1)The puddles- why if you are well equipped with Wellies one may say? It's not the splash-friendly, let's play type of puddles that I hate. It's the 5 drops of water ones due to which I managed to get a bruise today albeit wearing super non-slip footwear
2) Worms- absolutely disgusting with a capital D. Just imagine walking or should I say, stunt-walking through various puddles and mud mounds only to catch a few slimy, muddy, moist worms sliding over your shoes [bleurgh]
3)Umbrella Aikido- All is well while walking on on one of the stretchy boulevards but once you get into the narrow. winding, cobblestone streets of the old town, that's where the challenge begins. Having to close your umbrella every two steps so you wouldn't have someone's eye out while simultaneously watching out that the same doesn't happen to you does not make the journey pleasant, take my word for it!
4)General tetchiness- people say Spaniards are tetchy with a short fuse and all that jazz. Not true! However. the same statemnt with a "when pouring with rain" becomes true in an instant! People honking at each other for no reason, nearly punching each others in the face over parking spaces, screaming at the students in their class for no pasrtiualr reason :-( (the last one affects me lol)
5) Dripping umbrellas with the TOTAL absence of 'Wet Floor' signs. I think this one speaks for itself!
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Saturday, 20 February 2010
A Lost Little One
This post would most probably appeal to my mother if she actually read the blog since I´m going to reveal some news in a form of a nursery rhyme for (intended, but whether it will be achieved is another question altogether) comical effect.
My inspiration:
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And his name is Wiggly Woo
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And all that he can do
Is wiggle all night
And wiggle all day
Whatever else the people do say
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And his name is Wiggly Woo
The news:
There´s a small stray at the bottom of my window
and his name is Snuggly Moo
There´s a stray at the bottom of my window
And all that he can do
Is wander all night and wander all day
in warm, mild sun and the pouring rain
No matter what anyone may say
There´s a stray at the bottom of my window
And his name is Snugggly Moo
An his name is Snug Snug Snuggly
Snug Snug Snuggly, Snug, Snug, Snugly
Moooooo!
Not too creative, I know but at least it got the news across that there is a stray puppy wandering up and down my street and I feel immensley sorry for it with only a wall to shelter itself with in the rain and no food. As you may guess, I am feeling tempted to take it in or help in some sort of way, but HOW? Here they are really terrible with shelters around here with the overcrowding and harsh treatment (PETA´s sources) and besides I don´t know any of the shelters´phone numbers nor whereabouts. Oh, I soooo want to take it in now that I have a flat to myself and a small patio/terrace area.... Oh, fantasies, fantasies...
Or maybe not (since the receptionist is at the other end now hehehe :P)
The poor creature resembles the one above in the auburn shade.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Subservience? Really?
Some people never fail to amaze me. EVER
I finished the university day happy to bits about getting a good grade for my hardest subject that term. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed and tired from the shock and getting four new subjects, I sat on the bus on the way to the yoga class, earphones plugged, listening to some relaxing instrumentals when a woman, seemingly in her early thirties gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder in order to ask me if the seat next to me is free (it was but my bag was on it) I moved the bag and welcomed her to sit next to me.
We started talking about things, mainly of tourist interest since the woman was a fellow English-speaking tourist (albeit not from England) when, suddenly my interlocutor fell silent, staring into the distance. I turned around thinking maybe I offended her by suggesting she should visit the Alcazar or something :) so I asked her what happened and she replied nonchalantly: " Nothing, just staring at the eye candy opposite us."
Me: "What do you mean by that?" (although I fully understood the dictionary meaning and connotation of the term. Oxford dictionary definition: something visually pleasing yet without use)
Ms. Tourist: "You know, one of them guys whose only purpose is to be looked at."
Me: "How do you know him?"
Ms Tourist: [Equally nonchalant tone] "Oh, I don't know him."
Me: :) I was frappe (French word describes the shocked feeling better than English in this case)
[in the most polite detached tone while thinking “you superficial weirdo] Well, how do you know he “serves only for looking at” if you’ve never met him. [ in an ultra joking tone] Oh come on, give him a little credit, for all you know he might be a fantastic person, father and husband with a PhD. (as a side note the man didn’t even have the blingy, I-am-so-great aura to him, dresses casually and acting like any other passerby)
Mrs Tourist: [in a nearly Janice from Friends like tone lol] Oh-my-God! When did subservience come back into fashion?
