And Then I Realized I Am Kanye West

Hello again! I'm pleased to report that I survived the first week of school...and less pleased to accept the fact that tomorrow is Monday again and I get to do it allll over again.

To be honest it wasn't as bad as I had expected...I think once I get in the rhythm I will be able to take control of the three classes I don't enjoy (read: hate...which is preschool, first grade, and fifth grade.) The problem with this first week is that my school already had my schedule ready the first day and I have all of my "problem" classes on Mondays and Tuesdays (which was difficult for the first week of school because I was hoping for an easy transition week and got thrown into the gauntlet with the lions.) The good news is that once I get past that hump the rest of my classes went really well. Like shockingly well. Nothing super excited happened at school, except that my least favorite first grader (the one who yells compliments at me..."CHELSEA!!!!! YOU ARE REALLY PRETTY TODAY!!!! Somehow shouting in my face makes the compliments seem more...aggressive) asked me if I was from Africa. And I gave him the stink face by accident. For a long time.

Since nothing exciting happened at school I'll write about my adventures at home. Since we have half days for the month of September I've been able to be a lot more social during the week (and am hoping to maintain energy to continue doing so...because it is fun and I can forget the stress that school causes me.) This weekend I haven't done anything exciting because I had too much to do around the house. Yesterday I cleaned my room from top to bottom (and finally finished unpacking) and tried to clean all of my dishes in the kitchen from the night before when I had a friend over. We walked four miles at a lovely park near my house (see below) and afterwards came to my house to share fruit, pizza, chocolate, and a bottle of Lambrusca (an Italian rose wine)...basically it was a really productive evening. We were out of dishwasher detergent so I decided to just fill up the compartment with normal dish soap. In theory it seemed like a sound idea but I wasn't at all surprised when it backfired. I came back to the kitchen after hanging up some laundry and found there was a flood of 6-inch deep soap suds that had overtaken half the kitchen floor. It immediately reminded me of the first time I tried to make air-popped popcorn on the stove. I didn't know they actually popped 15 feet into the air so when they got hot enough they started flying all over the kitchen. Meanwhile I was screaming bloody murder and one of the neighbors stuck her head out of her window to make sure I was okay. I also hadn't used any oil so most of the popcorn that didn't try to air bomb me burnt to a crisp on the bottom of the pot. Frustrated, I poured the burnt kernels into a plastic bag that was hanging on the kitchen door. As I was cleaning up all of the kamikaze popcorn from the floor a bajillion burnt kernels exploded out of nowhere...and that's when I realized they were so hot that they burnt the shit out of the plastic bag and melted it. It was a one woman show of dumb and dumber. Luckily it was a lot easier to clean up the sudsy kitchen floor.

After I cleaned up the dishwasher mess I had a headache so I went to take a nap..except I had just washed all of my sheets and they were air drying (because Spain doesn't have dryers) so I ended up cuddling on my bed with a towel. Sometimes I think I'm really resourceful but the truth is that I should never be allowed to be a housewife. Ever. 

Anyways the park. I've become addicted to walking. There's a huge park only a few blocks from my house and one lap on the track surrounding the park is three-quarters of a mile. I have been going with friends and it's perfect because we can walk and talk and I don't really notice I'm exercising. It reminds me of home, too, because of all of the activities it has. Half of the park is a driving range, there are a few soccer fields, lots of benches and trees, and apparently a paddle ball area too somewhere. Rebecca took me there last week for the first time and I was really impressed...it's so nice! It even has fountains. Anyways our outing was a big deal for me because I hate wearing work out clothes in public. I also hate working out in public. I have made an effort to hide my arms from the sunlight since I was 15 and I have cankles which are only made more obvious with tennis shoes. Basically I'm perfectly content playing sports at a park or doing my zumba at home but I'm not the working out in public, go for a run type. I've always made it very clear that I won't be running anywhere unless there is somebody with a very sharp knife running after me. Or if I have a bus to catch. But working out has become more important to me than my weird self-conscious issues so I took my cankles and my fat arms and set them free in Madrid. First of all I was very worried that I would be dressed weird for the park because I don't have "official" work out clothes. I have yoga pants and tank tops and a sports bra...but they don't match and my shoes aren't even real running shoes. They're from H&M and they only cost 20 euros...but they're hot pink and I love them because they're so pretty. (They're actually really comfy for walking it turns out..) Anyways I was very pleased to get there and find that I was actually one of the most appropriately dressed people there. Shockingly. There were a bunch of meaty dudes running on the running track (dressed appropriately) but I couldn't help but notice that most of the girls there that were "working out" and "running" were wearing Converse shoes, denim shorts, a tank top, and a push up bra. A normal, run of the mill, everyday use bra. If I were to wear one of those while exercising my boobs would jump out and run away from me and I'd never see them again. They looked so absurd!! As we walked around the track we ended up passing most of the walkers so I felt like we were being productive. Lots of families and old people go there too just to stroll and relax. It's a nice environment. As we got half way around the track we came to the "adult playground" which is a bunch of jungle gym equipment that men or women can use for weight training or muscle building. I have decided to call this part of the park the Meat Playground. When we passed there were 40+ greasy men, all shirtless, stretching their arms and legs and acting like they were getting ready for some intense muscle building....except they never did anything. I don't even think they were sweating, I think they had just applied baby oil for the glistening effect. We did two laps that night and every time we passed they were all stretching towards the track but never doing any productive exercise. Hysterical. Today at the park I saw all of the sunbathers by the fountains....it looked like an Abercrombie advertisement. Practically naked super tan stick people laying out and trying to get even more tan. Luckily the Abercrombie stretch is far away from the track so I could do my strut walking to N'Sync and not have to worry about feeling inadequate. 

I was very surprised, after the first walk, that I hadn't seen any of my students. I had seen one but he didn't see me. I don't think it'd be a problem if they saw me but I was in a sports bra with a see-through tank top (because it's still 80 degrees here during the day) and I would simply prefer to avoid them. I got back to my house feeling excited to have found such a wonderful park where it seems very safe and clean and a great place to go work out...and I had overcome my cankle and fat arm issues...life was good. Until I turned on my phone to find these messages. 

These are the lovely messages I came home to from two of my students. One of my students had spotted me while walking with her mom and then sent numerous pictures of me to her friends...aren't children so lovely!? I'll also add/explain that a.) these are my favorite students from last year that have moved on to 7th grade and are in high school, so I don't give them class this year (which depresses me) and b.) I gave them my Whatsapp to talk over the summer because I figured it'd be good for them to practice in English and if they crossed any lines I could easily block them. What pissed me off most is that the girl who took the pictures didn't say ANYTHING to me like "hi Chelsea!" or "how are you"...nada. At first I was humiliated but the more I've thought about it the more humorous it becomes. First of all their comments were, "Chelsea! Andrea saw you running at the park!" .....bahahaha me RUNNING!? Yeah right. But I appreciate the confusion, it makes me sound cooler. Secondly all of the girls have been asking me when I'm going back to try and coincide with my supposed "running." Third...the way I see it, I'm glad they like me and actually sent me the picture as well and I'm not oblivious to the pictures of me that are being sent around high school. It's also God's way of telling me to buck up, Sally, and get over my body issues. Message received, loud and clear. If I wasn't over it before I got home I certainly got over it quickly there after. 

