I use the word "anyway" alot. Its the nice hypotenuse that connects my thoughts.

Hello Furrends.

I am in a particularily ridiculously mood today so inevitably it is blog-writing day. The timing is exquisite!

I doubt my blog will come alive. And that folks is the saddest news of 2011.


Anyway I write blog today but I have no particular topic. You never have a topic. Quiet, you naysayers!

Has anyone noticed that I discovered the strikethrough button??? I love it! No, really I LOVE it! Its like the paranthesis' hipster cousin that we didn't know existed. It does so much. Should I type this thought? Yes! Write it and strikethrough! Any comment that might push the line can still be said and the saving glory of the strikethrough will right all wrongs. Its the morning after pill for words.

Now where do we go...... I am skeptical that my thoughts on cool punctuation tricks will make for a good blog entry. Ah, I know. I will tell you about my New Years Resolutions.

Actually, fuck new years resolutions. I'm tired of making false promises to myself. I will always love cooking and food and so I am just going to accept my round little Camilly-roo self. (Dear god, please do not like strapless belly shirts come back in style. I'm your favorite remember!) Anyway, instead of NYR's, I prefer to just keep adding outlandish things to my Bucket List.*

 Here are some of the things:

1. Have a bilingual dog. I AM GETTING A DOG. Remember? And if I have to learn spanish, then damn it, my dog will too. I can't wait for my dog to make sassy comments to Jess in another language.
2. Go hangliding. Wind, sunshine, flying. Yes por favor.
3. Have more than 10 twitter followers. http://twitter.com/#!/coco_therese. No, this isn't publicity pump!
4. Jump on a moving train. I'm still jealous of Ginger for doing this before me. (PS for you Europeans, trains in america don't carry people. They carry coal and animals and I don't know what else because I'm not very educated on the transportation of goods biznass). Imagine something more like this:

5. Successfully say the word "vegetarian" in Spanish without fumbling. It is vegetariano. Currently I say things in Spanish like "She is a person who doesn't eat meat." Or "Can we go to that restaraunt that has food without meat?" People are starting to catch on...
6. Swim from Terapin Creek to Sixshooter. This doesn't seem that ludicrous. I bet I could do it in June. Are you with me Patrick?
7. Make a music video. Actually just make more videos. "Babies inspired by babies" didn't get the credit it deserved. Integrated marketing again? No, pshh never.

That's all I can think of right now. And my spin class is about to start. Bad ass legs and a little round belly! Mierda.


*I do have one. Written on a peice of scratch paper I think. Somewhere in Elizabeth and Jason's house. We wrote it when we were in one of those moods like "Oh my god time is flying and we've done nothing cool with our lives!!! Lets write things down!!" (yea....smartisimas). I need to rescue it and see if anything can be crossed off. Yoga at the top of an uninhabitated island. Check. However I will never be as cool as this girl. Yep, that's Olivia Marie. If you didn't open that link, don't be lazy. Do it now. I would say I want to be able to do the splitz, but that will never happen. My mom and Olivia will always hold the trump cards to Elizabeth and I.

Let me tell you about how the Spanish spend Christmas

Eating.



I was invited to eat Christmas Day dinner with a family that I'm friends with. I arrived at 12:40. (I was told to come between 12 and 12:30 and I was kind of stressed about being late). I should know by now that my being late is nothing compared to the way Spainards do late. They make me look good. I admit this is one of the reasons I choose to live here. Anyway, at 1:00 we began the later to be known as "Longest Christmas Dinner of My Life" or we could call it "The Day Camille's stomach grew three times it's size".

The dinner ended at 7:30 p.m. I'm drunk, mentally exhausted from so much spanish and am suffering from food paralysis minus finger dexterity.

I've been to long Spanish lunches before. Usually 2 -3 hours is normal. Luckily I got accustomed to this so I wasn't suprised at the 4-5 lunch we had when my parents were here. They flipped. Anyway this lunch blew the calcetines off those other ones. If you have ever been embarrassed about the amount of things on your daily food journals entries, read on. I will make you feel better.