Me: What subservience?
Mrs Tourist: “You know, treating men like Kings. Defending them.
Me: [puzzled look] Silence. No comment. Suppressing to lol
Mrs Tourist [smiling, changing the subject and focusing back to me] So, where is that Alcazar of yours?
We chatted for a few more minutes before my entertainer had to get off at the second stop [I have to travel five] As we said goodbyes, I sat there staring and really thinking.
My first thought was how do people come to think basic respect, the desire to give everyone a chance before they prove otherwise and the notion that there may be more to someone than their appereance is a form of subservience? I mean huh? According to my faithful partner the dictionary
Respect : Willingness to show consideration or appreciation.
Subservience: Obsequious; servile.
Very different things.
My other thought was to what extent is society and human nature (well at least that of some humans) fixated on appearance and physical beauty that they manage to not even consider there may be something beyond it in a person lucky, or in this case unlucky enough to have good genetics.
The last thought was the one of me as a subservient girl-next-door which nearly made me giggle to myself. Everyone that knows me knows that I supporter gender equality to the 't' or in case to the 'e' (hehe) and am an active person, least likely to stay at home.
I finally got off the bus and into my yoga class for a session of “subservient” movements. Bowing down into the Child’s Pose is the pinnacle of subservience. Right? :)
I finished the university day happy to bits about getting a good grade for my hardest subject that term. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed and tired from the shock and getting four new subjects, I sat on the bus on the way to the yoga class, earphones plugged, listening to some relaxing instrumentals when a woman, seemingly in her early thirties gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder in order to ask me if the seat next to me is free (it was but my bag was on it) I moved the bag and welcomed her to sit next to me.
We started talking about things, mainly of tourist interest since the woman was a fellow English-speaking tourist (albeit not from England) when, suddenly my interlocutor fell silent, staring into the distance. I turned around thinking maybe I offended her by suggesting she should visit the Alcazar or something :) so I asked her what happened and she replied nonchalantly: " Nothing, just staring at the eye candy opposite us."
Me: "What do you mean by that?" (although I fully understood the dictionary meaning and connotation of the term. Oxford dictionary definition: something visually pleasing yet without use)
Ms. Tourist: "You know, one of them guys whose only purpose is to be looked at."
Me: "How do you know him?"
Ms Tourist: [Equally nonchalant tone] "Oh, I don't know him."
Me: :) I was frappe (French word describes the shocked feeling better than English in this case)
[in the most polite detached tone while thinking “you superficial weirdo] Well, how do you know he “serves only for looking at” if you’ve never met him. [ in an ultra joking tone] Oh come on, give him a little credit, for all you know he might be a fantastic person, father and husband with a PhD. (as a side note the man didn’t even have the blingy, I-am-so-great aura to him, dresses casually and acting like any other passerby)
Mrs Tourist: [in a nearly Janice from Friends like tone lol] Oh-my-God! When did subservience come back into fashion?
Me: What subservience?
Mrs Tourist: “You know, treating men like Kings. Defending them.
Me: [puzzled look] Silence. No comment. Suppressing to lol
Mrs Tourist [smiling, changing the subject and focusing back to me] So, where is that Alcazar of yours?
We chatted for a few more minutes before my entertainer had to get off at the second stop [I have to travel five] As we said goodbyes, I sat there staring and really thinking.
My first thought was how do people come to think basic respect, the desire to give everyone a chance before they prove otherwise and the notion that there may be more to someone than their appereance is a form of subservience? I mean huh? According to my faithful partner the dictionary
Respect : Willingness to show consideration or appreciation.
Subservience: Obsequious; servile.
Very different things.
My other thought was to what extent is society and human nature (well at least that of some humans) fixated on appearance and physical beauty that they manage to not even consider there may be something beyond it in a person lucky, or in this case unlucky enough to have good genetics.
The last thought was the one of me as a subservient girl-next-door which nearly made me giggle to myself. Everyone that knows me knows that I supporter gender equality to the 't' or in case to the 'e' (hehe) and am an active person, least likely to stay at home.
I finally got off the bus and into my yoga class for a session of “subservient” movements. Bowing down into the Child’s Pose is the pinnacle of subservience. Right? :)
La Chica Turca (Turkish Girl)
:) :) :) exactly describes my first reaction to what I am going to tell you about.