That night I realized that I have become Kanye West. Obviously this is not a good thing. I have worked so hard the past three years to establish meaningful relationships with as many of my students as I possibly can and even if I haven't been able to establish a relationship I've fought tooth and nail to make all of my students love me. I try to be the fun teacher, I try to be the cool teacher. I try to make all of my classes interesting & with games that relate to their lives. Essentially I have succeeded except now my success is overwhelming me...and I'm taking it out on my students. Instead of being humbled by all of their hugs and kisses and doting on me it has started to annoy me...I miss my personal space. I hate being treated like the Beatles every time I walk into a classroom. I feel claustrophobic and short-tempered. They have even become little paparazzi, sneaking pictures of me doing everyday activities in public. This is what I wanted...and how big of a bitch does that make me?? I should be so happy every time my kids flip their lids when I walk through the door. When they see me in public, they're not trying to be mean by taking pictures...I think they're just excited that they got to see me out of my element. I've gotten too big for my britches here and I've forgotten how to be humble. Therefore, from this day forward, I'm going to make a concerted effort to never be Kanye West again. He is a big old bitch and I definitely don't want to be anything like him. I'm going to embrace the love and be thankful for it. :)

Flight Recovery & Madrid Fashion Week

Hello world! I'd like to take a moment and give me credit for the fact that I have written not one, not two, but THREE blogs now in the time I've been back in Madrid! YEAR OF THE CHELSEA is back on track!!

Not much has been happening since I've been back (now that I am peacefully in Madrid and almost fully recovered from my traveling trauma...I say almost because I still have nightmares where I think I am trapped in an airplane and wake up screaming for my mom...not like bloody-murder scream but like annoying teenager scream..."Mom?....Mooom...? MOM? MOOOOM!!!" I don't mind it so much because I'm used to sleepwalking/sleep screaming but since the weather is warm my window is open at night and I doubt the old people & Paco appreciate the disturbances.)

I started one of my private classes and it went as well as I could have hoped. I brought the kids new markers and crayons from home so we had new supplies to work with and I also made sure to bring candy to bribe with in case they became unruly (which they always do...there's a fine line between laughing and joking to all of a sudden making jokes about weiners & bathroom functions. It's like pre-school Tourette's.) 

September is a nice month because I start work next Monday but we have half days until October and I also only have one private class until then as well. It allows me to ease into going back to school and getting used to being a work horse for the next 10 months.

Speaking of school...I'm less than ecstatic to go back. I think I've come to terms with the fact that this year is a transitional year. I stayed because it was the best option for me socially but I don't love my job anymore. It's not because of the teachers, but the administration and the younger students. For some reason the kids that are coming in from preschool are demonic beasts that are impossible to tame and have very little respect for anybody or anything. Playing with cute little toddlers is one thing but teaching them is a different ball game and my patience is quickly slipping. I don't regret staying by any means (because I'm having a ball with my free time) but I'm going to do some relaxing and cleansing this weekend to prepare for the school year. I'm good at my job when I work hard at it. I need to continue doing my job to pay for my social life & I need to figure out how to be happy doing it so that it's easier. This weekend I'm going to do some soul searching.

But in the meantime...my extracurriculars have been incredible. Besides hanging out with friends and catching up this week is Madrid Fashion Week. Each year Vogue hosts VFNO: Vogue's Fashion Night Out where all of the high-end designer stores open to a selection of the public to come in and browse their stores (aka window shop unless you're Scrooge McDuck, which I'm not) all while being given the VIP treatment. Considering the profile of the stores we visited (Prada, Michael Kors, Loewe, Custo Barcelona, Bulgari, Juicy Couture) I would consider VIP treatment to be allowing me in the shop without following me around to make sure I don't steal or damage the merchandise or not judging me for daring to enter while wearing lesbian sandals. However this was like celebrity status VIP. Real VIP. We waltzed right in to peruse the 500€ purses all while getting our asses kissed by the tuxedoed employees that served us champagne from glass flutes. Not plastic detachable New Years Eve safe-for-the-general-public "flutes". Glass champagne flutes. I was so impressed! At Michael Kors one of the attendants even offered to take one of the big bags out of the case for me to take a better look at. I almost choked on my champagne out of horror...don't let my grubby paws anywhere near a thousand dollar purse. If it started locked up it should stay there. Other stores served other drinks like daiquiris or blueberry lemonade and another place had mini-cupcakes that were so delicious. Some stores had a complete gin & tonic bar or a mojito bar. Basically I'm more determined than ever to find my big girl job so I can start getting paid enough to make that my everyday reality. Oh and in case you were wondering, don't worry. I didn't buy anything and I didn't wear my lesbian sandals for the event :)

Here are some pictures of the things I've been up to on my amazing week off of work!

Delicious tiny cupcakes at Vogue's Fashion Night Out

Juicy Couture takeover at the Corte Inglés

Racist donuts at Dunkin Donuts

Out with friends at a pirate bar

Playing in the fountains at Plaza de España

Sunset view from my apartment

Dinner with the boys at home...Beto made tortilla de patata!

All Good Things Come To An End (But Luckily So Do The Shittastic Ones!)

Second blog post in a week! Someone should give me a cookie (or just send me Halloween candy *cough*...I've already been sharing mine with Paco. He's a slender guy but damn he can down white chocolate like his life depended on it. Sorry Paco. He would personally love to request more Halloween candy...I swear we're almost out and I've been here less than a week.)

I need to finish detailing the rest of my God-awful, horrendous, heinous, unbelievable trip back to Madrid. Needless to say, it did NOT get better. It actually got worse, surprisingly. I went through the airport to get my Smashburger (it was a pretty magnificent burger and they had these special Smashfries that had rosemary and basil....mmmm. Herbs on carbs. Fancy carbs! That practically makes them veggies...) I noticed, before I sat down with my food, that the United customer service desk looked as deserted as the old west so I decided to scramble over there and ask my questions about the boarding pass to Madrid that I lacked and double check about my luggage. The black man from the night before was there so I said hi, and introduced myself as "the girl who held up the desk last night that was ugly crying but I'm better today!" and he said he didn't remember. I told him he was occupied with the bat-crap crazy Chuck Norris look-alike and we bonded over agreeing that that dude needed to take a chill pill...or maybe just a good laxative. He double checked my flights and reprinted my Rome boarding pass but couldn't give me the Madrid pass (I had to do that at the Italian airline desk in Rome). He double checked my luggage and said that it was all good to go through to Rome and then Madrid with me. If I missed my flight to Madrid (because of only having an hour layover) then there was another flight three hours later with over ten seats. I felt more comfortable and less stressed, so I was able to peacefully eat my Smashburger (last supper, practically). I made a friend with an Italian woman in line waiting to board and an older couple of ladies from the Indianapolis flight recognized me in line and came over to make sure I had gotten through the night okay. They also found a nice flight person in United who at first gave them pillows and a blanket to sleep in the airport but eventually came through and got them hotel vouchers. I'm glad, they were going to Rome on vacation with a tour group that had already left them. They were able to arrange to be picked up and taken to the group once they got there but they would miss all of Rome...all due to the ass-hats in Newark. If that had been me I would have insisted vehemently that the inept customer service rep. in Indy who lied to me take me to Rome himself and let me ride his back while he ponied me all over the city, showing me the ruins and feeding me grapes and pasta. I don't want to ill wish him but I would be lying if I said I haven't imagined him getting swallowed up into a sink hole. A couple of times. Like if the sink hole opened, he fell in, survived, and right when he stood up a sink hole opened up IN THE PREVIOUS SINK HOLE and sucked him down even further. Sink hole Inception. Ass.