Now I make you list of food.

1. Somekind of pinwheels made of roquefort cheese and ham. (3-4).
2. Pineapple juice and champagne. (3-4 glasses).
3. Mystery appetizer thing I kept being offered (3).
4. Cheese and ham on cracker (2).
5. Shrimp with garlic sauce.
6. Bread for the oily garlic sauce after the shrimp left.
7. Those big bad daddy shrimp. In spanish they are langostinos. I don't know how we say it in English. I am from Oklahoma. (3).
8. Crab legs. (2).
9. A large shell that contained a mixture of vegetables and scallops. (1).
10. Some ugly colored crab mixture thing that I can never remember the name of. This stuff I know I don't like and I kept trying to turn it down but I was besieged with a thousand "Pruebalo Camille! Pruebalo!" Fine. Ill try it again.
11. Salad.
12. Lamb and potatoes.
13. More bread.
14. Turron (customary spanish sweet during xmas season).
15. Ice cream with hot fudge and crunchy graham cracker sticks.
16. One slice of my cranberry pumpkin bread that really didn't fit in.
17. A bite of some mystery cream cake.
18. Polvorones. (1). A crumbly little candy thing they eat at xmas.
19. Champagne (2).
20. Coffee. (1).
21. Licor Cafe shot. (1).

I declined the after dinner drink.

Note: I don't list the wine because there was no way to count. I would turn my head and the uncle next to me was filling up my wine glass. I would go to the bathroom and my glass would be full again when I got back. I just decided to drink and be merry. Christmas, that is.

Anywayyyyyy...... I can't move. I am too full. My sweats gave me a warm welcoming hug when I put them on. P.S. Remember the girl from Oklahoma last year who was too scared to eat shellfish? I'm totally all over that sea food business now. It's just so damn good when its fresh! Although its pretty obvious I'm a novice at how to eat it. I can't really concentrate on two difficult things at once so I got pretty fixated with breaking shells and finding meat that I totally lost  track of the rapid spanish conversation around me. However I did catch Maria, the 8 year old near me, yell to her mom across the table, "Mommy! Ayuda Camille!" Apparently Maria saw I was failing.

Feliz Navidad desde Espana! BESOS!!!!!!!!!


Here are some pictures of things from google:


This one is especially hard for me to look like I know what I'm doing:



And funny note, when someone made me take another monster crab leg, Maria said "Jesus! Vas a comer otra??" She really knows how to make me feel good about this sea food biznass.

My Friday Morning

So after almost three weeks of no kitchen sink*, the technico finally comes to repair it. He is Cuban and has a speech impediment. I am sure what he is speaking can not be spanish. I do a lot of gaping and nodding. I sure hope what he's saying is "Fix this up in a jiffy ma'am!" But I know it's much more ominous than that. The part I did catch was that he is stopping at 1 and will come back later. He arrived at 12:30. Welcome to Spain.


*This is the worst. There is nothing worse than doing dishes in the bathtub. At least not that I've experienced in my life. Although maybe I should live in the slums of Mumbai so I can learn not to freak out when peices of scrambled egg are near my washcloth.

In other news, life is good. I can't complain. Except I have to go yell at our cat now. She is attacking my gym bag. What is it with cats being bitches?? I mean I like them but they can be such brats.When I get a dog (this is happening) I'm also going to get a cat. The dog will be the best behaved dog ever and the cat will be a cat. And then I will train the dog to look up at me and shake its head disapprovingly when the cat is doing a dumb cat thing. And then we will laugh.

I should probably get out more. Otherwise it is very clear how my future will play out. Pets, Muffins, Quilts, Homemade potpourri. Sooo busy!

Ok I need to run. I decided to switch the buttons on my blazer and the crafts store closes at 2:00! 