I got home after a long day of bureaucracy chasing in order to finally get my loan, notify the university about the second part and reserve a place for an upcoming fflamenco workshop. After a positively delicious :) dinner, I jumped onto my bed, stretched out comfortably, switched on the telly which left me mouth agape for about half a minute :)
First image is a decently dressed flamenco singer with messy hair and I thought: "Oh, wonderful some flamenco to finish the day" when a split second later a young boy aged 15 and weighing about 20 kilos shoots onto the screen, almost loosing his trousers with a gold chain heavier than himself. This boy is a budding Spanish "rap" star named with an inmemorable name. Nothing says rap and powerful more than stick-thin under-age boy being weighed down by his chain while a housewifey woman old enough to be his mother dances in the background behind an "orientalist" or more like, household curtain. You are thinking ridiculous, right? Wait, there's more to come.
This the scenario but what really got me laughing, and I mean shaking uncontrollably with laughter and waking my flatmate up, were the lyrics. It doesn't sound half as hilarious in English but you'll get the gist. Here goes:
Yo, [50 Cent beat] beautiful Madonna (Mother Mary), pretty like a dove
impressive and the best
you totally control me (she would do she's 12 years older lol)
are you just playing with me or what
you don't forgive do you, snaky dancer
her laughter is like silver, she can't stop kissing me (read kissing me good night)
I'm so happy you are with me (so the social services don't take me away since I'm under 18)
my beautiful Turkish girl
... [to cut the story short]
your midnight hair reflects the moonlight
you speak six languages, so seductive (usually when I think of foreign languages seduction doesn't come to mind but now I'll keep the viewpoint, might come useful :) )
you are joyful, peeking from the corner
my Turkish queen [Ghost Town oriental sound]
So as I was laughing till my stomach hurt and I was getting seriously out of breath (medically serious lol) my flatmate in a mumbling voice:"what's going on, have you gone off the tangent?"
Me: Turn on channel 5 and you'll know what's going on."
Flat mate: (turns the TV on) starts laughing uncontrollably while saying jokingly "it's your fault if I can't get up tomorrow at 7."
All I have to conclude form this episode is it's good to laugh and have a piece of advice for Mucho Muchacho. When you go visiting your bretheren across the Bosphorus the next time, and 'fall for' the women there please make them your age, otherwise you'll land someone in jail! :)
I got home after a long day of bureaucracy chasing in order to finally get my loan, notify the university about the second part and reserve a place for an upcoming fflamenco workshop. After a positively delicious :) dinner, I jumped onto my bed, stretched out comfortably, switched on the telly which left me mouth agape for about half a minute :)
First image is a decently dressed flamenco singer with messy hair and I thought: "Oh, wonderful some flamenco to finish the day" when a split second later a young boy aged 15 and weighing about 20 kilos shoots onto the screen, almost loosing his trousers with a gold chain heavier than himself. This boy is a budding Spanish "rap" star named with an inmemorable name. Nothing says rap and powerful more than stick-thin under-age boy being weighed down by his chain while a housewifey woman old enough to be his mother dances in the background behind an "orientalist" or more like, household curtain. You are thinking ridiculous, right? Wait, there's more to come.
This the scenario but what really got me laughing, and I mean shaking uncontrollably with laughter and waking my flatmate up, were the lyrics. It doesn't sound half as hilarious in English but you'll get the gist. Here goes:
Yo, [50 Cent beat] beautiful Madonna (Mother Mary), pretty like a dove
impressive and the best
you totally control me (she would do she's 12 years older lol)
are you just playing with me or what
you don't forgive do you, snaky dancer
her laughter is like silver, she can't stop kissing me (read kissing me good night)
I'm so happy you are with me (so the social services don't take me away since I'm under 18)
my beautiful Turkish girl
... [to cut the story short]
your midnight hair reflects the moonlight
you speak six languages, so seductive (usually when I think of foreign languages seduction doesn't come to mind but now I'll keep the viewpoint, might come useful :) )
you are joyful, peeking from the corner
my Turkish queen [Ghost Town oriental sound]
So as I was laughing till my stomach hurt and I was getting seriously out of breath (medically serious lol) my flatmate in a mumbling voice:"what's going on, have you gone off the tangent?"
