Chelsea's English Masterpiece Theater

Good evening, Spain, and good afternoon America! You all win, I blogged instead of cleaning. I am a master at rationalizing the shit out of anything, though, so I unloaded the dishwasher, reloaded it, and prepped my breakfast for tomorrow...that covered my "productivity" quota enough to write to you fine ass people and procrastinate the cleaning of the bathroom until tomorrow. I also poured myself an ice cold glass of sangria...I'm doing an experiment to see if it makes me more interesting. You can all vote later. Oh and I will not be saluting Russia anymore because apparently if you use their native language they aren't interested in reading your blog anymore...ironic. It also could be that I trusted Google Translate a little too much and said something heinous in Russian. We say potato, they say vodka.

This calm Sunday night will be spent shitting my pants and worrying about finally starting work tomorrow. I was going to visit my school on Friday just to say hi to everyone and get the kissing thing out of the way (although for better or worse I'm getting used to being kissed by coworkers) but my other teachers caught wind of it (because all my coworkers are gossips and thanks to WhatsApp are able to do it light years faster than ever before...a very key reason why I love them so much, haha) and arranged an impromptu meeting with our new principal. The old head nun (not to be confused with the bat-crap crazy yet loveable leather-skirted nun) changed schools [read: got rotated to another school] and we have a new one. Her name is Sister Solitude of Youths. Or Sister Loneliness...of Youth. It's really not fair to translate it because it sounds better in Spanish, Sister Soledad...but it's kind of funny to do it anyways. It makes me want to sing Sister Christian to her for some reason...which is even more ironic, if you consider the lyrics.

You know those boys don't wanna play no more with you, it's true...MOTORIN'! What's your price for flight...in findin' Mr. Right?

Is that blasphemous? It feels pretty inappropriate...but come on, so funny. I can't wait to tell Jenny, the new assistant at our school. I'll feel better if I'm not the only person singing "MOTORIN'!!!" in my head when I see my boss.

Anyways, my meeting with Sister Christian went really well. She met me, was impressed by my Spanish, and offered me a "promotion"...although after I considered everything I'm going to use "promotion" in air quotes because I have a feeling it's going to be a big pain in the ass. Rocio, our English coordinator, called me Thursday after she heard I was coming to school and asked in confidence if I would be willing to work more hours. She was so excited to be the first to tell me the school wanted to offer me three extra hours a week (which doesn't seem like much but I think I'll end up getting an extra 150 euros a month...which means I can travel more and get bitten in the ass less by my little prick private class kids) with the preschoolers. I told her no problem, I'd keep my mouth shut (because Sister Christian wanted to be the first one to break the news) and pretend to be surprised. Let me tell you how surprised I really was, though, when Sister Christian asked how I thought I'd handle working with the 3-5 year olds..........................3-5?

This chick is 3 years old. (By the way, there is an abundance of hits if you search for "Smoking 3-year old"....like DIFFERENT three year olds. What the hell is going on over in Thailand?!) Okay, granted, I don't expect many of my new students (...okay, so I don't expect any of my new students...) to be chain-smoking miscreants but I wasn't expecting 3 year-olds. Last year we had tossed around the idea of me teaching the oldest kids in preschool (the 5 year-olds) one hour a week...which would only add three extra classes. Sister Christian sprung it on me that I would be teaching ALL of preschool. I believe I have blogged in the past about my visit down to Spain's version of pre-school. I think all kids must attend school in Spain once they are 2-3 years old. Most of these students can barely manage to not soil themselves in any given two hour time increment. I visited one of the teachers I used to work with down there last year and her only job (that I witnessed) was her making sure none of the "students" murdered or seriously injured their fellow classmates with obscure sharp objects around the classroom and that they didn't shit their pants. Literally. One kid did shit his pants. That's it. How am I going to teach them English? Sister Christian was quite adamant about not speaking a word of Spanish with them (which is also going to be a challenge since I quit pretending last year) and suggested I use story-telling and puppet theater to facilitate English, so they could just hear me speak and absorb. I can just see it now, Chelsea's Masterpiece English Theater presents "Who Crapped In The Corner?; A Fecal Mystery [based on a true story]." Based on my previous experience of only fifteen minutes, I'm quite positive by the end of the year they will have mastered the phrases "Why are you holding your crotch?", "Do you have to go to the toilet?", "We don't go poo-poo on the floor", and "Stop hitting each other." I feel like I might be being a little pessimistic, but on the positive side there's guaranteed to be an overwhelming amount of material for my little blog here, so......yay? Yay! In the end, adding all of pre-school, I will have around 600 students, total. Luckily, in pre-school, I only have 20 minutes with each class...so best or worst case scenario, it won't be too difficult to squirm through. Through which to squirm. I am an English teacher after all...never end a sentence with a preposition. Or use fragments.

