What I did not intend to write about Formigal....

          Wow! I finally got a chance to go up to the Pyrenees. Well, I was able to all along, but this was the best time for it really. Sorry, did I mention that is where my boyfriend has been working all summer? Yeah. Once I sort of knew the buses I was taking, and what day I was leaving, BAM, I was off!
          It takes 3 buses to get there. The timetables are few and far between. Worse yet, there are not many scheduled per day. Especially if you are going all the way from Barcelona to Formigal (or back). I was. And there was NO way I was going to miss out on spending time with my man!
          On the first bus, I had the luxury of sleeping a little. Un poco. When I decided I should start paying attention (about two hours too early, but well worth it visually), I started getting excited about meeting all these people I had been hearing about for so long. The people in my boyfriend's life that I haven't met yet that he really cares about.
          Unfortunately this quickly turned into stress. Ahhhh, he cares about these people. They are his Formigal family (for lack of a better term). What if I can't think of anything to say in Spanish? What if I don't understand what is being said? Crap. I want to be able to speak well with them. Basically, I psyched myself out. 
          I think most people can understand that second, third, or fourth family away from family feeling. You know that group of people that you are around all the time. You bicker like families do. Annoy each other like families do. Sometimes you like and love them as people, sometimes you don't like them as a person but you love them anyway. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.
          Family and groups that are 'like family', they are wonderful. However, when they are not your own, but the loved ones of your love, it can be a little nerve racking. I will say, since I've been here I have been meeting family and friends since day one. I am not complaining here. I would like to make that clear. In some ways I am lucky, there is not a person I have met so far that I didn't like. How's that for good fortune! But maybe that advantageous fluke could be the reason for my misfortunes in learning Spanish.... no? Damn, okay, that's not it. I know.
          The real pressure point for me, is when I start to get nervous. That is when I choke the worst. Sometimes, I feel as if I appear as if I am an idiot. I just can't get anything out. I can't understand as much either. I would probably do better speaking underwater than when I'm nervous. Guess when I get the most anxious? Yessssss. When I am around the people that matter the most to my boyfriend. Of course I do.
          It's not his fault. It's not their fault. It's in my head. It's the pressure I'm putting on myself to get it perfect. Why would I ever in a million years think that after this short amount of time that could happen. Perfection. Right. Everyone has been really nice too. Everyone has been welcoming. I just keep fucking it up all over the place.
          The tricky part, is how much Spanish I actually have in my head. Shockingly, I know A LOT of Spanish. It's not perfect to say the least. I can have basic conversation. When I try to say things that are more complicated, I get all sorts of messed up. Unfortunately, none of my books go that far into depth. So I have no idea what I am doing wrong. If I had the why's and the what's I could understand what I was doing right and wrong, I could fix the problem.
          Guess what? I can't help myself from trying to say complicated things. I am wordy. Just in case you hadn't noticed already. Heh, heh. When I'm nervous it's hard enough for me to try and think in a different language (words, changing the sentence structure, etc.), but then to also change my brain's way of thinking as well.... that's even harder. I haven't (OBVIOUSLY) gotten to the point of not needing to translate in my head yet... so everything is in ultra slow-mo for me. It's like I'm just watching the joke, getting it later, then I want to make a comment on it, but 10 more jokes have already come and gone in between. To late.
          I have gone off track a bit, but this happens. All this is basically how the various meetings with my man's friends went in the Pyrenees. There was one person I was much less stressed with, but I couldn't hear her well because she spoke in a tone that blended into the background. And of course there was a woman there who would really only speak English with me, and she was really funny. Even weirder for me... by the end of the week, I was understanding more, I was even saying bit more (I did NOT say a lot, just a little more), but I don't think it registered.
          I just have to figure out how to get my nerves under control and maybe, just maybe, some of that Spanish (that all day long I am forming sentences in my head- just in case!) floating around in my brain... might just start to click. It might even come out of my mouth one day. My brain might not even need a babel fish one day. wouldn't that be nice?!
       
Formigal in all it's natural beauty in the future.

(This photo is taken by an incredibly talented photographer. He takes photos as he travels the world. His photos are taken when he sees something that truly moves him, or touches his heart in some way. I think he would call them, Magic Moments. His name is: Joan Massó. He is from Barcelona, Spain.)