Me: Turn on channel 5 and you'll know what's going on."
Flat mate: (turns the TV on) starts laughing uncontrollably while saying jokingly "it's your fault if I can't get up tomorrow at 7."
All I have to conclude form this episode is it's good to laugh and have a piece of advice for Mucho Muchacho. When you go visiting your bretheren across the Bosphorus the next time, and 'fall for' the women there please make them your age, otherwise you'll land someone in jail! :)
Only at the University of Seville...
1) In theory there are 25 classes per week but in practice only 5 due to strikes, Bologna protests, "urgent" staff meetings and never ending colds and viruses because of the monsoon winters perfect for viral spread
2) Two out of the five daily classes are in the classroom, three in the cafeteria
3) Your "Latin Roots of Spanish" lecturer lectures literally wrapped in a rug, in three layers of clothing, shivering with fever, sneezing and coughing, lips twitching with cold, in a tiny classroom. Thank Heavens for daily doses of Sambucol, oranges and garlic.
4) Your semester finishes before it even starts because there is a week-long strike, demonstrations and you have the misfortune of being ion the biggest campus therefore the thrifty psychologists, economists, lawyers and other mid-term exam sitters INSIST they use your rooms instead of just renting one in the Town Hall like the rest of the world
5) You are still completing the first semester subjects due to the lack of classes two weeks into the second term when suddenly they announce your second term is stopping for the next 3 WEEKS, only two weeks into its running. :)
6) You are in 5th and final year of the "Theory of Language" class and people go "huh" at the mention of Umberto Eco, Mark Halliday or Noam Chomsky. :)A bit like final year Physics students raising their eyebrows at names like Stephen Hawkins or Albert Einstein
7) Absolutely ALL your resources are online including etymological dictionaries, historical maps, home tasks and projects and reading lists. Either that or you have to photo copy them as the library wouldn't allow "fragile" books out. (Fragile here means more than 10 years old). Definitely something you'd love to hate
8) Your biggest class contains 8 people (all foreigners) due to 95% of the reading list being in English (usually Harvard Press) and the locals barely know enough English to order a beer.
9) You have the impression of attending the Spanish Riding School by the number of 'boots over jeans' outfits. One day you don such an outfit yourself and do not even realise till you get home because that's all you see
And last but not the least...
10) You actually LIKE the food in the cafeteria :)
2) Two out of the five daily classes are in the classroom, three in the cafeteria
3) Your "Latin Roots of Spanish" lecturer lectures literally wrapped in a rug, in three layers of clothing, shivering with fever, sneezing and coughing, lips twitching with cold, in a tiny classroom. Thank Heavens for daily doses of Sambucol, oranges and garlic.
4) Your semester finishes before it even starts because there is a week-long strike, demonstrations and you have the misfortune of being ion the biggest campus therefore the thrifty psychologists, economists, lawyers and other mid-term exam sitters INSIST they use your rooms instead of just renting one in the Town Hall like the rest of the world
5) You are still completing the first semester subjects due to the lack of classes two weeks into the second term when suddenly they announce your second term is stopping for the next 3 WEEKS, only two weeks into its running. :)
6) You are in 5th and final year of the "Theory of Language" class and people go "huh" at the mention of Umberto Eco, Mark Halliday or Noam Chomsky. :)A bit like final year Physics students raising their eyebrows at names like Stephen Hawkins or Albert Einstein
7) Absolutely ALL your resources are online including etymological dictionaries, historical maps, home tasks and projects and reading lists. Either that or you have to photo copy them as the library wouldn't allow "fragile" books out. (Fragile here means more than 10 years old). Definitely something you'd love to hate
8) Your biggest class contains 8 people (all foreigners) due to 95% of the reading list being in English (usually Harvard Press) and the locals barely know enough English to order a beer.
9) You have the impression of attending the Spanish Riding School by the number of 'boots over jeans' outfits. One day you don such an outfit yourself and do not even realise till you get home because that's all you see
And last but not the least...