In other good news, I'm finally 7/8 settled in to my apartment. I was avoiding it like the plague because I hate unpacking (which seems weird, I know, but it simply reminds me how much crap I have accumulated in Spain and makes me seriously depressed thinking about how I'm going to eventually get it all home once I decide to move home. I haven't thrown away one copy of Cosmo since I've been here...I wouldn't say I'm a hoarder but I'm only 5 bottles of nail polish, 3 gel pens, and a missing pet trapped in my clutter away from officially qualifying for the title. Luckily I don't have a pet (that I'm aware of) so I won't ever legitimately qualify. I unpacked all of my stuff-stuff and am still in the process of unpacking my clothes. I got through two huge space bags and two small space bags, got really excited and took a celebratory nap, and then when I woke up realized there was one more big space bag...so I gave up and am leaving that for later. Like tomorrow, or next weekend. Or 2013 if the world doesn't end. If there was anything more than that one space bag I was seriously considering burning all my clothes and becoming a nudist. I'd have to move to the coast to a beach town to fit in, and I'd for sure be the cutest person on the beach considering all the old wrinkly nudeness I've seen...my boobs would also be the perkiest, since the other women at the beach practically step on theirs...actually this scenario is getting a little too appealing, so let's change topics before it becomes my reality, haha.

I'm surprisingly home alone, even at 11:30 p.m., because Paco is still with his boyfriend in Sevilla and Irene left to go kayak down some rapids or something. All I could understand while she was squealing excitedly about it was "so much water!!...so fast!!!....the terror!!! EEEEK!!" I'm assuming it was kayak-related. Let's hope. Paco left me homework this weekend before he left....I was supposed to practice Mario Kart in the next level of difficulty so he could race me once he gets back. I adore him but he's the worst influence ever...and I am, equally, to him. Numerous times this past week it's been 12:30 a.m. and he comes crashing in, "SHELLTHEEEEE....eeets time to play da Mario!!! Come on, leetle squeetle (squirrel) I'm goin to ween to jew!!!" (he's going to beat me...he can't remember "beat" so he always mistranslates to "I'm going to win you". Hilarious). I always wonder what our neighbors think because we are quite loud...one time last week I actually beat him. I was on my A game and he kept having bad luck...and I beat him. All of Madrid could hear him screaming "COME BACK JERE JEW BABY BEETCH!!!!!" as I won. (My character I always choose is Baby Peach, so he thinks he's being super clever...unfortunately the name has stuck and now anytime he wants to play he no longer calls me Shellthee, he comes bounding in and yells "Baby beeeetch, we have to play!!" Luckily I don't think the neighbors understand him.) I don't think, without proper video evidence, I could explain how serious Paco is about Mario Kart. He's never met anyone who can challenge him and he loves and hates it at the same time. One time I came home and he was listening to music in his room, blasting it at full volume, so I assumed he was busy and started playing on my own. He comes in a little bit later and threw a fit. "What are you doing!?! You're playing and you didn't even invite me to come play?? YOU'RE TRAINING!!! I can't believe it you're training so you can beat me!! IRENE!!!! She's been TRAINING!!!" My life not be high speed and exciting but you can damn well bet I would never train for Mario Kart to beat my gay roommate.

Except this weekend. I definitely did this weekend. But don't tell Paco...I'm gonna let him find out himself :D Love you all, pray for me and my first week of 21 hours.

I'm In Love With A Boy Named Paco

Hello America & Spain! And my two viewers who always manage to pop up from Russia...привет! (I Googled that...it means "hello" in Russian...feel special you two creeps).

I know I haven't written for a little while, but if we all take into consideration how often I wrote last year (due to emotional roller coasters and lack of will power) this is pretty good, right?

The good news is that so far everything seems to be going really well. Last year I ended up in the wrong apartment, far away from Madrid, with the wrong roommate...and to top that off she was never even home, so it was like I lived alone. I think that started the year off on the wrong foot....so I'm looking to really make up for it this year.