For now, I do think that (even though I am pretty sure no one from Formigal reads this it still should be said) everyone I met was truly good to me. Which showed not only what good people you were, but the respect you have for my boyfriend and yourselves. I thank you all, and I am lucky to have met you all. Hopefully the next time around, I will be speaking a little more (or a lot more... let's cross our fingers shall we?)

kimbersfrog 

About my english in these posts....

          Recently I noticed that I have blog readers that I most likely don't know! For me this is quite exciting. First, let me say, "Hello!" to the person or people in Germany that have been reading my blog periodically. I hope you have not been bored too much! And thank you for reading.
          Second all of the sudden in the past week I noticed a bunch of views from Spain! My first reaction was, "Cool!" Then it occurred to me, maybe not so cool. There is no way for me to tell if it is just one person (who is REALLY interested- or appalled) by my writing, or if it is a bunch of people. There is also know way for me to tell who it is. However, I have one big worry.
          I happen to think this is an important worry. If any one of my reader(s) from Spain happen to be a student (or for that matter someone learning English), please DO NOT use my writing as a grammar lesson. What I teach and how I write are two very separate things. If you are a student, and you want to read these, by all means go ahead. There might be words to learn. Even so, look them up or ask me about them. There are phrases and words that I sometimes use that are just old jokes between family or friends. Those don't always mean anything at all in the English language. So, please.... know that this is not an English lesson.
          On a separate note.... who ever you are in Spain that is reading this.... I thank you! And I do hope you enjoy it! Hopefully I will have a real post up later.

kimbersfrog

From chores, to the SLUTWALK.....

          It's interesting where the day can take you. The entire first half of the day I was waging in a full scale battle with the ants. Yes, they came back. And no they are not here anymore. That is all I will say on the matter. The point is I went from that and the normal daily stuff to football to psychological thriller, and now I am completely stuck on a particular women's issue. Actually my mind is swimming in the possibilities and limitations, and chances lost and taken. Now, I find myself asking, where do we all go from here? Or are women not likely to stand proud together anymore?
          I am by nature an idealist. Unfortunately, I am also a pragmatist or maybe realist is a better word. I can see how I would like it to be, how I think it should be. I also see how it actually is. How it actually is, is never as good as it should be or could be. Sadly. But wait! What did I read recently? A story about the 'Slutwalk'. I was so thrilled, I almost did the happy dance!
          How I missed the original turn of events I don't know. How I only just caught on to it, I also don't know. For those of you who, like me, are late in getting information. The 'Slutwalk' is a march in which women and some men don slutty clothes and march with peaceful signs of protest. This has gone global! This is not just for fun, although I do enjoy a slutty parade here and there. Heh, heh. In all seriousness, this is a response to a single comment in Canada. A Canadian cop told a group of college girls that they should wear less slutty clothes if they wanted to avoid getting raped. Yeah. It didn't shock you? I'm not surprised. Me either. I wish it did.
          Really this march is not about just this one cop, that would be silly. It's about the fact that still, in the year 2011, all over the world, women are still shamed and blamed for a crime inflicted UPON them. Not just any crime, an extremely offensive and invasive crime. How many times have you heard the comments: 'Oh she must have wanted it.' or 'You know she wanted it, did you see what she was wearing?' or 'She probably liked it.' Need I go on? 
          It doesn't stop there. There are some places in this world in which the laws make it impossible for a woman to even call it rape. An example would be: if she had pants (jeans, trousers, etc) it couldn't be rape. I guess the thought (as dim as it is) would be that she had to take the pants off so she must have wanted it. Seriously?
          I was beginning to feel like women had lost the ability to stand up for themselves. It seemed like we were reverting to the 1950's or something. It was only a short time ago Michele Bachmann let the, "be submissive to your husbands," fly. Then of course there's Sarah Palin, a sad and disturbing poster-child for women. Now, luckily there is this march. I feel like there might be hope for us yet.
          I don't want you to get me wrong. I don't mean go out like crazy bitches on a payback mission. I just mean work on your strengths. Remember, not to pretend to be something you're not for someone else. And strength comes in all forms. I've seen it with words, in action, in everyday life, in knowing how to navigate through your life when things get muddy. You can also partake in this march or something like it. Or simply stand up for something you believe in without backing down just to make someone else's life easier.
          Also, don't hate on men. Most men I know are damn good people. Others aren't bad, they aren't aware, but they aren't bad. Enlighten them. Nicely. Show them, put them in a situation where they can see the crap you endure on a regular basis. They might actually start to understand. That's the only way, if they can see it first hand.
           