Discrediting a common belief. Plus thoughts on Google and a British word

Every person I've ever met touts that Google and Facebook know basically everything there is to know about ourselves. They say so that way they can tell advertisers who then tell companies, that, you (for example) really would like a Delta Delta Delta sweatshirt because adding someone on fb that you kind of knew in the same sorority brings about nostalgia for your 10 minutes when you were a TriDelt. Or that you probably need black running socks because your friend Alex tagged you in a picture wearing running clothes and assumably doing athletic sport. And don't even worry that you searched for "kittens in baskets" last night! They would never try to sell that information to company that wants to sell you crocheted kitten mittens!

The good news is that today I prove that Googledoesntforget and knowsmyFace-book in fact know nothing about me!!

Evidence: My customized ad today was:

"Mumsabroad! How to live in Spain with your little ones and still be a great mum!"

OBVIOUSLY  they are clueless about my life! They think I'm British! And a mum! I could never be a mum abroad! Mainly because I could never be a mum. I can't even say mum without giggling and thinking about my mom trying to get me to keep a secret when I was little and saying "mum's the word!". (Us Americans don't even know what "mum" means. We think it's a secret password.)

Ok to wrap up this blog post and get everything tidy.... Two things.

1). I am going to continue to Carmen SanDiego google and facebook and I suggest you do too.

And.....

2). I highly suggest you go watch the Arrested Development episode where Tobias dresses up as Mrs. Featherbottom, the British nanny. (Googledoesntforget reminded me it was Featherbottom and not Featherbutton. So thoughtful).

How would we ever categorize my blog? Analyzing the frivolties of the world! And sometimes talking about Spain.

(Brag sesh) I think I forgot to mention that I found the most bad ass apartment this year with the most bad ass roommate! It is enormous with terraces and super centrico. My room is green! Even the horrific halfcat that it came with is starting to warm up to me. (I say halfcat because its a scrawny cantakerous noncatlike cat I've ever met). However what's not warming up is the apartment. In September when I moved in and it was still beach weather I was like "Who even needs central heating?? This apartment is right next to La Pera! I have a terrace where I can read books and look down on street people!"

And then it started raining. Which I forgot it kind of does that here for oh, three months. And I realized, having heat might have been nice. And e-books are just as useless in the rain as those real books from like the 1800s or something.

What I do have though is a little one room electric heater. And my heater and I have a very serious relationship. I'm talking Kardashian serious. Anyway, on especially cold mornings I practically maul/smother it trying to warm all of my limbs. You know when you see a mother carrying a too-big-to-be-carried child? Well its the exact same. Except.. maybe.. I'm just bear hugging an electrical appliance even though I can walk and walking would make me warmer... No. Forget reference. This is just me and my bf.

(At school I find myself slowly sashaying to the right corner of the classroom. It provides the best teaching angle and a certain airvent that I may be cheating on my heater at home with.)

Also the other ominous thing about this combination of cold weather / cold house is that I tend to grow. Not intellectually or height wise. Just around the midsection. Obviously I have to wear sweats to keep warm and alive (also very stylish to the Spanish when they see me leaving my house in a Razorbacks sweater, workout pants ha! and bandana). So I put the comfy clothes on. And then I start the snacking. And then I convince myself that staying in is way more desireable than going out. Its my more sophisticated psuedo Camille that eggs me on. "I do say Camille with this kind of weather what devil would even propose to go out and be active? Why if I were you and I am, I would say pop another bag or two of popcorn and enjoy a marvelous novel! By the way you look dashing! Is that bandana tye died?!"*

Oh god, I just realized it is Saturday night, I am blogging, and I am wearing said Razorback sweater. I also just practiced shadow puppets for a good part of an hour. (What else do people do with the internets than look up how to perfect the "camel" shadow? Besides Risch family talent show is this Christmas. Duh.) Ok. I am digging myself a deeper hole. Time to refill the wine glass. But hey at least I'm out of popcorn!*

Shadow puppet art is actually an interesting topic. Did you know shadow puppetry was forbidden for awhile in China because the puppeteers were addressing political issues and they wanted to prevent peasant uprising? Actually, that's not really that suprising. I'm sure China still creates a huge fuss about girl puppeteers. I was planning on doing a handful of animals (harharpun) but now I may do Causal Shadow Puppetry and educaate the rischaudience about important current affairs! (Aka two dobermin pinchers explaining the one percent whoo-haa).