Anyways. The flight to Rome was nice. I sat next to a 40-something year old couple...the husband a surgeon, and the wife a bit of a wino who got much friendlier and chattier the more she tiny airplane bottles of wine she bought. It was fun. To be honest the flight and airplane itself was the nicest that I have ever experienced. Tiny TV's with wonderful movies, comfy seats with lots of leg room...I was pleased. I deserved it. I also smuggled a baby cupcake on the flight for after our "dinner" and it was good. In Rome I was a little bit pushier and aggressive than I like to be in order to get on the first flight to Madrid. I adored the people watching and gorgeous Italian men I experienced going through security and all that jazz and I fought my initial impulse to drop everything and become a gypsy in Rome. I got my new boarding pass and made the flight on time! Things were going well. Finally. Except that the flight to Madrid had tiny TV's but they only offered the shows in Italian.....and there was a really hot flight attendant named Fabio (ironically) but he only spoke Italian...and nobody around understood me because they only spoke Italian. I didn't need anything to drink, luckily, because I had brought water on the flight but then the man next to me ordered some sort of bright red liquid that looked like Hawaiian punch...and it looked so good, I could tell from the carton it was a type of juice. I tried to ask Fabio for the juice in a mix of English and Spanish...and he said something back in Italian and I pointed to the guy next to me and his cup but apparently my Spanglish and charades aren't very good because all he gave me was a little package with a wet napkin. Apparently the word "juice" is similar to "wet napkin" in Italian. 

I got to Madrid. I waited at the baggage claim for about 30 minutes until all of the bags were taken off the belt and realized that not only was my bag not there (not surprised) and I didn't know what the hell to do in the situation of lost luggage...I was also surrounded by six Italians who had also not received their bags but did not speak Spanish or English. They were all yelling amongst each other about what they were going to do and theories of where they could be or why they were lost...and I just kinda followed them around like an abandoned puppy, struggling to maintain calm and figure out what the hell they were saying. I think I understood every five words. But none of it helped me communicate. I was so lost. I literally followed them around, keeping within a foot of the group, until they got to a service desk. None of them seemed to notice the American chick that was stalking them and their every move...

At the desk I waited behind the Italians for about an hour, still dazed and confused. And I wanted pizza after listening to them for so long. When it was my turn I was thrown directly into my piss-poor Spanish, at this point, and I explained that my bag was lost. Somewhere between Newark and Rome. Although possibly still in Indy where I should have been, if I had listened to all of the signs the universe was sending me. The girl told me when they found it and located it they would send it to my house (good news since the airport is in BFE). I was leaving the baggage claim, walking kind of slow and defeated (thankful though that my keys and undies were in my carry-on) when I noticed a random belt with a couple of bags rotating without purpose. I looked closer at the bags and I swear to blog my bag was FLOATING ON THAT DAMNED BELT that had NOTHING to do with our baggage claim!! I grabbed it quickly and thanked God for the kismet fate that I thought I deserved. Then some mousy luggage nazi who looked like he had been a little too friendly with some crystal meth came running over and told me I couldn't take my bag. I showed him the suitcase had two baggage tags and it matched my passport...and I could tell him everything in the bag. He said I had to go reclaim it through the service desk. I had to reclaim my own luggage. I refused to wait another hour so I popped back to the window with the same girl (not proud of cutting in line) and asked her to cancel my claim because it appeared. Literally just appeared. She said she thought it must have just gotten in on a different flight from Newark. Apparently my bag had a more direct flight than I did. 

To make matters worse after I got to the metro with all of my luggage, my Spanish debit card didn't work in the machine (for God knows what reason) and I barely had enough euros to make it home. I think I had about 52 cents extra by the time my journeys were complete. And then I slept for 4 consecutive days. My card situation has been mostly solved for now (it decided to work all of a sudden) and I'm enjoying my week off until I start work at school next Monday. I have been having nightmares of being trapped in an airplane recently and wake up shouting for my mom (which only really affects Paco and all the other tennants in the building who have a window facing the courtyard) but other than that I think I'll make a full recovery before travelling at Christmas. I think I'm gonna talk to some doctors before I come home at Christmas and see if I can get some Xanax beforehand. I might need it. But for now I'm in Madrid. Thank the baby Jesus! And thanks to all of you beloved friends and stalkers who kept up with my mishaps and sent me prayers and good vibes. You're the reason I got to watch The First Wives Club on the plane :)

Starting With A Bang...AKA Newark Sucks

Well as you can probably tell by the title, my grand trip back to Madrid has not 

gone exactly as planned. It started with a few hiccups and weird situations in 

Indianapolis and then went down hill as soon as I landed in the hell-hole that is 

Newark (although I also think this could be some sort of universal karma because I

recently referred to Newark [before my journey] as the armpit of America. I feel like

the world is trying to prove to me I was right.) The bright side of this is that I spent 

a lovely (albeit unnecessary) 15 hours relaxing in a nice hotel and I'm getting a 

jump-start on this year's blogging. 

So, Indianapolis. I knew when I left that my bag was about 5 lbs. overweight but I 

wasn't sure if it was a heavy 5 lbs. or a light 5 lbs...our scale has been on the fritz

lately. I had already been rearranging at home but somehow every time I took 

something out to lighten the load I also found three other things I wanted to put in.

Murphy's Law. Anyways I finally gave up on the rearranging and figured I'd get it 

straightened out when all of my bras and belongings were scattered around the 

Indianapolis International Airport floor. That tends to weed out the non-imperative

 items pretty quickly. 

My mom dropped me off and while she was parking I navigated the check-in 

counter. My bag weighed 56 pounds and the attendant told me that she'd give me 

some wiggle room of 51.5 but any more than that she couldn't allow. The first thing 

I knew I had to take out was a container of Miracle Whip I had packed...laugh all 

you want but it's one of the few things in my suitcase that was actually FOR me. I 

packed enough candy and chocolate for Paco & my other friends/private class 

students that I wouldn't be surprised if TSA were to call me in for questioning to 

decide if I was legitimately trying to smuggle candy into Europe to establish some 

sort of black market candy exchange. Anyways that weighed 3 pounds but I still 

needed to take one more thing out. I took out some jeans that weren't imperative 

for me to have and my mom could easily send to me. That took the suitcase down to 

50 pounds exactly so I told the attendant "well hey, if I still have 1.5 extra pounds I 

want to see if I can fit in a pair of wedges I brought with me." She was patient but 

somehow both shoes put the bag up to 52 pounds. She insisted, "Here! Just put the 

one shoe in and you're set! It's right at 51.5 with one shoe so you're good! Just leave 

the one shoe!" She literally shut the bag on my hand, zipped it up and slapped the 

sticker on it. I was finished there so I had my two carry-on bags and an extra purse 

of things that didn't fit...a pair of jeans, Miracle Whip, and one shoe. While we were 

waiting in the food court I decided I could smuggle the extra purse with me and at 

worst case scenario could shove the jeans and shoe into my other bag and put the 

purse in my rolling carry-on. (I also suspect that this hoodwink could also be 

another karmic reason I'm not in Madrid yet...) 

