPedro connect to it and it denied all use of Flash. Guys, do you know how many websites use flash? Yeah, me neither, but it's a LOT. And it's all the websites I want to look at. Anyways, I suddenly reached my limit this week, and in a fit of righteous anger deleted everything on my computer and re-formatted and re-installed. This would have worked great, except that the version of XP that I have is a few years old, and needs updating badly. My Norton AntiVirus is also about 3 years old, and though the updates I can download are new, it doesn't come ready to fight against 2005's devilry running amok on the internet.

You get the drift. Virus, Virus, Virus in my first 30 seconds connected to the internet. In the course of four days I reformatted and reinstalled computer about 4 times and screamed and cried at my little laptop, willing it to fight against Sasser Virus and Trojan Horses and gloomily watching it succumb every time. I'm back online and will resume all Spanish gossip and stories soon. Thanks for being patient. Ya'll.

Things I Have Minor Issues With

Open Letter to the waitress at La Musa, Too Trendy For Me Restaurant:

I'm terribly sorry that I saw fit to return the steaming pile of fish that you placed in front of me, but it wasn't without great internal struggle. You see, as you neared me with the plate, even from far away I could tell that there was, of course, a head clearly attached to the fish. Your cook had thought to remove the innards, cutting a hole along the bottom of the fish and presumably shaking it up and down till they all flopped out; unfortunately he hadn't thought to remove much else. You said "This is so good!" and smiled at me happily. I hesitantly took the plate from you.

I realize that your cook is mad at me, and probably spit in and/or did worse things to the food that I asked for in place of the fishhead meal, but please understand the events that happened after you left our table. I felt forced to cover the fish head with my napkin, so his little eye wouldn't stare at me so cruelly, condemning my carnivorous ways. I pulled back the skin and scales, for yes, there were scales, and realized that I would be forced to navigate through his bones to reach the pulpy meat. My brilliant idea, Waitress at La Musa, was to pull enough skin off to cover his head. As I did this, my fish's neck(?) tilted back and exposed his jelly-like brains, cooked to perfection by the head chef, who is currently cursing me with expletives I have most likely never heard before in Spanish. After seeing my slain fish's brains, I decided to start from the tail, but a mouthful of fish bones harpooned my upper palate. At that point I decided to give up and to call you over, Waitress.

You were noticeably unhappy as I said, "Pretty please, I would like to change my order, or if that's not possible, just take this away because I can't eat it with the head staring at me." When you did return with a different plate of semi-edible meats, you informed me that the cook now hated me forever. I hesitate to admit that I rolled my eyes at you when you left. I rolled my eyes again at you when you told me, at the end of the meal, that I should never do something like that again, because it is VERY BAD; and you emphasized VERY BAD so that I could hear the capitals, even though I'm a foreigner.

So, I'm pretty sorry about what was essentially a gross afternoon for everybody involved.

Dean Allbritton
Former Customer of La Musa, Which Really Is Too Hip For Me