This blog about Spain is so good. The girl from Oklahoma moves to Spain. And still talks nonesense.



*Important to note I just finished a novel set in 18th century England and I sometimes tend to live in the book even after I finish it. Oh Henry would never dare to court her. She is but a mere apothecary's daughter and can bring neither dowry nor honour to a marriage! What a laugh! Ok. I stop now.


**Does anyone else think the size of the bag has dimished recently? Or is my tolerance really just increasing with such alacrity? Good grief.

Today is November 1.

Today is November 1. And that means several things.  

1.     The Day of the Great Reseca. (Being in such a gnarley hangover fog myself, it seems inconceivable that anything else on the list would go first). Yesterday was the great holiday of Halloween which Americans proudly celebrate in whichever country they are currently in. Spain has absolutely no ties to this holiday except what’s been seen in American movies. But there is a weird phenomenon with the younger generations to adopt American culture, so there you have it. Halloween exists here too. Its kind of like adopting a 16 year old kid from  that you dont know much about or speak its language.

I had a great costume I made in an hour and hit my dancing fun-self high around 1:00 a.m. This is how I disguised myself and confused the zombies from stealing my soul:

We actually ran into another Eduardo-manos-tijeras and everyone was like take a picture with Camille! Maybe the girl was really playing her part but she definitely acted like she was a 13 year old getting coerced into taking her picture with a creepy mall Santa. (I excitedly suggested we pretend to cut each others hair and she curtly declined.) Also while we were getting our picture taken my friend Eric yelled “Camille’s costume was cheaper!” I immediately felt proud that I was a crafty little Sally and didn’t buy one thing for my costume. (I borrowed the cardboard and tinfoil from the bar next to my house). Score! I’m amazing! But this probably was my friend building me up so that when I saw the picture I wouldn’t feel so bad standing next to an Eduardo that could have cut my tinfoil hands off in one quick snip.

Today is also a scary hair day. Since I spent 20 minutes creating a rat nest in my hair last night and then making it truly flammable with hairspray, it is beyond salvation now. If I was a shih tsu at my dad’s office, he would call my hair a matted mess and turn on the clippers. But Im not a shihtsu and I need my hair. It keeps me girl.

2.     (No, I did not forget we were counting something. Although that is a nice indicator of classic blog-digression). November 1 also marks “Day after Halloween Day” “All Saints Day”. It is a national holiday for Spain and everyone is off school / work. Spain is very Catholic. (Meaning they don’t like to work very much). When I told my mom we don’t have school Tuesday. She said immediately, “All Saints Day!” I could hear the pride in her voice.

3.     November 1 is also my half birthday. Why does no one celebrate this? (Except the Spanish obviously). I remind you people every year. It’s like with the LED Hula Hoop. How many hints does it take to get to the center of the tootsie pop??

4.     This half birthday means I’m halfway to 49. Expect to receive an email from me reminding you about a certain grand party that I will want but act like I don’t want in 24 and a half years.

5.     And….. today I quit smoking. (Shock! Camille smokes!) But not anymore beaches!

I smoked maybe a pack a week which is an infinitely small amount compared to the sturdy Spaniard smoking regimen, but probably more than the trendy Social Smoker. I’d like to say I’ve never been a real “Smoker”. Not that anyone likes to admit to the foul nomenclature. It just sounds so concrete. Like I’m a girl. I’m white. I’m a smoker. And what is the real amount that makes these people real smokers? (Remember- I’m not one.)

Side note: I picked up on connotations from a very young age and I knew by age 5 that “Smokers” were bad, smelly sinners. (I was also in MathCounts, an after school math class for middle school kids to compete and math wiz it out. I had no reason to be there since I am the worlds worst at math. But Jim Risch really wanted me there. He also ran the program.)

