schoooool's out for the summer.

The school year's almost over!! Hurrrrrahhh!!! Really, I'll miss the children, and...sorry, I can't continue in this vein, too much suppressed laughter. It's just ridiculous. Will I miss the children? Eh, I'll probably miss the cute ones, but I don't think I'm allowed to say that, being politically correct and all. Will I miss having to repeat myself over and over and over again, until about half the class understands half of what I'm saying? Will I miss the occasional projectile vomitting? Will I miss the temper tantrums? Will I miss forcing children to eat vegetables, one spoonful at a time? If you answered no to any of those questions, congratulations, we can hang out sometime and not do those things. I mean, I'll miss the little children telling me that I'm beautiful. Working in a preschool is the place to be for a self-esteem boost, I'll tell you that much. The affectionate ones, when they don't have milk or snot all over their face, can make you day. And sometimes it's really nice when you hear them speak in English, and you realize that you taught them something. Even if it's just the word "tomato." Give yourself a pat on the back. Is it worth all the vomitting and the weird smells and the pulling out of your own hair? Ehhh...the jury's still out on that one.

all about my mother

There's a moment in every girl's life when she realizes that she is becoming her mother. My moment came this weekend. Standing in the supermarket, holding a pound of butter in my hands, I thought, Hmmm...but is this enough butter? Granted, I was making cupcakes and brownies, but still, what 22 year old girl is buying a pound of butter and wondering if it's not enough? I'm only one girl! I can't even finish a liter of milk in a week (That's right...a LITER. Or dare I say, a litre...dramatic gasp). As soon as the thought past through my head, I started to laugh. Mostly because I thought of my mom around Christmas and how our household singlehandedly sustains the dairy industry. I remember my mom asking me to pick up half a pound of butter at the supermarket, because she was sure that we didn't have enough in the fridge. When I got home, there was nowhere to put the butter I had bought because our fridge was full of...BUTTER! This is not an exagerration. This is a true story, one you should be cautious about trying at home, especially if you have to wear a bathing suit in the near future, or ever. Did any of the butter go bad? Of course not. There were cookies, cakes, bread... Anything and everything that can be made with butter was made, no calories were spared. Shockingly, none of us are grossly obese. One can dream, I suppose. But back to my moment. Not only am I stockpiling butter like my mom, but I'm also making her recipes. And they are deliciousss. Confirmed by my roommate's workplace. And my workplace. And my French class. And my other roommate. And the empty tupperware containers with chocolate cake crumbs...Burp.

stuff breaks

Although I've been living on my own since I was eighteen, I've never really had to fix anything. There was always the NYU Fixer-Upper crew. When you had a problem, you registered it with them, and that was that. Well. The good life is over, and now I've got to fix stuff on my own. So far, things have stayed broken. But that's going to change! (I use the exclamation mark to energize myself). First, there was the broken outlet. Somehow, in my sleep, I ripped my outlet out of the wall. I mean, it is right next to my bed. I don't remember how I did it. All I know is, I woke up and there were wires...things were a bit disatrous, but no one was electrocuted. It still worked though...needless to say, I used it. And that outlet pretty much stayed out of the wall. I considered the duct tape option, but then I just learned to live with the status quo. Until Lidia's friend Carol visited. Lidia mentioned that I was in danger of frying the wiring of the entire building, and Carol got right to work. Qualification: Good at putting IKEA furniture together. With some scissors and a knife, my outlet was back in its rightful place. A real McGyver. But now, within a week of paradise of everything working, I totally broke my blinds. They aren't the normal American kind. They go up into the wall, and there's a cord that goes in there too. For all I know, there are little gnomes in there pulling and pushing my blinds up and down. However, if that is the case, the little guys have gone on strike. My behavior had nothing to do with it. I was always nice to them. But who did what to whom is irrelevant. The point is that I can't sleep past sunrise. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I am committed to fixing these blinds. How am I going to fix them? Two solutions: 1) Actually attempting to unscrew things. When that ends in me breaking my thumb...2) Baking. Baking is always a solution. Why? "Can you help me fix my blinds? I just don't know what to do..." (smile, hand on waist) "Brownies?" Yay feminism!

tourismo in madrid

For those of you who think that I just bounce around Europe, drinking coffee and eating flaky pastries, sometimes I do stay in Madrid. And it's café con leche, much better than coffee, for the record. Anyway. The past long weekend, I took it easy with the traveling, and hung out in Madrid. But, to avoid massive boredom, I did some touristy things around town. Beacause when you live in a place, you don't really see what's around you. Example: I lived in New York for three years, and I did not see the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the Guggenheim, or the Whitney Museum. I'm not proud of myself, I'm just saying. So, while in Madrid, I decided to go to the tennis tournament, the Masters Series in Madrid, at the new stadium, la Caja Mágica. (Translation: The Magic Box) I lucked out, and got to see Nadal vs. Verdasco, an all-Spanish affair (Verdasco is even from Madrid), followed by Murray vs. del Poltro (Battle of the Gangly). It was pretty cool, and the view was definitely not that bad, considering where I was sitting. Not only did I see some sports action, I also went to some museusm, fulfilling all cultural requirements. Having taking a class at the Prado (and really having no desire to return), I went to a temporary exhibition called La Sombra (The Shadow). It was two parts, starting in the Museo Thyssen (for the more classical works...about to the year 1850), and finishing in Caja Madrid, a gallery-like art space, which had more modern paintings and films. It was all about the shadow in art. Actually really cool. I don't know why I hadn't gone earlier. So, although I didn't travel anywhere, I lived it up here in Madrid, which, clearly, is a pretty cool place.