10) You actually LIKE the food in the cafeteria :)
One letter is a world of difference
Small things matter. Especially whe it comes to konwing the ins and outs of a foreign languae. Evn more especially fi the lanage happens to be Spanish. Spanish slang happens to have a lot of taboo words similar to food. Tke heeed to the follong episode:
I dediced to met up with a couple of ex flatmates for a tapas dinner. Arriving a few minutes late tobe Spanish and fashionable :) I found th flatmates all rolling around with laughter. When I asked what the issue was one of them promptly informed me, with a straight face that another flatemate managed to order a baked male orga rthaer than chicken. How? Smply by turning a masculine common noun (escuse the linguistic terminology) into a feminine common noun. PollO (chicken) to PollA (male ORGAN). The girl who ordered went red and the waitress was laughing her head off (good thing it wasn't a waiter). Once, on a travel forum I read about an exchange girl who went into a Madrid bar and ordered a polla sandwich on ly to be met with the rsponse:"Sorry I am married, (pointing to his ring) can't be done." Needless to say, the poor girl was completely puzzled (what's chicken have to do with marriage after all). A similarly embarasssing effectt can be acieved by ordering a churrA (same as polla) instead of a churrO (traditional dessert). So ptential visitors get your gender right before trying out your Spanish!
Profanities can also be said by grammatical mistakes and literal translation. For example hacer el polvo is to dust your apartment whereas echar polvo is to go for a quickie. Tener calor (literally to have heat) is to feel hot but ser caliente is to look hot (sexy) and estar caliente is to be aroused. Once someone told teir bank manager "estoy caliente" and a sixty year old British woman who retired to Alicante stated that one of the reasons she picked Spain as her retiremnt spot is that "los espanyoles son muy calientes" (what se wanted to say was warm, friendly, but ended up saying sexy).
So remember: detail, detail, detail and beware of false friends. Preservativo is NOT a food additive in Spanish!
I dediced to met up with a couple of ex flatmates for a tapas dinner. Arriving a few minutes late tobe Spanish and fashionable :) I found th flatmates all rolling around with laughter. When I asked what the issue was one of them promptly informed me, with a straight face that another flatemate managed to order a baked male orga rthaer than chicken. How? Smply by turning a masculine common noun (escuse the linguistic terminology) into a feminine common noun. PollO (chicken) to PollA (male ORGAN). The girl who ordered went red and the waitress was laughing her head off (good thing it wasn't a waiter). Once, on a travel forum I read about an exchange girl who went into a Madrid bar and ordered a polla sandwich on ly to be met with the rsponse:"Sorry I am married, (pointing to his ring) can't be done." Needless to say, the poor girl was completely puzzled (what's chicken have to do with marriage after all). A similarly embarasssing effectt can be acieved by ordering a churrA (same as polla) instead of a churrO (traditional dessert). So ptential visitors get your gender right before trying out your Spanish!
Profanities can also be said by grammatical mistakes and literal translation. For example hacer el polvo is to dust your apartment whereas echar polvo is to go for a quickie. Tener calor (literally to have heat) is to feel hot but ser caliente is to look hot (sexy) and estar caliente is to be aroused. Once someone told teir bank manager "estoy caliente" and a sixty year old British woman who retired to Alicante stated that one of the reasons she picked Spain as her retiremnt spot is that "los espanyoles son muy calientes" (what se wanted to say was warm, friendly, but ended up saying sexy).
So remember: detail, detail, detail and beware of false friends. Preservativo is NOT a food additive in Spanish!
Damnation of the Doors
20 December 2009
When one thinks of opening a door turning the key in one direction and pushing outwards comes to mind.
NOT in Spain! In central Seville the doors are Louis XVI era while the locks are of state of the art, ultra modern type. Those two polar opposites combined with rusty keys equals a plethora of problems. Apparently, you have to first pull the doors towards you, insert the key only 3/4 of the way, turn it in-out-in ever so slightly until the key turns and then instead of pushing the door you pull. Phew, there!