So needless to say, November 1 marks my quitting day. Many reasons to quit but really only two are important to me. One, I’m pretty sure my teeth have become a shade of yellow. Its gross. I can’t live with kitchen color teeth being, said pale white girl. No contrast is scary. The second reason is I’m quitting is to keep my body in check. So that Camille’s in control. In the past, I received a lot of harsh (unsolicited) criticism from some people (Patrick) and I always told these people (Patrick), “I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can quit in a drop of a hat.” That never stopped those smoking abolitionists (Patrick) from tearing my cigarettes in half or flushing them down the toilet. But then I started wondering, what does that even mean? I don’t have an addictive personality. That’s like the people who say “This slimfast bar is SO filling.” (Liars!).

But here we start. No smoking! I will be sure to keep you updated of my success. And if I don’t then that probably means I’ve fallen off the wagon. Check facebook for pictures of white sparkly teeth and then you’ll know.

Well that is all. Today is a day of recuperation, birthdays, Saints celebration and some endings and new beginnings. Tomorrow I break down November 2.

P.S. Have I ever mentioned how smart my brother Patrick is? He can tell you anything about anything!

  

-Cococamille

What is Spain?

Spain is your friends being mad at you for going home early at 5 AM. How many times can I say I am American and I should be in bed right now. Staying out to 8 am in heels sounds like the grossest thing in the entire world to me. Now you see why staying at home in pajamas and with a movie and popcorn gets more and more alluring for weekend nights. #slow transition to spinster living.




P.S. What is heartbreaking? Seeing you finally have a comment and when you check it, it has been deleted by author. I don't even know why we blog anymore for you people.

Camille's breaking point

After a long stressful day it's a good idea to relax and have a beer. I on the other hand,had such a day and then sprinted to a waxing appointment and was almost in tears because I couldn't understand how the world could be so cruel to poor me. Maybe it's better to make those kind of appointments when I'm more mentally prepared. Lesson learned. #Poor lady who thought I was having a meltdown.

This Is Insomnia Mess

I can't sleep. My brain won't turn off. Which I find ironic since it takes the liberty to do just that so many times during the average day. (i.e. No I don't remember how to say 'cenicero' in English. Its just that thing we put ashes and cigarette buts in. Actually it doesnt exist. Nope no name. Sorry.). The reason why I'm still awake is because everyone likes to "tomar un cafe" about 83 times a day here. Well if I go around tomando coffees all doggone day then Allah knows there will be retribution. Side note, I actually just realized I forgot to drink water today. Does that happen to anyone else? Or am I the only one who challenges their body to dehydration marathons? No..? Oh.... I also forget to go pee sometimes and then when the light bulb turns on its suddenly GET-ME-OFF-THIS-FUCKING-BUS-I-JUST-REMEBERED-SOMETHING. But maybe that's because I forget to drink water.

Like I said my brain has power outages during the average day.

Tonight however our gears our turning. Eyes wide open. High alert. Thank god for the internets and a big bright screen to stare so I can disintigrate my vision (more so). I got out of bed and opened it up and went through the normal click click clicks which are a series of:

-Don't Install
-Remind me Later
-Cancel
-No I dont want the new version
-Cancel
-Don't Install
-Remind me Later

These are the leave me alone clicks. Quite bothersome. If I were to prognosticate I would say that my computer is dying a sad slow death and when its finally capput, some hysterical blonde girl will yell, "Why did no one remind me to update virus software??" But I'm not a credited gypsy fortune teller so I can not be held accountable for such prognostications.

(Click Click)

Before I did turn on this computer though I was lying in bed listening to the "sleep machine" of noises that apartment living in Spain provides. I spent a summer in Oklahoma and forgot about my Spanish sleep machine. For peaceful dreams on a thermarest bed Americans enjoy such noises as gentle crashing of waves, crickets in orchestra or light breeze on an Autumn night. In Spain, Its straight up legit sleep machines. I hear Mother Tearing into Daughter, Toilets Flushing, Chorus of Coughing, and Sex from the people above you.