I got through security fine...got on the plane fine. We were told there were problems 

in Newark but that we were going to sit on the runway and hope that a window 

would open where they would let us land. We sat on the runway (I was napping) for 

an hour and a half, getting updates every 20 minutes or so telling us they were 

delaying more and more, when they finally told us that Newark had blocked all 

planes coming in to Newark due to "bad weather" and was not allowing us to arrive 

until 8 p.m., meaning we couldn't leave until 6 p.m. from Indianapolis. For the 

record everybody checked the weather in Newark and it was sprinkling. A rain 

shower paralyzed an international airport for 4+ hours. I waited in the ticket 

exchange line because my flight out to Madrid was at 8:35 and I couldn't imagine 

making it, especially with their horrible record of delaying us. I told the ticket guy 

that I would rather stay in Indianapolis over night and hang out with my family & 

sleep in my own bed and such instead of being stuck for an extended period of time 

in the Newark airport. He assured me, vehemently, "Noooo no no no, we're leaving 

right at 6:07, if not earlier, so you'll have 45 minutes to get to your gate. It's not in 

the same terminal but if you don't dawdle you'll have plenty of time. You'll 

definitely make it." And refused to change my ticket. Asshole. ASSHOLE. 

I waited in the Indy airport for a couple of extra hours and finally boarded. We 

landed in Newark at 8:15 p.m. and it took ten minutes to get my rolling carry-on. I 

literally sprinted through the terminal to get on the shuttle bus and made it to 

Terminal C from A by 8:30. I ran up three flights of stairs with my 40 lb. carry-on 

and two purses and was briskly walking to my gate when an Arabic man with one 

of those three-car go-carts stopped and asked where I was going. I told him C125 

and he said it was far away. I had 3 minutes. He tried to blast through all of the 

people but the go-cart didn't have a horn so he just yelled ''BEEP!!! 

BEEEEEEEEEEP!! BEEP BEEP! EXCUSE ME, BEEP!!!!" all offended like they didn't respect him...um.....duh. He dropped me off and I jogged over but saw a man from 

my flight in front of me who didn't have to wait on the carry-on luggage. He said 

we'd missed it. By about 5 minutes. 5 effing minutes. Ugh. We waited on the service 

desk (luckily there weren't many people in line when we started) and the guy in 

front of me was able to work something out because he was in business class. I, 

unfortunately, was/am not and had more troubles. The woman said the best she 

could do was a flight at 5:15 p.m. the next day to Rome, and then a flight from 

Rome to Madrid. I'd arrive Sept. 4 in Madrid at 11:30 a.m. local time. That means I 

would have to wait from 9 p.m. to 5:15 p.m. the next day in the airport. I think 

under different circumstances I would have accepted that the delay was "weather 

related", as asinine as that was, and stayed at the airport...but I had told that man 

in Indy, at least 3 times, that I didn't want to risk it and he assured me there would 

be no problems. He all but promised. He was cocky and unwavering. I broke down 

and couldn't even talk to the woman at the desk because I was trying hard not to 

cry and she kinda just sat back and told me to take my time...it was so 

embarrassing because every time I thought about staying at home another day and 

sleeping in my own bed and not having this issue that could have been avoided and 

missing it by 5 minutes...it made me more and more upset. So I cried for about a 

whole minute until I could at least catch my breath and explain. I told her I offered 

to switch flights. And the man wouldn't let me. So this wasn't like the other people 

that were shit out of luck...she needed to rectify the situation and the least she 

could do was give me a hotel room to stay and relax in because her company had 

robbed me of a day with my family when I was leaving for 4 months. I think she 

thought that I was having a nervous break-down so she tried everything she could 

but the system literally wouldn't let her give me a hotel voucher because the flight 

was listed as weather-delayed and they weren't allowed to give vouchers for it. I 

didn't want something for nothing but I felt very wronged and needed something to 

make me feel a little better. She called someone and potentially illegally got me a 

voucher for a hotel. By this time there were 20 people or more in line waiting (my 

situation took like 20 minutes to solve), watching me ugly cry and not capable of 

talking, and she told me under her breath that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone she 

was doing it because they're not supposed to do it and everyone behind me would 

want one too. She wouldn't even tell me how to get to the airport...she wrote down 

the instructions on scrap paper and asked if I understood. It was some James Bond 

shit going on but I really appreciated her extra effort. 

Now I'm at Newark again after spending the night in the hotel, the Ramada, and 

need to figure out my next steps. I have my boarding pass to Rome but I don't have 

my boarding pass to Madrid. I also only have an hour layover in Rome...and am not 

sure if that's doable and setting me up for more failures. Worst case scenario, 

though, I get stuck for an extended time in Rome...and that wouldn't be that 

horrible. I promise if I get stranded in Rome I'm gonna go get some amazing pasta, 

gelato, and Amaretto. But for now there's a place here called Smashburger that 

numerous passengers have been raving about so I'm gonna get that for lunch and 

figure out my next moves. Sometimes I wish my life could just be boring and normal...but I guess we'll just have to see what happens next!

My Extended Absence, The Sadist, and Rome

Okay so...I really suck at writing. This is literally the only New Year's Resolution I've not followed through with this year...and I feel bad about it. The problem is that I've been really stressed out the past two months (an entire two months) and when I haven't been stressed out I've been out of the country. I don't even know where to start on this entry...

Let's start with my stress. First, I finally had to make a decision about staying in Spain or moving home and becoming a normal functioning adult. When push came to shove I decided I would leave my option open here and plan on coming back while still looking for a job at home over the summer. The problem is that I don't have my teaching license so I can only apply at private schools...I'm gonna see what happens but plan on coming back. The only problem is that I don't know if I can actually stand another year here at my school. I love 7/8 of my school but that 1/8 is a bitch, and that bitch's name is Preschool. I tried to talk rationally with the head nun about reducing my hours next year and she told me my only option was to continue with preschool or change and teach the middle schoolers and high schoolers. Gag me. I would rather gouge my eyes out with a dull spoon. That's like one of those horrible “would you rather...” scenarios. Would you rather teach primary and preschool (dun dun DUNNN), or middle school and high school? Well I dunno, Chelsea, would you rather cut off your right arm or your left leg? Would you rather be blind or deaf? Would you rather get shot in the face or bleed out over a two week period? …..the answer is neither. I hate all the options. I want my normal life back. That's not an option though. Turns out the head nun is, ironically, a complete sadist whose spirit animal is an angry small child with a magnifying glass who loves burning and torturing the insects that are smaller than them. Basically she's Sid from Toy Story...with an unattractive bob hair cut. She loves saying “no” and being in charge. She gets her jollies from making everyone else's lives unhappy. And she's a freaking nun. Here's the best part....the other nuns HATE her. The normal, cute, granny like nuns. They abhor her as well...I mean please think of how demonic you'd have to be for a nun to trash-talk you....that being said I love when the nuns trash talk. They don't even refer to her by name anymore...most of us just call her “HER....” with a severe eye-roll. I pissed her off last week because she decided she really wanted me to go up to secondary school next year and teach the older kids. I told her that I wasn't open to that idea and if she forced me then I'd rather go home........that didn't sit well with her. The thing is everyone at school has to abide by what she says because there is no other option. I wasn't trying to give her an ultimatum, it's just how it is. I was already on the fence about staying so if you're going to make my life hell I'll go hang out on the greener grass. She's been giving me death looks ever since. It's lovely.