This sounds complicated in general, imagine doing it at 3 o'clock in the morning after 2 hours of dancing at a house gathering, feeling tired and light headed (and I don't even drink) with pins and needles in you feet from wearing high heels. As one might guess, my Pandora Box opening didn't quite go to plan as the rust on the key got glued to the inside of the lock, unable to go in either direction or get out. So, as my last resort I rung a random bell, heard footsteps approaching, and a profound voice: it's OK just get the key out I'll open!" Me:"As if that's possible!" Pushing the doors with all my energy, and pulling in the key, I blinked suddenly and found myself flying through the door cartoon style from the force of the pull and grabbing someone's arm for dear life! Lifting my head to apologize I encountered a smiling, perfectly proportionate face with hazel puppy eyes, pouting, smiling lips and a stray wave of jet black hair across the forehead.My expression: :) (for being clumsy) and then :) you can guess why. Of course, I apologized thrice over (in a variety of languages) due to causing inconvenience and was met with a typically andaluz "no problema". I love this place! Spaniards are owl people anyway with streets full up at 12 pm on a Wednesday. Entering my room I quickly reflected upon the episode thinking why does it always rain on me? :) Whenever I encounter a handsome face I am either wearing black from head to toe :) (very rare), am soaked to the skin with my dress clinging onto me, hair disheveled :) or am almost falling over at 3 in the morning! :) indeed!
When one thinks of opening a door turning the key in one direction and pushing outwards comes to mind.
NOT in Spain! In central Seville the doors are Louis XVI era while the locks are of state of the art, ultra modern type. Those two polar opposites combined with rusty keys equals a plethora of problems. Apparently, you have to first pull the doors towards you, insert the key only 3/4 of the way, turn it in-out-in ever so slightly until the key turns and then instead of pushing the door you pull. Phew, there!
This sounds complicated in general, imagine doing it at 3 o'clock in the morning after 2 hours of dancing at a house gathering, feeling tired and light headed (and I don't even drink) with pins and needles in you feet from wearing high heels. As one might guess, my Pandora Box opening didn't quite go to plan as the rust on the key got glued to the inside of the lock, unable to go in either direction or get out. So, as my last resort I rung a random bell, heard footsteps approaching, and a profound voice: it's OK just get the key out I'll open!" Me:"As if that's possible!" Pushing the doors with all my energy, and pulling in the key, I blinked suddenly and found myself flying through the door cartoon style from the force of the pull and grabbing someone's arm for dear life! Lifting my head to apologize I encountered a smiling, perfectly proportionate face with hazel puppy eyes, pouting, smiling lips and a stray wave of jet black hair across the forehead.My expression: :) (for being clumsy) and then :) you can guess why. Of course, I apologized thrice over (in a variety of languages) due to causing inconvenience and was met with a typically andaluz "no problema". I love this place! Spaniards are owl people anyway with streets full up at 12 pm on a Wednesday. Entering my room I quickly reflected upon the episode thinking why does it always rain on me? :) Whenever I encounter a handsome face I am either wearing black from head to toe :) (very rare), am soaked to the skin with my dress clinging onto me, hair disheveled :) or am almost falling over at 3 in the morning! :) indeed!
Wa-shin Powder
Friday, 11 December 2009 at 21:52
:) Hiiiii-ya!
I remember being fascinated by the fact that the Chinese invented gunpowder in my Year 7 history class. It opened my eyes to the richness and early roots of the Chinese society.
Today, however, I realised that we all have different talents and inventions for a reason. The inventor of gunpowder should have really stuck with gunpowder and not have dabbled in washing powder. Today's story will elaborate why.
Nearing the end of my first semester as a guiri I have a load of clothes washing to do so I decided to go to a nearby tienda china and buy some powder. Half an hour before my venture I mentioned it to my flatmate that I am off to buy some washing powder. She said:"Cool, just don't get it from the Chinese shop, if you hold life dear. Pleaaaase go to the supermarket." Typical andaluz concoction of mistrust mixed with a dash of xenophobia, I thought. I also didn't fancy going to the supermarket by a ten minute bus ride when I had the tienda china right across the zebra crossing.
Of course, I ended up buying the powder, a strange greenish, mass reminiscent of UFO space dust. I thought tienda china here sold cheaper quality cheaper price home brands like everywhere else but it turns out they sell actual Chinese powder imported straight form Beijing. I put the washing in the machine all according to instructions and went for a little afternoon siesta. One hour later I come into the kitchen with a :) expression on my face which quickly turned to this :) and then this :) aaaaaaaah (scream) which made my flatmate run promptly to the kitchen saying "are you OK are you OK?" with a flustered look on her face thinking I'd fallen or something (which knowing me wouldn't be unusual). And then it sunk in. The ENTIRE kitchen was flooded with foam or should I say foamded. I mopped the mess up, apologized, what else could I do. Thankfully, no clothes was ripped, damaged or anything of sorts. My flatmate was sweet about it saying "ay, no problema" (I love that here nothing is ever is a problema) but then told me off for buying the powder. She:"Listening not you strong poing is it?" I was like "errr...." The best part is that I actually heard her but brushed it off as mistrust when as I found out later, she had the same experience and THAT'S why she told me not to buy the powder there (something to do with the powder type being incompatible with Spanish water,something blah, blah technical). Whow!