          There are a lot of women in my life that I would consider truly strong women. I am lucky to know them. If I had gone into detail, I would have lost the plot entirely. Instead I am just going to raise my giant eyebrow at them to show them my respect. And note them in here. They should know their strength has not gone unnoticed (no, not just by me..duh). Here goes: My aunts, my sister, my mother, my cousins, my grandmother. As for my friends who I wish I were in a position to see more often. I think the easiest way to do this is list the places: Jersey City, Portland (or just outside of it, I've never quite known), Denver, Melbourne, Sydney, Taichung, Weymouth, and Hingham. If I have forgotten someone (It's either because I don't know where you live anymore, or it's 3 in the morning and I'll probably revise it later)

Just been on my mind
kimbersfrog

A fungus is definately among us.....heheheheh

     
           It's true. I have a problem. It's almost shameful. Well, okay that's really stretching it. The only thing shameful about it, is how I let it become such a problem. The weird thing is I used to be absolutely disgusted by everyone's feet. It was completely illogical. I knew it was. I could even look objectively at a beautiful foot, know it was gorgeous, and I would still be grossed out. (Some family members were not helpful, by way of torture- 'hi-ya, hi-ya, hi-ya.' You know who you are! heh,heh) Even though I hated feet, I still loved my own, call it a self-protect mechanism, call it whatever you want, but there it is. Just a bit nutty. It was one of my little quirks. Let's skip ahead shall we?!
           I was in Scotland when it started. I somehow acquired a toenail fungus. Yep. Ewwwww, is right. It appeared on only my cute little piggy toes at first. They just were a little thicker. However, I was poor, and I didn't know anything about toenail fungus, so I just thought I'd deal with it at another time. What the hell was I thinking? Apparently nothing brilliant. I believe this devious fungus needed a witches brew (if you will) to empower it's slow takeover of my toenails.
          This might just be the recipe that made it happen.... 
 
    One pair of leather water resistant work boots (great for letting your feet get a little wet and keeping that wet in. let's not forget that it's mixing in with foot sweat)
    One pair of sweaty feet
    A lot of dirty water
    A lot of cleaning agents mixed with dirty water
    A lot of disgusting moist things (that I tried my hardest NOT to know what substance they were- a useless waste of energy most of the time)
    8 to 9 hours of the night: cleaning toilets, showers, kitchens and mopping
    A wet dreary climate
    