Anyways....I have already bought my ticket back here so I'm probably going to have to at least stick it out until Christmas. And one of the reasons I want to stay is so I can revisit Rome and London. I have something shocking and controversial to say but I have to admit it...

….I think I liked Rome more than I like London.

Okay now that I've rocked your world...it's true. LOOK AT THAT FACE! I don't think I've ever been happier in my life. Everything is better in Italy. It's like the most magical place on Earth. Rome is beautiful. The people are sweet, warm, welcoming, and wonderful. The food is to die for and I won't even start on how attractive all the men are....not to mention the fact that they all seemed to think I'm equally attractive and that is just plain overwhelming. Being back in Madrid is almost painful because it pales in comparison. I was strongly considering looking into teaching English in Italy for a year...like really really strongly...but in the next few years I want to come home for good and start my life and I am so positive that if I tried to swim in that sea I would never leave. Ever. Ever. Ever. Never ever. I'd find some ridiculously gorgeous Italian to marry, make bazillions of guido babies, get fat on spaghetti and die an absurdly happy woman. (Bet that second one is gonna give Tim a coronary....sorry Dad :)

But, unfortunately, I want more from life than that. Shockingly. 

What the hell is wrong with me??

Profane Utensils And The Taste Of My Foot In My Mouth

I'm writing more frequently! Be proud of me!!

To be honest I'm blogging because I skipped one of my private classes today and because I napped for about 4 hours I decided I needed to be productive (to make my 25 euro loss worth it)...and I have been! I made tuna salad (which is quite intricate because not only do I have to cut up a ridiculous amount of veggies, I also have to cut the grapes...which in Spain have seeds and is like a mini excavation project nightmare with each and every grape, to dig out all the seeds), cut a pineapple...okay so I wasn't that productive. But I'm blogging so...that counts.

I also have to blog because so much crap has been piling up in such a short amount of time that I'm going to forget all the good stuff (and by good stuff I mean the absurd ridiculous things that happen to me) and if people can't even laugh at them then it doesn't make them worth suffering through.

First things first....the nun this week has been bat-crap crazy. I don't know if she quit some medication or something or if she's been drinking too much caffeine...but she's been off her rocker. Usually at the beginning of class I hook up the computer to the Smart Board (and interactive board that lets us show videos and the kids can write with their fingers and stuff) and prepare my activities. She practices and drills grammar and vocabulary (which honestly is a symbiotic relationship...I only have to teach for 45 minutes instead of an hour and she hates my presence a little bit less because she feels like she's not losing a day. She's actually quite fond of me, she just hates that she's supposed to sacrifice a whole hour a week to me to practice speaking.) This past week I was prepping the computer when I hear the oddest thing.

Nun: FUCK FUCK FUCK!!
Kids: fuck! fuck! fuck!

.......now I'm used her accidentally screaming profanities, but this one was bad. It didn't require any imagination on my part to giggle and say "tee hee, when she says beach it kind of sounds like bitch." No no. This was motorcycle gang/Hell's Angels in a shady corner bar kind of profanity, with equivalent enthusiasm and pronunciation. My head immediately popped up from behind the computer with eyes the size of golf balls to try to figure out what the hell was going on. Keep in mind that these kids are my babies, my sweet sweet babies, that were in 1st grade when I first started. They worship me. They still hug and kiss me even in 3rd grade. They're 9 and screaming (in perfect unison) the grand poobah of cuss words. I'm free to say most profane words in the company of my mother but the F bomb is still not allowed and I'm 25 years old. And whenever my brother says it I look around panicked waiting for the shit to hit the fan. (although it never does, he gets away with murder...haha)

Back to the sailors. I sit waiting, looking around confused and trying not to burst into tears laughing. Luckily my answer came to me without having to ask. Colonel Nun loves to teach vocabulary through chanting (read: screaming) and hand gestures. This occasion was no different.

Nun: ESPOON (spooning from a bowl), FUCK (first three fingers stabbing at some sort of invisible plate), KNIFE (uses whole hand to karate chop down).
Kids: espoon!, fuck!, knife!
Nun: ESPOON, FUCK, KNIFE!!
Kids: espoon!, fuck!, knife!

I remember vividly that this was a day when my new water-resolution was not sitting well and there was a severe panic that my bladder might explode. I literally couldn't wait to a.) pee myself and b.) run to all the teachers who speak decent enough English to explain what I had witnessed. Plus how do you fix that? The worst part is that my kids are going to repeat that for a very long time. I've mentioned before that Colonel Nun often has a problem with her S's...and SH's. So instead of saying sit down, she says shit down. Instead of saying socks, she says shocks. My kids still say shocks. "He is wearing blue shocks." No he isn't, but it's almost impossible to correct!! "Um excuse me, the way you say fork would offend many native speakers" is not a conversation I want to start or finish with her. It's already terrifying enough when she compliments me when I curl my hair. (it goes like this: MY BABY!! [she screams everything she says, she has one volume] JEW LOOK BERRY PRITTY TODAY!! JESS JESS! JOUR HHHAIR IS MAAAAHVELOUS! MY GIRL!])

I don't exactly have much room to talk though. Not this week. I still can't look the neighbors from the 4th floor in the eye. I'll admit to it.

Last week was when I decided I'd invent a new tuna salad recipe. Tuna is cheap here and I need to add some more protein to my recipes so...I went to the store to try to find scallions. I've never purchased scallions before (nor cooked with them) so I was really excited when I found them here. In Spanish the word is ajete. Which is kind of like saying "garlic-ish". Which is funny because I always thought they smelled more like onions. Anyways...I learned a new word at the supermarket, I used it twice with the employees, and I was feeling good. Of course scallions are super fragrant so I smelled like them the whole way home. I see the neighbor from the fourth floor (an old lady, about 70, who always comments on the weather and how cold it is and how the elevator door closes too quickly...and while most old bitties here in Spain annoy the shit out of me (they always talk about the weather...twenty five times in one conversation...they will make clicking noises at you if they think that you are not properly dressed in the winter...they will poke you with an umbrella and cut in front of you in the line for the bus [which bugs me most of all because if you would just leave me alone I would GLADLY let you go in front of me! Or if you just asked! Or simply acknowledged my presence as a human being instead of treating me like a waste of oxygen and space]) I let her talk about all these things and I act genuinely interested and not annoyed. Anyways we get on the elevator and the door closes. Here is how the conversation goes:

Bitty Neighbor: It's so cold these days!
Me: Yes, but it's getting better! Plus it's snowing where I come from so...I can't complain!
Bitty Neighbor: I guess that's true! I hate snow! It's just so cold! You've got quite a lot of groceries there! And you've got something really aromatic...
Me: Yes!! I just bought ojete for the first time!