This could be status quo for all apartment living. And I'm starting to think so. I'm from Oklahoma. We live in houses. I'm new to this. I had some friends over the other night and after a raptuous game of CaraGalleta ("face cookie" see video below) we stood up and proudly sang Canada's national anthem. Why? Because we have a Canadian friend and he teaches us things about Canada. So in the middle of our salute, there is a sudden banging noise coming from the ceiling. The anti-canadian neighbors above found a broom and made it clear what they wanted. What is it with brooms and getting people to be quiet in apartments? I totally thought that was just in t.v. shows. So do these people keep brooms handy or do they go get one to make their point? What happens if we don't hear the broom? Do they come down?

Apartment living is fine. But I just don't like knowning so much about people's lives. And I also don't like whisper-singing Canada's national anthem. It's just disrespectful in principle.

Here's the video I mentioned above. My friend elena totally dominates at facecookie.

Well its not working Ill post later. Xoxo. Coco.

Confessions of the Foodgirl

I have been effing loving my yogurt this week. Im all like "hey healthy
hipsters right on, yogurt is totally the cats pajamas. I may even throw some trendy oatmeal on this soiree." (for the record I have learned how to say soiree correctly so I'm going to be uber using it to make up for all my half whispered self conscious attempts in the past). Back to yogurt...  I take small pensive bites like on the commercials where you know they are thinking "my waist is shrinking because of this impeccable snack choice." (or they are supposed to think that?). Thats totally what I WAS thinking when I took my smart bites. That is until today when I read the label and realized I've been eating the FULL fat greek yogurt. Those jerks changed the off brand ones to look like the low fat labels and I've been living in a some salubrious delusion. 

Until the next time something colossal happens in my life,
Coco Therese Risch

Soiree soiree soiree.

Ps readers: . I had to start somewhere. Who knew it would be about yogurt traps. Good news though is shoulder pads are back, Arrested development is back and CAMILLES BLOGS ARE kindof BACK!! Can I have a virtual pat on the back? (aka that means a shiny comment present). 

Old People Bully Me

I ran into the grocery store to grab a few things before it and everything closed during the 3-hour middle of the day, ghost town phenomenon that happens everyday in Spain. I will leave my views on efficiency out of this. Sundays, everything is closed. All day. And it is horrible. It has a very apocolyptical feel. I wander the deserted streets wondering where I am going to find sustenance. (Like I am supposed to remember this fact every Saturday and be prepared for Sunday armagedon? Que va!) Anyway, my mother thinks its nice they still respect the  religious tradition of a day of rest. I, on the other hand, think that because the poor procrastinators like myself are forced into fasting, there is nothing religious about it. I actually become quite spiteful and bitchy on Sundays.

Where was this road taking us.... ah yes. Today. I went to the supermarket. I bought 5 five things. Bread, cucumbers, tomatoes, babybell cheese, jamon, and yogurt. Ok, six things. But the small amount that they can easily be held. The woman with two carts filled to the brim was in front of me, along with a million stranded carts. Now, I've had people behind me ask "me puedes pasar?" if they have fewer things than I do, and yes the religious, fasting human being that I am lets the person go first. When I am the person with less things however, I feel like I should be allowed to pass as well. The cycle continues right? I asked the woman and she said, no.

WTF.

Then all of the sudden I feel a sharp jab in my back. I turn around and an old man is growling hastily at me and pointing to one of the carts in betweent the woman and I. He had been off collecting more items to put in his cart. You've got to be kidding me. You want to go first too huh? I immediately was going to tell him "Look, it's not fair for you to abandon you're cart here to to save your spot. If it had worked like that, I would have placed mine here when I arrived and returned when I felt like it!"

My Spanish is not as quick as my English.

I was finger in the air about to say that and the conditional verb conjugations wouldn't remember the fucking dance moves. Hadn't we rehearsed conditional before? Now, go out there and stand your ground verbs! Make Camille proud! But alas, all I said was, "thats not fair." And another spainaird passed me in the check-out line.

