Sickness apparently brings out my American pride

A few weekends ago I was sick as a dog. I was literally horizontal for three days sleeping, drinking water in that awkward position where you end up pouring it on yourself, watching online TV, replaying the song "the dog days are over" and filling trashcans with kleenex. I had a 103 temperature and no Fran Risch to bring me crushed ice and soup. Good news is, I am completely fine now. (I now take my vitamins religiously and drink like 3 cups of tea a day and if there is any kid with the flu at school, I turn and run). But while cleaning yesterday I found something that brought me back to this terrible weekend. It was a list I had made while I was on my deathbed. (I literally found it under said deathbed's mattress!). The list was titled: "You Ain't Amurica."

It's a list of all things American that don't exist here. As a side note I should add that I typically don't do this. I am not really a mopey homesick study abroad student that walks into the grocery store and pouts because there are no pop tarts. But it was totally necessary this weekend. It was my first true case of homesickness. No, it was my first true case of momsickness. And I was wanting some Amurica. So here goes:

Happy hours, kickball, garage sales, barbecues, NPR, big coffee mugs filled with lots of coffee, 12 different asian food restaraunts in a town that probably only needs two, tireswings, floattrips, cubscouts, girl scout cookies, baby marshmallows, marshmallows, puppy chow, large sized dogs, Whole Foods, college ruled paper (I can't adjust after 20 years of the same sized lines), automatic cars, cars that don't try to run you over, cars bigger than a breadbox, fountain diet coke, Pandora radio (this one is gold), chai tea lattes, leftovers, food divided into 100 calorie bags, baby carrots, self-checkouts, businesses open on Sundays, DRYERS, garbage disposals, sale sections in stores, variety of zip lock bags, Target, people who wear pajamas/sweats as clothes, people who say ya'll, razorbacks, Arkansas, Tenkiller Lake, blow logs, my parents, my siblings, my siblings' children, my siblings' dogs, my best friends. At the end the list got kind of biased as it became  just a I miss... list. That's the problem when you're sick. You get sappy.

However if I were to say that I'm not a generally sappy person that would be a total lie. I am a sap tree. I have actually been on an Enya binge this past week. Yes, Enya. And my ears and heart have been melting. And it's been awesome!

Back to the comparisons that I shouldn't be doing though there is a mega list of what Spain has got and America doesn't. America is no Spain. For example, interesting vending machines. (They are sporadically placed around the city and you just see them squeezed between really old buildings). Anyway  I passed by this vending machine en route to my language school yesterday and it had all of the typical snacks on the first few rows (chips, M&Ms, Jamon flavored pringles, dried ham etc). And then it went: rolling papers, mayonnaise, condoms, yogurt. You just don't get that variety in America!


Two blog posts in two days. Bam. Blog master.

Mala Cara

Yes hello hi. I will write something. Jot something down. Just so you know I am alive. I do remember my password to this thing. Unimportant tidbits are still happening around me. I am just not very consistent about recording my tidbits. But here's to trying!

Ready steady go!

(Oh yes, that's right. Another example how I have been british-brainwashed. I stay "steady" insteady of "set". Even my childhood game announcement has been affected by the perfect Queen's English. I speak a really weird dialect. Its american english with british influence peppered with Spanish words when I have forgotten the english translation. (Today I had to ask my sister what that game was called where the children go under the bar without touching it. Limbo. Yes correct. Also the current life phase I am in.) 

So turning to.....

I am feeling quite manic today. Why? Because I become schitzo when I have too much caffeine and don't have my kindle on long bus rides. I life think. And I life think hard. The topic always comes back to the flashing expiration date of my time here and the realization that I have nothing planned after that. Bahhhh where is that damn sorting hat! Lifethink can be such a grano en el culo! (pain in the ass. Although literal translation is, pimple on the butt). Perfect time to blog it out of my memory. (Harharhar). 

I will pack up this computer and take it to a cafe so I can get some work down. This is my standard line. I typically add that I never get anything done at home. And then que pasa? (what happens). I lug this wretched thing there, prowl around for an outlet, scare them with my monster electrical converter, get shit set up, order my coffee, and then open facebook. Five minutes later I declare the FB Boycott. And I begin my "work". First a neat to-do list. I look super studious from the outside by the way. The work though never seems to fully get done. Probably because the screen is either on a website describing menus from the world's top restaurants or one on how to craft old mittens into minature stuffed animals. 

And then two hours later, after the waiter has silently declared me a pimple on his butt for ordering three coffees, american sized with fat free milk, I decide to abandon the life-search and go back home. And by go back home I mean, run into friends in the street and go for wine and tapas. 

Rewind. Repeat Cycle. Title it: Camille Plans Her Life.

Maybe I'm making it sound as if my life isn't stressful at all. As if it's only filled with excursions and tapas. But I want to let you know, that like Patrick Risch in the Hospital World, I have chaos too. Today at school I re-taught prepositions because the children had forgotten them!! Then... laminated seaweed bookmarks we had made, revised pen pal letters, taught first graders how animal sounds, played limbo with 8 three year olds in a private class (and called it English) and finally came home to some past subjunctive Spanish homework and galletas. Let's be honest, it would be nice if once in a while I could be surrounded with hot colleague surgeons and be involved in scandalous affairs and sensational gossip to escape my demanding routine. (I ignore when this reference is repeatedly refuted. I really want to believe it is Greys. I just can't not imagine a hospital with out bombs embedded in patients, sex in closets, and surgeons fighting for never before done surgeries.)

So that is that. I think I have successfully updated once again about nothing much worth updating about. Spain is still great. The Spanish are still great. Still direct. In fact here's the funny tidbit for today: One of the first teachers I saw today asked me if I was OK and told me I had "mala cara." In English this would be asking if someone was sick by saying "Oh you don't look so good.". But it directly translates to "You have a bad face." I'm not even sick today! But apparently I came to school with a bad face.