visiting friends!

So, not only do friends visit me, but I also visit friends. It's a great idea, especially because it's way cheaper, and it's more fun to go with someone who knows all the spots around town. And, sometimes, you get really lucky and your friend has a car. My friend Vanesa, who is an English teacher I work with, went to visit her family in Asturias, a region in the north of Spain. She has always generously invited us to go with her, and a couple weekends ago, I took her up on it. We picked up her godson Dani on the way up, who lives in Leon. Although she did give me fair warning, he was a talker. About an hour in, he was like, "So...you're English?" He really didn't stop...for three days. A feat of remarkable endurance. We finally made it to Oveido, which is just as beautiful, if not more, than the movie "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" makes it look. It's a city, but it's small and quaint and green. Trees everywhere. Trees, and parks, and cobblestones. You wouldn't think Madrid and Oveido are in the same country. It's that green. And there's a lot of cider there. The way they pour it is incredible. The bartenders hold the bottle in their hand, stretched all the way above their head, and pour it out into the glass, which is in their other hand, stretched to below their waist. I can imagine drunk people trying to that, and failing miserably. I mean, they're specially trained. Then, we headed to Gijón, which is ridiculously gorgeous beach town. Basically, everything about this trip was beautiful/gorgeous/breath-taking. The mountains are gigantic. Did I say everything is green? After Gijón, we headed to where her family lives, in Cangas de Narcea, which is a pretty small town. We visited her grandparents, who live in a smaller town, of about 50 people. I could not understand a word they said. Luckily we didn't talk that much. They just made me eat my weight in food. I thought I was going to explode, just from sheer hospitality. Everywhere we went, "Do you want coffee? A snack? Food? Are you hungry?" The madness! This blog entry is my pitch for Asturias: Everything is green, it's ridiculously beautiful, and you will leave in stretchy pants.

when friends visit

When you start over, no one you meet knows how you used to be, or where you started. They get version 2.0, the more finished product, and the past isn't really relevant. But that's what your friends are for! To remind you of that time when you did that thing, and so on and so forth. So, I was really excited when my friend Sarah came to visit me in good old Spain. We lived together here when we studied abroad (also Veronica, shout out!), and it was a nice reunion. It also made my job of host super easy, because Sarah had already lived in Madrid, and we didn't need to do touristy things. But that article my mom sent me from the NYTimes on Madrid did in fact come in quite handy. We hit up all over Madrid, going to El Matadero, an alternative art space that used to be a slaughterhouse (still pretty sketchy). We checked out some cool gardens, along with some Roman murals in La Latina, a pretty trendy neighborhood. And our old señora, Maria Luisa, was not forgotten. I'm extremely glad Sarah made me go see her, and we went out to dinner with her. We nearly exploded with food. Disgusting. Chorizo and cured meat would have gone everywhere. Sarah even came to school with me for a day, to watch me teach 3 year olds the Hokey Pokey. My job is very stressful, clearly. It was overall, a great visit. Except the part where I got Sarah sick. That wasn't so great for her. But at least it wasn't swine flu.

missing: self

Yes, I've lost myself. And, like the cliché that I may be becoming, I apparently believe that it's in Europe, waiting to be found. Because selves just lounge around in foreign cities, waiting for you to show up. Mostly in Europe. Some go to Asia, more and more are being found in South America, but traditionally, most can be found at some café in Paris, or at a terrace in Rome, or even in a beer garden in Berlin. I have no statistics on which to base my assumptions, but I would wildly guess that there are thousands of Americans wandering around Europe, trying to discover their real "selves." Personally, the purpose of "finding yourself" is not why I came to Spain, and it's not why I may choose to stay. I know perfectly well that I'm dragging my heels on the way to adulthood, and Spain is as good as Neverland. People are relaxed, and the men really do seem to never grow up. I haven't spotted any pirates or crocodiles, but I'm sure they're closer to the ocean. I am working, so it's not like I'm lounging around, but still. And really, I know myself well enough that I will never "find myself" in Spain. My "self" is neither relaxed nor loud, and it does not enjoy staying up all night. No, I'm sure my "self" will be waiting for me when I get back. Sometimes you need to play hide and seek with yourself, to keep things interesting.