Notice something different? Instead of saying Ajete, I said Ojete. One letter, big difference. Essentially in Spanish she said "you have something that smells wonderful" and my response was, "Thanks!! It's asshole!".

As soon as I said it I knew it. I knew what I had said. But the door opened and she got the hell out of dodge. I'm sure she ran to her apartment to tell her family about the embarrassing and shameful conversation she had with the blonde foreigner upstairs. Ugggggggh. I still have nightmares about dancing assholes and scallions.

Just kidding but that'd be hilarious. Visualize it.

Actually I have been having nightmares recently, but they're the worst kind where I wake up and continue sleep walking around and reacting in the nightmare but in real life. Last night before I even went to bed I KNEW I was going to have a problem because the drying rack we use for clothes (we don't have dryers) was in my bedroom (so my clothes didn't smell like smoke from the living room) was in my room blocking the door. I made sure I had gone to the bathroom so I didn't have a problem there...but of course I had some dream where I was trapped in the basement of an abandoned house with two apparent Spanish speakers, because when I came to I was screaming in Spanish that we would have to break a window and climb out, with a flip flop in my hand (that I had dug out of my closet) and sweating bullets. Maybe my roommates should write blogs about the crazy shit they find the American chick doing in her sleep. Since I have no control over it I have no shame in admitting to it...but I am going to call this blog post quits now in order to try and get a GOOD night's sleep...and not wake up yelling in a foreign language with my footwear as weapons. Good night!

(Next post I PROMISE to write about the devil kid at our school....he's a ginger, he strikes fear into the hearts of everyone and his stories are PRICELESS.)

Tiny Savage Terrorists

Ok. So. I've only been half bad about keeping up to date on my blogging and since nobody is holding me accountable I blame you all. :) Just kidding. It's my fault but like I said I have a lot of other New Years resolutions I've been working on and this one has fallen behind. In related news my "drink more water" resolution has been going swimmingly...literally. Do you know how difficult it is to drink 64 oz. of water (8 8 oz. glasses) in a day?! I literally spend most of my time peeing. I'm sure you all needed to know that but that's important information right now in my life.

Another reason I've been blogging less is just basically sheer exhaustion. It's been like this all year. My social lie has been more active (thankfully) and that means going out more...which also means recovering more from going out. On top of that school has been a shit show since the first day...you wanna know why? PRESCHOOL. I FREAKING HATE PRESCHOOL.

There I said it. Actually I say that every day. Every damned day. My teachers ask "how's it going?" and all I have to answer is "preschool" and they know I'm pissed.

Why? Let me break it down. First of all my assumption about the absurdity of preschool was spot on. Kids who are 2, 3, and 4 years old should be shitting their pants at home, not at school. Not to mention the fact that I am not a teacher, nor your babysitter, I am a "language assistant" and I personally don't feel like helping small children not soil themselves is part of that description....and yet here I am. They are little savage beasts. Best birth control you could ever imagine. I'm not going to have kids until I'm retired, or I'm going to raise them a lot better than these kids (which shouldn't be hard...they are savage little terrorists).

Anyways the first months were frightening to say the least. We'd have to take group potty breaks to the bathrooms where it's one big fornication hole. Not really, it just bugs me. I would tell anybody that I'm extraordinarily mature for my age and beyond my years with wisdom....but not with small children. And their bodily functions. When I went to preschool the girls would go to the bathrooms all at once and then the boys would come in afterwards by themselves. Maybe I'm overly sensitive but everyone goes at the same time here (which is just poor planning and laziness because you know what comes next? The awkward questions...they may not be able to pull their own pants down but they sure are observant. "Chelsea why does Marta not have a pito? Where is your pito? Chelsea do you have a pito?" If the kids don't know the basic colors in English trust you me they sure as hell won't understand "stop asking why Marta has a pito and just pee in the hole".

That wasn't the only scarring bathroom incident. I went with this little boy and he just stood there. He looks up at me with his little doe eyes and says "I have to pee." So I rubbed his back and said okay, go pee! He just kept staring at me and repeating "I have to pee..." and I kept urging him "come on! You can! You can go pee!" I was like a bathroom cheerleader for small people. He eventually started crying and I tried to calm him down, in Spanish even, and nothing. So I called for backup and apparently the problem was that he can't pull down his own pants. My first thought was, "oh hell no...". NO. I'm not undressing children, especially male ones. Who are 4 years old! Gives me the heebie jeebies. Plus I don't exactly think he was telling the truth about not being able to pull down his pants. We have this one kid named Hansiel that undresses himself all the damned time and throws his shoes at the other kids. And he's 3. He's a whole other terror.

The part that's shitty about all of this situation is the fact that I really am good with small kids...it's just the atmosphere. In this teaching setting I'm dying a slow painful death and I sleep most of the weekend to recover. When I see my preschool kids on the street it's wonderful. They love me, they hug me until I have to tap out for oxygen. I'm patient, I'm kind, I'm loving, I'm caring (contrary to what the above might lead you to believe.) They adore me. And they thing I'm magic. I heard them talking about me once and they said that because I "come from a far away land like England [eye roll] and speak English I've got magical powers. Plus I'm probably a princess because I have yellow [eye roll] hair." Quote unquote! They worship me and I really love it. The bad part is the other teachers. The person in charge of preschool, the principal, is the same principal in primary school...so she's got her hands full in 1st-6th grade (and trust me there's plenty of other shit [literally] going on there that she has to deal with. Not to mention preschool is in an entire other building so none of them ever cross paths. They do whatever the hell they want to do and get away with murder. Whenever I go down there they're watching YouTube videos of songs or children shows. That wouldn't bother me, except for the fact that once they get to 1st grade they're supposed to have a set of skills that they don't have. Some of those basic skills they lack are reading, writing, being able to sit properly in a chair for more than 2 minutes, paying attention to the teachers, following class rules, basic hygiene and cleanliness...I could go on. I only have 15 minutes with each class...on Monday I have an hour with the 3 year olds, Wednesday and hour with the 4 year olds, and Friday an hour with the 5 year olds. The 5 year olds I actually like, because they're the closest thing to normal students. They understand quite a bit of English, enough to let me give the entire class in English without the teacher's help. That's the problem. They say "Chelsea, don't speak any Spanish! You only have 15 minutes and we want them to hear as much English as possible." But then the teachers leave me alone (which is illegal by the way...). And the kids start running around the classroom.  And hitting the other kids. And eating crayons (one day one kid ate 3 crayons before I caught him and I only knew that because of the different shades of remnants in his mouth...that is why it's illegal to leave me alone with them haha). The times I've asked them to stay they get huffy with me and act like I'm a complete waste of space. Thanks. I also don't like to keep asking them because I shouldn't have to be like, "hey, can you do actually do your job? Okay thanks."

So anyways. That was one big rant of why I've been stressed lately. I'm excited though because I'm going to start teaching the 4 and 5 year olds the alphabet so that will take up 26 weeks :D If I end up staying next year I'm going to have to get up the cojones to tell them politely that I refuse to be in preschool, because I just can't handle it. It's so unfortunate too because I am so awesome with the primary kids. I've finally hit a groove.