As you all should know, I have a gay roommate. Sometimes I feel like it's wrong to single him out as the gay roommate...he's also the only male roommate...but it seriously is the best way to describe him. I swear I'm not marginalizing...if anything I love him more for it. You should all be gay and maybe I'd love you more too, haha. Kidding...mostly.

Anyways I'm in love with Paco. We've only been living together for a week now and it's already a very strong relationship. He's very sassy and very effeminate....not drag queen effeminate, just...normal effeminate. He's also very quirky...for example he's in love with Toy Story. Yesterday he introduced me to his Toy Story dolls...he has Buzz, Woody, Bullseye (the horse), and Jessie (the cowgirl)...if you turn them on and put them together, they talk to each other. Just to clarify, this is where the gay-roommate clarification comes in. Let's all imagine that my roommate last year, Manuel, the one-man star of Carrie in our apartment, had these toys. Coupled with his chronic schizophrenia and talking to his other personalities in the shower (that he was completely unaware of), the addition of Buzz and Woody would probably send me screaming for a straight jacket from the nearest loony bin. And to be completely honest with you, if he DID have those dolls, I wouldn't be one bit surprised. He was a very nice guy but also very unfortunate to live with (especially near the end). Paco also has Toy Story shower gel, Toy Story posters, and tends to leave the empty boxes from his dolls around the house as decorations. Clearly he's going to be a breeze to shop for at Christmas.

Paco also comes in a two-part package. There's Paco...and then there's his boyfriend, Beto. They are polar opposites...Paco is sassy and outgoing and Beto is quieter and relaxed. My first night in the apartment Beto came over and rummaged through all of the stuff I brought from America....including but not limited to my nail polish, my muffin mixes (don't judge, they're cheap and easier to make than muffins from scratch), my stickers for the kids, my Halloween paraphernalia, and my hair spray. He's nosey but in a loving way. Last week I made muffins and they spent a good 5 minutes picking out which cupcake papers they wanted me to make them in. They gave me shit for awhile too because Paco says that I have brought "all kinds of vices and corruption into this apartment"...for the past week we've been battling on Mario Kart until at least 1-1:30 in the morning. I told them I didn't have to make the muffins, I was just doing it to show them, and they freaked out. "NO NO NO, you are GOING to make them, we're just gonna get fat, that's all... But yes, make them.... Now. Please."

Another fun dynamic to the apartment is that Paco speaks pretty good English. Every once in awhile he'll come bursting into a room (he has to make an entrance) and shout "Eets time for da Eengleesh hour!!! From now, we must espeak en only da Eengleesh!" Unfortunately Beto does not speak any English, and they tend to get in very huffy fights when Paco declares Da Eengleesh Hour and Beto doesn't want to participate. I tried to tell Beto he could start slowly and practice with me to get better (he's taken at least 5 years of it in school) but he gets very flustered and just tries to absorb into the wall, usually. Paco started screaming at him one time "Come on now, Beto!!! Jew know da Eengleesh!! Jew can espeak weet Chelsea, ees berry easy!" I tried to talk to him with the most simplest question I could think of, so that he could appease Paco and feel accomplished...so I asked him slowly and caring "How was your day?" Beto stops, thinks a second, and says, "My name ees Beto." That threw Paco into a bit of rage, haha, and lead to a pretty intense fight where Paco started yelling at him in English about how he wasn't thinking and should know more and Beto ended up cleaning to relieve his stress. I don't exactly understand how the two resolve their problems because magically, 20 minutes later, they were fine again. I was really kinda worried that my English Hour could be the straw that broke the camels back for the couple of 3 years...but apparently that's normal for them, haha. Paco then told me, "Beto wans, when he ees growing, to be working een a laundry becos he loff clean...he loff to take away de dust an do da vacuum." The fun thing about Paco is that he understands me most of the time and I also understand him...but he also makes a lot of hilarious mistakes. For example one night, after I made the muffins and we were cleaning up, Beto said in Spanish "A mi me encanta mojar las magdalenas en la leche." But it was English Hour so Paco clarifies and says, "Beto say dat he loff to wet da moofeens een da meelk." I thought I was going to die from laughing. I tried to explain the numerous things wrong with this sentence but that only armed Paco with more inappropriate vocabulary than he already knows. Another time I was doing the dishes and Paco asks me, "Do jew see da paper here on da freedge?" I had noticed it, actually, the first day I went to the apartment. They have a collection of magnets on the fridge and one little flyer for Latin escorts who do "all services". I hoped, and figured, it was just a joke but I did think it was pretty funny considering the tenants. "Een dees apartment we loff da prostitutation. I saw dees paper, on a car, and I say to Irene 'we HAVE to take da paper, ees so funny!! Because jew know, I am a prostitute too." And then he ran off and had a dance party to Ke$ha.