            I am pretty sure that this is the perfect brew for something like a fungus to grow. That and the fact that my feet were always covered. When I wasn't wearing boots, I was wearing socks. I never had bare feet. I made people smell my feet, but they were socked.
           Eventually my big toenails started to get thick. And my middle toenails, well they just kind of got misshapen. Except one. My prize toe! I love that toe, and the nail on it! It's perfect. Okay I will stop now, but really I could win a prize. Of course everything is relative.
           Now we know the how. The amount of time? It took about 6 months after I first noticed it before I got home. After that another 3 months or so went by before I saw the doctor. He gave me a prescription cream, and told me to put tea tree oil on it. Cool. Problem solved. (and yes, it had gotten progressively worse over the 9 or so months I knew it existed) I even began to be self conscious. Why I don't know. I always, at least have socks on.
          Something about me when there is more than one option for curing an ailment.
The simple one that takes very little time, and preparation. I will kick arse. However, the other option (never as easy) which takes time, set up, is messy, just a general pain in the butt... I tend to get a little lazy about. Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don't. It's why I don't bother with make-up (okay, and I'm cheap) or doing my hair or IRONING. Get the idea? Low maintenance is a much better way to live for me. Back to the subject at hand.
           So as the years flew by, I managed to keep the fungus alive but not let it take over my feet. Working on it, then not. Trying new ideas. Alternating. I really don't even like to touch them with my bare hands. I am as irrational about my feet now, as I was about other people's feet before. Now my favourite things to switch between are bleach, rubbing alcohol, and vinegar. 
          When my boyfriend finally convinced me to let him see them, shockingly he didn't run away in fear! He has had quite a few good suggestions... hacksaw, grinding stone, chainsaw. In case you wanted a couple good if not dangerous ideas for dealing with your fungus. Heh,heh. I only wish I could torture him a little with them... but he is a very hard man to disgust! I love that about him. Moving on.
         Every so often, I will text my man and give him information he doesn't really need. Things like, 'Hey my REALLY big toenail, has grown an inch!' Which of course is a huge exaggeration. Okay it's a blatant lie and he knows it. But it is funny.
         It has unfortunately prevented me from taking full advantage of the beach. I am not a beach goer like a lot of other people. I generally like late afternoon or evenings. For me, baking like a lobster and looking like one later (I only have three tones: white, pink, and bright red) is not high on my list of FUN things. A group of people eating and swimming, that's fun. By myself, I'll stick to the cooler, less burny times of day. I do however have the option of beaching with people here. But I have been very tentative about showing my feet. Sad. But true.
        Luckily.....I finally found THE PRODUCT!!!!! I have tried sandpaper. Trimming helps, I even tried a file once (for filing metal). But most of these things will either do nothing or do plenty to rip your skin. Now I have solved my problem! I do have to have patience and force myself to work a little everyday on it. And even though it's only been a week, I have been quite religious about it! I may be on my way to conquering a fungus that was flourishing in the wet damp of my covered feet!
          The product is actually not for toenails or fungi at all. It is for feet though. It is made to sand off the corns, callouses, and anything else rough on the skin of your feet. It's got a comfortable grip handle (nice) and an oval head. It's flat but oval. The flat sides are both covered in something like sandpaper. And it's PERFECT! I know, given everything I have told you, you don't think I will continue to prevail in this war and the fungus in turn, will begin again to thrive. I am fully aware of my inadequacies in maintaining... well anything, but the results so far have been amazing! So what... I have to sweep afterwards... oh, is that too much info? Sorry. Well, no, I'm not really sorry. You doubted me. Enjoy the image!
           Now I bid you farewell. I intend to continue on, actively realizing my dream of fungus free toenails. I will not stop until the fungus is nullified! (over the top? well, it feels good that way!)

         kimbersfrog

         
          
  

Thanks... but ewwww!