This is getting lengthy so I'll cut this off now. Tune in shortly for an update I'm going to title called "Red-Headed Horrors and Profane Utensils". It's gonna be a great one, the crazy nun is back at it again!

The Most Boring Birthday Ever And My Quarter Life Crisis

Hola a todos! I'm finally back in all-Spain mode now that I've fully unpacked and immersed myself back in my second (which has now become first-nature) culture. I'm writing my first post of the year and I'm glad to declare (again) that one of my New Year's resolutions is to blog more often. I also realize that's vague so I've just decided to declare (again) that I'll blog once every two weeks (at least). Hold me to it, people. Peer pressure goes a long way! I still have blogs to write from last year...but no worries, I write blog ideas on scrap paper so I have them all saved. When it's a slow week I'll do a retroactive blog to keep things interesting.

This is also my first blog post as a 25 year old...and while I realize that I'm still young and the world is my oyster or whatever, I honestly feel as old as an oyster looks.

 (For the record I edited this photo in Paint in public at Starbucks...you can't imagine the weird ass looks I got for putting a smiley face on a clam...and then continuing to blog about it)

See? Old, wrinkly, and wet (it's been raining here non-stop since I got here). Anyways there are various culprits to blame for my quarter life crisis. First of all I'm faced with the hardest decision of my life thus far, which is whether I should stay in Spain another year or head back home and start pursuing a real job. Whenever I'm forced to teach preschool (aka Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays) I'm 120% sure I should come home immediately, if not that exact same day. Other days when the weather is nice and I'm not so stressed out, I think of how fortunate I am to be here, and how little Indianapolis seems so small and almost boring in comparison to this amazing European city...and all of my friends and students that I love here...and never seeing them ever again...and then I start having those heart palpitations I had last Christmas and look up pictures of cats on Pinterest to calm myself down. 

Grumpy cat is my currently my favorite...I wish my cats looked pissed all the time. This seriously makes me laugh to tears.

I'm putting off my decision as long as possible. I'll blog about it as soon as I know so that you all will know if you have to miss me another year or throw me a welcome home party (and yes I want a party. :)

Another reason I feel super old was my flight back. First of all my flight wasn't really expected to be a bag full of rainbows and unicorns anyways because A.) it was with American Airlines, B.) it was going through JFK in New York (and if you don't remember the hell I went through last year involving both of these horrors please reference my 3-part blog post detailing the trauma [that I STILL have nightmares about]) and C.) it was my birthday. I'm used to not having spectacular birthdays (it always falls on events that are more important) so I wasn't so disappointed and I've decided to change it this year to February 10 anyways so I can celebrate. Then, at the airport, my adventure began. First I passed through TSA and got stopped as I passed through the metal body scanner. I had taken off my boots and was wearing jean leggings and socks. My right ankle was showing up as a threat so they pulled me aside to pat down my ankle. I thought that was so absurd...my ankle! And with my leggings you'd clearly be able to tell if I was concealing guns or knives or weapons...pfff. Anyways as I'm struggling to put my boots back on, this other TSA guard approaches me and another guy next to me and says, "whoever puts their hands out first and closes their eyes gets a surprise!"

Now....in my 25 years of life thus far, I've learned that it's never a good idea to actually follow through with this kind of situation. You'll never actually be pleased by the outcome and it's sure to end in disappointment or disgust. Not to mention that it's coming from a complete stranger...I'm pretty sure that's the exact line that most flashers in trench coats use to operate and facilitate their business. Anyways the other dude I was in line with stuck out his hand (but didn't close his eyes) and the TSA guard gave him 20 cents in change, then went on some tangent about how Big Brother is watching (pointing to the cameras) and how if he were to pocket the money he'd be fired in a second. Both of them continued on about various conspiracy theories and I tried to do what I always do when confronted by wackadoodle strangers, get the hell out of dodge. Before succeeding though, of course, the TSA guard walks up to me and says, and I quote, "I love yo curlz." I was super confused so he clarified, "Ya hair, you sure got some pretty curlz." This was pretty interesting anyways because my hair was wavy and stringy at best so I just said "oh..........thanks" and tried to continue on without any more interactions with this clearly insane man. I wasn't quick enough though and he continued, "You're welcome...that's the way to ma heart. Curlz an' good cookin'." I laughed uneasily and said, "well unfortunately I've only got 50% of that, I can't cook for shit!" and ran on. 

Once I got to the gate I was horrified to see that our airplane was the size of a matchbox car but tried not to think about it too much. I cried for no good reason on the way to New York and slept a little bit against the window. I was excited to get to New York mainly because I was starving and ready to set up camp and watch some TV. Unfortunately all of the restaurants in my terminal were absurd and weird food places (I don't need gourmet food in an airport...all I wanted was Wendy's.) Of course among all of the snobby Italian, sushi, and Indian restaurants there was a McDonald's so I settled for that and made my way to the gate. First of all, JFK doesn't have free wifi. Or electrical outlets. I truly don't understand how the most famous city in the world's biggest airport doesn't have modern amenities. I roughed it though, not worrying about battery because I wouldn't need it on the plane, and watched Big Bang reruns on my hard drive instead.

Cut to the flight and I was HORRIFIED to see that there were no little TV's on the back of the seats. STUPID-ASS AMERICAN AIRLINES, SO HORRIBLY WORTHLESS. Damn they suuuuuck. Not looking forward to the flight home...so I immediately popped a sleeping pill. My flight was generally uneventful. There was a bitchy French woman who was pretty unbearable but kinda fun to watch her harp at everyone else. The airplane was chock full of study abroad students...and I think I was literally the only person under 40 who was not a student. I felt so old. Everyone was like, "oh my God, like, where are you from? What school are you from?" THE Butler University....3 years ago (gag). I'm not study abroad..."oooh, oh my God! So, like, are you like really good at Spanish then?? Do you like love Madrid??"

This was an actual conversation that went on for the entirety of the 8 hour flight. It was also sprinkled with the girl speaking horrible horrible horrible Spanish, trying to prove that she was ready for study abroad. I think I let my bitterness about being old seep in a little bit though because I accidentally scared her by accidentally telling her that Spain is horribly racist and she was going to have an interesting time because she was 1/2 Chinese and Spaniards don't generally understand Chinese-Americans (if you look in any way Asian, they think you're Chinese (from China). Period). I swear it was an accident....and I didn't even realize it until she walked away and looked three times more nervous than she did at the beginning of the flight. I like to think I gave her a sort of heads up, though. Wisdom from her elders. That makes me feel better.

Anyways I ended up finding the only non-study abroad student, who was a water-polo player and coming back to finish her first year in Spain, and we made it back to the center together. I treated myself to a taxi from the main metro line (only 5 euros surprisingly!) for my birthday and slept the rest of the day.

Starbucks is officially kicking me off their wifi so tomorrow night I will try to update again with more amazing stories about Colonel Nun and the crazy things she's been up to these past 2 weeks (there is so much to tell). Stay tuned!

"SMELL JOUR FINGAHS!!"

Hello, hello! I'm finally writing because I finally have time & energy...and health. Since the last time I wrote I have had the life drained from me from the preschoolers and in the past two weeks have been different kinds of sick three times. Living the dream, I tell ya.