Basically, my room is tiny but I love the relaxed environment of the new apartment. Irene, the girl, is hardly ever home because she is into every hobby under the sun. She loves kayaking, repelling, climbing, playing guitar, playing piano....and one night she came out of her room super proud because she had written and recorded a song she wrote about kayaking (she's doing a great job of combining her hobbies, haha). I'm pretty sure she has ADHD but she's quite fun too. Besides the fact that they both talk at the speed of light (and Paco is from Sevilla so he has a lisp with every S he says...he already told me "Chelsea, from now on I'm going to call you ShellThee, because that's how I'd say it in Sevilla.") I think my Spanish is also vastly improving because our television doesn't have a remote control right now and everything is stuck in Spanish (I usually cheat when I'm watching programs I love because the dubbing is so awful). So for now I feel like I'm exactly where I should be. School doesn't start until Monday, so this week I need to actually start unpacking and make a concerted effort to really settle in and stop procrastinating. I'll try to update one more time before we start school, because Lord knows that will bring a whole slew of new adventures. Ta ta for now!

Here I Go Again...

It's that time again! I can no longer drive, I sweat at all hours of the day and freeze my ass off at night, drink my weight in water and sangria, get shamelessly gawked at and hit on by all Africans or men over the age of 50, and have reduced half of my caloric intake. That's right, I'm back in Spain!! Yay? Haha...

I will admit that this journey back has been less eventful, which by all standards is amazing considering my past experiences. I don't think it will ever get easy to make the big change, to either country, but I keep deciding to do it so I guess I'm not allowed to complain. Clearly I had a hard time at Christmas coming home, simply because I couldn't actually GET home without a complete nervous breakdown, but it wasn't a breeze in the summer, either. It was mostly biological...I was still on Spain time and I couldn't sleep well, so I put on Univision (the Mexican channel) so things would seem more normal. Clearly my life is in shambles, haha.

Anyways, back to the return journey. My airplane from Indy to Washinton Dulles was shittastic. I have some friends in America, and I won't name names, who cannot drive for shit. They double-foot the accelerator and the brake and really try to push your gag reflex to the limit......they'll accelerate to the speed they want, then let off & let it slow down on its own....then speed up again quickly...then slow down....then hit the brake...then accelerate....are you getting nauseated while reading this? I am by just typing. It also really gets your neck prepped for a good whiplash. Anyways that's what the pilot was doing with the plane. You'd hear the jets rev up, my ears would pop, we'd ascend a little bit...then all of a sudden, silence. The jets would stop, we'd start to fall substantially, my stomach dropped...then the jets came back on, and we'd go up, and my ears would pop.....then we'd fall again. I finally hunched over my legs because I've realized that if I'm hunched over, my stomach doesn't register the changes because I'm pretty disoriented. I managed to look out of the corner of my eye and the guy across the way from me was staring at me. I'm almost positive he thought I was going to throw up and seemed really excited for a digestive pyrotechnic show. Sorry, dude.

Dulles was not exciting...the worst part about travelling alone is travelling alone. You have to haul all your shit to the bathroom, to the shops, through the restaurants. Plus you feel pretty alone. I always try to spot a trusting old lady or family that I ask to watch my carry on while I go to the bathroom....I usually only have my clothes packed in it so it's no big deal. Some witch from TSA that was patrolling caught me, though, and wouldn't let me leave my stuff. She was so unfair, she told me I had to take it with me or she'd call the police. I personally think she had a Mall Cop Inferiority Complex, except more so since she wasn't riding a Segway....so I just didn't go to the bathroom for 4 hours out of spite and watched Weeds. SO MEAN.