           Okay, so I got a call from the doctor today. Yay! She wanted to talk in person. This tends to be a good idea when you have limited knowledge of a language. So off to the 'urgencia' I went.
           I thought she had more information on my neurology appointment. Maybe she even had the name of the neurologist I would be seeing. At the very least, the neurology department phone numbers. Something to that effect. No. Wrong again.
           I know it's shocking that I was wrong. I am usually so right about everything! Heh, heh. When I arrived, however she was right there smiling. Unfortunately, I ended up waiting because as per usual my special brand of luck has continued on in Spain! An emergency arrived right behind me. Poor sod, there was no reason he had to have problems because I have bad luck. Sorry dude.
          After a short wait, the doctor came out to me in the waiting area. She sat down and told me that she had a niece with epilepsy and the first thing she thought when she woke up was, 'Kimberly!' Huh, imagine that?! Know that this conversation is spoken oddly. She speaks in very small bits of English. I speak in almost all Spanish. Somehow, this works.
          Then she got to the point. She called me to tell me she had an idea to help me in case of emergency. Since she knows I'm having problems getting a neurology appointment and am changing the timetable of my medications based on an educated guess. I am just hoping for the best until I can see a neurologist. How liberating... right! Right.
          She wanted to offer me the equivalent of Valium. I have had it prescribed before to break a cycle of seizures (what was supposed to be taken in 5 days lasted me 5 years). For me, it's horrible stuff. I just feel tired, bored and disinterested in everything. That is a crappy feeling if you ask me. You don't have to, I'm just sayin'. Back then I had an hour to an hour and a half of warning before a seizure. It was possible for me to use it as a quick fix (my term for it, probably not something a doctor would appreciate), back then. Now, by the time it is obvious I am going to have a seizure, I am completely out of my mind, doing weird things and NOT making good decisions. I told her that most likely I wouldn't think to take it.
           She told me about her niece again (a kid) and she keeps it just in case. She has only had to use it once, but she has it, and it makes everyone feel safer. Then it occurred to me, that if my boyfriend and his family knew exactly where it was they could force it on me.
          Having said that, the scenarios I get in my head of that happening are quite...... interesting to say the least. Funny really, in the way that only someone who knows that, it is what it is, accepts it, and is aware that you have to keep the humour to survive, knows funny to be. Maybe ridiculous is a better word.
          What makes it even funnier (or ridiculous) is what I found out next. It comes in the form of a stick, which you crack open (this is point that I start picturing one of the greenish glow sticks... nice, right!). After you crack it.... wait for it.... you put it in your butt. Yeah, that's what I said. So now the images that are floating in my head are completely insane. Seriously? How am I going to do that if my mind isn't even working right.
          Now is when I remember the conclusion I had come to earlier. It will really have to be my boyfriend or his family or friends that will have to give me the meds. But NOW  there is a whole new level  to the meds they would possibly be giving me. What if it's not my boyfriend (he's seen my hairy arse), but his family. Jeez. How many people do I tell this to? How do I approach them with this information? "Hi, at some point you might have to stick Valium up my butt, here's how you will know when it's necessary...." Ughhhh.
         My boyfriend doesn't think this is funny. I know he is right, it's not actually funny. In reality. However, if I intend to remain a rational person for the rest of my life, things like this need to be laughed at and taken with a grain of salt. It just is what it is. Hopefully, I will never have to use it. That would be the best scenario. If I do, I am glad I won't really be aware of what is going on. However I am already sorry for whomever has to be 'the one' to come to my rescue. That's probably the most polite way to put it. It sucks to be that person. Butt meds or not.
          So that was my day so far, I've not even had lunch or my siesta yet. What more will the day bring? We shall see. Let's hope for something less repulsive and more acceptably funny.

          I would like, however to respectfully thank my doctor. I was not only impressed with her dedication (calling me on a Saturday). She had no responsibility to call me at all. She also was extremely patient and good at trying to work with our language barrier. And the best part, as hokey as it sounds (but I am a big, sentimental sap at heart) was she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and giving me a hug before I left.

kimbersfrog

A knowledge flash...or just another thing I noticed...

              I don't mean to be repetitive. However, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am. Actually, my guess is I've just told a bunch of people who know me something they already know!! Case in point. Heh.
             I have made yet another self-discovery. True. And, no it is not earth shattering, news breaking, and I am pretty sure it wouldn't even make it into the Sun (maybe, with a lot of fancy writing, but I digress).
              I have grown accustomed to not being able to communicate as well as I like. When I am more relaxed about it, I do much better. On occasion. I certainly understand better when I am less worried about whether or not I will be intelligible.
             There are the times when I know it is desperately important that I get it right. I have to be comprehensible. Also, I need to understand completely, what I've been told. This it seems, is an insurmountable task! For the moment.
             Right now, I am not at that level of the language. Unfortunately, I am highly aware of this. In a social situation, or at a store, I am quite happy to make a dork of myself. Have I mentioned before, it usually works to my advantage. I am good at embarrassing myself and then recovering because of whatever inane thing I've done. Here, I manage to do it with language most of the time. Although wearing white socks is pretty uncool and a dead give away that I'm not from here. But really, let's face it, I have never been a fashion queen, and I think the language thing would give me away if the socks didn't.

            Being aware of my capabilities, or lack there of can be good. It can help you progress. It's the occasions in which I feel I have to be understood, and to understand that this knowledge is a problem. That is when the tension increases. When the tension is higher I can't concentrate as well. My Spanish becomes all sorts of weird. Well, weirder than usual. And I understand virtually nothing, unless someone has the patience of a saint and will talk to me very slowly and reword things a million times until I can actually grasp what they are saying.