I looked at the 18 year old cashier trying to get some sympathy out of him for everything that just happened but it was fruitless. Besides the people behind me were beginning to besiege.

Camille Covers Turmoil in Middle East

Recently I had to cancel (again) my trip to Morocco because of the massive hoopla in the Arab world. For that, I feel its time I dedicate a blog entry to this matter.

First off, I have not kept a Katie Couric eye on the events but I've scanned the AOL 3 second news clips before something about Charlie Sheen comes up. (Because now I can't get enough of his drug). But when I do see news about the unrest in Libya and the Middle East, I immediately find myself cheering for the rebels. I think this is because my American History education has taught me rebels are bad asses and red coats are dumb because they stand out. But I really have no idea who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. If I was watching a movie when I was little, my dad would fill me in on which guys were which. But somehow I can't just ask "Gaddafi is the bad guy right...?" And maybe not every revolution was like ours. However this I wouldn't know because in America we learned that History, is American History. So of course I know that George Washington was Jesus' cousin and the world began in 1776. But about the turmoil in the East, there are countries I've never even heard of yathzee-ing it up. Djibouti? You're a country? I thought you were something I ate with naan. Disculpa, but the truth is I've never claimed to be a current affairs buff. I just merely analyze current events by how they make me feel, what movie I am reminded of or how I can pun around the words. To top things off, sometimes I accidentally say I am from the Middle East instead of the Midwest. If I were you, I would avoid having me on your Trivial Pursuit team. I'm more of a Cranium and MadGab girl. And I can Skip it for like hours.

That is the update. I hope this has been educational.

Nuzzle Nuzzle

I used to think it was amazing that people started recognizing me places but I'm starting to realize I may stand out more than I think. A funny incident happened yesterday that contrasts my customs vs. those of spanish people.

I had gone to the gym and showered there. I never bring a hair dryer and I'm always too hot to wear pants to leave in, so I left with wet hair and in gym shorts. These are basically two of the seven deadly sins in Spanish women's eyes. Every woman at my gym leaves booted, vested, manicured and scarved. So ultimately to them I must have looked pretty gorgeous. Anyway, on the way home I stopped at the grocery store and bought my groceries and also an empanada to appease the hungry hungry hippo living inside me. It starts to rain, of course, and so I stumble race home as quickly as possible. I finally get inside and being the typical American that I am, I couldn't wait til I got in my apartment to eat my empanada. It felt like it should be my treat for the recent downpour of events. So even though I was with school bag, gym bag, and a ton of groceries, I decide to open my empanada in the elevator. This is where the story gets awkward.

The elevator door opens and its really dark in my hallway. I am super weighed down and about to collapse and I didnt finish my empanada. The light switch is on the wall to my right but I have no available hands. Of course I didnt want to set some things down just for a light switch, (even though in three seconds I would have had to set them down to get my keys) so I think quickly and impulsively and attempt to turn the light on with my only available body part, my nose. Just as my nose touches the switch, the door next to me opens and out walks one of these trim prim Spanish women.

The drenched American girl wearing shorts in February, overloaded with bags of all sorts and holding a half eaten empanada appears to be nuzzling the light switch. I thought my spanish has been improving but there were just no words to rectify this situation.

Ah, yes I blend in like chameleon.

My middle name is Scaredy Cat

Last night I reached for my glass of water and because hand eye coordination has never been one of my bragging rights, I basically pushed it off the table where it soon met its death. Being that I was snuggled in nicely in my nest, cleaning it up wasn't really something I wanted to deal with so I threw a pair of red pants on top of it. I think my logic was the red was supposed to signal my attention this morning when I got out of bed. No alerts went off this morning. No one was hurt but it left me thinking all day.... Someday I could be a mother? I sometimes can't believe the situations I put myself in. How easy it would have been to clean up, rather than getting out of bed to a scene straight from a Saw movie.