Anyways since it's been so long of course this post would be like 55 pages...but since you all complain they're too long the way it is, I'll try to post about everything in three different segments...Halloween, preschool, and the apartment shenanigans. This post is dedicated to Halloween...which you probably couldn't tell from the title but you soon will.

Oh Halloween...where to start? Well first of all I'd like to thank my family and friends for all of the care packages you sent...I offically have so much Pumpkin Spice Via that I don't have to hoard it and I'm in love!! It means a lot as well because I know sending things internationally is expensive and it makes it easier to be away from home. You'd think after being here for so long I'd get used to it but I feel like it's the opposite for me. Anyways I was a pumpkin and I was adorable (not to toot my own horn but...toot toot). I ended up going out with my Spanish friends AND Canadian friends so all was well with the world.

At school, since it might be my last year, I wanted to do the coolest activity I had with all the students I possibly could. Thus far my greatest achievement as a teacher has been the Dead Man In A Cup game. At least in the eyes of my students...to recap, I close all of the blinds, windows, and doors so it's almost pitch black in the room and I tell them that a year ago, on Halloween, a man died. I don't know how, or why...but he's dead (insert slitting throat and dead face motion...they love it, gasping, cupping their mouths, squealing..) I explain that I went to the police station (otherwise known as the super market) and collected his body parts which are in 9 labelled white cups. Their job is to reach into the cup, feel (not look) and if they dare, smell, the "body parts" and then write on their paper what food it really is. Granted, this game is more for the Halloween experience than English language exercise, but I'm also a cultural assistant and it's arguably the most memorable activity we do all year. Because they're so young they find it nearly impossible to dissimilate what they're feeling from the idea of it being a body part so it TOTALLY freaks them out. Last year I only did it with 5th and 6th grade because I was afraid it was too scary...but this year I opened it up to 3rd and 4th grade as well. My 6th graders already knew what to expect so this year I made sure to make their food especially disgusting. I used frozen peeled grapes for eyes, mussels for the tongue, and canned sun dried tomatoes for intestines. I also boiled some carrots and put pistachio shells on them for fingernails...those were SUPER gross because even out of the cup they looked like putrid dead fingers. It was AWESOME.

But of course, in the end......Colonel Nun stole the show.

I was worried about doing the activity with my 3rd graders because they're a bit behind the rest of my classes...and I'm not sure why, but they are just...slow. They're my favorite students by far, they adore me, but academically they could use a push. To give them this push, Colonel Nun only speaks to them in English..........in her broken, poorly pronounced English. They have no clue what's going on at all times and one student, Flamboyant Daniel, came up to me one day and told me he had a secret...I asked what it was and he whispered in my ear "Chelsea I don't like the teacher....she scares me. Don't tell her!!!" .............hahah. Oh by the way, her name is Sister Maria Jose but she refuses to let any of the students call her by name. They all call us by our first names, or profe, or teacher...but she insists they call her "Da Teacher"....well, "Da teachuh" because of her "British" accent. All of the other teachers joke around and call her Mary Jo behind her back....which I find hilarious because she's the most intimidating human being I've ever met in my life and "Mary Jo" just does NOT fit the build. It'd be like finding out Hitler's nickname was Teddy, or Alf.

Anyways the first problem with Colonel Mary Jo came when I was explaining the activity. I explained to them what was happening, I tried to explain quite clearly that there was FOOD in the cups, not body parts...and it was a fun game. I asked Mary Jo to help me explain and she turned right around and repeated what I had just said but in broken English, without a word of Spanish to help them. So I shrug it off, assume they'll figure it out as we go on...but notice they they are becoming increasingly terrified the more they touch the food because they never actually understood that there weren't real body parts in the cups. Therefore on their little slips of paper, where it said "Eyes", they wrote down "ojos".....because they thought they were real eyes. Other students who were mildly more intelligent, but not abundantly so, decided to count the objects in the cups. So for eyes they wrote 2. For fingers & fingernails they wrote 4. For tongue they wrote 1...but they STILL thought they were touching a dead man's body parts. I'm trying at this point to not bang my head against the wall and give myself a concussion. Finally MJ explains, super exasperated, in her growling Spanish that it's FOOD, it's not actually body parts, and that starving people in Africa could be eating this food that we're using for a game to nourish numerous families. Womp, womp, womp...so much for the fun Halloween game when we're the cause of starvation in third world countries. The game continued and everytime anybody reacted and said "Eww, gross!" she'd yell "NO!! Ees no disgusting!! EES FOOD, JEW EAT!! Babies!! Jew haf to guess!! SMELL!! JEW CAN SMELL!! SMELL JOUR FINGAHS!!! MY BABY LOOK!! JEW CAN SMELL DA FINGAHS!! (insert action of Colonel MJ smelling her fingers exageratedly). If that didn't scare the hell out of them then nothing ever will.

The next day's class came quickly and I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to better explain the game since Mary Jo was not only not helping me explain, but killing all of the fun as well. I used all of my best gestures and body language to help explain to the kids that these are NOT real body parts (wink wink) but FOOD, normal things that just feel like body parts...not to be too scared! It's a fun game. So we get into a circle and we start...the kids are already looking really queasy and unsure of what to expect and the first body part is the eyes (grapes)...so the kids are touching, feeling, and the grapes are pretty flacid and gooey because they're no longer frozen...and then Mary Jo starts in...in Spanish even. "Careful!! When you touch the eyes they start to roll around!! Don't touch them too hard or they might jump out of the cup!!!............JES, JES....DEAD MAN'S EYES IN THE CUP, CUT FROM HIS FACE!!".......Hold your damned horses Mary Jo!! Where did that come from!? Yesterday you were depressing and suffocating all the fun and today you're literally scaring the crap out of them? What gives? I thought it was just an impulse so we continued...but as we continued her commentaries got darker and darker.

Lips (wet marshmallows): BABIES!! Feel da two leeeps...he can't talk anymore!! If you all talk too much in class that's what happens! Your lips fall off your face! And then they'll end up in the cup like the dead man!! Squishy and sticky lips!!

Intestines (dried tomatoes): Be careful babies! Da intesteens...dried and curled up together...it's like the stomach but longer where all of the food goes! Maybe there is some old food left over in there!!

Tongue (mussels): Babies he might lick you!! With his dead lifeless tongue...is it wet?? JESS?? Well he must have died recently!!

I thought we were going to lose someone to the toilet to go throw up, honestly. After this I was convinced she's bipolar. I love her, and she has even declared her love for me one day (that was a weird scenario...the kids all ran to me and hugged me one day and said "Chelsea, I love jew! You're my best friend" and her response was "JESS JESS I love you too, now SHIT DOWN. SHIT DOWN NOW!!") but she's so freaking special. Which is one of the reasons I love her, haha. She's seriously a loose cannon and you never know when she's gonna blow. It just so happens that this time she blew all over Halloween. Most kids who attend a Catholic school fondly remember the nuns smacking their hands with rulers...my 3rd graders will probably always rememember Mary Jo smelling her hands and screaming "SMELL JOUR FINGAHS!!!!"

Hopefully soon this week I'll update on my next source of entertainment and lack of patience: Preschool!