            Today, one of these situations occurred. I had to go get my prescriptions renewed. I also had to find information on getting a specialist. This was my second time around, so this time, I was determined to get it right. I took about 15 minutes with the receptionist. Now that I think about it, that isn't really that long. It seemed like forever. She was incomparably patient, and exceedingly nice. One thing down. All I needed was the prescriptions, with some kind of provision so I wouldn't have problems from the mean pharmacy woman again, and I would be all set.
            Now, I would like to point out, that with the receptionist, I was completely tense. My Spanish sounded more like I was having those verbal myclonic jerks I get at times. My comprehension level you ask? Well, I was leaning over the desk, to listen. It was as if I thought that hearing her louder was going to change the language she was speaking. I guess that is why some people feel the need to shout at people with accents or speaking a different language. Same premise, only in reverse. (Oh, you know who you are!)
            Back to point. My ears are tuned to the opening doors like a cat's nose to tuna. I have to make sure I hear my name being called. Hearing your name called in a noisy room in an accent is not as easy as you would think. Today, I had no problem, but I think I've gotten used to the sound of my name here. Low and behold, when I got in the room, my new doctor, said she spoke a little English. Yay!!
            She spoke very little English as advertised. She didn't understand me much in English. I was too quiet, and too complicated. Fair enough. I ended up speaking to her in Spanish. Almost entirely. She spoke to me in English. Almost entirely. What I learned was, it calmed me. I was able to understand the little she did say in Spanish. I was able to speak. I think knowing I had a back up lifted some of the stress. I was able to just speak.
            It was only a couple hours later that I realized this, but still, I found it at once wonderful and completely useless. There will be plenty of times when I won't have any back up, and I can't just bow to the pressure.
           It reminded me of what I learned in the previous visit. The last visit, everything was 100 times worse. And the 'thing' everyone tells you about moving to another country that doesn't speak your language... about 3 months in, you have problems... blah, blah. Well it had been a bit over that, and it was all coming to a head that day.
            What I learned that day was because I actually cried a little in the doc-o's office. She was really nice. However after an entire 20 minutes of speaking horribly with her in Spanish (and 15 minutes of equally bad Spanish with the receptionist earlier), all of the sudden I was capable of Spanish that was beyond my current level. I have had a few times like that.
           I have a theory. Due to a mix of stress, lack of sleep, not having had lunch yet, being near my period, and/ or being upset enough to cry, my medication could not work as well. Usually what happens if the meds aren't working so well is I have some flinches, or a seizure, etc. What about the times when all those things come together and I have no seizure activity? Maybe the meds are still compromised. And maybe I am just able to think a little clearer, a little quicker. I don't really know, and honestly, I thought I was clear to begin with. (shut it!) Maybe I could be clearer. I don't know. I never will.

         So I learned two things. Both to do with when I seem to excel (in a manner of speaking) in Spanish. One is something I can and should try to recreate some of the time, but not all of the time. The other I should avoid like the plague.

        just life I guess

kimbersfrog

If i've misinterpreted... please don't burst my bubble!!!

           I mean what I wrote in the title. If I have misread the signs or underestimated the ability to be polite of others, I could be about to write a complete misrepresentation of the truth. However, we all have our own way of looking at things. I usually think we should try looking at things from as many other points of view as possible, especially when they are extremely different from our own. It probably won't change our minds, but it might give us a bit of empathy towards other human beings that are different from ourselves. In this case however, if I have missed clues that I should have seen, ehh... I don't want to know. I would prefer to see it only my way.
            In my household, we had very good meals. I don't mean expensive or healthy. What I mean however, is our meals were tasty! My mom can cook. Anything! And my dad, he can grill, mash potatoes like there is no tomorrow, and make some mean french toast! (We only recently found out he can make a wine reduction sauce... however we don't actually know if it was edible, maybe we'll get him to make it for someone who has taste buds someday!) The long winded point I'm making here, is in our wonderful dinners, we had a lot of garlic. We didn't have it in every meal, but we ate it a lot. Although I was a picky eater as a child (and teen), if memory serves, I never had a problem with garlic.  
           I knew from early on that people had garlic breadth, and apparently garlic farts (although, I wasn't really able to differentiate those from the other horrifying odors that emanated in our house... oh, well, we had dogs, right). I didn't ever actually think about the fact that I might smell like garlic until after college. And I just realized that now, as I am writing this. Huh.
        The restaurant I worked in closed for a couple hours during the day. During this time I could have anything I wanted to eat for free! One day, I had the chicken garlic dish. Have you ever had that? Did you ever notice (especially buffet style), that the chicken looks an awful lot like garlic cloves? I must have eaten somewhere between 6 to 8 garlic cloves that day.