Hmm, what else. On the flight here I sat next to an extra annoyed Phillipine teenage boy. He was so hostile and moody you would have thought he was a 13-year-old girl who was grounded from going to a Justin Beiber concert. I spent the first 5 hours of the flight fighting with him over the armrest. It's a delicate balance but everytime he'd put on his headphones I'd stab my elbow over so I could establish control. I usually don't care and curl up into a little ball anyways but our flight attendants were extra hip-y. Girthy hips. Wide ass hips. So everytime they'd walk past me they'd bust into my elbow with half their body without any apology and continue on, leaving their fluid rear practically waving at me with contempt as they continued on.

I arrived at 7:30 a.m. Madrid time on Wednesday, went back to Rebecca's apartment, and took a nap. Once I woke up I went off to see two apartments with no luck. The next day I saw 4 more and met Jenny, the new English assistant at our school. She's British! And awesome! She's still getting used to Madrid so I hauled her to all of my apartments. It came down to two that I liked....one was going to let me know because the roommates were going to decide and the other one was first come first serve. Of course I liked the choosey one the best but if I waited to hear from them, and they said no, and I went to the other apartment and it was rented, I'd be screwed. I was torn and didn't know what to do, and somewhat defeated because a lot of the apartments were being really bratty and mean girl about it (we'll let you know, we're going to choose the person we all like the best). It's been a really frustrating situation because 1.) they haven't asked me any important questions about myself or about my living habits or anything useful and 2.) I want to live with Spaniards to practice speaking Spanish but most apartments full of Spaniards don't want to live with a gringa foreigner American girl.

Before I even got here my mom told me "I'd find what I was meant to have"...so I figured I'd go home and call her to see what I should do. I trekked home, exhausted, and was about to call her when I saw a message from one of the apartment sites from a girl who liked my post and thought I'd fit in here. I almost didn't go because I had JUST come from the neighborhood and really didn't want to leave AGAIN to go all the way back...I'd be less lazy but Rebecca's apartment isn't on the same metro line or bus line so I have to transfer and I already hate the metro anyways...but I went just because her e-mail was so energetic and cute. I got to the apartment and I could tell just from listening to her that she was awesome. She's bubbly, short, fun, sassy. There were Abbey Road posters on the wall, an 80's pop art Lip phone (as in the phone is shaped like a pair of lips), a Dolce Gusto coffee maker (dyyyyying!), a beautiful bright living room and windows, lime green kitchen with a hot pink toaster, nice decent sized bathroom...the bedroom is small but the rest of the apartment was GORGEOUS. I stopped her in the middle of the tour and said I'd take it. I asked if Paco, the boy who wasn't home, was just a friend (because I'm not trying to live with a couple...ew) and she said "oh yeah, he's just a friend...look, here's me, here's Paco, and here's Paco's boyfriend."

THAT WAS IT, SIGN FROM GOD. PACO'S GAY & THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY APARTMENT!!!

Honestly, I'm surprised in hindsight that I didn't freak her the hell out. I told her I'd seriously go to the ATM and get the deposit at that moment. Unfortunately she had already had another guy who was really interested too and she had to discuss it with Paco. Um, please. I didn't tell her this but I've never met a gay man in my 24 years of existence who didn't like me and I was not about to have Paco be the first. We kept talking, I mentioned that I make pastries and crap and she got excited and decided she'd tell Paco to suck it up, she decided on me. I knew Paco wouldn't regret it anyways, though. C'mon. Gay men are my people. I'm a magnet. I explained that to her too. In the end they chose me and I'm here now!

The apartment is literally right around the corner from my apartment last year...5 doors down. I can walk to school, I can walk to the city center and spend all my money in the shopping district...it's beautiful. Paco also loves Mario on the Wii and has about five Mario games (and was just energetically and enthusiastically telling me about how they spent at least 5 hours one night trying to get a star in the Rainbow World...irony :P) and it's his coffee maker so I have a feeling I'm right where I'm supposed to be. One of my teachers even offered me her car so she came Saturday to get all my crap in one trip and drop it off. In comparison, it's been quite an easy transition and now I'm just trying to get adjusted to being back in Spain and preparing to go back to work. I first need to unpack, though, so I can sleep in my tiny tiny little bed. I think my bed last year was only 4-5 inches wider, but that makes a lot of difference. I'm in cahoots with my dad, though, to figure out a way to fix it without buying a whole new mattress. Anyways I'll update with more exciting things as they occur but as always this is the just beginning-I'm alive post. I'll blog again soon!