All is well that ends well. Good thing I sealed the day by buying a pair of Ying-Yang earring to lift the mood! :)
:) Hiiiii-ya!
I remember being fascinated by the fact that the Chinese invented gunpowder in my Year 7 history class. It opened my eyes to the richness and early roots of the Chinese society.
Today, however, I realised that we all have different talents and inventions for a reason. The inventor of gunpowder should have really stuck with gunpowder and not have dabbled in washing powder. Today's story will elaborate why.
Nearing the end of my first semester as a guiri I have a load of clothes washing to do so I decided to go to a nearby tienda china and buy some powder. Half an hour before my venture I mentioned it to my flatmate that I am off to buy some washing powder. She said:"Cool, just don't get it from the Chinese shop, if you hold life dear. Pleaaaase go to the supermarket." Typical andaluz concoction of mistrust mixed with a dash of xenophobia, I thought. I also didn't fancy going to the supermarket by a ten minute bus ride when I had the tienda china right across the zebra crossing.
Of course, I ended up buying the powder, a strange greenish, mass reminiscent of UFO space dust. I thought tienda china here sold cheaper quality cheaper price home brands like everywhere else but it turns out they sell actual Chinese powder imported straight form Beijing. I put the washing in the machine all according to instructions and went for a little afternoon siesta. One hour later I come into the kitchen with a :) expression on my face which quickly turned to this :) and then this :) aaaaaaaah (scream) which made my flatmate run promptly to the kitchen saying "are you OK are you OK?" with a flustered look on her face thinking I'd fallen or something (which knowing me wouldn't be unusual). And then it sunk in. The ENTIRE kitchen was flooded with foam or should I say foamded. I mopped the mess up, apologized, what else could I do. Thankfully, no clothes was ripped, damaged or anything of sorts. My flatmate was sweet about it saying "ay, no problema" (I love that here nothing is ever is a problema) but then told me off for buying the powder. She:"Listening not you strong poing is it?" I was like "errr...." The best part is that I actually heard her but brushed it off as mistrust when as I found out later, she had the same experience and THAT'S why she told me not to buy the powder there (something to do with the powder type being incompatible with Spanish water,something blah, blah technical). Whow!
All is well that ends well. Good thing I sealed the day by buying a pair of Ying-Yang earring to lift the mood! :)
A Cheesy Poem
Tuesday, 1 December 2009 at 20:02
This is a tribute to a little, fluffy dog I shared a house with up until yesterday. Her name is Hana and she's totally sweet.
Why you make my day
You make my day because you are one of a kind
A super special pet
with a face of a dog
and a character of a cat
You make my day when we are out in a field
and you lift my spirit when
you sleep like Garfield
You move like a Siamese
Although you are Havanese
you do as you please
without taking heed
to my every single need
that's what I find you special
you are not slavish like a dog
yet are more attached than a cat
which is my formula for a perfect pet
You make me want to scream
when you pinch my ice-cream
you wake me up every single morning
with your scratching, yawning and moaning
yet I don't seem to mind because I know it's you style
and you make me laugh for about a mile
When we play you don't fetch the ball like an ordinary dog
yet you roll in the mud like a little hog
you jump on sofas, cupboards and coffee-tables
you listen to my fables and warm my tummy on a painful; day
when I come home you stand up and wag your tail
Now that we are apart
I see you in every plush toy
looking for joy
every furry fuzz
reminds me of your buzz
but no need to worry
and be sorry as I will
visit every Friday
and have a fantabulous day
This is a tribute to a little, fluffy dog I shared a house with up until yesterday. Her name is Hana and she's totally sweet.