        I had this great roommate, a friend of mine. She might remember even better than I how many cloves I eventually concluded that I ate. The reason she might remember, is because we were going to a pool tournament that night. I had gotten home and showered right away. When she got home, she was in the bathroom, I don't know... doing her hair, she like me doesn't do much in the way of preparation. She doesn't need to. Anyway, I came in, and before I even got to do whatever it was I came in to do...she said, "Did you have garlic today?" and I answered affirmatively, but still didn't really think I had that much, and I think I might have said that. Her response was, "You might want to shower again." (or something very close to that). I knew, it must have been bad. So I showered again. I could see it on her face when I came downstairs, my stench had preceded me. The garlic was emanating from my sweaty-arse pores!

        We went to the pool tournament. It was going as a small local pool tournament goes, slow, friendly, and strangely captivating. Somewhere in the middle of it there was an old man who thought it was time to show everyone his potato shooter. No, that is not a euphemism. So we all went into the parking lot across the street, and watch him shoot potatoes. It  was odd. There were only four of us in our twenties. The rest were regulars of that bar I think, and quite old. After 15 minutes or so of watching an old guy shoot potatoes (which was actually much more entertaining than it sounds), we went inside again to resume the tournament. About three quarters of the way through one of my games I walked by Mr. Potato Shooter to take my next shot. Just after I passed him, he says, "Hey, did someone eat garlic?"
         That was the night I began to realize that I might be emanating odors other than the air that escapes the cracks! Heh,heh. (Still funny, at almost 39) That is also when I noticed the societal preoccupation with garlic stink in America. I already knew, people had issues with odor, even I did. I just didn't realize that there was an objection to garlic. I really shouldn't say America, when I was in Britain and Ireland it seemed no different there. I was used to it by then. And frankly, I didn't care.
       The last disheartening encounter I had in the states with garlic was at a wedding I went to. After the wedding we went to a bar. They had bloody marys. I've never had a bloody mary so good. It was even better than mine and my mom's (sorry mom). I couldn't quite place the ingredient, but I wasn't really trying. There was a lot going on. There was a girl from England there who I befriended. She was very funny, real- it was refreshing. She said, "Oh is that a bloody mary? I haven't had one in a long time. Is it good?" I told her it was the best I had ever had. She went and got one. She too was impressed. About 15 minutes later, she said,"Is that garlic in there?" It hit me, that's what made the drink so..damn..good! Then I told her so. She went and brought hers back, then got a different drink. She did have a boyfriend there, can't blame her. I am pretty sure I would choose garlic over a man more often than not. Now I don't have to.
       Now I'm in Spain. The first day I was here I tried Gazpacho for the first time. It's brilliant, I highly recommend it. My boyfriend was really happy that I liked something so very definitely Spanish, he told everyone the first time I met them. I think he also knew it was one word I would recognize, that way I would feel like I was following the conversation.
       The reaction everyone had was the same, laughing and the word 'ajo'. Ajo means garlic. At first I thought they were giving him a jab because his girlfriend was going to have smelly breadth, or wasn't going to mind his smelly arse. Then I started noticing how much garlic is in the diet here. And I began to pay attention to the reaction to me or my boyfriend after having a meal with enough garlic to fell a horse. There was NO reaction. This could mean people are just extremely polite. However, even his friends didn't say... damn you stink. Not his family either. It is possible that culturally it's not appropriate. But, all signs point to garlic not being one of the odor issues here. People still dislike, sweaty people being too close or smelly feet, but no one seems to mind garlic.
       Obviously this has rocked my world. I am so happy about this, you can't even imagine. I never actually stopped eating garlic. I did however start at some point to worry about my odor. This used to irritate me greatly. I'm less worried about others catching a whiff of my very own personal wind.....probably because I think it's a little funny, and.. they really are quite nasty.
      This is why I say that if I have misread the signs, or am deluded in any way, I am good with that. Please, don't ruin this for me. There are so many cold hard truths in the world that we have no choice but to pay attention to. This one, is fine to believe in whether I'm wrong or right.

 Good night, and if you live anywhere near me, you might want to close your window... mine is open!

kimbersfrog