I wish I was more proactive but I'm just not and it turns out Spain and I share that in common. I've done some activities since I've been here that would qualify as waiver necessary adventures. Ha, yeah right, I have not even seen a waiver of any sort. Are we just over protective in the States? Or more prepared for accidents? When I went sailing we walked on these balance beam-thin floating things that they use to fish for mussels. Here this photo explains better than my 20 adjective sentence:

When I stepped on to this unstable structure on top of freezing cold water, my legs immediately turned to linguini. That trigged the intrinsic reaction to become horizontal as soon as possible. The instructor saw my fear and came over to give me a hand. But (and this applies to all boys) somehow thought it would be hilarious to shake me in my moment of already extreme trepidation. I thought I was going to cry. Actually I think I did. Then he announced as an afterthough, "ah girls, if you fall in the water, No move. I come to you, because the mussels... they have knives in the mouths and can damage the body."

I think this was the only verbal acknowledgement of what to do if something bad happens. And maybe it was the translation or word choice, but I felt whole heartedly worse after he said that.

On Saturday we decided to go horseback riding.  I guess I felt I've been needing more risk in my life and eating questionably expired cheddar just wasnt cutting it for the adventure level. But honestly, I was really really excited for this.

Until....

I met Jacob.

Pronounced "ha-ko-bo". He was my horse. And I am pretty sure this was the first time he had a human being on his back. We got off on the wrong foot when I called him Jacob and maybe commented on his matted hair. He took offense really fast and decided he wouldnt listen to my commands at all. When I kicked to go faster, he halted. And when I told (asked/begged/insisted/pleaded) to stop, he sure as hell did not. I told the horse trainer that Jacob wasnt listening to me and doesnt speak Spanish or English. And you know, like trainer like horse. He didnt really help me out either. I would have thought again, the apparent fear in my face would signal some reaction. He didnt shake me like the sailing instructor but he did use this stupid pokey thing on Jacob to make him go the right way and I was like "god please stop tormenting my horse!" (But in a moment of crisis your brain definately does not produce translations for such important phrases).

 I dont trust that trainer or ha-ko-bo. 

Here is a picture. Jacob is on the far right trying to appear pony-esque. Do not be fooled by his small stature or silly horse facade.

They look peaceful in this next picture as well but they were actually just fed up with pictures and turned around to start doing their own thing again. (However, this also happens alot with Risches.)

 

Moral of the story is Im going to be reading some books for a while and hope no more precarious situations call my name. Here are the things I do for sure know about myself so I can be sensible next time making a decision. Camille does not like heights, spiders, fast things, unstable things, heights (its quite important so it gets listed twice), animals that aren't cute and fluffy and fully tamed or divided by a protective glass, slippery rocks, crazy druggie people, oh and she really hates being trapped in a kayak underwater. (That adventure didn't take long to abandon and swear never to attempt again.)

Soy asi.

-Camille S.C. Risch

Peace Day

We celebrated "Dia de Paz" the other day at school. It was a beautiful sunny day and we took the afternoon off to celebrate the event. After the banners each class had made were put up and applauded for, we went out to the playground. We all held hands in a spiral formation and started singing a song. Apparently there was a choreographed dance as well that I didnt know. But with elementary school children they repeat the song and dance like 5 times and fortunately I picked it up in a cinch and was whirling and twirling with everyone else.  Then something was announced and a mass stampede to the center commenced. I had no idea what was going on (as always), I just knew that all the children were pushing towards the center of the black hole and something awesome must be up there.

Turns out we were releasing doves.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please stop and look at how cute my school/children are:

http://centros.edu.xunta.es/ceipriadevigo/

I stopped in the fruiteria

When I run I usually put my key in my ipod pouch with a two euro coin. Tonight I stopped by the fruiteria and dug out my belongins and then dropped the key in the crate of potatoes. The man had no idea why i was being so picky choosing potatoes and I had no idea how to explain. Until, eureka! I held up the key to the whole shabang.

And then he found out I got crazier because I kept asking "how much would my total be with ...this... (holding up a pepper)?" I wanted to get as close to two euros as possible. Turns out, you can buy a head of cauliflower, six carrots and two bananas. What a deal!