Why you make my day
You make my day because you are one of a kind
A super special pet
with a face of a dog
and a character of a cat
You make my day when we are out in a field
and you lift my spirit when
you sleep like Garfield
You move like a Siamese
Although you are Havanese
you do as you please
without taking heed
to my every single need
that's what I find you special
you are not slavish like a dog
yet are more attached than a cat
which is my formula for a perfect pet
You make me want to scream
when you pinch my ice-cream
you wake me up every single morning
with your scratching, yawning and moaning
yet I don't seem to mind because I know it's you style
and you make me laugh for about a mile
When we play you don't fetch the ball like an ordinary dog
yet you roll in the mud like a little hog
you jump on sofas, cupboards and coffee-tables
you listen to my fables and warm my tummy on a painful; day
when I come home you stand up and wag your tail
Now that we are apart
I see you in every plush toy
looking for joy
every furry fuzz
reminds me of your buzz
but no need to worry
and be sorry as I will
visit every Friday
and have a fantabulous day
A Totally Disorienteed Day!
Thursday, 19 November 2009 at 20:16
On Monday I woke up and started walking to my university as usual. I didn't complete the action because half the city was cut off by yellow tape which scaredy as I am, made me think that something serious happened. And something serious did happen! A Hollywood blockbuster was being filmed five minutes away from my house When I told my classmates about it they were like wow you so lucky you have a movie being filmed right in front of you! Me:" Big deal, so Kidman and Cruise are here and I sure as anything won't be able to siesta today due tot he ear popping noise of the car chase scene." Class: general shocked look
On the way back I witnessed a GP doctor's strike, an air hostesses protesting and all the pharmacies being closed 2 hours before siesta time. Top notch situation for the flu season! Being unable to fo to the bank due to the movie hype I arrived home only to find my host family having a joint screaming session at the telecom technician who came to fix our dodgy internet and land line connection. Well, not exactly a joint screaming venture; more like: the brother shouting at his sister, sister leaving and the mother sounding like a banshee to the technician! As if that wasn't enough I had the surprise of the day waiting for me in my room. A 10 foot long cable coming down from the neighbor's window as a temporary internet solution! This of course only meant I couldn't close the door properly during the freezing nights AND had the street lights glaring directly into my eyes. Cue: Improvised sleeping mask!
I went to sleep when it started to get cold due to the cable-door being ajar so I decided to change into the warmer pajamas and this was when I did my two left feet move of the day. I hooked the jammies onto the sleeping mask, flailed my arms for a while,then pulled the jammie top down trapping my hair between the pj's and the improvised sleeping mask, which made my head tilt back, which in turn made me fall off the bed at 2 o'clock in the morning!! Wonder what sound I made... Fall&bass lol And to make matters worse this happened only about half an hour after rolling over while sleeping, directly into the wall and waking myself up!
What a 
PC Blasee
Sunday, 15 November 2009 at 14:55
While on the Island I constantly hear about how PC obsessed we are and how you can't say anything any more. Well, I bring the good news to all the PC dodgers out there. Spain has started a new niche in their tourism industry. With all the beach,booze and boobs tourism spiraling down and the property market in tatters due to La Crisis, a very sought after and cost-effective type of tourism is currently on the go. Behold the... PC blase tourism! It is meant for everyone and anyone who hates PC due to the fact that this country has absolutely NONE of it. Stereotypes are not only around but are taken more seriously than the Constitution. In this town all the Americans are either dumb, easy or both and are guilty of their mere existence, the British are exceedingly revered despite the beach,booze and boobs lobby giving us a bad name in Ibiza but most surprising of all is the general warm feeling towards the newbies on the EU wagon: countries from the former USSR. The topic of dating closely reflects those stereotypes. If you happen to say you are French girl you are viewed as the complicated haute chic, in case you are American it is considered lucky not to be force snogged on every corner of the street (exaggerating) but somehow if you are "blessed" by looking like you hail from the former USSR you are mistaken for the icon of the Virgin Mary . Honestly, I am sick and tired of getting special treatment for being something I am not (shoot, I wish I didn't look Russian coz I'm not) and of being percieved as a happy-go-lucky, baby loving, coffee maker in desperate need to marry, get a visa and have multiple children! To the rare breed of English-speaking Spaniards reading this blog remember this: "my house is a mess, babies annoy me and NO, I don't know how to make coffee since I find it revolting! So stop persuading me to meet your mother!
Sorry about that. It was my rant for today. And remember: to escape the grey clouds of foggy PC come to the land of sunny, sangria and zero etiquette!
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